| abstract
| - Everywhere is dead. Red rocky outcrops spread as far as the eye can see, and above, there is no sky, no space, only a bloody red expanse. Flames flicker on random ridges with nothing obvious burning. And yet there are signs of life. Huge, Transformer-sized footprints litter the dusty windless plains, and the still atmosphere is tense with... something. Chains lead down into what looks to be a bottomless pit, lined with cobbles with flames licking around the side, and a smaller black pool lies to the south, still and shimmering. Contents: Scrapper Pool Obvious exits: Rift leads to Medusa Cascade. IN THE PAST... What has the detective dragged in today? Why, Nightbeat has dragged a Seeker, still kicking and struggling, despite the energy cuffs, into the bleak and blasted realm that is the Dead Universe. Nightbeat comments, smiling lopsidely, "Y'know, I already think of this place as home, a place where I can sack out and get some shut-optic, but for you, it's maybe more of a /final/ resting place." Scrapper transforms into a payloader. Payloader has been hard at work while Nightbeat has been out doing 'detective work'. At least one part of the realm is turning civilized. Scrapper has flattened an area and created a foundation about the size of a football field in the time he's been with the Fallen. Scaffholding is already going up on one side. Despite this, the work is incredibly slow compared to what Scrapper was used to with the Decepticons. There he had his other Constructicons and a legion of MSE workers helping on a project. Here... well, the Fallen's troops may be tough, but they aren't exactly rocket scientists. "It isn't really going to be home until our new base is completed," he says in his gruff tone. At this rate, though, it'll be done in a few years. Sadly, that'll never come to pass. Nightbeat suggests, half-flippantly, "Get the bar operational first." Then, he turns a more critical optical band to Scrapper's work and looks over at the Seeker he's dragging by the wingtip, commenting, "Gotcha some supplies." He adds, "Disabled the radio, just like you taught me." The Seeker that Nightbeat is dragging - oh, call him Hapless - at first looks happy to see a fellow Decepticon, but when he realises that it's Scrapper, the one who fell and the one who makes chairs out of people. Hapless pleads, "You were a Decepticon, Scrapper! You can't let him do this to me!" "The bar is scheduled for completion in thirteen astromonths, Nightbeat. Until then you're going to have to wait," Scrapper replies. To say this is a pathetic estimate compared to normal would be an understatement, but he is only one mech. Maybe if Perceptor (or whatever he's calling himself these days) decides to devote some time to the HQ cause, things would start getting done around here, Scrapper thinks with mild derision. The payloader rolls over to the pleading Seeker. Hapless. Man that guy's lucky he's lasted his long with a name like that. "Emphasis on the word 'were', Hapless!" he says. Nightbeat gestures and suggests, "We could just pitch a tent and put up a cardboard sign with 'baAr' painted on it out front." However, Nightbeat suspects that would be offensive to Scrapper's delicate artistic temperament. Hapless dithers, "But... but... he's an /Autobot/. You can't just work with him!" Nightbeat tilts his head to the side and asks, "Hey, how do I disable a voicebox? Y'know, aside from bashing him over the head until he stops moving." Fleet has arrived. Payloader scoffs, "Nightbeat that is offensive to my delicate artistic temperment!" The Constructicon revs his engine threateningly at Hapless. "We are beyond Autobot and Decepticon now, Hapless. Oh it is a wonderous thing. We are... special." Scrapper's voice drops to a more gentle, understanding one, "Here, I know how to explain it. You know the Sweeps used to go on and on about how special and unique they were? About how they had a brotherhood and were superior to other Transformers?" It's a rhetorical questions. "Well it's like that, except in our case it's all true!" Scrapper doesn't seem to see the irony. He folds upwards into robot mode. "If you have anything left to say before I show Nightbeat how to take apart a voicebox, you might want to get them out of the way now." Payloader transforms into robot mode. Hapless blurts, "Wait, wait! I have... recent security codes. Low level, but..." At that admission, Nightbeat grins darkly and murmurs lowly to Scrapper, "Juuuust what I was hoping." More loudly, he suggests, "Actually, how 'bout you just show me how to take him apart alive? Give him some time to /talk/." As if confiding, he adds, "And, if you're really good, maybe, just maybe, I'l add 'putting you back together' to the list of jigsaw puzzles I need to finish." Hapless cringes and whimpers, clearly distraught. Fleet flies in from deeper within the Deadverse. When he spies Scrapper and Nightbeat below, however, he stops flying and circles a moment, taking some interest in the activities below before coming in for a landing, transforming and touching down on his feet. He looks down at Hapless, then up at Nightbeat, then over at Scrapper. Finally, he observes, "I suppose I should thank you for not just using the Seeker handy for this." "Well our friend here is a Seeker," Scrapper says, proving that his new allegience to the Fallen hasn't made him lose his ability to point out the blindingly obvious, "And that means they're all the same. You learn one Seeker, you learn them all - well, except for any special unique powers such as teleporting or... ah... 