Making a Splash at the Assessment Clinic

++ Kaon ++

Blast Off has been tasked with getting Starchamber aquainted with her new home in Kaon and preparing her for the tasks and realities of life on Cybertron. Right now, he walks down a street in Kaon, not too far from the Forge, and points at various things along the way. "Now THAT tenement building is moderately /tolerable/, at least for the /dump/ that IS Kaon, but I would suggest avoiding that other one- there (\*points\*) unless you want constant fighting on your hands. It's a nest of crime."

He stops, realizing just who he's speaking to, then adds, "Aaaand, never mind. I suppose that just means you'll be visiting that place shortly. Well- at least be prepared for the hooligans and ruffians. Maybe if you take out a few there'll be less annoyances wandering the streets at night. And speaking of which, again, I'd recommend always having a weapon with you around here, but I probably don't need to tell you that." Again he stops, tilting his head. "Aaaand I suppose you don't have to worry about that, do you? Since you \*are\* a weapon." He lifts an optic ridge. "Must be nice."

Starchamber observes everything Blast Off points out, taking it in, considering it, and then filing it away for later use as tactical data. She doesn't seem to be particularly put off by the decay - heaven only knows Combatron wasn't much better than this when she left. She strides with purpose besides Blast Off, pleased to be near him, keeping herself composed and tightly focused.

"You are a weapon as well, Blast Off - you are from Combatron. You are a -living- weapon. Never forget this," she encourages, attempting to boost his morale a bit.

Blast Off IS put off by the decay. He got very used to his comfortable, high class lifestyle and it still grates on him to be walking among the rust and ruffians. He's had to learn to get used to this place... but it doesn't mean that he has to like it here. Maybe he never will.

He mulls over Starchamber's comment, not responding immediately but considering it as he walks in stride with her. And perhaps subconsciously he starts echoing her footsteps until they are two Combaticon spacecraft walking proudly down the street, almost lock and step. His hands clasp behind his back as he replies, "...I suppose, yes. In a way. Though I think my original body held up better to that ideal." He glances down briefly. "Look at this... I have no built-in weaponry, none of the fancy attacks I once had like orbital artillery...." His violet optics lift up to hers. "I am a sniper. A slagging good one, too, but.... I was once much more. Unlike YOU. You are a triplechanger with your original body. In that, you are fortunate."

They continue to walk down the street. Starchamber is headed towards one of these 'assessment' centers, and there's one on the edge of Kaon, mostly in disuse, keeping a skeleton staff. With the lack of hot spots, there's almost never a need for them, save for the rare spark recovery in the mines. "You know what the mark of a good soldier is, Blast Off?" she asks. "The ability to adapt to the worst of circumstances and come out on top. So you have a body you feel is inferior - learn to use it, overcome the limitations it presents. Imagine the look on your enemy's faces when you overcome them, defeat them, even after they thought they had crippled you."

Interesting that she would say that. Blast Off lets out a small, almost amused huff. "I don't \*have\* to imagine it." He looks to the femme, the faintest smirk under his faceplate. "I just saw that look from an old friend-turned-enemy of mine just last cycle, in fact. One who has been a thorn in my side, one who helped the Senate take everything they could from me... and what the Senate couldn't take, HE did..." There's a bitter note there, "But last cycle... I finally took something \*back from him\*."

The normally very \*civilized\* shuttle carries a hint of certain... bittersweet relishment to that. "I went to Altihex. It's a city you might find interesting to visit someday. There used to be quite a bit of space technology developed there- before the Clampdown. I went there, trying to see if I could find a place for spare parts... you know, just in case... when I spotted and old enemy, pursued him, and took some very.... interesting data from him." Interesting as in- disturbing.

Swindle is walking down the street, but coming from the other direction, headed towards Blast Off and Starchamber. "Oh hey, fancy seeing you here," he says when he gets within earshot, "So, anything exciting planned for today? I do need to take another run for supplies to the mechs at Nyon soon." He gazes at Blast Off, which certainly means Blast Off should know what that look means. Pack Horsemech time again.

Starchamber stops and turns to look down at the smaller jeepmech. "Swindle," she greets somewhat sternly, arms folding across her torso, over the golden glass of her cockpit. "I see you are alive." Wow. Some welcome.

Blast Off 's prideful steps falter slightly at the sight of Swindle... and he slows entirely at that look his teammate gives him. There's a long, quiet sigh from his ventilation systems. Yes, he knows that look alright, and he doesn't like horsemech duty. He's a PROUD SPACE WARRIOR for Primus' sake, not transport!!! \*sigh\* The shuttle's optics narrow slightly and he responds immediately with a petulant, "...I /just/ transported a shipment there seven cycles ago!"

Blast Off then remembers there was more to the Jeep's greeting. "...I was just showing her around, familiarizing her with the sights and the customs of this planet. She has to go for her... assessment soon. She needs to be cognizant of the dangers."

