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

[Nokta]

Of course, he would first spot the nauseatingly hot pink femme sticking out like a sore thumb in the oppressive darkness, making it incredibly easy for him as she practically flails into the room in a movement that would surely have revealed his presence were he still waiting beside the door within striking range of the femme’s tail appendage. At this point though, Nokta had removed himself entirely from the path the pair would take and was now merely a fly on the wall.

Nokta would next become aware of the much darker purple mech solely because of the shape his frame cut out against the nigh-glowing femme beside him. From then on Nokta chose to focus on the less easily discernible of the two. There didn’t appear to be any other mecha with them, and the ground bridge was well and gone by now, so Nokta could safely surmise that these were the only two mecha he’d have to be dealing with. He stayed in the shadows, watching, observing them as their nerves slowly got the better of them. It would seem Nokta did not have to do much other than suggest his existence on the ship with a few transient sounds for the two mecha before him to grow further in their unease.

Upon being assaulted with the femme’s flare beacon color scheme, he’d instantly assumed she was an Autobot, and by extension so was her partner, as he had never in all his days seen a Decepticon with such a vibrant outward appearance as her. As he continued to observe the pair further, however, he grew less and less certain with this assumption, particularly in the way the mech carried himself. One thing was for certain though: only one of them was carrying a weapon, so it was much to Nokta’s pleasure that the unarmed femme was ordered to take point, effectively making her a noncombatant as it would seem the only way she had of defending herself was the strange appendage hanging from her back.

“Come up here and take point, we’re going exploring.”

Nokta almost made his move then and there as soon as the femme made her eager jog past her superior and there were no longer any prying optics looking in his general direction. But that was precisely when Windshield turned to look directly at him. Nokta would quickly turn his head to the side– optics dim as they were, there was still a chance the purple mech would be able to ascertain their general shape amongst the scattered machinery and other dimly lit nodes sticking out of the wall if he stared at him head-on. Nokta held that position for a moment until the mech in front of him decided to continue on.

This one was sharp. Very sharp. Nokta would have to ensure that he dealt with him first in the event that the two mecha had no intentions of being civil. Nokta let the pair continue forwards until it seemed they were sufficiently convinced that there was no threat behind them and chose then to make his move. The scout’s slender frame would peel away from the darkness as if it were the darkness itself producing him. He engaged in a low, stalking crouch forward and then straightens his frame as he draws his weapon from its holster, standing with poise upon entering striking distance of the mech.

"Do not. Move. A digit." The fuschia bloom of Nokta’s newly onlined blaster would illuminate the back of Windshield’s helm as the thin mech’s voice seeped out from the shadows and percolated around the space the three mecha shared. His voice was soft, almost hushed even though he spoke in a tone much higher and more commanding than a whisper would be, and ultimately possessed a kind of raspiness as a side effect of his ability. 

Even the sight of the familiar insignia at the top of the mech’s spinal strut would not be enough to fully convince Nokta right away, though were a different symbol located there from the get-go, well…lucky for Windshield this was not the case. Optics then flicked down to the pistol the mech was carrying in his servo.

"Raise your hands now, soldier. Slowly." The dull rasp eeks out into the space once more as he commands the mech in front of him, not instructing the mech to merely drop the weapon as he hadn’t forgotten about the rather nimble looking femme that also occupied the room. No, Nokta much preferred the only other weapon in the room to remain well within reach. As for his own weapon? It would only take the keen optic of a certain femme to notice that the blaster was almost entirely out of charge, should she possess such situational awareness.

For everyone’s sake here– he just hoped this one was not one of the more rebellious Decepticons– if he was a Decepticon at all and not just some impostor wearing the stars and stripes.

[Windshield]

Once Cintra caught up to him and overtook Windshield, his posture changed. Suddenly, his weapon was prepared not to fire directly ahead but to whichever side of her remained exposed to an ambush from the ship's shadowy corners. He maintained his vigil throughout when they entered the main control room, however, the clusters of exposed machinery and dials made it difficult even for one such as he to make out much in the red-dim darkness. And so, the spy waited for the moment in which his companion would be assaulted, a signal to fire—only to feel the softest of shifts behind him, mere moments after dismissing a distant shape as a trick of the light.

How grave this error.

Within seconds, he felt the cold warmth of a blaster's barrel at his back. A sensation that was more familiar than it should. And by the same measure, he heard the shadows speak in a low, stern rasp. No, not the shadows anymore. They had a distinct quality to them, a form and a function. A personality. He couldn't quite tell where the blackness of the ship ended and the body of the bot behind him began, but it was of little moment.

The weapon threatening his life was of far greater import.

He did as the voice said, at first not moving—still as a rock, and then, slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his hands. However, he had a sole advantage left, a small piece of comfort in a situation where he was so powerless—the combatant ahead. He smiled in her direction, unbeknownst to the voice, and hoped she would have turned around by now. He could not rely on her entirely. They were not friends. Yet the spark in his empty, vacant eyes told a different story. It shifted to the left twice, his eyebrows inclining as if directing her attention to the ambusher.

And then he spoke not to her but to him: "Alright, you got me. What's next?"

A notable pause followed as if interrupting both Windshield and his captor, giving the latter some time to let his imagination run wild. A distraction perhaps? Just when it seemed the shadowy figure would be given enough time to contemplate the possibility, the purple-clad mech cut in with precision yet again, as if he knew, as if he was trying to insert thoughts into the stranger's head.

"Gonna shoot me in the head and then let the gal over there shred you into pieces? As far as I can tell, there ain't nobody here but us three, so you're outnumbered."

His words trailed off into nothing, relapsing with a single intake.

