[ti]Ep 3[/ti]"No Stranger to Silence" [Closed]

[Nokta]

Episode 3 | Week 4 | Day 1

Helheim Glacier Region, Greenland - 7:00am

The claustrophobic halls of the Ad Infinitum were no stranger to silence. And yet, steel floors marred by centuries of pedesteps betrayed its current appearance. But besides this ship wearing its age with pride– not to mention lacking in any crew whatsoever– there was seemingly nothing amiss about the old transport. Shades of onyx, tungsten, and midnight blue wrapped around the inside of its frame in a manner far from displeasing. At the long since unoccupied helm, a striking mixture of cyan, turquoise, and sapphire cascaded down through the cockpit window, drenching its surfaces in the serene glow of the ice the ship had called its domicile for some time now.

Further down these empty corridors the mesmerizing blues dissipated and gave way to the gluttonous, inky black of darkness that this ship couldn’t ever seem to catch a break from- in one form or another. Within the steel walls of the Infinitum existed a powerful unspoken history woven out of the desperation, fear, and despair of its lost patrons. Nothing seemed amiss, sure, but to the untrained eye the same could be said for any ghost ship. Something rotten had happened here. Something no good ship should have to witness. One who entertained superstition might say you could almost taste it in the air– pungent, palpable; there was a weight here that the old ship had been bearing for a long, long time.

The Ad Infinitum had laid submerged under more than 50ft of ice and snow accumulated over countless Greenland winters since its arrival on Earth. While for some old ships this may have been the final nail in the coffin for its frame, the Infinitum was no pushover. Its hull remained intact upon making contact with the icy surface of Greenland years ago, but such an abrupt shock to the ship after an eternity drifting through space had sent its navigational computer into emergency shutdown. With its fuel reserves spent, all the good ship could do was bide its time against the onslaught of Greenland weather. Lucky for the Infinitum, mother nature was a very impatient beast. And as if she were voicing her desire to be rid of the ship, a haunting groan would suddenly pierce through the stubborn silence. A low vibration washed over the transport as the icy confines around it began the first act of their swan song.

At the helm, a hairline fracture in the ice had reared its ugly head in direct view of the cockpit window, almost as if to goad the vacant ship: “I’m here. It’s time, you can’t stop me.” The fracture mocks as slivers of light this ship had waited decades to see began to tease their way inside through the tiny wound in the ice. Deep within the dark abscess of the ship’s cargo hold, icicles and frozen sheets of moisture would begin to part from the walls and ceiling, expelling clouds of icy dust upon making contact with the hard floor. A growing ambient light from up in the cockpit bounced off these dust particles as more of the hold became visible to the naked eye.

At the far back wall a single, cylindrical stasis pod would stand its ground against the stubborn vacancy this ship had grown to enjoy. As light spilled down into the hold and crept up the length of the stasis pod, the hull of the ship shuddered as if it had been trying its best to forget this particular piece of cargo. Light reveals two bladed pedes at the base of the pod, thick wheels at the heel already hinting at this bot’s alt mode of transport before the rest of their frame was even revealed.

One couldn’t see this from the inside of the ship– but the Ad Infinitum was not actually submerged within its current prison. In fact, it was suspended- encased within the side of an icy cliff where two frozen plateaus met, separated in height by a few hundred feet or so. Standing on the outside it would be hard to see how this massive ship (by human standards) had remained lodged in this ice for so long, but mother nature was stern, keeping this ship for her own until now– when the combined force of gravity and melting ice had decided upon a climax to the saga of this ship’s confinement.

Spanning almost the entire height of the cliff-face it was stuck in, the ship’s nose was pointed at a downward angle towards the few hundred feet of rocky, snowy tundra that divided the coastal plateau from the ocean. At this point, only a few thick feet of ice were what separated the transport from its freedom. Ice that was very rapidly giving way to the stresses of erosion decades in the works. As if cracking the shell of an egg, the icy cliffside saw a colossal fracture growing vertically up its length, at its immediate center of course being the ship it struggled to contain. The fracture would slowly ascend, nearing a crawl just before it met the morning sun that kissed at the crest of the icy ridge. And then, CRACK. Icy gas and dust erupted at the cliff’s precipice as the fracture evolved into a violent fissure.

The Ad Infinitum exhaled.

The once uniform cliffside tessellated into a thousand sheets, chunks, and blocks of ice at once as the ship surged forwards in a cacophonic display of mother nature’s will. The ship would sail in freefall down the length of the cliff, hitting the large snowdrift at the bottom as bits of ice followed suit, landing around it like tiny frozen meteors. The ship would not halt momentum here though, barreling against the snow-covered ice and rock towards the open ocean with a vengeance– as if so enthralled by its newfound freedom that it couldn’t even stop itself from a fresh doom.

It slid another hundred feet or so, and then as if having realized the dangers of its own ambition, the transport steeled itself just close enough that the frigid arctic waters could lap at its canopy. Inside the transport, the freshly drenched cockpit window would cast a mosaic upon the inside of the cabin, light swirling hypnotically as it cut through the liquid sheen atop the transport’s only source of outside light. In the cargo hold, empty crates, tools, and other assorted debris were strewn about the sparse hold after their short ride down the mountain. The silence was jarring still, and for a moment it would seem like the ship hadn’t even realized its newfound predicament. But slowly, beginning with the center console at the ship’s helm, mechanical life found a way.

A single cracked display at the front console slowly began to boot up, the black screen shifting to a soft gray as millions of tiny diodes hummed to life beneath it.
    “Rebooting….Systems Online. Engaging Self Repair Mode…Negative. Low System Resources.”
The dim white Cybertronian characters bloomed across the screen, illuminating the dust particles that floated gently above the console as the ship’s computer engaged its first directives in centuries.
    “Engaging Secondary Directive: Disengage Stasis Lock.”
In the depths of the cargo hold, a panel on the stasis pod began to display a similar dull glow.
    “Disengaging…”
Back in the canopy:
    “Low System Resources. Disabling Long Range Sensor Array…Low Fuel: 0%…Low Backup Generator Wattage: Capacity 14%...Powering On Emergency Lights.”