Swindle laughs nervously at Starchamber's greeting. "Uh, heh heh, yeah, funny thing about that," he says, "Nice to bump see you, too." He then regards Blast Off's requisite recalcitrant sigh. He knows that sigh! It happens every time Swindle asks Blast Off for a favor. Oh well, he'll probably end up having to grease Blast Off's servos with high grade enerwine, as usual. "Oh," he deadpans, at mentions of assessment. "Gotta go through that, eh? Yeah, there's some suspicious things that go down at assessment centers. Bunch of fly-by-night operations." And that's saying something, coming from a mech like Swindle!

"I see that we have our arms merchant here; excellent. We'll have need of his ... acquisitions, once the war starts," Starchamber announces with a nod of her head. She turns right back around and continues to walk towards the assessment center. "So what sort of dangers can I expect to find in this "functionist center"? Armed guards? Restraints? More of this insidious thought warfare I have heard so much about?"

Swindle might be surprised what would happen should he offer Blast Off wine. Normally, that would be something hard to resist for the elite shuttleformer. But not now, not after certain traumas he endured in prison recently. It's... a long story. But he does nod to Swindle's assessment of the assessment clinics. "Indeed. This is some run by the government, after all."

He turns to give Starchamber a somber look, and his words grow only more bitter as they string along. "Are you aware of empurata? Shadowplay? "Reconditoning"? Or..." There's a pause, as if the words are especially distasteful to him, "Spark extraction." He knows it all too well, as it was the torment he endured- Swindle endured- ALL the Combaticons who were on Cybertron endured for so long. The thing that almost happened to him /again/ during that recent time back in prison. Subconsiously, his hand drifts up to clutch at his chest.

"Uh yeah, what Blast Off said," Swindle says with distaste. He doesn't recall his own experience very fondly, either. When it was all said and done with he had to drown his trauma in enerbooze for three days straight. Not that Swindle is much of a binge drinker, but that was a special case.

"Empurata and spark extraction have been around for many millions of years," Starchamber brushes off. "This thought warfare though, yes.... that's different. Well, I suppose it's not -terribly- different, torture was standard procedure among the PsyOps Division on Combatron; we used it to break the subject's will and hold on reality and then recondition them to our aims. I suppose they've just found a more direct, less physical way of accomplishing the same ends."

"Yes," Blast Off confirms. "It's insiduous. It's hidden. Vortex employs torture techniques... but they are at least.... well, quite direct. The government is not. They sneak people off to these... Institutes or something, and alter their very minds- then put them back out on the street. They SEEM to be the same. Except their thoughts are no longer their own. Their beliefs have often been switched... but again, it's so very hard to tell unless you really know them." His optics- and his mood- dims at the thought. "The enemy I mentioned earlier...he is one of those "mental alterations". One of... a couple I know of."

All of this makes the shuttle bristle and his pace quicken, his mood getting even more dark. "This is what is so.... wrong about this Senate, this system. It removes all choice... even the choice to \*think for yourself\*. They want a nation of turbo-sheep."

Swindle nods. "Yeah, I have to wonder if Vortex got any ideas from that kind of treatment," Swindle remarks, then turns to Blast Off. "Should we go in there with blasters blazing if it starts to go horribly wrong in there?"

Starchamber places her hands on her hips, looking at the building as if it were some fortress she alone would have to seige. The idea brings a wide, somewhat unhinged grin to her face. Ah, the smell of war, the thought of going in there dropping nucleon charges and watching it smolder radioactive flames - what more could anyone ask for?

"No." Well, apparently one could ask for something else today. "If they attempt anything untoward, I will simply teach them their place and demonstrate the power and efficiency of a trained Combatronian soldier."

His colors are easy to spot as he approaches flames-first in his alt mode. As Hot Rod gets close enough for normal conversation to carry, he transforms with the ease of a stretch as he finds feet. "Need to talk about my next order. Blast Off," follows as an easy greeting while Starchamber gets an interested glance. "Hey." What, should he not be barging in? Pfft.

Swindle gives Hot Rod a lopsided grin. "Well, if it isn't my best customer!" he remarks pleasantly. Hot Rod may or may not be his best customer, but it never hurts to butter up the mark. "Yeah, what did you want to discuss about the order?" he wonders.

Blast Off looks to Swindle and considers this, and his mood grows colder still. "...If they do anything uncouth and Starchamber requires our assistance... then yes. I will not stand by while this mockery of a government carts off another of our number for... spark extraction." He turns to give Starchamber a lifted optic ridge. "Yes... but what if they take you by surprise? What if they trick you, and you require assistance?" He should know.... he thought he could handle anything, then got himself trapped underground with no radio contact and no help. "Sometimes even a Combaticon needs the help of her teammates."

The shuttleformer stops to appraise the newcomer. Hmm. Hot Rod. Blast off's opinion of the flame-bedecked mech actually improved a little after their last visit. "Hot Rod. I DID just transport something to Nyon not seven cycles ago..." He doesn't particualrly like getting saddled with \*transport\* chores.