"But if that's not enough, I can make that half-dozen extra Vehicons before you squeeze the trigger."

A bluff forwarded so brazenly and earnestly, with such confidence, that it would be difficult not to mistake it for the truth. Windshield did not even have to make the other individual believe it fully, only to plant a seed of doubt within the mind. Just enough for the most minuscule opening in reasoning and thought. He would need no more, and so he waited patiently for that moment.

The Decepticon no longer cared whether the assailant was an Autobot or a fellow brother-in-arms. With a gun to his head? He had no other goal but self-preservation.

[Cintra]

Oh. She was right.

Cintra had been so focused on moving forward, that evidently, she had moved past without even realizing it. She truly tried so hard... thought about ambush angles and all such information as she went... but it was not enough it seemed. Now they were locked in place, some stranger appearing with a raspy voice and a fuchsia glow of a weapon charging up that was placed onto the back of the other mech's helm. She did not even know his name yet, she didn't know him really at all, however he was her teammate, he was a Decepticon, and as such she took the threat seriously for what it was.

And that was likely instant death if the trigger was pulled.

While Windshield's Decepticon brand was on the back of his neck in gray atop light gray, Cintra's was far more apparent and on display as she stood fully upright and faced the other two. It was bright teal painted atop a purple plate upon her chest, the colors of which lightly luminous from the UV lighting that banded above it. It was a front and center marker of who she was, and where she stood in this war, though that didn't necessarily mean anything. Defectors or deception... mere paint could not be relied upon alone, though hers was either truthful or the noisiest bluff that screamed out.

Either way, slowly, Cintra's own hands would raise along with Windshield's own, the movement calm and fluid, keeping her palms aimed at the two mech before her. They were broad paneled, with a ringed patch of rubbers that banded into its center mass in a suction cup sort of pattern. She made certain to make sure the unknown mech could see them to look passive and disarmed, as it really was of no concern to her if her hands were usable or not. No. She did not need them. Any thoughts of her being truly unarmed was a notable mistake.

The extrusion that started at the back of her helm and shoulders, had been held in an idle state the entire time thus far. Draped down behind her, a sort of counterbalance that did not flick or shift in any notable manor. When she would stand still it would be looped closer and out of the way, almost hooking around her lower legs as it was held slightly aloft off the ground. She was mindful of keeping it out of focus, not wanting to be boiled down to that element being all she was, but now? Now was a time in which its re-purposed function came into play.

Cintra continued to stand facing the other two head on, her arms remaining aloft as she seemed to be locked still, however, the long tendril had drifted forwards slightly at shin height, remaining looped low so that its motions would be obscured from the newcomer's gaze, using Windshield as a visual... well... shield... to mask this action. The honed blade hovered a short distance off the ground at the ready, the knife's four panels seeming to shift apart from one another as they started to split into individual components. This fissure did not go further up than that short amount, waiting... watching... keeping the upper portion of the extrusion that was readily visible still and inert.

Orange options were latched onto the threat fiercely, one who was so muddled and dark that he made her bland companion seem vibrant and beautiful. She would regret all the ill will and venomous thoughts she had of him, feeling bad for degrading him down to being such a boring soul when she now saw true blandness and lack of passion in person... yet she was too distracted, too focused to dwell on this matter. The magenta lens plate in her eyes contracted sharply into a fierce look, the dark points outlined in yellow and orange bands that did not waver or flick anywhere but Nokta's own optics.

She was intense, focused, the wideness of her eyes adding a sort of savage edge that was only bolstered by the top portion of her lip twitching up, forcing a sort of gnarled smile to pair as she listened.

[Nokta]

Still nigh submerged in the suffocating darkness of the ship’s poor lighting, the only two elements of his biology that the femme would be able to see were his arm, at the end of which a servo with too-thin digits was wrapped around the blaster holding her partner hostage. The second of which were, of course, the vermillion optics that leveled her gaze with an indescribable intensity that might betray his otherwise calm nature.

As the femme turned around and he could get a better look at her from a head-on perspective, a wealth of information was revealed to Nokta. The first of which of course being the insignia all three mecha shared, teal on this femme in a display that mirrored the rest of her multi-colored frame. But when his optics rose from the femme’s chest insignia to her orangish optics, it was here his suspicions as to the true allegiances of these mecha began to cement themselves in full. The insignia would never make the Decepticon. It was the story in their optics– the violence that would reveal these things. And in her orange orbs he saw violence aplenty. As he held the femme’s savage gaze he too wondered if she could see the bottomless depths of his own violence.

There were other things within her optics too– things he suspected not many others had ever bothered to search for. Underneath the ferocious, fear-driven determination in the femme’s eyes was a look he’d seen in spare few Decepticons before her. The rare gaze of solidarity amongst comrades, compelled by the fear for a compatriot in danger. Interesting. Nokta could almost smile at his fellow soldier, but there was still a tension in the room that needed to be lifted by…precise hands.

As Nokta’s soul-boring optics drank up this new information the femme had provided him, the mech in front of him worked fast in his vain attempt to verbally gain the upper-hand in the situation he’d now found himself in.

"But if that's not enough, I can make that half-dozen extra Vehicons before you squeeze the trigger."

A soft hum from the mech as he seems to consider this remark in a contented thoughtfulness as opposed to any outward aversion or unease. One thing was for certain, the mech before him could silvertongue his way around a life-threatening situation with an expert’s touch. Though the words that next came out of Nokta’s mouth after a long, tense pause would not tender any acknowledgement of this fact.

"That would liven things up, wouldn’t it." A statement, not a question expected to be answered. Nokta would expect as much of a squadron of dutiful Decepticon soldiers to rush to the aid of their comrades. That was exactly how things damn well should be. In this initial, nigh casual response Nokta did not answer the purple mech’s initial question, for he was in no position to be asking them in the first place. If this mech was as smart as Nokta suspected, he would know full well of that.

