We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
Megatron had rolled with a pained growl at the kick, coming up on one knee with his hand bracing the torn and dented hole in his side. He paused a moment before rising slowly from the ground, optics bright and fixed on the two mechs curled over and under one another. Their sparks were tangible presences, wild and flickering as Sunstreaker fell into stasis from damage, leaking out through his brother's clinging hand.
"The regrettable cost of perfect fighting synchronicity - you're too dependent on one another," the warlord surmised, as if it were new knowledge. His advance was slow, the extension of his sword conducted with slow ceremony. Stopping just out of direct striking distance, Megatron did not raise his arm, but rather sneered at the young mechs in the pool of energon. "You're dead alone, Sideswipe."
Sideswipe’s optics were bleached out for color, gone near white with overclocking, his engines humming hot with horror as he lifted his face from Sunstreaker’s to look up at the warlord. His brother was gone, pulled into the dark silence of stasis – one half of his spark gone quiet and Sideswipe felt the paralysis of it taking his nerves, sinking into his struts and hydraulics like a virus. They were going to die. Megatron was going to kill him and Sunny would fade out. Or worse. He would kill Sunstreaker first and let Sideswipe feel it before he put that blade through his chest too and Sideswipe was terrified that he’d be grateful for it.
Megatron was right of course. Sides and Sunny, Sunny and Sides. They were sparked too close and Sideswipe didn’t know if Sunny dying would really snuff him like he supposed it could… but he knew he wouldn’t be up for continued existence without his brother. He had to move. He had to run. Why couldn’t he stop staring at Megatron like a gear-slip and go? At least try to get away. Something. Anything, but Megatron was right because without Sunny it was him vs. Megatron and he couldn’t… He blinked suddenly.
“Not alone,” he murmured.
Sideswipe grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled Sunny over his shoulders, jet mod igniting on his back full thrust to take the extra weight and Sideswipe took off fast. Megatron would catch him in jet mode, but not if he got out. He opened a comm link. “Jazz! Jazz, it’s Sideswipe I’m transmitting coordinates and I need a groundbridge. Now! Sunny’ s dying and Megatron on my afterburner! If you can’t get me a bridge in thirty seconds we’re dead okay? Jazz?!” Please, please get this…
Last Edit: Mar 25, 2012 12:16:39 GMT -5 by Deleted
Jazz was in the rec room shuffling furniture around when he got the comm. The frequency, long since tagged as highest priority, cut through everything sliding around his processor. The message itself dropped him halfway into battle protocols.
All he could think was that the rec room was two sub-basements down. He was way more than 30 seconds from being able to open a ground bridge. He'd never make it, though his frame broke into a flat run for the ramps up anyway.
HE'd never make it. But Steeljaw was on monitor duty.
::Steeljaw, tempbridge to these coordinates, immediately. Two Neutrals coming through, and they're being chased. Keep an eye on the incoming mass. If it exceeds two figures, drop it. Believe me we don't want what's chasing them.::
Jazz switched channels so fast his transmitter squeaked, even as he rebounded off a wall coming around a corner. ::Acknowledged. Sides, HOLD ON. I will KILL YOU if you die, you fragger.::
The comm hit him mid-shift, so clear and loud and wreathed in tight urgency it nearly knocked him off his usual position on the top of the consoles when Steeljaw jerked upright. Tail down, audios up, but he didn't waste time questioning. The patch to the groundbridge controls spun up in a spark pulse, the drone of the forming bridge filling the control room as he fed the coordinates to it. ...Russia?
Well, given they had dredged his sorry frame out of the Amazon, he certainly wasn't one to talk. ::Coordinates acknowledged, bridge holding,:: he commed back, one very watchful eye on the incoming readouts.
