[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Making an Impression [Closed]

[Avalanche]

Episode 3 | Week 1 | Day 4

Here is a portrait of a mecha ill at ease.

Start with the basics. She is tall, a towering, blocky figure, painted black with chrome accents, white armour panels adding highlights to her upper body. A huge slab of armour rests across her back; her shoulder guards are rounded, a thick stripe of wheel tread embedded in each. Thick limbs, dominated by heavy, oiled pistons, end in powerful hands with spiked bands across the knuckles. Blue optics glow from her wide, blunt features.

See the way that those hands clench and fidget. Notice the slight, guarded hunch to her shoulders. The way those massive tyres twitch back and forth restlessly in their housings.

She doesn't want to be here. She isn't sure she's doing the right thing. Not sure at all.

A stream of hissing clicks comes from behind her. [War machine, your coordinates are translated.]

"My name is Avalanche." The words are a deep rumble, huskily feminine.

Let the gaze pull back further; the Cybertronian is surrounded by spindly, many-jointed insects, frilled cuffs at each joint like chitinous crowns, a predatory shape to the insects that could bring to mind a grossly-magnified evolutionary cousin of the preying mantis. Above and around them, a nightmarish labyrinth stretches out in three dimensions, glistening silver mated to twisted rock, coated with unspeakable organic extrusions. Through rents in the forest of spires and towers that jut from walls, floor and ceiling with ragged lack of care, the wheeling starfield beyond pivots and twists as the hive tumbles according to its own strange geometries.

Another body speaks, grinding forelimbs together with a sound like scraping metal. The mind behind it is the same as before. [War machine, your resources are required.]

"I told you," she begins sharply, then dismisses the sentence with an angry flip of her hand. "I've given you read-access to the account. You want the currency? Show me the bridge."

Silence. The bodies shift and skitter, executing small autonomic processes unworthy of the hive's coordination. Then... [War machine, your presence is required.]

The bodies withdraw a little, opening a corridor for her between them. With an annoyed grunt, the heavily-armoured femme shifts; her arms pull back behind her, legs reconfiguring, heavy tyres hitting the ridged ground. The long, low form of a bridge laying machine rumbles forward, a small cockpit set back to the side and aft of her chassis, armoured vision slits betraying the military origins of the alien vehicle. She's angry. Very angry. But not really angry at the hive.

She's angry because of what she leaves behind.

The ground under her treads is treacherous. The strobing, unmistakable pulse of gravity generators thrums through it, lending a weight that she knows is mere illusion. But it's enough to keep her grounded, as she drives through a shifting, unmappable network of spit-slick tunnels, until she reaches her goal.

A teleportation gate, a huge torus of free-standing machinery and chitin at the centre of some ancient, tomblike chamber filled with glowing stalagtites.

[War machine, your resources are require-]

"Quiet." Her gaze focuses distantly, beyond the glistening walls, through the tumbling melange of rock and steel and organic detritus, out to the stars beyond. Do well. Don't let each other down. I might be gone, but I'm still watching you, you damn punks.

The insects ripple and rustle around her. [War machine, your resources are required.]

A deep sigh sounds from within the bridge-layer's heavy machinery. "I know. Transmitting passcode. You should have access now."

Another ripple twitches and jerks the insectoid bodies. Then, without ceremony, the centre of the portal tears open, rending a crackling violet corridor through unreality. [War machine, your presence is not required.]

She gazes at the strange, lightning-filled vortex, unlike any space bridge built by her own kind. The dregs of her reluctance to leave pull at her, like chains around her axles. "You sure this will take me to the planet I want?"

Several of the insects click and snap in unison, their concert louder than before. [War machine, your presence is not required.]

"Yeah. That's what they told me." Her engine barks, and she rolls steadily into the crackling, shifting void.

---

North America | Chicago Metropolitan Area

The tunnel ended in a wash of blue; Avalanche burst out of the rent in space, into the warm light of an alien sun. And then, without ceremony, she fell.

"Yaaah!" she howled, instinctively transforming as she tumbled through the air. She just about had the time to grab at the wide variety of nothing around her, wind whistling through her blunt fingers, before she slammed into the ground with a deafening metallic thud worthy of the footfall of Primus. A separate metallic crash marked her shield burying itself beside her, like a punctuation mark.

"Ow," she growled, rolling onto her back with a crunch of rubble beneath her. Brushing some loose bricks from her helm with the flat of her hand, she muttered, "If I ever get back out there-"

And then she stopped moving.

There were towers around her, but unlike the strange organic buttresses of the hives, these were neatly rectangular, with a dilapidated look to them. Such windows as she could see were tiny, in neat little rows. At the edge of her brand new, one-careful-owner crater, broken pipes were gushing water over the crumbled tarmac and pulverised brickwork that had given beneath her to break her fall.

In other words, she was in the middle of a native city. In the day. And if there were two things she knew about the natives of this remote planet, it was that they were very inquisitive, and they couldn't be allowed to know Cybertronians existed.

"Oh, scrap," she swore, jerking up into a sitting position, then scrabbled out of the hole. Seizing her shield, she yanked it out of the slot it had buried itself in, then flattened herself against the side of the nearest building - a building which, it turned out, was barely taller than she was.

A native vehicle screeched around the corner, then slammed to a dead stop just short of the exciting new housing development opportunity she'd punched into the middle of the street. The tiny faces behind the curving glass gaped up at her, optics widening.

"Scrap, scrap, scrap!" Turning, she slammed her shield against her back and transformed, jerking into movement the instant her wheels hit the pavement. The scale of her alt-mode was all wrong for the city, the original vehicle having been built for a species nearly twice as tall as the natives, and she'd been seen! Vehicles jerked out of her way, horns blaring, and sirens wailed in her wake, flashing lights reflecting off the sides of buildings. None of it boded well for her.

Shelter. Disguise. Escape. Literally any of the above would do. She roared down the narrow street, the wide, low shape of her alt-mode scraping the paint from empty vehicles she passed, hunting for anything that might distract the natives. Another vehicle pulled out of a side street in her wake and rolled after her; she accelerated, thankful to find the street straightening and widening. To her left, the wall of buildings broke to reveal greenery, with an expanse of water beyond. With no better option, she turned right.

