.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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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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But there's still a fragment watching. Waiting. And when input comes, sensation and effort and result... Rinzler notices. The hold's loosening.
Understanding and intent are followed immediately by sharp pain. Some coils slacken, unable to maintain a proper grip-but the tendrils around his core and arm clench tight. Whether from lack of control or lack of patience, the sudden pressure is more than entrapping-it's crushing, destabilizing. Threat. He wrenches against the hold to no effect, needs to reach, can't-
Solution flickers from formation to execution without stopping for analysis. The program twists, form coiling as his lower body shifts up. To the right. The tip of a baton slides against his trapped hand, and he grabs hold. His limited mobility's still enough to turn it in his hand, angle the baton in a short arc behind, to the side.
And that red-orange light extending from the end as he swipes back towards the grasping tendrils? Is a blade.]
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The slash is more than enough to hurt, and still sever the mesh plating that protected the actual feelers within somewhat like the way a human's vertebrae protect the actual spinal chord within. Wiring severed, the feeler's tip went immediately slack, and was yanked hastily away.
...Of course, now that he knew Rinzler was armed, it's far easier to drop the little program completely from his grasp, than continue to let Rinzler hack at his appendages any further. In fact, Soundwave would need those feelers in a moment, because the static hiss of pain - Warning: Arterial fuel line compromised, energon reserves approaching critical shut off - and the more dangerous numbness were making it hard to correctly make use of his targeting systems.
With one arm, and several feelers injured, Soundwave kept firm hold on the green copies of those disks, but pointedly moved one of his least-damaged tentacles over to hover menacingly above said disks. Keep it up, program, and this is no longer a match of skill to skill, it's survival. ]
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The moment the coils loosen, the program's jerking free, dropping in a roll. He hits the ground unsteadily, damaged arm dragging uncontrolled. Worse than useless. Rinzler contemplates removing it, though it would complicate any repair considerably. Right now, though? He has more important concerns.
The motion doesn't stop. Stray glimpses catch on the mech's reaction, the tentacle raised in threat, but those don't matter either. And Rinzler doesn't have to look to know the precise location of his objective.
He comes up from the roll almost in a skid, not a nano of speed lost. The blade deactivates partway through, baton jams back into place, and his hand swipes down, red-orange lines edged with brightness as both disks-his disks-scoop into his grip, meld together as his fist clenches rigid around them. The mask snaps up towards Soundwave, noise viciously edged as the program readies to dodge, avoid-leap, strike. His gaze catches on the green copies, helmet jerking sideways in refusal.
Those aren't yours either, mech. And injuries or not, function or not, Rinzler's not remotely close to done here.]
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There's a full micron where this would appear to be a very unlikely sort of mexican stand-off ( and a full second was far too slow for Soundwave ) before he made a quick decision. Injured, losing energon in copious amounts, and with his joints locked entirely in one leg, Soundwave didn't so much as twitch his faceplate away from the little program. But that uninjured tentacle shot outwards to - snap, and lock onto the emergency override mechanism on the curved wall behind Soundwave.
A loud squeal of metal, and a sudden burst of sunlight, rushing air as pressure equalized, and the entirety of that "wall" shuttered in on itself to reveal nothing but sky. It was an emergency measure in case of a catastrophic fire, meant to open at a moment's notice, and quickly vent all the atmosphere off a given deck. Soundwave used it, now, as a huge jettison port.
Which means that four of the few functional tentacles he possessed snap out to grab at Rinzler's legs once more. Only this time the intent isn't to capture. It's to swipe the program's bases out from under him.
And for good measure? That Deployer class drone attached to his chest plates shifts, and swings away from the mech to quickly wheel in the enclosed space. Laserbeak comes back around, grappling claws engaged to likewise try to snatch up both Rinzler's operational arm, and the damaged one.
You flew yourself in here, Rinzler, now it's time to fly yourself out. ]
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Coils lashing out again, and he drops, rolls, takes the impact and pushes off as one slams into his side. He's moving toward the mech, if at a sideways angle-with no ceiling to cling to, Rinzler's not letting Soundwave stay distant for this round of attacks.
But there's a tug, harsh outward pull of wind as the sudden shift in air pressure tries to clear the formerly enclosed space of the lighter items inside. It throws Rinzler off, and though he staggers upright, it's further to the side-and closer to the opening-than he'd intended.
And then, the drone.
Rinzler faced this threat before. Knows to dodge at the flicker of motion, slip aside as the swift craft slices towards him, grapplers out. None of his injuries are so debilitating as to remove speed, calculation, the ability to process and react in time.
But he can't move his left arm.
The claw latches on to the useless limb, sinks in-he can feel it, dimly. Sensation's not wholly gone, just motion, action, function. But sensation or not, Rinzler's twisting with a snarl of fury, weight tugging more voxels free from the damaged joint as his working limb snakes around, disk bright and edged-to cut away the grasping claw. Or the hindrance it's latching on to. Either way. He won't be held again.
Of course, by this point, the program's utterly off-balance. And pretty much airborne.]
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Soundwave could feel the warnings becoming more insistent, his entire thigh from hip joint all the way down to the tip of his base locked from the critical lack of energon. More of his tentacles were damaged than were functional, and while he'd have preferred to retain both the Technoplasm-copies of those disks, and the originals, he would make do with this first field test's results.
To that end? A remote command ( requiring far too long to be received, it seemed to Soundwave ) is sent to Laserbeak, and the Deployer drone jerked up at a sharp angle, and abruptly released it's grappling claws to let Rinzler fall--
But Soundwave was ready with a harsh slap of his tentacles lashing out at the program. With three tentacles working in concert, and the fact that it was only a short drop, yet simple physics meant that Rinzler was in freefall for those two bare microns. The slap, and the wintery cross winds whistling loudly through the open hatch should ensure that even if Soundwave's aim was a little off, he was sending this irritating little humanoid flying.
Hopefully flying right out the fire safety hatch, and shattering into so many bright, glowing voxels as soon as Rinzler made impact with the ocean. But, even getting Rinzler closer to the fragging open door, and away from Soundwave would be enough. ]
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He twists, turns in the air-almost, almost pulls aside from the lashing coils. But no matter how quickly he draws his body in, no matter how skillfully he shifts to avoid, Rinzler can't change freefall. And Soundwave's aim may be worsening. But those tentacles are huge. A metal coil glances off the program's side and sends him flying, dull impact jarring through his core. He's falling, drifting, continued vacuum and the momentum of the blow taking him out, past-no.
The program stabs down, embeds his disk at the edge of the drop, clings against the pressure of wind and fall. It's not solid, not stable, scraping back towards the open air under the force of his weight. But he could do it, can map the sequence of motions: press down, push off, launch forward while he grabs a baton, use a cable to draw himself in more. Soundwave's there, injured, and if he cculd just close, he could finish the Game. End it.
...'Push off'.
He can't make the leap without a baton for support. Not against this wind.
He can't dock his disk while reaching for a baton. Not with just one arm responding.
...
He can't leave his disk.
[Can't] [can't] [won't] Not now, not again, not for the micros it could take to finish this. Not for nanos. But it would be safe. Stable, without his weight dragging it free of the deck plating.
No. He doesn't move, doesn't act-and the moment's gone. A faint shearing scrape of metal on blade as the disk slices free of the edge. And Rinzler's falling, dropping through the air, away from threat and target both. All the time in the system to dock his disk now. Rezz up a jet, make his way back, and try to ignore how badly he'd failed.
Never again. Things would be different, next time.]
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