Stunticon frequency, eh? If Starscream ever did make his way home, that would come in handy. Especially since even if Dead End was from his home reality, there was several decades worth of being able to listen in on the Stunticons before Dead End would even know about it. He changed over to the Stunticon frequency. //No, Someone will be needed to obtain the other flags. Though you do give me an idea, Sell Sword. Both of you, right now, without disturbing the buildings more than you can, begin searching for a metal shaft and about three square astro-metres of white cloth. I'll construct some decoy flags.//
The F-15 turned around and returned to his fellow flag-defenders.
OOC: Fabrics required to make flags clarified after discussion with a portion of Adminimus.
// No, Sell Sword, the rules of engagement specifically forbid us from hiding the flag in a box or suchlike. And before you point out that rules and Decepticons don't go together, I'd like to remind you that 'following orders' and 'live, low-ranking Decepticons' go together. They are, in fact, inseparable, // Dead End concluded drily.
The dark red Porsche drives over to the nearest ordinary warehouse--one does not look for cloth in a refrigerated building, or a tank farm--and transforms long enough to blast the lock with his rifle and open the door. He transforms back to car mode and drives in... and through.
The fastest way for a Stunticon to open a box is to ram with his forcefield-shielded fender and watch it burst open; it doesn't take him very long to go through different sections of the warehouse that way, and since the resulting mess isn't his property, he could care less. Higher crates are easy to get down--just ram the shelving supports.
He stops for a few moments to pick up the support rails for the warehouse shelving; it'll do for their flagstaves. Dead End tosses the rods into his trunk, and continues checking inventory...
// Oh, if anyone comes across a bleaching agent, do fetch it along. It'll make other colors of cloth useful. If you don't know what a bleaching agent looks like, one of the easiest to make industrially smells like chlorine gas--because that's what it's got in it. If in doubt, pour it on your finish. //
Last Edit: Jan 1, 2008 20:36:05 GMT -5 by Dead End
Hmm, Dead End could apparently become a maid with that kind of fabric cleaning know-how.
Starscream scowled as he saw a flag flying in the immediate vicinity. The flags themselves were all too small, but the flagpoles were perfect. Starscream transformed and hovered to the ground where he carefully tore the pole off from the brackets that mounted it to the ground.
//I have a long pole now.// Starscream said, unaware of how bad that could sound. //How are we going with that cloth?//
More like he knew what not to spill on his finish.
Dead End ran over another box in another warehouse. Oh look, this one had shirts! Brightly colored shirts with too many sleeves, unless you were Blackarachnia.
// I have poles, also. And vacation garb for Blackarachnia--gaudily colored, in large bundles. Uniforms, I believe. Has anyone found cleaning supplies or bleach? Perhaps that establishment that looks like a water treatment plant has some. //
//Nevermind, we'll go with the wrong colour.// Starscream transmitted. He assumed that certain Decepticons would be less particular about colours and the such than Dead End. Whether or not that assumption panned out remained to be seen. //This is a good plan, but we need to do more than just craftwork.//
Spotting the red Porsche zipping through warehouses, Starscream flew towards him. "Give me what you have, I'll start work now." He retrieved a minor repair kit from subspace, and began working, starting with tidying up the end of the flagpole he tore off.
Dead End popped his trunk, wherein resided the bales of different colored shirts he'd found. The flagstaffs were laying across his back seat and hanging out one window, making the Stunticon look rather like he'd just returned from a supply run to Home Depot. They did not have a safety flag attached to the end. The Unsafety Flag was still fastened to Dead End's radio antenna.
"All yours, Commander! I await your commands, sir." His engine rumbled; Dead End was looking forward to a chase through the streets.
Starscream rummaged through the shirts.. blast their bright colours. He finally settled for one that had some bright cyan-and-white on it. It would do.
"Dead End, work on setting up some traps and complications. Make your routes more dangerous for pursuit on either ground or air. If you find anything technical that even looks like it could be useful, let me know."
Starscream set about making one physically quite identical flag. Ignoring the garish sky blue and the "Cold Wash Only" tag sticking out the side.
"Yes, Commander. Warehouse #3 on the map had what looked like some interesting consumer electronics," Dead End pointed out. "The building across from it appears to be a light manufacturing plant. As robotics-intensive as this civilization was..." Dead End left the obvious conclusion hanging in the air and drove off to carry out the rest of his orders.
The sheet-metal-walled warehouses didn't need modification for Dead End to move through; the cinderblock walls, on the other hand... Dead End zipped down one particular alley that had heavy ceramacrete walls on all sides--that wouldn't do. He paused outside a small alcove that looked like it had once contained a loading dock--but the former loading doors were all bricked up. Dead End corrected that with a few blasts of his air concussion cannon; now he had a quick route into the building that wasn't obvious from behind or above.
He ducked inside the building, transformed briefly, and retrieved his toolkit from subspace. Anyone who wanted his flag was going to have to work for it. Dead End welded the base of the flagpole alongside his radio antenna, but replaced the ties so it looked like it could easily be snatched away. Someone was going to find himself hanging on to more than he bargained for, if anyone managed to get that close.
Dead End walked out the front door of the abandoned factory and transformed just as the timer 'dinged'. Preparation time was over; playtime had begun.