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.
Sniper's system came online with a low, electronic hum. System interface opened up with a few error messages, easily dismissed. And a couple of crimson flickers later, the ominous circles that were his optics, would light proper, even if not as vibrant as before. Dental plates snapped together as his processor begun feeding him latest memory files. Megatron, Soundwave, sand, something yellow - it was all a big blur that would have to be dissected. The last thing Sniper could clearly recall was the horror Soundwave had fed to his processor. Such humiliation - it would not be forgotten.
When his sensors begun to come online, Sniper narrowed his optics beneath a light. It seemed far too bright before his sensors adjusted and he was able to tell a little bit about his surroundings. A green helmet turned. Light glided on the smooth surface.
This was not the Nemesis.
Somehow, it was as much of a relief as it was a reason to worry. Sniper felt his slow sparkpulse spike upon this realization. He tried to move - but it was no use. His gaze glided down to his limbs, which were in a surprisingly good condition considering how Megatron had nearly ripped them off. But at the moment, the topmost of Sniper's concerns was that he was, in fact, in restraints. An uneasy flicker flashed in the spy's narrow optics and he grimaced. A low growl emerged from his vocalizer.
Autobots? Yes, it must be. Sniper remembered the pair of blue optics now.
‘I think he’s coming online.’ The murmured chirp-whirr came from a short distance away, just outside the medbay. Just beyond the haphazard pile of crating (still acting as the only privacy between the medical berth and the rest of the base) the restless hum and whine of anxious engines could be heard revving with frustration. Bumblebee, the mech causing all the mild ruckus ‘Shadow, Ratchet’s not here right now/is recharging. I just want to talk to him for a minute. Please, Shadow I know you’re mad, but think Sniper could…’
The scout trailed off doorwings drooping at the withering EMF pulse she flashed at him. Clearly, the intell bot was not pleased with him for dragging the ripped up Decepticon to base. Doing so when Ironhide smashed Barricade unconscious against a wall was fine, but dragging one in for repair was clearly different. ‘Shadow, he was dying and he’s potential data source. You can’t be mad about me bringing him here…’ Obviously she could. ‘Look, I just need five minutes. Really.’
Disgust snapped out through the seething anger in Shadow's field like a slap, directed firmly at the yellow scout. "He was dying, he wasn't your slagging problem, and you violated base security for him anyway! For a slagging Con. And now you're trying to cover your aft claiming he's a potential data source, when all he is is a risk and a potential plant."
Her hands clenched tight at her sides, optics flaring bright with rage. "And after you dump such an amazingly irresponsible load of crap on us, I'm supposed to trust your judgement about this?"
Bee cringed, EMF flinching back from Shadow’s and flattening against his frame as he shrank away from her. For a stunned moment he didn’t know what to say because he’d been prepared to accept some flack for bending rules but given the circumstances – a Con clearly tortured by his own, too damaged to function, dying – there was little to no risk of said Con being a security breach. No more than Barricade who was one of Megatron’s most lethal and wriggly officers. His doorwings rattled slightly, the scout clearly shaken.
‘I didn’t bring him here because he’s a source, I brought him because it was the right thing to do…’ Bee’s plates bristled. ‘AND because he could be a source. We don’t leave other mechanisms to die like that/hacked/in agony. We don’t.’
"He's a Decepticon, Bee. You might have noticed over the past few centuries they've spent slaughtering us that they're the enemy." She pushed forward as Bee drew back, raw aggression in both her EMF and her body language. "If you were so worried about him suffering, you should have just put him out of his misery, not brought him home like a lost turbo puppy."
"Foremost," Prime's voice only just proceeded him as he entering the room from the large doorway near the two bots. He glanced over to the "medbay", his height allowing him to see over the makeshift wall and to the awakening mech within. "He is a Cybertronian. He will be given the opportunity to speak for himself, then the decision of what to do with him will be made. He was found dying, perhaps betrayed by his own. If this is true, considering current events, I feel it would be in our best interest to know why. " Prime's optics traveled between the scout and the spy, but finally came to rest on Shadow.
"And everyone deserves a second chance, if one is desired."
‘Sniper stole data from Soundwave,’ added Bumblebee, attempting to appeal to Shadowrunner’s function class prerogatives. Intelligence being her forte, it would follow that she would at least see the injured Con as a potential tactical advantage to be exploited… even if that motive alone was not as Autobot pure as it could be. Necessity and morality just happened to go hand in hand this time (an exceptionally rare case!) and Shadow’s protest of that worried him. Like doing good and doing what needed to be done were mutually exclusive.
‘It’s better than forcing Barricade to give up information by threatening/beating/killing him. If we can just have a Con give us the data, wouldn’t that be better?’
A part of Shadow recognized that Bumblebee's argument was sound; unfortunately, it was utterly overwhelmed by the anger and betrayal crackling through her circuits. It slid black through her EMF, balanced on the razor edge of deliberate cruelty as she asked, "Do you really believe that? Or are you just playing back the Autobot party line to convince yourself you aren't turning into Megatron?"
The edge on Prime's EMF was enough to cut through both of the two mech's as Prime flared his field harshly. "Enough," he rumbled, optics narrowed at the dark femme. "Such comments are completely inappropriate and totally uncalled for. Bumblebee's actions so far have been completely justifiable." He paused for emphases before turning to Bee, "This mech told you he had information of Megatrons? Can you be certain he is not lying?"
