[ti]Ep 2[/ti]Breath of Fresh Air - [Closed]
Nov 5, 2016 0:37:06 GMT -5
Post by Carbine on Nov 5, 2016 0:37:06 GMT -5
Episode 2 | Week 4 | Day 4
Claustrophobic. Trapped. This base, this Outpost... it was so suffocating at times, and caged in its inhabitants like a tomb. No windows, no natural light, no feeling of being free... Well... there were spots where you could stretch your arms and not punch the ceiling, areas that you could move around some and reach out, but... even then it was still that same yellowed light of halogen bulbs, and the same stale air...
Carbine wasn’t a flyer, least, not in the true sense of the word. On Cybertron he was a hover car, and could fly minimally within a certain distance from a solid surface. It allowed him the maneuverability that was needed across uneven surfaces, and served him well as an officer of the law. He liked the wild movement of the chase, and liked the fresh air flowing through his vents. He hungered for the freedom being on the job entailed, and being in this base, it... it was crippling almost. Double this up with the fact he was in so much trouble? And had dug his own grave in this team? And he wasn't really feeling to good.
He had to get out of here.
Carbine strode down the hallway to the Control Room, his steps wavering and a bit slow, hesitating every couple lengths to second guess what he wanted to do. In older days, he would have just done it. He would have just left the outpost to do what he had to, and in fact, he did so before when he first received his earthly alt-mode. He didn’t care about the rules in place, he didn’t CARE if MECH was a threat, he knew he wouldn't wonder far, and could cry for assistance if he neededit! But now... now he was questioning himself, and he didn't know what to do anymore. It stalled him, and made him feel uncomfortable. But he had to get out of here, he had to. He would snap if he remained caged, and who knows how badly that would go!
With a few wavered strides, he made his way to the Control room, looking around to see that it appeared to be empty and void. He was somewhat hoping someone would be there, someone he could focus his energy at to vent and distract himself, but at the same time he needed the void, so he could escape without being called out on it. It is because of this he hesitated only a moment, before he started a quick walk towards the tunnel that lead out of the Omega Outpost.
One step... two... a swift walk ramping up to a longer stride, a long stride mutating into a jog, a jog distorting into a run.
By the time Carbine reached the end of the hallway and the opening doors, he was at a full blown sprint, his frame canted forward, rotors pulled back, and helm lowered, arms pumping in front of him with sharp heaves to help lurch him with the speed he craved and needed. The sunlight that sliced through the dusty air of the hallway was so inviting, and the moment he made it outside it felt almost as if he was paroled out of prison again, sharp fresh air sifting into his vents, and newfound warmth pelting down against his dark armor.
His run didn't subside, it never let up, at least not until he was a short distance from the opened door, in which he kicked off of a rock and launched himself into the air.
On Cybertron he was a hover car... on earth he had no such option. But... the closest he could get was what he had to take, and learning what came with being a helicopter was a challenge, and scary. In the few months he had donned such a form, and had been forced to use it, he had learned much, and one of the most basic things all others seemed to be able to do, he couldn't readily muster. But practice at going into an alt-mode from a run was the only way he could try to manage it.
A familiar noise, the act of transformation, Carbine's frame lurched violently during his jump, and multiple components kicked into motion near instantly. The first to actively complete, was Bolo sliding down on his spinal strut and hooking into a new configuration, giving room for the rotor beams to collide together and slam start with an angry bang into motion. The rotors wobbled, they wavered in their lurch, and screeched momentarily in protest at spinning so abruptly, but it was needed, for by the time his frame finished its new configuration, they were spinning exceptionally fast...
But not enough.
A loud bang sounded out, the landing gear ramming into the ground with an angry squeal of the small tires trying to find traction. It caused the helicopter to lurch aggressively, wobbling the rotors more and disrupting their movement to dangerous levels. Instead of pushing it, instead of forcing himself to try to take off, they relented, and he rolled absently off to the side before transforming back, toppling down among the large bouts of dust and debris that were kicked up into the air. With a heavy thud, Carbine fell down to sit roughly on the ground, plumes of dust puffing from his vents. He looked beat down, his gaze peering blankly ahead at the rusty earth.
