.003 ← Text Files; Video || Untraceable Portal Signature || Soundwave discovers his Place of Solace
[ There is no coordinates on the short video feed, but a timestamp does appear at the lower right hand corner. It's only the image of the Nemesis, though, just...floating. Yes, that's a fully capable Decepticon warship floating somewhere off the coast of Promenade. ]
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The drones are a problem. Easy enough to follow. Easy enough to fight. Darkness is hardly a difficulty when he can track by motion, sound, energy. And he has observed them with sight as well, knows how to map echoes to skittering legs, flickers of movement tracing the reach of swiping claws. The program's faster. Incomparably more skilled. But this fight is not to his advantage. Rinzler slips back as more drones enter scanning range, attention staying on the wider area. These creatures aren't true threats, and the satisfaction of derezzing them isn't worth distraction, here.
Of course, he can hardly ignore them, either. Proximity to the wall limits the direction of attack, but they're still coming, closing. The program parries a claw, forfeits surrounding data for a quick scan above-there. Calculation, assessment, and he reaches down. Baton, not disk. The program flicks the rod upwards, and a bright orange cable streaks out, coiling around a power conduit halfway up the wall. The enforcer runs up the flat surface, a tug and a flip taking him around to land in a crouch. The metal surface is a thin line by Cybertronian standards, but wide enough for the smaller program. He doesn't waste time moving, running forward across the top of the conduit as it follows the hallway's turns. No point in staying still to wait for the next threat. And Soundwave's not the only one hunting.]
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Inventive little program, using the cabling as a platform to gain a clear path, but once again Rinzler is hemmed in by the attachment to the wall, and unless he wants to risk the floor again, when that cabling twists, and turns through the warren of wide hallways, he must follow it. It leads, eventually, to engineering, and blast doors, and code locks or not, that simply will not do.
And so Soundwave, finally begins to set up his endgame.
The cabling moves through one more set of airlock doors - safety measures in case of a catastrophic hull breach - but whether Rinzler chooses to go through that set of doors, or no, the hallway dead ends into a lift. The clicking legs of drones, both on the floor below, and now climbing the sheer walls as they are want to do when reaching the overhead lighting, Rinzler is being corralled.
Make your choice, little program; the lift, or the drones? ]
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The lift doors block the path ahead, and the program's dash comes to a quick halt. He stares, registers the override controls to the side, splits his disks and sends a quick cast arcing down to drop a climbing drone. Even if he wanted to follow this path, trying to access the interface while dealing with the mass of drones...
...isn't necessary. Proximity activates them, and the doors slide back. In the darkness, it's hard to tell what's there from this angle, scans only reaching partway across the lift's floor and wall. A large space (though what isn't, here?). Empty, at first inspection. Though he almost thinks he can see something. A faint glow?
Rinzler focuses down at the swarm of drones. He can handle them. But being pinned down against weak opponents is not what he wants now. The program turns back towards the open lift, detection carefully ahead-and jumps. Falls as he moves forward, rebounds off the other side of the lift doorway to twist aside, drop into the space with a roll, disks in either hand. Attention sharp, sensors snapping up, around-]
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Rinzler was on the floor of the lift, but the doors stay open, the the drones...stop. Chittering, and clicking just beyond the threshold. And in the darkness, from above the faint violet glow of Soundwave's circuits shed the only light there is in this section of the ship. He was flexible enough, and strong enough to hold himself up in the ceiling by one "hand" and "feet" alone, thus it's three separate feelers that leave their docks, and snap out, viper-fast, for the locking 'fingers' on the ends to grab at each of Rinzler's wrists, with one tentacle snapping out to coil around the program's legs. ]
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One feeler misses its mark entirely. The second? Doesn't. The program's circuits flare back in bright orange agitation as a metal talon clamps on his right wrist, halting his momentum. He's quick enough to curve back fluidly from the arrested jump, draw away somewhat from the other reaching coil, legs tangled, but not caught. Rinzler keeps in motion, swivels around the grasp to strike in with his second disk, sever the latching appendages at the feeler's tip. Get out. His attention's upwards too, noise a quick and vicious growl as his gaze flicks to his opponent directly.
This is the fight he wanted. If not how he'd planned to start it.]
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It's easier, for the moment, to track the obscenely fast, and agile program from where he is, so Soundwave isn't moving.
He does, however, let the speakers installed on either side of his helm screech out a high-pitched, static-laced burst of frequency in an effort to throw off Rinzler's targeting systems. If he could just get a hold on those arms, and restrain movement the rest would fall into place. ]
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Three coils become four, five, many. Rinzler's hardly tracking individual attacks as a sea of shifting metal surrounds him. It's reflex, motion-duck a grasping claw, twist aside as a coil snakes around, push above, slash out around, drop below. He needs to move. Needs to close, attack the target, not its peripherals.
