Ep 1 - The City of Roses (Closed)
Jul 26, 2014 12:01:46 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 26, 2014 12:01:46 GMT -5
Ghost threw himself under the gravel with the practiced roll of someone who's had cranky machinery spit shrapnel at him way too often and calmly realized he did not have the firepower for this. He made the assessment not in fear, or anger, or any emotion at all. It was exactly that: a sizing up of the situation so he'd know whether he could stay and fight, or if bolting was the best option.
Bolting was looking like the only option. The 'Butt had him on mass and height, and while his armor likely could be breached, he wasn't sure he had the time for it; unbid, a quote from some of the human literature he'd been sneaking on the side whenever conduit work turned into processor-numbing routine came to him.
Bolting, however, could not come until Mister Utmost was safe, or at least until Ghost had made a report-able effort to get him to safety. And he still couldn't see what backup the 'Butt might have brought with him; there could be two or twenty more mechs waiting for a clear shot behind the dull green behemot, not to mention he couldn't see Dart, and who knew if the Vehicons and their swag were safe or engaged in another firefight ...
He came to his feet in more or less the same motion that he'd used to roll under the gravel. His back stung and his neck was readily mentioning that it Did Not Like The Current Situation.
But he was on his feet, in a tunnel, and the --
-- the 'Bot's chest was knocking.
He's got a passenger.
"'Bot's got a rider!"
Ghost had meant to keep the fight high, and purely defensive; he could leap over and up from each and every swing of that mace and those fists while he stung away at the 'Butt's hide. In the blink of a spark he threw the idea, and his previous assesment, entirely by the wayside, because the big guy was either packing a cassette or a human, and they... oh, they would not be nearly as well-armored as him. He didn't have to get through the Autobot's armor - just through whatever part of it was protecting the add-on. And if it was a human, not even that: they were surrounded by pipes and lines - electricity, hot steam, potential caustic volatiles. Their little tidbit of world was suddenly full of weaponry capable of sneaking past seams like heavy armor wasn't even there.
Ghost rolled again under the mace, fully expecting his attacker to reverse his swing and ready to scramble away - the 'Butt had proven he was fast, and this was his weapon of choice. He wanted to keep his aiming vectors high, though, and that meant aiming from his knees. He put his shot just shy of the big guy (unless he ducked into it for some reason) and straight at the pipes overhead. He meant to sever them and shower the biggest target in the area with their hissing contents - hot steam, at least. Possibly vented exhaust.
Bolting was looking like the only option. The 'Butt had him on mass and height, and while his armor likely could be breached, he wasn't sure he had the time for it; unbid, a quote from some of the human literature he'd been sneaking on the side whenever conduit work turned into processor-numbing routine came to him.
If your opponent has you by fifty pounds, winning a fight against him is a dubious proposition, at best. If your opponent has you by eight thousand and fifty pounds, you’ve left the realm of combat and enrolled yourself in Road-kill 101. Or possibly in a Tom and Jerry cartoon.
Bolting, however, could not come until Mister Utmost was safe, or at least until Ghost had made a report-able effort to get him to safety. And he still couldn't see what backup the 'Butt might have brought with him; there could be two or twenty more mechs waiting for a clear shot behind the dull green behemot, not to mention he couldn't see Dart, and who knew if the Vehicons and their swag were safe or engaged in another firefight ...
He came to his feet in more or less the same motion that he'd used to roll under the gravel. His back stung and his neck was readily mentioning that it Did Not Like The Current Situation.
But he was on his feet, in a tunnel, and the --
-- the 'Bot's chest was knocking.
He's got a passenger.
"'Bot's got a rider!"
Ghost had meant to keep the fight high, and purely defensive; he could leap over and up from each and every swing of that mace and those fists while he stung away at the 'Butt's hide. In the blink of a spark he threw the idea, and his previous assesment, entirely by the wayside, because the big guy was either packing a cassette or a human, and they... oh, they would not be nearly as well-armored as him. He didn't have to get through the Autobot's armor - just through whatever part of it was protecting the add-on. And if it was a human, not even that: they were surrounded by pipes and lines - electricity, hot steam, potential caustic volatiles. Their little tidbit of world was suddenly full of weaponry capable of sneaking past seams like heavy armor wasn't even there.
Ghost rolled again under the mace, fully expecting his attacker to reverse his swing and ready to scramble away - the 'Butt had proven he was fast, and this was his weapon of choice. He wanted to keep his aiming vectors high, though, and that meant aiming from his knees. He put his shot just shy of the big guy (unless he ducked into it for some reason) and straight at the pipes overhead. He meant to sever them and shower the biggest target in the area with their hissing contents - hot steam, at least. Possibly vented exhaust.