'thrusting really hard' they might have, but that's a bit advanced for this class." The Constructicon looks back down at Hapless, either unaware or uncaring about the security codes being offered. Perhaps he's just a good actor. As Fleet arrives, Scrapper gestures at various spots on him. "Sure on the outside they may be tetrajets or F-15s or one of those new fangled F-22s, but on the inside they're all alike. Barren and souless... er, present company excepted, of course," he quickly adds to Fleet. He turns back to Hapless. "Now then, shall we get down to brass tacks and show you about voiceboxes?" Nightbeat holds a hand over his Autobot badge and over-acts. "Fleet! Why, I would /never/ dream of that. You're a Reaver! This is just some shmuck." Hapless rattles off his security codes, as if they might stand between him and shuffling off this mortal coil. However, Nightbeat crouches down and pulls out his toolkit, which is /not/ a medical toolkit but neverthless does contain some distressingly pointy objects. "Yeah, let's do this, Scrapper." Fleet stands by rather calmly as Scrapper suggests that Seekers are all barren and souless and Nightbeat rather unconvincingly protests that he would never /dream/ of dissecting a fellow Reaver for anatomy lessens. Unthinking insults are pretty much part and parcel of life as a Seeker, and Fleet's never been so proud to bother getting angry over the matter. That way leads to injuries. Instead, he starts to walk around the others, looking at what they're doing from multiple angles before coming to a stop at a spot which would make it convienent for Scrapper to use him as an 'intact' example, should he need to do so again. Better that than the other kind of example. Scrapper doesn't seem to be listening to the security codes. Maybe he figures Nightbeat or Fleet are remembering them. Helping himself to the toolkit, Scrapper seems willing to use them as medical instruments even if this is not what they were designed for. He holds up a screwdriver with a barbed tip. It glints in the minimal light here in the Dead Universe. Who would ever bother making this thing??? "Ah yes," Scrapper says, "Scavenger calls this medical instrument 'the stabbinator'..." Despite the words, he shows no sign of missing his wayward brothers. He lowers the instrument and proceeds to show Nightbeat how to pry open a Seeker's throat armour without actually damaging either the armour plating or the circuitry within. Nightbeat remembers everything. Everything. Mostly, he hates remembering hangovers. As if taking a note, Nightbeat repeats, "The stabbinator. Check." He follows along Scrapper's instructions on how to pry open a Seeker's throat armour, and when Scrapper is done, he promptly closes up the throat armour, grabs what looks like a smaller version of the stabbinator and tries it out himself. Hapless just sobs. Fleet is not so skilled an observer as Nightbeat, but he does well enough for someone not specialized in the function. He's listening to the codes. He steps nearer and kneels to get a better view. "Won't get too far with those codes," he hmmms softly. "Not without getting creative on top of it." Fleet's been getting very creative lately with colored light. "Now lets see what we can do about those sobs, huh?" Scrapper asks. This scene is quickly entering depressing territory! Poor Hapless. Maybe if we're lucky he'll have a happy ending to all this. Scrapper waits for Nightbeat to flip open the hatchway again. "Good, good." He takes over again, pointing out all the little doohickies in Hapless's neck. "This is the voice modulator. This is the radio transceiver." That might be a different spot than what was said last scene. "Coolant lines are here, oil filter, motor controls... a lot of important stuff in the neck. Here, try removing the voice box. Just undo those clasps right... there and there," he points with the stabbinator, "And it should pop right out." Scrapper stands up, looking over at Fleet while his apprentice tries it out. "Oh, what do you have in mind?" Nightbeat listens along, making a mental note of not only he locations and name of these objects but of how they look. Only Seekers are laid out like Seekers, after all, but the parts should look vaguely the same Transformer