Starchamber, amazonibot (according to Octane), places her hands on her hips and looks down at Hot Rod. She quickly assesses him for his potential combat proficiency. The flames on his chest add 0.5% to his potential - anyone bold enough to announce their presence in bright colors has a slight psychological advantage. Or a massive ego. The two are not mutually exclusive.

"Swindle. Blast Off. Who is this mech and how does he know you?" she asks, as if she some how has the right to give them both orders.

"Yeah, well, funny thing about that is it isn't like shortages are exactly /stopping/," says Hot Rod to Blast Off. "There's always more somethings." He hitches a shoulder in a shrug, rolling his spoiler back as he settles on his heels. He's easily buttered -- the perfect mark -- and warms under Swindle's attention. That's right. He's the /best/. (What was that about a massive ego?)

"Actually, just hit another shortage. Not me. Clinic in Nyon, their contract with their supplier got cut. Going to Iacon instead." He rolls his eyes. Of /course/ business is going to fancy-pants Iacon and not the projects out in Nyon, right? "I told them I'd see what I could do, that I knew a guy. I've got a list."

With a datapad offered to Swindle, Hot Rod gives Starchamber a grin. He seems remarkably unbothered by being outmassed. "We do business. Name's Hot Rod."

Swindle peruses the list, nodding as he scans each item. "Yup. Yup. Yup. Should be no problem," he says to Hot Rod, "My usual rates apply, of course."

Blast Off looks up at Starchamber. "Business. He's why I..." Optic dim again, "Transport cargo to Nyon from time to time." NOT worthy of a mighty space warrior, I tell you! Hot Rod says the same, and Blast Off focuses back on him. "I am not surprised. Iacon- the Autobots- take everything for themselves, and seem to desire leaving nothing for anyone else. They send spies, they arrest innocents, they manipulate, steal, and alter minds... and then they call US the criminals." It's a recurring sore spot with the shuttle.

"Then it's time War was declared!" Starchambers announces. Loudly. Without fear. "If the motherworld's government is as corrupt as Nova Prime was, we do what is necessary for the good of the civilian population - We set plans, round up the oppressive leadership and execute them in the public square!" Yes, shouting all this is a perfectly good idea!

Hot Rod's warmth catches into bright enthusiasm. "You can? Awesome. Knew it. Knew you could do it." He is delighted to pay through the nose, but considering that these are items otherwise unavailable -- what are you gonna do, eh? (He's the easiest mark to ever mark.) He glances between Blast Off and Starchamber. He seems amused by the enthusiasm she displays, and somewhat surprised by the determination /he/ displays. "You've sure gotten revved up about this lately." Considering Blast Off a moment, Hot Rod says, "Good."

Swindle nods at Hot Rod. "Somebody's gotta do something. I mean sure, it's profitable for me that I can smuggle things to people because the Senate is being a dirty oil filter, but more people would have more credits to spend if they weren't."

Ok, Starchamber... that's not actually a great idea. Blast Off winces ever so slightly as the Combaticon femme pronounces the beginning of war. A finger comes up, then pauses, as he thinks exactly how to put this. "Starchamber... that would be best left un.../shouted/. Especially right next to the government building. I..." Well, hmm, does he appreciate the sentiment? Probably, but the lingering thoughts of what happened to their homeworld won't entirely go away. "If it comes to that, we need the element of surprise, if nothing else. Surely a good soldier seeks that, right?"

Blast Off then finds himself staring at Hot Rod. Did he mishear something? "Good? I beg your pardon? What is GOOD about any of that? You fight against it, too, do you not? You have had friends taken from you too, have you not? What the slag is GOOD about that?"

The triplechanger combaticon listens to the exchange. If she had an eyebrow to raise at Blast Off's comment about what a good soldier does, but she cannot disagree. Yes, sometimes she can be too enthusiasic... better to wait for more tactical information before she simply begins shooting down buildings. Not that any of these soft, crude structures or their inhabitants will provide any kind of fight for her. She's a COMBATICON, that means nothing can defeat her. NOTHING!!

"Very well." She looks back to the speeder again. "I take it you are a resistance soldier?" she asks Hot Rod more quietly. Fiiiine, we'll be CIVILIAN for awhile and worry about being seen and heard. Hmph.

"Yeah. It's a mess. I knew a guy who tried to step in and help out with another place only to get arrested. Who cares if he stole the stuff, it's not like they don't have too much of /everything/ in Iacon," Hot Rod says. MODEL CITIZEN. Right here.

Glancing at Blast Off, Hot Rod's smile flashes a little sharper, a little hotter. "Ha, no. Nothing about /that/ is good. I'm just glad you're mad about it, mech. Instead of only caring about it as far as it's unfair to you as a ~shuttle~." It takes some very careful adjustment of tone to be sure to convey the ~ in the right fashion, but -- man! He works for it. Glancing at Starchamber, he tilts his head to the side. "Eh, depends on who you ask. More or less, I guess. Maybe less with the soldier bit, though. Not so much with the whole chain of command thing. Or ... discipline." Or order.

