[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Arrival of the Whirlybird (Open)
Dec 18, 2017 14:10:35 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Dec 18, 2017 14:10:35 GMT -5
(Week 2 Day 2)
A spaceship orbited high above the Earth. It had no faction markings, and was a blocky, unimaginative mass of bars and metal. It was what was inside the ship that was far more important - because any Cybertronian would recognise it as a prison ship. They were staffed with more neutrals than Autobots.
In the Head Warden's office, a rather worn-out Protectobot shuffled files while watching the tall, lanky blue convict across from him - a single yellow optic centered in his absence of a face, wrists locked firmly in stasis cuffs, his ankles too, and his hands long replaced by heavy, lobster-like claws made of dead metal. The skinny Whirl was all sharp edges and awkward movements, his frame giving the impression that he had all too many elbows.
"Well, Whirl, I'm sorry to say all the paperwork's passed," he told the mech, sounding tired, "I don't know who paid for your lawyer, but while I can't say I'm sorry to be rid of you, I feel sorrier for the poor bastards down on that planet."
Whirl let out a low chuckle. People were always trying to get a rise out of him, something to make him blow up so that they had an excuse to give him a thrashing. That was prison. Mechs too gutless to be real soldiers took jobs making sure prisoners couldn't get away. They were surprised at how often they failed. Whirl didn't let any of it go. He just stored up all those names on a nice long list. Becoming a Wrecker had allowed him to cross many names off that list.
"But Optimus Prime said he wanted to have every wandering Autobot join the battle on Earth," the Warden completed, "And since you're technically a free mech, that includes you."
Whirl let out a whoop of joy, jumping to his feet, "YEAH! RIGHT OUTTA DIS HELL-HOLE!" Too many thousands of years spent on this ship. Some mechs might say they didn't know how to live on the inside. THat was a pile of scrap. He wanted to get out and back to knocking names off his list again. Or perhaps knocking off the names on his list.
He was pushed back into his seat, and grunted in irritation.
"There are a few conditions to your release, Whirl," the Head Warden told him, "THe operation on Earth is covert. You're first required to find an alt-mode that will blend in..." he shuddered. Whirl blended like a fireworks factory in an orphanage.
"Earth, huh..." Whirl turned to look at the blue planet, not exactly paying attention. The languages of the planet had been uploaded to him, "I like da colour."
"And you're not allowed to harm the native sentient lifeforms," the Warden completed.
"Whatever you say, buddy!" Whirl agreed cheerfully. In truth, they both knew that Whirl would do whatever he felt like doing. Or, from Whirl's point of view, he'd do whatever he thought was right.
"Now get to the drop-off capsule," the Warden told him. The blue mech was walked out of the office by a couple of guards.
***
Whirl's stasis cuffs had been removed. His weapons reactivated and his confisticated equipment returned to him. The release pod was ready, although it was too small for somebody of his height, really. They were simply programmed to land somewhere solid. Once in, all you did was press a button and you were free from the ship, although it wasn't what you'd call an escape pod. More of waste disposal, really.
"Hey! What about my other stuff? You know, all dat crap you guys said was in storage?" he asked the guards, tilting his head in that birdlike-manner he so often used.
"Those Decepticon heads you were carrying when you were dragged in?" one sneered, disgusted, "Real Autobots don't take trophies, Whirlybird."
"Huh," Whirl tilted his head, "It's... Two-Ton, right?" he asked the neutral, "I got news for ya, buddy..." He grabbed the neutral by the back of the head, and slammed his forehead into one knee, "Dat's for last week's thrashin'!" Then he turned to the other guard, and kicked him neatly between the legs, "And dat's so's you got company!"
Both neutral guards were left whimpering on the floor from the painful, dirty attacks. Whirl squeezed his skinny frame into the pod, and pressed the big red release button. He liked buttons.
***
About an hour later, the pod crashed down. It bounced several times, drove a trench deep enough to plant three tons of potatoes, and finally rolled to a stop.
The door was kicked outwards, and Whirl stepped out, excited and eager at his newfound freedom. He had no idea where he was; it seemed he had landed almost in the middle of nowhere. Mountains surrounded the area.
Whirl wasn't aware of the landscape, but he had touched down in the Scottish highlands somewhere.