A strong hum would vibrate through the ship as fluorescent lights flickered for just a moment before the low yield lights kicked in drenching the Infinitum’s interior in the much dimmer crimson red of the emergency lights. The stasis pod’s lights slowly began to creep into existence, illuminating the silhouette of the mech inside. Not very tall, nor very wide, he did not command a monopoly of space within the pod. This was not to say he lacked in presence though– hardly. Elongated, horn-like audio receptors atop his helm lent to an appearance almost demonic in nature. Bladed arms and shoulders jutted out similarly and long, slender digits only amplified an already perverse and alien apparatus of robotic limbs. At the side panel of the stasis pod, the machinery let out another soft beep.
    “...Stasis Lock Lifted…”
Starting at the base, the tempered glass of the stasis pod rose up with a soft whooshing sound. Slowly, the frozen frame of the pitch-black mech inside would be revealed. It would not have taken an expert or even a keen eye noticing the small insignia welded to the mech’s chest to know immediately the faction this mech hailed from based on looks alone.

At the helm once more, the ship’s navigational computer works its magic.
    “No Enemy Contacts In Range. Diagnosing Communications Array.”
Static and a few bouts of electricity surged through a few of the other screens before they too flicker on.
    “Communications Array Intact…Enabling Short Range Sensor Array…Warning: Low System Resources…Powering On Distress Beacon…Backup Generator Wattage 14%.”
The computer halted its sputtering for a long pause before a large display screen above the canopy window was given life.
    “HAILING NEMESIS.”
Two crimson optics spurred to life in the cargo bay of the Ad Infinitum.

[Windshield]

Steens Mountain, Oregon - 2:15 am
Blackridge Hold Control Room

The dank interiors of his new accommodations did not precisely thrill Windshield. Functional to a fault, Blackridge did not offer much in terms of comfort or entertainment. Even less so than the Nemesis. By every conceivable metric, he could only describe it as dull and oppressive. Still, it was a step-up from the Autobots' base of operation. No humans to get underfoot, a Soundwave instead of a Red Alert, and most importantly, no Carbine. Strangely, it offered a form of liberation that he couldn't quite feel whenever he visited Omega One. This was the belly of a different beast. The one where he was in his element.

But maybe his time with the Autobots made him soft, maybe he forgot just how quiet and orderly everything had to be back home. How boring it had to be. Sure enough, there were a few Vehicons to pester for gossip or the occasional lame joke, but it all lacked character. Empty gestures, nothing more. And so, to take his mind off this drudgery, he would spend the first night of his glorious return in the most inglorious way possible—by working his aft off at the computers in the control room.

Back with the Autobots, he did not get to enjoy much access to Cybertronian technology. In fact, none whatsoever. He had to learn how to understand its primitive human equivalent, so working with a terminal from his homeworld brought Windshield no small amount of glee. Tapping away at the primary console, hips slack, posture casual, the hacker swiftly reacquainted himself with the basics. But even as he immersed himself in the wonders of computing, he didn't neglect to notice that he had a visitor in the room.

Footsteps, distinct yet unknown. A momentary, fleeting interest, quickly abandoned and dismissed. He paid them little heed from thereon, only letting out a very subdued and muted "Hello." In fact, the black-and-purple mech did not even glance to investigate their source.

Not now, anyway, because something most curious happened. The glyphs he had entered into the central computer were suddenly supplanted by a singular message. At first, he did not want to believe what he was seeing, assuming he had simply glitched the system with a wrongful keystroke. But no, they really made contact with a wartime vessel over the Nemesis' old frequency. Unbelievable! 

"Oh my, this is a surprise," the diminutive agent muttered under his breath to nobody in particular. Then, for the first time, he turned around to meet that Decepticon stranger. "Hey, you there—" He managed to hackle out before taking in their jarring paint job and promptly letting loose a soft and feeble curse, "By the Pit, that's dreadful..."

The onslaught of neon pink assaulted Windshield's optics like an EMP grenade in a dark tunnel. But he didn't let that stop him. As much as it made him want to expunge his afternoon Energon, he would continue where he left off, "—Come and take a look at this. We're being hailed by a Decepticon ship."

Lifting one hand from the computer terminal, Windshield beckoned over that strange, colorful art attack of a Decepticon with a nonchalant wave. The longer he looked at them, the more it made one thing clear. Whoever this Decepticon was? They did not lack that character he has been looking for.

Tonight just got more interesting.

[Cintra]

No two planets were the same. That was a fact. A fact that was followed up with the equally true statement that each one's day and night cycles were varied. It sucked. It was awful. Trying to find balance to get a rhythm that set up the next 'day' to try to get in line with everyone else... It may have been over a week, but that didn't mean anything when one had spent countless years upon the same decimated planet that spun much slower. Because of this, the concept of two in the morning being a nighttime shift was irrelevant, it better suited to two in the afternoon as far as disjointed internal systems were concerned.

And so, Cintra wandered.

She had already explored this base multiple times over, getting a bead of the layout, able to know what was where and who resided in what room. She would not be caught unaware like the time she had been trying to find Starscream and had to rely on that odd Vehicon in order to do so. Yet, restlessness and an abundance of energy that wanted to be expelled meant she was exploring again anyway, a lazy walk that happened to cross paths with some sort of who knows what in the Control Room.

Stopping within the opening that led to the hallway, Cintra was about to answer and greet the other Cybertronian in turn, happy to see someone new to scrabble information from, but upon one look she froze.

Oh great. Another one of those.

A broody painted mech, donning mostly black with flecks of gray and silver here and there. It was so painfully drab and predictable among many Decepticons. Depressing, expected, heartless.

