Arrival: Still Just a Rat in a Cage

[Rattrap]

It's dark and noisy as Rattrap comes back online, and to say that worries him is a grand understatement. Things suddenly going dark in the middle of enemy territory is never, ever good.

Carefully, he tests his limbs one at a time. Okay, not bound. That's a plus. Maybe he didn't get ambushed by Tarantulas, after all – and man, he'd never have lived that down. He reactivates his optics… and gets zippo for visual.

"Aw, great. I've died and gone t' the Inferno!" But his voice bounces back to him off the rock walls he can just make out around him. He has his ideas of what the Inferno is like and he'd like to think it doesn't include echoes. "…Orrr not," he says, much more quietly, and pushes himself to his feet. "Arright, so it's just darker'n the Inferno." Underground… can't be under the Pred base. Not enough lava.

A few more judicious whiffs of the thick, very pungent air, and the rails running the middle of the tunnel, tell Rattrap he's in a mine.

"Ooh, a mine. Well, dat's just great," he mutters and looks both ways as far as he can see. "Except for the part where we don't got any mines on dis stupid planet." Okay, Rattrap, that's enough talking to yourself. No idea where you are or who else could be around here and the last thing you need is to get caught who knows where wearing Pred colours.

Unless this is still Pred territory. He isn't exactly sure just yet if he'd rather still be on the Predacons' turf or somewhere unknown, but either way, the radio's too risky. No breaking cover to call for help. Rattrap makes one last sweep of the immediate area, pausing to get a good long look at what he's guessing is a control panel for some machinery somewhere, before starting in the direction he's pretty sure is 'up'. He won't find out much of anything just hanging around down here.

"Beast mode," he hisses mid-stride, and where once walked the Maximals' greatest spy now scurries a large rat. Not that there's much of a difference.

[Ratbat]

Someone was going to pay for this. Slowly. He would drink the fuel from their lines... and have a medic on hand to insure that they remained conscious through the whole procedure, until the very last drop of fuel was drawn into his fangs and they slipped into oblivion.

...As soon as he actually found where any of these people were.

Right now, however, he appeared to be somewhere underground. A mine, perhaps. Already, he had calculated several examples of inefficiency. But most beings were naturally inefficient. It was a cross he had simply learned to bear, largely through sarcasm and threats.

He tested his wings and engines, and found them sound enough to lift him into the air, while he let his optics become fully adjusted to his surroundings. Not much of note... except for a corpse.

An Autobot corpse. He allowed himself a brief thrill at the sight of the a dead member of those idiot fleshling lovers. Badly damaged, yes, but... Yes. Still plenty of fuel in those lines. And his own levels were a bit low...

He swooped down, sinking his fangs into the Autobot's lines and drinking deeply. He hadn't been dead long. Not as good as killing him himself... but still quite satisfying.

Would a radio signal get out of here? Probably not. For the moment, he was on his own...

[Rattrap]

Peachy. Tarantulas has a winged cousin.

Not that Rattrap plans to say that to the big robot bat sucking the mech fluid out of that bigger corpse. He likes his fluid where it is, thank you very much! So, slink past and rely on his mastery of stealth to avoid detection? Sure, and get pounced on from behind, knowing his luck. At least he has a fighting chance in robot mode.

"Rattrap… Maximise!" he commands in as low a whisper as he can, returning to his oh so dashing bipedal form. Photon blaster in hand, just in case, he continues on. Nothing to see here, just your friendly neighbourhood spy being quiet as a mouse….

[Ratbat]

Had he heard something? For just a moment, the Master Fuel Accountant of Cybertron was certain that he had. But he puts the thought aside, finishing his meal with one last sickening gulp.

He makes a face and spits out the last blob. "Bleagh. The Autobots must be reduced to substandard rations these days."

[Rattrap]

Whoa. Wait just a nano-klik. The bat said Autobots. Frowning, Rattrap turns and presses himself closer to the wall for at least some kind of cover – man, what he wouldn't give for a good-sized rock right about now – while he gets another look at the wacky scene.

