[ti]Ep 3[/ti]From Out of Nowhere (Closed)

[Pyrotech]

Week 3, Day 3 - Early morning

(Pyrotech, Dart, Knock Out, Placebo, and Thundercracker)

The wind had picked up early this morning, and pulled along with it dark, heavy sheets of grey drizzle. 

After a long stretch without rain, the ground around this rocky section of Steens Mountain was hardpacked and dry. When droplets struck the powdery tan soil, it puffed up and then fell back into tiny pockmarks. Some areas were quickly becoming saturated though; the water was coming down faster than it could be absorbed.

Here and there it collected into deep puddles, but mostly it was starting to turn into treacherous, slippery footing- a gloopy, gloppy layer of thick red mud.

Standing in a dry spot under an overhang among the tall, jagged stones, Pyrotech glanced over the miserable landscape. His dark hand lifted to rub thoughtfully at his pale, narrow jaw.

Beads of moisture flecked across the glossy red mech's finish, coalescing into perfect silver droplets on his well-cared for plating. When he brought his arm back down, it was with a neat, fussy flick of his fingers that dispelled some of the water, as if he were a fastidious cat who had picked his way through sodden grass.

If it continued to rain like this, by next week most of the packed-dirt roads would become impassable. The mud would come up and mire any vehicle that was silly enough to try to drive on it.

Which was not entirely a bad thing.

Although they were in a remote section of the mountains, there were still humans about. They seemed to try and put themselves out in the most unhospitable places possible. Pyrotech didn't appreciate that. When they had first arrived here, he'd set patrols for weeks and watched the patterns, mapped out the places he'd seen any numbers of them go to, or camp at.

He had made sure that this outpost was in a place rarely passed by, and that it was not on a hiking trail or some filthy little hole that declared itself a scenic by-route on this even filthier planet.

Still, once or twice during the first rains of the season, some human idiot thought they could drive up on a road in one of their big trucks. Immediately, the slop would pull no punches and sink them right down to the axles. Often it would require multiple people and other trucks to get them out.

It had happened to new recruits and Vehicons as well. They learned.
None of them had sunk down slowly into the dirt of despair and deactivated, anyway. Not yet. 

Pyrotech looked out over the rugged hills once more, a frown settling across his lips. Off to his left and out in the rain, the slim frame of the courier immediately shifted. Water sluiced off her in filthy trickles, but didn't even attempt to budge the pattern of spattered mud on her legs and shins. Dart fidgeted slightly, and then immediately stilled, clasping her hands tighter behind her back.

Without a word, she lifted her nose into the wind and sniffed warily; he had ordered her to stay on guard since they were waiting here for the others he'd told Starscream he needed for this mission.

The medic, for his surgery skills and his speed. A new arrival, skilled in psychological warfare. The flier, a soldier and also a recent re-joiner of the Decepticons here on Earth. 

Two of these mechs Pyrotech needed if they were to get the objective taken care of efficiently. The third?

That one was useful of course, but more of hmm, a favor.

Keep an eye on him for me...

A simple mention in passing as they were discussing a hundred other things that needed to get resolved around the base. Offhand. Casually. That was the way those sorts of things were brought up, of course.

Way back when they'd come with a good stem of high-grade and a much better view than Pyrotech enjoyed right now. 

Hopefully it wouldn't be long before they all arrived, the summons had gone with a firm time indicated, and the orders had been directly from Commander Starscream. That was certainly more likely to get the mechs reporting here in a hurry compared to a call from the base architect.

Pyrotech truly appreciated punctuality, and the time window he knew to be available was fairly small.

They should be here soon, and then he could call to Soundwave and have him open the portal to where they needed to go...

[Thundercracker]

Starscream definitely did not want him around all the time...

Thundercracker did not mind though. If Starscream wanted him out, that was a good enough excuse for Thundercracker to get outside and stretch his wings. When the call came out for him to report away from base, he declined to groundbridge. He wanted a chance to soar again through the clouds, to look over this new planet he would call home for the foreseeable future.

But time to go to work. He spotted his objective down through the clouds, and arced down that way till he was a few hundred feet off the ground. With the sound of a T-cog activating, the F/A-18E fighter aircraft seemed to split apart into a thousand different pieces, shifting and rearranging themselves on their own until they formed a bi-peddled winged figure, who proceeded to fall the remaining distance and land with a crash that shook the earth and echoed for miles.

Thundercracker looked around, seeing the one identified as Pyrotech as well as Dart. That bit surprised him, but it was nice to see her given something other than patrol duty. He gave her a soft smile before returning his attention to Pyrotech.

“I’m Thundercracker, you must be Pyrotech. Care to explain what is going on?”