There was a glimmer of hope for the mech! If Cintra considered purple to be a viable hope for any sort of self-expression... which she didn't. Back on Cybertron? Yes. Since the war started? No. So many Decepticons seemed to wear navy and dark purple, the latter of which always paired with the majority of black as if a dark tone on dark tone was any form of accent. It was as if they didn't know the meaning of such a word. They were considering one slot left off a black card on a wall of paint samples as being bold. The only grace that could offer any reprieve from the gloomy look was a flash of orange that peeked out, illumining lightly in the dark shadows atop dark shadows atop more dark shadows that was his hellish paint scheme.

He was so boring he might as well staple the Decepticon emblem on his forehead and call that his identity.

A sneer twisted across Cintra's features, her upper lip twitching some while she observed this mess before her. Orange optics only flicked away from his abysmal look when the terminal lurched to some kind of new screen. Just as quickly as her eyes had moved, the other individual then moved to look at her, which caused her appalled sneer to wrench into a more forced pleasant grin in an attempt to be nice. A grin that looked just a little bit... off...

"I thought the Nemesis was under the sea? Why is it trying to talk to us?"

A truly confused question, not understanding what this mech had stated. Did she think Windshield said "-hailed by the Decepticon ship"? It was uncertain. Whatever the case, it was with this that Cintra walked forward, peds clicking lightly against the limestone floor to try to get a better look at the glyphs on the screen.

"I didn't know the Nemesis COULD talk."

[Nokta]

Nokta did not wake from stasis instantaneously.

Instead, his two crimson orbs glared off into the void of the ship’s darkness absently, as if gazing into the abyss itself. In response, the ship’s emergency lights eked out the same pulsating vermillion that would wash over him and the stasis pod in a clearly defined rhythm. The red glow illuminated his frame, and oh yes– he was very much alive. But conscious? No, he would not be that lucky.

There were a few centuries worth of nightmares that had some catching up to do with Nokta. Faceplates already marred in the shock of disengaged stasis saw themselves becoming even more animated as lips parted and optics flicked in every direction. Slowly the mech’s visage began to drown in the suffocating grip of an emotion any survivor of anything would know well. Fear. The burden of the victim. The master of the coward. The mind-killer.

The emergency lights began to dim once more, leaving only the crimson glow of Nokta’s optics to pierce the dark. Even in the ink-black abyss, one could notice a sudden change in the intensity of the mech’s eyes. Stronger now, possessing energy hitherto unseen. As the scarlet haze of the emergency lights malaised back into existence, the cause of this change is revealed. The mech’s faceplates were now fully contorted into a brutal display of emotion most volatile, towering, all-consuming. Rage. The affliction of the scorned. The weapon of the vengeful. The soul-killer.

As lights dimmed once more all these emotions began to drip from the mech’s facade, leaving in its wake the simple gaze of apathy, and the hoarse whisper of the name of the mech who started it all.

“Stature...”

Of course, the name of his former sparkmate would have been one of the first things to surface in the mech’s listless subconscious. In this form, the declaration of this name was a bookend to the freakish trance his sudden, jarring rise out of hundreds of years of stasis had prompted. In his waking hours, such thoughts had been meticulously shuffled back to the depths of his processor, so as not to interfere with the lieutenant’s work and risk sloppiness. The difference here was that Nokta did not command the same unwavering control over his mind as he would when awake.

And the mind could be a treacherous thing if left to its own devices.

The mech’s body would coil outwards from the pod in a tortured movement like he’d been stabbed, a disturbing gasp exiting him as he did so. As this guttural sound escaped him his frame would shake– a visceral reaction expelled seemingly from out of the very core of his being before his shoulders sagged and his helm lowered in exhaustion. Awake. He lay like that for a moment, deathly still, before slowly the posture of a soldier– wounded as he may have been– returned this mech to form.

And just like that, any physical trace of emotion is expunged from the mech’s faceplates. This sudden, brief outburst was the last fleeting sign of emotion the mech would display for a long, long time, all evidence of it to be entombed with the rest of the Ad Infinitum’s well-kept secrets.

Nokta raised his helm, taking in his surroundings with a weary gaze before any attempts at movement. He knew where he was, in relation to the ship at least…But where was the ship? Curiosity would not take long to set in, and as such– the mech would lift first an arm, the thin sheen of ice glazed against the appendage shattering and sliding from his frame as he did so.

The second arm followed suit, grabbing at the edge of the pod to hoist himself out of the pod. Swiftly, smoothly, the mech lurched forwards and collapsed face-first on the cold, hard floor.

Well, the mech thought to himself after a moment, how utterly undignified.

Slowly, the mech drew his servos up to his sides, pushing up, maneuvering his frame around so he was in a slightly more respectable position. He pushes his way to the nearest wall he can lean against as he stares at his evidently indisposed legs.

Right. The hard way then.

The mech would level his gaze at the immobile pedes before him, optics burning fiery embers as he drew upon every extent of his willpower. This was not a mech who knew easy defeat.

Inhale. Exhale. The mech opens his mouth to deliver an order unto himself.

“Lift. Your. Left. Pede.”

[Windshield]

Oh, good. An idiot.

It took Windshield a good while before he said anything else, staring at the other Cybertronian with a most flabbergasted scowl. Then, only when his pro-active attitude finally surmounted the physically manifest mountain of stupidity before him, did the Decepticon agent finally speak again.

"There's the weird thing. It's—it's not the Nemesis," he tried to explain slowly, stumbling over his words for a moment. This was by no means a common occurrence when it came to Windshield. Usually, he was quite selective and playful in his speech and presentation. Perhaps the sheer idiocy of the preceding statements scrambled his logic circuitry, but fortunately, he wasn't about to start believing in hardware essentialism and decided to get over it.

"Seems like there is another warship on the planet—in Greenland."