Perhaps it was the echo of familiarity that caught her optic; in ages past, she'd been a construction mecha, and even at such a different scale, there were elements to the process that were universal. Her gaze alighted on a skeletal mess of girders, jutting from a rocky dirt-lot that lay jammed between the glittering miniature skyscrapers that fenced her in. She broke to the side, thumping over the trifling inconvenience of the curb, and plunged through the fence without noticeably slowing.

And there, thank Primus's intangible grace, beneath the nested girders overhead there sat a tangle of heavy vehicles, without a native in sight. Ploughing to a stop behind them, shielding herself from sight of the road, a sharp blue beam flashed out from her headlights. So much for her current, carefully chosen altmode - as fond as she was of it, it had to go, and fast.

Panels shifted and trembled, the spurious solidity of the bridge layer betraying itself as, with a groan of heavy machinery, it began to reconfigure into a new shape. Smaller wheels extruded, planting their treads into the dust as her chassis narrowed, growing taller. The cab shifted down her frame, armoured blinds withdrawing to reveal smooth glass, a row of little panels flipping over to reveal small orange lights along the cab-top. Tall chromed exhausts thrust upwards, a burst of black smoke erupting from them as her transformation began to settle... and then, as her optics settled on a triangular crimson and white sign that required no translation, an identical version emerged from her grille to form part of her bumper.

Where once there had been a single, beaten-up Mack RD686 dumptruck, now there were two, one with a sign warning of falling rocks riveted to the front. Translation protocols rifled the native tongue for an equivalent of her name, spelling it out in silver script down the nose of her cab, and there, at the end, an Autobot symbol gleamed dustily in the sun.

But she wasn't out of the woods yet. To stay still, and hope, or to keep running?

She didn't know. But there were bots around that would.

:: All Autobot garrisons, this is Avalanche. Rank, Commander. Just arrived on-planet. Witnessed emerging from bridge by native species. Currently in a metropolitan area; taken a native form, but it may not be enough. Request pickup ::

[Carbine]

There were some boons about not being able to read. No reports, no boring reviews of other people's reports, no filing or organizing data, no manning the Control Room terminal to manage other individuals as they were out and about... no need to issue requests of supplies off to Fowler, or work on checking inventories to update the spreadsheet... or who knows what other nonsense jobs required such a skill. it really could free an individual from many of the mundane and boring jobs that were littered around this Outpost like garbage! However, for all the crappy smart-people nonsense such a trait saved someone from, it in turn freed them up for the less than great dumb-person tasks that were more grunt work than anything of any real value or entertainment.

It is this sort of hell that Carbine found himself in, more often than not set up for cleaning roles or jobs that used his height in his favor such as attempting to change light fixtures without straight up crushing them between his fingertips. Today's agenda was mopping up the floors, a job that was as boring as it sounded. He could try to make it more fun! And in the past he had, by causing problems with Thundercloud in the process, but... that entire ordeal ended with him being choked against a wall by a monster and bullets being flung around the base.

Yellow eyes that shined out from a black faceplate visor skimmed over some of these patches and repaired holes, the concrete a different shade of color than the rest of the walls, before peering at smaller marks and grazed scrapes left untouched. He shrugged this off however, pushing the cobbled together 'good enough' mop against the ground to try to scrape off some tire marks that were being particularly stubborn. To try to combat this he rose his ped up and slammed the triangular plate down atop some of the cable and rope fibers to forcibly grind them down atop the black marks with a growl.

Dirty aft wheelers... if they didn't peel out of here like spazzy showoffs than Carbine would have been long done with this crummy job and would be free to do other things! It was this irritated spite he channeled into his task, raising his leg back up before ramming it down even harder with an echoed higher toned sound ringing out into the vast room. It was while he was scrape kicking at the soapy materials that the terminal to his left flicked active, instantly drawing his attention.

The rotor posts on the black and white mech's shoulders crooked up at the incoming message, not able to read the text that jumped up beside it, while also not seeing an image next to it like it normally would for those who where assigned to the Outpost. Yellow optics flicked and danced over the slew of unfamiliar shapes, before the voice sounded out and his rotors tweaked a bit higher as well as his helm.

Oh snap.

This was going to be good.

Flinging the mop to the side with a careless motion, Carbine let the metal pipe handle fall to the ground with a rattled thwap before he strolled lazily over to the screen. As much as he didn't know about this computer system, and as little as he could decipher from its layout, he DID know from watching others what the reply button was so that he could respond to individuals in precisely this sort of situation. Because of this cherished nugget of knowledge he rose his hand up with pointer finger extended, flicked it into a little circle with a roll of the wrist, before he over dramatically crooked his arm down with elbow in the air to depress the correct key.

"A lady Com͡m͝a͞nde͏r that got s-spotted by the natives? O͝h̸ ͡boy͡!"

An amused droll, an unseen smile snaked into his words at the idea of this. Oh, he would expect such an action from just about anyone else... but a COMMANDER? Weren’t they the ones that were expected to extra super-duper follow rules to the letter? They were closer on the hierarchy to the Prime, and as such had to be abiding to such things? Then again, Carbine had served under plenty of these sorts of individuals in the past, so he knew that rough rule was complete and utter nonsense. A lot of them used rank as a throw of power, which may be partly why he was being particularly unhelpful and informal in his initial contact.

"Fowler is gunna' kill̕ y͘ou̷ if̧ Opti̶mus d-doesn't himself."

He should be calling someone else for an assist, someone who could ACTUALLY respond to the call with a Ground Bridge or useful information given her location. An individual that could pull up a map and guide her out somewhere safe! Alas... she got Carbine who was throwing around Fowler's name as if she should already know it as a threat.

"Sou͢n̴d̛s like you are really in a t-tight spot."

[Jazz]

     The music mech was bored so he fancied himself with roaming the halls of the base just to keep himself at least active. He'd been tuning in to the local radio stations to see what was the recent top countdown, but even that didn't seem to be keeping him occupied for long. There was only so much cooping up he could handle before he just got anxious. It'd been a while since he had been out shaking off the rust and rotating his wheels, so it was long overdue. Everything had been a bit weird since the incident with Bee but Jazz was starting to get his rhythm back. Maybe inviting the young scout on a routine patrol would work in both of their favors.

     Thought were interrupted when he passed through the ground bridge hanger on his way to the other hall when he heard the alert sounding over the terminal in obvious distress. Carbine was on it, and while the mech was talking he glanced around and spotted the poor mop discarded to the side. Well, it was a good thing that he had answered the call in, but...