Thundercracker did not mind doing things for the cause, those that expected others to do the dirty work never went far in his mind. It was something that irked him about Starscream. Guy always kept his hands clean physically, never did his own dirty work. Instead he got others to do it for him, the bastard.

[Knock Out]

Just like Thundercracker, Knock Out had also opted not to use a Ground Bridge.

It was something he would quickly come to regret.

The coordinates given to meet Pyrotech weren’t too far away from Blackridge - a couple of miles at most - and any excuse to drive, even over some rougher terrain, Knock Out would take it.

Something else he would quickly regret.

Leaving Flatline in charge of the Medical Bay with what could probably be considered an excessive list of instructions and other notes, Knock Out had left relatively early to give himself enough time to arrive. The drizzle at first hadn’t bothered him, but when that drizzle had failed to cease he’d quickly scolded his poor judgment.

Why Starscream needed him to go on this mission was beyond him. Surely if something happened he could simply bridge there and deal with the problem right then and there. Then again, the briefing had been annoyingly vague and he hadn’t dared ask for further details.

Orders were orders, after all, and now that Starscream was once again in charge of the Decepticons? He knew better than to argue.

Especially when Pyrotech was concerned.

Swiftly realizing that his altmode would not win against the terrain or the elements - namely the thick layer of mud that’d formed far quicker than he expected, he’d shifted into his rootmode to try and make a run for it.

The thought of any humans lingering nearby was at the back of his processor. Hopefully whatever native pests were out here were far smarter than he was in this moment and had taken shelter far, far away. No, he was more concerned with staying upright and not sinking and becoming stuck in this disgusting mud. Every footfall came with the risk of slipping and tumbling aft over chassis- thankfully this did not happen as he made his way to the gathering point, but there were a few close calls.

They would probably hear him long before they saw him - frustrated curses, the occasional wail as he slipped and skidded, an anguished cry as a pede sank into mud that was far deeper than it looked. The glossiest of finishes meant nothing here, cherry-red quickly dulled by splashed dirt that no amount of rain seemed to clear.

His squawks of protest were entirely unprofessional, but he’d never really been one for fieldwork, especially in recent days. But, at least he’d made it - and on time, at that.

His gaze immediately shifted to Pyrotech with what could be considered mild annoyance - or even jealousy. How was he so clean? That wasn’t fair at all, but the other mech probably had the common sense to utilize a bridge, and so Knock Out only had himself to blame for his current state. He wasn’t at all surprised to see Dart - standing in the rain no less - and Thundercracker, and wondered if it’d just be the four of them.

Straightening his posture, trying to reclaim some sort of pride even despite his uncouth arrival, he would stride forward toward the gathered group once he was within speaking distance. At least they were under some sort of cover here, but the damage had already been done.

“Pyrotech, Thundercracker - Dart.” he nodded in greeting, standing off to the side just slightly as he nonchalantly began to try and flick off at least some of the mud, even if he was internally screaming throughout the process.

[Deleted]

One would think that the mech with the good sense to ground-bridge directly to the rendezvous point would be among the first to arrive, not the very last, but sometimes life was funny like that. Maybe everyone else had decided to come early, maybe Placebo had misremembered the time they were meant to meet, or maybe he simply lost track of time - that was the most likely culprit, if he was honest with himself. He wasn't sure when it started, but over the years he had found himself becoming a bit ditsy, a little scatterbrained, a teensy tiny bit erratic.

All this to say, time had a way of getting away from him.

He had been having a rather spirited conversation with a vehicon that was, admittedly, rather one sided. A bit like talking to a wall, actually, which was par for the course when dealing with a mech who, by design, lacked any idiosyncrasies which might distinguish him from his identical neighbor. Hell, at some point an entirely different vehicon might have walked in and taken the first mech's place, and Placebo would have been hard-pressed to notice the difference - which was the entire reason he was speaking to him to begin with, to find something going on behind the vacant stare of that visor that would help Placebo identify the individual within.

Unfortunately, he could get very little out of the other mech by way of opinion. He could report well enough on places he had been, things he had done, but when pressed for judgment or preference, his answers were, at best, ambivalent. He sort of liked some things, he generally disliked others – most things he had no strong feelings about one way or another, which Placebo found to be terribly sad, and all the sadder for how common it was. Vehicons made up the majority of the Decepticon army, yet they were little more than cogs in the great, terrible war machine – they fought and died for the cause, but it was difficult to argue that they lived for it. To live for anything would require a degree of self-actualization and free-thought that the majority of vehicons were either physically incapable of, or unable to exercise due to a variety of factors, the foremost being no one had ever bothered to show them how.

