Post by Ultra Magnus on Feb 26, 2009 22:04:08 GMT -5
Wee hours of Day 9.
There are bodies sprawled in the high grass of the plains. Some are broken and unrecognisable; others mostly whole but long dead. Among them, Ultra Magnus lies inert, his colours washed out, armour battered and crumpled in places. There's a gaping hole where most of his breastplate has been torn off, and glass shines beneath it; his left arm is stripped, baring a smaller, white core; his face is cracked, one optic missing entirely. He might be dead. But then he shudders and groans.
It was pain that sent Ultra Magnus under as he staggered down that corridor and it's pain that brings him around again. He lurches forward with a gasp, trying to take another step and finds he's butted up to the ground instead… he must have really faded this time if he fell entirely. He hurries to roll and push himself upright; can't afford any more delays. Optimus's life may well depend on the security commander reaching them in time.
…Ex-security commander, Ultra Magnus reminds himself, muffling a sharp hiss, as he rises unsteadily to his feet. He blinks mismatched yellow and red optics once, twice, trying to refocus his vision around failing secondary systems while he lifts a hand to strip his remaining gauntlet. It hits him then. He isn't in the halls of New Iacon; there are stars overhead, visible through broken cloud cover, and… only one moon? He's surrounded by other bodies, though he can only make out so much detail with his vision split. There's a wind blowing, too, pushing the vegetation – it is vegetation; tall, narrow plants – against his plating in uneven waves. He has to focus to feel it, a sure sign he needs to ditch his armour before it loses function completely and he's trapped inside it. He scans the area and his nearby companions, checking for threats, before he yanks off his helmet, then shucks his gauntlet and shoulder.
Nothing but these plants in all directions and no discernible structures as far as he can see. This is no part of Cybertron; if he hasn't walked over it himself, he's seen enough tactical maps and scouting holos of it to have it memorised. He's sure he'd remember something like this.
"Hnn." He's been in worse places, but not without some idea of his whereabouts. Is this some sick new game Shockwave came up with – shoot Ultra Magnus, then drop him somewhere while he's offline and leave him for dead? Like these others? Like–
Ultra Magnus freezes for a moment when he gives the bodies a closer look. The sight of little Crunch, looking the same as he had vorns ago when the Hot Rod Patrol carried him back with them, hits the former commander the hardest. Even as what's left of his breastplate slides off his back with a screech and crashes to the ground, barely missing a dismembered Ramjet, Ultra Magnus scowls and scans the area once again.
"If this is a joke," he growls, "I'm not laughing." Then he bends to work himself free of his legs with an angry efficiency; one, he has no choice but to tear apart as it locks up. As much as that bothers him, the situation is infinitely more worrisome. He can't trust just anyone at this point, not if Shockwave is responsible for his being here. "That backstabber hasn't gotten to my men yet, though." He's sure of that, and he puts as much power behind the signal as he can muster when he tries to hail the Wreckers' frequency. The feedback squeal makes him grimace and curse, cutting transmission. "Radio's out?" he mutters to himself, looking over system diagnostics. Backlash from the damage to his armour. Must be. "Well, slag. Guess it's the hard way, then." He looks up again in every direction as he hauls out his rifle. "But which way…?"
There are bodies sprawled in the high grass of the plains. Some are broken and unrecognisable; others mostly whole but long dead. Among them, Ultra Magnus lies inert, his colours washed out, armour battered and crumpled in places. There's a gaping hole where most of his breastplate has been torn off, and glass shines beneath it; his left arm is stripped, baring a smaller, white core; his face is cracked, one optic missing entirely. He might be dead. But then he shudders and groans.
It was pain that sent Ultra Magnus under as he staggered down that corridor and it's pain that brings him around again. He lurches forward with a gasp, trying to take another step and finds he's butted up to the ground instead… he must have really faded this time if he fell entirely. He hurries to roll and push himself upright; can't afford any more delays. Optimus's life may well depend on the security commander reaching them in time.
…Ex-security commander, Ultra Magnus reminds himself, muffling a sharp hiss, as he rises unsteadily to his feet. He blinks mismatched yellow and red optics once, twice, trying to refocus his vision around failing secondary systems while he lifts a hand to strip his remaining gauntlet. It hits him then. He isn't in the halls of New Iacon; there are stars overhead, visible through broken cloud cover, and… only one moon? He's surrounded by other bodies, though he can only make out so much detail with his vision split. There's a wind blowing, too, pushing the vegetation – it is vegetation; tall, narrow plants – against his plating in uneven waves. He has to focus to feel it, a sure sign he needs to ditch his armour before it loses function completely and he's trapped inside it. He scans the area and his nearby companions, checking for threats, before he yanks off his helmet, then shucks his gauntlet and shoulder.
Nothing but these plants in all directions and no discernible structures as far as he can see. This is no part of Cybertron; if he hasn't walked over it himself, he's seen enough tactical maps and scouting holos of it to have it memorised. He's sure he'd remember something like this.
"Hnn." He's been in worse places, but not without some idea of his whereabouts. Is this some sick new game Shockwave came up with – shoot Ultra Magnus, then drop him somewhere while he's offline and leave him for dead? Like these others? Like–
Ultra Magnus freezes for a moment when he gives the bodies a closer look. The sight of little Crunch, looking the same as he had vorns ago when the Hot Rod Patrol carried him back with them, hits the former commander the hardest. Even as what's left of his breastplate slides off his back with a screech and crashes to the ground, barely missing a dismembered Ramjet, Ultra Magnus scowls and scans the area once again.
"If this is a joke," he growls, "I'm not laughing." Then he bends to work himself free of his legs with an angry efficiency; one, he has no choice but to tear apart as it locks up. As much as that bothers him, the situation is infinitely more worrisome. He can't trust just anyone at this point, not if Shockwave is responsible for his being here. "That backstabber hasn't gotten to my men yet, though." He's sure of that, and he puts as much power behind the signal as he can muster when he tries to hail the Wreckers' frequency. The feedback squeal makes him grimace and curse, cutting transmission. "Radio's out?" he mutters to himself, looking over system diagnostics. Backlash from the damage to his armour. Must be. "Well, slag. Guess it's the hard way, then." He looks up again in every direction as he hauls out his rifle. "But which way…?"