TransFans: Bunch of Buggers
Moderators:Best First, spiderfrommars, IronHide
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Shanti418
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
- Posts:2633
- Joined:Wed Sep 08, 2004 7:52 pm
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And I'm alive! Alive, I tell you, ALIVE!!!!
Best First wrote:I thought we could just meander between making well thought out points, being needlessly immature, provocative and generalist, then veer into caring about constructive debate and make a few valid points, act civil for a bit, then lower the tone again, then act offended when we get called on it, then dictate what it is and isn't worth debating, reinterpret a few of my own posts through a less offensive lens, then jaunt down whatever other path our seemingly volatile mood took us in.
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Optimus Prime Rib
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
- Posts:2215
- Joined:Mon Apr 19, 2004 11:00 pm
- Location:College Station, TX
- Contact:
for offing Preds 
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Shanti418
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
- Posts:2633
- Joined:Wed Sep 08, 2004 7:52 pm
- Location:Austin, Texas
Awesome. We miss ya, bud.
Looking at your sig, I miss Eline too. I don't think she's posted since that whole "Is this forum too clean?" mess.
Looking at your sig, I miss Eline too. I don't think she's posted since that whole "Is this forum too clean?" mess.
Best First wrote:I thought we could just meander between making well thought out points, being needlessly immature, provocative and generalist, then veer into caring about constructive debate and make a few valid points, act civil for a bit, then lower the tone again, then act offended when we get called on it, then dictate what it is and isn't worth debating, reinterpret a few of my own posts through a less offensive lens, then jaunt down whatever other path our seemingly volatile mood took us in.
*snickers* glad I'm not in this story this time....although my qualifications would probably be "desk job" or thereabouts....supposedly the LASIK surgery would keep me away from other "active duty" (I won't question...info from the doctors office states that the surgery could prevent someone from having a carrer in military/police/etc.) And a note about that....surgery was successful...moreso in fact. Don't know bout my right eye, but they did tell me that I'm at 20/15 in my left eye. I'm seeing GREAT except for "halos" around really bright lights, especially at night. Regardless, I am beyond thrilled to be without contact lenses after some 12-13 yrs of em.
I have gone to find myself. If I get back before I return, keep me here.
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Autobloke
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
- Posts:2145
- Joined:Sun Mar 06, 2005 12:52 pm
- Location:Great Yarmouth UK
We all know women are the stronger species - I'm a bloke and even I concede that.Predabot wrote:I didn't know girls could be wimps...
As for bad eyes, I have Photophobia, caused by my migraines - it means I'm very sensitive to light. No, I'm NOT an albino - I'm ginger. So no improvement there then.
Thanks for passing the migraines and light sensitivity onto me, mum.
Pete:"Sort your funking life out!"
Ed:"Prink."
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Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
Sorry for taking so long with this one. Fun stuff guaranteed, for the most part.
***
In any contemporary war story, it's usually required to take a look at what goes on behind what are usually called enemy lines. And not just at say, the production lines churning out guns and tanks, or blocks of troops marching and whatnot. People get enough of that from their own side of the war.
'How the other half lives' is the usual term thrown out here. In a different, less forgiving time, it wouldn't be such a good idea to do such a thing, lest one find out that the buggers he's expected to shoot down in cold blood are really people not much different from him, and that can be quite a kick in the balls for the war effort - but in contemporary society, it's probably considered common cortesy to take a good long look at the enemy, not just through the grainy LCD screen in a spy plane, but through their own eyes.
Hence our story moves over some treacherous terrain to the scorched craggs and blackened earth of the TFArchive... which is all Hollywood, really.
No, the sprawling city of TFArchive was in many ways similar to TransFans, as a matter of fact - save for a bit more graffiti here and there, more leaded emissions above Main Street, only one highway into town, roads and sidewalks that needed serious resurfacing, maybe a few busted signal lights given the seriousness of the traffic congestion... oh, and a few railway tracks that made up for the lack of highways, and a subway system that took some pressure off the roads. And more than one church, for some reason.
Smack dab in the middle of all this was the Ebony Tower, the real heart of the matter. Nobody had officialy whipped out the measuring equipment on this one, but it was believed by everyone in the TFArchive that the Ebony Tower was taller than the Ivory Tower of TransFans. Of course, everyone in TransFans thought the Ivory Tower was taller, but that's not the point here...
...the real point here is Brendocon, supreme ruler of TFArchive in the absence of the board Admin who'd gone and called himself TFArchive just to spice things up. Forever in his neatly-ironed black dress uniform with the silver epaulettes and Decepticon patches, he looked over stack after stack of reports every day, a task you really couldn't appreciate unless you were in his riding boots. It's easy enough to say that the BrendoMinicons with the thankless task of running errands all through the tower had it worse, or that the few TFArchivers standing around Brendocon just to get chewed out were the real unsung heroes, but when all's said and done... nobody really cares.
