damned_institute | DAY 43: CAFETERIA, MORNING

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DAY 43: CAFETERIA, MORNING

Where was Blitzwing?

Lugnut ignored the nurse's fussing over his foot, even as it howled objections to his ill treatment of it the night before, pounding through the town in search of his wingmate, reportedly helpless and injured by an attack the night before-- and not finding him, not seeing even a glimpse of his crazy triple-changing ally.

Snarling at the nurse, but restraining himself from shows of violence-- Blitzwing would mock him if he showed up drugged already, and he would be useless to Megatron like that--he made his way impatiently to the cafeteria, stopping for just long enough to post an urgent notice on the board.

Where was he?

Looming in the middle of the cafeteria, he took the tray the nurse handed him (filled with disgusting human fuel, didn't she know he didn't have time to eat, not when his wingmate was missing?) and ignored it, watching for Blitzwing, where was he?

He refused to think about what might have happened to a wheelchair-bound, drugged, incapacitated warrior, with the swarms of monsters flooding around him, clawing and biting...

[for Scourge]

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The voice on the intercom was more jarring than usual this morning; doubly jarring was the horrible sensation that came from the Scarecrow's shoulder as he stretched. His hand ran to the spot- oh yes, he'd been bitten the night prior by that man in the Spa. That was both unpleasant and unsettling.

Why would people want to bite others? He was confident those townspeople didn't actually want to eat him. They must have been incited into their crazed state, sort of like how the Institute became a much spookier and more threatening place during the night. Maybe all folks from this place were like that- they became monsters at night. That would certainly explain why the patients, most of whom claimed they weren't from around here, were seemingly normal during the darker hours.

His thoughts were interrupted as his stomach growled. That's right- he'd given away his sack breakfast the other day to that man he'd sat next to. He'd missed lunch and dinner, as well. No wonder his body was complaining.

He was thankful when the nurse led him to the cafeteria without much questioning. He took at least one of everything and found an empty seat.

[Free, no limits]

Well, that had been one Pit of a night. Once again, Lockdown woke up back in his cell with no memory of how he'd gotten here. He was clean of blood and gore now, and his arms were bandaged up where the zombie had dug its claws into him last night. He also still sported the throbing discoloration on his lower arm.

He woke up in time to see HK get dragged off, chuckling as the droid scared his nurse with his macabre sense of humor. His own nurse dragged him to the cafeteria soon afterwards, saying that "he would heal faster if he ate something."

After gathering a tray of food, he was sat down with a man with leathery skin. Lockdown could swear that he'd met this man before. However, since this man probably hadn't given him any trophies and had done nothing memorable, the bounty hunter had most likely pushed his name and face out of his processor like so many others.

"Haven't we met before? I think we have," Lockdown asked the leathery-skined man.

"We have indeed," answered the Scarecrow as he took a bite of toast. "I recognize your unusual facial markings. It's Lockdown, isn't it? The bounty hunter?" The term made more sense to him now, since Scourge had explained the nature of it and of robots in general the day prior.

"We met the other night, out in the Recreation Field. Those dogs attacked us?"

"Oh yeah, that's right," Lockdown smiled. "That was fun." Plus, he'd gotten a good knife and a jaw bone out of the whole thing, which was an added bonus.

"I'm not good with names and faces, but I never forget a trophy," He opened his mouth slightly and ran his finger across his open lips, silently illistrating that he was talking about the beast's jaw that he had collected.

The Scarecrow frowned as he was reminded of that night and the more gruesome details. Now he remembered why he'd not wanted to remember most of that event- it was brutal, and reminded him how easily these flesh-and-blood bodies could be destroyed.

"So you, er... collect trophies from your... victories?" the Scarecrow asked, grasping for something to get the mental image of the dog's jaw being torn from its face out of his mind.

Lockdown smirked, amused at the other man's obvious discomfort. What was his name again? The bounty hunter looked down at his lap and flipped through his journal, looking at the names he'd jotted down that night. Oh yeah, 'The Scarcrow'.

The bounty hunter took a bite out of some bacon before answering the question, "Yep. It's kind of my thing. Had a whole ship full of 'em back in my world; and when you're as old as I am and have been in the business for a long time... well, let's just say there's a reason I have more than one trophy room."