     Jazz pinched his index and thumb against the sides of his visor and he sighed in exasperation at what he was hearing. Surely one of their own in the type of predicament they found themselves in didn't need Rico Suave answering the phone and reminding them of just what they were in for. While the chopper mech was busying himself and making himself an irritation to the Commander on the other side, Jazz was making his way over and stepping to the right side. 

     "Tsk, Carbine. This ain't a time for your wise-cracks. Move your rotor motor over." Jazz shooed him over a bit with his servo, not making physical contact as much as he seemed to be more dismissing the negative air the riot patrol airhead may have spreading, then leaned over so he could be heard in the com link. "Avalanche! Looks like ya got yourself in a bit of a bind there, lil' bird. Don't mind Carbine, he's mostly harmless." 

     Mostly.

     While he spoke he was plugging in her coordinates and entering it into the map overview so he could see where she was and where she was headed. 

     "This is Jazz, Elite Guard special forces, and I'll be your GPS for the day. Looks like ya managed to drop yourself down pretty much in the center of town,. Rough, but it's an easy navigation. From where you're standin' ya should see a four way intersection with a traffic light just ahead of ya. Take the left turn and go straight for five blocks, then veer right onto the main highway and follow signs for highway 41 South. I'll send ya coordinates to Sloan, Indiana and we'll rendezvous. Send over your identification codes while you're trekkin' so we can make sure ya are who ya say ya are."

     He looked at Carbine, then vented some. This would be the perfect time to get out, but he couldn't go alone. He'd have to partner up to go meet up with her, which meant that he would need to, one, take someone with him. Two, find someone to operate the groundbridge. 

     Primus, please, please PLEASE don't let him have to take Carbine...

[Deleted]

While others had sensible duties like mopping the floors, or manning the comms, Rain was busy familiarizing herself with Earth. This mostly involved browsing Wikipedia and google maps on her datapad. She was in the rec room, staying out of the way doing her best to focus on learning necessary stuff about earth. Mostly she was guiltily learning about the wildlife. Her musing over the perfectly hydrodynamic form of sharks was interrupted by a voice breaking over the comms.

She didn't quite catch everything since she wasn't focused on listening, but she caught the general direction of a new arrival discovering Earth the hard way. Next she heard the clatter of a mop, and by then she was listening. Rain looked over from her chair to see that the radio was already being answered. Admittedly the rotor-wing gave a very nonchalant answer to the mayday which gave her pause, and then she watched as a grounder took over in a much more sensible manner. The disparate discipline between all the mechs still amazed her. She wondered how well the base functioned in keeping cons at bay. Nonetheless, she herself was very eager and wanted to prove herself.

The lithe flier practically pranced over to join the two mechs at the Comms and ground-bridge control. “Excuse me, if you would like, I am willing to provide aerial reconnaissance to support the commander in the field.” This was definitely her preferred action but she offered up another out of duty “Or if you need to go yourselves, I can stay at the controls and operate the comms and bridge? I am well versed in four dimensional vector space. FYI I’m Rain.” She added further since she’d only been on base for two Earth days.

[Avalanche]

Keeping a wary optic out for native vehicles entering the construction yard after her - the way she'd burst the gates wasn't exactly subtle - Avalanche listened with one part confusion and three parts anger as the first response came back over the radio.

Who in the slag pits of Polyhex was that? Where was the garrison's radio discipline? Outpost not identified, officer not identified, and as for the content... she didn't like the way he said 'lady Commander', and that was only the start of it. Vague threats and unhelpful gloating? A deep growl echoed through her reconfigured frame that did not come from her engine.

For an instant, she entertained the idea that the static-filled, broken up signal could be a native, obliviously responding to her hail. But no, they had also referred to the local population as natives, and - with unforgivable casualness - referred to Optimus Prime himself. It had to be one of their own.

:: You had better hope he does. Now clear this frequency, you Primus-damned fool! ::

Another voice replaced the first, broadcasting a cleaner signal. Little bird? Was this nonsense how they were trained to respond to unfamiliar officers? What was going on at this Outpost? However, even as she gathered herself to sharply respond, the second voice identified himself and began giving actually useful information.

Elite Guard special forces. That was a sentence with a lot of weight behind it, an outfit she could respect. Her hackles settled a little.

:: Receiving your signal clearly, Jazz. Nice to have you. Keep that idiot sparkling away from the mic, and we might resolve this without any more drama ::

Carbine. Noted.

The fence around the construction site was tall and opaque, hung with banners and logos, but there'd been an intersection ahead of her on the road before she'd broken into the compound. She needed to get back out there, and take another look. But first of all, she needed a holo. The locals might not be on the lookout for her new altmode, but a driverless vehicle would draw attention she couldn't risk.

Avalanche hesitated, frowning inwardly. She wasn't enormously creative; it had always counted against her in construction work, kept her from being trained for architectural roles. She'd seen a decent number of natives on the streets, but she'd hardly stopped long enough to take in the detail. What she needed was some kind of reference image. And then, as she looked around herself at the advertising cluttered thickly on every surface, she caught the printed gaze of a dark-haired woman with broad, purposeful features that echoed Avalanche's own.

Primus provides. She scanned the image, half-aware of the red-suited figure depicted next to the woman, and the words - some sort of death lake? Her translation protocols weren't quite up to speed yet; it didn't matter. A holographic body - something she hadn't had to manifest in a long time - formed in her cab, bringing with it the strange bifurcation of presence that avatars always did.

All of a sudden, she was aware of her own interior in ways she hadn't been before; a long, wide console, scattered with gauges and dominated by a wide, three-spoked steering wheel, beneath a broad expanse of armour-glass that looked out over the hood of her new alt-mode. It was a heck of a view, compared to the narrow vision slits and grainy camera feeds her last cockpit had offered.

Enough. There'd be time to get familiar with herself later. Tensing, she vented deeply, then fed power to her restructured engine. It burst into life with a deep, resonating growl, a wide fan buried within her hood pulling a torrent of air through the front grille. Engaging her drivetrain, she slowly pulled away from the truck that had formed her template, raw earth and gravel crunching beneath her tyres, and approached the broken fence.

Vehicles were passing to and fro along the road outside; the gap in the fence was drawing a few curious looks, but there didn't yet appear to be a blockade set up. Sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer.

