186/Important Help

From Transformers: The Dark Eras MUSH Wiki
Jump to: navigation, search
Important Help
Date of Scene: 01 October 2016
Location: Kaon - Kolkular
Synopsis: Vortex retrieves the information stolen from Praxus without damaging the Statue. Blot helps fix that.
Cast of Characters: Prowl, Vortex, 71


Vortex has posed:
The repairs were... Extensive. Struts had to be realigned and welded and secured. Lines needed relinking, pistons replacing, and a part of his midsection needed to be unflattened. Someone had knocked his cerebroshells back into place because he was thinking clearly. Which was good since his body was basically one massive rigged cast as repairs were held in place until self-repair could finish things off. The usually flexible rotary has to tromp- well, limp really- around and without rotors no less! It would take a little bit for those to be properly reconstructed. Luckily, despite his brokenness, he only actually lost the rotors. How lucky. Oh well, he was moving and not dying and Prowl might be dead- a win/lose no matter if he is or isn't- so time to get to work. Much can be said about Vortex: insubordinate, annoying, psychotic, twisted, ect. But when he has a job, he sees it done and done to its best.

Vortex made sure Blast Off carted the box off somewhere he could find it before he eventually slipped back into stasis. Ew, stassis- almost as bad as his still healing vocalizer. At least his comm works. The Combaticon stops in front of the proper room, keying in the code and opening up the room and immediatly limp-thumping over to the box. He leaves the door open in case a fellow Combaticon swings by, seeing how they all know he'd be here. He examines the, noting the hole Hooker probably used to slip in before going to fetch tools, humming static. A good saw should cut through the box. Just can't go too deep and hurt the statue.

Blot (71) has posed:
A disgustingly foul odor wafts through the doorway. A dank herald to an even dankier, fouler presence that follows. Not a Combaticon--but the Terrorcon Blot, whom even his Terrormates can barely tolerate. He enters the room, trailing a filthy layer of goo and oil on the floor and in a puddle surrounding him where he stands. Knitting together in his limited mind, he at least tries to reason out that there is a Box the Decepticons have obtained and that this is somehow Important. He knows that this is a Combaticon, but not who, "Who is?" Blot asks in his gutteral vocalizer, seemingly as thick with gooey filth as the rest of him, "What doing?"

Prowl has posed:
     The crate itself isn't anything terribly well armored or anything. It does look as if a fairly sturdy saw should get it open. But this is only because the hinges and clasps are all so badly dented and cracked that it would be difficult to just open it the normal, conventional way.

Vortex has posed:
Blast Off dropped off his tools too! What a dear. He should get him a new star map or something. Vortex looks over his assembled saws and picks the best suited candidate as his HUD alerted him to a foul odor. Thank Primus his olfactory sensors weren't online currently. Only one bot manages to give off that readout. The rotary turns and looks flatly at Blot. Uggggghhh... "Vortex," he says, static popping along every syllable as he makes his way to the box. "Now, don't move Blot..." He doesn't need him in the way. Although if he does and his oily, sludgey helm just happens to fall off... ITs not really the Combaticon's fault! Vortex starts up the saw and starts cutting int the box like a surgeon would- with precision and care.

Blot (71) has posed:
The Terrorcon watches for a moment. A dim lightbulb goes off. "Blot help Vor-Tex?" he cocks his head. Standing still isn't being useful in the disgusting Terrorcon's mind, but he can't verbalize the thought. And not being useful tears at the lonely spark of this misbegotten monstrousity, "Blot help!" He transforms to Creature mode (sending lubricant flying in the process) and trundles over as fast as his dripping legs will carry him! "Blot help!" he repeats and slams his claws down on the Very Important Box--that is, if Vortex doesn't behead him first.

Blot takes another look at the injured Vortex, trying to piece together Tex's situation, "Vor-Tex hurt? VORTEX NEED HELP???" he shouts at the top of his vocalizer and waves his arms.

