Ep. 1.5 - Cause and Consequence - (Closed)
Mar 24, 2013 21:40:24 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Mar 24, 2013 21:40:24 GMT -5
<< OOC note: Set first week of Month Two! >>
He no longer remembered when this had stopped being a calculated risk and become a routine.
It required patience - the patience to wait until the sun had set and the Autobot base had been lulled into its evening rituals of scheduled recharge cycles and nightly patrols. The base was quieter then, a little more uninhabited. Those who were not out on survey work in the surrounding desert were resting in their quarters, or perhaps engaged in friendly conversation over drinks in the common room. He did not really know what the other Autobots did in their spare time. Never made the effort to find out. Their camaraderie would go uninterrupted by his footsteps in the corridor, quiet and measured.
They were not in the hallways. And they were not in the Control Room, which was what really mattered.
Fortress Maximus had his own ritual for nights like this one. In his darkened quarters he sat on his berth and methodically walked through the checklist. It went something like this:
Energon levels were in the green. Backup levels good. All systems cycled, recycled - all clear. Scanners checked out, all radar and sensors operating within acceptable parameters. His rifle was stripped, cleaned, reassembled - loaded with a fresh power cell. Locked. Clipped into place at the small of his back, tested to ensure its security. Emergency locator - still functioning, still tuned into the correct frequency. Maximus hadn't needed it yet. Did not intend to need it tonight.
It was with grim purpose that he strode into the control room. For the moment it was empty, the lights within the old silo powered down to conserve power. Silence and shadows lay thick over everything. Somewhere high overhead a ventilation fan stirred restlessly, circulating air.
Without pause, Maximus made his way to the control monitors. He did not bother taking a seat but simply reached over the panel and touched the keyboard; the monitors sprang alight upon command. A moment later so did the ground bridge, illuminating the room in green light.
His co-ordinates were chosen at random from a list of Nevada locations. Made him harder to track. Maximus locked them into the system and turned to the portal.
Let's see where they would take him tonight.
----
It was dark on the other side.
Maximus stepped from the bridge and glanced upwards. Stars glittered in the night sky from horizon to horizon. He stood back and looked around himself. Formations of rock loomed about him. In the distance he saw a cragged mountain range. Dust wandered in the desert breeze, through tufts of dried grass and small, gnarled trees. So he was somewhere in the wasteland then. Good.
He inhaled deeply, his vents drawing in the cool, crisp night air. What are you doing, said that quiet ghost in the back of his neural net. Why are you doing this. Ignoring it was part of the ritual too. He stood with his red optics closed and his hands gripped into fists until its voice had faded and his diamond-hard locus of purpose had returned to him, the conviction that what he was doing was cold, it was terrible- but it was right. This was not revenge. It was justice for the dead.
He transformed into his tank-mode and the dust swirled about him as his engine rumbled to life.
Time to get to work.
----
He found what he was looking for an hour later. Or rather, they found him.
Maximus kicked hard, letting his greater weight and momentum swing the Vehicon jet through a whining half-circle. He hit the earth a moment later, his own impact driving him into a crouch. The drone plunged into the desert behind him and smashed into a ball, tumbling and scattering debris. One of its wings had torn free in his hands at the end of its fatal arc. He it hefted it like a hatchet as he wheeled on the rest of the Vehicon patrol. Good. This was better than any gun. Fewer moving parts.
It wasn't sharp, but it sheared into the next drone between its neck and it shoulder before lodging somewhere mid-chassis. The Vehicon stiffened and whirred in its throat, its red visor flickering. Maximus tore it apart the rest of the way with his hands and flung the halves aside, spattering the earth around him with twin crescents of black gore. The next Vehicon hesitated with its weapon raised, and thus signed its own death warrant.
And as he felt his fist crater into its face and smash it to the desert floor Maximus felt something deep in his spark snarl in joy. This was what he had suffered and endured for. His rage, crystalised into a weapon. His humiliation, his pain - extracted for this. This moment, and a lifetime of vengeance to follow.
