robothell | OPEN

OPEN - ARRIVAL

Who: IDW AU BW Rampage and YOU
Where: Nowhere in particular
What: Fresh crab meat, what a treat!
When: After whatever else has happened
Warnings: Well, he's a mass murdering cannibal, and may or may not do or attempt either of those things.

The first thing Rampage does when he wakes up is remember. The second thing he does is scream. Not a shrill scream of fear or surprise, of course. One of those long, deep, growling howls of pure rage and agony that may or may not break into loud cackles occasionally, making you rather doubt the sanity of the screamer.

This doubt would not be especially unfounded.

With that business out of the way, Rampage calms down slightly - or at least manages to shove his emotions back into the dark festering closet of his mind where they belong (the door doesn't close very well and it leaks a lot, but it keeps him from raving constantly). Settling down on a convenient piece of rubble - really, there's rubble conveniently just about everywhere - he begins to take stock of his situation.

Last he remembers, he was being imprisoned in stasis, with the high probability of his imprisoners throwing away the key after locking him up. He's certainly not in stasis now, nor is there any sign of the machinery that had held him. However, the area he's in is rather thoroughly bombed out. Perhaps the facility was destroyed around him, or his body blown free, and he was now awakening from a healing sleep.

Ha! 'Healing sleep'. His brain module is always one of the first parts to grow back, ensuring he experiences the wonderful agony that is regenerating your internal and external sensors.

So if that's not the case, he's uncertain of just how he ended up in his circumstances. Then again, he's not sure he really cares other than regretting no longer being in stasis. Complete lack of consciousness had been refreshingly close to oblivion.

Well, wherever he is, he's not alone. He can feel the bright points of sparks scattered around him at various distances. Standing, he stretches, reacquainting himself with unchanging body and heads out to find one. He's not sure what he'll do with them when he does, but it's bound to be more interesting that sitting around drowning in his internal agonies.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That sure was a racket.

It was enough to rouse Sixshot from his shallow slumber. If he had mobile ears they'd have flicked in irritation, but he just had metal nubbins so he grumbles unhappily instead. He doesn't fully awaken until it finally clicks into place just what the sound actually was.

Somewhat surprised at the revelation, the Sixer sits up.

Screaming?

And... laughing.

By the same individual from the sounds of things.

There was a moment of brief internal struggle where he just debates going back to sleep and ignoring what sounded like at least an hour's worth of trouble. Eventually, curiosity won out; he'd slept for days already anyways and he wasn't going to get anymore with this level of noise going on.

Sighing the most long suffering of sighs, Sixshot finally drags himself to his feet, shakes off the accumulated dust, and starts lazily making his way towards the source of the noise.

There's someone coming towards him, a peculiar tang to their spark, and Rampage pauses. With a ripple of plating, he checks his internal weaponry, the integrated systems that no scalpel or brute force can part from him. He's ready to use it, unsure of if he should use it, or if he wants to use it...

His desires have gotten rather more complicated since he... lost Transmutate. He remembers the brilliant taste of the pain and fear of others, still craves it now, but he's lost some of his taste for the rampant violence that filled his days between escape and recapture.

So perhaps this time he won't shoot first and ask questions later. This time he'll ask questions first, and then he'll shoot. Or not.

The spark is still approaching, though with no great haste, so Rampage leans casually against a building, crosses his arms, and waits.

Whoever it was, they'd moved. The scent leads him through the crater and into a cluster of dusty old buildings nearby.

The newcomer wasn't really hard to spot, what with the bright red and purple color scheme. What was rather disconcerting however, was the fact that he seemed to be... waiting for Sixshot's arrival?

That makes the Sixer stop a good few dozen meters away, red eyes narrowing.

Well, this beast-bot is certainly large enough. Rampage is somewhat impressed, and it makes his triggers itch, fingers and alt-mode legs twitching slightly as the restless, destructive part of him takes the newcomer's size as a challenge. He was made to be a weapon, after all, and he'd been so eager to show the universe just how good of a weapon they'd created. Too eager.

