Ep. 2 - I Heard It Through the Grapevine (Closed, Megatron)
Apr 17, 2015 1:57:34 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Apr 17, 2015 1:57:34 GMT -5
Takes place directly during/after Sanity Ran for the Hills, Week 1, Day 5.
Soundwave had expected many things when Roulette had pinged him from contact bare moments after 'bridging to the DMZ: immediate regret, smug baiting to be relayed to Shockwave, frantic instructions for actually finding the Neutral Zone's medics. Anything.
Anything but what he actually received.
Profound silence would answer the femme; it was Soundwave's lack of verbal communication, once again, coming to save him from communicating his shock too openly. A fractal tree of possibilities, none of them good, flourished through the 3IC's mind and splintered into potential outcomes, all of them even worse.
First things first, however. He sent an acknowledgment glyph in response to Roulette's communication; simultaneously, he typed into the ship's log and sent her an update on her orders, which were exactly as she'd specified: to stay and find out as much of the situation as possible, as well as to help, if allowed, in the search and recovery of said medic. To the report she was sending her he added a private addendum to remind her that, technically, she was Shockwave's personnel, not Soundwave's. If the Chief of Science really put his pede down, Soundwave might have to rescind those orders.
He didn't think Shockwave would do so, though.
Slender talons were flying over the console's keyboard. Several secondary processes were halted or canceled on the spot, all replaced with search protocols based on the odd visual information Soundwave had on Cleaver. To the search he attached the refined algorythms he'd developed to try and find the Autobots while sifting away similar, or even identical, human vehicles. It was not a perfect system, by far, but it at least meant he'd have to sift through a few hundred, not a few hundred thousand, images.
Report logged, copy sent to Roulette and search protocols enabled, Soundwave's talons came to an abrupt stop over the keyboard.
He was well aware that, ironically, he'd basically rebelled from being a butler to the wretched wealth of Cybertron only to whip about willingly become Megatron's butler. They were friends, yes, but that was because Soundwave never forgot the chains of command that bound them as they were. It was the butler in him that was loath to do what he had to, not out of fear of retaliation or anything of the like, but because as a friend he was fairly certain he was about to hurt Megatron.
He turned away from the console, opening a private comm. requesting Megatron's attention. Appended to the single-tone inquiry was his bare-bones glyph, bereft of his command titles.
::We have a situation. The DMZ medic has been missing for a week and there is suspected MECH involvement. No sign of last origin, no last message, and no body. Gonna snoop around for the remainder of my time and and see what I can discover. On a side note, my luck is fragging ridiculous.::
Soundwave had expected many things when Roulette had pinged him from contact bare moments after 'bridging to the DMZ: immediate regret, smug baiting to be relayed to Shockwave, frantic instructions for actually finding the Neutral Zone's medics. Anything.
Anything but what he actually received.
Profound silence would answer the femme; it was Soundwave's lack of verbal communication, once again, coming to save him from communicating his shock too openly. A fractal tree of possibilities, none of them good, flourished through the 3IC's mind and splintered into potential outcomes, all of them even worse.
First things first, however. He sent an acknowledgment glyph in response to Roulette's communication; simultaneously, he typed into the ship's log and sent her an update on her orders, which were exactly as she'd specified: to stay and find out as much of the situation as possible, as well as to help, if allowed, in the search and recovery of said medic. To the report she was sending her he added a private addendum to remind her that, technically, she was Shockwave's personnel, not Soundwave's. If the Chief of Science really put his pede down, Soundwave might have to rescind those orders.
He didn't think Shockwave would do so, though.
Slender talons were flying over the console's keyboard. Several secondary processes were halted or canceled on the spot, all replaced with search protocols based on the odd visual information Soundwave had on Cleaver. To the search he attached the refined algorythms he'd developed to try and find the Autobots while sifting away similar, or even identical, human vehicles. It was not a perfect system, by far, but it at least meant he'd have to sift through a few hundred, not a few hundred thousand, images.
Report logged, copy sent to Roulette and search protocols enabled, Soundwave's talons came to an abrupt stop over the keyboard.
He was well aware that, ironically, he'd basically rebelled from being a butler to the wretched wealth of Cybertron only to whip about willingly become Megatron's butler. They were friends, yes, but that was because Soundwave never forgot the chains of command that bound them as they were. It was the butler in him that was loath to do what he had to, not out of fear of retaliation or anything of the like, but because as a friend he was fairly certain he was about to hurt Megatron.
He turned away from the console, opening a private comm. requesting Megatron's attention. Appended to the single-tone inquiry was his bare-bones glyph, bereft of his command titles.