‘He was completely glitching/in pain/dying. I have no idea if what he said was true.’ Bee hesitated, optics still lingering on Shadowrunner – like he’d just now seen her for the very first time standing there with hatred seething in her electromagnetics – but the steady pressure of Optimus shunted his hurt and worries aside for that moment. “However, the fact of it is no one on the Nemesis could have done such a scramble but Soundwave so it followed Soundwave had a reason to hack him insane. It was personal and nothing is personal to Soundwave like his own intell.[/i]’
Bee shrugged. ‘Whether he has useful information about the Decepticon’s plan of attack or the Fallen war ship… I don’t know. There was no time to ask and I told you already the other Decepticon, the femme flyer, appeared to be breaking rank to help him.’ Bee still didn’t know what to make of it. The whole scene made no sense to him still.
Shadow's field flared back against the press of Optimus's - something she never would have dared under normal circumstances - but she held her silence until Bee finished speaking.
"How does this not reek of setup to you?" There was still an edge to her voice, though she had reined it back from the mean-spirited snarl of earlier. "Decepticons aren't known for their compassion, or for putting their own mesh on the line to help each other. Why would one of them break ranks to help you with a cast-off piece of Con scrap?"
A low hiss emerged from the spy's throat when let his tense limbs settle again - as though he had given up on trying to free himself. But rather, he has been distracted by the talk that was taking place not-too-far from him. The lime green helmet settled against the berth, his optics gliding the the general direction of the foreign voices. Only two of them, the spy could recognize, even without a proper visual. His expression grew a tad more composed upon concentrating.
Optimus Prime. And ... Bumblebee, was it? Sniper couldn't remember clearly enough. And in addition to these two, there was also a female voice - which didn't sound only the most alien. but also the most hostile to him. Sniper had never been a lady charmer - especially with the Autobots, oddly enough. A broken flicker would occur in his optics as he boosted power to his audio sensors.
'He is a Decepticon, Bee.' For a moment, Sniper's processor draw blanks. No, he wasn't. Not anymore. This thought got a slight grimace to tug the corners of his mouth, but no significant expression would make its way to his face. The mentioning of both the Decepticons and Soundwave would flush a set of recent memory files through his processor. His claws moved to form tense hooks by his restrained form.
'Why would one of them break ranks to help you with a cast-off piece of Con scrap?' Sniper's vocalizer gave out a broken sound - one that sounded strange even to him.
"To rebel?" the spy's voice was crippled and glitchy. "I see it is not a foreign concept..," a broken whir forced the spy's vocalizer, and he grimaced slightly, the color of his optics dimming for a moment. "..in your ranks, either."
Bee’s EMF flashed in a kind of irritated, ‘I told you so’ manner at Shadowrunner – not in the sense that Sniper was to be trusted, but rather that the Con had been stirring awake as they spoke. He was surprised that Sniper was in quite the shape that he was considering all the pieces of him Ratchet had been forced to weld, graft, patch and solder back together (all of which he’d done at volume, gritting his dentals, looking furious) but ultimately the Autobot medic had come through. No Bot rebuild framework and circuitry like Ratchet but having Blaster around to code flush some of the nastier virals from Sniper’s logi-tech had been, Bumblebee was certain, the only reason Sniper was aware and not fragging, screaming, psychotic right now.
And there was still no guarantee that would last.
The scout glanced briefly at Optimus, then moved past Shadow with a final baffled look and into the medical bay. ‘Sniper.’ His tonal frequencies were quiet and uncomplicated. ‘How are you feeling/doing/what’s your status?’
Last Edit: Dec 18, 2011 2:31:44 GMT -5 by bumblebee
It was peculiar, hearing his own name from the vocalizer of an Autobot - spoken in a manner that was not hostile. Sniper blinked slowly, his optics fixing on the yellow paintjob he remembered. Bumblee. Yes, the 'Bon from the desert. He had been of help - because of which Sniper couldn't decide how to react to him. There was just a reserved expression and a crimson red gaze. A silence followed. Sniper narrowed his optics at the young scout, deep in though for a moment - as though he was considering if answering would be safe.
His vocalizer glitched again with a sharp whir that made him cringe slightly before any audio could be fed out. There was a tiny grimace on his face, as though he would have been in pain when the whir occurred.
"I have-," another silent glitch. "-I have been in less humiliating places in my life." The tone beneath his broken voice was composed, even if a slight trace of hostility shone through it. He considered it his best defense at the moment. "...but I am intact."
Last Edit: Dec 18, 2011 3:28:42 GMT -5 by bumblebee
‘Don’t rush/push yourself too hard,’ said Bumblebee, a genuine chirp-blurt of concern in his Basic. ‘I saw what you looked like/your damage before. Our medic put you back together but none of those welds will hold if you move too much.’ He held up a servo palm up, gesturing vaguely that the (former?) Decepticon just relax. From the ripple of recognition in those sullen optics and the flux of his EMF, Bee knew the mech recognized him so that was good. No immediate memory loss and he seemed to have a very clear (very angry) idea of where he was and why.
Bee kept his voice even, his EMF steady and ungraurded. ‘Can you tell me/us what/why this happened to you? Do you need/want anything?’
Last Edit: Dec 18, 2011 3:25:45 GMT -5 by bumblebee