Trying to keep his new acquaintance out of trouble, the hacker briefly returned to his console, making a rather subtle attempt at blocking the pink nightmare's line of sight from the key entries with his forearms. Once he was certain she wouldn't start poking her digits where they did not belong, he started poking his where they DID. Entering a set of commands, his expression turned grave and ponderous.

The display changed in tandem with every keystroke, revealing a wire mesh layout of what appeared to be an old wartime Decepticon vessel alongside a series of Cybertronian glyphs. The first few sets were easily legible to anybody: a name and a function. But as the readouts went on, their contents would seem more and more foreign to Cybertronians unfamiliar with starship technology until they finally turned into a word salad of advanced Vosnian astroscience and illegible quantum theorems from Nova Point's most sadistic lectures.

"Huh, the code's a bit old but consistent with a Decepticon distress signal. Could be an Autobot trap. Never heard of this Ad Infinitum, but it wouldn't be the first ship with such a dumb name."

A bit of bitter sarcasm seeped into the way he referred to the vessel, but what the owners of the ship couldn't hear wouldn't hurt them. The Ad Infinitum, of course, wasn't a dumb name, but Windshield seemed to have something against it. Perhaps he was preemptively making fun of it in case his suspicions of a devious Autobot plot turned out to be correct.

But if there was even the slightest chance of this being the real deal, they'd have to act fast before any of their enemies found out about it. With that in mind, Windshield finally let the electronics rest a little and glanced away from the screen, once more making eye contact with the grinning maniac to his side.

"Say, how'd you like to check this out?"

[Cintra]

Did he not hear her? Hellloooo?

Cintra stared up at Windshield as he seemingly tried to process what she had said, not impressed at all by his flabbergasted scowl of an expression. She had asked a simple enough question; it wasn’t rocket science there. It didn't matter how simple it appeared though, as he seemed to need ample time to process it, before stumbling through a response. A stumbled response that reminded her of her Vehicon friend. However, she was so caught up in the fact on how he had replied and the comparison, that she almost didn't even grasp what was being said, her own processor then doing a quick backpedal to try to catch up to the here and the now.

"Oh! That’s good, Megatron needs a new warship!"

All of the ire, all of the scowling judgmental feelings, they were all flung to the side violently as the good news struck her. The Nemesis was down in the sea, it wasn't in good shape whatsoever, and was about zero percent adding to their cause... It may have even just added to stress overall. So, to hear they had a replacement? That was magical! And this mech in front of her should be celebrating like it was the greatest day ever. Instead, he was trying to key things into the screen, blocking off her view so that she couldn’t really participate or even see what may be going on there.

That was fine, she wasn't paying much attention anyway, her hands clapping together with her short fingers weaving.

Cintra didn’t know how to handle this good news, trying to figure out where she should go first to declare the magnificent find. She knew where Starscream's office was, but would he be there this time of night? She didn't even know if it WAS night anymore, or if the sun was coming up or who knows what. Maybe she should go wake Flux and squawk happily to celebrate so that she could get one attempted imprint on his processor so she didn't need to repeat herself as much. Or perhaps she should look for Soundwave, or Pyrotech... or maybe... Maybe she could figure out how to activate the base wide coms! Make an announcement to get everyone updated and moving so that they could live in a better environment she knew would make everyone happy. How could they not be? Nobody would like to live in a hole all day.

At these thoughts, Cintra seemed to tune back into the now, orange eyes flicking up as Windshield began to speak again.

"If it is an Autobot ship, we will just take it then."

She spoke matter-of-factly, her hands unlacing to then plant on either hip decisively. She made this claim as though it would be an easy chore to accomplish, one where they could swarm and overrun the Autobots with ease. It seemed plausible in her mind! They had an army here, not just a rag team group to work on. There was also the fact that the Autobots didn't do well to hide the signal, so obviously they were relinquishing their control of it by gross incompetence.

It appeared, all things considered, that she was lined up to be the hero of this story due to convenience! With... What's his name... boring gloomy mech... orange eyes sad dude... idiot monitor monitor... mopey slow processor...

Ah, the irony.

"YES!"

Her barked reply was abrupt and sudden, a pop of noise that ricocheted off the stone walls around them.

[Nokta]

Nokta was not a colorful mech, but anyone with a decent set of optics could see that he was notably pale even for his frame at this very moment. Energon deficiency. Pair this with Nokta’s inherently faint vital signatures dimming his biolights to near offline and well…this mech had quite literally adopted the oh-so-flattering appearance of a corpse.

"Lift your left pede." The mech’s haggard, energon-deprived vocals echoed out once more into the depths of the hold.

Though he rested his wearied helm against the walls of the hold, his optics held in them a ferocity that told a very different story. The body could be drained, but one’s willpower could not so easily be sapped. The mech would lay there for another moment as if silently repeating the line in his head, over, and over, and over, until finally: purchase. The blade-shaped foot appendage jerks to the side a little. And then again, and again, until he could pull his entire leg up to his midsection. A roll of the helm directed at the opposite leg would glare daggers as if daring the limb to disobey. Purchase once more. Slowly Nokta brought his other leg under his control until it too was supporting his weight underneath him. With a sharp, grating groan between clenched dentas, he braces against the wall and rises to his full height. And just like that, he was back on two pedes.

Time to refamiliarize himself with this Primus-forsaken ship.

Despite a certain colorful femme’s bold ambitions for it, the Infinitum would in reality pale in comparison to a ship like the Nemesis. Its exterior formed an attempt at an arrowhead shape in which all lines converged at the cockpit in a display that was, in all honesty, archaic, worn, and blocky as opposed to the Nemesis’ cutting edge, sleek and angular design principle. It was a ship most of whose mass was attributed to its dated armor composite adding on an extra layer of thickness. All in all, if function-over-form could be visualized, the Ad Infinitum would be it.