Prowl has posed:
    The saw slices evenly through the metal with a sharp, clean shearing sound, and despite his injuries Vortex manages to cut away the side panel without damaging the statue within. It is quite a beautiful sculpture, very detailed and ornate. Vortex probably doesn't have much apprecation for art, though.

    At first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary. He could smash it, though since he doesn't know where exactly or how exactly the data is stored, there's a risk that might damage the prize. Or he could examine it more closely and look for a spot that looks out of place, like it wasn't part of the original masterpiece...

Vortex has posed:
Vortex knows his limits, he's spent a lifetime memorizing them along with every little nuance of his body. Cutting out part of this box was a cinch. Of course, there's some aft that likes to make things difficult. Vortex doesn't hesitate, swinging the saw at the offending claws drying to damage the box and possibly the statue inside. "I said stand over there, Blot!" He snaps with static. He forces a vent, thinking... Hmmm...

Vortex sighs, signs of anger gone. "If you want to help, Blot, then you can keep me company. But don't touch anything, okay? And I'm fine, thank you. Just healing up from those nasty, ickly Autobots. Heh... You like stories, Blot?" Different tactic, treat Blot like a newbuild. His attention turns to the statue. Hmmm... He wants to sell it, so can't damage. He reaches out to begind tapping at the statue carefully with a claw. There will be a sound or a different feel or possibly a triggering mechanism somewhere...

Blot (71) has posed:
Blot pull his claws away before they're sawed off! He looks alarmed and like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "Blot no touch..." he assures Vortex, even taking a slippery step back from the Box. Stories? Blot beams, "Blot like stories!" He wriggles his claws happily and gazes, stupefied, at the Combaticon, and watches him Very Carefully.

Prowl has posed:
    Ting ting ting, the sculpture almost sings as Vortex raps his fingers on its surface, the light sound echoing inside of what sounds like a mostly hollow inner chamber. But after a few moments he does come across a spot near the base that sounds a -little- bit different from the rest of it, like maybe there's an extra compartment behind it, jutting into the empty space.

Vortex has posed:
Vortex doesn't even look at Blot as he praises him. "Good job, you can listen." Okay, backhanded compliment but the Terrorcon should take what he gets. The Combaticon tilts his helm, tapping the not quite right sounding area. Ah... He feels along the base for a seam or a switch that would indicate any sore of hatch or opening. "Alright, stories. Hmmm... Once upon a solar cycle, there was a mech who smelled terrible. He smelled so terrible that all the Autobots died. The end."

Blot (71) has posed:
Blot just positively beams with happiness. A Compliment--that is, if he had the word for it--and a story that was so obviously all about him! And the nasty Autobots died!! Blot utters a happy, gurgling noise which might be him laughing. Blot stomps in place on his feet, sending lubricant everywhere and scizzors his claws together, "Blot am kill Autobots!" he says, then, speaking as if imparting a Great Secret to the Combaticon, Blot leans uncomfortably close, "Story about Blot."

Prowl has posed:
    Sure enough, there's a panel that looks like it has installed recently, and it lights up when he touches it, displaying a keypad with a readout that is requesting some kind of access code. Though, now with the extra illumination, he can see that through the somewhat-translucent panel that there is indeed some kind of compartment behind it, with a series of wiring and circuitry in between. Though if it is just some dataslugs or microchips, the size of the compartment seems a bit too large. Perhaps there's something -else- in there...There's always a chance the thing is booby trapped with explosives,

    With the right tools, he might be able to just rip off the panel and remove the entire compartment, since he is on home turf and not stuck in some tight situation where time and resources are severely limited. Though of course that would mean damaging the sculpture. Or he could try to hack it.