Definitely time to hit the road.

Nosing out into the traffic stream, her engine grunting in disdain at the brief beeps of the smaller vehicles she was blocking, she found a lane in the traffic pattern. Everything around her was stationary, but - right. The coloured lights were signals. Red meant stop, orange meant... sound your horn? With an inward shrug, she did as the other vehicles were doing. Green meant go. He'd said... left turn, five blocks, main road - that would hopefully be obvious - then look for a '159' coded road.

Maybe, just maybe, she could get away with this.

:: Templated a holo, and got moving. In the middle of a native traffic pattern now. No pursuit since I switched altmodes, but all these transport vehicles are making it hard to put distance in. Transmitting authentication codes now; I'll let you know if I have any trouble on the way to the rendezvous ::

Broadcasting her encrypted ident, Avalanche nosed slowly through the traffic, keeping her optics open for any sign of trouble. It was a little disorienting to be taller than she was accustomed to being in her vehicle mode, but her new mechanisms were simple and robust, and the weight of her shield on her back was comfortingly familiar.

The road opened up to her right into a multi-lane highway. Gotcha.

She got moving.

[Carbine]

Oh, Carbine would have EVENTUALLY gotten help. He wasn't a completely useless piece of scrap metal floundering around this Outpost, but he was a bit problematic at times which was a bit of an understatement. He wanted to give a bit of a jab to the ribs, a bit of a tease... he wanted to hear what this lady would say in return. Whatever reply she made in the next fleeting seconds would give him a very good read on what type of 'Commander' they were in for and what he could snitch back to Thunder so they could laugh or be careful.

Would she scrabble back and ask more for help? Be more distressed? Would she hold firm and turn 'yell'ey' thinking raising her voice and getting a good hostile snarl behind it was going to make all her problems disappear? Or would there be that hollow empty void of anger thrown in that was what Carbine would fear to hear. That silent rage that screamed of someone capable of danger but with the edge of restraint and calculation that made squirming free impossible because they would think through the tricks...

Ah, she yelled.

With a nice little threat on top.

Carbine let out a slow chuckle of a sound beneath his breath, though he didn't press down the communication button as he did so. He let his fingertips drum against the edge of the control panel while thinking, debating the next best course of action, only to hear a sigh and footfalls to his right. Sharply, yellow eyes snapped over to look upon Jazz, getting an instant bead on his location, what direction he was approaching by, and how best to orient so he didn’t approach near his back at an angle the ex-cop did not appreciate at all. There was a bit of a stilted movement behind him as he took a step back and away from the terminal, though he relaxed more once the other mech was in front of him and getting to work with so much more professionalism than he ever did the last few thousand years.

"Oh, there is̴ ͟a̡l͞ways time."

He joked this out, an amused edge. However, as rebellious such a comment may be, almost inviting more trouble to quickly follow suit, Carbine happily relented and let the other mech take charge with no issue or complaint. With a light stroll the black and white mech moved over to the side and then pivoted around so that his back was directed towards a wall while still being able to listen. He glanced across the terminal screen for a few moments, looking at the jittering letters and numbers, watching their lines shudder and lurch between different shapes, before he peered away, listening to Jazz's swift instruction that was miles more helpful than he could ever convey.

"-so we can make sure ya are who ya say ya are."

We?

As Jazz looked over, the lower edge of Carbine's eye projections crooked up. One was hiked a bit higher than the other, a motion that was paired with a slight head tilt, trying his darnedest to convey a sort of crooked grin of amusement. Would it be taken as such? Maybe not. But he tried his best to work with what he had, and even if the sly part of it was missed it could be hard to misinterpretation the 'smile' part that pushed up the bottom of his eyes.

But then there were new footfalls, light and small, faint clicks compared to others who tromped around Omega. This was followed by the voice of a femme, one that Carbine had never heard before. It must have been a newcomer! He heard someone new may have been around, but he didn't know what they were like or anything about them. In this flicker of a moment after the sounds of her voice and the light footfalls, he had a very specific little mental image in his mind, and as such his head snapped around to look at Rain starting from the ground up in the classiest of mental scans.

Hooves? Eh... not the worst he has seen. Carbine absorbed the fact that she was a digitigrade build. More creature like, with a tapering design that clashed with the weight distribution of a lot of others in this world. Slim, dainty, sloping up to larger thighs and narrow abdomen that were only lightly armored... While the critter legs were a bit of a turnoff, it would never a hundred percent deter him in his typical quests for every femme that happened to cross his path. More joints to hook fingers under eh?...

Looking up further, she obviously wasn't one for combat. Frail, minimally armored if that, something easy to call more 'damsel' like overall with a feminine flare. Chunkier forearms more likely than not made by weaponry more so than her original build if he were to guess. The paint job was weird though... the vines a strange choice given their organic nature. It had to have something to do with her Altmode he assumed? But then the hands attached to them looked a bit barbaric... rather garish compared to-

Yellow eyes snapped up instantly.

And that’s when the record screeched to a halt.

Carbine's helm rose sharply, before reeling back as he made eye contact with the singular globe of an optic settled within a cage of garish antlers and a few decorative spikes. You could try to add the most distracting odd and obnoxious shapes to her head in any array imaginable to a point of adding light up wings on either side, but it would never erase the fact there was a void within its center with a cold disk of an eye that had no way to convey emotion in any logical way that associated with what others would consider normal.

There was a chance that others could call Carbine hypocritical with this. He didn't really have a face to speak of, but his head was at least normal shaped, and he had two eyes that could convey rough feelings, while this thing didn’t. It caused a sort of visceral reaction out from him. Not one of fear no... not one birthed of apprehension of nervousness. Far from it. Instead, there was an instantaneously guttural spear that slammed him back to his roots before the war. Back when he was a cop... back when he patrolled the streets... back when your gaze fell upon one of these things you knew for a fact they were up to some SHIT and were going to cause troubles for others.

Oh, logically Carbine KNEW it was all propaganda to demonize those who opposed the Council, but just because some of them were innocent, it didn’t erase the gut punching visceral response that surged out from his past. That want to protect others from someone who did something so heinous that surgery and torture was better than outright murdering them.

This was a fucking paper bag case right here.

