The Inevitable Zombie Apocalypse

[Impactor/"Imp"]

Day 23, earlier than Big Damn Hero and the Live at * threads. Open. Takes place on the space station that the Event Horizon is docked at.

Impactor prowls the docking station, hunting.

To his mind, he is making himself useful. He could probably make himself useful as a guard or a mercenary or similar on the planet below, and he might yet, but right now he is making himself useful by making sure he's familiar with the lay of the land. Before he's even willing to step foot on the planet below, he wants to know ever inch of the docking station like the back of his hand. He searches out places that a smart Decepticon (and he's not too foolish to believe such a thing doesn't exist) might set up an ambush, looks for locations good for fortification - generally mapping out probably attacks and his own tactical options.

At the moment he's in the station's shopping district. A lot of room for collateral damage here, he notes. This is a new factor to work around - he's not used to worrying about any civilians but Empties, and does anyone really worry about the Empties, anyway? But from what he's been able to determine, they should probably avoid too many uninvolved casualties in this area. He makes mental note to check out what's a deck up and a deck below.

He's somewhat grayed, though if someone didn't know his normal color scheme they might not notice, were it not for the detailing that should be gold. More notable, his optics are much dimmer than they should be, and a few of his panels are starting to part at the seams. It's not bad, but for being only two days out of a full repair, it's frustrating.

[Swerve]

While it's coincidence that Swerve is in the same shopping distract as Impactor, he isn't in the district itself by chance – he came here on a mission. He's hauling a flatbed trolley behind him as he walks and on the trolley are neatly stacked and bound assortments of metal in varying shapes, sizes, and grades. He isn't above and doesn't mind using cannibalised parts – a good portion of his various bodies over the millennia has been stuff he literally tore off other racers – or using them for raw material since there don't seem to be any alloys he's found that can quite compare to the alloys that make up the Autobots, but he has a big project in mind and doesn't want to take from the Event Horizon's supplies without adding back. He even hit it off relatively well with the guy shilling the scrap metal once Swerve made it clear he knew what he was after and wouldn't be talked into buying just any old junk.

It's a respectable haul Swerve has and he checks it repeatedly as he pulls it along, expecting any second that someone will try to snatch away one of the folded aluminium sheets or the rolls of copper wiring. He most zealously guards the small box of conductor-grade metal tabs, keeping it in storage. Scattered amongst the metal prizes are various other titbits, bundles of synthetic tubing, heavy-duty plastics, a few bags of ceramic mix, and even some upholstery-grade fabric in a limited range of rather modest colours. Luckily, no-one questions a car with an exposed interior about why he needs upholstery.

All the while he walks, one of the dealer's employees continues dithering at him.

"Sir, really," the man protests, wringing his very long-fingered hands, "we can have it delivered directly to your ship! You don't have to drag it all the way–"

"And I already told you," Swerve grumbles back, taking things far too literally, "it ain't my ship. S'probably Long Haul's… or Mayday's, I guess," he adds, trailing off. Then he shakes his head and glares at his pursuer. "Look, I'm fine and I'd rather just take it back myself. What d'you slaggin' want, a tip?" He waves impatiently at the guy until, with a huff, he finally makes tracks back to his boss. Swerve makes a discontented noise, rolls his optics, and resumes his trek for the ship… only to pause again when he catches a glimpse of that one new guy. The one who seems to spend most of his time in medical. Impactor, that's what they call him, right? Swerve watches Impactor for a moment while the larger Autobot just takes in his surroundings, and as Swerve watches, his optics narrow.

Something's wrong; it nags at the backs of his processors like a corroded trace. Something wrong, something… off. He stares, scowl settling deeply into his face and processors grinding away.

Colours? He looks… dingy. No, that's…. Swerve just barely shakes his head. Could just be dirt. He has to get closer for a better look, but that air of wrongness keeps tugging at his thoughts.

[Emirate Xaaron]

Emirate Xaaron is in his slightly old fashioned suit and bowler hat, headed back from another day of being paid to snark circles around people. Okay. So that's not why they pay him, but it is, really.

From a distance, he probably looks like just another alien robot in clothes.

He's headed back toward the ship, like Swerve is, and Swerve's the one he spots first, but Swerve looks like he's spotted someone else. Emirate Xaaron follows that line of sight, and he breaks into a grin at who he sees out and about! Happily, he waves and calls across the shopping area, "Impactor!"

Emirate Xaaron: ruining Impactor's commando recons since 4,000,000 B.C.