How lucky for him that Nokta knew he was now in the presence of his rescuers from this Primus-forsaken Pit-ship he’d been entombed in.

"Femme." There was something else in his voice then as he spoke to Cintra. That same, alien rasp-whisper that consumed the room in its depths had not changed, but the way in which he addressed her was not in the same way as he had first addressed Windshield. Just slightly softer in tone, with less intent to maim and expunge. Altogether less poison. All things he would save for the Autobots in due time.

"Come into the light. Slowly please." Shockingly polite given all appearances, Nokta would nod his head to the left of the mech in front of him, his optics breaking contact with Cintra’s to briefly flit in the same direction so the femme would know to begin pacing to her right. Of course she was well and visible enough given her choice in paintjob, and he’d already seen the insignia on her chest, but this was merely a direction in logistics on Nokta’s part, as he would slowly begin to pace to his right, taking care to keep his pedsteps light and nigh inaudible so as not to agitate the already on-edge mech in front of him.

The light above them poured out the same dull crimson as the rest of the emergency lights in the ship, and lucky for them was one of the ones that wasn’t constantly blinking on and off incessantly. Should the femme follow Nokta’s instruction, this would leave the three mecha each standing under its radiance. Cintra would be the first to see the shimmering, royal purple insignia plastered to his chest plating, meticulously polished and buffed so as not to let anyone mistake who he was, what he was. As Nokta proceeded further into the light, the shadows were like a film that peeled off of his frame as he entered Windshield’s peripherals. A nasty looking scar could be seen horizontal across his left side at the midsection, likely either a self-tended injury or one that was sealed in a haste by a medic with limited supplies.

"Lieutenant Nokta…" The slender mech’s voice would slither out from between his lips as he walked.

He made sure to lock optics with Windshield as he slowly lifted his blaster away from his countenance to instead point at the ceiling. Steady now, soldier, seemed to be the message in Nokta’s optics as he clocked in on all Windshield’s gaze had to tell him in the same way he had done with Cintra. His insignia now on full display for the two mecha to inspect, red light would wash over his frame as he took his final step out of the oppressive dark to reveal his ghostly visage to both mecha.

"...Scouting Division. Reconnaissance and Logistics." He finishes his introduction with two slightly raised browplates. Were he more easily driven by emotion his lips might have curled into an amused grin at the fuss he’d just mustered.

Now just who were these two lone souls aboard his ship?

[Windshield]

Windshield remained still for as long as Nokta circled to the side, giving him no reason to panic. Soon enough, he'd get a proper measure of him, his height, and appearance; as much as one could in these dark corridors. Unassuming, generic, dull—in other words, well-suited for the office he claimed to occupy. The hacker wouldn't be surprised if he was telling the truth, and yet, he spoke as if it were uncertain.

"Looks like we have a fellow agent on our hands...or an Autobot stupid enough to let the opportunity to kill me slip away," the hacker mouthed off in a testy tone. It was then that he decided to temp the patience of their new friend—if only a little. Having noticed by now that Nokta's weapon was almost certainly in no condition to fire more than once, Windshield decided to slowly and passively lower his arms, right to the point where he could easily guard his head, should he need to. That way, he ensured the advantage Nokta willingly gave up would not be regained.

"Suppose you are who you say you are, in which case I'm Windshield, this here is Cintra, and our little boarding party is now a rescue party."

He remained suspicious of the other mech, yet understood that whether or not Nokta was a Decepticon, he was new enough to Earth to not recognize Windshield. In turn, Windshield did not recall him either, and he made sure to remember every Autobot he met during his foray behind enemy lines. Nokta wasn't among their number, nor was his voice familiar in any shape or form. A rasp like that, he'd never forget.

[Cintra]

Cintra's focus never wavered upon the black mech. While his frame may be blotted some by his horrific choice in paint, her own frame cast a light that hazed out into the oppressive darkness of the ship. It did not hurt that her eyes were adapting as well, apertures spiraling out to account for the lack of notable illumination to assist them. Because of this, she could see him. Or more... she could see what parts of him that were not obscured by her teammate that was still being used like a shield.

Perhaps there would be a small part of Cintra's mind that was amused by this. Translate the scenario as her being so dangerous that he would use another in such a way just to stay her hand. She did certainly see herself as a force, something that was to be feared and wary of, her particular talents stepping outside the norm to try to catch others off guard. The issue was however, that he had not only made such a compliment, but he paired it with softer words and a shift in tone when he addressed her over Windshield.

He was speaking to her softer than he did Windshield? That... she was something worth being pampered and seen as less of a threat despite his physical motions? How DARE he. How DARE he belittle her down with more gentle toned words as if she were some maiden that would latch onto this kindness with a smile and cute pose. The shift may be subtle, yet it was latched onto, Cintra's smile twitching some at the edges along with the fingertips on her right hand for a brief second.

Light clicks rang out as she moved with Nokta's prompting, calculated steps that mirrored this stranger's own at a calm pace as they somewhat circled Windshield. While she did so, her hands continued to remain aloft, while her tendril slipped silently down near her shins to move to the opposite side of her body away, the action smooth and fluid, keeping it out of the other mech's field of vision with care and a level of precision to it as it started to split in half into two forms.

Cintra did not even pass a flicking glance in Windshield's way, almost as if she no longer saw him. Perhaps she kept a bead on him from the peripherals of her vision, of course wanting to see if he snapped his arm up with a gun or went on the offense, yet she was not directly peering upon him, missing out on any visual cues or communication that may have gone on between them. Silent discussion may be obscured to her, but verbal words were of course a different story, and what this showed was that neither recognized one another, and even after seeing the brand on his chest, Windshield too was questioning his validity.