Swindle watches this exchange with interest, slightly bemused at Starchamber suddenly realizing with Blast Off's coaxing that she probably should tone it down a few octaves. "Yeah, we better keep all this on the downlow, for all our sakes," Swindle says.

Blast Off is a Combaticon too, and he carries that same Combaticon pride. And no one will ever say that Blast Off's pride is a small thing. No chance at that at /all/. However, life has had a knack of knocking that pride down again and again and again lately, so perhaps it's knocked just a \*smidgen\* more of caution in the already wary mech. The (~)shuttle(~) turns once more to Hot Rod, blinking. "Well... I..." He draws in a heavy cycle of vents. "I mean, I have every reason to be quite... miffed. But, well..." He looks around him, "I am stuck HERE. Among rust-coated miners and femmes a step above empty. So..." He shrugs, still managing to look aloof about it all, "I realize something is wrong." That's probably about as passionate as you're going to get from him. Unlike Starchamber. "He is a... leader, of sorts. Believe it or not, he might have some sort of head on his shoulders." Non-commital gaze. "Maybe." (Again with the PASSION.) Swindle gets a nod. "I am sure you know all about how important it is ... present the proper appearances."

Blast Off is a Combaticon too, and he carries that same Combaticon pride. And no one will ever say that Blast Off's pride is a small thing. No chance at that at /all/. However, life has had a knack of knocking that pride down again and again and again lately, so perhaps it's knocked just a \*smidgen\* more of caution in the already wary mech.

The (~)shuttle(~) turns once more to Hot Rod, blinking. "Well... I..." He draws in a heavy cycle of vents. "I mean, I have every reason to be quite... miffed. But, well..." He looks around him, "I am stuck HERE. Among rust-coated miners and femmes a step above empty. So..." He shrugs, still managing to look aloof about it all, "I realize something is wrong." That's probably about as passionate as you're going to get from him. Unlike Starchamber.

"He is a... leader, of sorts. Believe it or not, he might have some sort of head on his shoulders." Non-commital gaze. "Maybe." (Again with the PASSION.) Swindle gets a nod. "I am sure you know all about how important it is ... present the proper appearances."

Starchamber is noticing Blast Off's (in her own mind) unnecessary wheedling and stammering. The commentary about 'femmes a step above empty' gets her notice immediately because Kaon is her forward base and thus she would be a femme from this area. For now. She places her hands on her hips, the gun sight kibble of her altmode, attached to her forearm as twin cannons, glow a little inside the barrels - the safeties are off in her state of irritation. Standing above the rest of them, the silver-white and black femme asks Blast Off pointedly, "Are you saying I'm only a step above empty?" Let's see if he squirms.

With a derisive snort (she's too aggressive to huff), she then refocuses on the little speeder mech, smiling more pleasantly. He's adorable in this green recruit sort of way. "If you're buying anything of Swindle's you'd better know how to use it. Especially if you intend to turn it on those who most deserve it. You seem a fine potential soldier - would you care for some basic training?" she asks.

Hot Rod looks /annoyed/. He might not look as lethally annoyed as Starchamber, but she's a special kind of girl. "Come on, Blast Off. You're doing it again." He's ~shuttling~. "Look around you. Empty's a label without meaning. You ought to know who's responsible for the rust by now. It's not them! It's the people denying them reasonable wages!"

Distracted from minor acts of insurrection by Starchamber, Hot Rod offers her a distracted smile. He's still keeping an eye on Blast Off!! ~Shuttling~! "Yeah, I'm working on that. It's not just that I need to know how to use it, but have to teach a whole lot of other people who to. Sure, I'd take the training."

Swindle tries to defuse Starchamber. "Oh not at all," he says, syrupy sweet, "You know Blast Off wouldn't think that way about one of his comrades." Well maybe he might, but this is Swindle here, doing his best to charm Starchamber out of violently disassembling Blast Off, or whatever else it is she'd do if Blast Off gave the wrong answer to the empty question.

Blast Off suddenly finds that there is a twin cannon humming to life and an angry femme glaring down at him. The shuttleformer blinks first in surprise, tensing up and bracing for battle- potentially. Starchamber's not the only one with military training fused into their wiring, despite all of Blast Off's hemming and hawing otherwise. And yet then he blinks in... annoyance, straightening up a bit to look defiantly up at her. She's a Combaticon, he's a Combaticon.... and he works with the likes of Brawl. Somewhere, somehow, this seems very familiar. And he just stares for a long while like that, until finally: "...No." HUFFFF, because that's what Blast Off does. That and shuttling. "Of /course not/. You're a Combaticon, you don't belong in the gutters or rust anymore than /I/ do."

He breaks his stare to glare at Hot Rod. "And I know THAT, too," He says, bouncing effortlessly from smug superiority back to the people's mech... or something like that, maybe. "I said these people are empties, I didn't say that that was /right/. I didn't ever say it was there fault. They've been denied choice, and I believe /choice/ is the prime need of any mech- or femme." Optics narrow and dim. "Speaking of choice, and losing choice... speaking of femmes scrabbling from an "empty" status.... Shiftlock was just such an individual. Do you think I was looking down at her?"

