[ti]Ep 3[/ti]The Mind Electric (Open)

[Deleted]

(Week 2, day 3 - Tanzania)


Placebo had made quite a few questionable, regrettable decisions in his life, but those decisions had seemed entirely reasonable if not necessary at the time they had been made. Bridging directly onto the surface of a completely unmapped planet that was 71% water was definitely up there somewhere in his top ten list of Choices That Were Really Bad, In Hindsight.

He could have wound up anywhere - stranded in a desert or a tundra, dropped into one of the countless massive bodies of water that littered the planet's surface, set atop a perilously high mountain or even straight into an active volcano. Even if by some stroke of luck he managed to guess the magic coordinates that would send him somewhere relatively safe, he could still undershoot the distance of the ground and wind up plummeting to his death the moment he stepped out of the bridge. Really, it was just a bad idea all around, bridging across the known universe to an unmapped planet in the middle of nowhere. It was a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad idea.

Fortunate, then, that Placebo hadn't the slightest consideration for his own well-being, so he was free to throw caution to the wind and boldly go wherever the hell it was he was going.

It was someplace hot, as it turned out, and humid. So hot and humid in fact that the moment Bo set foot out of the bridge a thick, dripping layer of condensation flashed over him the moment the air heated air hit his considerably cooler plating. Now uncomfortably damp, Bo took a moment to regret not bridging himself directly into the sun so this grievous misfortune could have been avoided, before tossing all theatrics aside and setting himself back on track so he could get started on doing what he came to the planet to do. He was a mech on a mission and he had no time to waste on making jokes no one was around to hear - okay, no, that was a lie, he always had time to laugh at his own jokes.

But still, mech on a mission, no time to loose - allons-y!

He took a moment to examine his surroundings, not just to appreciate the natural, alien beauty of organic flora, but also to discern whether or not he was somewhere he could be a giant sentient robot without catching any guff. It simply wouldn't do to be seen by any of the natives so soon after arrival - not that Bo idea what the dominant species of the planet looked like in the first place, so he couldn't very well tell if he had been spotted by any of them, but still. Nothing was running away or squawking or gibbering at him with its strange mouth meat, so he felt fairly confident he was in the clear.

--For about five seconds, before a sudden bang broke the sound barrier and Placebo became acutely aware of just how not alone he really was. He turned to look for the source of the noise, offering his immediate surroundings a tight, confused smile as he looked this way and that before spotting something off in the distance. He tilted his head, squinted until he could make out the vague outline of some sort of.... primitive vehicle? There didn't appear to be any signs of civilization for miles around, so he couldn't imagine why anyone would be so far out in the middle of the wilderness unless they were lost, or sight seeing, or -

No, they were definitely sight seeing.

Bo could tell because he was the most interesting sight around to be seen, as evident by the vehicle slowing to a crawl half way down the road, changing course, and turning to make a b-line straight for him. Bo flashed the oncoming vehicle a tight, awkward smile, frozen for a moment like a deer in the headlights. This was very much not good, and Bo very much did not want to be in this situation, so he did the only thing he could given the situation - he transformed and hit the tightly packed dirt trail that passed for a road, hoping to outrun his would-be admirers before they could confirm that they had in fact just caught a glimpse of a giant alien robot in the middle of their safari tour.

As he beat his hasty retreat, he opened up an open channel on every Decepticon frequency he knew, hoping to get a response before things could go any more pear-shaped.

::Gooood morning everybody, this is Dr. Bo reporting in! Sorry to say but I've just picked a whole bouquet of Whoopsie Dasies and could really use an assist.::

[Sparkplug]

Far, far to the north by north-west of the steaming jungles of Tanzania… distant ranks of mountains marched against the sky, dark green forests densely coating their flanks, snow caps glittering in the chill air. Deep valleys and fissures between their vertiginous slopes plunged down into the shadows, leading into the deeper darkness of ancient caves.

And there, in the silent dark, a sealed vault door of dense alien alloy.

And beyond… music.

"Daaah, dahdah dah daaah," Sparkplug hummed, as she swirled around the development lab in time with the classical melody pouring from the walls. Neat little roller skates gleamed on her pedes, small wheels humming as she skated an elegant loop. "Nah dah dah, dah dah daah dah dah daaah…"

Skates! Such a simple idea! That was the trouble with Cybertronians, she decided. They were so used to all of their technology being so complex, they looked straight past the cruder but more effective solutions. Some grounders had pede structures that included the ability to retract and balance on the bare wheel; her own were nearly there, but needed a bit of work. She'd been meaning to mod her pedes for full retraction for ages.

Then she'd seen footage of the natives, rolling around the place effortlessly, without any body restructuring at all. Amazing! It had taken barely half a breem to knock something together. The monitors lining the walls glowed brightly with views of the sunlit mountainsides above, the music flowed richly from the speakers, and she accelerated smoothly down the length of the lab with quick pushes of her pedes, field glowing with happiness.

The music cut-out, mid-beat, as a comm signal took priority.

::Gooood morning everybody, this is Dr. Bo reporting in! Sorry to say but I've just picked a whole bouquet of Whoopsie Dasies and could really use an assist.::

"Who? A what? What kind of-" Sparkplug began, then yelped as she lost control of her momentum, skittering, arms flailing, before coming to a short, sudden stop against the scarred metal of the shooting range endplate.