to Transformer. Nightbeat grabs a pair of tweezers usually ussed for vidence and delicately undoes the clasps. As promised, the voice box pops out, and Hapless's sobs are silenced. He looks up at Fleet when he's done, curious. "Yeah?" Fleet shrugs his wings. "Those codes alone should be enough to get me back into the bases. That and a new paint job." Fleet looks down, taking note of Hapless's, and continues. "From there, plenty of confusion can be generated just by rappidly switching who's being impersonated. Ordering people who /do/ have the right clearance to do things and get things." He shrugs again and shakes his head. "I think it's called social engineering? People are hardwired to react to certain things and respond certain ways." Scrapper jerks a thumb in Fleet's direction and says to Nightbeat, "Like I was saying - Seekers are all alike, at least physically. This is where having an entire corp of the same design can be dangerous and backfire miserably." Back to Fleet. The Constructicon engineer nods and says, "Decepticons are the worst for that, too. If you shout loud enough most will assume you're in command and do whatever you tell them." Gesturing back to Hapless, Scrapper says, "Try putting it back in to get the feel for it." Nightbeat carefully slots the voicebox back in and does the clasps back up with the tweezers. Immediately, Hapless blubbers, "Oh, please! Let me go. I'll do anything!" Frowning, Nightbeat mutters, "How about shutting up?" He then moves to take the voicebox back out again. He actually looks like he has gained new respect for Fleet and comments. "Yeah. Just act natural, and people's gaze just slips rights over you." Fleet dips his head. "Granted, there are advantages to actually /being/ the standard model. Every technician in the Empire can repair you with their optics shut off and halfway into a defragmentation cycle, and your typical battlefield is just littered with spare parts that fit you with little to no modification. It means if you survive," he glances down at Hapless and shrugs, "it's a bit easier to keep surviving. On the other hand..." here he lowers his voice and glances around, because he /is/ talking about another Reaver, "I've got /no/ idea why the Autobots would go and build themselves just one. You lose all the advantages of being a common model when there's only one." "There is such a thing as individuality," Scrapper replies. "Most Transformers I know value being unique - or mostly unique, in the case of repaints and redecos. Other than arguably the colour scheme matching of various Special Teams, the Seekers are the only group I know of that actively seek - no pun intended - to be similar to one another. Well, Sweeps too I suppose, but that was Unicron's call, and who knows what was going through his giant monitor-filled brain when he made them." Scrapper seems to have forgotten about Hapless. That is probably good for Hapless. Nightbeat shrugs and notes, "Hey, I don't build Autobots. Don't look at me." Blame Magnificus or something. Nightbeat, however, has not forgotten about Hapless, and he is opening up random panels on the Seeker to see what's inside. For the most part, he seems to have figured out how to open panels without breaking anything, nut every so often, he slips up, and Hapless cringes. "I don't think most of us actively seek it so much as don't fight it and acknowledge the possible advantages. There's certainly a fair degree of diversity among Seekers, anyway." Fleet tilts his head, considering, as he watches Nightbeat poke and prod at panels. "I mean, it would be hard for someone to confuse me for Ramjet or Fulcrum, for example, but on some level or another we all know that if we don't want to be noticed for a moment, all we have to do is stand around quietly as a group and people will automatically overlook us." "At least you do have variation in design and colour scheme," Scrapper grants Fleet. "Unlike those Fallen-forsaken Sweeps... it took me astroyears just to figure out how to tell them all apart, and even now I'm not sure if there's more out there I've simply missed." Out of the corner of his optic, Scrapper notices Nightbeat. "Whoa, whoa, that panel right there. Flip that one open again. There's some interesting stuff there." It's one of the various chest panels, "This is where you'd turn off pain receptors in your average Seeker, as well as motor functions. Now there's a lot of protection both in the form of failsafes and firmware protocols to ensure that this doesn't get abused by enemies in battle, so don't just think you can shoot for this section and hope to paralyze someone. But if you look... here, here, and here," he taps the spots with the stabbinator, "See that? The relay circuit works through that. Sure you need to figure out the codes and it isn't as simple as taking out a voice box, but it's still useful." Nightbeat says absently, "The way they sound. You