Carbine was suddenly thankful he didn't have much of a face to emote, because he was sure his hostile first judgements would have been abundantly clear. Whatever the case, he eased forward with a rehearsed movement, right arm dipping down in a loping swoop before folding under his chest, giving the femme-thing a sort of bow from the waist as he spoke with a spattered static voice that feigned boisterous confidence and interest well.

"Wel̵l,̛ ̛heĺĺo͟ ͟t͡h͜ere Rai͘n̷!͢ I̴ don't believe we͏ ͠hav͝e͢ met?"

Carbine purred this out with a low droll, the bottom of his eyes crooking up to convey that smile. He would look for a visual response... but... his eyes simply danced across the blue sphere of a damn criminal ((hypocritical)) looking for some kind of clue on her response on the matter.

At this point he was mostly ignoring the communications going on at the terminal, though he did hear the new Commander-Lady calling him a Sparkling. He did cast a glance over to Jazz again, before thin white pinpricks of pupils slid back over to the thing while he kept his bow held.

[Jazz]

     "Ya got one of those statements correct, Commander," he responded with a snicker, "and Carbine is far from a sparklin', so I guess ya can figure which one ya hit outta the park. Keep drivin' and I'll bother your audials again in a jiff." Though the smile was on this end, the light tone in his voice should have been enough to hint his amusement without seeing it. While the system ran her identification codes and Jazz was doing his own internal research in his data banks, he made note of what was going on here. 

     Of course it was a new arrival who came to assist. Jazz didn't feel comfortable sending someone not that familiar with Earth out on a seeking mission when the situation wasn't very ideal. That wasn't the responsible thing to do. He brought a servo to the side of his helm and vented loudly as he thought it over briefly. Not really on the matter of letting her go, but that he needed to go with Carbine probably. He didn't dislike the mech, but the idea of him meeting up with a femme who he had apparently raised the irritation of within a five second conversation- a commander no less- didn't sit right with him. 

     Plus, it was a femme. And it was Carbine. 

     Could this situation get any better?

     "I appreciate the offer, but Carbine and I have been on Earth a lot longer and I wouldn't feel right havin' ya gettin' your feet wet in this type of situation. Especially that it may turn out complicated." Jazz looked over at Carbine and his visor zoomed in on him. Something about his body language didn't seem to settle him, especially with it directed towards the femme who had entered. Jazz knew his history- and he knew what Rain's appearance meant. He hadn't been all the straight and narrow himself in his youth, but he had his wiped history to cover for him. "Carbine can provide me with the aerial support. Do ya mind mannin' the helm here? Just keep the comm link open and press here," he paused to point to a controller on the console, "to close the groundbridge behind us an open it when we return. I'l see about gettin' ya familiar with the area later."

     Jazz had what he needed from the look up. He'd make a visual match once they arrived at the rendezvous point.

     "This is Smooth Jazz at Autobot Outpost tunin' in to Commander Avalanche. Identification codes received and cleared- sendin' ya coordinates to the rendezvous point now. Also sendin' ya the tap for my private comm link should there be an issue while we aren't home." He'd send her to the middle of the Canyon; far out of the reach of human touch where prying eyes were less likely. It was out of the way- dangerous for them if they ran into MECH, but at least they would have someone at the controls at home. "Keep scans goin' for anythin' that may look suspicious. We've got a little situation here with a band of natives that like to crack open our shells to see what makes us tick. Once we get ya home we can fill ya in on the situation."

     Once again he studied Carbine and cleared his throat. "Carbine. I can trust ya to watch my six while we're meetin' up with the Commander, yeah?" It wasn't really a question, but more of a rhetorical statement that the chopper was going to be coming with him on this field trip.

[Deleted]

Rain found herself surprised by Carbine. Four million years or more ago, she would have recognised the law enforcer for what he was by any number of visual cues as soon as he was in visual range. The fact that today she had walked almost right up to him and not mentally checked off “cop” was potentially a good thing, she was more accepting and less judgemental.

But there it was, one more time - revulsion. No matter how much she told herself, lied to herself, it still stung if just a little. Some small art of her spark just wanted to fold up and fly away but Rain knew her own emotions - mostly - and faced them down with professionalism.

The femme flier didnt know precisely what to make of Carbine but first impressions werent holding too much hope. He practically ogled her, which in part she truly didn't mind but then he rebelled, and then came back on at her? It was a touch awkward. She felt awkward and she certainly wasn't sure how genuine the mech was. Was he a player teasing her, or was his revulsion just simple gut instincts given he pre-war role and his mr-nice-mech charm was genuine desire to be a better person? The glitch of his vocal processor barely registered to Rain so Carbine had that in his favor. Rain held any judgement in check for later, but played along with benefit of the doubt.

“First time for everything” Rain replied to Carbine with a friendly mirth she didn't quite feel. Her body language and field simply radiated professionalism and friendship however.

And it looked like her’s and the cop’s meeting would be very brief. Maybe a good thing. But she wasn't going out on a wing to help the newcomer, definitely a disappointment, but a fair decision.

“Smooth Jazz and Carbine yes?” She inferred their names from the conversation. “I would be honored to help here and do my part.” Duty was duty and Rain pulled her weight.

[Avalanche]

::Ya got one of those statements correct, Commander, and Carbine is far from a sparklin', so I guess ya can figure which one ya hit outta the park. Keep drivin' and I'll bother your audials again in a jiff::

Grinning inwardly, Avalanche found that she was rather taking to the Autobot on the other end of the radio. There was a note of good humour in his voice that reminded her of Whiplash, the communications expert for her former unit, and the touch of familiarity helped ground her.

::Sparkling is a state of competence as well as age. Merged into the traffic flow now and no immediate pursuit; I'll let you know if anything changes::

The smaller vehicles around her began to move as the traffic eased, and she shifted into a low gear, slowly accelerating up to cruising speed. They were apparently rudimentary, relying on the pilot to steer and control, with no obvious autonomic functions. A lot of them were quite squat and blocky, if much, much smaller than her new frame, primarily given over to cabin space. She felt a little conspicuous by comparison, but there were enough heavy haulers around for her to blend into.

So this was Earth. The sky was blue, and the sun was warm, bright enough that it could dazzle the unshielded optic. The road stretched out before her, a ruler-straight ribbon of concrete and tarmac, with occasional low buildings dotted amongst the vibrantly green local vegetation. Gaps between the vehicles opened up as the towers of the metropolitan centre fell behind, and she shifted into a higher gear as she settled into a steady cruise.

