Forever After

After much discussion and thought, it was generally accepted that Feint, being a high risk prisoner due to her outlier abilities would be moved to the Forge. After all, that is where Shockwave is. Former Senator Shockwave. The same mech that set Orion on his current path, especially when it comes to the outliers.

Which is why it is probably on the highest order of irony that the current situation is on-going. As the Decepticons are placed on high alert and deploy to deal with Sentinel Prime and the Security Forces that are attacking, a smaller team waits in the shadows near one of the side entrances to the Forge. Once they are clear and most of the Con forces are deployed, Orion turns to his small group. "I don't have the passcodes for the Forge." he admits. "But I have one step better. Damus?"

The outlier known as Damus steps forward, the empurata placing his claws against the security mechanism for the entrance, frying it completely. "Windcharger." Damus says as he steps back. "Your turn."

Windcharger steps forward, lifting his arms towards the door. Electromagentic waves radiate outwards, grabbing a hold of the door and forcing it to part ways for the group. As he does so, the mech glances towards another outlier in the group as Trailbreaker casts forth his forcefield to hold the doors open so that the team can go through. "After you, Pax." he offers. Pax, in turn, glances towards Hot Rod and gives a small thumbs-up. "See. Better than any can-opener." he offers as he ducks under the projected forcefield to head into the hallway beyond.

"We usually just shoot doors until they open," Hot Rod admits. It's with pride that he adds, "Sometimes Flareup will blow a door off its track if it is particularly stubborn." She's just so great. Blowing things up is so great.

Hot Rod's expression suggests eager anticipation of a hero's welcome. He's already smiling and his eyes are bright. He's wrapped in enthusiasm, and follows more than willingly -- maybe a little blindly. He tries to be totally cool about it and not nerd too hard, but -- uh. Well. He doesn't pull it off as well as he thinks he does. His age is just maybe showing.

A small yellow-face peeks briefly at Hot Rod from around a corner, down the hall, before it vanishes with a rapidly-fading clank-scrape, clank-scrape sound.

Slipshod comes running into the repair bay as quickly as his uneven legs will allow, stammering with fear for himself and his beloved resurrector. "Senator! Someone's broken into the gladiator pits! Several someones! And one of them's a cop! It's a Senate kill-team, I just know it! Please hide! Please!" He tries to push Shockwave towards the supply closet with his outsized blue arm, but to no avail; Shockwave places his free hand(?!) on Slipshod's head and presses him firmly back. "Clarity of thought before rashness of action," Shockwave advises, holding still while another assistant continues to work on his other arm. After a few moments he speaks again. "Not this time. The auditory signatures are known to me. Stabilize your emotional state and make room for... five visitors."

Perhaps Pax has seen too much in the past few cycles. And knows exactly what's at risk at this point. His hand drops to his pistol as he moves forward, glancing cautiously from room to room. He's on point for this mission, as the first contact. As soon as he's sure the hallway's clear -- eerily so, Orion frowns. "<Clear.>" he radios.

But something doesn't feel right. He should have at least expected token resistance from a few troops. Megatron wouldn't be so brash as to send /everyone/ out would he?

It is Hot Rod that detects the aforementioned Slipshod suddenly bolting from his position and running towards Shockwave's lab while the rest of the team is still clearing the area.

Hot Rod startles at the flash of yellow down the hall. Was that his reflection. NO. NOT HANDSOME ENOUGH.

A little too self-aware in his mimicry of Pax's team -- the way that they sweep, the way they clear -- to really be called at ease, Hot Rod just barely manages to avoid self-consciousness largely under the power of his (unwarranted) confidence in his abilities. Still, seeing movement ahead -- he glances to the side to see if the others are reacting. When it seems not, he speaks up: "Hey," he interjects. "Not alone in here. Saw someone up ahead, down there." He points, which is rude, gesturing ahead and then hooking his thumb to the side to indicate the direction that Slipshod ran. And of course he's already headed to follow.

"Hot Rod, wait..." Orion tries to get Rod to slow down, but he'd probably be better off convincing Blast Off that regular energon tastes just the same as high grade. The mech gives a frown, sensing a trap as turns to pursue after Hot Rod, the rest of his team following quickly behind them as the group loosely reassembles and comes up on the door to Shockwave's lab.