He then turns to Swindle. "Exactly." Now his prim, proper, huffy demeanor has returned. (He's complicated, Ok?) "Combaticons stick together. It's always been us against the world." And Swindle would surely never betray them, you know, sell his teammates off for spare parts in another universe or something? Oh no, surely not!

That is what she wanted to hear. Starchamber nods to Blast Off and resumes smiling. Better. Yet, let's keep that fire in your tanks burning, Blast Off. It'll do your tattered confidence good. To Hot Rod she says, "Excellent. How are you with rifles?"

"I think you talk like you look down at people," Hot Rod says, but he simmers down a little. "Sometimes." After a slight pause, and despite the fact that Swindle and Starchamber have nooooo idea who they are talking about, he says, "You don't think she'd ever /choose/ what happened, do you?" It's so rude, him asking Blast off about a femme the others don't know. Given that he started the conversation by barging in on them, however, who can really expect /manners/?

Getting off to a good start impressing Starchamber with his combat prowess, Hot Rod says, "Rifles like...?" Presumably he knows they are guns, at least.

"Hey, if anybody knows rifles, /I/ know rifles," Swindle says, "I've got more than a few to sell." He doesn't know that he doesn't know what he's talking about regarding empty femmes, but then, how could he?

Actually, Blast Off DOES look down on people. Not just literally as a space shuttle, either, though that seems to make it come even easier to him. At least sometimes. Though living in Kaon and meeting the poeple he's met has softened /some/ of his high caste prejudice. He gives Hot Rod a sideways askew sort of look through his optics, but he doesn't argue with him.

That changes at Hot Rod's question, though. The shuttleformer bristles and turns to fully face the racer, crossing his arms. "I KNOW she didn't. Or, well..." His head tilts, almost daring Hot Rod to challenge him now. "She was niave enough that she could easily be LED to a choice that was ... no /sort of choice/ one should ever make at all. I should know.... I witnessed it firsthand myself. I /led her there myself/. I should tell you about that sometime."

"Here, catch!"

Starchamber doesn't even wait for Hot Rod to be ready; she jumps up and as she does, she folds and starts to shrink down as she reconfigures into a massive sniper rifle. Her full length is probably as tall as Hot Rod and it's a fair bet she packs a considerable punch when that trigger is pulled. "How about this kind?"

"What do you mean you /led her there/?" asks Hot Rod in a quick flash of anger. What's that? Blast Off is setting himself up as someone to blame? DO GO O--n ok never mind there's a femme throwing herself at him. (That's totally what's happening, right? Shh. SHHH.)

Catching Starchamber with only a minimal fumble, Hot Rod proves his reflexes quick enough, if not necessarily, you know, /Combaticon/ level. He lacks their native ease in his response to suddenly having a gun in his arms. "Nicer kind than I've ever held. No offense, Swindle," he says with a quick grin.

Swindle shuffles his feet, like a kid kicking the ground. "I wish I could sell transforming weapons," he says.

Blast Off can't help but stop everything and watch Starchamber transform. There's just something about a fine weapon- who's also a femme- and also a Combaticon!- that does a sniper's spark good. In fact, he's possibly a little jealous, and his hand twtches just a little as if imagining that gun leaping into HIS arms. This admiration is interrupted by Hot Rod's remarks, and he huffs again. "Not THERE! Not ... not /what happened/, it was... something ELSE!" Yes, that sounds so much better.

Swindle if Blast Off is jealous about a transforming weapon falling into Hot Rod's hands, Swindle is twice as jealous! If he could be drooling right now, he would be.

If Blast Off is jealous about a transforming weapon falling into Hot Rod's hands, Swindle is twice as jealous! If he could be drooling right now, he would be.

Perhaps this is a really bad time to give a weapon lesson, what with the fact that Hot Rod and Blast Off are arguing, but Starchamber plows along, heedless to the less important chatter about some person being kidnapped or something. Hmmph. If Hot Rod wants to get whomever it is back, he'll need to be able to do some good old fashioned /killing/.

"Very good!" she praises. "Now, raise me up; put your shooting hand on my trigger, your other hand on my grip. Put my butt against your shoulder; I'm told I have a kick and you'll want to absorb that. Go ahead and look through my sight, pick a target."

All of that would sound REALLY WEIRD if she weren't also a gun.

"Yeah, why /don't/ you tell me about that sometime," Hot Rod agrees. Suspicion lingers in his gaze as he glances at Blast Off. But in the meantime, he has a very nice gun in his hands and he better pay it the attention she is due.

Proving that he is not entirely incapable of following simple directions as long as they are /sensible/ -- read: something he wants to do -- Hot Rod shifts his grip. Trigger, grip, butt to shoulder: all of those good things. For all that he's relatively inexperienced with weaponry, little of that shows in the confidence of his handling. He can do this. He can SO do this! "How far can you shoot?" he asks as he sights along the high edges of the buildings for a convenient target.