can tell them apart that way. Wear and tear is a lil' different on each Sweep." Nightbeat also has better hearing than most Transformers, so his advice may be a little useless. Nightbeat listen raptly as Scrapper explains how to disable pain sensors, and he puts that analytical detective mind of his to work trying to figure out said codes as he mucks around with the twitching Hapless's pain sensors. Fleet listens carefully and peers as Scrapper continues to instruct Nightbeat. He probably should be concerned that Scrapper is going in-depth on his inner-workings with an Autobot, but... Nightbeat isn't an Autobot. He's a Reaver. And that makes it all right. Besides, more people knowing how to repair Fleet can only be good, right? "Who sets the codes?" he asks. "I know /I/ don't." "Heh, like I always used to say, you can tell Scourge from the others because he's the one who won't /shut up about how he's Scourge/," Scrapper chuckles. Even though they're fond memories, the hardcode placed within him by the Fallen prevents him from truly missing it. Scrapper describes the way to disable the pain receptors as best he can. "Now there's three ways around the codes. The first way is with brute force and just try and remove the protection chip. You can always put it back later, though it's not very good for the chip. This is effective but inelegant, as Hook would say. The other way is to hack your way past them. This takes longer but won't damage the chip as much. This is probably more up your alley. The last way of course is just /knowing/ the codes, which any reasonable medical database will have on its patients." Nightbeat is not near a reasonable medical database, and let's face it, Nightbeat's not liable to ever be near a reasonable medical database for legit purposes. If he is fixing someone, it will probably be while under heavy fire from gangsters while there is a ticking bomb right next to them and a bus driving around at 80 mph. His fingers twitch, and he confirms, "Let's try that hacking option." Nightbeat pulls out his datapad - handy when working with codes and ciphers. Fleet shrugs faintly, decides the answer to his question is probably, 'the medics,' and peers quietly at what Nightbeat is doing. Scrapper just folds his arms and looks over Nightbeat's shoulders. The detective's own instincts on this sort of thing ought to serve him well, and Scrapper figures he won't have to say much to get him on the right path. Better if he figures it out on his own, anyway. Nightbeat's logic is hard to follow, even for someone watching over his shoulder. The missing bees, the destruction of Pompeii, the Fibonacci sequence - it's all related, and in a flash, the code is cracked, and Hapless twitches a little less, now feeling no pain at all. Nightbeat looks up at Scrapper and queries, "Did that do it?" Fleet looks down at Hapless, then up at Nightbeat. Then he pokes Hapless a few times... in one of the open panels. He does not, however, bother to state the obvious. Scrapper can't really see what Nightbeat is doing, per se, but he knows that distinctive twitch from the Seeker anywhere. He runs a medical scanner over him just to be sure, and nods to the detective. "That did it," he confirms. "See if you can undo it, now." Nightbeat groans, laps his face with a hand, and exclaims, "I gotta undo it?" Oh, he supposes so. Seekers are more fun when they're in pain, Fleet and Raptor excluded. He glances over at his notes on the codes, running everything backwards through his mind until it all gels. In the proverbial zone, Nightbeat attempts to bring the sensation of pain back to the Seeker. Then, Nightbeat kicks him in the knee. Where Fleet's pokes had done nothing, Hapless now cringes. Fleet watches all this, then pokes again. "If you aren't able to turn it back on, then you didn't turn it off properly," Scrapper says. This is a lesson that he's often tried to teach Terrorcons and other morons who can't figure out how to turn off the cameras when submitting reports to the Decepticon messaging system. Scrapper nods approvingly as poor Hapless cringes at the kick (and possibly the second poke). Nightbeat is not a Terrorcon, thankfully. He muses, "So... let's say I slit open that fuel line there." He points. "How would I patch it? Can't have a witness bleeding out before questioning." Hapless does indeed cringe at the second poke, and there is terror in his optics at the talk of slitting fuel lines. Fleet flips out the handle of one of his two energon blades, and activates it. He peers over at Scrapper, as though awaiting a signal. Scrapper leans in to get a better look at what Nightbeat is pointing at. "It depends on the fuel line. First you'll see that they're all made of different things. Second once it's patched up you'll need to know /what/ it was providing fuel /to/, as many internal components can damage themselves if suddenly deprived of energon or other