"There's quite a wave of unrest running through TransFans right now," said Brendocon, looking at the same news article that had Best First in such a tizzy. "And if we take the stance of denying it, it'll only make things worse..."
"They can still pin us for harbouring the actual miscreant, Brendocon," said Cliffjumper.
"I know that," Brend repled. "And I'll be damned if I have to reduce myself to hiding in a hole in the ground over this. Where's Sir Auros?"
"Tracking down Vin Ghostal after that last breakout," said Cliffjumper.
"Stonecold Skywarp?"
"Has his hands full with the air superiority operation," said Galvatron91.
"Well, damn and blast," Brendocon growled. "At this rate I'll have to find out the identity of this Ishin no Ookami character on my own. Well, the work day moves on..." He started sifting through the remaining reports. "Looks like Besty went ahead with the setting up of his Black Ops division. Heh, that idiot Obfleur's mooning the camera again... it's a pity we haven't worked out who leads this division..."
"There's another article about the TransFans' jet fighter project, Brendocon," said Cliffjumper helpfully. Brend found another report with a Post-It tag, and started skimming.
"Interesting," Brendocon mused as he looked over the grainy photographs. The profile of the PWN-3D could be seen clearly in all of the pictures, but one badly overexposed one had Brendocon staring blankly for a few seconds. "...What the hell is this one about?"
"We're not sure," said Cliffjumper. "Our aerial probe picked out the radar signature of a larger aircraft, but we've never gotten a proper picture of it."
"A cloaking device?" Brend asked himself.
"Could be," Cliffjumper replied. "Or they thought covering the entire aircraft in chrome would make it look flashy, but really, no idiot does that anymore..."
***
"...is that silly chrome finish really necessary?" asked Metal Vendetta, as trainee technician Autobloke finished buffing the starboard wing of EmVee's shiny BS-1 fighter plane.
"Oh, everyone knows it's just for show," said Autobloke. "Like that shiny black Humvee in The Rock. This shiny silver BS is all right for flying the TransFans banner and impressing the brass, but the final form of the BS, when it's all combat ready, will have a nice matt black paintjob, like a gigantic flying handgun. A BS we can be proud of."
"...oooookay," said EmVee, while thinking I have GOT to track down those R&D people...
"Couldn't spend more than a day away from 'er, could you?"
EmVee didn't need to turn and look to know that was COL Smooth saying that. "You have got to be bloody kidding me."
"Aww, come on," said Smooth, who'd just walked into the hangar. "I've been present in all your flight simulator trials and I know how you perform differently in them and in a real plane. It's great to fly for real. I just wish I could convince them to let me up there."
"Smooth, your bloody flight simulators look like something outside a dollar shop," EmVee growled. "And you've got the rest of the brass watching the sessions! Which arsehole put a coin slot below the odometer?!"
"That's a USB port," Smooth corrected him. "We gotta get the results into the server somehow. Okay, seriously though," and Smooth stopped to breathe, "I'm here to tell you about a little reassignment we've planned for you."
"...that doesn't sound good. Nothing ever sounds good when you say it in a dress uniform, and, I'm just pointing this out casually, mention a 'we'," said EmVee. "But just so you can breathe a little easier, let's hear it anyway."
Smooth sighed. "When the BS-1 combat program begins, you will be assigned with a co-pilot."
Emvee waited expectantly for the bomb to drop. "...wait a minute... that's it?"
Smooth nodded. "We've reviewed the weapons system very carefully and decided that an average pilot will need some help getting started with it. So we've trained copilot/gunners on the side should the need ever arise."
"I see," said EmVee at last, looking a little relieved. "So, when am I meeting my new partner?"
"Unfortunately," Smooth began (it was not clear if he'd even heard EmVee), "we've been very strapped for time indeed, what with the training of ground troops and - let me just say the rest is classified - so we've only been able to get one copilot/gunner operationally ready. To answer your query, Rob, yes, he should be coming through that door now."
Metal Vendetta looked towards the door, and waited expectantly.
It's a little known fact that while the human eye can see a lit match a mile away, the human often can't see something that's just ten feet away from him. This is often attributed to the direction of hs attention, and not just from that old trick where you place something to the left or right where it falls under the blind spot. Often this is a very simple process indeed.
So it was that Metal Vendetta looked at the door for about ten seconds, before realising, as he looked down, that the doggy flap was already swinging.
"...oh no," said EmVee. "It can't be... you didn't..."
"Well, don't be rude, lieutenant. Say hello," said COL Smooth.
"Bark," said Rebis.
***
In any contemporary war story, it's usually required to take a look at what goes on behind what are usually called enemy lines. And not just at say, the production lines churning out guns and tanks, or blocks of troops marching and whatnot. People get enough of that from their own side of the war.