The burst of static wrecks through his processing, sheer volume sending sensors to overload before functions cut in, auditory input halting to protect him. Just nanos of lag. But still lag, still error, and a swiping tendril catches him in the side, slams the program against the hard metal wall. There's a gap as it pulls back, before more coils snake in to press the attack, and Rinzler glares up at the dim purple of the mech's faceplate, angles a quick upward toss, white-edged disk burning bright with ready violence as it tears through the space between.]
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One captured.
That just left reeling the burning, painful little thing up out of the program's immediate reach, though Soundwave is forced to undock an eighth feeler to play hot potato with the active disk between the two. He was running out of the less-sensitive, combat capable feeler tips to use, and one was already wounded. Just need to stall a bit more so the preoccupied others could make one more grab, in concert, for wrists, and legs. ]
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No.
Rinzler's focus freezes to a sharp point. Not on the deflection. Not on the swarming mass of feelers, though he'd be hard pressed to avoid them in such close proximity.
On. His. Disk.
Not just averted, not just batted aside. Retrieved. (NO.) The program's empty hand snaps down, sound a furious snarl as he flings it back up in an arc. His disk was taken/(stolen)/changed and that could not happen-he wouldn't let it, wouldn't-
The coils slam down around him, and motion's well and truly quelled, if only for the moment. But though he's twisting, struggling in sharp bursts of rage against the holds now pinning him at wrist and shoulder, the feelers now pressing legs and body down against the ground... that's not where Rinzler's attention is. The mask stays fixed upward. On the disk. But also on the path of motion. From that second toss. Three smaller circles, still glowing bright red-orange, tossed to latch onto the upper reaches of the coils. They're flat, not edged, though they clamp on contact. And their outer rings of light? Are moving. A bright circle tracing its way around, flashing once with a short beep, and-
Well. He'd meant to save those.]
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Rinzler just threw explosives with locking mechanisms on them.
...This was going to hurt.
It's all Soundwave can do to cinch those five tentacles hard around the program, shoving their not inconsiderable weight down, just to hold the struggling little humanoid in place, and then brace for impact himself.
The explosion rocks the lift itself, leaving bright, orange-lit scorch marks up the walls ( the decking is made to withstand close quarters energon weapons discharge ) but that orange is splashed liberally with streaks of bluish-violet energon as well. It takes a handful of microns for Soundwave to reactivate his optics, but short of the way he'd locked his limbs into place, there was no avoiding the explosions. Quick stock ( and the radiating pain ) showed two tentacles were badly damaged, but still reasonably functional for now. The combined explosion had also left a wound on his upper, right thigh's mesh plating. It hurt, but Soundwave has dealt with worse wounds than this, and still remained functional. Let's hear it for sensornet shock!
One tentacle was severed entirely, but Soundwave left it where it lay on the decking, and only unlocked his limbs to half-fall, half-jump from his stationed place on the ceiling. He was bleeding, now, and though thoroughly irritated, also had to hand it to Rinzler; programs came prepared.
Down to four tentacles holding the program, two were damaged, and so another unplanned move of undocking another two, both intended for delicate energy detection, and manipulation are press-ganged into becoming smaller, relatively speaking, but no less effective restraints. That freed arm is bound up tight, and in a too-tight squeeze, the smaller tentacles flipped Rinzler over, while the sturdier ones lift the program up to twine around arms, legs, and torso fully.
At least the disk in Soundwave's possession deactivates now, and lets him switch it to his damaged "hand". Now it's time to carry Rinzler out of the damaged lift, and back into the pitch dark hallway like an octopus wrapped around a prize.
He's got something for you down the hall, here, and we'll get to those plans shortly. First, now that Soundwave has a little more room, he'll be using one of the few undamaged tentacles to grab at the second disk in Rinzler's possession, and try to twist it from the program's grasp. ]
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What Rinzler hadn't expected? That Soundwave would hold on regardless.
Voxels crunch with the force of the sudden press, fracturing to the edge of instability. Nowhere to move, no room to twist or evade as he's shoved down, gripped, held. Rinzler's helmet blanks visuals in protection as the blast goes off, and he jerks aside, pulls away in the aftermath, but he can't. The pressure isn't gone.
(Trapped.)
The sinking panic only grows as the flare fades, dimmer glow of circuits sufficient to light the thinner tendrils creeping in. He tugs, twists, gets nowhere, cool metal sliding around to grab him, flip him (no). Noise cuts out loud, jagged, furious, but he can't do anything, can't fight can't run-it has him, it has his disk.
His grip locks around the second weapon with something stronger than reflex as the coil comes in to wrench it away. The edge flares hyperactive, useless aggression pouring to the humming blade. Touching it won't be easy. And the program's arm would be easier to break than that hold.]
