iii. [If you're in the mall, you may notice that there's a car watching the speed dating. At first glance it might seem like a prize to be won, one of those mall raffles so ubiquitous that they apparently transcend universes. Closer examination reveals this car to be somewhat... off scale for the humanoid residents of the Quarantine, just a little too small to feel right, and incongruent with the local style of vehicle design to boot.
Also, its engine is running quietly and it appears to be... chuckling to itself? Well, that could always be the driver, who's apparently chosen to idle their vehicle inside the mall for some reason-- and is hiding behind heavily smoked glass on all the windows. Hm.
A promoter walks by, handing out fliers advertising a freebie mystery dinner theater performance to anyone who will take one. They knock on the driver's side window of the car, but there's no response, so they shrug and tuck a flier under one of the vehicle's windshield wipers.
As soon as the promoter has wandered away, said wipers flick furiously until the paper is dislodged, and the car grumbles audibly:] Skinjobs need to keep their hands to themselves.
iv.
[Knock Out wouldn't exactly call himself a cyb with an "exploratory spirit", but he was a cyb who resents both being cooped up and the threat to his finish and his undercarriage presented by the relentless storm. When the government begins broadcasting their theory about the source of the storms and their request for citizens to shut it down, well, Knock Out is more than willing to help.
"Help" in this case meaning "strike out for the Abandoned City on his own, because he's a strong and capable Cybertronian who doesn't need to be saddled with useless skinjobs". (Knock Out's capable of being a team player, but only when he believes in the team. Sorry, squishies.) He thought it would be a breeze-- power through the jungle, avoid the organic monsters, determine and deal with the source of the storm, return a hero. Easy.
Only not so easy, really. The slick mud produced by the rain sucks at his tires and alt mode and his feet in root; the jungle is thick and oppressive in the torrential rain and it feels like the foliage itself is trying to bar his passage; the monsters are more plentiful and more aggressive and more powerful than he'd anticipated. He'd planned to drive there but the roads of the Abandoned City, where they can be discerned at all, are impassible, and his gleaming red paintjob is drawing the attention of the jungle's beasts like a beacon.
His forward progress towards the coordinates has halted completely, the Cybertronian finding himself beset by monsters. He'd managed to hold off the initial attack-- his plating spattered with gore and his hands replaced by two wicked buzzsaw blades, the messy remains of a few of the creatures standing in testament to his efforts-- but he and the monsters are at an impasse now. Occasionally, one or another of the beasts will feint at him, but his sensors are operating at maximum capacity and his reflexes are good. He's holding them off.
But for how long?
Much as he'd hate to admit it, he could use some help right now-- the real kind, involving other people. Even squishy people.]
Knock Out | Transformers Prime
[If you're in the mall, you may notice that there's a car watching the speed dating. At first glance it might seem like a prize to be won, one of those mall raffles so ubiquitous that they apparently transcend universes. Closer examination reveals this car to be somewhat... off scale for the humanoid residents of the Quarantine, just a little too small to feel right, and incongruent with the local style of vehicle design to boot.
Also, its engine is running quietly and it appears to be... chuckling to itself? Well, that could always be the driver, who's apparently chosen to idle their vehicle inside the mall for some reason-- and is hiding behind heavily smoked glass on all the windows. Hm.
A promoter walks by, handing out fliers advertising a freebie mystery dinner theater performance to anyone who will take one. They knock on the driver's side window of the car, but there's no response, so they shrug and tuck a flier under one of the vehicle's windshield wipers.
As soon as the promoter has wandered away, said wipers flick furiously until the paper is dislodged, and the car grumbles audibly:] Skinjobs need to keep their hands to themselves.
iv.
[Knock Out wouldn't exactly call himself a cyb with an "exploratory spirit", but he was a cyb who resents both being cooped up and the threat to his finish and his undercarriage presented by the relentless storm. When the government begins broadcasting their theory about the source of the storms and their request for citizens to shut it down, well, Knock Out is more than willing to help.
"Help" in this case meaning "strike out for the Abandoned City on his own, because he's a strong and capable Cybertronian who doesn't need to be saddled with useless skinjobs". (Knock Out's capable of being a team player, but only when he believes in the team. Sorry, squishies.) He thought it would be a breeze-- power through the jungle, avoid the organic monsters, determine and deal with the source of the storm, return a hero. Easy.
Only not so easy, really. The slick mud produced by the rain sucks at his tires and alt mode and his feet in root; the jungle is thick and oppressive in the torrential rain and it feels like the foliage itself is trying to bar his passage; the monsters are more plentiful and more aggressive and more powerful than he'd anticipated. He'd planned to drive there but the roads of the Abandoned City, where they can be discerned at all, are impassible, and his gleaming red paintjob is drawing the attention of the jungle's beasts like a beacon.
His forward progress towards the coordinates has halted completely, the Cybertronian finding himself beset by monsters. He'd managed to hold off the initial attack-- his plating spattered with gore and his hands replaced by two wicked buzzsaw blades, the messy remains of a few of the creatures standing in testament to his efforts-- but he and the monsters are at an impasse now. Occasionally, one or another of the beasts will feint at him, but his sensors are operating at maximum capacity and his reflexes are good. He's holding them off.
But for how long?
Much as he'd hate to admit it, he could use some help right now-- the real kind, involving other people. Even squishy people.]