He sent out a generalised signal for attention to any Autobots on the planet, including his location. Currently he was holding back the signal on his name, though.
A spaceship orbited high above the Earth. It had no faction markings, and was a blocky, unimaginative mass of bars and metal. It was what was inside the ship that was far more important - because any Cybertronian would recognise it as a prison ship. They were staffed with more neutrals than Autobots.
In the Head Warden's office, a rather worn-out Protectobot shuffled files while watching the tall, lanky blue convict across from him - a single yellow optic centered in his absence of a face, wrists locked firmly in stasis cuffs, his ankles too, and his hands long replaced by heavy, lobster-like claws made of dead metal. The skinny Whirl was all sharp edges and awkward movements, his frame giving the impression that he had all too many elbows.
"Well, Whirl, I'm sorry to say all the paperwork's passed," he told the mech, sounding tired, "I don't know who paid for your lawyer, but while I can't say I'm sorry to be rid of you, I feel sorrier for the poor bastards down on that planet."
Whirl let out a low chuckle. People were always trying to get a rise out of him, something to make him blow up so that they had an excuse to give him a thrashing. That was prison. Mechs too gutless to be real soldiers took jobs making sure prisoners couldn't get away. They were surprised at how often they failed. Whirl didn't let any of it go. He just stored up all those names on a nice long list. Becoming a Wrecker had allowed him to cross many names off that list.
"But Optimus Prime said he wanted to have every wandering Autobot join the battle on Earth," the Warden completed, "And since you're technically a free mech, that includes you."
Whirl let out a whoop of joy, jumping to his feet, "YEAH! RIGHT OUTTA DIS HELL-HOLE!" Too many thousands of years spent on this ship. Some mechs might say they didn't know how to live on the inside. THat was a pile of scrap. He wanted to get out and back to knocking names off his list again. Or perhaps knocking off the names on his list.
He was pushed back into his seat, and grunted in irritation.
"There are a few conditions to your release, Whirl," the Head Warden told him, "THe operation on Earth is covert. You're first required to find an alt-mode that will blend in..." he shuddered. Whirl blended like a fireworks factory in an orphanage.
"Earth, huh..." Whirl turned to look at the blue planet, not exactly paying attention. The languages of the planet had been uploaded to him, "I like da colour."
"And you're not allowed to harm the native sentient lifeforms," the Warden completed.
"Whatever you say, buddy!" Whirl agreed cheerfully. In truth, they both knew that Whirl would do whatever he felt like doing. Or, from Whirl's point of view, he'd do whatever he thought was right.
"Now get to the drop-off capsule," the Warden told him. The blue mech was walked out of the office by a couple of guards.
***
Whirl's stasis cuffs had been removed. His weapons reactivated and his confisticated equipment returned to him. The release pod was ready, although it was too small for somebody of his height, really. They were simply programmed to land somewhere solid. Once in, all you did was press a button and you were free from the ship, although it wasn't what you'd call an escape pod. More of waste disposal, really.
"Hey! What about my other stuff? You know, all dat crap you guys said was in storage?" he asked the guards, tilting his head in that birdlike-manner he so often used.
"Those Decepticon heads you were carrying when you were dragged in?" one sneered, disgusted, "Real Autobots don't take trophies, Whirlybird."
"Huh," Whirl tilted his head, "It's... Two-Ton, right?" he asked the neutral, "I got news for ya, buddy..." He grabbed the neutral by the back of the head, and slammed his forehead into one knee, "Dat's for last week's thrashin'!" Then he turned to the other guard, and kicked him neatly between the legs, "And dat's so's you got company!"
Both neutral guards were left whimpering on the floor from the painful, dirty attacks. Whirl squeezed his skinny frame into the pod, and pressed the big red release button. He liked buttons.
***
About an hour later, the pod crashed down. It bounced several times, drove a trench deep enough to plant three tons of potatoes, and finally rolled to a stop.
The door was kicked outwards, and Whirl stepped out, excited and eager at his newfound freedom. He had no idea where he was; it seemed he had landed almost in the middle of nowhere. Mountains surrounded the area.
Whirl wasn't aware of the landscape, but he had touched down in the Scottish highlands somewhere.
He sent out a generalised signal for attention to any Autobots on the planet, including his location. Currently he was holding back the signal on his name, though.