Who is most jealous is debatable, though Blast Off and Swindle are probably jealous for different reasons. As Starchamber rattles on with all the gun jargon, the sniper's fingers twitch. But he leans back and lets Hot Rod have his moment of glory there. Bugger that he is. And speaking of which, Rod's suspicious look isn't unnoticed, leaving the shuttle to sputter a little at him like \*Wuuuut, what'd \*I\* do\*???. I mean REALLY.

He watches Rod try to pass himself off as an experienced gunsmech, and AS an experienced gunsmech, Blast Off isn't buying it! He finally takes a step forward, reaching out a hand. "No, no, no. You're doing it all wrong, Hot Rod! The butt needs to press more FIRMLY on your shoulder- really snug it tightly in there, otherwise she's right, she'll knock you right off your feet!"

"Twenty kliks." The gun projects the sound from somewhere inside it, vibrating the air at microamplitudes to fashion the necessary sound. Its louder in Hot Rod's hands, the vibrational speaking rattling the message into his hands, up his arms, into his sensors. With physical contact Starchamber could whisper instructions to her holder only, the sound too faint for all but the best sensor systems to pick up on.

"He's absolutely correct," she adds to Blast Off's comment. "I'm a fusion rifle. I can punch a hole in battleship armor at two kliks. My trigger breaks like glass, so there is no concern that I will go off before it's fully pressed. There will be a resistance to the trigger the more you pull back with your finger - line up the crosshairs in my sight at your target, and then press until you feel it finally give."

Even Swindle knows Roddy is 'doing it wrong' but lets Blast Off take the initiative to correcting Hot Rod's grip and stance. "I'd sure like to try a few shots," he says wistfully.

Hot Rod pulls Starchamber closer, but it's less like he's listening to Blast Off and more like he's not going to let anyone steal her. HIS MOMENT. It all works out the same in the end: he pulls her butt close against his shoulder, tucked hard against the warm metal. "Can't be that big a kick," he says, and in doing so dooms himself to landing on his aft in the next five minutes.

"Cool. I'll keep you in mind if I've ever got a battleship on my tail." In the meantime, Hot Rod just sights a little farther down the street. Where once some bit of decoration signaled the wealth of healthy industry, the roof's adornments have fallen into disrepair. If he makes the shot -- and let's face it, it's an if -- it's not going to make anyone cry. And if he misses, well. He's not hitting anything but a sky spy but that'd make all of this lot pretty happy, now, wouldn't it? He draws his finger over the trigger a moment before settling on it as sure target, then squeezes. He doesn't tease. He just makes the shot.

Blast Off just watches all this and is torn between acting aloof and wanting to hover, fingers twitching enviously, all around and totally get in Hot Rod's way and STEAL his THUNDER. Yes, he'd go there. Especially after Rod gave him THAT LOOK. But the sniper also knows to be cautious around fusion rifles, and distracting people who are holding them TOO much can sometimes be a bad idea. So... he stays far enough away that Hot Rod can take his shot.

Starchamber's internal engines spin up, pulling the power of solar fusion out of that internal energy chamber, where it's wrapped in a degrading magnetic field - a fusion bullet - and she's fired. She kicks an angry mule, discharging with almost total silence. There's the faintest muzzle flash before the target some distance away is struck with a loud thunderclap of roaring air. The sign is -devoured- in a micro fusion reaction that heats up, sucking air towards it; seconds later it sends out a shockwave of explosive force.

Swindle looks in admiration at the weapon firing, transfixed as if gazing upon a thing of pure beauty. Mechs alive, he wants to be able to sell a gun like that!

Hot Rod underestimated the kick. /Of course he did/. He's knocked back by it with a twist of his shoulder and a muted hiss. He doesn't quite get knocked over, but ... well, he's a lot closer to it than he might want. "/Nice/!" he crows with delight as he watches the far-away target go up in smoke. "Scrap, you're winning me over to rifles."

Blast Off just sighs and shakes his head. "Amateur."

"Very good for a first shot!" Starchamber praises. "Now, imagine doing that to the head of some pompous overblown Senator from a distance so far away even a jet could not catch you before you escaped. -That- is why rifles such as myself exist. Clean, quick, precise kills. -Efficiency-."

"Mmm." Hot Rod could stand to sound a whole lot more excited about the idea of blowing a Senator's head off considering all the running around he does talking about how terrible they are. "That was pretty cool," he agrees. He gives Blast Off a hot look and asks, "Like you're so much better?" (He is.)

Blast Off can't argue with that, for once. No, when the femme starts talking gunspeak the sniper is on the same page. "Indeed." And what is this, Hot Rod is giving him LOOKS again? The shuttle glares back, then steps forward again to try and see if he can hols Starchamber... er, the gun.

Starchamber is passed around like a doobie and she doesn't even -mind-.

Hot Rod passes her off with a pat -- good gun ... no, great gun! -- and then folds his arms over his chest. "Okay, impress me."