Someday he will be able to take flight from a run without a cliff... but today was now the day.
Claustrophobic. Trapped. This base, this Outpost... it was so suffocating at times, and caged in its inhabitants like a tomb. No windows, no natural light, no feeling of being free... Well... there were spots where you could stretch your arms and not punch the ceiling, areas that you could move around some and reach out, but... even then it was still that same yellowed light of halogen bulbs, and the same stale air...
Carbine wasn’t a flyer, least, not in the true sense of the word. On Cybertron he was a hover car, and could fly minimally within a certain distance from a solid surface. It allowed him the maneuverability that was needed across uneven surfaces, and served him well as an officer of the law. He liked the wild movement of the chase, and liked the fresh air flowing through his vents. He hungered for the freedom being on the job entailed, and being in this base, it... it was crippling almost. Double this up with the fact he was in so much trouble? And had dug his own grave in this team? And he wasn't really feeling to good.
He had to get out of here.
Carbine strode down the hallway to the Control Room, his steps wavering and a bit slow, hesitating every couple lengths to second guess what he wanted to do. In older days, he would have just done it. He would have just left the outpost to do what he had to, and in fact, he did so before when he first received his earthly alt-mode. He didn’t care about the rules in place, he didn’t CARE if MECH was a threat, he knew he wouldn't wonder far, and could cry for assistance if he neededit! But now... now he was questioning himself, and he didn't know what to do anymore. It stalled him, and made him feel uncomfortable. But he had to get out of here, he had to. He would snap if he remained caged, and who knows how badly that would go!
With a few wavered strides, he made his way to the Control room, looking around to see that it appeared to be empty and void. He was somewhat hoping someone would be there, someone he could focus his energy at to vent and distract himself, but at the same time he needed the void, so he could escape without being called out on it. It is because of this he hesitated only a moment, before he started a quick walk towards the tunnel that lead out of the Omega Outpost.
One step... two... a swift walk ramping up to a longer stride, a long stride mutating into a jog, a jog distorting into a run.
By the time Carbine reached the end of the hallway and the opening doors, he was at a full blown sprint, his frame canted forward, rotors pulled back, and helm lowered, arms pumping in front of him with sharp heaves to help lurch him with the speed he craved and needed. The sunlight that sliced through the dusty air of the hallway was so inviting, and the moment he made it outside it felt almost as if he was paroled out of prison again, sharp fresh air sifting into his vents, and newfound warmth pelting down against his dark armor.
His run didn't subside, it never let up, at least not until he was a short distance from the opened door, in which he kicked off of a rock and launched himself into the air.
On Cybertron he was a hover car... on earth he had no such option. But... the closest he could get was what he had to take, and learning what came with being a helicopter was a challenge, and scary. In the few months he had donned such a form, and had been forced to use it, he had learned much, and one of the most basic things all others seemed to be able to do, he couldn't readily muster. But practice at going into an alt-mode from a run was the only way he could try to manage it.
A familiar noise, the act of transformation, Carbine's frame lurched violently during his jump, and multiple components kicked into motion near instantly. The first to actively complete, was Bolo sliding down on his spinal strut and hooking into a new configuration, giving room for the rotor beams to collide together and slam start with an angry bang into motion. The rotors wobbled, they wavered in their lurch, and screeched momentarily in protest at spinning so abruptly, but it was needed, for by the time his frame finished its new configuration, they were spinning exceptionally fast...
But not enough.
A loud bang sounded out, the landing gear ramming into the ground with an angry squeal of the small tires trying to find traction. It caused the helicopter to lurch aggressively, wobbling the rotors more and disrupting their movement to dangerous levels. Instead of pushing it, instead of forcing himself to try to take off, they relented, and he rolled absently off to the side before transforming back, toppling down among the large bouts of dust and debris that were kicked up into the air. With a heavy thud, Carbine fell down to sit roughly on the ground, plumes of dust puffing from his vents. He looked beat down, his gaze peering blankly ahead at the rusty earth.
Someday he will be able to take flight from a run without a cliff... but today was now the day.
