Transformers: Salvation

Scorchlock reverts to robot mode and walks over, holding out his hand in an offer to help Paradox back to his feet.

“So, can we actually talk now?” he asks.


“And they’ll get only crazier, I reckon,” Lurch predicts with a chuckle.

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Paradox accepts the help as he grabbed Scorchlock by the forearm and got up.
“Okay.” he said calmly. “I’m listening.”


Sidestrike smirks. “Heh, maybe,” he said drinking. “How are things working out for you, lately?” he asked.

Zepar relaxed a bit, glad that this could possibly be resolved without further harm.

“Huh. He’s a little… Little. But that isn’t too bad I guess.”

“Anyway, shall we?”

SideStep nods. “Okay, well, thanks anyways.”


LightShift, Thrust, and Vigor walk into a hangar. “Lightshift to captains… where should we begin repairs?”

“For once,” Scorchlock deadpans.

The crowd of onlookers begins to disperse.


“Oh, you know,” Lurch replies, shrugging. “I just stay here, serving drinks. I do my part for the Decepticon Empire- just not on the front lines, I’m afraid.”


“No, not bad at all!” Thrift agrees. “Size ain’t everything, I mean- just talk to the next minicon you bump into.”

“This little guy-” he gestures to the insecticon- “has an energon armor mod in his horn. It can project a drill, or a blaster.”


Salvo nods.

Some time later, she hands SideStep back his ax, good as new, as promised. The cost of the repairs was four-hundred shanix.


“That shot from the Armageddon’s cannon breached the hull in some places on the starboard side. You guys can join the teams that’ve already started work on sealing 'em up,” Topside says.

“Let’s find a place to rest, at least.” Paradox said.


“Good to hear,” he said taking another sip. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t keep you away from your customers.”

“Huh. That sounds pretty cool. How much is he?”
Broadwing asked, eager to have his new friend.

SideStep hands over the shanix gladly.
“Thanks!”

ooc:
4595 shanix left.


“Alright, thanks.” Lightshift, Thrust, and Vigor transformed and flew out to starboard side.

A nearby park would suffice.


Lurch shrugs, then leaves to tend to other patrons within the Peace and Tyranny.


“Hundred-fifty,” Thrift names his price.


“Anytime,” Salvo replies.


A large, long, black streak had been left on Salvation’s side from where the Armageddon’s beam had hit. Clusters of bots were concentrated around various hull breaches. It was nothing too serious, and the corridors and chambers underneath had been sealed off until repairs were complete. All around the Fleetcarrier, there was nothing but but black space, tiny white stars, and the raging ball of fire that she currently orbited. The glow it cast upon the hull was spectacular, and largely eliminated the need for artificial light sources for the repair teams.


“Yeah, sure,” responds Sprocket.

He walks towards the nearby park and sits on a bench (assumingly that Scorchlock followed him). “Alright, what do you want to talk about?” he asked.


Sidestrike takes his glass and walks towards a table and sits on the chair placing the glass down, resting his head on his hand which was supported by his elbow which was placed on the table.

SideStep leaves, walking to the maintenance tunnels. “I’ve heard of some guy down here who does bodywork… maybe he can help.”


Lightshift and his brothers begin to assist with the repairs.

Zepar went to the park, a bit hesitant as he remembered what happened last time with the Megatron hologram.

He finds a shaded spot and transforms to robot mode, sitting down and trying to call Flareshot. (@Vexus_Prime)

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Broadwing hands over the 150 shanix and takes the glass box.

“Well, I’d tell ya where I’ve been all these years, but, ah… well, it’s classified,” Scorchlock says.


Facelift was in his shop, preparing everything for Broadwing’s arrival. He stops to pick up a jar of optics floating in a green fluid. A certain bounty hunter, he knew, might pay handsomely for some of them. Too bad he was… currently unavailable for business.


For the moment, the repair teams were focusing their efforts on sealing the hull breaches above replacing the scorched hull plating- a simple matter of prioritizing tasks. Greasemonkey, the chief engineer, could be seen walking along the hull, wearing energon armor to protect his organic components.


The box opens, and the insecticon activates jets built into its legs and abdomen and flies out.

OOC: and control of it is now yours.

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“What a stupid excuse.” he sighed. “Alright, what else can you tell me then?” he asked.

Song swooped towards her lab.

The small creature lands on Broadwing’s arm and scuttles up to his neck. It chirps loudly and excitedly, before nuzzling up to his neck.

Broadwing chuckled happily.
“Hey! He like me!”

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“I’m bored!” Roadkill replies