It was... nice.

Another signal from Jazz; her identity checked out - she'd never doubted it would - and she was receiving coordinates for rendezvous, running down south into the land mass she'd so abruptly impacted. The warning about the natives was a distinct departure from the usual script, however, and Avalanche frowned inwardly, the expression mirrored on her avatar's face.

::The natives are hostile? The briefing packet said they were largely ignorant of our existence. Alright, noted, I'll keep an optic open, and you can give me the rundown later::

Better to keep comms chatter to minimum while she was still trying to fly under the radar after her dramatic arrival. She might have gotten away with it; it would take time to correlate the strange report of an alien machine in the city with the escaping bridge layer, longer still to track that vehicle to the construction site, and by then, there'd be nothing left to link the commotion to a beat-up dump truck rolling down the highway.

Unless a camera had caught her going through the fence, and a different vehicle coming out. She couldn't entirely relax.

Off to her right, the local sun was slowly descending towards the horizon, bringing tones of burnished copper and pink to the sky above. A little mental rummage around, and she found the circuit for her new lights, flicking them on. The gauges and dials in her cab illuminated, glowing dimly in the dark dashboard.

The traffic pattern was pretty steady now; the vehicles around her were all rolling along at roughly the same speed, keeping to their clearly-marked lanes. She allowed her attention to mostly contract to the newly constructed avatar inhabiting her cab, whilst keeping a sliver of attention monitoring the road.

So this was what humans were like. The projected woman poked and prodded her own face with her fingertips, smiling, then frowning, then sticking her tongue out at nothing in particular. How strange. The layout was incredibly familiar; two legs, two arms, jointed limbs, sense organs in the right places. They were almost like organic echoes of Cybertronians, smaller and cruder, but understandable in a way she hadn't expected. She'd barely had the projection any time at all, but already she felt as though she was truly inhabiting it, not just puppeting another alien physiology.

The window beside her hummed down into the frame, releasing a flood of cool air into the cab, and she gripped her own steering wheel, feeling the vibrations of the road beneath transmitted up into her hands. It really was pleasant. For a few moments, she could put aside where she was, and why she was there, and just be.

It would end, soon enough. She'd be met by the local garrison, and then everything would be back to business as usual. New unit, the same old struggles to find ways of working with mecha that didn't know her, finding out who could be trusted, finding out who the troublemakers were and figuring out how to make them useful.

But just for now, she drove through the sunset, feeling a rare interlude of peace.

[Carbine]

A friendly tone, a sort of professional edge... Carbine's gaze flicked absently across Rain's blue orb of an eye, looking in some futile attempt for anything to read. Perhaps she was one of those who tried to get 'eyelids' attached after the fact, to be able to convey some sort of shape? But after a few moments that very much appeared not to be the case, and it left him with absolutely nothing to go off of. No expression, no mouth, no audial fins to flick and pan to give emotion like a canine's ears... there was nothing there but a stilted physical posture he didn't know was truly genuine or not.

It was so easy to rehearse body movements, as witnessed by Carbine's 'friendly' approach.

"Indeed! Whil͝e͞ Jàz̴z͝ ̨k̡now͞s a l-lot͏ mo̕r͡e a͠bo̸ut the cities, I ca͡n certa̛i̷nly help out around the ͡báse should you͠ ̕e̵v̴er n̢-̶n̴eed."

Jittered pops and static hid just how false his tone was. Enthusiasm and joy being the primary inflection, with the more irritated edge muddled beneath his persistent glitch. Normally he would make an effort to try to curb this problem, speaking slow, modulating his voice with care... but he knew if he went down such a path his ingrained revulsion, hostility, and distrust would shoot to the surface and he didn't need to start this kind of rivalry. It was one thing to become competitive or obnoxious to someone else, to be an annoying burden that didn't take things as seriously as he should... it was another to start conflict due to outdated ideas that could make him look repulsive in the eyes of others. He had to make a real effort here, so that he wouldn't be cast down to the bottom tier of representing something their entire Faction tried to change.

Yellow eyes shifted over then, a sideways glance back to Jazz as the mech spoke about what would be happening and the plan that was going down. On one hand it made sense, on another he knew that throwing himself out there with the Commander he just pissed off would be problematic. His first strike against her hadn't had a chance to simmer down yet. The only boon was given her earlier words, she was likely a grounder. So if push came to shove he could remain out of reach and scuttle off for a little bit to hide. At this thought, the black and white mech crooked and eased upright gradually, his forearms loping back to grasp along his lower spine.

"I can c͠e̕rt̛a̸in͞ly t-tr̵y."

Playing ball, no witty retort or little joke in there. He was going to remain professional now, white fingertips idly drumming in a slow movement along the opposite forearm as he did so.

"Jus̡t ǵo̷t ̨t̵o p-place me ̴s̕o̸mewhere I can̷ ̵h͠a͏ve ̛t͟ime to ramp up. I canno̢t ̛g̛o̵ ai̸r͠borne instantly."

It stung a bit to announce this openly, but he honestly didn't know what Jazz did or didn't know about him. Did he know he wasn’t a rotary back on Cybertron? If he was, he probably could have been Ground Bridged up in the air and transform to take off just fine. However, he wasn't really skilled at that. He could count only a couple times that he jumped off a ledge, transformed, and took off without hurting himself. But even then each time he slammed onto his wheels at least a little bit before catching the air. Not a complete RAM but... not exactly the best either. He had to be bridged in a place he could speed up and orient.

With this admittance he glanced over to Rain, unsure if Jazz would be opening the initial portal, or if she would be. He would question if he could trust any portal she were to make as actually being on the ground, but the fact Jazz was going to go through it as well acted as a good root to assure him that he wouldn't be dropped off one mile above earth.

He has already played the freefall game, and he didn't want to face that kind of raw unhinged fear again anytime soon.

[Jazz]

     :: I'll brief you properly once we're face-to-face. Until then we'll keep this channel clear unless there's an issue. I've also sent you my personal comm link channel if ya call and we're not home. Let us know when you're close to the location and we'll meet you there.::

     The briefing packet? Avalanche should have known that while those things were loaded with your basic need-to-know, they didn't have nearly everything in them. Personal experiences were something else, and sometimes they weren't as up to date as they should have been. To Jazz, they just skimmed the surface they way combat history reports. After all, you wouldn't go visit a city that listed it's dirty little secrets if you were looking for a vacation destination for you and your five kids.

