[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Blackridge Blues (Open)
Oct 29, 2021 4:21:03 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 29, 2021 4:21:03 GMT -5
Episode 3: Week 4, Day 1
Within about a week of arriving at Blackbridge, Backbeat had wanted to go home. He’d expected a warship, prestige, a place he could brag to his old squamates about. What he’d gotten… Was a cave.
Sure, the place had been spruced up a bit. A little of that old cold toned metal was nice reminder of home. But at this point he felt like some mythical creature the humans had dreamt up. A “Morlock” he thought it was called. He’d finally gotten around to H.G. Wells, and the time machine was on the processor. Honestly, Earth media was the only thing saving him from losing his mind. Lone gunmen in westerns, silly Sci-Fi B-movies, drawings that moved from this one small island… And the list of strange media never seemed to end. He’d even adopted a vehicle mode he’d seen on TV, with a few modifications for style of course.
The supply specialist had effectively claimed the main storage room as his territory almost instantaneously. Constructing a makeshift office space in one of the corners of the room. The two Eradicons who originally worked in this room quickly found themselves under Backbeat’s eccentric command style. Items were cataloged and reclassified, invoices revised, and subtle enquiries were made about the various players around the base. All while Backbeat played various Earth broadcasts in the background as he worked. Reviewing ammunition expenditures and past attempts at world conquest.
He’d quickly realized how bad things have gotten. With the native population now aware of their activities, and actively interfering in operations, things had gotten costly. Ammo expenditure had doubled. Add the current state of their warship, spacebridge maintenance, medical expenditures… Hell, he’d even found some notes that Megatron had been practicing necromancy! It was a lot to take in.
While the energon was certainly flowing… The Decepticons had been quietly eating up most of their physical supplies. Backbeat flopped his head down on his desk in tired exasperation. Some Earth broadcast about men who rode large mammals and wore funny hats was in the background. “This… This is hell. Isn’t it? I died and this is my punishment.” He didn't even want to look at the growing number of supply requests piled in a corner on his desk. He slammed a data pad (containing medical re-supply requests that seemed to contain more requests for paint than actual supplies) onto his desk with a thud. "Should have never listen to my cousin. 'Join the logistics division' he said. 'Straight shot to power' he said. Hope he jumps down a gravity well I say."
Within about a week of arriving at Blackbridge, Backbeat had wanted to go home. He’d expected a warship, prestige, a place he could brag to his old squamates about. What he’d gotten… Was a cave.
Sure, the place had been spruced up a bit. A little of that old cold toned metal was nice reminder of home. But at this point he felt like some mythical creature the humans had dreamt up. A “Morlock” he thought it was called. He’d finally gotten around to H.G. Wells, and the time machine was on the processor. Honestly, Earth media was the only thing saving him from losing his mind. Lone gunmen in westerns, silly Sci-Fi B-movies, drawings that moved from this one small island… And the list of strange media never seemed to end. He’d even adopted a vehicle mode he’d seen on TV, with a few modifications for style of course.
The supply specialist had effectively claimed the main storage room as his territory almost instantaneously. Constructing a makeshift office space in one of the corners of the room. The two Eradicons who originally worked in this room quickly found themselves under Backbeat’s eccentric command style. Items were cataloged and reclassified, invoices revised, and subtle enquiries were made about the various players around the base. All while Backbeat played various Earth broadcasts in the background as he worked. Reviewing ammunition expenditures and past attempts at world conquest.
He’d quickly realized how bad things have gotten. With the native population now aware of their activities, and actively interfering in operations, things had gotten costly. Ammo expenditure had doubled. Add the current state of their warship, spacebridge maintenance, medical expenditures… Hell, he’d even found some notes that Megatron had been practicing necromancy! It was a lot to take in.
While the energon was certainly flowing… The Decepticons had been quietly eating up most of their physical supplies. Backbeat flopped his head down on his desk in tired exasperation. Some Earth broadcast about men who rode large mammals and wore funny hats was in the background. “This… This is hell. Isn’t it? I died and this is my punishment.” He didn't even want to look at the growing number of supply requests piled in a corner on his desk. He slammed a data pad (containing medical re-supply requests that seemed to contain more requests for paint than actual supplies) onto his desk with a thud. "Should have never listen to my cousin. 'Join the logistics division' he said. 'Straight shot to power' he said. Hope he jumps down a gravity well I say."