Fuck. Sides hit a patch of hard air, veering hard off course, his altitude dropping dangerously, the top heavy imbalance of carrying Sunstreaker and flying making it almost impossible to fly straight much less fast enough to keep ahead of a Cybertronian jet. In the back of his mind he suspected that Megatron was fucking playing around with him at this point. He could have just shot them out of the sky, he could of done lots of things he was choosing not to do for the sake, apparently, of watching the spark split claw and struggle while he fragging laughed at him. Jazz’s voice in his audio finial, a hard spark-surge of panic and relief and pleasefuckpleasejustcutusonebreak –!
And the groundbridge came open. A spark of green, a crackle of ozone and the dimensional rift and pop and suddenly the air in front of him split open into a green and while funnel of light, space time bending and folding and behind him he heard the burst and roar of what could have been a mech snarling or the rev of jet engine hitting nitro. Sideswipe didn’t know. He hurdled through the ground bridge, the light and sparkle whirl of the warp tube smearing into light and silence as he dumped every last bit of energon, fuel, energy and power into his jet mods, rocketing him, and his brother through the breach and into hard air again.
The bridge slammed closed behind him, but Sideswipe was suddenly indoors, going way to fucking fast. He shouted in alarm, spun, killed his jet, hit the opposite wall in a mad kick flip than killed his momentum, broke his right knee and threw him backward into space. He grabbed Sunstreaker somehow, pulling his twin protectively against him and hit the ground on his back, rolling, Sunstreaker tucked fast against his chest until he stopped near the foot of the monitors. His whole body was sparking, crackling with ungrounded volt-tech, a low current hum in his eyes, panic in his EM field.
“Sunstreaker’s hurt!” He was covered in energon. Shit. It was all Sunny’s. “Someone! Help me!”
Last Edit: Mar 25, 2012 18:14:25 GMT -5 by Deleted
Steeljaw kept terse watch on the incoming bridge - two mass bodies, at speed, nothing following, and he snapped it closed immediately after them, only looking up...
...in time for a scrambled mass of airborne red and yellow to go streaking by with a doppler of sound, rebound HARD off of the opposite wall of the control room - Steeljaw instinctively ducked down, hunching - and slammed, skidding and rolling in vivid streaks of fresh energon, to fetch up against the monitor consoles.
Steeljaw was on his feet before the red mech had finished yelling, his own comms cracking through the base. ::RATCHET! JAZZ! EMERGENCY!::
Leaping down, he shouldered the red mech partially aside with head and chassis. "Move," he snarled. If the mech was well enough to be yelling, he was well ENOUGH, but the limp yellow frame on the ground wasn't, cut nearly in two. Gritting his dente, Steeljaw flared his plates and snaked out handfuls of thin, insulated work tendrils for soldering, plunging them into the yellow chassis to grab at the nearest broken and draining lines. ::RATCHET!! NOWNOWNOW FOR THE LOVE OF PRIMUS NOW!::
Jazz rounded a corner coming up through the first subbasement, got a straight shot and transformed, peeling rubber as he bolted for the control room. His processor ticked through comm channels.
Medic's band, high-priority: ::Ratchet, two incoming wounded Neutrals, one possibly dying, ETA seconds in main Control Room.::
A screech of rubber as he took the ramp up to the main level, got a straight line and floored it.
General Autobot band, high priority: ::All noncombatants, clear the Control Room and surrounding areas. Repeat, CLEAR the Control Room and surrounding areas IMMEDIATELY. Two incoming Neutrals coming through the 'bridge, heavily wounded and possibly pursued. CLEAR the area for security and medical access. All fighters secure the Control Room perimeter, defensive priorities 3-45.:: ie, there may be something nasty show up, but with noncombatant/wounded, so use your processor and pick your slagging targets wisely.
He could SEE where that perimeter should be, could see the greenish light from the monitors. Could hear voices, could hear SIDESWIPE.
Officer's band, high priority: ::Incoming Neutrals coming through the ground bridge on my authority, idents Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, heavily wounded, possibly pursued by Decepticons. Request backup to main Control Room.::
Well, Jazz thought, there goes that commission. Pretty sure that opening the ground bridge into an ongoing battle sight-unseen is NOT SOP. That's ok. Didn't really want to be an officer in the first place.
