Raising Arizona

Who: Fusillade, Guiltor, Galvatron, Scrapper, Parasite, Nate Briar, Hot Spot (vaguely!)
IC Year: 2029
Location: Arizona
TP: From The Grave


Summary: Guiltor lays a trap in Arizona for his next target: Fusillade!


The Grand Canyon state consists of terrain from the high desert plateau in the northern and eastern sections to the desert basins and jagged mountain ranges in the southern and western parts, broken only by the high, forested mountains in central Arizona. The spectacular Grand Canyon, for which the state is best known, displays its timeless beauty close to the border between Arizona and its northern neighbor, Utah. To the south are the major cities of Phoenix and Tucson, irrigation from the Colorado and Salt Rivers making them green oases in the southern desert.

<Decepticon> Blueshift says, "Fusillade! I am in Arizona to fight Redshift for my Operations bout! Get over here this instant before I /murder/ him!"

<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "Wow. Giving out orders as if the position is already yours. Cute, but that'll ahve to wait until AFTER space time inverts its innards over our cosmic plane."

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Know your place, Blueshift! You make requests of your superior officers, you do not demand!"

<Decepticon> Onslaught says, "There is nothing amiss with enthusathism among the ranks as long as it is, of course, properly directed. I do not believe this is one of those times however."

<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "Hnn, well, I suppose we can come out and bring a medic along too. En route."

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "I also will bear witness to this... adventurism."

Arizona. A scrubland, deserted by all signs of civilisation, an arid, torrid landscape covered with thick shrubbery and broken, burnt out buildings. This is the scene from which two Decepticon ident signals are coming, from an ancient, ruined shed amongst the devastation

With wings swept back, Fusillade blasts along the mesquite scrubland, ground snappin by at less than fifty feet from her nacelles as she skirts the edge of the Grand Canyon at near Mach speeds. The Lancer banks, flying past the pair of concealed IFF signals as she radios out sharply, <<Are you two swatting each other faces' in a slapfight over who gets to eat all the paste?>>

Galvatron is slower to arrive as he is flying under his own power- Cyclonus is busy elsewhere and Galvatron's not in a hurry. Therefore Fusillade is on her own, relatively speaking, for a while.

Hot Spot is getting a kitten out of a tree in the next town over, oblivious.

There is silence over the Arizona scrubland, as the wind whistles by. And then as Fusillade passes over the building, the stonework EXPLODES in a firey shower of masonry and metal, as a sphere of firey green energy blasts out lancing towards the plane, leaving a crater that smokes as flames lick over the earth. And as the smoke clears, a dark figure becomes visible. "There is no Blueshift..." it intones, a dark, rich voice, familiarly tinged.

"...Only GUILTOR!"

You strike Space-Going B-1R Lancer with Exploding shed.

Annoyance melts away into outright bewilderment as the entire building face immolates itself into shrapnel. Multiple chunks of corrugated tin roofing pierce the craft's wings and tail, flanking the gout of energy that sizzles, cracks, and fuses together servos and airframe. With an audible 'GACK!' the bomber nearly nosedives in the precariously close ground, before transforming into robot mode.

"Right, copies... that luau in the corona doesn't mean anything..." With teeth gritted, she hisses out as she snaps out a Swiss-cheesed wingblade segment, "So, let's see... you're here WHY, precisely?!" Still smoldering, she gives a non-commital flick, sending the metallic dart whisking through the air at the left shoulder joint of the Quintesson construct.

Fusillade strikes you with Wingblade Slice for 1 points of damage.

Guiltor stands his ground, the smoke from t he crater curling around his feet as the ground dries and cracks from the intense heat. And the with a *thunk*, one of Fusillade's blades stabs into his shoulder. Emotionless optics showing no sign of pain, he yanks it out and starts to stride forwards in one motion. "For you, Fusillade" he booms, voice echoing over the sound of the crackling fire. "I am here for YOU."

One fist crackles with energy, and he points it at Fusillade, a shining bolt of power lancing out. "You are the weak link in the Decepticon chain of command, one who would drop everything to see /insects/ skirmish. I begin with YOU."

You strike Fusillade with Shining Fist.

There's a faintly impatient cant of her head to the side as Fusillade scans the horizon for incoming aircraft, be they Decepticons or EDC responders who by now surely have detected their presence? Stall. Find some way to distract, preoccupy him... Wait, what did he say? "NOT MY IDEA!!" she snarls out, and like a pit fighting dog, leaps back into the fray. She snaps out her chromed disruptor, the heavy muzzle aimed for the lurching mech's vocoder. The report is made abnormally loud by the surrounding wall of foothills.