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He didn't have time for this, and no more patience to play games.
A different tactic, then; Soundwave's hand raises to wrap his primary, and manipulator servos ( fingers ) around the program's shoulder joint, and with a vicious jerk, put the human anatomical files he had to the test. Breaking the arm should work to open that hand still clinging to the second disk, right? ]
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But all the same, he's not a user. So when Soundwave jerks the arm out of alignment, metal talons forcing it past function, past stability, to say the limb "breaks" is... more accurate than might have been expected.
There's a crunch-but not bone or muscle. Voxels grind, twist, shatter, red-orange shards falling from the wrenched aside joint, glinting bright in the light from above. There's no cut, no driving force-the limb's not wholly severed. But it hangs limply from the tenuous joint, circuits dark and dead. The disk stays bright a few moments longer as it slips from fingers unable to maintain their hold.
Throughout it all? Rinzler doesn't flinch. Can't move. But there's no flicker to the burning glow of his active circuits, no skip in the utter fury of his constant growl. His eyes dart towards the falling disk, but pain? Is familiar. Grounding. The mask stays fixed towards Soundwave. He doesn't need speech to promise destruction for this.]
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Still, he retrieves the second disk, adding it to the hand holding the first, but despite the interest in the fallen voxels, as well, they are left where they lay.
Again, that limp is pronounced, and his digitigrade leg's primary knee joint is trying to freeze, but Soundwave manages to limp his way along the hallway, using a hand against the wall for support. One more turn in the hallway leads to another set of airlock doors that open onto an empty hanger. Chains, and a single overhead light casts deep shadows through the circular room...and reflects subtly off the only visible object within; a clear, cylindrical container on the floor plating with what looks like some sort of green, viscous goo sealed inside.
Soundwave ( leaving splatters, and energon-blue footprints down the length of the hallway ) keeps his tentacles firmly wrapped around Rinzler, but has to awkwardly, and painfully slip down to kneel on his uninjured knee, hands carefully laying both Rinzler's on the decking, side by side. It takes two tries to grasp the lid of the canister open because his servos are developing a tremor, but once he does get it open, it only takes a moment to withdraw his datapad-shaped PORTAL from it's storage slot behind the audio receptors on his helm. Expanding it's holo-screen, the datapad is used to, apparently, input commands directly into the goo.
The Technoplasm responds by taking the shape of a small, transformed marblebot, and climbs it's curious way out of the cannister, down onto Soundwave's wingtip-palm, to be shakily lowered right next to the laid out disks.
The pseudo-drone doesn't waste time with scans, it only circles the paired disks once...and melts? In fact it's component nanites lose cohesion so that the amorphous goo can move to completely cover, and conform to the shape of those disks.
Command prompt: commence duplication sequence. ]
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Soundwave missed the catch.
The other evidence of injury is obvious enough once he knows to look for it. The limp, the need for extra support-and the trailing blue energy, of course. Under different circumstances, Rinzler would have been curious at the design-unmistakeably familiar energy consumption, but... bleeding it like a user? But at the moment, that's hardly relevant. The injuries themselves aren't even what matters. No, what Rinzler cares about is their effect. Soundwave's unstable. Locking up, losing energy (blood)-almost nearing shutdown, if there's any similarity in reaction. The program shifts, tugs against the twining coils locked around him. Nothing. Yet. But if the mech's feeler control slacks even a fraction as much as his limb-based motion seems to be lagging... Rinzler might not need to wait for rerezz to give him a chance to finish things.
Of course, tension turns to rigidity as the program's disks are laid out, testing pressure against the holds becoming desperate jerks, furious twists. With only the slightest focus, he can feel the disks (can't stop feeling them), the smooth slide of the strange half-liquid covering, spreading... fragmenting... reading? No. Read-write. But with a different end directory.
...He's being copied.]
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Soundwave ignored the warnings from his self-diagnostics, focusing instead on the datapad held in servos that were becoming increasingly shaky. He couldn't afford to become giddy with fuel loss, but his hip, and knee joint were beginning to lock, in an effort to stem the flow of bright energon down his plating with an ominous 'drip, drip' against the deck.
Almost finished, almost--
But just as the download pinged to inform him that it was finished ( though with a warning that the disk was far too complex to make a perfect copy ) Soundwave's tentacles were taking up the tremor. As swiftly as he could manage, he used his free hand to pick up the green, semi-translucent copies of Rinzler's disks, and though rerouting power to his tentacles, and processor, he knew he had to seek medical attention, and soon.
His tentacles were beginning to lose their dexterity as his extremeties lost sensation through systematic, sensornet shutdown. Despite Soundwave attempting to increase the pressure around Rinzler's chest, and right hand, he was losing his grip on the rest of the smaller program.
Have to get hold of those disks now. ]
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