Vortex has posed:
Vortex's visor gleams in delight as the keypad pops out. Aheh... The interrogator wouldn't be an interrogator if he couldn't hack a mech's firewalls. A little device shouldn't be all too different. "Yes, you is the smelly mech," Vortex affirms with a nod. "Didn't I tell you to stay in your spot? If you want another story you better listen," Vortex tuts with a click of his glossa, feeling for a possible jack or port or- Huh... He thinks back to that data slab with the scrawled out Functionist council, all but three scribbled out. Hmmmmm... He puts in the code that corresponds with that. Six, Nine, and Twelve. Maybe this'll save him a headache from hacking.

Blot (71) has posed:
Blot stays rooted right in his uncomfortably close spot. He MUST NOT MOVE, "Okay, Blot am not move," he assures Vortex in turn. Peering toward the sculpture and down at whatever Technologically Important Thing Vortex is doing, Blot wonders aloud, "What is? What am Vor-Tex doing?" then, he asks again, "Blot help?" Oh no, this would be a very bad idea. Blot continues dripping goo onto the floor and exhuding his foul odor, "Blot am tell Terrorcons about!" he sounds so happily self-important.

Then. Stories.

"Vor-Tex tell more stories?"

And:

"Vor-Tex am Blot friend?"

Prowl has posed:
    The display flashes red.

    ERROR CODE 6---ACCESS DENIED....

    ...ATTEMPTS REMAINING = 2

    Attempts remaining until what is not yet clear. Should he find out?

Vortex has posed:
Vortex would frown if he had a mouth... Soon though, soon. "Yes, yes, now shush," Vortex says flippantly with a wave of his servo to the Terrorcon. Whatever you say, just quiet. He rubs his thumb over a jack. That'll work. He pulls a connector out of his wrist and jacks it in. But before he tries hacking the device, he tries the code again. This time of all the names scribbled out. If it doesn't work, still got one more try.

Blot (71) has posed:
Blot gushes fluid and happiness. He has a Friend! Votex may not have realized just what he agreed to and what its consequences might be, having a friend in Blot. Blot watches closely, creature-face struggling visibly to comprehend the incomprehensible. But he knows one thing. Red Is BAD. Vortex -did- just agree that Blot could help. The Terrorcon obediently says nothing, and reaches out a clawed paw to RAKE the panel! Blot am helping!!

Prowl has posed:
    Attempt number 2 also fails. He has one left now, but it was wise not to risk that. The encryption is probably a bit tougher to crack than Vortex might have expected. Salvo didn't actually write the code himself--it looks as if he may have contracted someone else to do it for him. Someone more well-versed in security protocols. Onslaught probably would've had an easier time getting through it, but he'd get it, with time. Time that he does have...

    Well, that is, until Blot intervened. The anel itself isn't suer sturdy, so the Terrorcon does manage to ri it off, however what lies beneath the anel is a series of delicate circuitry and wiring that he unfortunately doesn't have the dexterity to avoid damaging. He accidentally ris out a cable or two. Sarks fly and a red light flashes. Now any mech with any measure of common sense would see, with the holoanel removed, that there is a comartment behind it, though it is not sealed, and one can see that indeed the reason it's larger than it needs to be in order to hold a few data slugs is because it's acked with a series of detacks as well. Detacks that are connected to a detonator that has just been armed because Blot just cut the wrong wire. There's another, simler readout on to of the container that is now lit u with red digits counting down. chr10...9...8...</span>

Vortex has posed:
The high-pitch, shrill scream coming from Vortex almost shorts out his vocalizer. Not a scream of fear but of completely volatile rage that would make Brawl take a step back. Hope the Insecticons are hungry for Terrorcon tonight!!! But Vortex doesn't have time for this. "MOVE!" He booms, shoving himself closer to the statue. One servo stays, trying desperately to hack and disarm the bombs. He could trigger a virus that could shut off the bombs... Set em off too but STILL. His other servo is moving to tear at the panel and grab all the dataslugs he can and shove them into subspace. Come on... He wants to sell this thing and get paid.

