Desert: The Morning and the Evening Star

[Wreckage-3]

OOC: Semi-private thread.

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Others can call Wreckage a coward if they like as he hunkers behind what cover the up-thrust and broken rock formations near the crater afford him. The battlefield is raucous with weapons fire and engines overhead and only now is his sight returning; that nova-bright flash left him blind, painfully so in fact, and he knows well enough that he's no good to anyone if he cannot fight most effectively when he must fight.

His sight is returning, however. His optic sensors have finally rebooted and the filaments flicker as visual processors cycle through filter after filter and startup completes. Visuals are still hazy – dust in the air, slowly settling and coating his optic lenses with a thin layer of grit, and a quick pass with the knuckles of one hand clears up most of that problem.

The others are fighting. He should help them. But he isn't sure where to go; when he tries to radio someone else – anyone else – all he gets is static. Warily, he rises up just enough to check his surroundings, pausing before he does to scan the skies for friendlies. Easier said than done with so many duplicates running around and when he has lost track of many comrades' positions in the time it took his visual cluster to recover. One hand rests uneasily on the outer shell of a holstered weapon while he sweeps the desolate terrain with a worried gaze. Who is where? Where should he go?

[Oracle-3]

Perhaps she's a bit late arriving to the party, but considering there still seems to be plenty of action, Oracle isn't disappointed. In fact, that looks like Wreckage down there if she's seeing things right, and since she's fairly sure the Decepticon counterpart for this universe is elsewhere, she's not worried about a case of mistaken identity. He on the other hand, doesn't have the same luxury, and if what she's heard on the radio is correct he might have a bit of trouble checking on her identity. Maybe she can exploit that, at least for a moment or two, just enough to get within striking distance anyway.

A careful landing a short distance away from the APC had her picking her way slowly toward him through the rock. Most of that caution was only slightly exaggerated, getting shot approaching would be a real pain. "Wreckage?" She seriously hoped her counterpart had met him, or this could go bad very fast. Well it could anyway, and the Seeker was ready to dodge and launch herself forward if her ploy was an utter failure. Nothing gained without risk though.

[Wreckage-3]

For all his alertness, hearing his name called still startles Wreckage and he turns toward the source, weapon halfway out of its holster even before he fully focuses on the pale Seeker.

"…Oracle," he says, relieved and wary all at once. Which Oracle is this? Should he welcome her into the safety of his somewhat cramped nook or should he open fire? What if he makes a mistake? As she is tense and wary, so is he, frozen with indecision. The radio is still a tangle of static; he can't even confirm her identity.

He should err on the side of caution, then. He keeps his weapon in hand.

[Oracle-3]

Oracle wonders how close she can manage to creep before she unsettles Wreckage enough to need to stop moving. She has no plans to try and sneak up into his shadow or anything, but hey every foot she inches over now is one foot she doesn't have to cover when she does make her move. Not that she changes her manner of approach any, it's still the same slipping from cover to cover as she was doing before, not that she's being stealthy about her movements. Then again, even if she was her counterpart, she doesn't think she would want to get shot on accident. Friendly fire isn't and all that rust.

A stop finally, behind a largish spar of rock that separates his cover from her own stalking ground, and she peers out cautiously.

"I don't suppose...your radio works either?" Oh hey, looks like caution was warranted. That would be a weapon he's holding, though on the plus side...he did know her name. Hopefully that was all he knew.

[Wreckage-3]

"Your radio is out?" Wreckage answers with a question of his own, tone guarded. Reflexively, he shifts his grip to something a little more combat-ready; he tells himself it's better to be safe than sorry – that it is only a precaution – but he knows, deep down, there is far more to it.

Such thoughts, however, will only slow him in the face of danger. He puts them out of mind and fixes his gaze squarely on the Oracle before him. He can apologise later if this is only a misunderstanding.

[Oracle-3]

"It's not out, but all I'm getting is static. You aren't?" She pulls back behind her bit of cover again at Wreckage's more aggressive stance, tone distrustful and a bit concerned, though her internal response is more of an annoyed grumble. Either she said something wrong, or he's being annoyingly paranoid, but either way it looked like the game might be over soon. That was fine, she still wondered it you could pry off one of the plates of armor from the ones from the jigsaw universe. She hadn't gotten to really try with Jazz last time.

Next time, maybe she's just going to try and sneak up and attack. She's not feeling patient enough for this, but she's kinda stuck now. Oops.

[Wreckage-3]

Perhaps Wreckage is too trusting. Perhaps he is too optimistic. But he takes Oracle's tone and reaction to his stance as signs he has made a misstep, and the last thing he wants is to cause friction within the truce now of all forsaken times. He relaxes somewhat, maintaining his hold on his weapon but lowering his hand to his side.