You evade Fusillade's Low Output Shot attack.

Guiltor slides to the side, with an unnatural, eerie grace as Fusillade's shot goes wide. "Are you aware, Fusillade..." he booms, optics flashing a dark crimson "...of organic medicine. When a creature is damaged, its limbs often rebuild themselves haphazardly, mangled. They must endure further pain, the bones broken again, to be reset and made strong. I am the surgeon, Fusillade. I am here to break you, to crush every facet of your personality, and rebuild you, stronger than you ever were. And once more under the watchful eye of your /true/ masters." He rises to his full height, stamping the ground and sending a rumbling wave towards the Decepticon

You strike Fusillade with Earthquake.

In the next town, Hot Spot is helping neighborhood children paint a mural.

The initial shock from the proclamation and targetting has worn off, allowing Fusillade's typically contrary nature to shine defiantly in its questionable glory. This was the bomber that Shockwave had put into power to give the Unicronians fits, and also the very same to weather the brunt of two cannonings from the very same. The shot goes wide once the ground undulates underfoot. She isn't quite quick enough to activate anti-gravs, and so, the fragmenting crackling ground swallows up the lower half of her thrusters, cracking several layers of armor and turbofan blades. "Yeah, well that's just keen. Sweet of them, really." Ow, that really hurt... weren't they en route to watch the slapfight? She rends herself free, leaving shreds of alabaster armor in her wake, expression clouded with rage. "You're welcome to try. But I'm pretty sure they threw away the mold with THIS model!" She jerks her thumbs into the equivalent of her collarbone, before activating anti-gravs and leaping skyward. A swash of targetting paints over Guiltor's area, and with a vindictive snarl, Fusillade acquiants him with an air to air medium-ranged missile. Too close to lock on? Who knows? That faint purplish-pink shimmer coating sure was nice looking, as well as the 'What, you can read?!' painted on the nosecone of the incoming warhead.

Fusillade strikes you with From Nightseige, With Love for 14 points of damage.

Guiltor bends his right arm, a wicked-looking energon blade sliding out, crackling with energy as it bathes his face in a sickly green light. He stands stock still, impassively watching as the missile impacts onto his chest, scorch marks arcing out as smoke rises from his armour. And then he moves again, starting towards Fusillade, heavy boots crunching over the ground. "I am the embodiment of every crime, every evil thought, every abandoned comrade of this war. I am the avatar of your shame. I am the culmination of your crimes. How can YOU possibly hope to stand against me?"

He stops again, his free hand running a finger down the charred soot on his chest wound. "Impressive, but useless. You will die in this place, Fusillade. You will die in this place, alone and unmourned. Do you understand that?" Swiping out his energy blade, he sends a wave of pure energy towards Fusillade's knees and engines, intent on crippling her and keeping her from escaping

You strike Fusillade with Power Wave.

Glaive II - Prototype <Nate Briar> flies into the area after getting reports of Decepticon activity. Unfortunately for Nathan, Guiltor happens to be local. He jerks the controls of his guns back and forth. "Decepticons... Or the giant monster?" He kicks on his radio and starts playing 30 Seconds to Mars' 'The Battle of One' as he ponders firing a round into Fusillade or Guiltor. "Where the heck is Michael when I need him?" The pilot rubs his eyes with his gloved hands and quickly spins around to try and put distance between him and Guiltor.

One of the clouds drifting lazily above breaks away from the rest, moving at a faster pace than any cloud has a right to be doing. In the center of the foggy airborne cumulus is a sinister, angled silhouette, the mist and fog churning about it. It seems to be heading towards where Fusillade and Guiltor spar.

Galvatron finally closes in on Arizona after being obliged to stop off for half an hour and help Thrust get his head unstuck from a rabbit hole after eating too much honey. "Let that be a lesson to you, Thrust," he says in parting, "you are a Seeker of very little brain."