CLANG.

"…ow," she mumbled, picking herself up and rubbing her aft. Bending forwards, her left hand whirred into a powered socket wrench, and she hurriedly unfastened the skates. Doctor Bo? That wasn't a name she was familiar with. He'd gotten a signal out, which hinted it was more likely to be Autobots than MECH trouble, but you never knew…

Booting up her comms array, she transmitted:

::Sparklabs to Blackridge. Requesting a bridge from this facility to the coordinates of that distress signal. Sparkplug responding::

Tossing her skates onto a workbench with a clatter, Sparkplug ducked out into the main hub to face the shallow alcove designated for bridge access. White and green light played across her faceplate as reality parted, and as she slammed into vehicular mode, the thought occurred to her that if she ever lost access to such fantastic technology, going everywhere from point 'A' to point 'B' was going to seem unbearably tiresome.

And then, as if by magic, she was somewhere else. Sweltering heat rolled over her like a wave, tangled vegetation towering over her altmode in every direction. She couldn't see anything just yet, but from nearby, a Cybertronian signal beckoned.

No time to waste, then.

Her engine barked a high-pitched note as she broke into movement; a smooth, angular rally car in glittering white, her six heavily-treaded wheels betraying the origin of the design as one fitted for fast movement through difficult terrain. From the flattened deck behind her cockpit, her lengthy silver cannon deployed, saturating the air with EM-bleed.

Bouncing and jinking across the rough ground, she caught sight of a fast-moving vehicle that was not one of their own kind, and only the most last-minute of hesitations kept her from blowing the thing's wheels off before she belatedly recognised it as being unarmed. Pulling ahead of it, she caught sight of another vehicle ahead - the source of the signal.

::Sparkplug here. Let's have your auth code, and quick. Where are your attackers?::

[Deleted]

Placebo was not a particularly fast mech - he was somewhere in the average by Cybertronian standards, which still put him well above the Human average, but he was reluctant to demonstrate his superior speed because of the likelihood that it would only enrapture his admirers even further. That, and the landscape surrounding him was actually quite lovely and he wanted to be able to do a bit of sight seeing without everything becoming a yellow-green blur.

Yes, his priorities were obviously misaligned, but given the relatively low stakes of the situation, he felt they could afford to be. It wasn't as if this particular set of humans was any threat to him; quite the contrary. It was he that was a threat to them - not through any evil intention on his part, but by virtue of being what he was, and who he was associated with. The Decepticons, after all, tended to have a rather lax policy when it came to alien-relations - "lax" being a nice word for "complete indifference bordering on outright disdain."

The poor, unsuspecting natives had the sword of Damocles hanging over their heads, just for having the misfortune of encountering Placebo, and he felt an obligation to do what he could to keep that sword from swinging down. There was no guarantee that whoever answered his comm. would be able to be reasoned with, but Placebo had his hopes if nothing else, and he was prepared to make a very convincing argument if need be.

For a few, uncomfortably long moments he recieved no response on the open channel. Normally, Bo would have been content to wait (you couldn't have patients without any patience), but circumstances being what they were, he figured an extra poke wasn't uncalled for.

::Knock Knock, is anybody ho -oh. Hello::

He could see it now, the reason for the delay - a second car, speeding around the first, this one decidedly less conspicuous in design. Clearly not built for the environment, which meant only one thing.

The cavalry had arrived, and without his having to specify anything about the situation, either. What a lovely surprise.

Bo slowed down just a bit, relaxing now that there was a friend between himself and the tourists. The driver of the Jeep slowed as well, swerving slightly as they pulled away from the six-wheeled rally car that had come up behind them out of nowhere and cut them off without so much as a warning honk. Hanging back a bit, the driver seemed to be wondering what to do next, their decision surely made even more difficult by the cacophony of different opinions being shouted by the jeep's passengers.

Satisfied that they were sufficiently distracted for the time being, Bo felt he could afford to make a bit of small talk instead of diving straight into brass tacks.

::Ask and you shall receive, Sparky-dear - though I've gotta say it takes a special kind of person to lie about being a Decepticon on an open channel where the Warlord himself could be listening in::

He said it as a joke, but obviously it was point that had merit. You would have to be a special kind of bold to pretend to be a Decepticon after broadcasting your location to everyone in the faction. Still, procedure was procedure and Bo was happy to send over his ident.codes if it would make things run more smoothly.

::As for my attackers - well, I never actually said I was under attack, unless you consider being followed by a handful of natives with cameras an "attack"::

He paused, remembering he was speaking with a Decepticon, and hastily corrected himself.

::--It's not, for the record. Curiosity's not a crime, we don't need to turn innocent bystanders into target practice just 'cause it's convenient, m'kay?::

[Sparkplug]

Huh. It wasn't an attack.

Her assumptions rather thoroughly undermined, Sparkplug widened the reach of her scanners, trying to pick up any hint of hostile intentions; target drones lurking in the distance, static on the comms line, hard shapes in the undergrowth. All of it came up blank. Her cannon twitched from side to side in one last survey, then collapsed into her frame, hiding the incongruous element from sight.

