Old Times' Sake

++ Command Facilities <Decagon> ++

At the top of the Decagon are the command facilities, a series of security stations, war rooms, communication centers, debriefing facilities and exterior weapon control nodes. The topmost "ring" hallway and the floor just below it, the area has a clear view of the sky from the ironglass dome in the ceiling of the base. With just a guard wall rising to mid-height on  mechs on the left, the view of the interior Grand Hall is almost bird's eye. To the left are guarded bulkhead doors to the various command   centers.  Security is tight, with triorian guards posted at the entrances,  exits and elevators, as this is where the most sensitive data and highest military and security officers on the planet work. Opulent quarters for  them are set up just below. Here the cladding of the walls, floors and ceiling are silvers, golds and blues, reflecting the colors of government  and of the Primes.

It's been a while since Prowl and Tumbler have talked. But it's not because there's any kind of vendetta going on or anything like that. It should have been expected, what with Prowl being chief of security and Tumbler off to the Institute to work under Trepan. And the fact that Prowl isn't exactly the type to call up old friends just to say 'hello'.

Still, it's not that he isn't keeping tabs on everyone. Of course he is. He always does. That's the reason why he's called Tumbler--or is he called Chromedome now--here, to his office at the Decagon.

Chromedome is certainly not the kind of fellow to hold grudges over silences, being far from the most social mech in turn. Whatever he's been doing in the Institute, he's been doing it deep, almost off-the-grid deep. But only almost. Tumbler, now Chromedome with alt-exceptions and fevered dreams, makes his way to the Decagon and Prowl's office prompt. He's through the doors. His salute is casual, a press of segemented fingers against the side of his head. "You called for me. Prowl. Here I am."

Prowl nods to his old partner, looking up from his work. "Tumbler." he greets. "Or is it Chromedome, now?" The doors slide shut behind him once he's through, to ensure the privacy of the conversation. "I see you've been busy. Hn." He pauses briefly, glancing at something on his workstation display. "So, mnemosurgery, hm? Interesting choice. But very practical, I commend your pursuit of it."

"For you, I can go by Tumbler. Old time's sake." Chromedome's masked face reveals nothing, but his voice is friendly, his posture relaxed. Even when the door shuts. For privacy, of course. He eases further into the office. "I thought we could keep close eye on the Institue and improve our own capabilities at the same time. Glad you see the practicality."

"Yes, of course." Prowl agrees, gesturing toward a seat in front of his desk for Chromedome to take if he wishes. "It's a very useful skill, which brings me to the reason I've asked you here." The officer was never one to make much small talk, if any at all. For Tumbler he allows some, perhaps also for old times' sake, but time is of the essence. "I'm certain you heard about the Animatronian envoy that arrived here just a few cycles ago. Scorn, the self-proclaimed 'Queen' of Animatron, is allegedly searching for Cheetor, whom she claims is the prince." He shuffles through some data, and sends the relevant files regarding Scorn and her cronies over to Chromedome. "At least that's what they told us. Sentinel Prime doesn't trust them; he wants us to keep an optic on her. We've told her that we would be sending our best-suited investigators to assist her in her search--and I believe -you- fit that description."

Chromedome takes his seat, his fingers steepled across his core. He listens, with the off small inclination of his head to indicate his attention. When Prowl is finished, data sent, Chromedome makes a near-chuckle. Little note of understanding. "Of course. You attach me to Scorn to help her find Cheetor. In truth, I get close enough to see through her cover story. May not even need to get creative with the surgery."

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Prowl shrugs. Heh. Tumbler knows him well. A compartment in the wall behind him opens, and he pulls out a case to hand to Chromedome. If opened, Chromedome will find some equipment. Tiny round self-adhering tracking devices, as well as stun grenades. "But yes, precisely. I want you to assist them in their search. However the most important aspect of this mission to keep a close optic on them. Make sure they don't cause any trouble or find out about anything they shouldn't. And if they do, well, I'm sure it'll be good practice, right?" He gestures toward the equipment. "She does have large bodyguards, but those grenades should do the trick."

Chromedome does open the case, cracks it just enough for him to survey the interior. "Imagine," he says. "Field practice on an Animatronian." He probably shouldn't sound the least bit excited. He does sound the least bit excited. "Only if necessary, of course." He shuts the case. "I don't think they're anything we can't handle."

"Oh you might be surprised." Prowl replies, raising any optic bridge at Tumbler. "Never underestimate the enemy, or even a -potential- enemy." he cautions his old friend. "If you're always prepared for the worst, the least ideal situation will never seem all that bad. Of course, ideally, you would catch them while they are recharging or otherwise unaware of their surroundings if it came to be necessary. But the grenades are a good failsafe plan, in the case that turns out not to be feasible, or if the alteration cannot wait.

"Additionally, you are to provide me with detailed reports of -all- activity. I want to know where they are and when, who they are interacting with, what is being said, what types of -engex- they prefer."

Chromedome laughs quietly, setting the case across his knee. "Point taken, friend. I'll be careful. And thorough. Besides, memorizing their engex is good practice in and of itself." He raises his shoulder in a lopsided shrug. "That way, if a little alteration becomes necessary, I can be especially accurate. Reconstruct their memories according to their habits."

Prowl allows himself a slight smirk, settling back in his seat a bit. "Heh. I remember why I liked working with you, Tumbler. You know how to apply information in the right places. And that is why I've assigned you to this. Because you're simply the best mech for the job. Although it will be within your own jurisdiction to recruit any of the cadets to assist you in this. I would suggest two, perhaps three."

"Hm." Chromedome raises his head, his eyeplate narrowed thoughtful. "Not a bad idea. Who would you choose, if you were in my place?"

"Who I would choose in your place is not relevant to you." Prowl shakes his head. "Because you are not me. You need to select soldiers who are not only capable of doing what you need them to do but also whom you -know- will work will with you and with each other. And no one knows you better than yourself."

"But of course if you decide that you're better off working alone, that is an option as well."

Chromedome raises his hand. "Of course. I'll do a little vetting, if I have time." He lowers his hand on top of the case, curls his fingers around it. "If not, I'll manage. Was there anything else, Prowl?"

"That will be all." Prowl replies. "Report to the embassy next megacycle to introduce yourself and whatever team you may have assembled to the Animatronians. And please do let me know if you need any additional equipment or resources."

Chromedome raises himself standing, case in hand. He inclines his head, almost a fractional bow. "I'll see it done, Prowl. You'll hear from me one way or the other."