There they were! The sound of engines. Fusillade spares a glance skyward. Oh. OH. At that point, she tenses shoulders as she regards the appearance of Guiltor -- his frame apeparing relatively unscathed from what was realistically her best. Well, almost... There was always flying throu-- *KKK-RRR-ZZZZZZZZZK!*

The energy wave eats its way through her legs, doing just as Guiltor had hoped. With much of the internal hydraulics, space tile, and superstructure eaten away, Fusillade does buckle. With a supple twist of torso segmenta, though, she hauls out one wingblade, piercing it down into the ground as support. "Alone? Never will be. They'll be in here always, whether I want them or not," she manages to laugh out weakly from energon-spattered lips. Another set of engines... this time, a more familiar Seeker sound. NOT EDC. <<Decepticon units, intercept any incoming EDC craft. I... think I have something else that I need, must do...>>

"Not alone. Different, but not al..." Fusillade flexes fingertalons, and rears back like a pitcher winding up, before a sizzling ripple wells up within her torso. A crackle, and then she snaps out the hand. A surge of plasma, hungry for unionized matter.

You evade Fusillade's Harlem Globetrotter! attack.

Alongside the sleek and aerodynamic F-22 Raptor is a flying vehicle of another sort entirely. Or, perhaps more accurately, next to the cloud that surrounds the sleek and F-22. It is a flying lime green payloader with a purple flight wing attached. But a /stealthy/ lime green payloader with a purple flight wing attached. Scrapper is here because he heard Fusillade was getting in over her head, and he has a sneaky suspicion that a medic is going to be needed. Whether Scrapper is flying alongside Parasite by coincidence or on purpose remains to be seen.

Guiltor jerks to the side quickly, the energy pulse shooting over his shoulder as he continues to march towards the fallen Fusillade, energy blade humming and crackling. Standing over her, he weighs his blade, holding it near her neck, and then slowly raising his arm, as if about to strike and behead her. "Alone, Fusillade?" he intones, almost curiously, his voice low, either not hearing, or not reacting to any other sounds. "What friends could one such as /you/ have. What allies?" The blade stays in the air, at the apex of its swing, ready to fall at any time. "My files on you are bland, unexceptional. How can one such as you possible have room for any others in your cold lasercore?"

PEW. PEW PEW PEW. Purple Decepticon laser blasts lance out of the cloud! It seems that cloud is no cloud at all -- but a LASER CLOUD! The blasts are carefully pulsed and aimed, discriminating against Fusillade as they seem to all be squarely sent for Guiltor.

Neo-Gothic F-22 strikes you with disruptor for 1 points of damage.

From Glaive II - Prototype <Nate Briar>, Nate Briar hovers and watches the battle for now. He isn't sure if he should let the Decepticons get injured while injuring Guiltor or help them defeat Guiltor. These are not the best of possibilitites for him. Either side that wins will most likely attack him.

Autobot Superjet <Jetfire> appears as a gleam high, high up in the atmosphere. He leaves a pair of thin lines behind him, white against the blue of the sky...his engine exhaust is creating linear artificial clouds of his own in his wake. Although these are cirrus clouds, and not laser clouds.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The tell-tale march of a well-seasoned executioner. It's just only NOW that the notion that he might kill those he can't keep enters Fusillade's head. And despite this, in the face of such adversity is where she seems to thrive. The tighter the constriction, the more violent her defiance. "Then DOOOOOOO it," she sing-songs out Guiltor "/I/ win!" She laughs luxurious, tips of fangs barely visible in the coruscating green light of his blade.

"PLEASE. Do your 'masters' -- I'm using LOWER CASE THERE -- even HOPE to think to pull this off?! You couldn't even handle DOMESTIC UNITS!! The troops have it better undeer me than ANY other commander! I KNOW them. I let them be Decepticons, to destroy, fly through the skies, soar into satisfying their desires. And they -LOVE- me for it!!! Your files? Your FILES?! -HA-! You don't know me, and you will never know ALL of me! Your files couldn't know or predict, because oh, I don't know. Maybe they're OUT OF DATE!!!"

And at that point, much like the bold Black Knight in Monty Python's Holy Grail, she lunges upward. There's a wicked glint of fangs as she seeks to latch her teeth into one of the major servo junctions where his leg joins his hip armor. Gah, anklebiter!

Fusillade strikes you with Great White Smile for 3 points of damage.

Galvatron emerges from the cloud just behind Parasite. "You think you can prey upon my Decepticons and I will not take offense, Guiltor? You are sadly mistaken! No Decepticon is subject to any morality but my own!"

Galvatron strikes you with Fusion Cannon (low output) for 17 points of damage.