He no longer remembered when this had stopped being a calculated risk and become a routine.
It required patience - the patience to wait until the sun had set and the Autobot base had been lulled into its evening rituals of scheduled recharge cycles and nightly patrols. The base was quieter then, a little more uninhabited. Those who were not out on survey work in the surrounding desert were resting in their quarters, or perhaps engaged in friendly conversation over drinks in the common room. He did not really know what the other Autobots did in their spare time. Never made the effort to find out. Their camaraderie would go uninterrupted by his footsteps in the corridor, quiet and measured.
They were not in the hallways. And they were not in the Control Room, which was what really mattered.
Fortress Maximus had his own ritual for nights like this one. In his darkened quarters he sat on his berth and methodically walked through the checklist. It went something like this:
Energon levels were in the green. Backup levels good. All systems cycled, recycled - all clear. Scanners checked out, all radar and sensors operating within acceptable parameters. His rifle was stripped, cleaned, reassembled - loaded with a fresh power cell. Locked. Clipped into place at the small of his back, tested to ensure its security. Emergency locator - still functioning, still tuned into the correct frequency. Maximus hadn't needed it yet. Did not intend to need it tonight.
It was with grim purpose that he strode into the control room. For the moment it was empty, the lights within the old silo powered down to conserve power. Silence and shadows lay thick over everything. Somewhere high overhead a ventilation fan stirred restlessly, circulating air.
Without pause, Maximus made his way to the control monitors. He did not bother taking a seat but simply reached over the panel and touched the keyboard; the monitors sprang alight upon command. A moment later so did the ground bridge, illuminating the room in green light.
His co-ordinates were chosen at random from a list of Nevada locations. Made him harder to track. Maximus locked them into the system and turned to the portal.
Let's see where they would take him tonight.
----
It was dark on the other side.
Maximus stepped from the bridge and glanced upwards. Stars glittered in the night sky from horizon to horizon. He stood back and looked around himself. Formations of rock loomed about him. In the distance he saw a cragged mountain range. Dust wandered in the desert breeze, through tufts of dried grass and small, gnarled trees. So he was somewhere in the wasteland then. Good.
He inhaled deeply, his vents drawing in the cool, crisp night air. What are you doing, said that quiet ghost in the back of his neural net. Why are you doing this. Ignoring it was part of the ritual too. He stood with his red optics closed and his hands gripped into fists until its voice had faded and his diamond-hard locus of purpose had returned to him, the conviction that what he was doing was cold, it was terrible- but it was right. This was not revenge. It was justice for the dead.
He transformed into his tank-mode and the dust swirled about him as his engine rumbled to life.
Time to get to work.
----
He found what he was looking for an hour later. Or rather, they found him.
Maximus kicked hard, letting his greater weight and momentum swing the Vehicon jet through a whining half-circle. He hit the earth a moment later, his own impact driving him into a crouch. The drone plunged into the desert behind him and smashed into a ball, tumbling and scattering debris. One of its wings had torn free in his hands at the end of its fatal arc. He it hefted it like a hatchet as he wheeled on the rest of the Vehicon patrol. Good. This was better than any gun. Fewer moving parts.
It wasn't sharp, but it sheared into the next drone between its neck and it shoulder before lodging somewhere mid-chassis. The Vehicon stiffened and whirred in its throat, its red visor flickering. Maximus tore it apart the rest of the way with his hands and flung the halves aside, spattering the earth around him with twin crescents of black gore. The next Vehicon hesitated with its weapon raised, and thus signed its own death warrant.
And as he felt his fist crater into its face and smash it to the desert floor Maximus felt something deep in his spark snarl in joy. This was what he had suffered and endured for. His rage, crystalised into a weapon. His humiliation, his pain - extracted for this. This moment, and a lifetime of vengeance to follow.