[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Material CONtinuum (Open)

[Starkrieger]

Episode: 3.5 Week 1 | Day 3 - Early evening
Starting in the Mess Hall, heading outside.

---

Despite a mild setback, he was feeling better.

Well… physically.

Accommodating rows of tables, and haphazardly abandoned seats, the mess hall was one of the larger rooms within Blackridge.

Much had been done to improve it, but the low amber lighting, and thick 'adequately circulated' air was not enough. It remained tight, cramped... a trap buried beneath layers of rock... and yet, the space was adequate.

Leaning against a table, a mostly black and white Seeker swirled the remnants of his rations. A set of primary wings stood aloft, the white of their leading edge easily marking the angle. Despite their position, he wasn't in good spirits, mind far from the cheerless room, his derma tightly pressed as he dwelled on the current situation.

Megatron’s return should have been his primary concern. The warlord's words days prior had not been forgotten, nor had the fact that he knew nothing of the Decepticon 'supreme leader'... beyond rumor and public appearance. Assisting the Spymaster, getting roped into Backbeat's supply acquisition, not to mention the tasks his Lord had assigned him, all risked the loss of a precious cloak of anonymity. Yet, what choice did he have going forward?

A pause as his vents released, a strained hiss gave voice to pressure that had built with held intakes. Tipping his cube, he observed its contents collecting at an edge. As it was, regardless of what thoughts Megatron evoked, there was another matter that took precedent. Knock Out was still missing. The only recourse was to press the likely culprits. Whether it was the Bots or Mech… that required leaving the base. Besides, he was restless.

The gathered energon was lightly sloshed as tense wings twitched. He would have to do something, regardless of future implication, so his attention moved outward. Red optics narrowed as they landed on someone shiny, and inarguably ‘pretty’. An optic ridge raised as his gaze followed the flow of sleek, curved lines along a 'diminutive' frame.

Grounder, low armor rating, light, built for speed.

The predominantly blacks and whites were muted, much as the desaturated purples. Not as flashy as Knock Out, but eloquent. The color scheme wouldn't hold attention, while the underlying beauty of form would allow him to go unnoticed by those that might sneer at... less 'aesthetic' models.

A slow smirk pulled at his faceplate. Always going out alone hardly made sense. Who was to say that an opportunity wouldn’t arise where having a 'city friendly' alt would be beneficial?. Besides, it seemed fitting to pick a grounder that was a looker to stir up trouble on the CMO’s behalf. Surely Knock Out would want it that way.

It was time to act.

With the cube in one servo, the Seeker settled the other on the tabletop to push off. Having never encountered nor even heard of Windshield, Starkrieger approached with no idea of what he was getting himself into. He resisted the urge to loop behind as was often a Seeker's instinct, making it easier for the mech to catch sight of him as he drew near. Bold with his lack of concern, he angled his wings towards his target, chassis drawn up in what could be seen as a blatant sign of interest. It 'just so happened' to conveniently align his sensors to better take in his fellow Decepticon.

Krieg was on the shorter end of the Seeker norm, making their difference in stature not as evident as it might be. Yet, it was there, prompting him to keep close tabs until he knew he wouldn't become hostile. It was the small ones that were harder to track, harder to press his advantage on. Stopping close, just far enough to be respectful, his optics dimmed faintly. It was his armed side that had the free servo, putting the mounted missiles on full display as he settled his left servo at his hip, tapping a claw tip against the plating in a sharp click in hope of catching the mech’s attention (unless he had already generously granted it). If Windshield obliged him, Starkrieger’s helm would turn ever so subtly to favor an optic, side-eying the grounder. Either way, if he didn't spook the mech, he would address him.

“This lighting does you little justice, Schönling." Suggestion dipped into the compliment, playful without the sting of degradation. Usually, he would have allowed the words to linger, to grant himself time to enjoy the other’s reaction. It was the initial response that suggested what kind of game would be the most amusing; however, Krieg had a different priority. “ I don’t suppose you would like an excuse to leave base?“

[Windshield]

Alone.

It felt good to be alone after all of that.

After Patch. Nokta. Placebo.

No one to spoon-feed him guilt, snark, or advice. For a blessed moment, he could just...tune it all out. This time, he did not even need circuit boosters to help. Not that it would stop the craving. Still, this shaded corner he'd taken to occupy was his and only his and that was all he needed sometimes. He cupped a small cube of Energon in his left hand as a human would a glass of scotch and imbibed slowly.

