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Who: Catechism, Ramjet |
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NCC Residential Plaza
This area of the city is far more open to the air. The buildings are shorter and don't loom over you like in the other sections. As the city is in battle mode, huge spires can be seen with missile turrets and laser cannons, targeting any hostile invaders. The criss-cross of skylanes is defended by a network of tiny point-defense lasers, making use of the roads nearly impossible if you are not a Decepticon. As this is a non-essential area, this place seems much less defended than other parts of the city. Most of the buildings are not very well protected. Those that house the quarters of the high command, however, have a considerable amount of firepower geared towards their defense.
Contents:
Ramjet
Sweep Sanctum
Shellshock's Workshop
Battlecharger's Bordello
Ramjet's Bunker
Obvious exits:
North leads to NCC Arena.
Northwest leads to NCC Central Hub.
West leads to NCC Coastline.
Fly
Ramjet is pacing around on the observation post, on top of his bunker, frowning at a very battered datapad.
Catechism is really just passing through. There don't seem to be enough Deceptions free at the moment to have a raid, and she's done a fair amount of scouting already. She's just looking for something vaguely more useful to do.
Ramjet looks up from his datapad as his position enables him to spot her passing thru. She doesn't seem to be busy so he shouts a "Hey!" across to her as she passes.
Catechism hears someone call out a, "Hey," so she looks around and, seeing no one at optic-level, looks up. Spotting Ramjet up there on that observation post, she waves and cheerily inquires, "Need something?"
Ramjet comes to the edge of the roof and grips the rail, leaning over a bit as he looks down. "Not really. Not unless you have some high grade energon you want to get rid of?"
Catechism laughs and shakes her head slightly. "You're asking the wrong Decepticon, here." Besides, if she had any, she probably wouldn't give it away. There is no such thing as a free lunch and all that.
Ramjet frowns still. "that’s too bad. things are pretty quiet around here despite this supposed big push. I heard you’d been on some raids, thought you might have had a chance to pick some up."
Catechism puts her hands on her hips and chides, "Raids are for the Empire! Besides, it's not like I've been raiding a bar." She has no desire to pilfer supplies, and even if she did, there are always other watching. She doesn't raid alone. Also, they just get boring old normal energon out of raids, not the harder stuff.
Ramjet says, "yeah yeah. sounds like you've been working pretty hard, got lots of mission time. you did good by the sounds of those reports too. Any more planned do you know?"
Catechism shrugs and glances around. After a moment, she looks back up at Ramjet and answers, "None of the raids I went on were terribly planned. We just looked up where there was likely to be energy, considered how many Autobots and xenos were likely to be there, and raided away." She pauses for another moment, thinking. "Well, maybe the raid on Iran was more planned. I wasn't there for the planning part."
Ramjet looks confused, "ze nos?"
Catechism wiggles her fingers, as one would do when speaking of small, unwanted pests, and exclaims, "Xenos! Y'know, the natives around here. Some of them have powered armour and jets and stuff, the blasted vermin."
Ramjet ohs and nods, "The native monkeys. have you met any of the wierd ones from another dimension? Militants they call themselves."
Catechism stares blankly for a moment and then asks slowly, "You can actually tell the xenos apart? Or are these Militants bright green and spiky or something?" As far as she's concerned, humans all look alike. They're all varying shades of peach and brown and really short. They don't even have alternate mode bits to set them apart from each other, for crying out loud!
Ramjet 's optics blink as he checks visual records. "I see your point. They usually wear power armour with insignia tho. Also they tend to go on and on about how superior the militants are. that’s usually a good indication."
Catechism mulls over the new information. After some pondering, she says, "Maybe I saw one. In Iran, there was a fleshling in power armour. I think Fulcrum said in the report that that one was called Michael Briar or something. Weird name." She shakes her head. Names are supposed to have meaning, aren't they? What the scrap is a 'Michael', then?
Catechism waves. "Well, I have to get going." She exits the area.