Ring of Fire
Oct 12, 2014 21:06:42 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 12, 2014 21:06:42 GMT -5
Part One
"Roll call!"
The call to duty echoed through the ruined atrium. Once a splendid hall of luxury for the high caste, the abandoned edifice was now an Autobot forward operating base. A rather vast hole in the domed ceiling was the most obvious sign of damage besides the crumbled columns and shattered walls that were strewn across the lobby. A purple neon light flickered in vain over the bar.
Voltrax's Crown Casino
Something stirred behind the bar and empty containers rattling around could be heard. A red and gold bot rose slowly and shook dust off his chassis.
"Nap time's over, guys, you heard the lieutenant."
Bots all over the lobby began to stir as they awoke from recharging. Many began mumbling and groaning as they sluggishly got to their feet.
"It's been like...two cycles"
"Barely got any rest,"
"My backstrut still hurts..."
As their weariness wore off, the group of bots began shuffling over towards a heavy looking door in the back of the lobby. It was almost entirely frosted glass save for the faded lettering in the middle that denoted it as the management office. The door was riddled with cracks and bullet holes, the largest holes being the size of a fist. The first of the bots to arrive at the door swung the heavy door open and held it for the others to file in. When all had entered, they lined up single file with arms held behind their backs. A burly looking, maroon colored bot was sitting in a regal chair, his feet up on the desk. In one hand he held a lit cygar, in the other a glowing data pad.
"'Bout time you protoforms got in here," He flicked sparks off the cygar without glancing up. "Name off, Fire Squad."
"Wildfire,"
"Icefire,"
"Crossfire,"
"Rapidfire,"
"Balefire,"
"Retrofire,"
"......Firefire!"
The bot behind the desk look up with narrowed optics.
"Where in the Pits is-" The bot was cut off by the sound of clattering feet. A bot hurriedly shuffled his way into formation. The others already in line shot the newcomer a confused look.
"Spitfire," He said in a hurried and nervous voice. Spitfire stared blankly ahead as if trying not to offend any further.
"Right," The maroon bot said slowly. "I expect you to be here on time from now on, is that clear?
"Yes sir, Hellfire, sir." Came the embarrassed reply.
"Good," Hellfire looked back to his datapad. "Anyway, good news, cupcakes, you've got a mission. A group of Neuties has gotten themselves cornered at the Nova Cronum spaceport. As we are at the Iacon border closest to Cronum, our higher ups have ordered us to intercept the Decepticon forces on their way to slaughter them."
Placing the cygar back into his mouth, Hellfire removed his feet off the desk. After a long drag, he spoke again.
"Orders are simple enough. Kill the 'cons, don't let any Neuties die. Makes us look bad." He looked around, slightly agitated. "Well what are you waiting for? Go on, git." Hellfire waved his hand in a dismissing fashion. The line of bots turned and exited the room. With a heavy thud, the glass door closed behind him.
"Alright guys, you heard the boss, head on out," Said the blue and white bot known as Icefire. The most stealthily inclined of the group, Icefire was lankier and weaker than the most. This lead to his specialization as the group's sniper, evident from the large scope position over his right optic. In fact, his particular squad had been sparked at the same time and came from the same batch. Therefore they were placed into one team, each individual basically the same though some were clearly better in certain skills than others. They even looked remotely the same, only varying in size and color scheme: their chassis were all nearly the same build. The group had been together since the beginning and considered themselves a cohort. And any outsider could see that. The one called Spitfire lagged at the back of the group as they headed out, still embarrassed over his late arrival to role call. A scarlet colored femme further ahead of slowed down as to catch up with him.
"Hey," She said in a kindly tone. "What was that all about?"
"Oh," Spitfire gave her a quick glance. "I was up on the roof. It...took some time to get down."
"Why were you up on the roof?"
"No reason, guess I just wanted a look at the view." Spitfire said with a small smile.
"What view, Spitfire? Think the rubble has changed since yesterday?" She teased.
"Ha ha, very funny, Wildfire."
"Alright, I forwarded everyone the coordinates." Icefire announced to the cohort. The group began to simultaneously transform into their altmodes; the vehicles were all identical save for color. With a revving of engines, the troupe took off at breakneck speeds.
The roads connecting Iacon and Nova Cronum were deserted and sprinkled with debris. There was nothing but eerie silence that was occasionally broken up by distant gunfire. It seemed that nowhere on Cybetron was safe from the war. Every inch of the planet was perpetually swallowed in it. For now, the convoy was safe.
"What's the strategy for today, Retrofire?" A voice pondered across the private comms of the cohort.
"Well, Balefire, the intel we have is that the Neuties are currently scattered. That makes them easy targets. I figure we should...split up. It would take too long to track them all down if were one big glob of bots." The thought of breaking up the cohort was an uneasy one. The squad always worked better together, but Retrofire was a sound strategist and his plans had never lead them astray before.
"I've already designated areas for all of us, so we...uh, should probably get going." The cohort shared pulses of hesitant agreement between themselves before they began to peel off in different direction.
Spitfire had taken the task of searching the hangers. The humongous metal buildings seemed safe enough, and if he were a bot in search of cover, he'd go and hide in there as well. Spitfire had arrived at this destination not a few minutes prior, and the hangars of the forgotten spaceship port were expectantly creepy. Only the wind whistling through holes in the metal sheets and loose plates clanging around could be heard. Spitfire did not like this one bit, especially with him being alone. Rarely did the cohort split up like this, and Spitfire felt naked without them around. Still, he searched the nooks and crannies of the hangar for the wayward Neutrals.
clang
Spitifre whipped around to the source of the noise. A metal container had been knocked over. Spitfire's hand transformed into a flamethrower's nozzle, the cohorts specialty weapon. He jogged over to the fallen crate, weapon at the ready. The box was seemingly empty. A stack of similar containers just behind the crate was most likely where it fell from. A gut feeling lead Spitfire to peer over the crates.
And bright, panicked optics peered back at him. A Neutral. The bot clenched in anticipation and said nothing.
"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay! I'm not here to hurt you!" The Neutrals optics only widened. "It's okay, I'm here to protect you, I swear!" In a show of good will, Spitfire transformed his flamethrower back into a hand. He waved it around to show it was no longer deadly.
"See? Not gonna hurt ya," Still the Neutral's optics remained petrified in their shocked gaze. It was only after inspecting the Neutral's chassis did he realize that the bot had been injured.
"Hey, are you ok? What hap-" A shadow suddenly loomed over both of the bots. The size of the shadow indicated the size of the bot as being humoungus. How in the Pits did this big of a bot sneak in? Spitfire was frozen with fear but managed to turn his head in order to get a look at the trespasser.
His optics widened in shock.
"....slag."