::Well now, why didn't you say so? There's Autobots aplenty hereabouts, and some of the local organics have taken to getting real ambitious, scrapping strays who go get caught off-guard::

Switching her comms to Blackridge's frequency, she added:

::Relaying authorisation code for verification. I'm keeping a carrier signal open; if that cuts off, give me sixty nano-kliks to re-establish contact, then open a bridge to my last-known coordinates::

Everything seemed fine, sure. That didn't mean she shouldn't take some basic precautions against comms jamming. One nasty surprise was enough.

And speaking of basic precautions... a figure flickered into existence within her cockpit, colour bleeding in from the edges as the projection stabilised. A young-looking female, a little small for the seat, with a bright, open expression, plentifully scattered freckles and vibrant green hair in twin bunches. Her shirt was bright white, one shoulder-length sleeve, the other gauzy and grey down to her left wrist, with a prominent Decepticon logo over her chest. Wouldn't do to get caught on film with an empty cab.

Easing her speed down, she began playfully weaving back and forth across the dirt trail, taunting the human vehicle behind her. Humour bled into her local broadcast as she relaxed into a more conversational tone.

::Sparky-dear, huh? Settle your tailpipes, I'm not gonna go blazing around the place shooting up everything that moves. Now, if Coldwind had answered your hail, then you might be in trouble. Don't mind the natives that much, myself. Decent line in music::

Mostly true. She didn't mind the natives other than MECH, who had earned her unending ire quickly and efficiently.

::So what brings you down, and I do mean down, to this ball of mud, rock and festering salt puddles? Doctor Bo, was it? Knock Out will be glad to have another medic around, I'm sure::

She paused, an ambiguous expression coming over her avatar's face as her emotional state was translated onto the projection, then the slim girl shrugged. Leaning out of her side window, she looked back and pulled a face at the pursuing vehicle and its cargo of arguing humans.

::Maybe. He might have enough medical help. Still, another 'con is another 'con, right? What kind of assist did you have in mind, anyway? I can outrun these nosy little glitches if I lead them off with me::

[Deleted]

Placebo wasn't quite sure what to make of Sparkplug - granted he had only known her for about two minutes, so there really wasn't much information for him to work with, but still. It wasn't everyday he encountered a chipper Decepticon, let alone a chipper Decepticon who held any regard whatsoever for organic life. It was refreshing, and interesting, but most of all it was convenient because it meant he would need to spend any time trying to convince his little helper that violence was not the answer to his -technically their - problem.

Bo made a sound like a laugh, carved it right out of his throat and sewed it in front of his words because laughter encourages people to be at ease, it says 'hey, everything's fine and we're all having a good time.' And they were, everyone was having a good time because their problems were gonna be solved and nobody had to die to make it happen. Good good good. Stupendous.

::Well you know, it's the darnedest thing. Work had dried up at the last place I was stationed, and just when I'm starting to think it's time to move on to greener pastures, we get a broadcast from somewhere waaaaaay out there in the great wide wilderness of uncharted space::

He pulled slightly to the left to avoid a dip in the road, despite not having any tires to get caught in the chuck hole. He would have to get in the habit of being more mindful of how he drove once he scanned a native alt mode, and figured now was as good a time as any to start getting some practice in.

::Things were getting a little too cozy back at my last assignment, so I decided to pack my bags and see if you fine folks here on the front lines could use a psychiatrist::

Another laugh-like sound, high and light, ending as abruptly as it began.

::I'm just kidding. I know you could use a psychiatrist::

Behind them the jeep began to slow, the driver clearly reluctant to continue the pursuit despite all the cajoling from the passengers. This would have come as a relief to Bo, a problem solving itself, if not for one teeny tiny insignificant but still Problematic little thing.

A series of rapid-fire flashes alerted Bo to the fact the humans either had some sort of flashing stun grenade, or they were taking pictures. The latter was considerably more likely than the former, and much more threatening to their own safety. It was all fine and dandy, outracing the jeep and leaving them in the dust with no proof of what they saw except for their own eyewitness accounts, but having photographic evidence - that was a problem. One that could potentially take them out of Sparkplug's good graces and put them into the acceptable losses category.

Placebo very much wanted to avoid this possibility, and so he was quick to offer a plan of action, presenting it as the most logical and tactically sound choice as opposed to just the one he liked the most.

::It's not really getting away that's the problem, it's making sure I don't wind up plastered all over the evening news. If we just pull over and explain the situation, I'm sure they'd agree to hand those pesky cameras over so everyone wins and nobody gets hurt::

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug's suspension really was built for this. She rolled smoothly across the undulating terrain, feeling her multiple axles shifting and pushing to even out the rough ground, and a feeling of genuine happiness blossomed in her spark. There actually wasn't any lethal threat, and every excuse to get out and exercise her drive train was an excuse to be treasured.

Maybe she should do more off-roading, if she could find any mecha willing to take a drive with her. Vega was fantastic, but not really a wheels on the ground kind of femme, and Knock Out was more the kind to relish a little smooth tarmac. She was distracted from the train of thought as the hovering mech drifting along smoothly in front of her spoke up again, telling her what his job was. A startled laugh escaped her, humour flaring in her wide, expressive field.