Blast Off can't help but smirk. FINALLY. He may have a bazillion hangups about femmes right now due to all that PTSD he managed to pick up, and yet handling a rifle will never seem wrong to the sniper. Well, hopefully. His own black hands grasp Starchamber's, well, chamber and easily nestle the butt of the rifle into the crook of his arm, almost cradling her. "Tsk. I WILL impress you. I'm the best sniper this side of Cybertron. I /know/ how to handle my weaponry..." He seems to give Hot Rod a smirk there, too.

Of course, shooting a fusion rifle in the middle of the street next to an assessment clinic isn't exactly going to go unnoticed. Two big, burly mechs- guards- come striding out of the clinic. Jaws set, fists clenched, they approach the quartet. "Just what do you think you're doing here?"

Swindle practically jumps up and down like an impatient kid awaiting his turn at Nintendo. "I wanna try! I wanna try!"

"Nothing," Hot Rod says in that particularly punkish kind of way. Nuthin. THEY WEREN'T DOIN' NUTHIN. He directs the fold of his arms toward the guards, but his gaze lingers on Blast Off and Starchamber. He answers the smirk with a challenging grin. "Still waiting."

Oh no, Swindle, Blast Off has her now and he's not letting her go! Mwahahaha!-wait. Who the slag are THESE guys? The shuttleformer stares as the Guards come tromping up. He tenses, already not liking these mechs because, y'know, \*authority\*. Then he just stops to \*stare\* at Starchamber. Gun form or no. << ...What??!! Are you kidding? You're here to be assessed, not KILL the assessors. Not YET, at least. Though if they try anything, then.... yes, go ahead. I don't think this counts yet, though. >> C'mon, Star, we are /civilized/ out here.

Now why does Blast off suddenly feel like the /sensible, reasonable/ one here? "Wait some MORE THEN," he mutters to Hot Rod. "What, you expect me to shoot NOW? We're here for business."

The Guards both frown, one coming closer to Starchamber. "Is that thing LEGAL? You have any registration papers for a weapon like that? You have permission to be firing that thing?" He leans in closer to inspect the rifle, reaching out to grab it as Blast Off starts leaning away.

The other mech stares at Hot Rod. "....You look suspicious. Anyone with flames THAT loud is just CRYIN' for attention... and those sorts are usually TROUBLE." Then he looks over at Swindle. "Wait... you look even MORE suspicious. Don't I know you from somewhere?" He narrows his optics, trying to place the conmech.

Swindle tries to look as not-nervous and as pokerfacey as possible. "Uh, who me? Naw, probably a case of mistaken identity. I had a lot of clones made of me, all sorts of them running around out here, heh heh heh."

"EXCUSE ME," the gun says very loudly to the two 'gentlemen' in question. "He does NOT need papers to hold me in altmode THANK YOU VERY MUCH, you -glorified door guardians-!"

"I dunno, sounds like you're /looking/ for trouble," Hot Rod counters. "What kind of mech would I be if I didn't help you find it?" Enjoy that sensible, reasonable feeling, Blast Off. He and Starchamber are clearly here to make sure he gets all of it he wants.

Hot Rod spreads his hands wide in a gesture of helpless generosity. "Telling me I should change my form? Saying someone shouldn't follow their function? Gotta admit, not the message I'd expect from you guys." Clearly he was born with it, you see. Definitely not Maybelline.

The Guard continues to peer at Swindle,stroking his chin plates as he studies the yellow and purple mech. "...You SURE 'bout that? My buddy had some dealings with a guy... a guy who matches YOUR description dead on... said he got RIPPED OFF." Leeean in. "You sure you don't know nothin' 'bout that?"

The Guard that was reaching for Starchamber jerks back suddenly as she /speaks/. "What the- Oh slag, it's one of THOSE." He frowns, but stops trying to grab her out of Blast Off's hands. "Glorified DOOR GUAR- Hey, I AM a door gaurdian! And a slaggin' good one! Now you here for a reason, or just to stir and shoot stuff up?"

The first Guard then stares at Hot Rod. His optics narrow and he takes a step forward. Fist comes into contact with fist. "...You saying you gotta problem with the way we run things? I know there's a lot of riffraff here n the streets of Kaon, but we got some ORDER to keep around here. So straighten up or GET OUT."

Blast Off is indeed feeling quite so very reasonable, but no, Hot Rod, he's not enjoying it. He glowers a bit, taking a step back. "This is NOT a good way to start your assessment, Starchamber..."

"No, not a thing," Swindle says, with a completely straight face, then makes a mental note to repaint himself a shade of green instead of yellow.

Starchamber jostles out of Blast Off's hands and flies up, transforming and growing MUCH larger in size. She glowers at the self-identified Door Guard. "I AM HERE FOR SOMETHING CALLED AN ASSESSMENT AS YOUR CHIEF OF SECURITY INSISTED THAT I BE GIVEN ONE! I WILL SAVE YOU THE TROUBLE OF THIS NEEDLESS PROCEEDURE BY INFORMIING YOU THAT I AM A MEMBER OF THE GLORIOUS COMBATRONIAN PEOPLE'S ARMY, TWENTY-SECOND ORBITAL DIVISION, SERGEANT MAJOR STARCHAMBER, A PROFESSIONAL AND PROVEN SOLDIER AND COMBAT VETERAN, /SIR/."