[Impactor/"Imp"]

Impactor has his commando recon ruined by Emirate Xaaron.

So... what else is new?

He had started to turn towards the Autobots, anyway - he is, after all, trying to keep a watch on the whole busy area - but he had not yet spotted him when Emirate Xaaron waves and shouts at him. He groans. The others may not be able to hear him from where they are, but his expression clearly says, 'groan.' Then he goes back to looking over the area, looking rather like he's trying to pretend that Xaaron isn't there.

[Swerve]

Looks like Xaaron doesn't notice. Or doesn't care. Swerve looks from the walking trophy topper in his dun suit and hat – Swerve might not have recognised him at all if he hadn't opened his mouth – to Impactor of the unsettling vibe. Who looks like he just ran into the sort of friend no-one ever invites to any track meets. …Guess I'm not the only one that old showpiece bothers. Xaaron's happy to see Impactor and Impactor's trying to ignore Xaaron. Neither of them seems all that interested in Swerve and his trolley and Swerve is loath to get in the middle of some old dynamic where he clearly has no place.

But he has to pass Impactor unless Impactor moves off this particular route. Swerve shrugs and pulls his load along, course unchanging save for small adjustments to avoid running someone down with his stack of supplies. He'll nod a greeting to Impactor as he passes if the big guy doesn't stop him.

[Emirate Xaaron]

Emirate Xaaron approaches closer to both Impactor, who is obviously ignoring him, and Swerve, who is less obviously ignoring him but who is ignoring him nonetheless. Clearly, it is time for him to meddle. He tries to put an arm around Swerve's shoulders, grab him, tug him over to Impactor, and put an arm around Impactor's back. This is probably going to fail and possibly lead to grievous bodily harm upon his person. At any rate, it is a slag-eating grin he's wearing as he tries to introduce the two of them, "Impactor, this is Swerve. He's a Velocitronian oilsport racer and mechanic. Swerve, this is Impactor. He's a Cybertronian commando."

Since Impactor is playing the 'dead guys can't be Wreckers' game.

"I expect that you'll find you have a lot in common."

Like a mutual desire for Emirate Xaaron to shut up.

[Impactor/"Imp"]

Impactor was very clearly trying to ignore Emirate Xaaron (he wasn't so much intentionally trying to ignore Swerve as Swerve was in the same general direction of the Emirate), so of course Xaaron took that as an invitation.

In hindsight, Impactor really should have expected that.

Without even thinking about it, Impactor lifts the elbow nearest to Emirate Xaaron and attempts to jab it in the Autobot Commander's face (not that thinking about it would have stopped him), snarling, "The hells are you doing, micro-brain!?"

[Swerve]

Swerve fights the whole hug and drag thing primarily because he's trying to haul a trolley full of stuff and Xaaron getting him by the shoulders interferes with his trolley-pulling. Secondary to that is the nagging feeling he has about Impactor. Getting closer doesn't palliate it and Swerve, scowling, shoves Xaaron off – perhaps just in time to save him from taking an elbow to the head.

"Tryin' to get himself hurt, looks like," Swerve grumbles. "Look, I don't feel like standing here havin'–" He stops, blinks, then scrutinises Impactor's plating more closely, optics narrowed. "…You're comin' apart at the slaggin' seams!"

[Emirate Xaaron]

Swerve gallantly saves Emirate Xaaron from Impactor's elbow to the face with a well-timed shove! That's not how it actually happened, of course, but that's how Ironfist some people would describe such a situation. Emirate Xaaron beams at Swerve, optics a'glow, and he says lightly, "My, my, pushing me out of danger so soon? That's a dangerous habit to start, though I do appreciate it."

Emirate Xaaron knows blasted well that's not what Swerve was trying to do at all, but he can't keep himself teasing the Velocitronian a bit, especially given present company. He offers, "Here, let me show my appreciation and help you tow that heavy cart."

Without waiting for an answer from Swerve, he tries to do just that, letting Impactor explain his condition or not on his own.

[Impactor/"Imp"]

"Yeah, he's not kidding about that," Impactor mutters an agreement as Xaaron talks about how dangerous the habit of pushing him out of the way is. Unlike the Emirate, the doesn't know Swerve well enough to be aware that that wasn't what he was doing. "That'll get you nothing but a headache of the worst kind."

As Swerve observes that he's falling apart at the seams, Impactor lifts his harpoon-arm to examine it and hisses an annoyed sigh. He grasps two of the edges and scrunches them together with his fist, attempting to force them to crimp to each other - a move that would generally be very painful, if Impactor's sensors were fully operational. "Yeah, I see... just doesn't stick together like it should anymore," he grumbles.