::And there I was, thinking psychiatry was a lost art. I mean, yeah, there are plenty of cases kicking around for you to take a crack at. Toss a rock and you'll hit some mecha with deep, fundamental issues that you could write a Primus-damned thesis on. There's at least one energon-splattered lunatic whose stated mission in life is watching mecha die so that they're happy for an instant, there's a quad frame who's spent the war buried in a hole and still thinks the Warlord is leading a civil revolution for the good of the underclass, there's another guy who accidentally triggered some real trouble for our forces, and has kinda shrivelled into this terrified ghost of himself. Like I said, throw a rock::

She swerved around a tree, feeling the soil undulate beneath her tyres as it traced the organic structure's buried roots. The native vehicle was falling a little further back, maybe losing the taste for pursuit. This really could be pretty easy.

::I ended up down here much the same way as you; I was in a research facility that had gradually emptied out. Only four of us left, by the time I got the call and decided to move on down here. Good choice, really. Needed the change before I rusted::

Given the facility was in orbit around Antilla, site and origin of the infamous rust plague, that was a turn of phrase that had an odd gravity about it. Still, dismissing the thought, Sparkplug was just about to accelerate away and leave the humans to do whatever humans did in this situation when Doctor Bo went and spoiled her day.

::Explain the situation? Unicron's rusty, scraplet-ridden aft vent, we're hoping the squishies are going to be reasonable? Oh, fine, I'll take a crack at it; sure hope they speak the dominant planetary language::

Relaying her audio inputs to the tight beam so that Bo could listen in, Sparkplug gunned her engine, then dropped back to run alongside the transport vehicle and its cargo of oblivious humans. Now, what was a plausible country to name? Ah yes, the one that she'd read about the other day, one with a flourishing weapons development programme. Perfect.

Syncing her avatar's voice to her own vocoder to give the impression of using external speakers, she called out, "Attention occupants! The vehicle ahead of you is a military prototype, and cannot be photographed. Nobody wants to upset the Chinese, understand? I'm going to need you to come to a complete stop, and hand over your camera equipment so I can erase any imagery of the prototype."

From the rear of her flatbed, the glistening silver shape of her particle lance deployed into the sunlight once more, a long, complex weapon mounted on a swivelling turret. "This vehicle is also armed, so I strongly advise you do not try any small arms fire. Hit the brakes, turn over your gear for memory erasure, and you will get to keep your equipment and your tyres. Otherwise, you may find it to be a very long walk home."

Admittedly, the young-looking girl at the wheel with the dyed green hair didn't look like a military operative, but her avatar was what it was. If they didn't take her seriously, she'd have to demonstrate her firepower against some innocent rock or tree, and if that didn't do the trick, she was going to have to drop the pretence and take their equipment with her bare hands. Come on, guys, be smart here, she silently urged.

[Deleted]

Placebo liked to think he was a good listener. Not just because it was a fundamental part of his chosen profession, but because he made a conscious effort to not be a bad person and paying attention to others when they were speaking was one of the most basic tenets of decency. Unfortunately, Bo wasn't always able to be as decent of a person as he would have liked to be – as soon as Sparkplug described the menagerie of troubled psyches that would soon fall within his preview, his attention began to drift, the rest of Sparkplug's words falling by the wayside as he hyper-fixated on his special interest, as he was wont.

Psychopaths and sadists, sycophants and sociopaths – more often than not, they were far more interesting in theory than in practice. More often than not, Placebo found himself disappointed by how typical they all turned out to be. Over the course of his career, he had rarely ever encountered someone who deviated from the mold in any remarkable way –there were certainly mecha who were more creative than others when it came to expressing their dysfunction, but at the end of the day, they all tended to follow the same disorganized patterns of thought and behavior, which made them predictable. Which made them boring. It was rarely ever the person that was interesting or remarkable in any way – no, what intrigued Placebo was the circumstances that shaped them, the variables in their formulas.

He could scarcely imagine the sort of variables a quad-frame who had spent most of the war “buried in a hole” would present him with – it was a wholly unprecedented premise, one Placebo lost himself to as he considered the possibilities. Was the quad-framed delusional, or simply ignorant? Were they being deliberately kept in the dark as a means of preserving their loyalty, or were they so simple minded that such obfuscation was unnecessary? To what degree might cognitive dissonance play a role in their perception of reality?

These and a few dozen other questions raced through Placebo's mind, each thought vying for consideration. He wouldn't go so far as to say that is interest had been piqued, but at the very least the mention of the quad-frame had caught his attention, which was something. He almost wanted to spoil things for himself by asking Sparkplug for a few more details, for a piece of information that might actually spark a bit of excitement in him for the first time in an undisclosed unit of measurement, but he refrained. He could fish for details later, after they had taken care of his little admirer problem.

::I know, I know, it sounds a little hinky, but there's a good chance it'll work. Take it from a professional talker – you can get a lot done if you just say the right words::

Granted, he didn't know enough about the native species of the planet to know what those right words could possibly be, but he didn't feel the need to point that out. Not that he needed to, since Sparkplug seemed perfectly content to write up her own script and execute the entire thing on her own. Her plan was so solid, her improvisation so convincing, that Placebo honestly had a hard time believing she hadn't somehow prepared it before hand. He let out a low, appreciative whistle as he continued forward, keeping tabs on the confrontation going on behind him even as he turned off the road and made his way into the tall grass, hoping for cover.