"-or an Autobot stupid enough to let the opportunity to kill me slip away"

Stupid enough indeed.

Words were words. Titles could be declared flippantly, and paint could be slapped on that amounted to nothing more than a little nametag on one's chest in a store. He thought he was in charge? No. He hadn’t proven who he was in any meaningful way. She could happily declare she was an Autobot infiltrator and it didn't make it true. If his commentary was said within the safety and security of Blackridge, things would be different. He had clearance. He had been approved as a valid Decepticon... and he would be declaring his rank under the gaze of Soundwave who likely wouldn’t approve lies on such levels. There was also the fact that he was trying to say he was on their side, and yet he still held a gun in hand without putting it away. If he was convinced of their standing, why wouldn’t he make it no longer valid? No. He was trying to manipulate them. He was treating her differently than Windshield because she was a femme...

And he wasn’t shit.

Abruptly, a hard slam rang out into the otherwise quiet ship, a sharp strike of metal against metal that echoed loudly and bounced down the hallway they had come from. It was almost deafening in the otherwise silence that had been in play, one of the masses of the tendrils that had separated from the others striking the ground like the crack of a blade tipped whip. It caused a flick of light even from the sparks that scraped off its surface from the raw metals in play. It was such an abrupt action that it would undoubtedly draw the attention of both unless they had a special type of resolve.

A diversion.

While the two tendrils whipped against the ground noisily, the other two were already in motion from her opposite side, hooking forward like a spear directly at Nokta's wrist that held the blaster. Not a sideways slash or swoop, but a precision strike that would skirt past Windshield's helm deftly should he have moved or stood in between them at all. She could have aimed at the weapon itself, tried to cut it from his hands or impale it enough that it would be rendered useless, but she learned early on that piercing weapons, especially those that ran on energy and fuel over hard ammunition, was a dangerous gamble, risking a combustion of some kind. Was that a risk she partook in? Yes. Sometimes. Yet not here. So, she did the next best thing.

Should her attack work out as planned, it would not only remove the weapon from his hand, but it could disable the hand enough that he could not reach down and draw forth a new weapon, or potentially couldn't even transform it into an inbuilt weapon if she bent metals internally far enough. It would make him the target then, and Windshield... who's name she only just learned... could take lead in figuring out if he was who he said he was, rather than letting this self-proclaimed 'Lieutenant' push them around hoping they just believed him with a wink and a smile.

[Nokta]

Cintra. Windshield. So those were the names of the brave mecha who had descended upon this ship to rescue their lost comrade.

"All apologies for the…theatrics." The lieutenant would say cooly back to the pair, as if his brand of ‘theatrics’ were merely a matter of harmless posturing as opposed to what would have appeared to the other two mecha just moments earlier as a matter of life and death. "...I had to be certain you were not Autob-" The sudden sound of metal against hard metal broke the lieutenant’s train of thought. Optics flitted down to what appeared to be one of the femme’s tendrils smacking against the floor. Rude. The scout thought to himself, but before continuing his thought: motion. Through the choking dark the shimmering fluorescence of one of the femme’s appendages— no, two of them grabbed his attention.

Perhaps he’d given Cintra too much credit.

In the same movement taken to lurch backwards from the decidedly sharp looking objects sailing uncomfortably close to his face, Nokta tossed the blaster at said appendage without being given a chance to think twice.

Oh, he hoped Cintra had decent enough control over her extra limbs that she didn’t hit his weapon hard enough to discharge the battery…Not that this happening would cause any lasting damage with such low charge in it, only that it would send an alarmingly swift and almost certainly painful shock into her frame if it did.

Regardless of this outcome, plates would flex against one another but freakishly made no sound as the wily mech performed a small feat of acrobatics. Peds left the ground as he went head under heels, a single servo touched the ground, before he used the point of contact to push his frame back upwards to land a few paces further back from where he’d been before– square in front of one of the many lockers housed within the walls of the control room.

Nokta could move.

Despite this distinction an exasperated growl left him as he realized how much that maneuver had taken out of him, the pounding in his helm upping its rhythm as he felt a sudden dryness in his mouth. Primus, he really needed a drink. He didn’t quite wobble from the exertion and pain upon landing, not keen on letting the two mecha– at least one of whom were still hostile– know just how exhausted he was.

When he’d landed, servos were flush against his sides, ready to pull the knives he kept hidden beneath the armor on his thighs. It was a clearly trained motion he’d always known to do whenever losing possession of his blaster, but he checked himself of this habit, albeit begrudgingly so as he slowly raised his servos with a slow vent of his intakes. So be it.

Diplomacy was so tiring.

As two wiry hands raised to physically show the pair he meant no harm, he couldn’t help but let his back fall to rest casually against the locker with a lazy thump. Given the matter at hand, Nokta would only be half aware of the sensation of whatever was inside the locker also coming to rest against the door after pressing his weight against it, prompting the locker door to open just a smidge.

Room enough for the cold, lifeless hand of a fellow Cybertronian to slip out of the locker, unbeknownst to Nokta, who continued down the route of civility.

"Very impressive…Cintra. I pity the poor Autobot who crosses you." The scout’s voice came out more haggard than usual after that small acrobatic display, but he made sure to address the femme by the name provided by Windshield nonetheless. As well as a calculating emphasis on the word "Autobot" to distance himself as much as he could from the term altogether. There was no mistaking his words now for anything in the realm of gentle condescending or patronizing. That was not who he was, anyhow. All soldiers had value, he saw this clearer than most. If they didn’t? They died. But on the subject of Cintra? Suspicions were confirmed that she could be a fearsome ally to him in future– that is if both she and her partner chose to see reason.

