[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Morgue [Flatline] Jan 23, 2020 18:10:12 GMT -5
Post by Coldwind on Jan 23, 2020 18:10:12 GMT -5
Episode 3 / Week 1 / Day 6 / Open
The living accommodations at Blackridge were famously terrible. Whereas on the Nemesis, one could afford a small measure of privacy, that was very much not the case here; and doubly so after the personal quarters were re-arranged into communal barracks to save space. These new rectangular capsules were somehow even worse than before, shared between several mecha, with no more room than necessary. Three beds, an odd crate here and there. It was the bare minimum, but it would have to do until the Decepticons either recovered the Nemesis or expanded their primitive new home beyond its utilitarian purpose.
As for Coldwind, she could not be less fortunate to share her room with Flatline. The two of them rarely spoke, if ever. Despite his silence, the insectoid’s presence was still very much to her chagrin. She knew about him only from what the reports said, but that was enough to put her on edge. To his credit, Flatline’s conduct thus far contradicted much of the picture painted by his portfolio. He kept to the walls and shadows, almost blending into the scenery as if he wasn’t there. A far cry from the cutthroat, ruthless intellectual he fancied himself in the past.
The Seeker never confronted her medic roommate about it, so long as he maintained that attitude. Out of sight, out of mind. That was the way she preferred him. But by the same measure, his grim demeanor raised suspicions. She often knew Starscream and his ilk to act much the same way when they had a good—often self-serving—reason to do so. The feeling that Flatline was up to something beneath that pitiful exterior always weighed heavily on her shoulders.
But today, her mind did not dwell on Flatline overmuch. Her thoughts were focused elsewhere with recent developments taken into account. The return of Megatron burdened her most of all. What did it mean for Starscream going forward? And in turn, what did it mean for her? Those questions were still left unanswered, and as a way of distracting herself from them, Coldwind found solace in combat practice whenever she could.
Usually, after such endeavors, she would simply crash back in her room to analyze combat records, go over past encounters with the enemy, and make sure her extensive databanks on the Autobot threat were updated according to the field reports from their inside bot; or whatever information Soundwave and Starscream let trickle through the cracks.
It was no different now. She stood next to her bed with a small projector on the ground, which emitted a tapestry of light around the Seeker. Ever so often, she lazily waved a servo. Then, with a buzz, the image adjusted; displaying a new enemy, a new battle, a new line of code, and a new wall of text to the side. She honed this habit into an addiction.
A flick of her wrist and the image jumped from Bumblebee to Ratchet, and from Ratchet to Optimus.
Every afternoon, every morning, she looked at the same Autobot faces, at the same archives, hoping to learn more. Coldwind needed to know them like the back of her hand if she were to face off against them on the battlefield, that much was true. But by now, this had grown to be a rather useless ritual. Their spy offered less and less new info, and genuine confrontations with the Autobots were conspicuously few since that fateful mine raid. She knew all there was to know.
Perhaps if Coldwind spent less time staring at Optimus Prime and more time studying her comrades, the femme would know what grim fate Starscream orchestrated for Flatline. But truthfully, her interests were never vested in being a good teammate. Whenever she had the choice between cooperation with fellow Decepticons and doing the job herself, the latter was ever the preferred method.
But sometimes, avoiding the stink was impossible...