The interior of the ship was just as modest. If all blast doors were opened down the middle length of the ship, and one was standing in the cockpit at the front of the ship, they could easily make out the figure of a mech standing in the engine room at the opposite end. The main floor of the ship would comprise of the aforementioned cockpit and engine room at the front and back respectively, padded out by a combined control room/assembly hall with a large holo table at its center. Closing the gap between the control room and the cockpit would be a series of crew quarters, a pitiful two of which were dedicated to officers themselves, while the other half dozen housed two crewmates to a room.

Directly above the crew quarters were the Captain’s quarters, only accessible by a lift directly behind the cockpit, it was a much more spacious room that made use of being on an entirely separate floor from everything else– though still diminutive in size compared to what warships like the Nemesis might have had to offer. Beneath the control room, also making use of almost its entire floor was the cargo hold, accessible by two ramps at either end of the control room. The hold was spacious, to say the least. Spanning almost the entire length of the underside of the ship, the only other room on this deck was the generator room. Directly beneath the engines, this room really was just an extension of the room above to provide easier maintenance to the most important parts of the ship.

The cargo hold would house the main entrances to the ship. The first of which being the large cargo ramp at the very back third of the hold that could lower the floor down and leave just enough catwalk space for those getting to the generator/engine room at the back– though was desperately in need of a safety guard rail for clumsier mecha. The second of which was the smaller, mech-sized entrance at the front port side of the hold that folded down a section of the vessel’s wall into a ramp of its own.

For Nokta though, the first stop would be the cockpit. To see just exactly where in blazes he’d landed and if he could get off any kind of distress call to the nearest regiment if one had not been sent already. If this was not possible, then…he’d just have to worry about that later.

[Windshield]

"Whoa, there," he tempered the other Decepticon's expectations, "Hold the phone, pal. We don't know what state it's gonna be in. It might not even fly."

With a free servo, he scratched the nape of his neck out of habit while entering a few more directions into the console, drawing a close on the strange signal and instead focusing on pinpointing its exact location as accurately as he could with the equipment they had. Now, Windshield was no Soundwave, but this was child's play even for him, so much so that he didn't need that other hand of his, and effortlessly triangulated the signal without it.

Then, they were only one topology scan away from finding a solid piece of ground to land on. It would not do if he teleported them into a nearby ravine or, heavens forbid, an island in the frozen ocean. This, too, was an easy task, however, it did somewhat phase him that this "Greenland" was rather a bit less green than he imagined it would be. No matter, they'd just have to do this quickly.

Were his maniac counterpart to pay attention, she too would notice this discrepancy between name and reality. And if she did not, well, that was a problem for future her. A cold, cold future her.

"By the way, I didn't catch your name. You got one?" the agent quizzed ever-so-casually, moving over to the Bridge controls with a brazen strut. He worked with them as though they were an extension of his own limbs, despite lacking any specialized body-to-machine interface augmentations.

By and large, Decepticons did not need to do this, relying on Soundwave instead. Yet he did not wish to disturb whatever "dark affairs" his master engaged in at this late juncture. He'd only contact him if they found aught of value on the other end. No sense in premature alarmism, after all. Hilarious as it may have been when employed against his enemies.

It served him well to incite panic among the Autobots, true, but it would do him no good were he to do the same to the Spymaster over what might have been a false flag operation. But even if it WAS a trap like he assumed it would be, Windshield could not help himself. Pulling a lever by the Bridge control console, he willed into reality a violent slurry of green and seafoam static. It crackled with danger and hope in equal part.

Suddenly, any lingering uncertainty turned to gleeful delight once the Decepticon realized he had backup now, and a link to the base in case anything went wrong. He was no longer at a constant disadvantage.

Besides, what's a Decepticon without a little bit of recklessness?

[Cintra]

Cintra was ever the enthusiastic individual, not one to remain slothful or stuck in inaction should she have any say in the matter. Any mission, any goal, even should the parameters change part way through or even halt abruptly... it could be worked with. There was no dead end to an adventure in her mind, as the focus of said path would only be diverted onto a new course. Never fully stopping. Never dragging her feet. This was the way her processor ran, and as such, Windshield's lack of eagerness and joy at the possibilities was as disappointing as his bland demeanor.

Who cares if it didn't fly?

Sure, Cintra had just gone on a long internal monologue on how she should notify the base, eager to deliver the grandiose news of the location of a new warship to the Decepticons... going so far as to ponder how she could activate the base wide coms... but that didn't mean this new concern was something to be down over. They could poach parts from what remained if it was a decrepit mess. Ships don't just vanish into thin air leaving a big print on the ground where it had landed. There had to be something of value that remained! If it were not the valuables of the metals and machinery itself, there could be the valuables of the bodies that lay within.

Whether they were alive or not, there had to be someone who was on the ship. If they were alive and an Autobot, just kill them. If they were Autobot or Decepticon and were dead, steal their parts. Scrape them off the front panel from the crash and move on with things. It would be a nice present for Knock Out at that point!

Lost in her own thoughts once more, Cintra was completely oblivious to the discrepancy between Greenland and its reality that Windshield had noticed. She was lining up her new expectations and starting to look into all the good ways this could work in their favor. Some imagination just had to be put into things.

"Pft! Of course I got a name!"

Who didn't have a name?

"I am Cintra!"

She was about to ask his name, but true introductions would need to wait. Orange eyes flicked over as the Space Bridge portal erupted into formation. Cintra hadn't experienced Space Bridges really before coming to Earth, so they were still rather new to her, yet that didn't stay her hand. Trusting it as readily as if she had walked through them a thousand times, the femme reeled back slightly, dug her ped down, before kicking off into a full sprint to start this new adventure and see what they were dealing with here. A workable Warship? A salvage scrap? An opportunity to murder Autobots before they could team up with their flunk friends?