"All I'm saying--" is immediately drowned out by Starchamber. Hot Rod twists to watch as she unleashes a lot of very loud and very empathic words at the door guard. He glances at Blast Off and tilts his head. He neither says nor radios it, but his 'Is she usuall like this?' might as well have been.

Blast Off lets Starchamber leap away, watching as she transforms again. It's still something to marvel at, really, and despite all his hangups he will allow himself that little pleasure. She's so... BIG, though. He still has to get used to that. of course, it must be disconcerting for others to watch him transform from root mode to a HUGE shuttle.

The First Guard hrrmmms a bit longer at Swindle. "Well, you better not be the guy, then..." before looking at Hot Rod. But Starchamber's response seems to have quieted things down. Now both guards are focused on the femme. Guard Two/Door Guard puts hands on hips. "Izzat so? What, you just dropped outta the sky or something? How the smelt does a soldier not have an..." He groans. "Whatever. If you're here for an assessment the door is THATAWAY." He points. "SOLDIER. Don't let it hit ya on the way in. And no firing off weaponry inside, unless you're told to. This is an ASSESSMENT CLINIC- your whole life is gonna be shaped by what happens here today. "

Blast Off catches Hot Rod's look, and leans off to the right to get a clearer field of view. Upon which time he ALSO tilts his head, makes the tiniest shrug, and lifts his optic ridges in a look that answers, \*yes, pretty much as far as I can tell\*.

"FINE," Starchamber hmphs, walking inside. Talk to the hand, door guard, because the soldier ain't listening. "My whole life is already shaped. This is yet another passport I apparently have to earn," she gruffs, before going inside.

Hot Rod shrugs back. 'Okay, I guess that's what you get with soldiers.' With the whole thing turning to the business of actual assessment, he backs up Swindle with a, "Nah, he's totally not that guy." He calls after Starchamber, "Have fun with your assessment!" He sounds sarcastic. A little. In a low caste nobody kind of way. Assessments. WHATEVER.

Swindle internally phews as the guards buy the story. When they leave he says to Blast Off, "That was a close one. Remind me to change my paint job on the regular. Gotta keep ahead of the fuzz."

With that trouble cleared up, the Guards head back to their posts- though not without giving both Swindle and Hot Rod another /hrrrmmmm/ look. Blast Off watches them go, the /sensible one of the bunch here apparently, because he doesn't get any glares/. Ha. Starchamber heads through the door, and Blast Off will not follow. Though should she radio for help or soemthing he will, of course, be right there. Combaticons stick together, after all. Even if he's still a little.... /unsure/ about THAT one.

The shuttleformer relaxes slightly, shifting back to look at Hot Rod. "Yes, well... soldiers are like that. I should know, I am one. I'm from Combatron- it's..." he blinks at the past/present slip, then continues a little more quietly, "It /was/.... a planet full of soldiers /just like her/." He doesn't sound like he knows if that was a good thing or NOT. Then again a "civilized" space shuttle might not always mesh with the likes of Brawl and Starchamber. He shakes his head.

Swindle gets a glance, too, and he replies, "Yes... I would imagine. But paint is so... /expensive/."

"Well, she seems fun." And this, of course, is the highest praise Hot Rod can give. "I should get going. I really just swung by to settle things with Swindle. Stay out of their hands, huh? Hate to have to go find a whole new supplier for things. And Blast Off -- sometime soon, tell me what you were talking about, huh?" He points. He hasn't forgotten. And yes, he still seems to suspect that Blast Off was somehow up to something.

Blast Off lifts up his optic ridges. Fun. That's... one way of putting it. Part of him can identify with that, and part of him just... isn't so sure. I mean... look what happened to their planet! KABLOOEY. \*sigh\* "I... suppose." Hot Rod's request gives the shuttle pause, and those optic ridges furrow down now instead. He gives the racer a sideways glance that may or may not help make him look more- or less- guilty there. Then again, it may just be a certain moodiness that's hit thanks to the subject. "...Yes."

Swindle mutters, "I wanted to have some fun, too."

Hot Rod's gaze narrows at that sort-of-guilt. Mental note: SOOONER rather than LATER. He gives them both a nod, a, "Later," and then slips into his alt mode to zoom off. Fun is where you find it, and for now, he finds it in racing off.

Swindle watches everybody else storm or shuffle off, and looks to Blast Off. "Wanna go grab some rations?"

Blast Off watches Hot Rod race off, then turns to Swindle. "...If you're buying." Hey, he's transport, he /needs fuel/ to run properly, right?

Swindle grins. "Of course I'm buying," he says. He has to keep Blast Off happy enough to be packhorsemech, doesn't he?

Blast Off would grumble at that thought, but the spoken words are more agreeable. "Alright then." The shuttleformer heads off with Swindle to find a drink.