Blot (71) has posed:
"Uh oh..." Blot gurgles. Red is Very Very Very BAD. 10... 9... 8... Blot cannot decypher the numerals, but some inner self-preserving streak alerts him that repeating red squiggles and a red light are Extremely Dangerous, and that they should vacate Immediately, "Blot help..!" he bleats pitiously at the results of his aid, as the bomb counts down. The Terrorcon nudges Vortex with his grimy body, not hard, but enough to get his attention, "Blot am leave! Friend come too!" he wails in sheer panic as he moves on all fours in the direction of the door, a trail of lubricant behind him.

Prowl has posed:
    Well, Vortex does manage to grab the dataslugs out of the compartment in time. As it turns out, they are plugged into some kind of computer that is built into the inside of the thing. If Blot hadn't messed everything up, the Combaticon could well have downloaded all the information without needing to even open it at all. Which explains the self-destruct and timer. It was meant for its buyer to copy and then destroy before anyone else could get to it. Why the tablet they found didn't have the code is anyone's guess.

    However, the virus doesn't really hel. Unfortunately, he hadn't the time to get comletely through the encrytion, so he couldn't just disable the bomb. The timer continues. chr7...6..5..</span>

    In his fragile and still-recovering state, Vortex should probably start getting away from the thing--that is, unless he still wants to try to save the sculpture for shanix's sake.

Vortex has posed:
Vortex hisses as the disgusting mess that is Blot presses into him. By Primus, he wants to shove this detpack down the Terrorcon's throat. He growls at his ineffectualness and tugs the wrist wire out of the jack. Information all safe and sound, whihc just leves the statue... You know what, he's got time to try it and get away before the blast gets deadly. Or at least out the door. With a claw, he surveys the wires, picks out his favorite color, and snips it.

Blot (71) has posed:
From outside the door, Blot can be heard shouting gutturally, "FRIEND COME! THING VERY BAD!"

Prowl has posed:
    Favorite color isn't always a good way to make an educated guess when it comes to bombs, but when one is under pressure...what can he do? It was a risky move, but the bright side is the detpacks don't just automatically go off when he cuts it. Instead, nothing happens and the timer continues to count down. Three seconds left. Well he'd better run.

Blot (71) has posed:
Blot peers around the doorway, "Friend come!! Friend Vor-Tex hurry!!" he waves his creature-arms frantically, "Blot am--"

Vortex has posed:
Vortex vents a sigh. Dang, he really wanted to make some shanix... Good thing he's a great liar too. The rotary grumbles and starts shuffling towards the exit, not looking too happy about it. If he wasn't injured already, he'd try to snap another wire in Swindle's favorite color. He shoots Blot a look. Its a good think he's can't throw knives right now... Or glare them either.

Blot (71) has posed:
Blot completely misinterprets Vortex's look. In his creature form he smiles, relieved for his New Friend.

He scuttles closer to Vortex and asks,

"Stories?"

Prowl has posed:
    Despite his injures, Vortex manages to get out the door before the bomb goes off. Fortunately, it wasn't that far, and the walls of the room take the brunt of the damage as the detpacks explode and send hot gases flying in every direction. Smoke billows out of the room, but the two of them manage to remain unscathed. No statue for the Combaticon, but at least he got the important thing, right?

Blot (71) has posed:
Blot jumps up and down, arms held high, all excited and stuff, "Stories! Stories!" he repeats, "Blot am like Friend Vot-Tex stories."

Vortex has posed:
Vortex's optics behind his visor twitch as he looks at Blot. The explosion doesn't phase him a bit- live with Brawl for a while and see if they ever shake you again. He's gonna smell like Blot for WEEKS now, ugh. Hmmm... How to get away before he murders the Terrorcon... "Blot, if you go back to your other Terrorcons, I'll meet you there and tell aaaaaall of you so many stories, okay? But you gotta go! You gotta go right now!"

Blot (71) has posed:
Blot waves his arms more, "Blot go! Blot go right now! Storiiiiiieeees!" he can be heard shouting as he hurries to find his Terrorcon cohorts to tell them of this Important help he gave and the Stories to come, and of his New Friend!!