"Static," he responds, apologetic for his behaviour, and affirms with a faint nod. "Any idea what's going on?"

[Oracle-3]

Oracle will take advantage of that optimism, or whatever else it happens to be. She's still not being shot, that's what counts. Poking her head back out to look at Wreckage, she shrugs at his question.

"Other then one big mess? No." She looks briefly away in the direction of where she had seen other fighting before. "I haven't exactly wanted to start swinging at people, for obvious reasons. It'd be a bit of a problem to hit the wrong one." And well, he just happened to be the first one she saw that struck her interest after she got over to this area.

"So..." She edges out a bit further from her cover, after all something has to break this little stand-off. "Are we going to keep staring at each other, or go see if anyone needs help? We aren't doing much good here. Maybe we'll get lucky and find someone we can identify." If nothing else, she was a tiny bit closer again, and hey eventually the act was going to get old anyway.

[Wreckage-3]

The reaction to Oracle's suggestion – a brief, stuttering intake and uneasy tensing of cables and servos – is involuntary. Wreckage glances around, taking in the chaos once more, and for an instant, he looks as worried and afraid as he feels. Quiet resignation returns quickly and his expression goes blank, shoulders setting low and canted inward. A flick of his wrist and his weapon leaves his hand, locking onto the mounting points on his forearm.

"Maybe," is all he can bring himself to say. Maybe they will find some way to help. But they cannot simply go out there searching; that's as good as suicide as far as Wreckage is concerned, and as much as he shies from fighting, death appeals to him even less. He does not want to die and he does not want any of his comrades to die. So he shifts his weight and equips his second weapon, readying himself to move out and begin the search. A quick look to Oracle, making sure she's following and can at least get away if he finds himself unable to defend her, before he scans the area again.

And there, across the crater, Wreckage catches a glimpse of something that sends a horrid chill through him. He spies a flash of brilliant red that gleams too bright in the dust.

"…Oh, no." Time is up.

[Oracle-3]

Maybe she should have taken advantage of that short moment when Wreckage's weapon was away, but the distance between them was still too great for her to be sure of closing it in time. Besides it looked like he was buying this whole charade, so she would likely have another opportunity. Good for her, not so good for him. The flicker of expression of his face before it goes blank is wonderfully entertaining, and she has to work to keep her own expression from betraying her.

His resigned 'Maybe' draws another inward bubble of amusement as she moves slowly to join him, since he seems to be getting ready to move out. "Better then waiting here." Hopefully that's not out of character for the one she's impersonating, but she's hate to think this universe's version of her was a coward or something.

And that over there that has caught Wreckage's attention, looks like a distraction. A big, menacing one in fact, and she doesn't think she's going to get a better chance then this to make her move, or for that matter that she really should be waiting any longer then this anyway. That established, she lunges forward, claws aiming for the joints in his arm. If she's lucky she might get in a good shot while he's mostly still, before the sparks really started flying.

[Wreckage-3]

Truth be told, even if the good Oracle is a coward, Wreckage wouldn't know. They only really met that one time and hardly spoke then; she certainly seemed nice enough. She was worried about Skystrike, after all.

"I'm unsure about that," he says quietly and candidly in a rare (and lame) attempt at humour, his gaze fixed on that point of dark light as it descends into the crater.

With his attention drawn by the Prime's advance, Wreckage does not hear the footsteps behind him, the shift of armour or the scrape of the rocks and dust beneath light feet. He does not hear the faint whistle of the air being cut by sharp claws. But his systems screech with damage reports when those claws find a home in the gap between dorsal plating and upper arm, deep in his right shoulder. He gasps but does not cry out – he learned long ago not to scream – and twists away, ripping himself off Oracle's hand. It hurts. He clenches his jaw as he spins to face her, uninjured arm rising into a defensive position.

Idiot. He is such an idiot. He let himself be fooled.

[Wreckage-3]

The chaos of battle is only mounting and Wreckage can practically feel it pressing down on him like a tangible thing, strangling his very spark. The radio traffic only adds to the burden and for a moment, he quakes. He is afraid. More of his comrades may die. He may die right here, facing down this pale rider, without making a difference. Without helping anyone.

"…No," he rasps, power-cycling his optics and forcing himself to stop shaking. He cannot let that happen. He cannot delay here any longer.

So he runs, staggering and collapsing into vehicle mode, all eight tires biting hard into the scree and cracking stone as he rolls across it. He has no idea where he's going or whom he should find first, but he has to move.

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OOC: Out of thread.