"What could I possibly have to hide at this point?" The mech only prompted out of sheer necessity, knowing full well what contradiction was made in asking this question. There were many things neither they, nor anyone else would ever know about this mysterious Lieutenant. But nothing that was relevant to the conflict at hand now...mostly. 

Meanwhile, uncaring for any of the scout’s declarations– the body hidden within the locker behind him continued to lean against its flimsy prison, the dead appendage dangling from the containment unit as the scout continued to speak, ignorant of the disturbing sight behind him.

What’s hiding indeed…

[Windshield]

First a bang, then history.

Windshield did not entirely expect such a sudden rush of action but was nonetheless thankful for it. Instinctively, he bounced back and kept low to the ground like a cat, putting some distance between himself and Cintra's onslaught of violence. He looked around, assessed the situation, and straightened up only once he was sure that he wouldn't be at the receiving end of this brawl. Then—and only then—did he smile brightly like a child in a candy store. There was a certain mischievous texture to his grin and to the way he looked on, almost as if he had some sort of a plan already. It suddenly became obvious. He wasn't just a child in a candy store—he was a child in a candy store with big pockets and grubby hands.

Everything was an opportunity, this very moment included.

Despite what he said and how well he treated Nokta, all things considered, Windshield had no intention of loosening his suspicions as much as he loosened his tongue. He would not force Cintra to retreat nor would he even want to if he had the authority to do so—which he technically did not. Either way, it seemed very likely that someone impulsive enough to do this wouldn't care to listen to him anyways. Windshield could respect the sentiment, so long as her brand of manic energy wasn't pointed at him.

Regardless, having Nokta on the back foot presented an advantage and despite doing his best to mask the weakness in his motions, Windshield knew a starveling when he saw one. He was one in the past far, far too many times not to know. The same tricks employed, the same masking, it echoed all too familiar. For a moment, he even considered whether they genuinely came across a marooned Decepticon. For a moment, he almost wanted to take pity.

But just almost. The second a corpse entered the equation, he was only far too happy to let Cintra do as she pleased. Now they could be the ones asking questions and waving guns around threateningly. He wouldn't do the second thing—yet. Such vague threats were a crude implement that rarely worked on Autobots (less so on Decepticons if Nokta wasn't full of it) and not at all on scum-of-the-earth like yours truly. Of course, such roguish individuals were few and far between...

...And yet their new acquaintance must have been just such a bastard to have a literal skeleton in the closet.

"Tell you what, Nokta. Seeing as I have half the mind to bury the hatchet, how about you apologize to Cintra here for whatever you've done to upset her—and then you can tell us about your little friend over there."

With a flick of the wrist, a sharp blade slid into his hand. Promptly, he pointed it at the dismembered appendage now splaying out of its tomb. Of course, he lied about burying the hatchet. If anything, he was more suspicious of Nokta than before since there was a corpse on the table—or, well, in the locker. Whoever this stranger truly was, he must have had terrible luck. Even the dead hated him. Perhaps they had a reason.

"Like I said, rescue party," he reiterated with a comforting tone. There was nothing to fear. Nothing at all.

[Cintra]

As the blaster was cast her way, there was only so much that could be done when fierce momentum was already taking hold. Cintra could not stop the strike, nor could she wrench it down fast enough to avoid contact entirely. What she could do in that fleeting moment in time however, was angle the sharp point of the blade enough that it did not hit the blaster head on. It's side struck onto the side of the gun, causing the object to pop up into a sharp spiral into the air rather than be impaled or sliced open.

While an unintentional shot could potentially be fired upon impact should the trigger be sensitive enough, the chances of it managing to shoot any one of them was minimum to none. A lottery numbers chance that was a fairly safe bet to put in play. Thoughts to this danger was not an option however, for aforementioned momentum carried Cintra's attack despite the trajectory change. With a secondary hard strike, the honed tip would hit the ground instead of the mech, the point remaining as if carrying some of her weight.

Yellow peds continued forward as Windshield backed off to get some distance and orient himself, Cintra's gait steady and firm. She did not charge after Nokta, though she also didn't approach with caution. She simply decisively moved to close the distance, a fierce energy in her gaze as her hands flared open at the ready. It didn't matter what he said next, though that didn't mean she didn't hear him.

"What could I possibly have to hide at this point?"

The sight of the arm propelled everything to an entirely new level.

This was a Decepticon ship. Therefor, the inhabitants should be Decepticons. Should an Autobot infiltrate the ship, then they would undoubtedly be evicted from the vessel like the piece of trash they were. Hiding a corpse shows a sense of guilt or deception, trying to mask over what had been done. Why would they hide an enemy soldier's remains in something that was meant to be functional and used by the crew? It made no sense to her, and as such, it meant the REAL crew of the ship was dead and squirreled away in any corner their body could fit, leaving the infiltrator behind as a survivor to continue their little ruse.

Cintra would NOT let an infiltrator into Blackridge.

"There is nothing TO tell!"

Cintra barked this back at Windshield as she snapped her helm over to glare at the REAL Decepticon a second. What logic could there be? A slain Autobot was something to boast about and show off, not hide away. It was so incredibly OBVIOUS in her mind, and as such her pursuit continued the last strides to get within range.

