[ 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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 - ( ... )
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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. ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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-noThe 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 ( ... )
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