Raising up the lower castes had been a wonderful idea on paper, but it seemed no one had thought much about how a group of people entirely unaccustomed to freedom would lack the tools necessary to actually become their own persons after a lifetime of being mere objects. Placebo could write a paper on the resulting psycho-social hurdles of such a drastic shift in paradigm, if there were any journals left to read it, but he doubts his observations would lead to any meaningful changes. His name had carried weight once, back in the days when they still had a proper society instead of an unstable military hierarchy, but since then both his word and his expertise have decreased precipitously in value.

Was it really any wonder, then, that he lost track of time while discussing matters of both little and grand import, with a mech who actually bothered to give him the time of day?

Placebo could only hope he would be forgiven for his tardiness – not that he was actually tardy, mind. The ground-bridge flashed to life and spat him out just a few moments after Knock Out arrived on the scene, but Placebo was a mech who prided himself on his punctuality – in his mind he hadn't arrived early, which meant he was just on time, which meant he was actually late.

He had the decency to look apologetic as the light of the bridge fizzled out behind him, his brows turning slightly behind his visor to make his ever-present smile take on a note of sheepishness.

“Sorry, I'm late because of who I am as a person.”

He didn't sound the slightest bit sorry, but then, it was notoriously difficult to dissect Placebo's perpetually cheerful tone for genuine sentiment.

Clapping his hands together, Placebo looked around the small assembly, taking in each face one by one.

“So, now that the gang's all here, what's the plan?”

[Pyrotech]

At the roar of engines in the grey sky, Pyrotech tilted his head to observe the flier's arrival. As Thundercracker's showy arrival flung the water off the scraggly shrubs and shivered the very stones, he stood calmly under the dry overhang.

Flashy. Showy. Most fliers tended to be like that, as if they felt that their ability to heave themselves in the air made them somehow better than other Cybertronians. Which was interesting. In the end, it didn't matter who could fly, not fly, or whatever they transformed into. What mattered was how they supported the Decepticons and the cause.

If you were one of those mechs didn't do that to the best of your abilities...

Then you were worth exactly the amount your body could stop a blaster, nothing more.

Silently, he observed Thundercracker's expression soften as his gaze passed over the courier. A small, slight frown touched the corner of the architect's mouth.

"I am Pyrotech," he replied.

His apparent disapproval disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The architect's accent was dry and crisp, upper-class. It held the tone of elegant towers and high-class expensive places back on Cybertron. His equally sleek and glossy finish wasn't dulled at all by the dark sky or the sodden backdrop of the mountains. A tuft of struggling yellow grass flattened under his heel as Pyrotech turned slightly, his red gaze focused on the space where Blackridge was hidden in the crags in the far distance.

"Commander Pyrotech."

With that he looked over at Thundercracker once more. "Once the others arrive and we bridge to our destination, then I will brief you all on the mission."

It didn't take long. Knock Out's disgust at the terrain heralded his arrival, and as he finally rounded the path towards where they stood it was obvious that the fastidious mech was spattered with mud and grime from his trip. Luckily, the sheer amount of wax the medic tended to use was helping the mess slide off in thick, dark brown trickles that slithered slowly down his calves. A large chunk of mud dislodged itself from the tires behind his shoulders and splattered into recesses of Knock Out's armor with a wet, unpleasant noise.

The only blessing for the medic after his travails was that there was enough room for Knock Out to duck under the overhang. At his greeting, Pyrotech nodded in return.

He had been honestly surprised when Starscream had offered up the Decepticon's Chief Medical Officer for the mission. For the last several years, the architect been forced to work with the dregs of the Decepticons. Knock Out was not that. When Pyrotech had gone to Starscream to discuss this idea and what he would need, he had completely expected that his need for a medic would end up with him being offered Flatline.

In a way that would have been amusing. He had still not forgotten about the mech purging foul-smelling seawater onto him, and it was obvious from Flatline's shuffling, limping avoidance of him that he hadn't forgotten either. Whatever had happened to him between their time on the beach and when he arrived at Blackridge had left him in a poor state. Obviously, he'd been put into his place. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving mech.

Cold mud cheerfully settled into the gaps of Knock Out's joints, oozing disgusting clammy fingers into every little nook and cranny. It gelled among all those delicate places with the maddening feel of a slithering itch even as a greenish flicker that whirled into life. The rocks reflected the lurid neon glow as a portal irised open and spat out last arrival of their group into the pouring rain.

At Placebo's quick apology, Pyrotech eyed him. The therapist's personnel file had been an interesting read. Familiar one, but certainly with more skills and abilities than he was used to dealing with. Certainly useful in the place they were headed to.

The sharp clap of the thin mech's hands bounced among the stones, but was muffled by the constant patter of the rain.

Pyrotech frowned slightly once again.

"We wait for the bridge," the mech informed them all after a moment. His voice was perfectly level, dry and cultured as he stepped out from under the overhang. Water immediately beaded on his glossy finish and began to drip off the angles of the silver ladder tucked behind the canon on his left shoulder.