His optics narrow slightly, though the expression looks more lazy than aggressive. He drawls he greeting to the stranger, "Pleasant day we're having, isn't it?"

Another one who didn't know what he was. Although for once, the question was turned on Sixshot as well.

What was this guy? He looked kind of like on of the Piranacons. There were pointy organic looking bits everywhere. He didn't smell much better either; there was a lot of energon spilt by this mech.

"It's not a bad day, I guess," he answers, tone colored with confusion.

"The scenery does provide a certain ambiance." He raises a hand, gesturing lazily at the crumbling buildings surrounding them.

Rampage would recognize Sixshot by name and reputation, but he'd never cared enough to look up the appearances of any of the Decepticon Warriors Elite. Or any Decepticon for that matter. Autobots, Decepticons, they were all the same to him. Their terror tasted just as sweet against his spark. There was no place for allegiance to anyone but himself and Transmutate in the wild freedom after his escape.

"I don't suppose you know what happened here?" he adds. "Besides the obvious."

It was clear that war happened here, no doubt the continuation of the Autobots and Decepticons' never-ending spat, but he was hoping for more specific details, something that might explain his presence here... wherever here was.

"I just arrived a few weeks ago, so no."

Sixshot was relatively sensible as far as Phase Sixers went, but sensible for Phase Sixers was not very sensible at all. Invincibility changed a lot of things.

And yet, there was something about this mech that made him just a little wary. He smelled like Warrior Elite and the death that followed them around. But he also smelled... of newness and repair nanites.

"Arrived? From where?" And more importantly to where. Rampage does doesn't feel like admitting he doesn't know where he is yet.

Invincibility and immortality both change things. As does having nothing to lose. There's not even a hint of wariness in Rampage's posture as he continues to relax against a building.

"I was on a planet called Earth. And then I woke up here."

There wasn't much more to the story than that. Sixshot had no theories about any of it and frankly he didn't care.

Rampage's optics widen slightly in surprise at that. Of all the things he was expecting, that others had simply woken up here as he did was not one of them. Well, that changes things exactly. It puts him and this stranger on much more even ground.

"Hmm," he says. "Any idea where 'here' is?"

"The stars match up with Cybertron. Kinda looks like Cybertron. None of the landmarks match up though, even wrecked as things are."

Hm. Looks like it was going to be another bout of explaining things to someone. Sixshot finds himself losing any meager interest he'd had in the conversation at this point, but duty stops him from leaving.

Edited 2015-02-07 23:00 (UTC)

"Cybertron..." Rampage stares at the ruins with renewed interest, a knot of confused emotions whirling to life inside of him. "I've never been to Cybertron before."

He looks a bit lost. Cybertron, the homeworld of his people. Or his creators' home, at least. Not his, never his. He doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong anywhere. His casually lean has turned tense, fingers clenching slightly on his arms.

"It was a hellhole before the war. Now it's even more of a hellhole but with less pretty buildings. Doesn't seem like this place is much different."

This was about the point where Sixshot gives up trying to care and start lying down to go back to sleeping again. He notices the sudden tension in the red and purple mech's frame, but he finds it hard to be too bothered by that too.

"About what it deserves, I suppose," Rampage mutters. Looking back at Sixshot, he does a double-take. The other bot is... going to sleep?!

"...What are you doing?" he asks, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Sleeping."

What? It wasn't like he had much to do now that he's explained everything he'd cared to find out about. He wasn't about to get any more useful.

"There's people nearby you can talk to," he mutters, settling in. "They know more."

And probably care more.

"...Sleeping." Rampage stares at the strange beast-bot, his incredulity slowly giving way to an old anger.

He could tolerate many emotions directed towards him: fear, anger, hate, pity, contempt- some he enjoyed, some he disliked, but the one thing he couldn't stand directed towards him was apathy. It took him back to the time he was a thing not a person. Where his wants and needs and opinions were ignored. When he was considered worth nothing more than an experiment. A weapon. A thing.

He'd ripped the apathy out of them screaming in the end. Every single one.

