080328 - Quiet part 10
Mar. 28th, 2008 03:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
koilungfish9/3/08 - 1360 words on Stormhangar
10/3/08 - 650 words on Stormhangar
11/3/08 - 746 words on Stormhangar
12/3/08 - Day Off
13/3/08 - Fail
14/3/08 - 1216 words on Stormhangar
15/3/08 - 17/3/08 - Blocked [computer problems]
18/3/08 - 615 words on Stormhangar
19/3/08 - 1305 words on Stormhangar
20/3/08 - Ill
21/3/08 - 690 words on Stormhangar
22/3/08 - 24/3/08 - Ill
25/3/08 - 731 words on Taste of Empires
26/3/08 - Ill
27/3/08 - Ill
28/3/08 - Quiet, part 10
Mirage crept into the interchange control chamber and almost fell to the bottom of the room. The chamber was circular, the walls curving down and away in banks of consoles, down to the manual airlock controls at what was once the far wall and was now the floor.
In the middle of the room was a Decepticon. Silently climbing around him, Mirage checked the wide room carefully, scanning for any sign of camouflaged enemy, then switched off his electro-disrupted and snuck back to signal the others to come in.
They climbed in carefully, wiggling in through the door and dropping onto the side of the first console. Mirage hung one-handed from the door-frame to assist his comrades in. Bluestreak stopped dead on the first console and stared, jaw dropped and head tilted to one side, one hand half-raised as if he'd been about to point and ask 'What's that?' when he realised. Smokescreen climbed in and just sat down heavily on the first console. Jazz had to shimmy in around them and hang from the door-frame whilst Mirage climbed up to the console that would once have been on the right of the door. Mirage pulled out the insides of the console and hung from that whilst Jazz worked the manual release that closed the control chamber's doors.
"Why did they do that?" Bluestreak asked, pointing at the Decepticon.
"Don't know," Jazz said, sliding down to the bottom of the room.
The Decepticon hung from pins driven through his wrists, fastened to cables that were attached to the middle of what had been the ceiling and the floor. A wreckage hung on his back, perhaps once a bulky rotor-pack. His limbs were similarly savaged, armour chiselled open and internal workings pulled out. Most of them lay scattered and crushed on the floor below them, scattered under Jazz's feet. The Decepticon's head hung forwards, broken jaw resting against the shelf of his chest. His visor was cracked; it looked to Mirage as if someone had tried to crush their commander's head and managed to drive their thumbs into his optic sockets.
Across his torso was a broad smear of melted metal, a symbol drawn into it with a fingertip or gun-barrel. Mirage didn't recognise the design. It looked to be a name, but the calligraphy was so crude and the melted metal so warped that it was barely discernible.
Mirage looked down at the Decepticon, hanging where he'd been tortured to death. Nailed to the floor and the ceiling ... the floor and the ceiling? "This Decepticon was killed after the crash."
"Yup. Looks like somebody made a few enemies," Jazz said, standing with his hands on his hips regarding the corpse.
"But why ... ?" Bluestreak asked again.
"cause they're Decepticons," Jazz said with a shrug. "'cause half of them'd died of something weird and he didn't have an answer. 'cause he was unpopular an' this whole thing is a weird mutiny. 'cause he shot the wrong 'con's partner. Somethin' like that."
"Any idea what that is on his chest?" Mirage asked, changing grip on the console. He was weary, nerve cables snarled up with tension. He wanted a break from corpses and strangeness. Whilst the very definition of a military operation is that it will go wrong, this is getting more deeply wrong that usual.
Jazz leant close and peered. "Hey, he's cold," he said. "Been this way since yesterday at least. Don't know the sign though ... looks like it could be a 'freeze' or a 'winter' ... and that's a 'crypt' ... and a ... uh ... 'wall'? 'City'? 'Fence'?"
