Getting the Lay of the Land
Characters: Bayverse Barricade and ???
Content: Online and Comm
Location: Iacon, near the Spaceport
Time of day: Midsolar
Warnings: None, will edit to add if it becomes necessary
Barricade groans, his systems snapping online as they had every shiftcycle for aeons. He can't remember what happened, but he gets the immediate sense that something big has. He has no idea where he is. His directionals pause before popping up a locator grid. Pause? Yes. Searching for a match. Not the same locator overlays he'd been using for the last two orbital cycles.
He unfolds, standing up, looking around to let the locator grid orient itself. Not familiar, but not...unfamiiar.
And then abruptly, something snaps into place. This is Cybertron. But not the Cybertron he knew--ravaged from the start of the war. Not even the Cybertron of his early days, as a lowly ground trooper, when civilians had looked down on the defense forces as a waste of finances and time.
Cybertron, and not. And it's empty.
But it couldn't be. Not after two years alone, abandoned on Earth. He can't be alone here.
Maybe...and the thought terrifies him...maybe he's dead. Maybe he's insane. This would be his perfect construction of eternal punishment, to deny himself the solace of the Well of Sparks, to be drifting alone, forever, in some nightmare of what he'd always wanted--perfect peace.
He shakes the thought away with an almost physical effort. Plenty of time, he tells himself, to have a slaggin' breakdown later, if you're right. All eternity to go mental.
Now, though, remember you're a soldier. Remember you have a mission.
He activates his comm with a brisk snap.
[Locked to Decepticon frequencies]
"Any and all Decepticons, report. Rally to my coordinates."
[Unlocked--anyone within range can hear and decrypt]
He pitches his vocalizer to sound soft, almost a little afraid. It's...not as difficult as he might like. Slaggit, Barricade, this is no time to give into fear.
"H-hello? Anyone? Anyone know what's going on?"
Someone would answer. And he could start putting pieces together.
The first, of course, would be pulling himself together.
Content: Online and Comm
Location: Iacon, near the Spaceport
Time of day: Midsolar
Warnings: None, will edit to add if it becomes necessary
Barricade groans, his systems snapping online as they had every shiftcycle for aeons. He can't remember what happened, but he gets the immediate sense that something big has. He has no idea where he is. His directionals pause before popping up a locator grid. Pause? Yes. Searching for a match. Not the same locator overlays he'd been using for the last two orbital cycles.
He unfolds, standing up, looking around to let the locator grid orient itself. Not familiar, but not...unfamiiar.
And then abruptly, something snaps into place. This is Cybertron. But not the Cybertron he knew--ravaged from the start of the war. Not even the Cybertron of his early days, as a lowly ground trooper, when civilians had looked down on the defense forces as a waste of finances and time.
Cybertron, and not. And it's empty.
But it couldn't be. Not after two years alone, abandoned on Earth. He can't be alone here.
Maybe...and the thought terrifies him...maybe he's dead. Maybe he's insane. This would be his perfect construction of eternal punishment, to deny himself the solace of the Well of Sparks, to be drifting alone, forever, in some nightmare of what he'd always wanted--perfect peace.
He shakes the thought away with an almost physical effort. Plenty of time, he tells himself, to have a slaggin' breakdown later, if you're right. All eternity to go mental.
Now, though, remember you're a soldier. Remember you have a mission.
He activates his comm with a brisk snap.
[Locked to Decepticon frequencies]
"Any and all Decepticons, report. Rally to my coordinates."
[Unlocked--anyone within range can hear and decrypt]
He pitches his vocalizer to sound soft, almost a little afraid. It's...not as difficult as he might like. Slaggit, Barricade, this is no time to give into fear.
"H-hello? Anyone? Anyone know what's going on?"
Someone would answer. And he could start putting pieces together.
The first, of course, would be pulling himself together.