"Damus.." Orion starts to issue the order to repeat the same pattern that they used to get into the Forge in the first place.. when the door opens for them. Huh?

"I'm getting a bad feeling about this, Pax.." Trailbreaker mutters.

"Saw this in a movie once. Some slasher flick I saw with a femme that was ready for interfacing.." Windcharger comments. "But then in the middle of the film, the slasher mech was all taking the heads off his victims, totally turned her off when I started comparing it to the empurata process.. uh, no offense, Glitch." the minibot quickly offers.

Damus can only give a stare that can be translated as long-suffering as the team of bots and rebel continue forth.

The repair bay is surprisingly clean. This might have something to do with the hunched, lopsided yellow/blue assistant who is even now pushing a large drum into a corner with the larger of his two mismatched arms. He looks like he was stitched together from two people, one of whom was at least a head taller than the other. Slipshod cringes away as the "kill-team" enters, grabbing a mop and mopping studiously with his head down, trying not to draw attention to himself. He holds the mophandle across his body as if it could protect him.

Most of the room is arranged around various workbenches and repair slabs. A few bodies hang upside down from hooks on the far side of the room, near a supply closet. Buckets have been placed under them to catch any drips. The walls are covered in racks containing neatly labelled boxes in various sizes ranging from a few feet across to large enough for a minibot to hide in. They are labelled things like 'ROD, CONNECTING' and 'DIAGNOSTIC SUBSYSTEM, ONBOARD.' Shockwave is standing at one of the side walls, facing a workbench where a smaller assistant sits, working studiously on his left arm. As the visitors enter, his head swivels 180 degrees to look at them. Or at least, to record them. The sense of "being seen" is not present when one meets Shockwave. It's something in his body language, or rather, the total lack of it. There doesn't appear to be anyone inside him to look out and meet another mind. He just records, observing, as impassively as a camera in the ceiling of a prison cell. That single eye could watch anything happen, anything at all, with no more moral judgement. It would record base atrocity as faithfully as generosity of spirit. A voice speaks; Shockwave's voice, although it appears to emanate from his body instead of his head, produced by some speaker emulating his previous voice digitally. "What is the nature of your visitation?" says the voice.

One of the slabs has a grey tarp draped over it, concealing a loosely humped shape, or collection of shapes, underneath.

Shockwave's eye flickers dimly as he speaks, suggesting a minor brown-out crossover between the speaker and the light illuminating his eye from within.

Hot Rod waits right outside the door, so -- you know. He was listening. Ish. He's waiting for Pax and pals to catch up before charging through the door, so that's at least /partial/ credit, right? He flashes the others a grin as they greet the opening door with rightful wariness. "Aw, come on. We're the good guys."

But when they enter to draw a cringing reaction from the assistant, Hot Rod's face falls. No! They are the good guys! Look! He opens his hands in an unthreatening gesture. He's notably not carrying a weapon, and he goes to some lengths to make himself look harmless. (Ignore the fact that he's not carrying a weapon because they are /built in/.) He startles slightly as Shockwave speaks, like maybe he was assuming a drone or an empty body rather than a living being. "Uhhh." Yeah. Good answer.

Slipshod winces and hides behind the red drum when Hot Rod points his arm-mounted guns out into the room as if he was going to go all John Woo akimbo blasters on everybody! The open hands seem not to have the intended effect. Although the "uhhh" doesn't sound like something a hardened killer would say to his bounties. Usually they're pithier than that, in Slipshod's limited experience. He peeks back over the drum warily.

"Yeah, so how did the movie end, Windcharger?" Trailbreaker asks quietly as they approach the door.

"Well, the hero went charging into the mad scientist's lab, and there were all these nubile femmes on the tables waiting to be dissected, and the hero shot the villian in the head.. roll credits." Windcharger comments with a smirk, before he follows Rod in and takes a long, long look around. And immediately makes a bigger mess for Slipshod to deal with as he hurries into a corner to hurl all the energon he took in earlier.

"...by Solus Prime's flaming interface..." Trailbreaker whispers under his 'breath', a sudden exhale of exhaust from the sight that the group is treated to.

Damus just looks around almost seemingly as impassive as the Decepticon empurata. The mech doesn't look to be phased, but the clicking of his claws may suggest otherwise.