He hardly realizes he's moving until he attempts to slam his foot into Sixshot's side. "Don't ignore me!"

The kicking would be more annoying if Sixshot wasn't actually in his massive wolf form. It's still a surprisingly powerful kick and it actually makes the big wolf shift in his spot, startling him out of his dozing.

A few weeks ago, this would have been the start of a fight.

Instead, Sixshot raises his massive head and casts Rampage one of the most singularly offended looks he could muster.

"Well then," he growls, sitting up. "What do you want me to do?"

Rampage expected it to start a fight. He's used to fights. He knows what to do in fights. When instead of getting angry or attacking Six Shot simply stares at him and asks a question, it rapidly deflates his bubble of anger, leaving him staring owlishly at the large beast-bot.

"I-" What does he want? That's... a much more difficult question to answer than it should be. He... wanted a fight? Maybe? Well, not exactly wanted, it was just... familiar. He'd reveled in combat during his brief reign of freedom. Or rather, reveled in crushing everyone around him and drinking in their fear and pain and-

Well, as fun as that had been, he's not sure it's what he wants anymore. He wants... Transmutate. But that's not something this stranger can give him. So what does he want from Six Shot?

"Don't... ignore me," he says finally, huffing slightly and crossing his arms.

"And?" Sixshot prompts, somewhat impatiently. "Do you just want me to stare at you all day then?"

Because he's got better things to do.

... Well, not really, but he still wasn't staring at this mech for hours.

He notes the surprised expression however, the sudden unsureness- but any sympathy he had was currently lost under annoyance.

"No," Rampage states flatly, his horns twitching with agitation, fingers strumming against his arm.

He could just leave. Find someone else to bother like the stranger wanted him to. But then, he wouldn't really know what to do with someone else either.

He doesn't really know what to do with himself at all.

Sighing heavily, he asks, "Who are you, anyway?"

"Sixshot." He doesn't really elaborate beyond that; he's still a bit sulky from the kick and this new fellow hasn't exactly endeared himself to Sixshot.

Still, the Sixer manages to dredge up some courtesy. Enough to manage a drawled, "What about you?"

"Rampage, I suppose," he answers. He hadn't exactly put a lot of thought into renaming himself after escaping the institute. It was a bit of an obvious choice, but to the point.

His optics narrow at Six Shot, more contemplatively than threateningly for the moment. "Six Shot..." He knows that name. "Decepticon Six Shot? Warriors Elite Six Shot?"

He's not sure if there are any other Six Shots out there. He's fairly certain there are other Rampages out there. All the good names are taken.

"I was promoted to Phase Sixer a good while ago," he corrects blandly, something like displeasure underlining his voice. "Not that the title means much since the war's over."

Sixshot had the name solely because of his six alt modes. Not a lot of name competition there.

Rampage has no idea what a 'Phase Sixer' is supposed to be, but he doesn't really care. He is interested to hear that the war has ended. Amused even. In fact, he's laughing right now. Loud and wild and definitely not-entirely sane sounding. He practically doubles over from how hard he's laughing.

Sixshot watches the laughing with a slow blink.

Well.

Crazy laughing is not exactly new with Decepticons.

Rampage settles down eventually, dropping down heavily to sit on the ground. Propping an elbow on one knee and his head on his palm, he stares almost at Six Shot.

"Have you ever had the epiphany that your entire existence is completely worthless?"

Edited 2015-02-24 03:55 (UTC)

"Rather recently." Sixshot back onto his belly, expression suddenly just a little more curious. "Actually, I've suspected for a long while before, but it was confirmed an hour or so after I woke up here by the very mech who I'd been created to serve. That was fun."

Rampage's optics widen slightly, and he gives a bit of a laugh. What a pleasant surprise! Though perhaps not so surprising. What purpose is a super-weapon to serve outside of war anyway? Other than turning to wanton destruction. Rampage had done the wanton destruction thing even before the war had ended. What did he care about his creators' war?

"Have you tried killing him?" he asks casually. "I find killing ones creators to be a rather satisfying endeavor."

Hadn't changed the fact that he was a horrible abomination, but it had felt real good.

