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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"No rule says I can't have a part time job," Scourge added with a resentful scowl. "Megatron hasn't even told me to do anything yet." Lugnut's Megatron was the polar opposite of his Galvatron--while Galvatron was wild, impulsive, and violent, Lugnut's Megatron never seemed to stop mulling things over long enough to make a plan of attack.

Lugnut was silent for a moment, then grunted in a sort of "fine, if Megatron okayed it" sort of way and prodded at an apple.

Well, that had been settled easily. Recluse took out his notebook, turning to a mostly blank page and beginning to write, jagged script plain for everyone to see. If only it wasn't all written in Base64 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Base64).

He poked absently at his breakfast, taking a few bites. Recluse, after all, was not known for his willingness to engage in small talk.

If no one else was going to have enthusiasm about breakfast, he would. "So what about these visitors?" Scourge asked, trying to change the subject. "Fakes, right?"

"... Visitors?" Lugnut said, cluelessly. What visitors?

"Yes, they are fake. The Institute brings in human equivalents of individuals that you have known, who repeat the same fabricated stories of why you are here. I have been subjected to this once. They brought back one of my dead enemies." Recluse's expression darkened. Even just thinking about Monica was more than enough to anger him. "They are useless, beyond their abilities to shock and manipulate the weak."

"Sounds pretty annoying. But they can't bring back anyone of ours, we're not even from this planet. Or human." Scourge's powdered-sugar-stained lips curl upwards in a grin as he pictures a fat, horned human version of Unicron coming in to visit him. Or maybe Optimus Prime, brainwashed and weak, now that would just make his day.

Lugnut nodded at what Scourge said; that made sense. Anyway, there was hardly anyone who could come that wasn't already here-- Strika, maybe, but no human could even pretend to imitate her.

"Many among the prisoners here are not from Earth, and quite a few were dead before they arrived, including non-human organics. And all they need is a human simulacrum of an individual, regardless," Recluse replied, setting down his pen and closing his notebook, trying a little of his food. Now that he'd heard more about what happened to those who had been bitten by the zombies, he almost wished he had been among them. Then he would have an excuse to attack Marcus.

"These guys go to a heck of a lot of trouble for no reason." Par for the course at Landel's, he supposed.

Scourge almost hoped he got a "visitor". Maybe Optimus Prime to give him an inspirational speech, or a neatly brainwashed Starscream (could they have two Starscreams, if they were from different points in time?). Maybe Soundwave? He had no idea how Soundwave would translate over.

"Hrmph, as if any mere human could rightfully claim to be a Decepticon," Lugnut grumbled, stabbing a bit of food with his fork and shoving it around his plate.

"At present, permanent human status is hardly a factor for anyone here. Only how effectively you can employ these weak bodies while we are all trapped in them," Recluse said, spitting out the words 'human' and 'weak' as if they were curses.

"What capabilities does your race have in its normal state?" Recluse asked, for lack of anything more useful to discuss. The real bodies of all non-humans--possibly including himself--were being stored somewhere within the control of the Institute, and at least one of them had been returned to it for the nightly brainwashing. Beyond that, it never hurt to know the capabilities of others.

Scourge shrugged, licking the sugar from his lips. "Depends on the build. We're all robots, obviously. Most of us are bigger than a human, although the Cassettes come pretty close, but standard height is maybe three or four humans tall. Most Decepticons, me included, can fly, although there's a few who can't and a few Autobots who can. Some of us have natural weapons attached, but I just carry a gun around. And these, of course." He held up one hand, fingers spread to display his claws--no longer pink, but still long. Ideally he could file his nails a bit sharper during dinner, in preparation for the night. "There's also those with unique abilities like cloaking or creating holograms. I have tracking skills, heightened perception and detection way above what I've currently got, but nobody else has that.

"And there's transforming, of course, we all do that, but we turn into different things. I'm an air skiff, for example, and Starscream was a F-15. If Lockdown was the guy running around two nights ago, then he transformers into a muscle car."

"Three or four humans tall?" Lugnut echoed, and snorted. "Pathetically small. Blitzwing, Megatron, and I are far larger than that-- I'm about as tall as this building," and he waved his hand at the institute, "Blitzwing about a head smaller. He is a triple-changer, and three-faced. Megatron took the form of a helicopter when he was rebuilt. I am a bomber." He looked at his hands, and murmured, "I had explosive mods installed."

"Interesting." All the information was filed away for later use. Nothing that was said made him at all worried. If they were restored to their original forms, then he would still win in any confrontation. "There are no Decepticons or Autobots in my universe, but there is a conflict with the same dynamic there as well." It seemed inevitable that there would always be some variation on Heroes and Villains fighting throughout the multiverse. Some were simply more capable than others.

It wasn't Scourge's fault the animators had no sense of continuity. It was a good day when Bluestreak wasn't the size of Bumblebee. "I said it was the average," Scourge snapped back. He was telling the story! "Omega Supreme is...I think the length of this building if he's lying on his back, maybe taller. The gestalts are even bigger."

Explosive mods? What, his hands exploded? That sounded uncomfortable.

"He's much taller," Lugnut stated, definitely. "And not among Decepticons! The only ones I know that size is that Swindle person, and Blackarachnia." He paused, then added, "And Oil Slick, maybe. Autobots are much smaller. What's a 'gestalt'?"

Gods, was he stuck in the middle of an argument of who was bigger now? No matter the species, it was still amazingly immature. Recluse tried not to roll his eyes. "A gestalt would in the context likely be several individuals that combine into a larger form."

Scourge made up his mind to start ignoring Lugnut. What kind of crazy name was Blackarachnia anyway, 'arachnia' wasn't even a word. It sounded more like a human name.

"Yeah. Five or six guys merging to make a single larger robot. They're not exactly bright, but they do a lot of damage."

"... Oh," Lugnut grunted. Combiner technology. Why couldn't Scourge just say that?

"... Anyway," he grumbled, making a short answer to Recluse's original question, "we're war machines. We fight, and we fight well."

"Humans in my universe have developed that technology for their robots by now." Or at least the Malta Group made use of it with their robot designs, complete with at least one ridiculously large, overcompensatory Titan unit that his spies had discovered.

"Interesting." Today, that seemed to be Recluse's condensed version of 'I couldn't care less, but thank you for the information'. "How much of your skills are still applicable in these feeble bodies?"

"I've still got some abilities, although they're pretty reduced. I can only see a tiny part of the electromagnetic spectrum and my hearing's severely dampened. If we get an actual robot showing up I probably can't pick up on his energy signature."

Scourge eyed Lugnut, leaning away from him suspiciously. "I'm hoping Lugnut doesn't explode anymore."

"I didn't explode in the first place," he snapped. "I had a mod where I could punch something and it would blow up." Blitzwing would yell at him if he set it off without warning.

Reminded, he glanced around for Blitzwing. He still wasn't in the room, lazy fragger.

"... I no longer have my natural armor or weapons, but two million years in the pits of Kaon have hardly left me helpless," he said, obviously still annoyed.

"But neither of you have training in fighting organics at this level. Or fighting as organics, for that matter. It might be advisable to rectify that." With how easily they all seemed to get injured, it was remarkable they were still alive at all, after last night. Scourge had been mostly cowering behind him and Marcus all night, but the rest were just zombie bait.

Oh, that made much more--nope, still made no sense. unless you punched it extraordinarily hard.

"I've still got two arms and two legs, the details aren't completely different. But I've heard some of the 'clubs' around here teach self-defense."

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[*gigglesnerk* Or no trucks are riding in the cab of a pickup?]

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[gigglesnerk Or no trucks are riding in the cab of a pickup?]

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