[OPEN] Topspin's Climbing Mount Axiom
WHO: IDW Topspin and OPEN
WHAT: Topspin finally does what he's been saying he'll do - head all the way to the bottom of Zone 9 and hand-climb his way to the top. Because that's the kinda thing he's into. He's a parkour kinda guy. Feel free to meet him in any Zone you might be tooling around in!
WHERE: Any Zone you want
WHEN: The present.
WARNINGS/NOTES: None as yet.
Topspin stands in the darkness of the lowest zone in this strange city he's found himself stuck in, looking at the piles of scrap, the trash... the discarded corpses no one's even bothering to tend to. He's had to adjust his optics to the low light down here, and with this harrowing sight greeting him, he's almost regretting that. The ugly underbelly. There's always the ugly underbelly.
That's where he's spent most of his warrior life - dealing with the ugly stuff. Not the glowing tall tales of swashbuckling adventure that "Fisitron" used to write about, although every once in a while they'd try to make a show of how badaft they were - made for good newsreel propaganda from time to time. In reality, though, Topspin's seen his share of ugly from friend and foe alike, and he feels disappointed in himself for not being more shaken by seeing this formerly-sentient detritus in such a state of disregard.
Although there is some part of him that wants to start sifting through these piles to try and at least manage some kind of funeral pyre - just some kind of respect, no matter how small. So maybe he's not as far gone as he fears. But then again, he doesn't actually DO that, so here's hoping the thought actually does count - because that's all these poor fraggers are getting. Instead, he picks his optics up to start scanning for a place to start climbing. No elevators, no tubes, no vehicle modes, no assisted transit of any sort - just two hands and two feet.
Free at last.
Sure, as he scales the rickety structures of Zone 9 to try and chart his way up to Zone 8, he spares some thought to the situation he left behind - a complete mess of a mission that was pretty well hopeless, going up against Overlord and a horde of slavering Decepticon convicts on what was once a penal colony to find... something. Not even anybody specific to rescue... although seeing Impactor again sure brought back some dark thoughts. If he were in charge, would he have done the same thing Impactor did? It was so damn hard beating down those Squadron X bastards... the thought of just letting them go on a technicality was so damn antithetical to the Wreckers' M.O...
No. There's gotta be a difference between Decepticons and Autobots or they're all just a bunch of worthless Rock-Em Sock-Em Robots.
His fingers find purchase on a ledge, and he starts to hand-walk himself along it towards a grated scaffolding, his feet dangling precariously half a mile above a junk pile, and he wonders about his brother, Twin Twist. Will he be able to feel his pain across dimensions, or are they both finally free to live their own lives without getting sucked into each other's crap? They've been in each other's heads for so long that it feels like a chunk of him is missing. And another part of him is afraid that he might get USED to this, meaning it'll be that much more aggravating if these TransTech weirdos ever figure out their stupid paperwork and put him back in the middle of that Garrus-9 crap he'd been plucked from. The crap that didn't turn out well for anybody, if he's gleaned what he thinks he's gleaned from Verity.
He's jarred from his thoughts when his next pull-up finds him with the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead, right between his optics.
"You just made a big mistake, crawling around on Growlercon turf where you're not wan- HURK!"
Topspin just grabs the gun and yanks hard, pulling the startled thug over the ledge and sending him plummeting downwards into some kind of unpleasant impact in the zone below. Getting to his feet again on the new level, he looks around and spies more Growlercons coming out of the metalwork, looking fairly put out that their buddy was just dumped down into the scrap heap. His optics shift around casually, noting locations, armaments, general demeanors. Looks to be about six of them.
"This is how it's gonna be, huh?" Topspin says, giving them one more chance to back out. A chance not taken.
"All right, then," he replies, getting into a ready stance and waving four-fingers to them, urging them to bring it on. "Wreck and rule."
WHAT: Topspin finally does what he's been saying he'll do - head all the way to the bottom of Zone 9 and hand-climb his way to the top. Because that's the kinda thing he's into. He's a parkour kinda guy. Feel free to meet him in any Zone you might be tooling around in!
WHERE: Any Zone you want
WHEN: The present.
WARNINGS/NOTES: None as yet.
Topspin stands in the darkness of the lowest zone in this strange city he's found himself stuck in, looking at the piles of scrap, the trash... the discarded corpses no one's even bothering to tend to. He's had to adjust his optics to the low light down here, and with this harrowing sight greeting him, he's almost regretting that. The ugly underbelly. There's always the ugly underbelly.
That's where he's spent most of his warrior life - dealing with the ugly stuff. Not the glowing tall tales of swashbuckling adventure that "Fisitron" used to write about, although every once in a while they'd try to make a show of how badaft they were - made for good newsreel propaganda from time to time. In reality, though, Topspin's seen his share of ugly from friend and foe alike, and he feels disappointed in himself for not being more shaken by seeing this formerly-sentient detritus in such a state of disregard.
Although there is some part of him that wants to start sifting through these piles to try and at least manage some kind of funeral pyre - just some kind of respect, no matter how small. So maybe he's not as far gone as he fears. But then again, he doesn't actually DO that, so here's hoping the thought actually does count - because that's all these poor fraggers are getting. Instead, he picks his optics up to start scanning for a place to start climbing. No elevators, no tubes, no vehicle modes, no assisted transit of any sort - just two hands and two feet.
Free at last.
Sure, as he scales the rickety structures of Zone 9 to try and chart his way up to Zone 8, he spares some thought to the situation he left behind - a complete mess of a mission that was pretty well hopeless, going up against Overlord and a horde of slavering Decepticon convicts on what was once a penal colony to find... something. Not even anybody specific to rescue... although seeing Impactor again sure brought back some dark thoughts. If he were in charge, would he have done the same thing Impactor did? It was so damn hard beating down those Squadron X bastards... the thought of just letting them go on a technicality was so damn antithetical to the Wreckers' M.O...
No. There's gotta be a difference between Decepticons and Autobots or they're all just a bunch of worthless Rock-Em Sock-Em Robots.
His fingers find purchase on a ledge, and he starts to hand-walk himself along it towards a grated scaffolding, his feet dangling precariously half a mile above a junk pile, and he wonders about his brother, Twin Twist. Will he be able to feel his pain across dimensions, or are they both finally free to live their own lives without getting sucked into each other's crap? They've been in each other's heads for so long that it feels like a chunk of him is missing. And another part of him is afraid that he might get USED to this, meaning it'll be that much more aggravating if these TransTech weirdos ever figure out their stupid paperwork and put him back in the middle of that Garrus-9 crap he'd been plucked from. The crap that didn't turn out well for anybody, if he's gleaned what he thinks he's gleaned from Verity.
He's jarred from his thoughts when his next pull-up finds him with the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead, right between his optics.
"You just made a big mistake, crawling around on Growlercon turf where you're not wan- HURK!"
Topspin just grabs the gun and yanks hard, pulling the startled thug over the ledge and sending him plummeting downwards into some kind of unpleasant impact in the zone below. Getting to his feet again on the new level, he looks around and spies more Growlercons coming out of the metalwork, looking fairly put out that their buddy was just dumped down into the scrap heap. His optics shift around casually, noting locations, armaments, general demeanors. Looks to be about six of them.
"This is how it's gonna be, huh?" Topspin says, giving them one more chance to back out. A chance not taken.
"All right, then," he replies, getting into a ready stance and waving four-fingers to them, urging them to bring it on. "Wreck and rule."