Scrapper transforms into robot mode, hovering high above the battlefield. Although his laser pistol is in hand and fully charged, he doesn't take any overt action against Guiltor yet. The Constructicon wishes to gauge the situation, and see if any of his comrades (most specifically Fusillade) requires any repairs before the battle progresses. He's counting on Guiltor either not noticing him or not caring about him until said needs are taken care of. But Fusillade doesn't reply to his radio, being too absorbed in her own shouting and ranting. It's kind of spooky as she screams at him. When Galvatron appears behind Parasite (and therefore near Scrapper), the Constructicon tries to look like he's being heroic by shooting down at Guiltor along with the boss man.

Scrapper strikes you with Laser Pistol - Low Setting for 5 points of damage.

Galvatron lays down a bracketing fire as Guiltor is struck from three sides at once, descending to hit the hard dry ground with a resounding thump. "Like your masters, Guiltor, you are nothing but a scavenger, a parasite, clawing at the edges of greater empires! How many times must I rebuff you before you realize the futility of trying to prey upon a Decepticon's "emotional frailties?" We are no mere automated robots to be paralyzed by guilt!"

Neo-Gothic F-22 clears his throat. "Must we use the 'p' word in such negative context, my lord?"

Neo-Gothic F-22 chuckles to himself, banking away once he has deposited Galvatron and Scrapper from within his holographic depths. Smoke and mist trails from his wings, making the outline of his fighter-jet silhouette more evident as he circles around Guiltor. "Galvatron, Scrapper... What other surprises might I be hiding, hmm?" He chuckles to himself, circling Guiltor from above.

Guiltor gazes down at Fusillade impassively, blade fizzling in his fist as he slowly lowers it, hot against Fusillade's neck, sizing her up for the kill. "You think yourself a great motivator? Your own existance is so paltry that you must live through others? Then know this Fusillade, that as I kill you, and you lie dead upon this barren ground, that I will hunt down and /execute/ every one of your charges. I will show them no compassion, no mercy, they will die ignobly, marked for death by your association."

His head lowers, his optics darkening to an almost pure black. "Now silence. Oblivion beckons." He raises his sword, about to strike, when suddenly as if sent from on high, the very clouds seem to open up with volley after volley of laserfire, pocketing the armour on his back, the fusion blast of Galvatron causing shards to melt and broil. And then Fusillade lunges for him, causing the mighty warrior to stagger slightly, giving at last a more emotional outburst, namely a cry of surprise.

"Hnnnn" he exclaims, sword by his side as his other arm raises, a huge energy sphere arcing out around him and Fusillade, sending a wave of energy washing over any nearby attackers. "Pain is my friend, Galvatron!" he booms. "Allow me to introduce you to it!"

Guiltor unleashes his area_ranged attack on Scrapper and Galvatron, striking no one.

Parasite transforms, abruptly dropping out of his cover cloud as Guiltor ravages the skies with an energy wave. "Temper, temper," he chides, hovering to the ground gracefully, his cape flowing in the wind behind him. He touches the ground near Guiltor, squinting his red optics at the bright sunlight. "Lord Galvatron, might I suggest we move up the timetable on Project: Sunblocker?" He asks, then pauses, stroking his chin. "No, no. I can see you're busy. Another time." As he debates with himself, a darker shroud pours out of his holographic projectors, so that he appears as nothing more than a blob of black with two glowing red eyes and a fanged Cheshire Cat smile. "Much better. Guiltor, look into my eyes..." Those red optics start to pulse and swirl as he advances on the Quintesson terrorbot.

You are temporarily incapacitated by Parasite's special attack.

In the next town, Hot Spot is visiting sick children, telling them inspirational stories in which the Combaticons reprsent 'Goofus' and the Protectobots are in turn 'Gallant.'

From Glaive II - Prototype <Nate Briar>, Nate Briar hovers and watches as the Decepticons try to take down Guiltor. And now that Galvatron has arrived, Briar decides to click in his weapon systems to full power. "Lasers activate. And do your duty!" He controls the exo frame to aim the laser gauntlets at Guiltor. He hovers down to try and take aim but he watches as Guiltor attacks several targets. He opens fire after a second of pausing. "Jesus, there is no stopping him!"

Glaive II - Prototype <Nate Briar> strikes you with laser for 4 points of damage.