[Swerve]

"It wasn't on purpose!" Swerve snarls at both of them, then makes a grab for Xaaron's arm to stop him. "And I don't need help with my stuff!" he adds, fuming – almost literally, pipes already painfully hot to the touch. Xaaron can probably feel the heat radiating from the chrome plating. "And I don't need you or anyone else," he rounds on Impactor, pointing one accusatory finger, "tellin' me about what a headache this smoke-blowing–"

Swerve stops mid-tirade to stare at Impactor while the bigger Autobot stands there crimping his arm. He watches the mangled plating just sort of peel away from itself again with a look of disgusted incomprehension on his face.

"Get it fixed!" he exclaims, trying to ignore that weird, unsettling feeling. "Go to the fraggin' repair ward or something! S'better than walkin' around lookin' half-dead!"

[Emirate Xaaron]

"Half-dead is a pretty good look for Impactor at the moment, considering," Emirate Xaaron suggests thoughtfully, chewing on his lip. Considering that Impactor is all dead, yes.

He should probably be more bothered by the pitiable condition of his old friend, if only to conform to normal standards of Transformer decency, but really, being bothered by Impactor doesn't do either of them any good, so Emirate Xaaron doesn't bother with being bother. Impactor is as a functional as he can be. If someday, Rodimus Prime purges the Matrix, or if they take Impactor to a different reality with a cleaner Matrix, or if they encounter some other sort of Magic Reset Button, he might live again someday. For now, Impactor's as functional as he's going to be. There's no use moping about it.

Swerve's hot though, too hot, heat radiating through the air, and with that in mind, Emirate Xaaron does step away from Swerve's cart of stuff, murmuring tiredly, "If you insist that you don't want my help." Want, because Emirate Xaaron doesn't think Swerve would ever know what he needs if someone smacked him in the face with it.

This should still be amusing, though. Impactor, after all, has a prior claim on telling Emirate Xaaron just how full of it he is.

[Impactor/"Imp"]

Impactor stares at Swerve, at first with disbelief, then with a widening grin as the racer protests accusations of having 'saved' Xaaron, refuses the Emirate's help, and then starts on about the golden robot's headache-generating properties (at least, that's what it sounds like Swerve is on about before the racer gets distracted). When he turns his grin on Xaaron, however, the right corner twists into definite smirk. "Nice to some one else around willing to call you on your nonsense," he chuckles.

Then he lifts his good hand towards Swerve, palm down, in something resembling a calming gesture. "No point in the sickbay visit, though." He shrugs, nodding his head faintly towards Xaaron at the 'half dead is a good look for him' comment. "Seems my body isn't fully taking to new parts anymore."

[Swerve]

Any other time, Swerve would carry on about how he can pull one blasted trolley without assistance. Any other time, he'd be so incensed by the assumption that he couldn't that he might just start hurting people. This is not one of those times.

This time, Swerve continues to be distracted; he hardly notices Xaaron relinquish his load of purchases, in fact. He's watching Impactor instead.

Half-dead is a good look for him? The racer's optics narrow, yellow gleaming brighter behind the bronze coating. New parts don't take? Body rejecting them? He really gives the big Autobot a look this time, a full-on visual examination. Plating degraded and faded, shine dulled, seams falling apart. Wiring peeking out here or there, optics dim. Swerve takes a half-step closer without saying a word and squints, focusing on the wiring he can see. The sheathing is mostly shot to the Pit, rotted or crumbling, and he can just make out oxidation ruining some of the internal parts that catch just enough light to pop against the rest of it. I've seen scrap like this before, but… but where–?

Of course he's seen heaps like Impactor. On the side of the road, abandoned and gutted after losing the race.

But they weren't walking and talking.

As quickly as he approached Impactor, Swerve backs away again with horror and recognition written all over his face, smacking into his trolley.

[Emirate Xaaron]

Emirate Xaaron smiles guilelessly back at Impactor, despite Impactor's smirk. Didn't he just say that Impactor and Swerve had a lot in common?

However, Swerve looks to be... afraid? Emirate Xaaron's optics blink off and on in mild surprise, and he tries to rush to Swerve's side, stopping himself just shy, as if Swerve had a magic bubble around him. Clearly concerned, Emirate Xaaron wrings his hands together in front of him, both distressed by Swerve's horror and his own ability to lay a hand on Swerve to comfort him.

He keeps his voice steady, low, and even, soothing as he manage, "Swerve. What's wrong?"