[[Open, Video]]
[The video begins panned out--Magnum wants to make sure that you know its him, without mistakes. His Decepticon symbol that had been on his chest is now obscured--mostly because he has not repainted it on yet, and partially because he has some desire to not call to mind factions with this message. Those who are perceptive (and knew Magnum before) will notice a lot of little changes--this is definitely not his old body, although it has been modeled to mostly look like it is. Those who are less perceptive might still notice the large thrusters and wing stubs nestled on his back, integrated with old tred bays. He's still mostly a tank--but its a streamlined tank that can fly. Well, that could fly, if he ever got out to try it. Maybe. This is, nonetheless, obviously pleasing to him.]
Although it is somewhat...difficult...for me to forget my grudges, I am in need of assistance. From...anyone. Capable.
[He holds up a part, briefly. Its complex, alien, and obviously Transtech in nature; he needs it badly enough to risk showing something so illegal this openly.]
I have subcontracted this to three different corporations, and none of them have returned a satisfactory result. Either my schematic is wrong, or...I'm in need of a more delicate touch, but either way I do not have what I need, and this is distressing me.
[It is. He is suddenly looking much less pleased.]
This...is a matter that very well could concern you all. It is...vitally important.
Thus, if any scientist out there believes they might stand some chance at it--I welcome your help, and can pay. Regardless of faction, regardless of how much I might otherwise hate you. This will probably take more than one brilliant mind to crack, and that is a resource this city is sorely lacking on the open market.
Let us...work together...on this. [This obviously pains him to say, but he means it.]
That is all.
[The transmission ends.]
[Locked to Ratchet]
Tyran Medic.
It has recently come to my attention that you are in possession of an old...friend...of mine: A Tyran rotor-craft by the name of Blackout.
I wish to offer my assistance in any way possible--I have somewhere safe for him to stay, for instance, that would make him less of a nuisance for you, and where his young jet master would be free to come and go as he pleased until a cure could be found.
[He's trying to be Mister Nice Megatron.]
[Locked to Lugnut and Dirge and Glit]
I have a mission for you.
In fifteen days I shall be alerting the authorities to illegal 'deaths' that have been occurring in the Decibel arena, in order to shut them down.
I'm certain that the three of you can stage some way to make this true by that date?
[Locked to (his) Soundwave]
Please secure the locks on this post, and progress with negotiations for the basement of that factory in Zone 4. I'd like our arena up and running not long after Decibel shuts down.
...when you're finished, meet me at the oil bath.
[Locked to (the ghost) Starscream]
It has come to my attention that you're...around, Starscream, and that you've not yet reported to a Megatron.
I believe we ought to amend this.
[Have some coordinates and a meeting time.]
[Locked to Black Arachnia]
Thank you, my dear. [That is all, but boy does he mean it. This is a good body.]
[Locked to Stampy]
I trust you are still alive?
~
Although it is somewhat...difficult...for me to forget my grudges, I am in need of assistance. From...anyone. Capable.
[He holds up a part, briefly. Its complex, alien, and obviously Transtech in nature; he needs it badly enough to risk showing something so illegal this openly.]
I have subcontracted this to three different corporations, and none of them have returned a satisfactory result. Either my schematic is wrong, or...I'm in need of a more delicate touch, but either way I do not have what I need, and this is distressing me.
[It is. He is suddenly looking much less pleased.]
This...is a matter that very well could concern you all. It is...vitally important.
Thus, if any scientist out there believes they might stand some chance at it--I welcome your help, and can pay. Regardless of faction, regardless of how much I might otherwise hate you. This will probably take more than one brilliant mind to crack, and that is a resource this city is sorely lacking on the open market.
Let us...work together...on this. [This obviously pains him to say, but he means it.]
That is all.
[The transmission ends.]
[Locked to Ratchet]
Tyran Medic.
It has recently come to my attention that you are in possession of an old...friend...of mine: A Tyran rotor-craft by the name of Blackout.
I wish to offer my assistance in any way possible--I have somewhere safe for him to stay, for instance, that would make him less of a nuisance for you, and where his young jet master would be free to come and go as he pleased until a cure could be found.
[He's trying to be Mister Nice Megatron.]
[Locked to Lugnut and Dirge and Glit]
I have a mission for you.
In fifteen days I shall be alerting the authorities to illegal 'deaths' that have been occurring in the Decibel arena, in order to shut them down.
I'm certain that the three of you can stage some way to make this true by that date?
[Locked to (his) Soundwave]
Please secure the locks on this post, and progress with negotiations for the basement of that factory in Zone 4. I'd like our arena up and running not long after Decibel shuts down.
...when you're finished, meet me at the oil bath.
[Locked to (the ghost) Starscream]
It has come to my attention that you're...around, Starscream, and that you've not yet reported to a Megatron.
I believe we ought to amend this.
[Have some coordinates and a meeting time.]
[Locked to Black Arachnia]
Thank you, my dear. [That is all, but boy does he mean it. This is a good body.]
[Locked to Stampy]
I trust you are still alive?
~