Vortex has posed:
Vortex wonders how many days will pass before Blot realizes he's not coming. Ever. He gives himself a shake and then limps off. He'll handle the exploded room thing later. He makes his way into one of his more usual rooms, where sensitive intel is handled, and this time locks the door behind him. Just in case. He pops the data slugs in and opens them up. "Come to papa," he purrs at the screen.

Prowl has posed:
    And there they are. All of Salvo's notes and research. Diagrams, schematics, all the math and all the design. It will probably take some time to process it all and figure out just what it all means, like piecing together a puzzle.

    The tech is, as he'd overheard, a massive cloaking field designed to operate in deep space. There's even a plan detailing how it should be constructed--it consists of a large network of micro-reflectors that are to be installed onto the outside of what appears to be some kind of orbital station dubbed "The Cog" by its creators. According to Salvo's notes, "The Cog" is nestled deep within the Aria Nebula, a treacherous journey to traverse. It certainly would've been difficult if not impossible to construct such a massive structure out there, nor construct it and then navigate it through the many hazards of that particular sector of space.

    So just how is it even possible? There aren't even any external docking bays on on it...instead, they appear to be on the -inside-. Which would lead one to believe that the station is accessed by some kind of portal or space bridge. Now the lists of coordinates pointing to various locations on the Grav-Haraan glacier made sense. They'd been testing the area for an ideal location to place the bridge terminus. But why there, instead of at the well-fortified Decagon? Is Prowl hiding something from the rest of his people?

Vortex has posed:
Vortex wishes he had a mouth so he could grin. Finally, pieces are coming together... He's no engineer but he's intelligent, he knows what things mean... He locks in the deep space location amongst other things- 'The Cog'? Tch, pretentious Functionist. He can't wait to feed them their own cogs. Vortex taps his chin before beginning to encrypt the data and slipping it onto a Decepticon dataslug to be given directly to Soundwave.

And then another two more, one for him and one for Onslaught. Looks like more places to go. They got a space bridge to find- maybe Soundwave can send one of his birds to look for it... But as soon as its found, he's going Functionist Head Hunting. Mount them right on his wall. While the data encrypts, he pauses and then does a quick search for Twelve. Just... See if there's anything juicey on him here.

Prowl has posed:
    There's something...Twelve-of-Twelve, the Castigator. On the former Functionist Council, he was as his named implied. They all had very literal names, you know. He was the one who carried out whatever 'punishment' the Council deemed necessary upon people who dared defy Primus' law, including Shadowplay. It's no wonder then that Salvo was terrified of him.

    When the Senate fell, most of the Council went down with it, but there were a select few who survived--smuggled away by their loyal supporters, one of which Salvo had once been. And now, they were all hiding in deep space, on "The Cog". Whatever else they may be doing there, it seems Salvo didn't know. Only that the Autobots' chief intelligence officer would come by every decacycle or so, to check up on 'progress' and talk to some of the higher-ups in the organization. Progress of what though isn't specified.

Vortex has posed:
Vortex's visor sparks, the red deepening into an intense fire. Her servos curl into tight fists. It's a shame Eleven-of-Twelve was dead, now no one could mediate when between the Combaticon's knives and Twelve's face. Hmm... He needs to find out if Prowl is alive or not. Vortex isn't one to hold grudges. But his vendetta with the Functionists is very deep and very personal. If he had his rotors and the exact location of the space bridge, he'd fly there now and pain The Cog pink. His favorite color.

Vortex pulls the encrypted slugs, pocketing two within subspace and destroying the originals. They were liabilities with all the information now on secure drives. He goes to deliver this personally to Soundwave. He's been very good, very useful. Might of even killed Prowl, who knows. He can ask the Communications officer that if anything were to happen in relation to The Cog, the space bridge to it, the Functionist Council, he'd like his name on the roster.

Promotional Content