Orion Pax just stares, his pistol going limp in his hand as his arm falls uselessly to his side. "...S-Senator.." the old habit dies hard, especially when caught off-guard thusly. Before he digs into some lower level of resolve and manages to straightening up. "Feint, Shockwave. Where is she?" he asks finally, though it's with some level of disgust. "This. This isn't you." he finally adds.

"The remains are under the tarp," Shockwave's voice replies. The eye flickers on and off. "I cannot prevent you from seizing them if that is your intention. However, if you do so I would be better-disposed towards it in exchange for a payment of at least 500 shanix, the approximate scrap value of the intact parts. I do not receive adequate funding in the form of charitable donations to operate this clinic without exchange of currency for goods and services. I am aware that prior to the time spent incarcerated in the Institute, I was not as I am now. My intact memories inform me that my previous behavior was radically variant. However, that does not invalidate the fact that I am myself. The self defines the self by its current state."

Shockwave's change of topic occurs without pause, as if the words were recorded earlier and being replayed out of context. His voice is rather uncanny to listen to because of its inappropriately disinterested timbre, something empurata don't normally have. Clearly something 'radically variant' was done to him besides just mutilating him physically.

The assistant tending to Shockwave's arm is a mishmash of composite parts, much like Slipshod. Gray, green, bits of red and purple - the right arm is larger than the left, and has a wheel well set into the forearm, very mechly. The left is delicate and thin, feminine and ending in fingers so fine they could be capable of microcircuitry welds with only simple tools. Both, used together on Shockwave's arm, are well-suited to the task of surgical work, alternating gross motor skill and strength with fine detail and delicacy. The rest of "her" - making a broad assumption given the cobbled together body she occupies - is equally odd but facile. Her head is an empurata's box, cylindrical, with round black "optic" screen (a screenhead prototype, perhaps?), upper torso thin from some unknown intellectual caste frame, and the rest Arachnicon, legs up against her back.

She hesitates at the visitors, turning her black screen-optic in their direction, a white O pointing at the visitors. It flickers like bad reception, before it turns back to focusing on the arm.

Claws are set off to one side, removed. The forearm is taking the shape of a weapon.

"Please don't hurt the Senator!" Slipshod suddenly cries out from the corner. "What they did to him is horrible but he's still a great man! No one thought I was worth anything! They threw me in the gladiator pit just to hear the noises I made dying! He saved my life and gave me a way to help people and make a difference, when no one cared whether I had ever existed!" Forgetting his fear, Slipshod scrape-clanks to Orion Pax's side and clutches at his leg with one large and one small hand. "Please, sir! The Senate is dead, there's no need to keep their ways!"

"What's going on," Hot Rod asks Pax in a not-so-whispered aside as he looks from Shockwave to Pax and then back again. His attention is largely fixed on the living -- Shockwave and his assistants, Pax and his outliers. It's not that he's blind to the bodies hanging by the closet, but his gaze is dreadfully avoidant. "Because the Institute was awful, but this is just /weird/."

When Slipshod scrambles up to Pax, Hot Rod shifts as if to get between them in a protective gesture that's more than a little silly given the differences in build. He's quick -- hasty, even -- to assure, "No one's going to be hurt, I promise!"

"This.. is.. was.. Senator Shockwave." Orion Pax offers not so quietly, his expression blanking as his initial shock is overtaken with disgust at what he is seeing - and the offer that Shockwave has made makes it feel that much worse. That much more.. darker. As the Autobot glances towards the frames that hang from the cieling, that is when Slipshod comes charging in. The mech grips his pistol tighter, but Hot Rod defuses the situation for the moment. Orion takes one last look around and then makes up his mind.

"Trailbreaker, transform, lower your back for transport. Windcharger, get a hold of yourself, use your abilities to assist in lowering the bodies. Damus, assist Windcharger with the loading. If you can find documentation for who each one of them were, make sure that you record it." Orion responds as he returns his attention to Shockwave and his 'upgrades' on his arm. "You have decided to abandon yourself as much as Megatron has, haven't you?" he asks, disappointment deep in his voice.