Yeah, that's a big robot bat. Yeah, that's a corpse. An Autobot corpse? There's no way. There haven't been bona fide Autobots in a long, long time. Maybe the bat's just crazy? Well, okay, that makes the most sense, but in Rattrap's experience, the explanation that actually makes sense is never the explanation he gets. No, 'cause that'd be the easy way.

He shouldn't be curious. He doesn't need to be curious. Curiosity killed way more than the cat. But that's a crazy bat sucking mech fluid out of a corpse that's possibly – probably – an Autobot in a mine he's never seen before and he just. Woke. Up. Why does it always have to be on the wrong side of the bunk?

Rattrap takes a deep, bracing breath and fights the urge to sigh it out. This is no Maximal he's looking at, that's for sure. Ugh… time to play Pred.

"…I'd hate t' see the rations you got if dis is the better option," he mutters, taking deceptively casual aim on the bat as he steps away from the wall. Precautionary measure, that's all it is.

[Ratbat]

Satisfied enough that he had fuel, Ratbat again fires up his thrusters, lifting up into the air, pausing briefly to fire off a brief radio broadcast, before looking around.

His optics fell on what was possibly one of the smallest mechanoids he'd ever seen. When he speaks, it's chock full of arrogance, taunting. "I didn't know they made Pretenders this puny."

[Rattrap]

Ooh, and the opening volley is to his height. Rattrap just loves that. It always sets the perfect tone for a conversation.

"And I didn't know they still made anything dis clunky," he replies in a diffident drawl. Pretender? Well, he does a lot of pretending, sure… but he'll hazard a guess that there's more here than meets the eye. That emblem the bat's wearing is right out of the history files. Talks about Autobots, totes Decepticon colours. Oh, man, what has this little ratty gotten himself into?

Well, other than the usual case of hip-deep trouble.

"Ya might wanna get yer optic sensors recalibrated while yer at it," adds the spy, maintaining his weapons lock. "I'm a Predacon, not a Pretender." There's a shiny emblem on his right forearm to prove it, too! And naturally, he's banking on this bat not knowing a Maximal from a hole in the ground.

[Ratbat]

Small though he may be, Ratbat is not at all afraid of firepower from something as small as Rattrap.

Even with information about multiple realities being supplied by Spinister over the radio, he's doubtful of this one's claims. "I've commanded the Predacons," he snaps. "They'd eat you for breakfast if they found out you were using their name."

[Rattrap]

Well, of course threats never come in small packages. Everyone knows that.

"I think I'd remember you kickin' Megatron outta his chair," Rattrap mumbles, more to himself than aloud. He'd like to think he'd remember seeing a mug that plug-ugly in the files on Predacon resistance leaders, too. So does this mean the bat has Predacons where-ever he's from? Well, that's just prime. Rattrap makes a minor show of sighing and shrugging his free arm.

Looks like it's time to share just a little bit.

"Yeah?" he muses on the bat's threat, carefully relaxing his aim a bit. "Your Predacons don't sound like my Predacons, there, small dark and fangsome. 'Cause if anybody's gonna eat me fer breakfast, it's Tarantulas, and he doesn't like me well enough." Well, that part's pretty well true. And that's enough sharing. Now let's see where it goes.

[Ratbat]

Perhaps their is something to this multiple realities thing after all. Especially after certain Decepticons on the channel showing some kind of preoccupation with Soundwave.

"Megatron hasn't been a factor in Decepticon politics in over a year," he says, revealing just the smallest hint of information. "Shockwave commands the bulk of the Decepticon forces, while Scoponok commands a splinter group."

Though if he has his way, Shockwave will not be commanding much longer. "Your information is either irrelevant and therefore a waste of time, or out of date, and still a waste of time."