vital fluids. That one in particular looks like weapon systems. You'll need to look up the specs to be sure, but I have Seekers pretty much memorized. The weapons won't be damaged but they won't fire. As for patching it up... lets see... mix of a Cybertronium and rubber... there's patch kits for those." The patch kits are like the kits you use to repair leaks in bicycle tires. This is getting to be a rather ghoulish scene, isn't it? Nightbeat looks at the glowing dagger, raises a finger, and asks, "Won't that catch the energon on fire?" Then, he ducks his head down, squinting and following the fuel lines with his obligatory magnifying glass. They do indeed seem to feed the weapons systems, so Scrapper is right on the dot, as usual. Fleet looks at his dagger and shrugs. "Perhaps, but if that were really such a danger, you'd think we'd go around on fire all the time." Then he remembers the Fallen. Fleet coughs. "Not that, erm, that isn't a good look for some people or anything." "Energon isn't as volatile as commonly believed," Scrapper says. "Turns out if you shoot just about /anything/ with a laser cannon or missile, it blows up. Not just energon!" And that puts to rest /that/ mystery. As Fleet alludes to the Fallen, Scrapper goes silent, basking in the wonderful warming glow of the Fallen's warming glow. He really drank the Kool-Aid when it came to him. Nightbeat looks impressed as Scrapper explains the mystery of the exploding energon. Now he knows! Then, he gestures for Fleet to cut the fuel line. Scrapper has to have some patching compound, right? Fallen, but Nightbeat is such a negligent medic! Belatedly, he asks, "You have patching compound, yeah?" Fleet doesn't wait for the answer. He was told he can cut the fuel line, and he cuts the fuel line! The yellow and cyan Seeker's hand darts down, and after a swift motion, Hapless is 'bleeding.' "In my medical kit, yeah," Scrapper replies. Fleet cuts the fuel line. "I think I left it on the Invictus." Pause. "Let me see if you have on in your lil' torture kit." The ex-Decepticon rummages around in the toolbox. "Nah... none here. Don't worry, in a pinch you can use medical glue. I'm sure you have some medical glue in here at least." He rummages around some more. "Oh dear..." There is some old used chewing gum in Nightbeat's kit, mysteriously enough. Also some superglue. Superglue is good for exposing fingerprints, and sometimes, Nightbeat had to track human criminals, before he became a Reaver. He holds up his hands, making a 'whoops' gesture. He drawls, "Uh... I have some gum and a bottle of superglue. Do I have to run to the Invictus?" "I can run to the Invictus?" Fleet suggests. Since he's not, you know, actually doing anything useful or anything. In fact, he stands up straight and, without waiting for an answer, takes off, using his antigravs to fly to the Invictus. "I think the Invictus is out at the moment..." Scrapper says even as Fleet blasts off. Well either Fleet'll make it there or he won't. Scrapper looks back at poor Hapless. "Hey lets try the superglue. Now you need to apply it to seal up the wound, but not to block the actual passageway. If you have a splint or something to keep the tube pried open, that'd be great. Luckily this only goes to his weapon systems, which aren't even online right now anyhow. But it's good practice for a real emergency!" Nightbeat has... an empty pack of cigarettes. /Why?/ He's a robot. He can't smoke! Probably because it is a detective cliche. But he has one, and he uses it as a splint as he tries to seal up the leak with the superglue, working rather carefully, as he doesn't want to get his fingers stuck together. He mutters, "Yeah. Practise." Robots can smoke cigars if they're Kup and they're doing that badass walk along with the other Autobots in that recent comic. Scrapper watches, though doesn't offer any advice. Presumably he'll say something if he thinks Nightbeat is about to screw up. Nightbeat is not Kup. He holds the edges of the wound together as he waits for the superglue to set. It only takes thirty seconds or so, and then it's done. He looks over at Scrapper uncertainly. Scrapper leans in slightly, "Good enough," he says. "You'll get better as time goes on. Now obviously once you get him back to a medical lab you're going to have to take care of that in a more proper way and probably replace the whole tubing unit. But it's a quick and dirty job that in this case would let him fire those arm lasers of his again." Nightbeat traces down the tube to where it connects to another tube and makes note of the type of connector. He hmms, "So, you'd slot in the new tube there, huh?" The detective spends some time longer poking at the Seeker, learning about the arcane art of repair. However, as he pokes at the Seeker, the energy handcuffs slowly lose their charge - and Hapless makes a break for it!
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