::Oh, wow. I was just tell the truth and trust nobody would ever believe them, but your idea's got a lot more pizzazz::

It also had considerably more pull with the occupants of the jeep, if the way it came to an abrupt stop at the side of the road was any indication. Granted, that might have had more to do with the weapon being flashed at them than the merits of Sparkplug's argument, but still. There was a great deal of chatter from the jeep's occupants, the poor tourists likely debating what to do whilst also wondering out loud if anything that was said to them was actually true. In the end, it didn't matter whether or not they were convinced by the words presented to them by Sparkplug's avatar – all that mattered was that they were being faced with a very real looking weapon, and that was enough to buy their compliance.

Placebo thanked the God he was certain did not exist as the chatter inside the jeep died down, its occupants having come to a sudden but uneasy agreement. A man in a floppy canvas hat leaned out the window, sweat pouring down his sunburnt skin as he looked to Sparkplug's avatar, searching for a military uniform or other recognizable symbol of authority. He obviously found none, which was a point against them, but desperate times often prompted desperate justifications, and it was easy enough for the man to rationalize her lack of obvious military affiliation as proof that they had, in fact, stumbled over some sort of covert operation.

He glanced back at his riding companions, rallying himself with the support of their presence, before looking back to Sparkplug's avatar, wary but trying to put on a brave face.

“This is – this is all some off-record weapons testing thing, right?”

Placebo found himself feeling inexplicably proud of the man, trying so hard to be calm and reasonable and maintain the pretense of civility despite the inherent absurdity and incivility of the situation.

“So we just – we give you our cameras and phones and you wipe everything and that's it? We don't have to sign anything or, or I dunno, get put on some kind of list – we can just go?”

It was clear by the hopeful yet uncertain nature of his tone that he very much wanted this to be the case, but sincerely doubted things could possibly be so simple.

::Oh no. Oh no I feel so BAD now. We need to dial it back a little, say something reassuring so these people don't think they're about to be murdered - which, again, is a thing I'd really rather not happen. I really can't stress that enough::

[Sparkplug]

::Oh, wow. I was just tell the truth and trust nobody would ever believe them, but your idea's got a lot more pizzazz::

Sparkplug's avatar grinned, shaking her head as the jeep braked to an abrupt stop beside her.

::Wouldn't work. Threatening someone with something they don't recognise takes too long; they focus on the bits they don't understand rather than the threat::

Gripping the edge of her window frame, Sparkplug's small avatar pulled herself up and out of the car in one lithe, easy movement; her altmode's lack of opening doors was an occasional inconvenience, but one she'd gotten used to.

Now here was a risk. Her projector wasn't particularly damage resistant; it was a tool for delicate work and disguise, not offensive operations. If one of the vehicle's occupants shot her in the head, it could seriously damage her actual neural circuits from the feedback. Therefore, it was better if everyone stayed nice and calm.

Thankfully, the humans seemed to have latched onto the script and were playing their roles exactly as she might have hoped.

Choosing not to get too close to the jeep yet, Sparkplug leant against the side of her altmode, crossing her arms. See, I'm not a threat. The threat is the big gun. "You nailed it," she agreed brightly. "This is some serious no-records terrain testing, didn't expect to run into any groups this way, but here we are. So listen. If you walk out of here and tell people that you ran across a hover tank, no one's gonna take that seriously. Even though don't, but that doesn't worry me much. The hard evidence, though, that won't fly. So here's the deal."

She pointed to a large, relatively flat rock off to the side of the impromptu track. "You guys get out of the vehicle, lay down your equipment right there. Then I'll check inside your jeep to make sure you haven't forgotten anything. Then I'll wipe your data, and you get to go. I could take your names and documents, shove NDAs in your face, but paperwork makes me yawn and I don't really want to file the reports. So let's you and I keep some distance so no one gets jumpy, sort this out like civilised folks, and ride off into the sunset our separate ways. 'kay?"

Come on, idiot humans, take the deal. Glancing over towards the direction of the Doctor's hidden altmode, she rolled her eyes.

::No casualties unless I really, really have to, I get it. I know you're used to dealing with the kind of 'con whose cranial cases need a serious tuneup, but I'm not gonna blitz these little screwheads unless they get hostile::

[Deleted]

Jun 12, 2020 8:09:35 GMT -5 Sparkplug said:

::No casualties unless I really, really have to, I get it. I know you're used to dealing with the kind of 'con whose cranial cases need a serious tuneup, but I'm not gonna blitz these little screwheads unless they get hostile::

As far as reassurances went, this was perhaps the best Placebo could have reasonably asked for. It wasn't a guarantee, of course, it wasn't even something he would bet on given the duplicitous nature of their Faction (their entire species, he'd argue) but it was enough for him to rest reasonably assured. It wasn't as if there was really anything he could do top stop Sparkplug if she decided to go back on her word, so it was comforting to know that she seemed reasonably disinclined to break it.