Jazz transformed at 50MPH on the perimeter of the Control Room, landing with a screech of metal feet on metal floor and guns out. He gave thanks to Primus when a full-sensor ping returned a closed 'bridge, no Megatron, and two...FRAG.
His guns were in subspace without half a thought, his momentum carrying him forward to land on his knees next to Sunstreaker, hands reaching out to clamp lines with his own servos, silent for once, grimly stanching the flow of Sunstreaker's and Sideswipe's lives spilling from the golden frontliner's lines as he pinged the medic again. ::One torn nearly in half and down in stasis, one heavily wounded but up. Sparksplits, Ratchet. One goes, we might lose both.::
Sideswipe was fetched up against the foot of the monitors, his systems trying frantically to cycle down after the feline-build pushed him off his twin. He was not doing very wellt; his engines keep revving and stopping, revving and stopping in violet starts and stops, spark surging violently in his chest while he watched Jazz and a cassette he did not know frantically try to hold his brother together. His hands were tacky with congealing energon, transfluid, coolant, his own, his brother’s. He didn’t know he just fell back against the base of the monitor control board and tried not to purge violently from over-clocked system damage.
Panic. Panic. Dread. He was overheating, his whole frame running impossibly hot, heat coming off his body in ripples and snaps of static. Sunsteaker was critical. Was in stasis-lock. Nigh unto death again and he should have been familiar enough with this by now to walk it off but this had been the worst case of shared sensory data they’d ever had. He couldn’t remember feeling his twin hurt like that before. Like it was in his own belly, the blade, the friction of the metal punching inside, grating his T-cog, the heat of fuel dumping into his own guts. He’d felt it. Primus-fuck, he’d felt it happening.
He pressed is palms over his optics, panting slightly, his fans struggling to cool anything at all, his elbows braced against his knees. Pain in his right knee, pain everywhere, pain in his chest like his spark was burning through his chest.
“Sunstreaker. C’mon, c’mon, please…please, c’mon don’t…” He didn’t know what he was saying. He was speaking code talk, that high and low glyph and slip language. “You can’t go down like this.” Which wasn’t true: Sunstreaker dying violently at the hands of an unbeatable foe is exactly how they’d surmised he’d go down. Him, then Sideswipe. Lights going out in a row.
"Jazz," he said, voice distant and stunned. "Jazz, he's going. I feel... please don't let him..."
Last Edit: Mar 25, 2012 19:48:05 GMT -5 by Deleted
There was so much energon. Slicking Jazz's hands, pooling around his knees, all over Sunny and him and Steeljaw and Sides.
Sides. Jazz looked up at Sideswipe's words, hands blindly holding shut primary arterial energon lines. His visor was nearly white with overclocked systems that had nothing to fight. His voice was steady, though, flashing steady and true as a blade in the dark. "Then you tell him to STOW THAT SLAG and NOT LET THAT SLAGGER WIN. The best medic in the whole damn army is on his way, Sideswipe. He is on his way, and we are going to hold this stubborn fragger here until Ratchet gets here. You hear me? Sunny is not going anywhere without you. He is NOT GOING anywhere WITHOUT YOU. You are ONE. So as long as you are HERE, so long as you are HOLDING HIM RIGHT FRAGGING HERE, he's not going anywhere. So steady, dig in, and HOLD HIM."
Because losing both of you is more than I can take. It really is.
Steeljaw used two manipulator tendrils to clear his optics of energon, the other dozen weaving endlessly to patch and clamp and cauterize. They needed Ratchet. Ratchet was going to need a half dozen more hands and Primus' own luck. Steeljaw clamped his dente shut, jaw set, and picked up three more lines to deal with in the ruin of the yellow mech's chassis, audials twitching at the words flying over his head.
One? Symbiosis... no, surely not. Whatever they were, this one, or the other, were no symbionts. It would have taken a blind and deaf mecha, however not to feel at close proximity how their sparks surged and dimmed in synchronicity with each other.