[Rattrap]

That's a useful hint of information, small or no. Decepticon politics? Shockwave? Oh, man. It's a good thing Rattrap pretty much always looks relatively squinty and annoyed when he isn't smirking, or he'd be as slack-jawed as Cheetor right about now. Either the bat is totally bonkers – he's probably bonkers anyway, corpse thing and all – or there's some screwy time thing going on here, 'cause all this is straight outta the past, and of course Rattrap is the only one stuck in it. Uncontrolled pursuit through a transwarp portal… brilliant idea, Primal! Thank you, Maximal Elders! Bunch of slag-sucking bureaucrats with their heads jammed so far up their skidplates they're looking at the world through their waist seams. Send a science vessel after armed criminals, yeah, great.

Okay, okay. Focus. So, play it stupid? That's never as much fun… but it seems this bat sure likes feeling superior. Might be safer to just go with that.

"Decepticons?" Rattrap wonders, putting on a bemused frown. He is but a lost Predacon soldier and the crazy bat is starting to strain his poor processors with this talk. "But the Decepticons went outta power a long time ago, thanks ta those goody-goody Autobots. Now us Predacons gotta live undah the Maximals' laws." Pause, colour confusion with mild suspicion. "And Scorponok follows Megatron." Even though Terrorsaur just took over (with Rattrap's help!). Should he mention that part? What good will it do him?

Probably not enough to bother. It could hurt him, really, revealing himself as the sort to help depose current leadership. He's already got the advantage of not having to prove he isn't a Maximal, at least.

[Ratbat]

Ratbat allows himself a quiet, self-assured chuckle. "The names may have changed, but the story remains the same."

Granted, Ratbat probably wouldn't know a work of fiction if it bit him on the aft. His builders probably tucked little Ratbat in and read him passages from the Cybertronian tax code, complete with subsections and sub-paragraphs.

That said, he is an accountant, and knows more than a thing or two about creative ways to hide information. Lying? Well, you could call it that. Even Ratbat probably would. So he does know when and what to reveal.

"My fellow Decepticons have informed me that Transformers from a variety of timelines and universes have been pulled to this planet. Obviously, you are from some point in a possible future."

And yet he has to say it. After all, these inefficient dolts would be helpless without him to keep them in line.

"Come, then. One has been dispatched to retrieve us."

[Rattrap]

"The future, huh?" Yeah, that part's obvious. Rattrap will behave, though. "And here I thought fer a cycle you were some kinda old-guard loyalist," he continues, sounding… relieved. Well, it isn't like loyalists could be crazy or dangerous or anything. Or maybe he's been told rumours of loyalists hating the Predacons for sullying the legacy. Some dreck like that.

He doesn't comment on that babble about timelines and universes. Not out loud, anyway. He goes instead for a little good old Predacon indignation.

"I could probably get outta here myself," he mutters in token protest even as he trudges along to play nice while keeping a wary eye on the winged wingnut, "but I guess I can't complain too much." Not while his processors are going a mile a minute. Transformers from other universes? Other timelines? 'Pulled to this planet'?

Great. Just fantastic. He gets off one mysterious flying space rock just to land on another, weirder one. And he's stuck with a nutty Decepticon vampire bat and another Decepticon's on the way. How many more of 'em are waiting? And more importantly, where are the other Maximals?

[Ratbat]

"Complaining is a waste of time and resources," he comments. "I make it a point not to engage in that practice."

Unless of course things are really fragged up.

"C'mon then." A flap of his wings and he heads toward what looks to be the way out.

[Rattrap]

"You sure do a lotta talkin' fer somebody who don't like t' waste time," Rattrap mutters very low under his breath even as he follows. "Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," he says, rather more audibly. And no, he hasn't put away his gun yet, either. Suppose they run into something unfriendly? A bot's gotta be able to defend himself and, for chances of ingratiation, anybody who might just be high-ranking and happens to be conveniently nearby.

Maybe once they get outta here and he can get the gist of the situation, he can sneak off. This is probably the only group around here – the only group on the planet, knowing his luck – but if he can gather some info for himself instead of having it fed to him, he'll feel a little better about the situation. Not much, but still better.