Of course, only time would tell if this was a cleverly preformed ruse, but such was life in the Decepticon army. It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to get a rise out of him by luring him into a false sense of security, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

::Sorry, it's a habit. Nothing kills a relationship quite like miscommunication, so I like to err on the side of caution. If you don't explicitly establish your boundaries, you can't really blame people for crossing them::

He paused a moment, momentarily distracted by the sound of something shuffling through the grass in the distance. Local wildlife, perhaps, or maybe just the wind?

::You'd think "Don't murder innocent people" wouldn't have be a boundary, but here we are. That's just the wacky world we live in::

The shuffling sound grew closer, a rift parting in the long waves of grass as something inched closer to him, tentatively slinking across the sun-baked ground. Until he knew what it was - human or animal - he wouldn't mention it to Sparkplug. There was no need to complicate the situation, to provoke a (potentially) false sense of urgency by introducing another unknown variable into the equation. It was a problem for future Placebo to deal with, if indeed it turned out to be a problem at all.

Keeping half an audial attuned to the something slinking through the grass, Placebo turned most of his attention back to their little human problem, hoping against reason that things would turn out well, despite all odds. He couldn't see what was going on, but he could tell from the quiet, deliberative murmuring that the small group was trying to reach a consensus of some kind. One voice stood out louder than the others, that of the man in the canvas hat that had spoken to Sparkplug mere moments before. He seemed to have been appointed the de-facto leader of their little party of four, and despite the harrowing absurdity of the situation, he seemed to be handling things with a relatively cool head. Placebo found himself feeling irrationally proud of the little organic, proud and impressed by his ability to address a frightening, unfair station without escalating things.

If only Placebo's own people could have been so reasonable, he might have still had something good to say about them.

Eventually, after finishing their hushed, hurried exchange of words, the man in the canvas hat looked back at Sparkplug's avatar and nodded, uncertain but nonetheless willing to comply. It wasn't as though they had any better options.

"Okay - alright, we're gonna get out of the car now, okay? We're not gonna try anything, we're just getting out of the car like you said."

There was a pregnant pause as he waited for something, some sort of signal or word of confirmation that they wouldn't be fired upon for making a false move or anything of the sort, before the jeep's doors clicked open. Four passengers stepped out - first the man in the canvas hat, then the driver, then the two passengers on the opposite side of the vehicle. The man in the canvas hat held up his hands, just to emphasize he was unarmed in case that was a concern, before awkwardly walking backwards a few steps, towards the stone platform. He was reluctant to turn his back, to take his eyes off Sparkplug's avatar, and who could blame him?

The other passengers followed his leave, though they turned and moved to the platform with far more haste, eager to put distance between themselves and Sparkplug. One passenger, a woman with mousy-brown hair twisted into a bun, eyed her immediate surroundings, perhaps looking for cover, perhaps anticipating an ambush by an unseen predator hidden somewhere in the wilds, now that they were no longer within the safety of their vehicle.

The group laid their devices down on the stone, four smartphones and three cameras in total. One person even put down their smart-watch, unsure if it counted but unwilling to take the risk. Once everything was laid out, the man in the canvas hat ushered the group away from the pile, wanting to maintain a safe distance from Sparkplug's holo.

::Would you look at that. It takes a special kind of person to hold up so well in a hostage situation. These people are all gonna need therapy after this, but I think he'll be the best off::

[Sparkplug]

::If you don't explicitly establish your boundaries, you can't really blame people for crossing them::

Sparkplug's avatar leant casually against the side of her vehicle form, blowing a strand of green hair out of her face with a puff of breath as she half-listened to Doctor Bo. Her main attention was locked on the humans in their vehicle, hair-trigger tensed to ruin their day with her primary cannon if they shot at her. She really could not afford to take a bullet to her projection unit. All the same, something he said stood out to her, and a little wince of recognition crossed her face.

::That is some advice that younger me could have used. Might have changed the way a fair few relationships went::

The humans seemed to be trying to figure out what to do, but none of them seemed eager to jump to hostilities. Of course, overwhelming firepower did tend to give you a negotiating advantage, but she'd known plenty of mecha whose response to being unthinkably outgunned would have been to immediately charge.

They really were strange little creatures, from the inside. Her avatar's outer covering was so soft; the simulated layers of clothing did nothing to mimic the armour that was every mecha's natural state. Like Cybertronians in general shape, but impossibly different in the detail. She hadn't spent much time running her hard light holo, not since her abortive trip dancing, but maybe she should give it another try.

Maybe Bo would find it interesting to go with her.

::Got no real interest in frying anyone that isn't trying to hurt me back. 'specially when it's this level of overkill. They make decent music, you know. Tried partying with some, one time, back during the truce. Autobot turned up and spoiled the whole evening, avatar sticking to me like a scraplet on a strut, constantly insisting I'd snap at any moment and kill everything because that's what 'cons do::

Sparkplug rolled her green eyes, her nose wrinkling.

"Okay - alright, we're gonna get out of the car now, okay? We're not gonna try anything, we're just getting out of the car like you said."

Straightening up, Sparkplug cupped a hand to her mouth and called over, "Sure thing. Like I said: put everything down there, then stand back. I'll check your vehicle, then your stuff, and then we're done. Be patient, stay calm, and no one ends up with their hair on fire."