Edited 2015-02-24 12:25 (UTC)

Silence stretches between them for good while before Sixshot puffs air through his vents and looks away.

"It was more trouble than it was worth."

Killing Megatron hadn't really even occurred to him when he'd been standing in front of the mech, even stinking of weakness and fool's energon as he had been. He'd been made to be loyal, trained to be loyal- and the one time he'd thought of turning on Megatron had ended up with Starscream shutting him down.

Even if he had killed Megatron, where would that have gotten him? He'd have still been wandering the empty city, without purpose and direction anyway.

Edited 2015-02-25 18:43 (UTC)

"It is if you hate them enough," Rampage says. He's not judging, though. If Six Shot doesn't care enough to kill someone, that's his prerogative.

What a strange day. He can't help but chuckle again, and he decides to try and share the joke. "They spent so much time, and energy, and pain on me, and their precious superweapon never saw a single battle."

He'd fought, oh how he'd fought and killed while he was free, but it had never been as a part of the war. It was just him and whatever unlucky stragglers he stumbled across.

And oh how he enjoys how worthless his creators' work and their deaths were. It didn't really matter if it meant his existence was pointless as well. He was already an abomination at all. It just made their mistake in creating him all the more poignant.

That was the problem, wasn't it? Sixshot just... didn't hate Megatron. After the initial shock, anger and hurt, he'd mostly just felt...

Nothing.

"They'd have used you for the aftermath," he points out. "Just because the war has ended doesn't mean the fighting has." War was a finicky thing like that.

"Hardly," Rampage says. "I was a terrible mistake." What with the whole uncontrollable killing machine thing.

He watches Sixshot contemplatively. So this was one of the Drcepticons he'd been created in response to. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from the Deception Warriors Elite, but he was pretty sure it wasn't this.

"Guess you would be for them." He had mentioned killing his creators hadn't he? Although the implications of his phrasing seemed to imply that Rampage agreed with the assessment.

"Good thing you missed the war. Turns out it was a terrible mistake too."

Rampage laughs at that, too. Everything is horrible and it's hilarious. Or deeply depressing. There's a fine line here and at the moment he chooses to laugh rather than tear himself apart with the knowledge that everything he did and everything that happened to him could have- should have been- avoided.

"That's an awfully long mistake." He strums his fingers against his cheek. "How long did it last? I was... asleep before arriving here."

And he's not sure for how long.

"Four million years, give or take." Had it really been that long? It'd felt stretched out and horrifically, numbingly boring between missions, but looking back on it now, four millenia felt like nothing. Meaningless.

It was so strange to think that the very meaning and reason for his entire existence had just... ended. There was no new mission, no new fight to join, no direction. The road ahead was empty and dark.

No future.

Rampage looks a bit startled at that. He'd... been asleep for a long time, then. A very long time. And yet not long enough.

He gives another strum of his fingers against his faceplate, watching Sixshot, inside and out. He's never met another mech with quite this feeling of emptiness in him. It reminds him a bit of himself, and the yawning pit of regret and loneliness and bitter anger deep inside. It's not the same, but it is... similar.

"Have you ever considered dying?" he asks curiously. When there's nothing left for you in this world, what else is there but to abandon it? Or find a new purpose, he supposes. Rampage doesn't want a new purpose, though. He just wants Transmutate back.

Had he? Sixshot thinks back to his first meeting with Tarn, the thought of telling him about his attempt at deserting the Decepticons. Tarn would have killed him then.

Tarn would have killed him and doesn't think he would have fought it.

"Why does that matter?" he rumbles, something threatening in his tone.

Another bark of laughter at Sixshot's threatening tone, and then Rampage spreads his arms placatingly. "I thought it might be something else we have in common."

Rampage hasn't just considered dying, he's tried it. It's just never... stuck. His casual gaze suddenly focuses intently on Sixshot. He has an idea, something he'd like to test out.

"Shoot me," he says suddenly, then points at the middle of his chest, level with his spark. "Right here. Your most powerful weapon."

