[ti]Ep 2[/ti] - Similar Interests - [Closed]
Apr 5, 2016 2:11:08 GMT -5
Post by Flatline on Apr 5, 2016 2:11:08 GMT -5
Episode 2 | Week 4 | Day 4
Free time was a rare commodity.
TRUE free time was even rarer.
With everything that was asked of him seemingly caught up, it left Flatline with a seldom experienced opportunity to exploit one of his leaves down to the planet. It was something that many on the Warship had access too, a few restricted outings to make sure the occupants didn’t lose their collective mind cooped up. Many exploited this to a fault, and others pushed their privileges to go out more than they should ((AKA Knock Out, the slacker)). Flatline however, hadn't really felt the need to do so particularly often.
The only times he really felt an overwhelming urge to leave, had been the times that he needed more raw metal and other materials for his side projects. This was however joined today by a new urge, one brought on by being trapped inside a metal cage hovering precariously in the air for a long time.
The Nemesis itself hadn't bothered Flatline too terribly much. He trusted the ship to stay aloft, and it was so technologically advanced that its movements were essentially invisible even to his heightened balance sensors. He only really became aware they were flying, when it had to bank a harder turn to get on a new course, or when he was in the process of working on something so minutely finicky and tiny that he had to compensate for the low rumble. Alas, Skywarp ruined this some.
Being atop the flight deck, convinced your about to fall to your death, can bring a new desire to set foot on solid ground. He had fought this for awhile, ignored the need to just... escape for a bit... but it was too much, and this is where Flatline was now. Trying to escape from the ship, and to unwind from a busy and frustrating week while still doing some work because OF COURSE... What is real relaxation?
Mounds upon mounds of metal were piled high, the mangled shrapnel and decrepit remains of objects that once were, creating silver and rust dunes that stretched across the immense lot. Some even spilled out into the neighboring areas, too much waste and far too much loss for the meager establishment to properly keep up with. There was but once piece of heavy equipment that wasn't part of the graveyard of machines and building supplies, its orange painted frame inert for the night, with hooked claws spread open and waiting for morning when it would be tasked to move thousands of pounds of the scrap metal to be processed and recycled. Beside it were some cars, stacked up atop one another, so damaged and battered their make was hardly recognizable any longer beyond the absolute basics, and what an occasional glimpse of an emblem could betray.
Flatline had to give the humans credit for something, and that was the fact they tended to pile things up in themes. Need to find some electronics? Well, there was some recycling plant that focused on exactly that. Needed raw metal to melt down to new uses? Well, places like this absolutely had the answer to that.
Calmly, the black and red Decepticon strolled into the vacant lot, his digitigrade legs cutting in front of one another with a careful stride edged in confidence. As far as he was aware, there was no one in sight, and no humans anywhere around. This wasn't going to be a repeat like the night he got his Alt-Mode, and he wasn't going to get looped into a brawl. All he had to do to protect the identity of his species was activate a transmitter he brought once he entered the vicinity.
The small device attached temporarily to his hip, sent out a pulse that should ideally fry any human cameras that could be acting as sentinel over the small treasure trove of metals. While the pulses where harmless to Cybertronian and most of their technology, the far more... primitive... and fragile earth components would find themselves shorting out before ever getting a clear view of the medic. This meant he would have all the time he needed, and not need to sneak around.
Now came the fun part.
Flatline's primary hand reached up, and curled beneath his jaw, clicking a forefinger down to tap over one of the protruding spikes in thought.
Where to start...
Free time was a rare commodity.
TRUE free time was even rarer.
With everything that was asked of him seemingly caught up, it left Flatline with a seldom experienced opportunity to exploit one of his leaves down to the planet. It was something that many on the Warship had access too, a few restricted outings to make sure the occupants didn’t lose their collective mind cooped up. Many exploited this to a fault, and others pushed their privileges to go out more than they should ((AKA Knock Out, the slacker)). Flatline however, hadn't really felt the need to do so particularly often.
The only times he really felt an overwhelming urge to leave, had been the times that he needed more raw metal and other materials for his side projects. This was however joined today by a new urge, one brought on by being trapped inside a metal cage hovering precariously in the air for a long time.
The Nemesis itself hadn't bothered Flatline too terribly much. He trusted the ship to stay aloft, and it was so technologically advanced that its movements were essentially invisible even to his heightened balance sensors. He only really became aware they were flying, when it had to bank a harder turn to get on a new course, or when he was in the process of working on something so minutely finicky and tiny that he had to compensate for the low rumble. Alas, Skywarp ruined this some.
Being atop the flight deck, convinced your about to fall to your death, can bring a new desire to set foot on solid ground. He had fought this for awhile, ignored the need to just... escape for a bit... but it was too much, and this is where Flatline was now. Trying to escape from the ship, and to unwind from a busy and frustrating week while still doing some work because OF COURSE... What is real relaxation?
Mounds upon mounds of metal were piled high, the mangled shrapnel and decrepit remains of objects that once were, creating silver and rust dunes that stretched across the immense lot. Some even spilled out into the neighboring areas, too much waste and far too much loss for the meager establishment to properly keep up with. There was but once piece of heavy equipment that wasn't part of the graveyard of machines and building supplies, its orange painted frame inert for the night, with hooked claws spread open and waiting for morning when it would be tasked to move thousands of pounds of the scrap metal to be processed and recycled. Beside it were some cars, stacked up atop one another, so damaged and battered their make was hardly recognizable any longer beyond the absolute basics, and what an occasional glimpse of an emblem could betray.
Flatline had to give the humans credit for something, and that was the fact they tended to pile things up in themes. Need to find some electronics? Well, there was some recycling plant that focused on exactly that. Needed raw metal to melt down to new uses? Well, places like this absolutely had the answer to that.
Calmly, the black and red Decepticon strolled into the vacant lot, his digitigrade legs cutting in front of one another with a careful stride edged in confidence. As far as he was aware, there was no one in sight, and no humans anywhere around. This wasn't going to be a repeat like the night he got his Alt-Mode, and he wasn't going to get looped into a brawl. All he had to do to protect the identity of his species was activate a transmitter he brought once he entered the vicinity.
The small device attached temporarily to his hip, sent out a pulse that should ideally fry any human cameras that could be acting as sentinel over the small treasure trove of metals. While the pulses where harmless to Cybertronian and most of their technology, the far more... primitive... and fragile earth components would find themselves shorting out before ever getting a clear view of the medic. This meant he would have all the time he needed, and not need to sneak around.
Now came the fun part.
Flatline's primary hand reached up, and curled beneath his jaw, clicking a forefinger down to tap over one of the protruding spikes in thought.
Where to start...