"I do not anticipate that we will meet any resistance on the other side, but things may have changed since I was last there. I expect you all will be prepared."

No sooner had the words left him then another portal appeared and gleamed into life. Once more, the bridge's green light washed over all five Cybertronians even as Pyrotech strode forward across the dirt and the stones. He was careful to place his feet in the least amount of mud; the click of his heels rattled along the stones. One final turn of his head to glance behind him at the the assembled Decepticons.

His thoughtful red gaze briefly flicked across on all of them before he was gone.

[Dart]

It was an uneasy feeling.

Dart was used to that though.

Cold rain pooled in the hollow of the courier's throat-guard and dripped off the curve of her ponytail as she stood with her fingers laced behind her, hands pressed to the small of her back. She fidgeted, rocking her weight from one foot to the other as she tipped her nose back and forth to catch the wind. Her olfactory sensors drew the world constantly with soft pulls of air. All of the odors were familiar; the dirt, the brush, the faint ripples of living, organic creatures.

Most folks thought that water washed away scent, which wasn't exactly the truth at all. Even she had been surprised when she came back on line and began to learn it all. Deep and fast moving water was certainly difficult, yes. If you were being chased by something on your tail, the best way to deal with it was to let yourself go downstream in a swift river. On a general rainy or misty cool day though, odors plumed and were surprisingly easy for her to pick up and follow. Sure, pouring rain like today was tougher though, driving the scents down towards ground level. Still workable though.

Worst was hot and dry weather, especially over rock or stone and in dips and valleys. Nevada and Eastern Oregon were a difficult place at times for her.

On hearing the rush of engines, she automatically rocked back on her heels and glanced up into the grey sky. Fliers overhead had always made her anxious, but now it was more than ever. It took a second to realize it was Thundercracker.

Blue. Not black and red. Blue was good. As his landing shook the terrain, she focused her attention on the distant hills but not before the tall blue mech offered her a smile.

Before he even acknowledged Pyrotech. Oh geeze. Nothing Thundercracker could have known or should have known, but out of the corner of her optic, she saw one of Pyrotech's doors twitch slightly. Dart inwardly flinched and quickly ducked her helm. She trusted that Thundercracker was smart enough to pick up the situation rather quickly though; after all, Starscream wasn't the easiest mech at times to get along with either.

Luckily, the two mechs only had a moment of exchange before a series of unhappy noises drifted to them and drew her commander's attention.

Surprised that it was Knock Out who soon appeared, and then doubly surprised that the medic even knew her name, Dart gave a respectful nod and remained silent as he exchanged pleasantries with the others.

Why- why send him? I don't understand, he's a high ranking medic. Maybe the highest ranking one.

Dart didn't actually know where he stood on the chain of command, if she had to be honest. She spent so much time politely avoiding everyone else that most of her information came from overhearing others talk here and there. What she did know that he was showy, sleek, and important. Also, that he smelled like layers of wax and polish. It was a strangely sweet, almost velvety odor, like- well, like a human wearing an expensive and nice cologne. (Certainly not Axe body spray. That stuff was awful.)

Knock Out settled in under the dry spot and began to try and silently flick away the mud.

The ground bridge opening nearby set her back a step.

She'd expected a team of Vehicons for some reason, but that wasn't what bounced out of the portal. Automatically, she lifted her nose to get a whiff of the absolute stranger, but the wind currents swept it the opposite direction. As the mech glanced around them, she immediately dropped her gaze to the ground when his pale optics landed on her and gave another small nod.

Dart was pretty sure that whomever he was, he outranked her too. Then again, most of the furniture down within the base outranked her. Certainly the doors did.

It didn't take long after that for the portal to open again. As Pyrotech turned and strode towards it, she immediately squared up. The points of metal behind her shoulders twitched uneasily back and forth, then lowered ever so slightly into a lopsided, unsure slant.

Then she shook herself with a quick rattle of plating and loped across the mud to catch up to him. Dart settled into position just off of Pyrotech's left hand shoulder before they completely vanished within the bridge.

The silent spiral of green remained, the constant shift of colors open and waiting for the other three mechs to follow.

[Thundercracker]

There were just some things that Thundercracker never fully understood.

Like for a revolution designed to throw off the yoke of the upper class, to liberate the downtrodden, managed to gather into it so many of that upper class, and those said members of the upper class just happened to basically take things over. Well, there was the ability aspect as no matter how you put it, those who had been in the upper class would have access to higher learning necessary to run a large organization. Still, it was something to think about...

Thundercracker eyed Pyrotech for a long moment, looking the smaller bot up and down as he raised an optic ridge. That upper class accent was not easy to miss, and neither was that shoulder cannon. Still, Thundercracker had that uneasy feeling in his spark, the one that he had started to get when things had turned south with Starscream. So he backed off mentally, instead offering an incline of his head. He’d had practice even before the war with bots like this, but did not mean his guard was going down any time soon.