Breaching through the vortex, Cintra had expected to be outside of the vessel. Somewhere in its vicinity so they could try to see the best course of action, or more importantly even just see if it was a flaming ball of death. The most important thing was to just make sure the first big question was answered.

That wasn't what happened.

Besides, what's a Decepticon without a little bit of recklessness?

Smacking hard into who knows what, Cintra's frame rattled loudly by the heavy impact against something that most certainly had no give to it. Her form went ragdoll a second in stunned shock as she bounced off the surface, before she swung back and fell to the ground, an echo of the impact ringing around the empty metal chamber. The long tendril that extruded from the back of her helm and shoulders whipped down in her wake before slapping onto the floor beside her with its own rattled clatter of the blade at the end.

What happened!? What was going on!?

Sitting up abruptly so she wasn't completely downed, before her mind even processed things, the pink femme grit her teeth, a broad paneled palm swinging up to grab at the side of her helm. It was a miracle of sorts that she didn't just knock herself unconscious, given she had just sprinted full tilt into the interior wall of the unknown ship without any bracing of a forearm in front of her to take the impact. It was some kind of room, that much was obvious, and there appeared to not be anyone else around.

The unrelenting darkness of the decrepit ship highlighted the fact that Cintra's biolights were not simply green, yet also emitted a form of ultraviolet light beneath the tinted tones. Around each ring of illumination and short bands that accented her bright colored frame, were highlighted patterns and marks that were invisible in more lighted rooms. Decorative shapes, obviously chosen as form over function given it made her somehow even less stealthy than she had been previously.

These UV patterns had nicks and scratches cutting through many of them, but they were still present.

[Nokta]

Upon stepping foot in the cockpit the mech would be met with the blinding white light of the morning sun reflecting off of Greenland’s snow-laiden landscape. A light that swiftly reminded Nokta of the piercing headache that had begun to creep its way into his helm since his departure from the stasis pod. Another side effect of his energon deprivation.

He steeled himself through the pain, if only to get a quick read on the situation. Slender digits swipe and tap over the cracked display of the cockpit computer, vaguely remembering the brief summary the ship’s late pilot had given him of how to operate the device. The hologram of a familiar-looking galaxy of the milky variety would hover above the display screen, before zooming in on one of its arms, further and further until the current system took centerpiece over the display.

So, Nokta had made it to the Sol system after all, and was now somewhere on “Earth”, the planet the Nemesis had been tailing the Ark to. But even still, this raised a number of questions in the mech’s processor. Had the Nemesis been as unfortunate as the Infinitum in its arrival on Earth? Had it even arrived on Earth? The Infinitum would most likely have only had enough time to lock on to the Nemeses’ predicted arrival point before going into emergency shutdown, if the Nemesis changed course along the way, or even packed up and left the planet before the Infinitum could be found upon completing what it set out to achieve on Earth…the Infinitum would have no way of locking back on to the flagship’s signal in the state it was in. Was that why he had not been found after all this time?

A lesser mech might have found themselves jumping to all sorts of conclusions upon such speculation, perhaps even halfway to damning their comrades on the Nemesis for abandoning them in their time of need. But Nokta was no such mech, and aimless conjecture would do nothing to quell the growing thrum in his helm. The lieutenant’s digits tapped against the display to run a diagnosis on the ship’s condition. In conjunction:

“Hail the flagship.” Clear and to the point– the way any command should be given– the mech’s normal speaking voice makes a guest appearance for at least the first word in that sentence as the ice buildup in his vocal cords continues to melt. As the ship’s communications array began servicing the request, Nokta began to understand the gravity of the ship’s state in full as he scrolled through the diagnostic report. It would appear the ship had landed in one of the planet’s ice cap regions where it had been submerged for nearly three decades of this planet’s solar cycles. And thus, three decades of water damage and ice buildup throughout the engine systems– on top of the stress of landing on the planet in the first place– had rendered the ship vegetative.

And the cherry on top? “NEMESIS UNREACHABLE” – Grave indeed.

Nokta would have to bite back his reaction to this bad news however, as the ship would immediately follow up its last notification with a sudden: “ANOMALY DETECTED. SPATIAL TEAR IN CARGO HOLD.”

"Spatial tear? The fra-" A ground bridge. This was the only explanation. A flurry of hope and admiration for potential Decepticon compatriots would rise in his chest as he recognizes the meaning of this anomaly. Until he realizes that this anomaly could just as easily be the result of Autobot filth coming to poach his ship. ‘His’ not in the literal sense of him being the captain or pilot of the vessel, but solely by the merit of him having been in situated within the vessel first and far longer than any potential invader.

Nokta is already at the end of the corridor dividing the crew quarters and entering the control room when he finishes rationalizing that sudden string of thoughts in his processor, making a beeline for a set of lockers on the starboard side of the ship. The mech would hunch against the containers, quickly tapping out a number combination into the unit’s padlock with a single digit. The door swings open to reveal an archaic-looking blaster, a grenade belt, and a slew of other personal effects.

As he began digging through his belongings, the mech would presently become aware of the sound of something loudly impacting hard metal in the bowels of the ship. Visitors so soon? The mech was not visibly alarmed by the noise but hastens the retrieval of his belongings nonetheless.

First, Nokta would pluck the blaster off the rack it hangs on, half exhaling, half growling when he realizes it's out of charge. No matter. He holsters the weapon, producing a soft beep as it begins recharging in its holster. Next, two quite painful-looking knives are manifested from the dark of the container before they disappear once more, clicking into their respective holsters beneath Nokta’s thigh plating. Finally, the scout turns toward the ramp leading down into the cargo hold where his visitors would find themselves arriving on the transport ship.

Time to go ruin some mech’s day.

[Windshield]

With the colorful Cintra ahead of him, Windshield soon followed into the portal—slower than her, either out of caution or simply because he liked to saunter from place to place. But just like Cintra, he too appeared within the same corridor, upon which the GroundBridge fizzled out shortly, waving the both of them goodbye with a gnarly hiss.

