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.
“Shockwave.” Barricade said the other mechanism’s designation with such complex hatred that in the wake of a single word there was very little left to the imagination. Barricade’s EMF went ragged immediately, the controlled calm of his electromagnetics dissolving into a rawer, meaner spike of utter loathing and the infiltrator revved and heated with rage. “The smelt-eating glitcher intercepted my comm. for pick up and slaggin’ tried to hack me coming through the bridge.”
The Saleen growled, vocalizer striated with static and physical desire for revenge. It hurt how much he would have liked to rip Shockwave apart and it hurt more how un-fragging-likely that was to happen. The scope of Megatron’s ambitions didn’t allow for dismissing a resource like Shockwave. The colossal machinations of Shockwave’s intellect made him invaluable to the Decepticon war machine. Admitting the attack with anything less than Megatron’s express refusal to intervene was all that made it possible for the infiltrator to speak now.
And it was still difficult.
Barricade bristled physically. “He didn’t get anything but junk memory data and sensory logs, but I don’t want Soundwave in my head. I don’t want anyone there right now.”
Nothing for a moment, and then Megatron stepped into arm's reach and rested a curved hand on Barricade's shoulder. The contact point synchronised their frequencies automatically, conveyed calm assurance that this would go no further at the younger mech's wish, and generally just felt good through a comfortable and comforting interplay of personal system and spark energies. "Alright then."
A complicating turn of events, but Shockwave was his concern - not his Infiltrator's. He'd manage this himself in the only way that Shockwave could be 'managed' - with astounding care.
Withdrawing the touch, Megatron's optics brightened with a corresponding twitch across the line of his mouth, and he rotated his hand in a glancing sweep through his subspace. He held out the handful of gummie sticks to Barricade, the strong charge of potent High Grade seeping up from the discoloured cylinders.
Fairwinds may have designed the production equipment, but undercarriage talons and wings did not do well for construction. He'd taken on that component of her childish project, and the fact of his involvement in the production of energon gummies was classified in the cassette's processor on pain of death. After building the stupid thing, like slag wasn't he going to see if a High Grade-derived syrup would go through it.
"These, and an extra ration for your auto-repair," he instructed flatly. "I need you in high form for this attack."
The Mustang accepted the reassurance with less anxiety than he’d anticipated, certain through no evidence but his own instincts that Megatron would not confront the scientist. He warily allowed himself to relax a bit.
“Fairwinds built a candy machine e in your closet." Barricade said this while smirking massively, adding it to his ‘Things I Can’t Tell Anyone About Megaton Or He’ll Slag Me But Hard’ list. It was a sizable list now – consequence of being the warlord’s long-time infiltrator and not having the courtesy to die and take all his secrets to the Well with him. He took the handful of gummies and examined them, thinking vaguely that such a tiny thing like energon based gels and foods of any sort, once common as Seven Eleven candy to humans, took the contrivances and effort of a rare chemical. “By the way, bribing your officers with rations and energon gummies is decidedly Autobot way to boost morale, but I applaud thinking outside the physical abuse box, effective at that is…”
He popped one in his mouth. “Has punching subordinates gone out of style since I’ve been gone…?”
Last Edit: Dec 14, 2011 14:54:19 GMT -5 by Deleted
Megatron met the smirk with a desert-dry one of his own. "I'd advise you to ask Sniper about that, but I doubt that what's left could answer."
Barricade's remarks were barbed and underscored with a comfortable level of mocking that only he could get away with in the face of the Decepticon Commander and Warlord. They were not insinuations of weakness, which was why Megatron tolerated them from this particular mech.
By reputation he was a monster, and that conviction was accurate against the litany of war crimes and genocides that could be personally attributed to him. He'd heard rumours that he fueled only from the bodies of captured Autobots, brought to him from cells on demand to be drained whilst seated in his throne. That his berth was built from the melted frames of Neutrals and downed with the soft metal of their younglings. That his bestial lust was the reason there were so few femmes left.
Ridiculous as the vast majority of the stories told of him to scare little Autobots were, even more ridiculous was the notion that he was a monster all the time. Away from the troops and those that expected constant, terrifying strength and 'evil', Megatron was still largely mortal (blood of Unicron aside). He functioned far better on a late finish than an early start, still had music recordings from the Golden Age that he enjoyed listening to, and enjoyed waxing and polishing Fairwind's wings almost as much as she did.
After hundreds of years of carefully avoiding allowing a mutual attraction to develop into something that could threaten the Decepticon cause, Megatron had allowed Barricade into this private world without unease or apology. It was a priviledged position, intimate, as was the larger mech taken back a single tube to eat himself.
"I do not bribe: I order, command, and - " A swipe of his thumb across the corner of Barricade's mouth, removing a smudge of gummie. "Favour."
Barricade smirked, a lazy wavelength moving through the sync and flux of his electromagnetics, ignoring the bit about Sniper the ill-fated data-bot. He’d personally warned that fragger to keep his jacks out of ports he shouldn’t, specifically told him what Soundwave, what Megatron, what any self-respecting Con was capable of doing to a traitor. Mechs that could do treachery well didn’t get to live in the Decepticon ranks... unless of course Megatron thought it was funny. Case and point: Starscream.
“Well, then it’s good to be favored,” drawled Barricade, EM field meshing and tangling lazily with the other mechanism’s. He should have been leaving now to requisition Scatterdust’s best stealth flyer for surveillance… but like any good soldier he would gladly take any CO approved downtime… contrary to popular believe the Decepticon leader could be exactly like any other transformer. The Saleen smiled laconically, tilting his head. “So…” He paused, smirking. “Does that mean I get extra down time, you know, since all these workplace hazards are getting to me? You’re scientists jumping me in the hallways, Autobot leaders trying to kill me.”