It was a long, long intake. He seemed to have enjoyed it, closing his optics briefly. When he opened them, they caught the glimpse of an approaching stranger. Taller than him. Similar coloration but not the same. No orange, red in place of purple. Wings. Armed. Probably a Seeker.

What could he possibly want from him?

Without giving anything away, he set the cube of Energon on a small table. The soft amber-hued circles in his eyes slid from the front to the side, regarding the arriving Decepticon with the fullest attention, but his body did not move or twitch, remaining still in its smooth perfection—one observed all too closely by the other mech.

Before he could return the favor, the Seeker was upon him, staring one side-eyed look to another. He addressed Windshield with an unfamiliar term. Was it a human language or off-world? He did not know but nonetheless chose to focus on it over the obvious compliment to his appearance. But then it was followed by a question.

Oh. Was that a pickup line?

He could not tell for certain...but it amused him. Besides, he'd heard worse. His impassionate expression turned into a weak smile. He did not enjoy being disturbed but, like so many things, he would not let it show. Windshield respected the play too much to do otherwise. Many would not be so bold as to approach someone who clearly wished to be alone. And a daring move such as this deserved an answer.

"Maybe," he mused idly, lifting a single brow, "Can you make it worth my while?"

His voice was sober but gave off the impression of cautious interest. And that smile of his? It was not a smile at all, it was a smirk. This stranger wanted or needed him for something badly enough to flatter him, and Windshield knew he could leverage his worth.

[Deleted]

    Backbeat was having a good day. His mild obsession with human broadcasts had payed off. He'd gleaned a good bit of information on a new supply of materials off a human news broadcast and had already started to scheme. He’d hopefully be able to use this new to fill the coffers a bit and impress the brass, but he knew he couldn’t pull a job like this alone. His last escapade had proven that. 


    As he wandered down to the mess hall for lunch, Backbeat was lost in thought. While he’d managed to steal enough metal from the last operation to momentarily appease the various demands the different departments had, but Backbeat knew it wasn’t a sustainable approach. After all, for every truck carrying something useful there were about five carrying meaningless garbage. It was not economical in the long term to hunt trailer trucks in the desert. Considering intercepting human shipments was a rather ingenious way of reducing costs, he'd been loathed to abandon the idea. A military raid on human civilians had a far lower resource cost than a resource extraction team. The problem became one of frequency and enemy response time. Get too greedy or lingering too long courted disaster. It could easily trigger an enemy response, after all. As he thought back to the reports he read, a dangerous idea crossed his mind. He briefly considered the benefits of using one of his "hunts" to draw out MECH. Since whatever radical tech MECH was playing with might prove useful to the war effort and more importantly profitable to him. He pushed that idea down though, as he’d need to workshop that scheme further before even considering it. Instead, he turned his mind back to reviewing his current work. The Nemesis was grounded, to abandon it was unthinkable. It would be a moral victory for the Autobots where that to happen. Hence his current work to secure materials to repair it. While he couldn’t source the electronic components easily, this planet did have enough adequate metals to repair superstructure.


He'd lined up a big target that was perfect… He just had one slight problem; he couldn’t do it alone. Sure, he could round up some Vehicons, but those human crime biopics had inspired to seek out those with talent and skill. Besides, if the Autobot did catch on to his little plan, he wanted to make sure he had the muscle to insure anyone dumb enough to interfere “slept with the fishes”.

So, when he turned the corner and entered the room, he looked for said muscle. He quickly spied a familiar face, and internally weighed his options. Backbeat considered the Seeker enough of a known element to approach with a business opportunity like this. Quickly he snagged his Energon rations and slowly wandered over to see what the Seeker was up to. As the logistician strode over refreshments in hand to join the conversation, he gave both participants a casual wave with a clawed hand. “StarKrieger, I see you’ve managed to escape the medical bay.”

[Starkrieger]

Every move could make an impression, the way that his target had settled the cube on the table, the small smile that morphed into a smirk. The grounder seemed to understand the nuances of control, taking charge by signaling that he had decided to receive the intrusion on his peace. Windshield’s expressions had been disarming, until it shifted it into something knowing. As he spoke, the other mech only confirmed that he was playing the game, and presented an interesting dilemma. He was skirting a line, one that usually made it easy for the Seeker to decide between being the ‘aggressor’ or evading and baiting his target to be proactive.