“Of course, Commander Pyrotech.”

He did not have to wait long, as sounds of grumbling, slipping and general unhappiness at being outside accompanied the arrival of someone Thundercracker never expected to see outside of the confines of the base. Despite his interactions with the Decepticon’s Chief Medical Officer being brief in the past, everyone in the Decepticon army had to have at least a working knowledge of the walking case of narcissism that was Knockout. As the cherry red medic came into view, Thundercracker couldn’t help but be impressed at how well he seemed to be keeping together, even with his paint job ruined the way it was. Though, he managed to bite off a chuckle into a snort at seeing the medic all muddied up.

“Knockout.”

His attention again drifted as the groundbridge opened up and spat out arguably the most interesting character of the bunch, at least in Thundercracker’s opinion. The mech seemed only as tall as Knockout, and about as skinny as Soundwave. Add to that the grin that seemed welded onto his faceplate, and Thundercracker was left unsure for a moment as to the fact if the apparent final member of their party wasn’t an Autobot. As his optic ridge rose, he got a closer look. Non threatening, must be some sort of medical type. Perhaps purpose built before the war.

Thundercracker turned back to Pyrotech as the other began to speak, his optic ridge got higher and higher as the smaller bot told them what to expect. Thundercracker closed his optics for a second, feeling inside his chassis with his mind. The vibrations were normal, within expectant parameters for his short flight, but enough to cause a decent enough shockwave should he need it. He opened his optics and addressed Pyrotech as he followed the mech and Dart through the ground bridge portal.

“And, where exactly is it we are going, sir?”

[Knock Out]

Knock Out’s attempts to clean himself of mud wasn’t going well at all, and he wondered just what he’d done to slight Starscream to the point he’d been considered over Flatline for this mission to Primus only knew where.

While a good majority of the sludge simply slid from his frame now that he’d stopped trudging through it - hooray for a well buffed finish and copious amounts of wax - it seemed to have a knack for getting into all the nooks and crannies of various intricate joints and hinges. The feeling was dreadfully unpleasant, making him squirm in place in an attempt to dislodge at least some of the offending filth, but to no avail.

Even the sudden light due to the portal of a Ground Bridge tearing open nearby did little to draw his attention from his efforts, although he’d gift the newcomer with a sparing glance if only to see who it was. Ah, it was that guy. Curiouser and curiouser, he had no idea what this little ragtag bunch would be doing, but as long as it was somewhere dry he simply didn’t care at this point.

He wouldn’t look up as Pyrotech answered the question that’d been asked, taking this time to try and flick whatever mud he could from himself in some futile attempt to be somewhat presentable. Only- that last part about being prepared made him pause, casting a nervous glance up and across to the considerably cleaner red mech.

There was unfortunately no time to question what that meant, as moments later another bridge roared to life and he had no choice but to follow the others through.

Prepared for what?

He was careful with his footing, even if his pedes were already caked with mud, moving quickly after Thundercracker through the spiraling vortex.

[Deleted]

Placebo blinked, his too-wide optics flashing in the gloom as he took a moment to process how entirely unhelpful Pyrotech's explanation was. It seemed as though the mech was deliberately trying to keep them in the dark, though for what purpose Placebo could only begin to speculate. It was possible that the task they had been summoned for was so sensitive in nature that it required absolute secrecy, but it was equally as likely that Pyrotech simply hadn't felt it necessary to do them the favor of a mission briefing. After all, it wasn't as though things like transparency and common courtesy were highly valued among the Decepticon ranks, particularly the higher up on the ladder one found themselves. There was a time when this might have bothered Placebo, might have rankled like grit on the lens of his eye, but if there was one thing he had learned in his time with the Decepticons, it's that, with enough time, one can become accustomed to most anything.

Still, as commonplace as it tended to be, Placebo saw no reason to be discourteous to others himself, when he could help it. At times, it simply couldn't be avoided. At times, circumstances demanded that he be a bit not nice. He would have liked to say those times were few and far between, but that would make him a liar, and being both a liar and a person who was occasionally not nice simply would not do. If, from time to time, he had to be not nice, he could at least be honest and polite while he was at it.

Hence his insistence on walking through the bridge dead last, so he could wave everyone else along and allow them to go ahead of him. He knew he was far from good, and he could not qualify as nice with any consistency, but no one could argue he wasn't polite. He had that much, for what little it was worth, if indeed it was worth anything at all.

Once everyone stepped through the bridge, Placebo hurried along himself, a slight skip in his step as he bounded through the tunnel of light, eager to see where in the world it would drop him off.

"Does it really matter where we're going, so long as we're all together?"