Scrapper on the other hand seems to have no problem with the use of the word 'scavenger' in such a negative manner. With Galvatron at his side, he's confident that even Guiltor is going down. After all, Galvatron's power is everything - defeat is absurd! As a wave of energy suddenly bursts outwards around Guiltor, Scrapper floats higher into the air, bracing himself. With luck, the range of the weapon is such that it's mostly dissipated by the time it reaches him, and his sturdy Constructicon armour withstands it, seemingly unscratched. The Constructicon snorts, "You have lousy taste in friends!" he shouts back. Charging his pistol for longer ranged shots, Scrapper strafes at the Quintesson titan from above with numerous laser blasts. As he does this, something catches Scrapper's attention. "'Project Sunblocker'?"

Scrapper strikes you with Laser Pistol - Medium Setting for 8 points of damage.

Parasite turns his hypno-glare on Scapper. "You didn't hear anything, Scrapper," he says, his voice tricked out with trippy reverb and echo.

Imperial screaming. Excellent. Eventually, Fusillade will have the displeasure of ruminating on the difficulties of respawning Guiltors. One for every Cybertronian? Yeah, that could get ugly. A chill almost begins to tingle down her into her core when he speaks of hanging others' deaths upon her, but then he screws the pooch. "You want me to be QUIET? You don't tell ME what to do!" As the energy shell bubbles up around them, a faint pang at its unknown properties twinges along her awareness, before it expands out, threatening the others. Frustration at not being able to take to the air in her favored aerial form, and ultimately, that just pisses her off even more. The acrid metallic tang of armor shards in her mouth, she hisses, and hauls out the second wingblade, hauling back into a fierce uppercut to drive the edges into the already damaged joint. "I... heard that little yelp..." she smiles wickedly, face smeared with soot and caking energon.

You evade Fusillade's Wingblade Spear attack.

Scrapper looks back at Parasite, his flight slowing as if momentarily stunned. "These aren't the droids we're looking for," he says in a daze.

"Pain?" murmurs Galvatron, thoughtfully, his voice contemplative. "Pain. Ah, I see." He holds out his left hand, the blast of energy striking his palm and scattering around him like waves around the prow of a ship. "You must be mad, Guiltor. I suffered from what can only be considered... madness, once. With Unicron in my mind torturing me. Perhaps you also have someone in YOUR mind, driving you on, yes? Unfortunately for you this shared experience does not entitle you to privilege or pity." He steps out of the two small holes his feet had sunk into due to recoil from the energy blast and stalks towards Guiltor, cannon raised and humming healthily, glowing a vibrant orange. "Only to a SWIFT END!"

You evade Galvatron's Fusion Cannon (standard output) attack.

A moment is all it takes, as Guiltor is temporarily paralysed by Parasite's attack. The Quintession warrior growls, a deep gutteral noise as his head stiffly turns towards Parasite, red optics turning dark, and then practically black. "Pathetic" he rumbles. "My systems will take mere moments to free myself, /Parasite/" he glowers. "All you have done is to hasten your inevitable demise. You who fear your own reflection, for the sole reason that it reminds you of your true self, not the pathetic, fragile shell that you build up to hide your delicate ego."

Impossibly, crackling with arcs of energy moving around his arm, he breaks free of the seeker's power, raising his arm cannon, to let it roar with a torrent of molten plasma energy.

You strike Parasite with Night's Fist.

Parasite falls to the ground unconscious.

Parasite squeals as he gets shot, smoke pouring out of his mouth and his optics flare brightly before shorting out. His mysterious black shade evaporates and he tumbles forward to the ground, a lifeless, smoking body.

In the next town, a child asks, "Hot Spot, is something wrong?"

Staring into the distance, Hot Spot replies, "I don't know, it just feels like... the day got a bit sunnier."

From Glaive II - Prototype <Nate Briar>, Nate Briar seems to have done his part of the damage. He decides to get the hell out of the battle for now. He remembered how bad it went last night... And nothing seems to be going to stop him. He jerks the controls and tries to get out of here. He still has to finish learning how to use this mobile suit before it becomes effective for combat.

Galvatron cocks his cannon arm back and charges Guiltor while he is distracted with whatever Seeker that was- Galvatron can't keep track of all the Sweeps and Seekers. The one that wears capes, which one is that? He'll ask Onslaught or Fusillade about it later. "Why don't you bring your pathetic shell over this way so I can crack it open," suggests Galvatron, swinging an awesome right hook.

Galvatron strikes you with Galvatron's (not Night's) Fist for 13 points of damage.

