[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Reminiscing [Open]
May 13, 2019 21:16:45 GMT -5
Post by Skirmisher on May 13, 2019 21:16:45 GMT -5
[Week 3: Day 4: 0140 UTC/ 8:40 AM Pacific Time Zone]
[Location: Earth: North American Continent: United States of America: Nevada: Jasper: Omega Outpost: Rec Room]
Having been operational the last few breems or hours as the local time went, the Enforcer had attempted a full recharge cycle throughout the nocturnal hours. The inner demons or memories -- a combination of his failure to protect Praxus and his own experiences throughout the War until now had occupied his processors. The blue visor had sparked to life allowing him to see the ceiling panels of his quarters, and though Skirmisher would have preferred having resumed the recharge cycle the Enforcer had known it would have resulted in another cycle with an incomplete recharge.
Having swung his legs over the side of the bunk, his pedes had firmly settled on the floor before he'd powered down the recharge slab or bunk. He'd always reactivated the bunk after having returned to his quarters in some vain attempt to seek an uninterrupted recharge cycle. Who had he been kidding? He'd allowed his city to have fallen, to his old Garrison being reduced to little more than rusted out hulls while he'd survived albeit in stasis and the realization he'd caused friction with the current Garrison hadn't escaped him either. The Truce had proven problematic, limiting with a bureaucrat's touch and while both camps had agreed to it the Truce hadn't been composed with an Enforcer's language in mind. He hadn't been discovered in the cycle the Truce had been agreed on, but he'd been on the planet nonetheless. He'd attempted to abide by it by placing his old prejudices behind, but hadn't been able to set his old coding to the side. Those thoughts he'd realized would have driven him mad if he'd continued pondering every outlook and possible scenario.
Stepping through the open hatch into the corridor beyond, Skirmisher's visor scanned the length and width of the corridor for any movement -- no matter how small. The presence of the human adults and children within the Outpost or at least on certain planetary cycles or days had meant that the Garrison members had to keep a vigil for any of the allied humans given their minute stature. Optimus had established the ordinance that each of the Garrison Members had to keep a particular vigil for them, and that injury -- even unintentionally would have brought swift reprisal. The scan of the corridor had completed allowing the Praxian to have set down the corridor letting his pedes carry him towards first the wash racks where he'd first enjoyed a hot oil shower before dried himself off and polished what needed to have been polished. Following his time in the wash racks, his pedes had carried him along the corridors before he'd found himself in the Rec Room. He hadn't spent many cycles or even breems in the Rec Room outside of the work out area. Letting the visor scan the length and width of the Rec Room first, Skirmisher waited motionless near the hatch to the compartment before taking a few steps inside. He'd overheard the broadcasts, local and international, on the rather large monitor screen set into one of the bulkheads during some of his work outs and during some of his rounds near that compartment, but he hadn't actually sat down on the large couch set aside for them -- more giant crates to support their frames or had a chance to view the local broadcasts or even the international ones before.
Finding what he'd had to assume had been the remote given the amount of buttons and dials on it, the Praxian had taken a seat on one of the massive crates that made the make-shift couch. Using the remote, he'd managed to have activated the screen before having turned the volume down. There hadn't been need to have caused the rest of the Garrison to have been roused from their recharge cycles, or at least the ones that hadn't been on Sentry Duty that morning. Flipping through the various channels, he'd soon discovered a channel airing a police procedural drama. The drama had a title utilizing the code given to Squad units, or rather patrol units which had piqued his curiosity. With his back against the cushion or another large crate that had been propped up as such, the Praxian continued watching the police drama with its black and white units to its beat cops on tour.
[Location: Earth: North American Continent: United States of America: Nevada: Jasper: Omega Outpost: Rec Room]
Having been operational the last few breems or hours as the local time went, the Enforcer had attempted a full recharge cycle throughout the nocturnal hours. The inner demons or memories -- a combination of his failure to protect Praxus and his own experiences throughout the War until now had occupied his processors. The blue visor had sparked to life allowing him to see the ceiling panels of his quarters, and though Skirmisher would have preferred having resumed the recharge cycle the Enforcer had known it would have resulted in another cycle with an incomplete recharge.
Having swung his legs over the side of the bunk, his pedes had firmly settled on the floor before he'd powered down the recharge slab or bunk. He'd always reactivated the bunk after having returned to his quarters in some vain attempt to seek an uninterrupted recharge cycle. Who had he been kidding? He'd allowed his city to have fallen, to his old Garrison being reduced to little more than rusted out hulls while he'd survived albeit in stasis and the realization he'd caused friction with the current Garrison hadn't escaped him either. The Truce had proven problematic, limiting with a bureaucrat's touch and while both camps had agreed to it the Truce hadn't been composed with an Enforcer's language in mind. He hadn't been discovered in the cycle the Truce had been agreed on, but he'd been on the planet nonetheless. He'd attempted to abide by it by placing his old prejudices behind, but hadn't been able to set his old coding to the side. Those thoughts he'd realized would have driven him mad if he'd continued pondering every outlook and possible scenario.
Stepping through the open hatch into the corridor beyond, Skirmisher's visor scanned the length and width of the corridor for any movement -- no matter how small. The presence of the human adults and children within the Outpost or at least on certain planetary cycles or days had meant that the Garrison members had to keep a vigil for any of the allied humans given their minute stature. Optimus had established the ordinance that each of the Garrison Members had to keep a particular vigil for them, and that injury -- even unintentionally would have brought swift reprisal. The scan of the corridor had completed allowing the Praxian to have set down the corridor letting his pedes carry him towards first the wash racks where he'd first enjoyed a hot oil shower before dried himself off and polished what needed to have been polished. Following his time in the wash racks, his pedes had carried him along the corridors before he'd found himself in the Rec Room. He hadn't spent many cycles or even breems in the Rec Room outside of the work out area. Letting the visor scan the length and width of the Rec Room first, Skirmisher waited motionless near the hatch to the compartment before taking a few steps inside. He'd overheard the broadcasts, local and international, on the rather large monitor screen set into one of the bulkheads during some of his work outs and during some of his rounds near that compartment, but he hadn't actually sat down on the large couch set aside for them -- more giant crates to support their frames or had a chance to view the local broadcasts or even the international ones before.
Finding what he'd had to assume had been the remote given the amount of buttons and dials on it, the Praxian had taken a seat on one of the massive crates that made the make-shift couch. Using the remote, he'd managed to have activated the screen before having turned the volume down. There hadn't been need to have caused the rest of the Garrison to have been roused from their recharge cycles, or at least the ones that hadn't been on Sentry Duty that morning. Flipping through the various channels, he'd soon discovered a channel airing a police procedural drama. The drama had a title utilizing the code given to Squad units, or rather patrol units which had piqued his curiosity. With his back against the cushion or another large crate that had been propped up as such, the Praxian continued watching the police drama with its black and white units to its beat cops on tour.