Hooking down into a lower crouch where one hand planted down, Cintra's suction cup along the palm and under each ped would clutch onto the smooth metal below to give her a firm grip. Two of her four tendrils were pulled back behind her, while the other two that had been joined together would peel apart sharply with an almost zipper like rip. The twin blades that were now smaller due to the lack of lining up together into a larger shape, would both lurch forward with a similar spearing motion as her first strike towards the gun. This time however, they were not aimed at a weapon of any sort, nor were they even aimed higher on his frame. Instead, they hooked down at his feet, exploiting the fact that his legs didn't really have anywhere to escape to or pull away due to the cabinet and his new little dead friend.

Cintra's dagger like appendages were not smooth in their design, holding no sleek curve or straight edge. Instead, they had a ragged look to them, a ridged pattern that created a few points along their length to snag and hook. Because of this, the primary point of her blade would cut into the air between Nokta's legs, before swinging out towards the inner tires that were mounted on either heel.

Should this work as intended, the sharp ride ridges would either lodge into the spokes of the wheels, or one of the flares in front of it, using her firm grip and her lower center of gravity to pull back to try to make him fall to the ground... or the blade would simply sheer through the rubber itself, causing his gait to more likely than not be severely impaired. That is, unless he had some sort of trick, though she wasn't concerned.

Cintra was in it to win it, and true to form, she had no intention of backing down.

[Nokta]

"and then you can tell us about your little friend over there."

His what over where?

Nokta had little time to process Windshield’s words as he looked down to see a limp gray servo. Realization flooded Nokta’s processor. Oh. Optics widened just slightly as he opened his mouth, having completely forgotten about the pesky rodent, proving to be an obstacle to him even in death.

"This mech-" He’d barely lifted his back from the cabinet to stand straight when the spokes of his left rear wheel were latched onto, cutting his explanation short. Pressing away from the cabinet, he kept himself upright long enough to lift off of the ground with his unaffected leg, diving to Cintra’s left as her appendages took the other leg.

"-was an Autobot stowaway!" Nokta shouted in a grunt as he flew through the air. As he did so– he twirled around, a blade appearing with a flash from its holster to swipe inches from the femme’s vocalizer– a warning. Added momentum was used to violently kick outwards midair in an attempt to dislodge her tendrils from his leg.

"-that got himself killed!" Metal hit metal with an awful sound as the mech slid across the floor on his back. Two very sharp-looking daggers had emerged in either servo, pointed directly at the femme.

KER-SLAM! On queue, the dead body barreled out of the locker, hitting the floor in front of Windshield. A small mech– grounder. Very dead. Very much an Autobot– as evident by two bright red faction symbols on either arm…

Weapons were thrust out at Cintra, promising swift action if she proceeded any further. Nokta could only hope the moment of hesitation this movement created combined with his earlier swipe would keep Cintra away from him long enough to hear him out.

"He tried to kill me using my own weapons. He mishandled them. A mistake that killed him. He must have found a hiding spot after the ship lost power and I was locked into stasis– one that became his coffin after he bled out," Knowing he’d only have so long to convince the femme before he’d be forced to go on the offensive– he spoke at breakneck pace, listing only the facts as he’d lived them.

Bracing for whatever might come next, blades at the ready, Nokta left them with this: "If words are not enough, you’ll find the wounds on his servos match my story in full." Said wounds of course being made from the improper handling of Nokta’s unorthodox blades.

[Windshield]

The dagger in Windshield's hand swung upwards, blade now pressed to the tip of his chin, the arm which held it rested, supported by the other one. He started tapping the blade against his face as he was wont to do when thinking—or pretending to do so when his mind was already made up. Tap. Tap. Tip. Now, the little agent knew what to do with their cornered friend but Cintra seemed unrelenting despite the mounting evidence against their initial assumptions. Still, Nokta could've just been playing a very convincing act all along. It looked like a trick Windshield would try to pull himself—did try to pull himself. Tip. Tip. Tap. The angle changed then. Rap. Tap. Tap. Different melodies coalesced into one tune or another. It was enough music to keep his mind off the drudgery and violence. What to do, what to do.

Let the maniac have her fun, or point out the obvious...

"Oh, very well," Windshield sighed with all the exasperated theatrics he could muster, stashing away his weaponry under the guise of clever hand tricks. Then he pensively glanced at the felled Autobot. There wasn't a hint of pity in his optics, only cold analysis. He scoured the details for any inconsistencies or signs of clever artifice. Nothing grabbed his attention at a cursory investigation, and so he decided to proceed with saving the stranger's aft from a relentless Cintra. Nokta would surely be thankful to him later if he survived today, a debt Windshield wouldn't dare forget.

"Cintra, that's enough. He's weakened and clearly no match for either of us in his current state. We should detain him and take him home for screening—or questioning," he shrugged, "And hey, if he turns out to be an Autobot glitch-head, I'm sure they'll let you have a go at him execution-style."

He smiled briefly, but then grew grimmer in expression. And because he knew that would not be enough to placate someone so hell-bent on violence, he put an extremely grave emphasis on the following words, in a mellow, deep tone which seemed so unlike the casual and easily-bored bot she met earlier today: "If you have a problem with that idea, I will have High Command know you attempted to terminate a possible asset. It would not look pretty on your permanent record."

Could he even do that? Perhaps not, but he spoke with such conviction and cold control that it would be foolish to assume he couldn't. (Even by Cintra's standards.) Naturally, Windshield kept to a humbler decorum when regarding his superiors, but Cintra did not need to know that—nor that his own standing in the Decepticons was relatively humble. Still, if she tried to call his bluff, he could always fall back on his recent accomplishments within the Autobot ranks as leverage.

That would do it.

Of course, he did not stand up to Cintra so sternly out of any guilty felt over Nokta's situation nor because he particularly cared about him, and most definitely not because he trusted him, but simply because if Nokta was an Autobot, they could have another prisoner to replace the last one should she die in the process...