“Now Sweetspark, why would you want me to do that?” His rations were tipped to one side and then the other. “As it stands, you can get a reprieve from the hard labor of resurrecting the nemesis”, he offered words in idle leisure, letting the appeal sink in, before the corner of his own smirk twitched in further amusement. “not to mention a chance to show off your speed und… obvious talents.” If the mostly monochrome red of his optics prevented Windshield from sensing the way their focus pointedly moved along those smooth curves, the purr in his vocals should have sufficed.

Pausing briefly to lift his energon, lingering just shy of taking a sip. “Why not enjoy yourself, while leaving me in your debt?“ The sip was taken, before he boldly set his cube on Windshield’s table. Yet, despite his claims on the space, he didn’t complete the act of intrusion. Remaining standing, he was respectful of the fact that he had not been invited to join.

Smirk softening, his wings drifted lower, as the light of his optic dimmed once more, but what suggestive sentiment he was about to issue was lost. Backbeat, in that moment, crossed into the threshold of his sensors. His wings perked, angling to better read the person closing in from what otherwise would have been a blind spot.  He didn’t need to move to monitor the approaching mech, but he did. His helm turned to aim an audial towards Backbeat, as if it explained him being noticed.

“Not planning on putting me back there, I hope.” A playful dig, light with just enough bite to suggest familiarity A single step back, allowed him to pivot half way, enabling them to better acknowledge the newcomer. It was all the time it took for him to cycle through different impulses. Sadly, he would see how it played out, rather than mess with the other flier, with some comment about attempting to poach the mech at the table from him. As amusing as that would have been; he had a more precise goal in mind than seeking distraction. Driving Windshield off didn’t play into reaching that goal.

[Windshield]

He did not mind being admired. His good looks were about all he had left these days and it soothed a tumultuous mind to know he "still had game," as the humans say. But that is where the pleasant side of things ended for Windshield. None of the sentiment went further than the surface level, and although he put on a smile for his company, nothing touched his Spark, which remained remote as ever. But more to the matter at hand...

With a second entrant into the conversation, seemingly one familiar with the petitioner whom he addressed as "Starkrieger," his optics shifted briefly as if to take a measure of the situation in unseen ways and processes. Starkrieger. It was not the oddest name in so far as Decepticons went. He would remember it.

Then, he moved a step away from the table, leaving aside his rations for now.

"Friend of yours?" He asked, turning his head briefly to face Backbeat. He did not recognize him. Must have been a recent arrival. For a while, he looked on with his absent, golden gaze. More practical, this one. Less stylish but not revolting by any means. Did he perhaps work in some sort of industry? His make looked familiar. Whatever he was, whatever his purpose was, he was no grounder...but not a Seeker either.

Questions abounded about how these two individuals knew each other, but Windshield would not press that line of inquiry now. Considering what he was about to say next, they would have the time to get properly acquainted later. Placing his left hand on the hip, he shifted his weight to the matching leg and spoke in a mildly curious tone per Starkrieger's previous claims: "Anyways, I'm not opposed to making myself scarce from here. Whatever your excuse is, it'll be as good as any if I can give my wheels a spin."

He did not mention the proposed "debt" again but nonetheless made the mental note to keep it firmly in his processor for future use. One could always use more friends, be it for work or idle diversion.

[Deleted]

He held up both his clawed hands, jokingly pretending to be offended. “Hey how was I supposed to know that red and blue buffoon would interrupt our little operation?” He shrugs. “Besides, we escaped with the loot, didn’t we?” He eyed the other Decepticon in the room. Backbeat then clapped his clawed hands together. “I take it you’re both not opposed to a little mayhem and mischief?” Backbeat added, clearly planning something. His clawed right hand lazily spun in its socket as Backbeat raised it. The spinning stopped as Backbeat seemingly opened the hand to reveal a datapad (via some quick sleight of hand). He held it up and pointed to the images on the screen. “I’ve got a new business venture, and I’m looking for a little… Muscle.” The images appear to be of shipping routes of large quantities of oil. The route has a variety of spots circled in red.


Backbeat held on that, waiting for a response to gauge before he continued. On paper it was a good idea to approach Starkriger. He was a known element and as the seeker didn’t try to involve Starscream again, Backbeat felt the bot was reliable. He hoped to avoid the mess that occurred on his last operation. The odds that the Autobots or MECH would interfere was high... But the logician figured that so long as the job went quickly and efficiently, they could avoid being caught. Hence seeking out skilled labor.  The new guy, however, was an unknown element. Backbeat would have to keep optic on him sure, but if the guy wasn’t some kill crazy loon or monosyllabic bumbler, it was no real concern. 