     "I gotcha, Carbine. Remember, I'm goin' through this sucker too and while ya may have to take a little time to get your rotors movin', you'd still have a better chance than I would at survivin' a freefall." He emphasized 'better', hinting that he may have known something about Carbines not so graceful previous issues. Not that it was something he made direct mention of, since Rain was new here and probably didn't know much herself and he didn't feel like embarrassing the mech. Jazz knew he was trying, so he would give him the benefit of the doubt. "We're not in this for show, and neither of us wanna end up in a million pieces cause we decide to test gravity. Ratchet would probably mix our pieces up on purpose just as punishment."

     Jazz also wasn't oblivious to the situation Carbine could have made between himself and the commander through his little commentary. He could have given her a closer set of coordinates and picked her up in an area nearer to her location that would have sufficed for not being seen, but he needed there to be some separation time between the two for her to air out whatever frustrations she may have with him, as well as for Carbine to have ample time to get it out of his system before they would get to the rendezvous point. 

     "We've got a couple hours before she arrives to the destination point, so that gives us some time to set things up beforehand. We'll ground bridge to the area when she calls and wait for her arrival. That way if ya wanna sit in your alt mode you can decide if you wanna do some hoverin' or just wait safely on the ground. Hopefully she'll either forget about the little exchange ya two had, or she'll forgive it."

     Jazz looked at Rain and pointed to the panel. "I'll have the coordinates preset in the groundbridge controls, so all ya gotta do once we make sure it's all green is pull the lever and bring us home once we've contacted ya. With any luck it'll be a quick pick up and we can bring her home without incident." 

     Oh boy. He thought about his wording of 'bringing her home' and paused, though hoped Carbine just... wouldn't touch it.

[Deleted]

If Rain had to guess, she would put Carbine down as professional and friendly, possibly more the latter than the former, at least in intent. She could sense that he was trying to be better than his latent feelings, at least that was what she gathered. She thought this was a good thing.

“I’ve done pretty well the last two days, but thank you for the offer.” Her stance softened a little as she started to relax, shoulders slumping just an inch and her back a touch less stiff. The flier still wasn't sure what kind of show the earth base was running. She had thought that the mere presence of The-Leader-Of-The-Autobots-And-Matrix-Bearer would make everyone regimental with discipline but this was not the case. She was trying to go with the current but still couldn't fathom just which way the winds were blowing.

Carbine's mention of needing a run up got a brief quizzical stare from Rain. As soon as she realised that she was judging she stopped. The fact that Carbine was open about it was a sign of trust, since most fliers she knew would be loath to admit such weakness. She was certainly curious but she knew better than to ask.

She looked over to Jazz as he commanded her attention. If pulling the lever on command was going to be her primary duty for the afternoon, then she was going to be the best damned lever technician ever. “Easier than falling” she piped up. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that her skill with vectors actually would be quite a boon in being a Ground-bridge controller. She could think of worst duties when she wasn't on patrol, like mopping floors. Then she remembered her own entrance though that very same portal.

“Smooth Jazz, would like me to send a brief report to Sir..err Red Alert outlining the situation?” She was interviewed by the security mech when she landed and thought that was standard procedure. Rain inwardly smiled at just how long it had taken to learn Red Alert’s name since he didn't actually introduce himself formally.

[Avalanche]

The city faded away behind her, its towers melding into the oddly familiar scatter of light industrial parks and unimaginatively ugly facilities before those, too, fell behind. Much of the traffic went with them, leaving her tyres humming over the cracked asphalt, increasingly by herself.

She gunned her reconfigured engine, speeding up a little, then settled into a higher gear.

The world spread out before her like a map of itself, greenery vanishing as she headed south. In place of trees, the peculiarly barrenness of intensive farming took its place, yellow and brown, ruthlessly purged of anything that didn't fit the monoculture being harvested. It was all incredibly flat.

No one spot on a planet's surface was ever going to be indicative of the whole; she knew that, and she couldn't draw any conclusions about the place in general from it. But still, the sheer geometric simplicity of the ruler-straight road heading onwards across the smooth plains was a bit of a shock to the system after Canyon, the last planet she'd spent any significant time on. Now there was a world with more up and down than side to side; a world where she'd had to get used to climbing by hand, and her bridge-laying alt mode had been damn near essential to maintain any kind of supply routes.

As the last heavy-haul truck turned off down a side road and left her alone, she found herself wondering just how many Autobots were on this world, anyway. The presence of the Prime should have made it a command centre for the sector at least, but their forces were heavily fractured and dispersed, and the sketchy reports of a heavy energon shortage had kept at least some mecha - her included - away for a while, for fear of making it worse. As it was, she had full tanks, but little besides that to fall back on. No point speculating; she'd find out soon enough.

It really was very empty. Scanners indicated no vehicles approaching from the front nor rear. Maybe she didn't need to maintain her holoform for a while.

Or... perhaps she just didn't need to keep her holoform in her cab.

Her avatar bit her lip, a slow grin coming over her face as the big femme's awareness fully inhabited the holoform. The driver's side door swung open, buffeted by the wind, and Avalanche climbed out into the open, hanging onto the doorframe to keep her balance. Empty fields, blank road and blue sky; refreshingly free of witnesses or consequences. Swinging one booted foot up onto a bracket holding her smoke stack, she reached up to grab at the lip of her truck bed and pulled herself up, clambering into a sitting position atop the overhang over her cab.

Primus, that was better. The wind was a force that pushed at her, trying to blow her backwards, a tangible force she could feel along her holoform's skin as well as her own metal hide. Straightening up, she lifted her arms into the air, the empty plains turning around her as she spun on her heel, then she hopped into the dark green confines of the dump truck bed, and lay back. Her metal was warm from the sun, the sky was clear, and enough of the breeze curled into the hollow to tickle her face.

She was a femme of simple needs. She could have lain there for a long time, optics on the road, eyes watching the sky, just existing.

Unfortunately, responsibility called. It was a silly risk she was taking, and if anyone serving under her had done it, she'd have kicked their aft if they got caught. Heaving a sigh, she stood up again and scrambled up the side of the truck bed, descending the column of her smokestack and swinging back into the cab. Fun over.