The pink menace, however, still remained planted on the ground when he joined her. He was torn between whether he wanted to laugh at her or be disappointed with her. In the end, he simply settled on extending a literal helping hand for her to hold onto so that she could recuperate from her blunder faster.

Perhaps he also chuckled a little bit without wanting to, breaking the sardonic and distant persona he had forced himself into in front of Decepticon strangers. It made him seem more competent and powerful than he actually was, which could be a useful skill with friends like these. Cintra, however, lacked the edge that put Windshield ill at ease around most Decepticons, and so he let her have this moment.

Just this once.

Either way, whether or not she grabbed his hand or got up through her own means, the dark-clad mech took a good look around the place. He briefly thought about using his goggles to see any potential heat signatures, but decided against it as it made smaller details difficult to discern. Moreover, there were far too many sources of heat on a spaceship to use them accurately—though this one seemed quite cold to him. Frigid even.

Oh well, back to Cintra.

"You might wanna be more careful, we don't know what's up with this place. Could lose your head."

The comment was absent of any malice, but somewhat condescending and distinctly lacking in effort. Perhaps that was simply what Windshield sounded like to people when he opted out of trying to be their friend or their enemy. Stranger still, it almost seemed like he wasn't even fully paying attention to Cintra despite the gesture and despite talking directly to her. It was as if he was staring through his companion and peered at something that wasn't there.

Or...

Perhaps it was the distant sounds of chatter or the light clanking of metal, but somehow, Windshield felt like he and Cintra were less alone than moments before. Instinctively, he reached for the compartment in his left thigh, prepared to break out his gun, should he need it. The paranoid conspiracy of an Autobot element did not quite leave his mind the whole time, even if the ship was distinctly Decepticon in design.

That was simply how things went with folks who worked in intelligence. You were either paranoid and lived or died during your first day on the job. Luckily, Windshield was not very keen on losing his "being alive" streak and joining the Well of All Sparks. Provided he didn't end up in the Pit, of course.

[Cintra]

It was a coin toss sometimes with Cintra. Did she see the individual who offered their assistance as condescending? Or did she see it as a gentlemanly act that was expected, and if they hadn't they were pieces of trash? She was likely to flip either side readily, influenced by a few small parameters that constantly shifted should she be keen enough to pick up on them. Due to this, it was perhaps in Windshield's favor that her helm was still ringing from the impact, so she missed his little chuckle and didn't really catch onto the condescending undertones of his words.

The femme looked up at the dull colored mech as he offered his hand, her expression rather blank, orange eyes widened some as she tried to piece two and two together that she had indeed just ran into a wall. After a couple more cobbled seconds passed however, and Cintra seemed to wake up from the momentary stupor, her right hand swinging around to clasp hold of his so she could be helped to her feet.

Upon getting off the floor, Cintra stretched her back some while hooking her arm around, looping it over and under the extrusion that attached to her spine. She would drag her arm down while pulling the appendage away from her mass, smoothing the seams and split components together so everything was back in line, the blades at the end clicking together into the more unified shape. Once this was tidied up, she would let go and brush her hands down her front with a few swipes as she went. It wasn't apparent if she actually had dirt on her and was concerned, or if she was possibly just making sure she didn't break anything.

"Yeah yeah..."

Mumbled words. Once she knew that she hadn't lost a panel of armor or broken anything, Cintra's focus would start to look around the room, trying to recognize what vessel it was. Which was a useless and impossible endeavor. What she did notice though was the way her new teammate had reached for his side in a rather recognizable movement as if to retrieve a gun.

"What did you hear?"

Way to announce oneself.

As if the slam form earlier wasn't enough of an announcement...

This new situation set Cintra on high alert, her posture straightening as if she had heard whatever Windshield noticed herself. Her focus snapped to the archway out of the room, holding the stare for only a moment before her reckless thirst for action took charge and she chose to advance.

Dropping her posture, Cintra kept her frame as low as she could while still being able to walk forward smoothly, starting to approach the exit to the room. She knew she was a smaller individual, which meant that if whoever it was happened to be larger? Well, if they hooked the corner ready to attack, she would already be well below the height they may expect, meaning their weapon wouldn’t be trained at her instantly. Allowing her a momentary boon.

She would stop before the doorway, listening a moment while tucking to the side.

[Nokta]

Voices. Nokta heard their voices first. Two of them, at least. The sound of them gave him pause. A femme and a mech as far as he could tell. Distant, echoing up through the ramp that led to the cargo hold, yet certainly present within the ship all the same. Digits flex against the outside of the blaster holstered to his hip. It was out of charge, but unless either of these two mecha were exotic weapons experts they’d be none-the-wiser to his ruse.

"What did you hear?"

The sound of the femme’s voice echoing up the ramp would halt his advance. After a moment of tense pause, the sound of light pedsteps drew closer to the archway at the bottom of the ramp. Nokta would stare a deathly, calculating stare down the ramp into the cargo hold, his upper lip twitching as his features threatened to twist into an ugly snarl at the impending threat. Nokta swiftly turned around and made his way to the back end of the control room. As he walked, soft puffs of air would begin to escape him. First solely from his mouth, then the vents on the side of his head, and then further until every vent in his frame seemed to be expelling the soft air from his slender frame.

Inhale, exhale. This rapid, sudden venting of his systems could be likened to a human hyperventilating, and to the outside observer would be an incredibly disturbing sight indeed. Not to mention the noise, the noise of his systems purging were a silent scream- the kind only one with his strange ability could produce. Imagine, if you might, the bloodcurdling sound of somehow managing to slap a suppressor onto a chainsaw to force it into a strangled whisper. There of course was the likelihood that those in the cargo hold might hear this strange, disturbing sound echoing off in the distance, but honestly? He was counting on it.