Scrapper seems more than content to stay at ranged, shooting Guiltor up where he can't grab him and inflict the pain he inflicted on Fusillade. Of course, Parasite proves that staying at ranged is not terribly safe either. The Constructicon's optical visor widens as his fellow Decepticon is blasted from the sky. Snapping out of his Parasite mind trick daze, Scrapper touches down on the ground next to his smoking chassis, already drawing out his laser screwdriver and getting to work, trying to keep the Decepticon from expiring.

Such a trouncing hearkens back to the days of the command free for all on the Ross Ice Shelf. Pain. And then Parasite is knocked down. It was already coming true! With a dogged growl, Fusillade staggers the sprawled position, entire frame trembling from the strain of trying keep balance on charred gyros, some of which flat out just weren't there. She manages a faint tilt to remove herself from the ferocity of Galvatron's swing, but doesn't really accomplish much other than tipping over like an F-16. "Smeltin' PITT, that aftmunch did a number on me." Peering up cock-eyed at the patch of chartreuse hunkered over the Seeker, she grunts. "I'm NOT done yet!" she rasps through a scraped neck, before twisting around, and falling back on her skidplate to chuck the weapon at Guiltor. "Need to find your production plant..." Frisbee!

Fusillade strikes you with Flung Wingblade for 3 points of damage.

Guiltor impassively watches as Parasite's body is shattered by his blast, gazing through the fresh smoke as his body hits the ground. "For some, the end will be swift" he intones, turning to Galvatron. "And for others, the wait will be excruciating." He lets the Decepticon leader punch him, showing only a flicker of pain at the impact, his chest violently denting inwards, but as a whole, the warrior still looks very, very dangerous.

"Notice Galvatron, that I possess extreme power. And yet I do not strike you. Why is this, you wonder. The truth is, you are below nothing to me. For all your swaggering, you are /nothing/, a pale shadow of what you can be. You are beneath me, and one day, I shall crush you underfoot. Every day, death will be hounding you, and when you feel safe and secure in your domain, I shall step from the shadows, and visit upon you the most ignoble of ends."

In a show of mocking defiance, he turns his back on Galvatron, marching slowly towards Fusillade, smoke still curling off his armour from the attacks. "Still you try, and you do not understand" he glowers, with one hand ripping open his chest, tearing off the armour to reveal the spark of his lasercore underneath, open and vunerable, throwing down a blade at Fusillade's feet. "For all your efforts, all your trials, you will never defeat me. For I am an idea, and ideas are immortal."

Scrapper scoffs inwardly at Guiltor's words, but does his best not to draw attention to himself. He's busy trying to save Parasite. He does peer, though, when Guiltor rips open his own chest. What the h-e-double hockey sticks?

Keenly watching the exchange between Galvatron and Guiltor, Fusillade eventually starts formulating a new tactic. Warning klaxons for multiple failing systems keep popping up new windows on her HUD. Resting elbows on ruined knee intakes, Fusillade flicks optics off briefly. The deliberate pace brings Guiltor back toward her, and its with distinct curiousity that she watches his hardcore display. "Well, YOU started it, jackaft," she remarks, even as one hand sliiiiiides out to pluck up the oversized, Bowie-styled weapon, palming the flat between her hands as she examines either side. The pulsations of the core are temptingly near. The obvious, but ultimately futile choice. It'd be a small break until the next one came along, at least.

Unpredictability, however, was one of the most wretched, magnificent thing about Fusillade. She holds up the knife, and then with a smarmy smile, leans back on elbows and begins picking her teeth with the knife. "Yeap," she agrees with him. "But ideas... can be forgotten." She does nothing else, except grin like she was privy to the universe's best in-joke.

"This is getting needlessly philosophical," remarks Galvatron coolly. "You say you cannot be defeated, I say defeating you repeatedly is already becoming tiresome. Perhaps we'll just have to agree to disagree."

Galvatron draws his plasma sabre, grips it two-handed and lunges to run Guiltor through!

Galvatron strikes you with Glass Half Empty for 21 points of damage.

Guiltor's impassive visage looks almost as if it is smiling widely at Fusillade's reaction to him. "Hah. Perhaps there is hope for you, Fusillade. Or perhaps you are just too afraid to look victory in the optics, scared of what winning might truly mean." As Galvatron strikes Guiltor, the blade pieces his side, the huge mech damaged but seemingly unphased by this. "Pathetic" he muses, still not turning back towards the Decepticon leader, addressing him with his back turned. "Can you kill your own weaknesses with weapons? I think not!"