Patch.

...For a moment he stopped himself from thinking so coldly of her. On some level, he still hadn't processed just how cruel that fate was—but he wouldn't pause to contemplate it either. Such thoughts were counterproductive and if Nokta was to be her next replacement, so be it. But somewhere, deep, deep down, he hoped it would not be so. His brow furrowed to dismiss these weak thoughts, a grave look cast at Cintra. There was no smile then. No courteous jests or immature babbling. If she wished to press on with her attack, he would stop her. That much was clear.

[Cintra]

The second that the blade passed through the spokes of Nokta's wheel, its flat panel would twist sharply at a ninety-degree angle, causing its ridges to act as a fishhook of sorts that would not permit it to slide back out readily. It may not be a good way to do damage, no real vitals of note or anything really at all other than a grip, but that would only be a problem if she only had the one.

Which she didn't.

And so, he was effectively shackled to her now, which could be bad for either of them... a prime example being the blade that swung in front of her frame towards her neck. There was a pink plate of metal across her throat, a squared off band that acted as a sort of inbuilt guard, however there was only so much such a thing could do against a sharp edge with power behind it, and just above it was the more delicate components that worked her helm and cables. As such, even as she was on the offense, her head did hook back and away as he leapt, orange eyes widened a moment in alarm.

This was further evidence he was hostile and not one of their own. Trying to take a swipe at someone's throat like that? It simply couldn't be a warning if it passed her by such a slim margin of mere inches where the wind could be felt. What if she had leaned to advance? Blue would be splattered.

Cintra's mass was pulled harshly forward then as Nokta's grand leap to get away caused the attachment to go taunt with a creak that was overshadowed by the horrendous scrape from his impact. The other mech may have thought such a maneuver would have pulled her forward, caused her to drag across the ground with him, yet she did not move her place at all, squared off fingertips flaring some as the suction cups on her palms and peds kept strong.

An Autobot stowaway? That made no sense. Once more she could only think that if they killed an Autobot, that it should be on display or ejected. Even if he was the one to get himself killed.

Wrenching upright, Cintra's palms detached from the ground, her legs remaining bent as she tried to pull back to drag Nokta towards herself. He may be larger than her, but the difference was not exceptional, so she believed she could work by limited brute force, the three freed extrusions from the back of her shoulders and helm hooking upright into the air with their points angled at him.

Three against two was simple math, and Cintra could do that.

Nokta's words were mere noise to the femme, her left ped unlatching so that she took a step forward to stick down again. She no longer tried to consider what he was saying, no longer had any cares to give. She was convinced to her struts at what she believed, and what she believed was that he had to die. Yet, her beliefs evidently were not shared, and at Windshield's 'enough' she faltered a second, the blades that were just about to go into motion stalling.

A... Captive? The idea felt like too much effort to her. A dead Autobot was the best Autobot, and how could they ever believe anything he spat out in self-defense? She was about to cast this foolish idea aside, when the now comparatively brilliant painted mech spoke up again, and these words struck her far harder than the prior, her upper lip flicking up with a faint tremble. It may have been only a couple fleeting seconds, but it felt like an eternity to her, absolutely hating the dilemma that was put before her. It wasn't a choice she could argue with however, Windshield was smart... and so she let out a disgusted frustrated snort. The blade that was stuck in Nokta's spokes roughly wrenched in the direction it hand gone in so that it could whip away without tearing anything in the process.

The knife struck against the ground once as it retracted with a noisy bang, before flowing behind her to join with the other three.

No words were said, orange optics still fierce as the magenta lens caps bore down into him.

[Nokta]

In all the time since he’d hit the ground, Nokta had not once lowered the fierce aim of his weapons, even as the femme in front of him had attempted to pull him forwards. Windshield seemed not to care, however, idly tapping at his chin with the blade in his hand while Cintra kept coming. As she readied to strike with more appendages, so too were his blades ready to thrust and slash at whatever tendrils they could as Cintra was clearly keen to keep testing her luck.

Only then she finally faltered.

Windshield’s words seemed to stall her advance. Vermillion optics flicked inquisitively back and forth between the two mecha as Nokta clocked in on Cintra’s sudden indecision. Truthfully, he’d been half-listening to Windshield at this point, more tuned into the very physical danger in front of him, but in what little he bothered listening to– Windshield’s words were clear: stand down.

Nokta kept his weaponry out until he was detached from Cintra, a soft grunt escaping him as the dreadfully alien sensation of the limb left his ped, amazed that in all the fuss nothing delicate had been damaged. He rose to his feet as Cintra audibly voiced her dismay with a feral snort. While his optics had been glued to Cintra’s during her advance, staring into them now felt akin to staring down a maddened bull, so he instead turned his attention to Windshield, who’d proven to be the only mech capable of seeing reason at this point.

"A wise choice, Windshield." The lieutenant’s rasp licked out at the other mech’s audials in a low purr, "I’ll see that you’re well-rewarded for the course of action you’ve taken here today." Interestingly, or perhaps not, his words steeped in the tones of recognition he might bestow to soldiers under his command after doing him proud in all their damnable deeds.

Simple statements, not really meant to flatter, more so to gently nudge towards the matter at hand. To reinforce the idea that Nokta was in fact– Decepticon or not– a crucial asset valued alive by mecha much more important than the three of them. Even if they couldn’t fully trust him now– the wrath of their superiors would likely be far worse than anything Nokta could do at the moment.

Nokta made a show of holstering his weapons just as the other mecha had at this point, knives sliding back under his thigh plating with a soft click. "Conscientious soldiers are so hard to come by, after all…" Maybe that last line was aiming to flatter Windshield somewhat, and if not that– to at the very least ease some tension. This much was made evident by the rare, muted smile of approval that graced the edges of Nokta’s mouth after speaking.