"Look around you, Shockwave. You abhored this. This is exactly the fate that you wished to avoid for the three mechs that are now taking down the bodies that hang from your roof in some macarbe trophy like way. Those are the mechs that /you/ tasked /me/ with saving. And I did it. But now, you.." he steps forward, pulling back the sheet to expose Feint's frame. "This.. no. She. /She/ could have been your greatest student, Shockwave. She believed in your cause. She believed in the writings of Megatron. As much as I did, if not more. She was working her best to both undermine Sentinel's mad designs /and/ stop the insanity of both the Senate and it's trappings of the caste system. She went so far as to lie about what she was doing to mechs in the hopes that they would keep her secrets! Yes, she made mistakes - rather, her cojunx made mistakes. Mistakes she had to pay for. But this? This price that /you/ and /Megatron/ have placed on her for trying to do the right thing for Cybertron?"

He frowns. "I will not pay you a single shanix for all of these frames. I am taking them all, Shockwave. And you will not stop me. For one simple reason. Feint has paid the price for all of them. And for the delusion you live now."

"You will find that one's actions are often circumscribed by time and place. The luxury of visible morality is not one available to many in this regime. If you are determined to prevent me from providing medical aid to the insolvent, I cannot prevent you. You are better armed than I am, and outnumber me. My assistants are non-combatants. However, it is no loss to me to reduce your labor," Shockwave's voice says. "As the only qualified doctor willing to serve in the gladiatorial pits, I knew each of these individuals before they were destroyed in the games. I can provide you with a brief biography of each. Delerium, when you are finished, collate the biographies for the previous owners of the medical supplies Pax intends to steal from the clinic. Pax: if you are willing to wait, you may have the identifying information now. If your heist is time-limited, which is understandable, I can have Delerium send the information to you at your office. Have you retained the same offices you used when we worked together last?"

"The outer casing is all that remains to be affixed," Delirium replies to Shockwave. "Do you wish to apply it yourself so that I may gather the data you require?" Her tone is even, steady, and now identifiably female.

She continues to speak, setting down one of her tools, though addressing Pax this time. "You are incorrect to assume Shockwave is responsible for the death of the fembot, Feint. Megatron ceased her life functions; he insisted that she serve him in exchange for her life. She refused, stating that Megatron was no better than the Senators he had killed. Megatron kept his stated bargain."

"Removal of the bodies is useless. What will you do with them? Store them forever in a box? Allow them to be disassembled so that in death they return life to others."

As Windcharger works on lowering one of the bodies with his abilities, he glances over at Shockwave, and concern crosses his features. "..what happened to him?" he asks his two compatriots as he moves another frame towards Trailbreaker.

As Damus takes physical control of the body to move it to load into the back of Trailbreaker, he shakes his head. "Having been through the empurata process myself, I can tell you it really frags with your net, mech. Perhaps they did even more to him?" he suggests as he works.

Trailbreaker rumbles his engine in a moment of impatientness. He's a truck, not a hearse, Pax! "It's some higher order thinking scrap that I'd rather not try to wrap my net around right now." he admits.

Orion watches the work, his attention falling back to Delirium and Shockwave. "I plan on having them properly interned as war causalities. The first causalities of the war that Megatron has decided to unabashedly declare on all of Cybertron." Pax responds firmly as he looks to Shockwave. "No. I abandoned those offices after I violated the very orders that would have sent my comrades to their deactivations. I could not, and would not, in good conscience, allow myself to stand aside and allow such dark designs be carried out. And to learn that you allowed it..." he glances towards Delirium. "The sins of the leader may not carry to his troops, Delirium, was it?" he asks just to verify.

"The sins of the leader may not carry to his troops," he repeats once he has verification, "However, to remain idly standing by as one is massacred simply for not following you makes you no better than those you once opposed so feverishly, Shockwave. In essence.. you are now the very thing you spoke out against. The /logic/ of a cull. The /statistics/ of death. As simple as turning off a switch? Life was once precious to you, especially those that were unique. Different. Those that had a different fire in their spark. To see you this way now.. this shell of what you once were. It makes me /sick/." he responds firmly.

Shockwave's head swivels back around to face forward. "Yes," he replies to Delerium, taking up a tool in his right hand and assembling the housing around his left arm. "Pax is sentimental in the extreme. It is probable that he intends to repatriate the deceased to their next of kin, if any. He is most likely operating under the assumption that they have not already been informed. Ultimately the theft would represent a relatively small loss. I have calculated, based on current events, that there will soon be very many bodies to salvage."

