.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 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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