"I believe Prowl mentioned a Decepticon warlord named Wintercrypt once," Mirage said, holding his rifle close. It was good and familiar and reliable, reassuring. "A colonial warlord. Ambitious - well, a Decepticon warlord."
"But the 'wall'?" Jazz wondered.
"Could be 'prison'," Smokescreen said, not sitting up.
"Guess it could," Jazz said, leaning back and considering, hand to chin. "It's a total mess. Can't make out the punctuation at all."
Mirage wondered how Hound was, and even if he was still alive.
"He's not like the others," Smokescreen said. "There wasn't a mark on them."
"Yup," Jazz said. "Somebody wanted this 'con to suffer for something."
Bluestreak made an unhappy sound and looked away. "We should move on," he said, small-voiced and gauzy-opticced.
"We oughta take five and rest a bit," Jazz said. "But here ain't the place."
Mirage swung himself down from the console and slithered to the bottom of the room. His servos were warm from all the climbing and his joints were starting to ache. "I suppose you want me to take point."
"Can't think of anyone better qualified," Jazz said cheerily. Then his expression flickered. "You needing fuel?"
"I wouldn't say no to a breem for recharge," Mirage said. "My electro-disruptor does drain my fuel cells rather."
Jazz glanced at Smokescreen, huddled in a heap by the door, and Bluestreak, staring in blank distress at the opposite wall. "You sit this one out, charge your cells. I'll get the airlock open. Hey, Bluestreak!"
The gunner looked down at him, face empty except for a vague suggestion of horror.
"Stay there, Bluestreak," Jazz said, a friendly order. "Take a load off and get yourself together. I'm gonna get the airlock open, okay?" Bluestreak nodded, optics flickering, and sat down next to Smokescreen. With a satisfied nod, Jazz turned and ducked behind the Decepticon to work on the blast doors.
Mirage looked at the dead Decepticon, grim and broken, stripped and ravaged, hung up in a room nobody would use much, nobody would go into often, a room whose shape made it hard to move around in without artificial gravity.
"Jazz," he said, "why was he killed in here?"
10/3/08 - 650 words on Stormhangar
11/3/08 - 746 words on Stormhangar
12/3/08 - Day Off
13/3/08 - Fail
14/3/08 - 1216 words on Stormhangar
15/3/08 - 17/3/08 - Blocked [computer problems]
18/3/08 - 615 words on Stormhangar
19/3/08 - 1305 words on Stormhangar
20/3/08 - Ill
21/3/08 - 690 words on Stormhangar
22/3/08 - 24/3/08 - Ill
25/3/08 - 731 words on Taste of Empires
26/3/08 - Ill
27/3/08 - Ill
28/3/08 - Quiet, part 10
Mirage crept into the interchange control chamber and almost fell to the bottom of the room. The chamber was circular, the walls curving down and away in banks of consoles, down to the manual airlock controls at what was once the far wall and was now the floor.
In the middle of the room was a Decepticon. Silently climbing around him, Mirage checked the wide room carefully, scanning for any sign of camouflaged enemy, then switched off his electro-disrupted and snuck back to signal the others to come in.
They climbed in carefully, wiggling in through the door and dropping onto the side of the first console. Mirage hung one-handed from the door-frame to assist his comrades in. Bluestreak stopped dead on the first console and stared, jaw dropped and head tilted to one side, one hand half-raised as if he'd been about to point and ask 'What's that?' when he realised. Smokescreen climbed in and just sat down heavily on the first console. Jazz had to shimmy in around them and hang from the door-frame whilst Mirage climbed up to the console that would once have been on the right of the door. Mirage pulled out the insides of the console and hung from that whilst Jazz worked the manual release that closed the control chamber's doors.
"Why did they do that?" Bluestreak asked, pointing at the Decepticon.
"Don't know," Jazz said, sliding down to the bottom of the room.