Hot Rod is speechless. Treasure this moment. He trails behind Pax to watch as he lifts the sheet covering Feint's body. Grief bows his shoulders. Even his spoiler droops. When he looks up again after a long, quiet moment, rage flashes across his expression. His features too-easily read, the anger is unmistakable. He tries to place it RIGHT ON SHOCKWAVE, RIGHT THERE, only for Delirium to cut his righteousness short before he can even give voice to a good ol' HOW COULD YOU. Instead, he says, "Megatron."

/Megatron/.

What a jerk.

Shockwave drives a last machine screw and sets the tool down before turning to face Pax. Surprisingly, although his clamps have been replaced, he only has a right hand. His left arm now ends in a short tube, and a thick hose or cable runs from his forearm to his back, which has been extended to contain some new hardware, presumably in association with the hose. "I am no longer capable of appreciating our shared philosophy on an emotional level, Pax. That capacity was removed from me. It follows that I cannot appreciate your emotional appeals or chastisement. However, based on what I know of your character, it is intended to produce a positive effect. I see that you are working with some of my former students. It is advantageous for Cybertron's future that they remain alive and intact, and that they continue to develop their outlier abilities. You are fortunate in that you retain your freedom of movement. I am not aware of what other resources you may have access to, having given up your offices. Do not hesitate to seek my aid if it is needed for the benefit of my students. Each of them is a valuable resource. They will be needed."

"I am sorry to hear that, Shockwave." Pax admits, forlorn in his tone as he looks around one more time. "As it stands, it is also probably the last time that we shall be able to speak like this. I will keep your offer of good faith in mind, however.

Unfortunately, Shockwave's assessment is correct. Pax knows this deep down in his spark. He can feel the pain of it - possibly from that hollow chamber within as well. As the last of the bodies are loaded, Orion himself takes special care with Feint. After touching her face for a moment to assure that her optics are closed, he replaces the cover on her before lifting her in his arms. Protoforming down to his alt form, Feint is loaded into the back of Orion Pax's vehicle module as he revs his engine. "Damus.." he says, a new coldness slipping into his tone. "Shut them down." he says simply.

Damus hears the order and turns his attention from the task he just finished and jumps forward. As he does so, he brings down both of his claws into the side of what looks to be the mainframe for the medical center, looking to fry the whole damn thing with his outlier abilities before the group starts to transform in term. "We're done here, Hot Rod, let's go!"

Hot Rod stands helpless and angry. He's stubbornly still when Pax addresses him. His hands clench with the need to do something, anything, but there's no one to help and no one to punch -- well, no one who deserves it, anyway. "Fine," comes out a little bit like a snarl, but the rough edge is not aimed at Orion. He moves to follow the others, only waiting to see Damus out first so that he can be last in line.

Delirium turns to face the wall, rather than the others, drawing her spidery legs tight to her back, optic panel going dark.

Other than Damus shutting down the mainframe, there is no further attack. Instead, the Autobots file out in a funeral procession, Orion leading the way as he takes care with the bumps and road conditions to make sure that Feint has a smooth ride back to Iacon. She deserves at least that much. After Damus leaves, the group slows to allow Hot Rod to follow. He's a technical member of the family now.

Shockwave just stands there, perfectly still, although a deep thrumming sound emits from him, and his chest panel, which was once the cockpit of his jet mode, emits a dim and pulsing glow. It looks like an emergency light sunk underwater, seen through a layer of ice; a violet glow, a hard blue glimmer behind the red-tinted panel. He starts making a low ticking sound, like one of Whirl's famous heirloom watches. "I see that you have aligned yourself against even the civilians within the territories laid claim to by Megatron. This is tactically sound; there will be no civilians in the war which I have forseen. Every living entity will be forced to choose a side, or preyed upon by both. But remember our discussions. The tragedy of the commons. The prisoner's dilemma. If two opposing forces are both led by rational actors, both will be destroyed. Yet, in such a conflict, to be anything other than a rational actor is to become a victim. We must all be rational actors, now. Let us hope that one party's rationality will fail in time to prevent utter destruction."

Shockwave continues to make the soft ticking sound as the outliers use their powers to wreck the medical clinic. He doesn't try to stop them as the power goes out and the room is bathed in the Cerenkov light from his newly-weaponized body, hardened to fit the world he must now inhabit. He continues ticking when they leave, and forever after.