[Starkrieger]

“Ja, but we had to use most of it to piece me back together.” Despite the newness of the encounter with the Prime, Krieg seemed ready to find humor in it. He’d had closer calls, and there were more pressing matters to dwell on. Regardless, the arrival of his ‘friend’ wouldn’t steal his full attention from the Con he’d been propositioning. What value would a Seeker, who could only keep tabs on one target have? Windshield’s question easily redirected his focus, his smirk softening.

“We had a short… but eventful partnership.” Off handed, he flipped his servo in casual dismissal of the event. He would be happy enough to regale the grounder, if he so desired, but his offer had been for action, not to talk the poor mech’s audials off. Besides, prioritizing talking over listening would have risked missing Windshield accepting the invitation. Despite the confident lift his chassis maintained, his wings perked gently. Whatever he was going to say in return was lost to Backbeat following up with an announcement.

With a flourish of a wrist, the rotary flier produced a data pad. His skill at the slight of hand nearly made it seem that he had a bizarrely placed subspace compartment. Impressed or exasperated, Krieg didn't show signs of an emotional response. Instead, his helm angled, so the Seeker favored an optic, the same as his armed side to look over the display.

“Hmm? Another raid against the organics… ” The cooling of his disposition had little to do with Backbeat, or even his plan, but the shift in concentration from social to actively on a mission, not so dissimilar to the previous time they had worked together. “ I think your venture will suit my purpose..” Reaching, he lightly tapped the edge of his cube before reclaiming the remainder of his rations. Indeed, while he hadn’t yet figured out how to get to MECH, the Autobots were easy enough to antagonize by merely existing. Actively acquiring resources was bound to be worthy of their notice. If none showed up? They wouldn't return to base empty handed.

Rather than move the cube towards his face, he tipped it to essentially point it at Backbeat. “Provided, my new companion agrees. '' Manners were due after all, and speaking of which... "I don't believe I caught your designation, Schönling"

[Windshield]

While the other two conversed, Windshield busied himself with observation, more daring now. He began to pace, move about, circle his companions once and ever-so-briefly. — Like a wildcat or a carrion bird or a venture capitalist looking to invest. Invest what? Time? Resources? — Or just effort? — Arms crossed, the torso inclined forward at a slight angle, helm jutting forth, tilting to one way, then the other; all this done in mere seconds with a graceful, serpentine motion, a feline slink. He let them talk, present themselves in the brisk few seconds they had before the tall one, this Starkrieger, made him the center of attention again. — He was present now.

"Designation is such a boring word," he grumbled back at that clamoring term in long, drawn-out syllables — with some degree of indignation. "My name is Windshield." He spoke faster now, at an almost normal tempo; but the name — the word "name" meant something more. He gave it an undue space to linger, an emphasis unwarranted, or one made for reasons unknown; reasons they would not learn today.

He straightened up. Bright amber optics stared up at Starkrieger with the half-lidded look of someone who only pretended to care. Those golden eyes, they were not interested in compliments or pretty nicknames or alien terms of endearment, but they were beautiful nonetheless — and terribly, terribly strange; They were the kind of eyes one could get lost in for hours upon hours and not glean a single glimpse of the spark behind them — and when those hours had passed, one could also discover only far too late that the amber stole away with a little piece of their spark, too — a piece they would never get back.

Those were the terms on which this Decepticon would be properly met, on which he would speak his name, that unimpressive nom de guerre fit perhaps only for the Speedia 500. Windshield. A name almost as trivial as the "designation" he loathed so much. — He did not bemoan its simplicity. — Instead, having been met, he continued in the time-honored Decepticon tradition of scheming with his comrades-in-arms.

"Like I already said," he continued at once, "I'm in as long as I get to drive."

"...And I'm not reduced to clinging onto a flier for escort." This part went unsaid in the spirit of getting along — or perhaps it was the spirit of self-sufficiency and autonomy. Whoever else he may have been, Windshield also cared about his agency — his choice, his own ability. As long as he got the final say, he would go anywhere, do anything; never mind now the debt he has been promised mere moments ago. He would collect it one day, too — when it felt appropriate.

The illusion of control made him feel safe.

He kept his arms crossed, a plague-cross on the door. Do not open it, do not pry further. He would be the one asking questions now. Now.

Now...

"Now... What was this about — muscle?"