The Decepticon hung from pins driven through his wrists, fastened to cables that were attached to the middle of what had been the ceiling and the floor. A wreckage hung on his back, perhaps once a bulky rotor-pack. His limbs were similarly savaged, armour chiselled open and internal workings pulled out. Most of them lay scattered and crushed on the floor below them, scattered under Jazz's feet. The Decepticon's head hung forwards, broken jaw resting against the shelf of his chest. His visor was cracked; it looked to Mirage as if someone had tried to crush their commander's head and managed to drive their thumbs into his optic sockets.
Across his torso was a broad smear of melted metal, a symbol drawn into it with a fingertip or gun-barrel. Mirage didn't recognise the design. It looked to be a name, but the calligraphy was so crude and the melted metal so warped that it was barely discernible.
Mirage looked down at the Decepticon, hanging where he'd been tortured to death. Nailed to the floor and the ceiling ... the floor and the ceiling? "This Decepticon was killed after the crash."
"Yup. Looks like somebody made a few enemies," Jazz said, standing with his hands on his hips regarding the corpse.
"But why ... ?" Bluestreak asked again.
"cause they're Decepticons," Jazz said with a shrug. "'cause half of them'd died of something weird and he didn't have an answer. 'cause he was unpopular an' this whole thing is a weird mutiny. 'cause he shot the wrong 'con's partner. Somethin' like that."
"Any idea what that is on his chest?" Mirage asked, changing grip on the console. He was weary, nerve cables snarled up with tension. He wanted a break from corpses and strangeness. Whilst the very definition of a military operation is that it will go wrong, this is getting more deeply wrong that usual.
Jazz leant close and peered. "Hey, he's cold," he said. "Been this way since yesterday at least. Don't know the sign though ... looks like it could be a 'freeze' or a 'winter' ... and that's a 'crypt' ... and a ... uh ... 'wall'? 'City'? 'Fence'?"
"I believe Prowl mentioned a Decepticon warlord named Wintercrypt once," Mirage said, holding his rifle close. It was good and familiar and reliable, reassuring. "A colonial warlord. Ambitious - well, a Decepticon warlord."
"But the 'wall'?" Jazz wondered.
"Could be 'prison'," Smokescreen said, not sitting up.
"Guess it could," Jazz said, leaning back and considering, hand to chin. "It's a total mess. Can't make out the punctuation at all."
Mirage wondered how Hound was, and even if he was still alive.
"He's not like the others," Smokescreen said. "There wasn't a mark on them."
"Yup," Jazz said. "Somebody wanted this 'con to suffer for something."
Bluestreak made an unhappy sound and looked away. "We should move on," he said, small-voiced and gauzy-opticced.
"We oughta take five and rest a bit," Jazz said. "But here ain't the place."
Mirage swung himself down from the console and slithered to the bottom of the room. His servos were warm from all the climbing and his joints were starting to ache. "I suppose you want me to take point."
"Can't think of anyone better qualified," Jazz said cheerily. Then his expression flickered. "You needing fuel?"
"I wouldn't say no to a breem for recharge," Mirage said. "My electro-disruptor does drain my fuel cells rather."
Jazz glanced at Smokescreen, huddled in a heap by the door, and Bluestreak, staring in blank distress at the opposite wall. "You sit this one out, charge your cells. I'll get the airlock open. Hey, Bluestreak!"
The gunner looked down at him, face empty except for a vague suggestion of horror.
"Stay there, Bluestreak," Jazz said, a friendly order. "Take a load off and get yourself together. I'm gonna get the airlock open, okay?" Bluestreak nodded, optics flickering, and sat down next to Smokescreen. With a satisfied nod, Jazz turned and ducked behind the Decepticon to work on the blast doors.
Mirage looked at the dead Decepticon, grim and broken, stripped and ravaged, hung up in a room nobody would use much, nobody would go into often, a room whose shape made it hard to move around in without artificial gravity.
"Jazz," he said, "why was he killed in here?"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-03-29 08:32 pm (UTC)