Megatron's optics flickered in the Cybertronian equivalent of an eye-roll, the long ridges of his brow arching dramatically. "I'm going to need more than the average perils of living on the Nemesis to let you lounge, Barricade."
“Damn,” said Cade, vaguely flippant. He half turned toward the door. “Guess I’ll just have to get back to work. I need to get eyes on Jasper Nevada. I think we have a squishie weak point worth exploiting one last time before the Bots start getting more paranoid about protecting it.” He folded his arms, looking back up at the warlord, an anticipatory grin on his face. “I’ll lounge after the Bots are dead.”
Last Edit: Dec 15, 2011 17:39:48 GMT -5 by Deleted
A matching smile, edged with the points of teeth and something else that sharpened the line of Megatron's mouth. His field curled forward, tangling and pulling at Barricade's in almost tangible touches. "No you won't - not for several joors, at least." He nodded towards the door, optics lifting. "Full decontamination after you deal with the human. They spatter, and then they rot in your vents."
“But they just squish so satisfyingly,” said Barricade with relish, clearly enjoying the slide and sync of electromagnetics against his own field, in no appreciable hurry to stop. That said, he sobered abruptly after a moment, a hum rising from his engine. “There’s still a lot of work to get done. I’m perfectly functional as long as Soundwave keeps his cables to himself. Shockwave didn’t do any real damage so much as try to make a point. He… does that.”
Cade glowered.
“At the end of this mission I’d appreciate never having to deal with Shocky’s style of estimable charm. Can that be arranged? Preferably with an Abrams tank launched out an airlock…”
"Soundwave has been called off - there will be no further disruption to your preparations," Megatron assured quietly, his mind already occupying itself with Shockwave.
The scientist was valuable and dangerous on a long leash - these were two indisputable facts. With his intelligence and strength almost a match for the warlord's own, Megatron had determined that the only way to keep Shockwave from making a real bid for power and complete control was to keep him from wanting to. Distractions with his own projects, a degree of free reign within the ship, and a close personal scrutiny from himself in addition to Soundwave's usual watchfulness.
When the war was over, however, Shockwave would no longer be needed. The conflict would not end immediately - there would be other Autobots who would not accept defeat even with their last Prime's head displayed to them on a pike. They would also need to ravish this world, and likely others, to fully replenish the Nemesis, and insectoid as the natives were, they did possess a few weapons that would cause problems. He would not need Shockwave for any particular skill for all of that; would not need to nurse his acquiescence and counterbalance the risk of his presence with his usefulness.
For now, however, and until Optimus was a dry husk of grey, Megatron still needed Shockwave, and it could never be so simple a matter as telling the scientist to back off from the Infiltrator. But there were always ways around such difficulties.
Thumbing the keypad to open the door for Barricade, Megatron issued his reply through the sparkbond. Shockwave will be my first priority when Optimus Prime is no more - on my word, my alligned.
Glad to hear it. said the infiltrator, moving past the warlord into the hall. Shooting him once was satisfying. Blowing him out an airlock into the center of a sun should be at least five times more fun.
Barricade had every intention of dropping the conversation there and returning to his duties but to his surprise he felt a question dragging at his vocalizer, powerful enough to make him stop. He turned around a moment, a kind of reluctance in the sub-sonics of his voice. “I’ve never asked. When the Bots are dead… what will you do with the Phantom?”
Last Edit: Dec 16, 2011 22:05:27 GMT -5 by Deleted
Megatron's helm cocked as if the query surprised him - as if Barricade ought to have already known. "It's your ship, 'Cade. Fairwinds will be extracted, the weapon that poisons energon deactivated, and then the Phantom is entirely your own." A quirked smile. "I already have a ship."
Barricade didn’t move for a long moment, trying to gauge the warlord because for whatever reason that had not been the answer he’d expected. The dark armored Saleen turned back around to face Megatron fully, tilting his head.
“You’d deactivate it?” he said, EM field taking on an edge of wary disbeleif. “Just like that? Optimus Prime dies and you’ll dismantle the weapon that won you the war? One of the last pieces of discovered Fallen weaponry and you have no plans to use it to keep… rivals under control or keep the sway of power in your servos? You’d just… let me decide what to do with it?”
"I have no intentions of destroying the weapon - only neutralising it so that it cannot be used against us," the larger mech clarified with a flicked claw. "As for you, Barricade, though you delivered this ship to me as a loyal Decepticon for the Decepticon cause, it recognizes you as its pilot and master. If you do not agree with that statement, then accept that I am giving it to you." Interpret that as you will.
Megatron paused, optical ridges twitching together in a suppressed frown, and it wasn't until Barricade's field merging so effortless with his own turned sharply questioning that he went on: "Optimus Prime's greyed body will be an infinitely more powerful weapon than that of the Fallen in neutralizing the few remaining Autobots that may try to oppose me. I will not need the weapon to maintain power, and if those that are left will kneel, I have no wish to destroy them."
Barricade nearly opened his mouth to say something, felt the words code into the complex circuitry of his vocalizer but just as fast the confession formed it faded again and he said nothing. It would be pointless, he rationalized to himself as he ironically saluted and walked away, it would be pointless to bring up what will have no affect on the future. The warship would belong to him and his fears – to his great surprise – had been unnecessary. Megatron would dismantle the weapon systems after Prime’s spark vented itself to aether, this world destroyer of a machine would never see the horizontal curve of another planet and if he wanted to he could delete the failsafe from his processor and there would be no consequence.
Unless, said some part of the infiltrator, hardwired and cold, he’s lying. Or more likely: he changes his mind. What would you do then?
He didn’t delete the datafile from his hard drive.