The red one's engine sounded like it was on its last chugging leg, the way his pod engine had sounded in that last barely controlled burn that had dropped him onto this world. Snarling, Steeljaw flicked a glance at Jazz, another one at the red mech, then slapped his paw sharply on the floor beside him. "Come here," he ordered sharply at the red one. It was a distant shot in the dark, but when Uplink had been draining out beneath the medics' hands one of the best thing some quick witted medic had done for a frantic, hurt, and terrified symbiont had been to make him focus.
"Come here," he repeated. "I don't have hands, slaggit, come here and HOLD THIS."
[ooc - can edit/retract as necessary]
Last Edit: Mar 25, 2012 20:21:00 GMT -5 by Deleted
How did you explain what you were to someone who wasn’t that? You’re one. Hold him here. Like he’d ever been able to hold onto Sunstreaker in any capacity but a desperate kind of cling, a two fisted grip on the bright burn of cold that was his twin tearing through the world like it owed him something, everything up to and including Sideswipe himself. I can’t hold him. I couldn’t even hold him back from a fight how can I hold him back from this?’ It was worse than the times in the Kaon arena, when Sunstreaker had been torn open, utterly destroy to the brink. He’s felt it but now he felt it and he couldn’t focus. Sunstreaker was a thread, a wire of heat and pain twined into the fractal patterns of his spark and he was burning and Sides was burning.
Despite that… he pushed off the monitor and dropped to his knees beside the minibot with the mane, and did what he said. Like he did what so many field medics told him, what Cleaver had told him – all those times it was mass memory now as he knelt beside Sunstreaker and held him together. Only way he could hold him. Sideswipe held the fuel line shut in the wound, tried not to lose consciousness because another pulse of vicarious agony shot up his spine from his T-cog to his neural stem.
“Fix us, please…” He didn’t know who he was talking to. “Can’t take it much longer. I’ll lose him.”
Ratchet ran as fast as he could. He had been in the back in recharge. It would be the time an emergence happen. He recharged a little as possible knowing with so few Autobots here and many being found it would be best to be close if not in the med-bay. That was one of the worst ways to forced out of recharge but it did get the processor working fast and clear.
The fact that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe where online was amazing. Both had been thought to be dead. Ratchet half laughed that they lived. He should have known. The worry came too with the joy of knowing they lived. If Sunstreaker went off-line both would go. The changes of one living without the other…well it was a never. There had been a hand full of split sparks and none had lived more than a breem after the other’s spark went out. The last one was many deca-cycles ago.
Getting to med-bay had felt like it took Ratchet a long klik but in truth it was only a few nano-klik. Ratchet was old but he was a medic.
Seeing the situation Ratchet knew Sunstreaker had to come first. “Move.” Ratchet did not wait for anyone to move. But he was careful as others held the leaking lines. He went by Sunstreaker who was being held together by Sideswipe it almost seemed like. Looking at the trouble the first was to make sure Sunstreaker did not bleed out. No energon no life. “Jazz, Steeljaw good work. Sideswipe take to me what happen.”
Not that Ratchet needed to know. It was clear from what they saw what had happen, a fight and a big one. Ratchet wanted Sideswipe to talk to not go into shock and then both twins would be in bigger trouble. This way Ratchet could stabilize Sunstreaker and work on Sideswipe after. And from the looks it had better be soon.
Taking the needed clamps from subspace and letting Jazz and Steeljaw take as need Ratchet worked on other lines. While that happen Ratchet took a scan to check the first to work on next. It did not seem to be a matter of which part was the worst damaged but more what was needed the most to stay online.
((ooc: let me know if changes need to be done. I will try and get back on at home.))
Optimus had been taking his ration when the alert sounded from Jazz, abandoning the cube to take position on the perimeter with both arms transformed and primed to fire. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Primus. The new officer had clearly had his servos full as firm requests for status reports had been answered in throwaway glyphs only - quick, minimal but enough to tell him that there were no Decepticon intruders to deflect.