Seemingly oblivious to the danger around him, he kneels down, to address Fusillade at optic level, the exposed lasercore in his chest glowing brightly. "I will come back again and again. I will kill those you care for, I will break you again and again, and when you beg for me to stop, I will break you again. Do you understand Fusillade?" The voice is almost kind, like a caring uncle imparting words of wisdom to a child. "This means nothing to me. I am Guiltor, I /transcend/ death. Do you /understand/?" He reaches into his chest and slowly crushes his lasercore, optics brightening slightly, almost in a sign of enjoyment.

"I /cannot/ be stopped. Do you /understand/?" And then, with a final crunch, his lasercore turns to dust in his fist, and his body topples lifelessly to the ground, fading to grey.

Scrapper has more or less stabilized Parasite by the time Galvatron is finished killinating the hell out of Guiltor. Standing back up, Scrapper twirls his screwdriver before sliding it back into its subspace holster. He dusts off his hands and slowly walks towards the lifeless corpse of Guiltor. He coughs politely and gives a hopeful look at Galvatron.

As Guiltor continues to speak, Fusillade pauses to give him another taste of the evil eye. Scraaaaape-tick, the tip of the blade slips a bit too far along her fourth upper left canine, and she hssts a bit, extending the weapon to hold him at bay as he leans in. "It'd mean singing really loud and off key at dive bars on the far side of Monacus, and I would live the smelt out of every sec..." He extinguishes himself, and in an explosion of anger, Fusillade emits a few blistering curses as she slings the weapon down onto the ground. "I WASN'T FINISHED!" She barks down at the shell, before finally flopping on her back, not even really caring about the crack from her helm hitting the hard-packed Arizona dust. "I don't think I'll ever be finished," she murmurs with knitted brow, before her shoulders begin to quake.

Galvatron snaps his plasma blade back off and replaces it in its holster. "If only all my enemies were so self-defeating," he remarks. "It might have saved time and effort if I had known he was going to do that. I suppose you may as well throw this one into a volcano since we threw the first one into the sun."

Galvatron doesn't want to get stale.

"Perhaps I should dissect it and see what secrets we can learn from the Quintessons," Scrapper suggests. He suspects, given that Guiltor bodies seem like they were designed to be left laying around after death, that there won't be much. But... "or at least take the opportunity to turn him into a new throne for your gloriousness."

In the next town, Hot Spot and some orphans have a delicious Christmas dinner.

Merry Christmas everyone!


In the next town, a little one legged orphan tries to give Hot Spot a Little Orphan Alien doll. "Pweese mister! Take it!"

Galvatron waves a hand dismissively. "If you like. I suppose we can always throw the *next* one into a volcano."

Scrapper says, "I imagine there will be many of them before this is done, mighty Galvatron."

Fusillade groans slightly, "We need to find out if they're being teleported, what data they're transmitting... You can bet they're learning each time..." Starbu -- Fusillade hauls her self back onto her feet.

"And a way to jam their transmissions. Look into it, Scrapper," agrees Galvatron.

"Yes mighty Galvatron," Scrapper says. He opens up a comm frequency to get Long Haul down here to haul away Parasite and Guiltor, because they're heavy and Scrapper can't make Fusillade or Galvatron do heavy lifting.


The Quintesson Delicious reviews the latest battle report from their new champion, hmmming to himself. "I don't know, Traumortis, we sentence people to death or some other horrible fate after we find them INNOCENT. So... maybe we should've called Guiltor something like... Innocentor?"

Traumortis snorts derisively as he watches a security camera feed, positioned to monitor the resurrection bay. In it, a Guiltor body suddenly spasms for a moment, its optics glow, then it tears off its harness and stomps off-camera. "Sometimes our race's "clever" sense of irony wears on me, Delicious. And anyway, I don't want to confuse those feeble-minded Cybertronians with our little jokes."

"I guess so," Delicious replies. "I'm also concerned that he's not exactly stable. I mean, you saw he just ripped that harness off. Totally unnecessary! And just the other day he ripped Nautilator in half over a simple misunderstanding!"

"You worry too much, Delicious," Traumortis says, his voice becoming a low growl. "My plan is proceeding EXACTLY as I predicted..."

A single-faced Quintesson scientist, listening from the same room, gabs about what he heard with all his single-faced friends. Generally they become concerned about this is going. However, what can they do?

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