He delivered this line of schmaltz without the slightest change in his expression - his permanently fixed smile didn't waver, nor did it sharpen in the corners in a way that might denote mockery or sarcasm. Either the mech had a flawless delivery, or the sentiment was genuine. It was impossible to tell one way or the other, so a case could be made in either direction.

[Pyrotech]

Pyrotech didn't look back over his shoulder at the others until they were all within the confines of the green tunnel.

That was one thing the architect both appreciated and disliked about bridging; the lack of ability to use the comm-links to communicate out when you were within the space between travel points.

In this case though, it served him well. Pyrotech had not been around these three mechs before. Perhaps he had given a nod in the hall towards Knock Out, but the others? He only knew them from their dossiers and what had been explained to him from Starscream about their- quirks. He certainly didn't trust them, no more than he trusted the courier.

All it would take was one tattletale call to the Autobots, or worse...

Pyrotech's optics narrowed. His fingertips curled until they nearly touched his palm.

That had been the most disappointing thing about that whole affair in Africa. He'd stalked that entire eyesore of a settlement those ridiculous fools had built, picking his way through poorly designed hallways and turning over the still-smoking corpses with a flick of his foot. It had been a satisfying rout, but something had eluded him. There was one particular mech he had hoped to find sprawled among the dead, and the bastard was not there.

"We are headed into the Gawler Ranges," he told them finally. "To an old outpost that contains critical Decepticon information that we need to retrieve."

The weapon on his shoulder twitched slightly upwards as he continued to stride forward. Their footfalls echoed within the strange, swirling walls. Behind Placebo, the portal they'd entered slid shut.

"Unfortunately, we cannot bridge directly to it," he continued. "The Autobots stationed in the area have been known to use rather... odd technology. These systems can isolate major energy fluctuations and quickly pinpoint their source, which would give us and the location away immediately.

"We will need to cover some distance to get there. I fully expect that one of their troops will be more than foolish enough to greet us at some point."

A smile curled across Pyrotech's lips as his doors smoothed back. He took several quick paces and stepped fully out of the portal, his weapon raised and on guard as he scanned the area.

As each of them would leave the safety of the bridge, the sky overhead was dark night. A sea of stars rippled overhead, bright and incredibly sharp against the navy blue backdrop. Beneath their feet low, tinder-dry brush crackled. It struggled to stay upright in the shadowed red dirt that puffed up with each step they took.

A small distance from where the group stood, a long, curving ribbon of silver-white revealed itself, vast and pale.

The air smelled thickly of salt and sand.

[Dart]

Gawler--

No sooner had the name been spoken then Dart's optics went wide under the brim of her helm. A sharp snort of air burst out of her intakes and she shied to one side like she'd been struck. Her spoiler rattled and chattered as it clamped down hard and flat across her shoulders.

W-what? Wait, what? No, oh, oh no no no-

Fear and frantic thoughts clattered against each other as she found herself suddenly glancing towards   the other three. Had they known where they were going? No, no one did, they'd all asked the same question, hadn't they? She was sure of it. 

Pyrotech turned his head at her skittery motion and lifted his hand. He briefly met her shocked expression. His optics narrowed.

Dart immediately drove her heels in to the floor, her optics locking on the loose curl of his fingers. She attempted to still her reaction. 

This was almost the same smile he'd thrown her way her when the Decepticons had started to bring in their spoils from the non-faction space in Africa. Spattered fuel and greasy smoke had colored those items they'd carried in. Her nose had told her, so much death.

Not once since they'd left had she heard him mention this place though. It was as if those years they'd spent out there hadn't even existed. Wiped as clean as long ago footprints in the sand and the salt. It was merely a section of the world that he didn't know or care about, like how he never mentioned the slums of Cybertron that she knew now to exist.

The courier knew though, that underneath Pyrotech's distant, controlled veneer was simply cold, seething anger. He didn't say anything because what was there to say except the obvious. He hated this place because he hated failure. He hated being stuck with the dregs of the Decepticons over and over again. He hated it because of the Autobots who had stopped him, and he hated it because of-

For the one amazing reason Dart would hold tight to the memories of this place for as long as she lived.

Which might not be long if they were here because of... erk.

Suddenly things made a lot of awful, horrible sense. The silence about where they were going and why he hadn't mentioned it until they were within the portal. Possibly even why Starscream had hand picked this particular group to go with them, and that scared her stupid. 

With a soft intake of air, Dart straightened up, eyed the end of the tunnel warily and followed Pyrotech out.

She hurried out of the bridge to the feel of sand and hardpacked soil underfoot, and the sharp, astringent odor of salt. Dart froze for a moment as she scanned the dark night sky overhead, frantically listening and sniffing. There was no roar of an engine, no scent of anything mechanical except themselves. Only dry brush and a curving expanse of silver that was utterly familiar.