His long stride took him to the Control room seconds after his blasters had shunted away, hands ready to assist in any way, directed or otherwise. Long experience on the battlefield kept him from pausing at the door to take in the scene, sensors making quick work of assessing the occupants of the room, their status, and arriving at a conclusion as to where best to assist. Out of Ratchet's way was a given, and it looked as if he had all the extra hands he needed to staunch the massive flood of energon pouring out of the yellow spark Twin. The tears had to be sealed before an emergency transfusion could take place, and Neutral or not, the medic was not going to be short of volunteers.
Steeljaw looked near-overwhelmed and was bright with energon up to the optics, spraying the viscous fluid in flicks and twitches from his 'mane'. Jazz was the picture of grim determination, hands fast and deft in the wound, but the white edging to his optics and the vicious tremble in his field were achingly impossible to miss. And just to the side, in touching distance of his brother, Sideswipe was...
Optimus knelt behind the red mech and enveloped his shoulders in both hands, turning him forcibly away from the sight of his butchered twin, field pulsing grounding/steady/safe/helping as it swelled to cover him. "Sideswipe - what happened? Who attacked you both?"
Though he was already near-convinced that he knew who was behind this.
“Megatron,” said Sideswipe, too stunned by the sudden grip and the fact that the mech forcing him to stand up and away from his brother was Optimus fragging Prime, hands on his shoulder armor so heavy he was holding the commando upright despite his busted knee, pooling energon down the armor of his calf. He didn’t know how the commander knew his designation. He and his brother had served in direct operations with the Autobot commander only a handful of times, as front liners, line-breakers, and they plunged into the breach as nameless, faceless, cannon fodder like the rest and Sideswipe didn’t know this mech.
“Megatron,” he said again. “He found… he found us. Caught me in the open and Sunstreaker he…” Came barreling at him, full throttle, tried to tear him apart just to get him off me and I couldn’t do anything to stop him. A burst of cold shot through his spark, a surge and he jerked, hard, hand snapping to the armor seam over his spark and he twisted out of the Prime’s grip, staggered when his knee gave and he fell back against the monitor station, gasping his codetalk. “Fuck, I should have… why does this hurt so…” This was the worst it had ever been.
Last Edit: Mar 27, 2012 20:14:31 GMT -5 by Deleted
So much commotion, she had been in the middle of work when all hell broke loose. So much was going on she barely could figure it out. All Velocity knew was that there was something going on in the Control Room and no one who wasn't a combatant should be in there. This didn't mean she wouldn't check it out, it may need to be logged and if everyone else was busy fighting no one would be able to clearly take control of the situation. Calm like always and without that constant tightness to her EMF she wandered from her work area to the Control Room slowly, careful to remain away from anyone running. Getting there was what mattered, not getting hurt in the process.
Incoming Neutrals that were wounded, she hoped it wasn't Cleaver and if it was that the older femme was alright. There was also that brat Moonshot, she didn't wish him harm either. Other than that Vel was not too knowledgeable on the Neutrals, something that would have to be remedied in the near future.
Rounding the corner she saw so many Autobots in the room and a mess. What was that? Jazz was talking, Prime was talking but she heard nothing, not a single word. Even Ratchet, one of the bots she respected the most, went unnoticed when her optics lit upon the Neutrals in question. Hallucinations she knew were something of a possibility when it came to trauma but it had been far too long for her to start now, and have everyone on base involved as well.
Without further thought she burst into action and practically flew through and across the room. Optics buzzing over everyone and noticing that Sunny, her Sunny was severely damaged. Sides, her Sides... he was hurt but not as bad. THEY WERE NOT DEAD! Primus help her but they were alive, they were here. Her boys, the veritable loves of her life were here. Forget that one of them might be dying, and one looked like he wanted to. She was seeing them. "Ratchet, Primus help you if you do not stabilize him...." The threat was left unfinished as she wrapped her arms around Sides and vented so harshly he would feel the heat even if he was using the monitor station as a chair currently. "You really are here, I am not hallucinating."
Last Edit: Mar 27, 2012 20:42:00 GMT -5 by velocity