Golly. Having a collection of body parts from various victories didn't sound like pleasing decor at all. Then again, a monochromatic city made almost entirely of gems probably wasn't everyone's cup of tea, either.

Maybe he was like the Wizard, who wanted the broom of the Witch, though he'd wanted it as proof of her defeat. Why would he need further proof his enemy had been defeated if he'd done the deed himself? Lockdown did seem like the sort of fellow who'd want the job done right, and if you wanted something done right... well, you didn't send an envoy to do it, generally.

"Seems like dangerous work," the Scarecrow mused, his mind wandering on a related tangent.

Lockdown shrugged, "It can be, depending on the target. Quite a few targets are almost jokes, they're so easy to catch, and some others can be quite a challenge." Intel-bots, scientists, and the like proved easy targets, while warriors, traitors, and such were harder. The Pit, he somewhat doubted he would have caught Starscream if Prowl hadn't helped him out.

"I've lost a body part or two in my line of work, but those are easily repairable," Just one of the many benefits of chopshopping other mechs for their parts.

The Scarecrow nearly dropped his toast. "Lost a body part? Oh wow, that sounds quite serious!" If it really was an 'easily repairable' sort of situation, then maybe these robot folk were a bit like scarecrows- they could be taken apart and put back together with ease. He'd never seen the Tin Man taken apart, but he was willing to guess that it could be done, should any of his limbs break or something.

"So when you're taken apart or if someone takes one of your pieces, you can just go get a new one?" He took a finishing bite of his toast, intrigued by this topic. "What if someone takes your arms and you can't put yourself back together?"

Lockdown nodded, "Yep, that's about the size of it." He finished off his bacon. "As for replacing parts that were, as you put it 'taken away', well, let's just say that it pays to have spare parts taken from other bots lying around the workshop." The bounty hunter gave a sadistic smirk at that last part. He always relished cutting other mechs apart, and hearing them scream and beg him to stop the whole time.

Very few mechs knew what he used to look like before he began modding himself. Luckily for Lockdown, they were all dead.

The mental image of the Scarecrow's quarters being filled with various arms and legs from other scarecrows was both bizarre and discomforting. Though he'd never met another scarecrow, the Scarecrow was sure he'd not salvage parts from them, even if they'd been cruel to him. He supposed he didn't have the heart for that sort of business.

Then again, Scourge had warned him that Lockdown wasn't exactly a prime representative of Robots. The fellow certainly did seem to be enjoying talking about this subject.

"So is this... body harvesting something all Robots do?" he asked, wondering if this was normal behavior for their kind.

Lockdown shook his head, "Nope. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who does it." It had mostly started because Lockdown, in his first stellar cycles, hadn't been able to get ahold of any medics after losing one of his legs. So he had done the next best thing: take the leg of the mech he had just captured. Then one leg became two, before new arms (twice), new shoulders, a new chest, and new back were added to the mix.

"Also gives a little added bonus," He mentioned, after taking a bite of egg. "You should see some of the looks on others' faces when they're face to face with a mech who's parts don't match." He was mostly telling Scarecrow this because he was getting a kick out of creeping him out.

"I imagine that would be startling," noted the Scarecrow as he decided not to take a bite of his eggs. This did sound like rather grisly business. The Scarecrow definitely couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of a human having various parts from other humans- was that even possible? He could better imagine the Tin Man with parts from other tin men, if such men existed. Still, the Scarecrow felt he'd rather have parts that were all his own.

"So is there a point to taking the body parts of other Robots, aside from making yourself rather asymmetrical?"

Lockdown shrugged, "Well, for one, there's the fact that doing my own repairs is just easier than going to a medic." Since he was a wanted mech, most honest medics would probably turn him in, and the back-alley medics couldn't be trusted. Lockdown knew all there was to know about taking mechs apart, so it was only natural that he would know a few things about putting them back together.

"Mostly though, it's because some mechs have some pretty sweet mods on them worth taking," The bounty hunter flexed his right hand out of reflex, remembering the hook he'd grafted onto it, as well as the mods that had occupied the arm's inner compartments.

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DAY 43: CAFETERIA, MORNING

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