Regardless, Nokta appeared determined as ever, making his way to the other end of the room and bracing against the wall as he vents in, before letting out one final purging exhale. His frame would dip down, legs shaking slightly from the force of the air leaving them. As he arced his back forward and out the plates along his spinal strut would bend up to expel the hot air that had been rippling beneath, before clicking back into place as he stood to his full height. His optics dim, and then come back online with ferocity as the whisper-scream dies into a whimper, and then silence once more.

Nokta could go on an hours-long tangent about every little intricate detail of this alien display– the hows and whys of each subtle movement he’d perfected over millennia of exploring the extent of his ability, but for now all that mattered was that his system was cooled to near-offline levels, and his internals produced no audio signature whatsoever. The closest thing to untraceable a mech of his size could feasibly achieve, so long as he kept his pedsteps light.

And now, to attend to the matter at hand.

The mech would slither into the darkest spot in the control room he could find as he awaits the intruders.

[Windshield]

He thought he had heard something before, now he knew that he did. Only when the silence settled did he hesitate. Cintra already leaped ahead. There was no stopping her, even if Windshield wanted to. Given no other recourse, the compartment on his thigh opened with a click and he finally drew his pistol. Quietly, he followed after her, and when she tucked aside and the noises in the distance faded into a gentle nothing? He also passed her up the ramp, propping up the weapon close to his chest so that he could aim should it be necessary. His other hand remained free and urged Cintra to wait with a raised finger until he scouted the area immediately ahead of them.

And then he did just that. With the weapon raised and ready, the Decepticon agent stealthily proceeded further ahead. He looked to his right and his left, and dead ahead, but he could see nothing, hear nothing. It was as if whatever had made that noise was but a phantom hallucination, disappearing into the darker recesses of imagination when put in the slightest amount of scrutiny.

Yet Windshield was not about to concede and simply accept insanity. He knew that something HAD been up here even if it wasn't anymore. In fact, he did not dismiss the possibility that it was still there with him, lurking in some forgotten corner of the ship. It was large enough for it. Reluctantly, he turned back to Cintra and shook his head in confirmation that the corridor ahead was indeed empty—or at least seemed to be. Still, even then, he remained on high alert, listening out for sounds behind him and keeping close tabs on his peripheral vision.

They would need to scout further in.

"Whoever it was, we lost them," Windshield spoke to his fellow Decepticon in hushed tones, "Come up here and take point, we're going exploring."

Nearly as soon as he said it, Windshield turned around once more, sporadically moving his head from one side to the other as if he heard something yet again. Truthfully? He did not quite fancy being ambushed in the dark. That was his job, and he'd be offended more than anything if somebody got the better of him in that department. And so, without waiting overlong for Cintra's decision, he proceeded further into the ship, slowly, in the direction of its control room. His amber-hued optics remained alert to danger, stalking the tall shadows of the vessel like a cat on the prowl.

[Cintra]

Lost them? Didn’t that mean she and Windshield were trying to hide? The phrasing confused Cintra, as they were not hiding, and she most certainly wasn’t turning tail. While she couldn’t understand those first words, she could understand the concept of 'taking point', and she wasn’t opposed to doing so. Only... The dull colored mech then moved ahead first? Did he talk in opposites? Was this day some sort of holiday meant to confuse by saying something contrary to what was intended? It did not matter, for she eased upright into a full stand, and jogged forward three steps to catch up, then a few more to move ahead and take the role she was told to take.

While Cintra was dumb, but she wasn’t dumb, and as such she did not simply casual walk as though it were any normal day down the hall of Blackridge. She was more cautious, more alert, contradicting her earlier zeal now that she knew they were inside a possibly hostile ship and not in the exterior environment that lay around it. This caution was amplified with the knowledge that something had been heard, even if she didn't hear it herself. Whatever it was, was moving, yet, whether it was an obstacle in the ship itself, or an individual, it was hard to say. She certainly had no knowledge that leaned in one direction or another.

Walking carefully, Cintra further progressed down the hallway. While Windshield had a weapon to clutch onto as a form of security, she had nothing, her triangular fingers stretching out, before clenching closed a couple times as if to bleed energy. This said, she wasn't disarmed, and her talents may work well in an enclosed space where others would find lack of mobility damning to dodge... however... it also meant her own avoidant skills could be limited. Whatever direction the pendulum of favor swung, she continued despite this, orange optics flicking along every edge of the walkway as if the threat would creep out from any seam of wall panels.

The pink femme's advance would only halt a moment as the top of the ramp opened to the Control Room, a moment of apprehension as she realized there would be much to look out for to not be blindsided. She had no plans of being caught off guard, yet also had no plans of waiting around to give whoever, if there was a 'whoever', the chance to prepare in full. With this in mind, Cintra lowered her frame once again, moving close to the entryway to the room....

Before she grabbed onto the leading edge and slam pulled herself forward.

Flinging her mass using the door frame as an anchor point, Cintra swung around into the room, her peds scraping on the floor below as she pivoted so far that her hip clunked along the wall directly beside the doorway. This pushed heave meant that she quickly saw there was no one instantly to the right of the opening waiting in ambush, while ending with her pointed in the direction of the left counterpart to then see if there was someone on that side. It was a brash movement, yet it was effective.

Or would be if their target was there.

Easing upright slowly into a full stand, Cintra's widened optics slid across the monitors and unfamiliar systems of the shadow drenched room, unable to see the obscured figure in the pure magnitude of the limited lighting. Things seemed to only be illuminated by her own uv reactive biolights, causing her frame to continue to stand out as a beacon. Such light could do little to envelop a room in full however. It was here at the side of the doorway she waited, still scanning with flicked glances.

"Someone's here."

A calm declaration. Cintra was playing along with the 'Opposite Day' thing her new teammate was doing, unknowingly being far more accurate than intended.