Watching with narrowed eyes as the humans withdrew, Sparkplug breathed out a little sigh of relief that they seemed like they'd be sensible. Approaching the vacant jeep, she methodically opened the doors, bending down to check under seats and opening the odd little convenience compartments the interior was littered with.

As far as she could tell, no one was playing silly games with her. Good humans. Pulling back, she circled around the vehicle's blunt snout, making her way over to the rock where the disposable tech awaited. Of course, she had no idea how to manipulate the local tech into erasing the pictures in such a way that they couldn't be recovered, but that little detail didn't fit with her cover story, so...

She paused, stopping herself from nodding in agreement with Bo's radioed assessment, then looked over to the human he'd singled out.

"You're doing really well," she praised him, then nodded towards the rest of the group. "I know this isn't a fun experience for you, but you're being sensible, and I really do appreciate that. You could be handling this a lot worse."

Scooping up the collection of phones and cameras, Sparkplug turned and walked briskly back over to her main chassis. A panel opened in her flat rear deck, near the base of the cannon, and she dumped the miscellaneous collection of native tech inside it. Better to isolate the stuff from outside signals in a metal box and deal with it later, rather than try to figure out how to use it then and there, or to make the humans even jumpier by using her cannon to destroy it all.

Turning back towards the humans, sticking close to the shelter of her vehicle form, Sparkplug spread her hands. "And that's that. Sorry, but you aren't getting this back. Please get into your vehicle and get on out of here the way you came. It might not be what you wanted, but it could be a lot worse." She nearly added some platitude on behalf of the armed services she was pretending to be part of, but she couldn't quite remember the name of the organisation, and getting it wrong now was a dumb risk she didn't need to take.

On the one hand, they were probably pretty indignant that she'd taken their stuff instead of purging it of data, like she'd said. On the other hand, it was already over and done, and with the threat of the cannon looming over her shoulder...

::Be smart, you skittish little scuttlers. Listen to the nice lady and just go home::

[Deleted]

Placebo knew he probably should have been paying closer attention to how things were going between Sparkplug and the humans, but truth be told, he simply could not be bothered. His attention was drawn elsewhere, fixated on the something-or-other slowly creeping towards him, parting the yellow grass as it hunkered low, keeping itself close to the ground. Whatever it was, it was being cautious – or perhaps just trying to be sneaky, unaware that its presence had already been noticed.

After a moment the rustling stopped, the grass ceasing all movement save for the gentle swaying of the wind. Placebo found himself struggling against the urge to creep forward a bit himself, wanting to know just what was watching him, and what it thought it would accomplish by doing so.

He waited a beat, briefly wondered if perhaps he should make some sort of sound to scare the mystery-creature off, then quickly decided that curiosity took precedent over common sense. He was making a potentially very unwise decision, but he reasoned that being aware that he was making a poor decision, yet choosing to do so regardless, said more about his self-preservation instincts than it did about his intelligence.

In essence, he was a smart mech who was predisposed towards knowingly making terrible decisions – as far as character faults went, Placebo felt he could do much worse. Besides, this particular terrible decision was, at best, only mildly terrible. Ill advised, certainly, but not likely to result in significant harm or long-lasting consequences – or at least that's what Placebo thought right up until his mysterious stalker poked its head out of the grass, at which point he realized he realized he had made a terrible mistake.

If he were in his root mode, his hands would have flown to his mouth, pressing hard enough to dent as though that might somehow muffle the sharp, undignified noise that the sight of the creature provoked from him. Being in his alt, he lacked the luxury of both hands and a mouth so instead he just sat there like the useless vehicle he was and shut off his vocalizer before his sharp, shocked gasp could draw the attention of every living creature within a eighty foot radius of himself.

Dark amber eyes watched him, unblinking. Fangs peaked out of an open mouth, a nose crinkled as a pink tongue tasted the air, trying to make sense of him. A paw moved forward, haltingly, testing his response, and Placebo remained still as death despite the overwhelming urge to transform and scoop the creature up and keep it in his cab forever.

Whatever it was – this fluffy sand-colored beast – he wanted it. He loved it wholly and unabashedly and he didn't have the slightest idea what it was, but he had never wanted anything in his life quite as much as he wanted whatever was standing four yards away from him. Well, nothing material. There were quite a lot of immaterial things he desired more than the creature, but they were far less attainable and therefor irrelevant to the discussion.

Distantly, he was aware of a small commotion going on a ways behind him -the humans responding poorly to Sparkplug's duplicity, no doubt. He was only half-paying attention, but even that was enough for him to be able to tell that the humans were not taking well to the news that their items were now forfeit. There were a few token protests, a bit of outrage, a dash of bargaining – but the even-tempered man who had taken charge of the small group proved himself to be their saving grace once again. Somehow, he managed to convince his companions to accept the raw hand they had been given and head back to their jeep, reasoning that they had not lost anything worth risking their lives over.

One by one they piled into their jeep, disgruntled and afraid and very reasonably put out by everything that had just transpired. The driver was eager to put the entire situation -and the looming threat of Sparkplug's weapon – far behind them, both figuratively and physically, and wasted little time making a quick three-point turn so that they could race off in the direction from whence they came.