"Anything?"

The architect's dry accent broke the silence once more.

"No sir," she mumbled hastily. "I- I don't smell anything, sir."

A nod, but he kept a watchful eye on the terrain around them as they waited for the others. 

[Thundercracker]

This mech was certainly one to keep an eye out for...

During his centuries of fighting wars for the Decepticon cause, Thundercracker had come to understand there were primarily two types of schemers. There were those who were just like what Starscream had become, who had the ability but the lack of ability to keep their mouths shut for more than five nanoseconds. And there were those that just hid in the shadows, not speaking at all. It was those ones that Thundercracker really feared.

Pyrotech was starting to end up on the latter list...

At the former’s words, Thundercracker arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He followed the latter’s lead by forming both of his blaster cannons as he stepped out of the portal, weapons up and out as he scanned both the ground and the sky for hostiles. Satisfied, his forearms shifted back to his servos and his gaze returned to their fearless leader.

Only...while he scanned he noticed something...odd. Dart seemed...disturbed...and so did Pyrotech. But Pyrotech was more concerned with Dart than what Dart seemed to be concerned with. After a moment it seemed to disappear, but still, this was unsettling to see. Thundercracker made a mental note before turning to address Pyrotech.

“Taking the long way? I assume you’ll want me up on air support then, or do you intend to have us walk there?”

It did not matter to him either way, but the fact that Pyrotech had dragged him along suggested that his skills as a flyer was one of the reasons why he was to be along.

[Knock Out]

Gawler Ranges?

Knock Out had never heard of it, or if he had- the name was so boring that he hadn’t considered it important enough to remember. He didn’t care much for Earth, however given this mission involved Pyrotech and Starscream? It was probably time to do some sneaky research as they made their way through the swirling vortex.

It wasn’t like he was doing anything else except fussing over his finish, and that was a lost cause until he managed to find some sort of shower or a car wash. Aahh, things to look forward to…

Nonchalantly raising a servo to his helm, he intended to comm Breakdown to ask him just what this place was. If the big blue mech didn’t know, well, he could look it up and recite the details back. Thus making Knock Out look at least somewhat knowledgeable and prepared for whatever he’d agreed to!

Only, he was met with absolute silence. Riiight, right. Ground bridge, dead zones…

Huffing out a sigh, he would make a motion as if flicking more mud from himself as he continued walking, lowering his arm to his side once more. His own self-centeredness making him blind to the brief interaction between Pyrotech and Dart, although he was at least listening to what was being said.

The mention of the Autobots was curious, even more so with the addition that hinted to some possible combat. That at least explained why he was here, although with three against one (assuming he stayed well out the way)? It wouldn’t be much of a fight.

As he stepped through the bridge, his gaze would immediately shift upward, peering up at the stars with a quiet hum of mild approval. Wherever they were it had to be on the other side of the planet, given the fact it was night, however the exact location was still lost on him.

He would remain quiet. He was here to follow orders, nothing more, and as such wouldn’t shift forms or do much of anything until it was asked of him. He just stood awkwardly, with no ranged weapon to speak of - lingering some behind the much taller Thundercracker in a subtle attempt to use him as a shield.

The fact Dart couldn’t smell anything was good… right?

[Deleted]

If Placebo were a more cautious mech, if he had any lingering feelings of self preservation, he might have been a bit more wary of being called out to the middle of nowhere for reasons unknown, by a mech who was very deliberately keeping everyone out of the loop.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately depending on how one chose to look at it, Placebo had no such considerations. Yes, it was uncertain what his role was in all of this, or what this even was to begin with, and he had been afforded no warnings of potential danger nor granted any guarantees of his safety, but these things were all of very little consequence. He was on a lovely little late-day outting that could potentially result in his death depending on how perilous his involvement proved to be, and that was just fine. He needed an excuse to get out of the base anyhow, and he was never one to turn down an opportunity to socialize or to people-watch, and this mission gave him the opportunity to indulge in both.

Some of his traveling companions were easier to read than others, but they were all interesting in their own ways. Knock Out was not a subtle mech; he spoke and gesticulated and emoted with a distinctive flourish, like his every action was a performance. The way he fussed over his appearance might have implied some sort of aversion to filth or compulsive cleanliness, but his lack of distress ruled out any sort of anxious condition. The mech clearly found his condition more distasteful than distressing, to a degree that was somewhat beyond the norm - Placebo would not go so far as to classify this as evidence of narcissism, but it certainly made a strong case for vanity.

By contrast, Thundercracker was far more reserved. A balanced temperament, willing to go along with their situation despite being kept in the dark as to his role and purpose. A run of the mill soldier, the sort that had just enough of a sense of self to ask questions, but not so much that he would dig his heels in and demand answers. All in all, he seemed to be a perfectly reasonable mech, which was curious, since that sort of personality had no business being on the Decepticon side of the faction divide.

