[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Into Darkness [Closed]
Oct 10, 2023 19:55:33 GMT -5
Post by Optimus Prime on Oct 10, 2023 19:55:33 GMT -5
Episode 3.5 | Week 2 | Day 1
The fall of one, marks the rise of another.
If only it could be found.
Multiple hexagonal screens sat above Omega One's Control Room terminal, its displays showing a range of wireframe imaging from graphs to topographic maps, as well as blocks of text with notes that were being made along the way. A bounding box to the bottom right constantly scrolled with Cybertronian glyphs, listing out skewed coding that could seem indecipherable to those untrained in what to look for. It was seemingly updating every few moments, though there was nothing that changed with each input, akin to applying the same order to a CMD prompt again and again looking for something new that had yet to be found.
The leftmost monitor held a generalized map of North America in its entirety, focused upon environmental basics, rather than any closer or more detailed data of note relating to the inhabitants of this world. Small boxes were overlaid atop specific portions, the tint of these varying depending on what it represented, though the most opaque and apparent were red rectangles that ran along coastlines at key points. These overlapped at a couple of spots, small data notes marking dates outside their outlines to differentiate.
A secondary map could be seen to the right of the overview, this one far more zoomed in to permit smaller and more relevant details to be highlighted. It listed out the names for particular geographical markers such as cities or state borders, while also displaying a wireframe of loops and rings to convey topographical elevations. A single dot stood out along the leftmost edge of the land mass slightly out over the sea, its position remaining stationary, though the map itself scrolled at a snail's pace to track its progress. At the moment, it was nestled about the midpoint of Oregon heading up towards Washington State, though beyond that was something of concern.
For as large as Earth could seem at surface values, in the grand scheme of things it was truly not that grandiose, and as such despite the many miles left to go, there was a sense of reserved tension that came on the heel of a red line that would show marking the border to Canada. Arrangements could be made. Certainly. Though it did not mean there was a desire to jump through the hoops in order to cross into that airspace cleanly, it one more thing upon a pile of stressors for a soul that was already growing tired and worn.
Cyan optics danced across the readouts, lightly flicking from one portion to another, favoring the data box that was throwing out its results every few moments. While Optimus trusted Jetfire's technology to work as intended, and he believed it would do so, there was naturally a sense of unease at not seeing any variations or notes at all during its entire use so far. All the trust in the world could not contend with impulse feelings, especially as it had yet to be proven out on the field as of yet. The mech was brilliant, however. He knew what he was doing, and just as the Prime asked others to put faith in him at some of their most difficult times, he had put utmost faith in him.
It would notify them if it was there.
If it even was along the path he chose.
Not only did time gift a level of tension about the technology, it also had the added curse of making him second guess the route he had mapped out for his Autobot to begin with. Perhaps it would have been better suited to scour the ocean's surface further from the mainland, or perhaps they should have started a grid over the deeper, more treacherous seas. If their sought target had fallen close to the shore, then no doubt it would have been reported, and Fowler had yet to raise such alarms. Though treating that as a blanket truth was illogical. There were regions that would feel no inclination of sharing such things with the United States, and would be perfectly content with keeping it in their own circles of power.
Some may assume the Matrix of Leadership would simply highlight the best decision for a Prime, yet it did not speak to him in such ways. Amorphic. Cryptic. Ideas over mere chunks of data presented to him to consider and utilize. It still guided in some form however, and he needed to assure himself that with their own presence being in Nevada, it stood to reason the Nemesis would not be on the other side of the globe, and that given what Starscream said, and lack of Fowler's alarm, it was undoubtedly within the ocean's domain.
He had to ground himself in the now.
Forcing himself back into the moment, Optimus' gaze drifted from the data box, looking once more upon the map that now revealed a few pixels of red marking the border to Canadian airspace. They had yet to cross the Oregon border, so it was certainly many miles out and a state away, though it was now visible, and in reply, he focused in on the Autobot marker, and the thin radial rings that pulsed away from it. Many beats of dead silence passed then, his attention drifting Northward at the topographical lines that quickly captivated his thoughts. The apertures in his optics flicked ever so slightly as they slowly focused in and out with an all too pointed stare that did not deviate.
The world around him was almost muted as he locked his vision where the elevation of the seabed dropped to a secondary level, surrounding audial cues from the clicking of the terminal itself, to the dull sound of Omega One as a whole bleeding away to be replaced by a sharper, even-toned note that moved from the back of his helm forward. It was as though everything had stopped for him, ghosted feelings speaking without words, that same presence that helped lead from afar, before he snapped back to reality and all the noises around him burst active once again.