The man in the canvas hat took it upon himself to peer out of the Jeep's open window, keeping his cautious eyes trained on Sparkplug as they tore down the dirt road, clearly wanting to make sure she didn't try and shoot them while their backs were turned. It was a good instinct to have, albiet one that wouldn't do them any good if Sparkplug truly intended to do them harm.

[Sparkplug]

Primus's pristine teeth, the humans were not happy about this turn of events. From the way they were reacting, any reasonable observer would have thought that she was abandoning them in a desert without so much as the clothes on their backs, and she began to wonder if she had seriously miscalculated their level of attachment to the machines she'd confiscated.

No, she couldn't give just some of the devices back. No, she wasn't going to let them erase the data for her and show her it was done. No, she didn't know how much a new-model iPhone cost. And no, she wasn't going to give them the name of her supervisor, even if she had been momentarily tempted to drop a name that would most certainly have gotten them red-flagged when they got back to whatever passed for local civilisation.

Fortunately - finally - the one she'd internally labelled as 'most likely to survive' managed to shut the rest of them up and herd them back into their vehicle. The slight but meaningful twitch of her main cannon might have played a part in the decision. Sparkplug's avatar climbed back into her cab, with a sigh of relief as her delicate projector was ensconced behind armour glass once more, and offered a cheery wave goodbye as the native vehicle bounced off into the distance.

Then she dissolved her avatar, and ignited her engine. The lengthy silver cannon collapsed back into the flat rear deck of her vehicle form with the sigh-hiss of reconfiguring mechanisms, and she nosed through the undergrowth towards the new arrival, radiating satisfaction.

:: That's that, then. Whatever story they tell, it'll be about some heinous green-haired glitch who yelled at them and took all their stuff. Probably have me waving a gun in their faces and demanding their rings and watches by the time they're done. ::

Sparkplug sighed winsomely. :: And I didn't even get to fire my particle cannon. I wouldn't have hurt them, of course, but it does have a way of impressing people. ::

Casting a curious optic over Bo's altmode, she added, :: I'd love to hear more about where you came from and what kind of systems you're packing in there, but I guess there's an order to all this! First, we get you back to base, get you checked out for damage or pathogens, then we fit you up with a native altmode before you get to go drawing attention again. We had a nasty disease outbreak not long ago, and we're gonna want to get you vaccinated for that too, just in case. Ready to get going? ::

Opening a channel from her internal comm, Sparkplug paused, waiting for his response. If he answered in the affirmative, one call to Blackridge would have a space bridge right on their heels.

[Deleted]

Distantly, Placebo realized words were being said. Things were happening, as things often did, and he was tangentially involved in those things, so it was probably in his best interest to pay attention to them. Unfortunately, Placebo found all of his attention had been invested in other things, things that weren't the things he was supposed to be paying attention to. Wonderful things, sweet, precious, adorable things, like whiskers and twitching ears and little pink noses.

Was that a coherent summation of the situation? No? Well, Placebo felt well within his right to be a bit spotty in the prose department, considering his train of thought had been ruthlessly highjacked by the existence of the Cutest Little Dickens, Yes You Are, which left him with very little cognitive power to devote to practical things like explaining why he completely tuned Sparkplug out and hadn't heard a single thing she had said in the last two minutes.

In fact, for all the mind he paid her, Sparkplug may not have been there at all - it wasn't until she began to head his way that he even acknowledged her presence, and even then, it was only because her presence was alarming the cat. Or was the proper term feline? Felidae? Placebo didn't know enough about the classification of organic animals to know for certain. All he knew was the creature was vaguely cat-shaped, though infinitely smaller and softer than its Cybertronain counterpart. It looked so soft, in fact, that Placebo wasn't entirely convinced that it wasn't actually some sort of non-newtonian fluid. He was sorely tempted to transform and scoop the little thing up to test this hypothesis for himself, but as soon as the thought occurred to him, the creature bolted. Quick as a whip, it turned tail and fled back into the brush from whence it came, as though it had somehow read Placebo's mind and decided it wasn't particularly in the mood to be manhandled by a giant mental alien.

More likely, it was startled by Sparkplug's approach - the poor cat probably thought it was being outnumbered, or perhaps it could only tolerate so much strangeness, and decided to take its leave before things became even more difficult to process. Whatever the reason, Placebo did not begrudge Sparkplug (much) for unintentionally scaring the creature off. It wasn't as though he could sit there all day, watching the creature until it left of its own accord - well, theoretically he could, but it would have been terribly irresponsible of him, and Bo had a vested interest in appearing as though he were a perfect cog in the war-machine. No squeaky wheels in need of grease here, no sir.

He watched the creature go, and felt a distinct hollowness begin to grow in its absence. The feeling was always there, of course, like a blister on his soul, festering under the confines of his skin, but for a brief moment it had abated, lanced by the presence of the charming little creature whose very existence was a direct attack on every last one of his sensibilities.

::Ready? Oh, sure. I mean, I'm never ready for anything, but that just means I'm always as ready as I'll ever be::

He laughed, like it was a joke, though if asked he wouldn't be able to say why it was supposed to be funny in the first place.