Then there was Dart - poor nervous, flighty Dart. Rarely did Placebo encounter someone whose every movement choreographed their unease. Whether this was her natural disposition or due to the particulars of their mysterious circumstance, he couldn't rightly say. He had only just met the femme after all - for a given definition of met, considering no introductions had actually been made, formally or otherwise. Still, judging by the way she carried herself and the way she spoke, using the word sir like a shield against her superior's ire, Bo felt it wouldn't be entirely unreasonable to assume she was generally a bit on the wary side.

As for her superior himself, well - Pyrotech certainly was an interesting character. Not a particularly pleasant one, but interesting none the less. Taciturn and enigmatic, the mech had hardly said a word more than what was necessary; he was deliberately keeping them in the dark about the particulars of their mission, though for what purpose Bo could only begin to speculate. If he were to hazard a guess, it would be because Pyrotech intended to utilize them as pawns in some sort of game that they might not have been inclined to participate in, if they knew just what they were being signed up for.

His suspicions were all but confirmed when they came out on the other side of the bridge, and Pyrotech and his scout had a brief but telling exchange which Placebo was almost certainly not meant to see.

Ah, well. If his traveling companions didn't wish to be observed, they shouldn't have brought along psychiatrist.

Placebo took a long, appreciative look at all the nothing that surrounded them, his hands resting on his hips as glanced about in a jaunty, almost tourist-like fashion.

"Oh, wow. This is not gonna be easy on my suspension."

Unless the plan was to walk to their destination, which would take much longer and be far less conspicuous, but certainly easier on the tires.

[Pyrotech]

Behind them all, the portal cast one more sickly-green wash across the landscape before it swallowed itself and the landscape around them was once again dark. Overhead, the sky blazed with stars, intertwined with a flare of purple and blue that stretched from horizon to horizon. Without any light pollution, the patterns of the distant pinpoints of light were bright and brilliant.

In front of them, there was a vast expanse of land. Strangely, it wasn't rocky and covered with shrub like the terrain underfoot. Instead it was almost mirror-smooth. There seemed no end to the pale surface, it stretched and spread across the space in front of them, at least no end that they could see from where they now stood. Like water, it reflected the dark sky above them; but unlike water, there was no soft sound of the wind pushing the edges against the shore, or some distant far off splash of some night animal disturbing the lake's surface.

It took on a strange, alien look. Possibly even for the aliens on Earth who were now observing it. 

Pyrotech's focus was fully on the dark sky above them. His red optics were sharp and narrow against his pale features as he slowly turned his head back and forth. The weapon on his shoulder mirrored his gesture, ready and primed. His scanners swept the area because he hadn't forgotten in the slightest how absolutely unpredictable the Autobot forces were out here.

Back in the States, the Autobots were mostly grounded. They were like retro-rats back on Cybertron after the war; skittering nervously down the darkness, few and far between. The grand cities and power sources they'd glutted themselves on had become a ash-covered wasteland, and the remaining creatures were nothing more than broken, filthy vermin, slinking around in the empty power tunnels and trying to survive on anything or anyone that held a charge.

That was the States, though, and not in this country. Of course these Autobots were vermin, but bolder.

Only when a full minute had passed did Pyrotech ease back his guard and glance over at Thundercracker. The fact that the Seeker had immediately brought weapons online and scanned the area hadn't escaped his notice. After years of being assigned the dregs of the Decepticons to command on Earth, Pyrotech could honestly appreciate a mech who respected that orders weren't just an offhand suggestion, and also had decent firepower and the skill to use it.

"Air support is correct," he told Thundercracker with a terse nod. "Commander Starscream informed me you are a capable fighter. Several of the Autobots that were stationed here were fliers. More than back home."

"However, the primary concern is that they have a different ah-- type of bridge technology. It's not unheard of them to pop in, attack, and flee immediately. It was the only way they managed to get any advantage here."

Pyrotech's lip curled slightly in obvious distaste before he turned back to the others.

"The rest of us will be driving north-east across these flats," he explained before he strode forward towards the division of sand and salt. His footsteps crunched into the fragile white crust of the surface, but it easily supported his weight and packed smoothly under his steps.

"We have about thirty miles to cover, and we need to do it as quickly as possible."

The architect transformed, the sleek red Peugeot coming to rest easily on all four tires, all elegant lines and smooth curves. He revved his engine once, but it was surprisingly quiet. Pyrotech's normally bright running lights dimmed to a faded glow he rolled forward, his tires pressing a smooth track in the surface of the dry lakebed as he began to drive forward. It was obvious he expected them to follow and follow quickly. 

A moment later, their group communications link would crackle into life.

"If there are questions, now is the time to ask them."