Still, it had been nice.

After a while, clean white windmills came into view, a welcome break from the monotony, and an electrical substation passed by on her right, humming busily to itself. She wasn't far from the coordinates she'd been given now, and without a map of the native transport network, all she could do was watch out for a road going in the right direction.

::Nearing destination. Should be there soon. No trouble on the road. Primus, this place is flat::

Pulling off the main highway, Avalanche disappeared into a rough, irregular pseudo-grid of small roads between fields, winding her way in a zig-zag pattern of steps towards the coordinates. Which turned out to be... nowhere. A simple, empty road, fringed with trees. Isolated, and far from anything of significance if her first meeting went wrong - Avalanche nodded inwardly. Sensible choice.

Pulling off the road and onto the grass under the shade of tall trees, she finally came to a stop with a hiss of hydraulic brakes. So this was it, then. New team. New garrison. Serving directly under the Prime's command. Of course a flicker of nervousness touched her at the idea, but she buried it deep.

::Arrived at waypoint. Ready for rendezvous::

[Prowl]

Prowl cruised down the road towards Omega Base’s physical entrance set in the side of the mountain, where the previous human occupants had driven inside when they had used this "missile silo". He carefully maintained what was explained to him as the “speed limit” as he approached the door. Made sense for the humans, as he had learned they were quite…delicate.

He drove off the road as the door opened smoothly in front of him, entering the base. As he came through the tunnel, he activated his T-cog, smoothly transitioning and folding his parts into his robot mode. He could see Jazz and two other bots he had not met yet at the computer bank. They seemed to be loading in ground bridge coordinates.

One of them seemed to be a former security officer, if going by his paint job was the main clue. Ariel model…one of those clone models that had filled the rank. The other one was a femme flyer model apparently, one who had suffered Empurata…have to watch out for that one…he mentally noted as he came up behind the three, scanning the screen.

It was amazing to him how Ratchet had managed to modify Space Bridge technology given their limited resources. It was even more amazing to him that they had the technology again, since back on Cybertron it had been lost to the ages.
How had they lost this?

“Jazz, what’s the situation?”

He said as he approached to get a closer look. He still could not believe Jazz was still alive after all this time. After he had been reported missing in action, back on Cybertron…well it was almost a miracle, if he believed in such nonsense. Jazz was always a bit too stubborn to die in Prowl's opinion. It was a trait that served the commando well in his position.

[Carbine]

Yellow eyes narrowed a small bit at the subtle implication Jazz knew damn well what his problem was with flying. The ex-cop seemed to give a side eyed look then, daring the other mech to bring it up more openly, while also hoping he didn’t in front of Rain and possibly this new commander if the communication line was somehow open still. While he wasn't above causing scuffles, he knew better than truly trying to hide his weakness behind bluster and aggression with someone higher up on the food chain. It was a bit different than just being an obnoxious piece of slag like he was with the new Commander lady.

The quizzical stare was lost on Carbine from the femme, her casual watching was no different from a glaring sneer or other such things from his perception, which was good. It would have made him feel on edge for betraying himself like that, likely making him feel even more unhappy that he had felt the need to bring it up. He probably should have put two and two together that with Jazz not being a flyer he would be fine, but alas... what was done was done and he couldn't really take it back. That said, when she said 'Easier than falling' He snapped his helm over towards her, trying to decipher body language to see if she was making a jab at him.

Carbine was about to speak when another figure entered the area, helm whipping over as he adjusted himself so that he could face all three relatively well.

Oh.

Not Fun.

Carbine's gaze instantly shot across the new mech's frame as he took his root form. It was fairly obvious to him that he had to be law enforcement of some type. No matter if one was a batch build or not, they all somehow seemed to follow a certain color scheme and general aura. The star on the mech's chest also painted a pretty good picture of WHAT he was, and by extension that he was a bit higher up the chain than Carbine was. This alone probably wouldn't have been a problem, only... this mech then had to speak up all Mr. Professional which instantly made Carbine believe he was a goodie-goodie who probably had strict rules he followed or who knows what.

A whuff of air flicked through Carbine's vents, not really in the mood to try to play 'brother' to someone else in law enforcement right now. Alas, he wouldn’t really need to hang around too terribly long however, as things transitioned and shifted... and soon after the Ground Bridge roared to life with a snarled boom and hiss of the vortex forming abruptly to throw teal and blue light across the room.

Making sure Jazz were to depart first, Carbine cast a wary glance back before he too followed, rotors hiked up and pulled close along his back as he did so.

---((Time Skip Approved))---

This was crap.

Carbine had loafed around for a good long while, waiting, stalling... not sure HOW long it would take for this Commander to show up. How far had Jazz sent her to drive? Was she trying to barrel across the entire state? It seemed a bit excessive, a black ped kicking against some stones absently while he tried to keep himself entertained as best he could. Moments turned to minutes, minutes into MORE minutes... one atop another until an hour passed or maybe two... it was hard to say.

Eventually as time slipped past Carbine ended up leaning back against a ratty tree, trying to use it as some kind of support to allow him to recline a bit without being flat on his back. It also had a boon of letting him keep an eye on the road in both directions. The poor tree was leaning some, not too pleased at having such a thing eased up against it, but it stayed strong for the moment. It was while resting here Carbine looked over at the dry dirt trail that stretched off to who knows where, wondering just WHEN this shadow of a shape was going to come rocking up. It had to be soon... yet.... he didn't really WANT to be stuck airborne the entire time waiting. He didn’t want to be flying for another hour if that’s what it would-

Ah.

There it was.

Some kind of shape. While it may not BE the femme, it was close enough that Carbine knew he had to change anyway. If it was the Commander it would mean getting away from her. If it was a human, than it was to hide what he was. With a heave and dry rattle of the tree crankily settling back down, the black and white mech hefted himself a few paces to clear the canopy well and good, before his entire frame hatcheted apart and swung into transformation. With a snarled clatter of armor and components, the helicopter would take shape and its rotors would begin kicking active a moment after to kick up dust and send shrubs whipping.

By the time Avalanche would even remotely get close enough into striking range, he would be well enough in the air that getting pummeled wouldn’t be a concern.

::Fraggin hell Jazz, y̷ou m-ma͞ke her drive cross cou͢nt́rý ̛o̸r did she get los̷t li͘k̡e ͏an ͝idiot?::