A squared-off fingertip pressed a key to activate direct communications.
"Thundercloud. Change trajectory twelve degrees northwest."
The fall of one, marks the rise of another.
If only it could be found.
Multiple hexagonal screens sat above Omega One's Control Room terminal, its displays showing a range of wireframe imaging from graphs to topographic maps, as well as blocks of text with notes that were being made along the way. A bounding box to the bottom right constantly scrolled with Cybertronian glyphs, listing out skewed coding that could seem indecipherable to those untrained in what to look for. It was seemingly updating every few moments, though there was nothing that changed with each input, akin to applying the same order to a CMD prompt again and again looking for something new that had yet to be found.
The leftmost monitor held a generalized map of North America in its entirety, focused upon environmental basics, rather than any closer or more detailed data of note relating to the inhabitants of this world. Small boxes were overlaid atop specific portions, the tint of these varying depending on what it represented, though the most opaque and apparent were red rectangles that ran along coastlines at key points. These overlapped at a couple of spots, small data notes marking dates outside their outlines to differentiate.
A secondary map could be seen to the right of the overview, this one far more zoomed in to permit smaller and more relevant details to be highlighted. It listed out the names for particular geographical markers such as cities or state borders, while also displaying a wireframe of loops and rings to convey topographical elevations. A single dot stood out along the leftmost edge of the land mass slightly out over the sea, its position remaining stationary, though the map itself scrolled at a snail's pace to track its progress. At the moment, it was nestled about the midpoint of Oregon heading up towards Washington State, though beyond that was something of concern.
For as large as Earth could seem at surface values, in the grand scheme of things it was truly not that grandiose, and as such despite the many miles left to go, there was a sense of reserved tension that came on the heel of a red line that would show marking the border to Canada. Arrangements could be made. Certainly. Though it did not mean there was a desire to jump through the hoops in order to cross into that airspace cleanly, it one more thing upon a pile of stressors for a soul that was already growing tired and worn.
Cyan optics danced across the readouts, lightly flicking from one portion to another, favoring the data box that was throwing out its results every few moments. While Optimus trusted Jetfire's technology to work as intended, and he believed it would do so, there was naturally a sense of unease at not seeing any variations or notes at all during its entire use so far. All the trust in the world could not contend with impulse feelings, especially as it had yet to be proven out on the field as of yet. The mech was brilliant, however. He knew what he was doing, and just as the Prime asked others to put faith in him at some of their most difficult times, he had put utmost faith in him.
It would notify them if it was there.
If it even was along the path he chose.
Not only did time gift a level of tension about the technology, it also had the added curse of making him second guess the route he had mapped out for his Autobot to begin with. Perhaps it would have been better suited to scour the ocean's surface further from the mainland, or perhaps they should have started a grid over the deeper, more treacherous seas. If their sought target had fallen close to the shore, then no doubt it would have been reported, and Fowler had yet to raise such alarms. Though treating that as a blanket truth was illogical. There were regions that would feel no inclination of sharing such things with the United States, and would be perfectly content with keeping it in their own circles of power.
Some may assume the Matrix of Leadership would simply highlight the best decision for a Prime, yet it did not speak to him in such ways. Amorphic. Cryptic. Ideas over mere chunks of data presented to him to consider and utilize. It still guided in some form however, and he needed to assure himself that with their own presence being in Nevada, it stood to reason the Nemesis would not be on the other side of the globe, and that given what Starscream said, and lack of Fowler's alarm, it was undoubtedly within the ocean's domain.
He had to ground himself in the now.
Forcing himself back into the moment, Optimus' gaze drifted from the data box, looking once more upon the map that now revealed a few pixels of red marking the border to Canadian airspace. They had yet to cross the Oregon border, so it was certainly many miles out and a state away, though it was now visible, and in reply, he focused in on the Autobot marker, and the thin radial rings that pulsed away from it. Many beats of dead silence passed then, his attention drifting Northward at the topographical lines that quickly captivated his thoughts. The apertures in his optics flicked ever so slightly as they slowly focused in and out with an all too pointed stare that did not deviate.
The world around him was almost muted as he locked his vision where the elevation of the seabed dropped to a secondary level, surrounding audial cues from the clicking of the terminal itself, to the dull sound of Omega One as a whole bleeding away to be replaced by a sharper, even-toned note that moved from the back of his helm forward. It was as though everything had stopped for him, ghosted feelings speaking without words, that same presence that helped lead from afar, before he snapped back to reality and all the noises around him burst active once again.
A squared-off fingertip pressed a key to activate direct communications.
"Thundercloud. Change trajectory twelve degrees northwest."