He's long given up hope of ever being able to die, but if there's anybody alive with the power to snuff him out, Sixshot would be one of them, right?

Rampage earns the blankest of stares. Sixshot feels like he's kind of been doing that a lot recently. This was especially baffled blank stare though.

Either Rampage is going to end up as a crustacean-like donut or Sixshot is going to be surprised. For better or worse, he is just about bored enough that he thinks he might want to be surprised.

So the Sixer flips into tank mode and swivels his turret around, leveling it at Rampage.

"Sure," he says.

Rampage wonders if he should feel offended that it took so little cajoling to get Sixshot to shoot him, but he doesn't have long to wonder about it because there's a powerful blast of energy tearing its way through his torso. His back shatters open, spraying burning and melted components across the ground, though most of his internals are straight-up vaporized. One of his arms tears off and goes spinning away as the force of it sends Rampage's body flying to collide with a building.

There's a long silence as the dust settles, Rampage's torn body sprawled out in the rubble of the walls he'd flown through. Sickly green light paints the scene around him, pulsing out from the cavernous hole that was his chest. If one was to approach and stare into it, they'd find a spark floating free and detached within the gap, bright and healthy beyond the fact that it seems to radiate a sense of wrongness.

Crackles of green lightning stab out from the mutant spark, and the gaping wound begins to knit together.

Now that.

That was a surprise.

Sixshot flips out of his tank mode and strides towards the green glow. His optics light up as he sees the wound begin to heal. He's seen fast regeneration before, but nothing like this; there were very few Cybertronians who survived having their spark casing smelted into nothingness. None, actually, as far as the Sixer knew.

"Well," he exclaims quietly, waiting to see how fast the strange mech healed.

"Aaaurgh!" Rampage howls eloquently, sitting bolt upright. Clearly the gaping wound in his chest, though rapidly closing up, still hurts like the dickens.

The sickly spark light dims slightly as its casing reforms and he clutches at it with his remaining hand. His other arm is currently a mess of half-grown bare spars and wires.

Wheezing and shuddering for a long moment, Rampage finally seems to get over the worst of the pain as his chest is mostly reformed and he heaves a long sigh instead.

"Well," he says back to Sixshot. "That answers that question."

"I was wondering what the Autobots'd do to counter Ununtrium," Sixshot murmurs in fascination, coming to a stop beside Rampage's prone form. He sinks down onto one knee and watches at the mech before him reforms again.

"So, I'm betting the only reason the research wasn't continued was because you destroyed it all and every scientist involved?" Because even if Rampage had been a mistake, the Autobots would never have given up on something like this. It would have turned the war around so much faster.

Rampage flexes his stub arm impatiently, but beyond that and some charring at the edges of what used to be a hole, you could hardly tell he just had what should have been an extremely fatal wound.

He's never heard of ununtrium, but it's not difficult to figure out it has something to do with the Decepticons' uniquely overpowered super soldiers.

"I did do that," he admits. "So that could be the reason, if indeed they didn't continue."

He wouldn't know, he was asleep. "Maybe they just got squeamish about tormenting the unborn." There's an edge of dark humour to his voice that implies he doubts that's the reason.

"Oh, yes. Squeamish as they were about putting brain needles in dead people." Ugh, Autobots were so gross sometimes.

Sixshot watches Rampage's arm re-attach itself quietly for a moment, a pensive expression on his pale face.

"Do you want to meet Megatron?"

Rampage chuckles at that even though he's not quite sure what Sixshot is talking about. He was never educated about the existence of shadowplay, but Sixshot's description sounds entertainingly unpleasant enough.

His optics cycle in a blink at the question. There's a name he definitely knows about! What living Cybertronian wouldn't?

"...Why not." He honestly has nothing better to do. He adds a firm caveat. "I won't be his weapon."

If Sixshot was even thinking that. He won't be anybody's weapon but his own.

"You don't really need to worry about that," Sixshot says with a laugh. "He's been going through a few... changes lately."

And what were those changes? Well, Rampage was about to find out!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OPEN - ARRIVAL

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Wrap!