Nokta glanced over to Cintra. Dare he even attempt to communicate with her at this point? A femme so clearly set in her ways, driven by impulse and a seemingly bottomless appetite for violence– would he try to quell such a force on his own? No. Saying anything more would only come off as mocking. There’d be time for idle chit-chat when they were all safely aboard the Nemesis.

Optics glanced back to Windshield once more. With marked poise, vacant servos fluttered out to the sides to finally surrender, his frame dipping into a nonchalant bow.

"I’m all yours."

[Windshield]

Oh, please. Would Nokta spare him the platitudes? Windshield wondered. He could shower him with praise when—if—his credentials, name, and position checked out. Regardless, the hacker would give no voice to his disapproval of such flatter, simply shaking his head lightly. Then, Nokta spoke again, adding yet more commentary.

Conscientious soldiers are so hard to come by, after all…

Windshield made no guesses as to the veracity of that statement—or the previous ones for that matter, but something about that phrase struck deep. Not because Nokta's words were particularly profound or unique, or even meaningful, but simply because they aligned with a feeling deeply buried within the Spark. He did his best to pay it no mind, and replied with the plainest of answers.

"Aren't they just," Windshield grumbled lowly, then turned towards the relenting Cintra. That he could stay her hand was nothing short of a miracle. Full many Decepticons would simply continue acting out on their baser urges until nothing salvageable remained of their target. He did not doubt she had that kind of capacity for violence in her. In situations like these, aggressors often turn on those trying to subdue said violence, and for a small mercy, Windshield was all too glad it did not go down that way today.

Regardless, he addressed her next.

"Would you kindly detain him? Make sure he doesn't try anything funny while I call for pick-up."

It was undesirable to be the bearer of questionable news this late into the night, but it had to be done. Without much ado, Windshield contacted his superior over communications. Ever reliable, the shade on the other end of the line did not take long to process the new information. Very soon, they would have the GroundBridge they needed.

That it was Soundwave he contacted was something Nokta could be clued into later.

[Cintra]

Cintra’s broad paneled hands would clap over the hook of her hip plating, one of her triangular fingertips gently tapping the pink metals.

"Ohh... 'well rewarded'. Like he has some kind of say."

Her words were sarcastically biting, a sort of sway to her hips as she mockingly spoke at the Autobot and his little manipulation tactic. If Windshield believed this? Cintra would be very disappointed in him. Dare she say... insulted? At how gullible a Decepticon was being? Especially when it was not only a Decepticon, but one who was serving their cause directly under Megatron and the Air Commander's guidance... Alas, such a conclusion to her thoughts never came, and Windshield appeared to brush it aside as though it had never been spoken. While she would have approved of a more direct retort at the other mech to scoff at his bribery, she would cope with the silence over an acceptance to the offer any day.

The pink plated femme continued to watch Nokta fiercely in the fleeting moments. While her body language seemed to have calmed relative to what it had once been, that was simply a surface level element, for she was very much still not ok with things. She expected an attack, as his weapons being holstered were nothing of value in the grand scheme of things. This wasn't some thug in an alley trying to rob someone, using the blade as a threat with no real skill to use it, it was someone who had survived in this war for so many years. He had to be skilled, and as such, the blades being not even an arms length away meant it could be drawn quickly.

Just as Cintra's tendrils could spiral apart and whip forward.

"Conscientious soldiers are so hard to come by, after all…"

Cintra sneered at this statement, not because she didn't agree with it, but more because she didn't know the first word that had been said at all. Windshield seemed to get it however, responding in agreement... but such motions weren't mirrored in turn, it better to not draw attention to her lack of knowledge on this fact. While she did not respond in any notable way on this part of the discussion, what she DID take joy in was the following words that were offered her way.

Like an attack dog that had just been given its key word, Cintra's frame dipped sharply a second to give her knee's some bend, before she kicked off hard at the other mech with violent disregard to the consequences and the blades that could be turned against her. She was determined, barely even processing the words that had been offered before her frame skidded past Nokta's side with a scrape of metal against metal. It would look like a completely botched attempt at a tackle, however the extrusion on the back of her helm and shoulders were split apart into four 'bars' that had made contact instead.

The lowermost of the four would strike the mech's nearest knee, using the pivot to sharply whip around the joint to then tighten and pull backwards towards herself to try to heave the leg back past her own behind him. It wrenched the limb off kilter, making it so that getting footing would be quite difficult.

The next two tendrils up acted the same as the first, however one was aimed towards his nearest arm instead while the other swung around to try to get his far arm as well. As far as Cintra was concerned, this was the most vital thing to contend with overall. She had to try to get the limbs immobile, so that he could not draw his blades in a way that would be notably useful. Should he be strong enough to get any slack to pull the weapons from their holster, plans would change accordingly... though she believed this would not be a concern of hers for long.

The final tendril moved in a way that became the larger threat of the three. The mailable cable spinning around to curl about Nokta's throat, the rubber like sheath pressing against the cables firmly with enough flex to create a snug grip. To pair with all four of these, her arms would pull around to effectively hug Nokta' from behind, assisting in keeping the fuel weakened mech’s arms in place so that he would fall prey to the situation he had been forced into.

Like the creeping coils of a python, her grip would tighten, aiming to pinch off cables in his neck that fed his processor, hoping to drive it into momentary shutdown. Should his frame go lax, she would let go, despite not wanting to. She was told to not KILL the Autobot so that he could be captured, and she would show restraint on that meager element, but she was not told she couldn’t take him down to do so.

((Permission granted to bind and choke))