There was virtually no emotion in that question safe for a middling curiosity. The words were but an imitation of a true question, an aftertaste of a real individual — one which nonetheless insisted on the self, on his own defenses. Those crossed arms and those suffocatingly apricot-voidal eyes. They were staring at Backbeat now, seeking answers. They did not judge his intentions or request, they had not the capacity, and their remote candlelight hue signaled comfort, an invitation to speak openly by the warm wax-flame.

[Deleted]

Backbeat leaned a crooked head forward as he replied to the two Decepticons, clapping his clawed hands together. He'd been rather cautious in his movements, hoping to slowly build connections and accomplices before masking any big plays. Of course, he'd not realized the state Decepticon forces were in on Earth till after his arrival. All in all, he'd need to put out all the fires before he could do anything.

After a moment of panicked searching he found the data pad he had with the map. He activated it and held the diagram up to the two Decepticons. He poked a clawed talon at an area on the map. "It has come to my attention that a shipment of Oil, and heavy machinery is being shipped through here in a couple days. Specifically, in about three days it will pass a rather empty area of Canada's rail system between Lynton and Fort MacMurray" He moves the clawed hand to point at a small section of rail and eyed the two Decepticons with his green optics.

"The plan will be to stop the train here. and quickly unload the supplies for pickup. While that's being done you two will be on hand to deal with any unfortunate interference." He gives a throat slitting motion as he said that. "Thankfully I expect this will be far enough away from the usual stopping grounds that I'm not expecting a repeat of last time." He chuckled at that, no leaving anything to chance after all. He'd picked the most economical option after all. 

[Starkrieger]

“Name then”, he allowed, still baring a smirk, his optics dimming faintly. “I should have taken you for a less formal mech.” The self chiding was delved out easily, though he didn’t sound too upset with the apparent misstep. Starkrieger wasn’t one to apologize where he didn’t feel he was in the wrong, and he suspected that this sleek framed grounder was using it as a means to 'stand his ground'. It was adorable, and had the Seeker thought the other was trying to exert too much dominance over him, he would have pushed back. In this case, he could afford to be polite and ‘Windshield’ had proven to be worthy of a little back-and-forth.

That Windshield’s game might be on a different level than his own neither occurred to him, nor would it concern him if it had. He had certainly noticed the glean of his optics; how could he not? They were entrancing, and their unique coloration added to his appeal… However, Starkrieger believed himself beyond the reach of such snares. His spark was not free to be given.

As Backbeat got down to business, Krieg observed his enthusiasm, he had to say, he became rather animated when it came to his ventures. It was interesting to watch, not that he wasn’t focused. No, on the contrary, his attention shifted to the map, taking in the landmarks, while listening to the plan.

“I trust you intend to maintain cover? I don't care to needlessly offline civilians… regardless of species”, he stated this plainly, without any hint of disgust or judgement one might expect from a mech that felt the need to make this known. Starkrieger was well aware, sometimes there was a greater good at stake. Sometimes, when there was conflict between doing what needed to be done, and standing by one's convictions, it was the latter that must give. However, it was not a given… and as Backbeat had likely been thrown off the last time that he had ‘failed’ to dispose of the trucker, it was best that the other mecha understood, a minor tussle with The Prime had changed nothing.

“We can get going, once you gentlemech are ready.” What remained of his own were easily downed, being little more than a swallow. He could wait to drop the emptied cube into a receptacle. It wouldn't do to rush the other mecha through their refuel, or whatever else needed to be sorted out between them.

[Windshield]

The honey-eyed mech remained silent, but raised a brow at the final comment of this Backbeat fellow.

Last time...?

What happened last time?

Ah, but there were many last times among the Decepticons.

Bad days and terrible missions that didn't go so well. Windshield could only hazard a guess, but dared not do it, not out loud at least. — And so, he just stood there like an impression on the wall. A cat-like figure in the wings who was neither here nor there. He'd almost become, in the brief time that the two other mechs spoke, a setpiece to their conversation. He seemed no more alive than the half-drank cubes and cups and glasses around the room. No more than the chairs and the tables or the rolling signboards.

Then, he said something himself again and shattered the illusion of fading.

"We can go... I'm already done anyways."

The words were passionless.

He stared back at his rations for a moment longer — a cube he left half-empty — and set off towards the exit without so much as giving it another second of his time. On his way out, his optics briefly glanced upward at one of the mechs, the seeker, and then the other.

"You can finish it if you want," he said and then he was gone.