'How the other half lives' is the usual term thrown out here. In a different, less forgiving time, it wouldn't be such a good idea to do such a thing, lest one find out that the buggers he's expected to shoot down in cold blood are really people not much different from him, and that can be quite a kick in the balls for the war effort - but in contemporary society, it's probably considered common cortesy to take a good long look at the enemy, not just through the grainy LCD screen in a spy plane, but through their own eyes.
Hence our story moves over some treacherous terrain to the scorched craggs and blackened earth of the TFArchive... which is all Hollywood, really.
No, the sprawling city of TFArchive was in many ways similar to TransFans, as a matter of fact - save for a bit more graffiti here and there, more leaded emissions above Main Street, only one highway into town, roads and sidewalks that needed serious resurfacing, maybe a few busted signal lights given the seriousness of the traffic congestion... oh, and a few railway tracks that made up for the lack of highways, and a subway system that took some pressure off the roads. And more than one church, for some reason.
Smack dab in the middle of all this was the Ebony Tower, the real heart of the matter. Nobody had officialy whipped out the measuring equipment on this one, but it was believed by everyone in the TFArchive that the Ebony Tower was taller than the Ivory Tower of TransFans. Of course, everyone in TransFans thought the Ivory Tower was taller, but that's not the point here...
...the real point here is Brendocon, supreme ruler of TFArchive in the absence of the board Admin who'd gone and called himself TFArchive just to spice things up. Forever in his neatly-ironed black dress uniform with the silver epaulettes and Decepticon patches, he looked over stack after stack of reports every day, a task you really couldn't appreciate unless you were in his riding boots. It's easy enough to say that the BrendoMinicons with the thankless task of running errands all through the tower had it worse, or that the few TFArchivers standing around Brendocon just to get chewed out were the real unsung heroes, but when all's said and done... nobody really cares.
"There's quite a wave of unrest running through TransFans right now," said Brendocon, looking at the same news article that had Best First in such a tizzy. "And if we take the stance of denying it, it'll only make things worse..."
"They can still pin us for harbouring the actual miscreant, Brendocon," said Cliffjumper.
"I know that," Brend repled. "And I'll be damned if I have to reduce myself to hiding in a hole in the ground over this. Where's Sir Auros?"
"Tracking down Vin Ghostal after that last breakout," said Cliffjumper.
"Stonecold Skywarp?"
"Has his hands full with the air superiority operation," said Galvatron91.
"Well, damn and blast," Brendocon growled. "At this rate I'll have to find out the identity of this Ishin no Ookami character on my own. Well, the work day moves on..." He started sifting through the remaining reports. "Looks like Besty went ahead with the setting up of his Black Ops division. Heh, that idiot Obfleur's mooning the camera again... it's a pity we haven't worked out who leads this division..."
"There's another article about the TransFans' jet fighter project, Brendocon," said Cliffjumper helpfully. Brend found another report with a Post-It tag, and started skimming.
"Interesting," Brendocon mused as he looked over the grainy photographs. The profile of the PWN-3D could be seen clearly in all of the pictures, but one badly overexposed one had Brendocon staring blankly for a few seconds. "...What the hell is this one about?"
"We're not sure," said Cliffjumper. "Our aerial probe picked out the radar signature of a larger aircraft, but we've never gotten a proper picture of it."
"A cloaking device?" Brend asked himself.
"Could be," Cliffjumper replied. "Or they thought covering the entire aircraft in chrome would make it look flashy, but really, no idiot does that anymore..."
***
"...is that silly chrome finish really necessary?" asked Metal Vendetta, as trainee technician Autobloke finished buffing the starboard wing of EmVee's shiny BS-1 fighter plane.
"Oh, everyone knows it's just for show," said Autobloke. "Like that shiny black Humvee in The Rock. This shiny silver BS is all right for flying the TransFans banner and impressing the brass, but the final form of the BS, when it's all combat ready, will have a nice matt black paintjob, like a gigantic flying handgun. A BS we can be proud of."
"...oooookay," said EmVee, while thinking I have GOT to track down those R&D people...
"Couldn't spend more than a day away from 'er, could you?"
EmVee didn't need to turn and look to know that was COL Smooth saying that. "You have got to be bloody kidding me."
"Aww, come on," said Smooth, who'd just walked into the hangar. "I've been present in all your flight simulator trials and I know how you perform differently in them and in a real plane. It's great to fly for real. I just wish I could convince them to let me up there."
"Smooth, your bloody flight simulators look like something outside a dollar shop," EmVee growled. "And you've got the rest of the brass watching the sessions! Which arsehole put a coin slot below the odometer?!"
"That's a USB port," Smooth corrected him. "We gotta get the results into the server somehow. Okay, seriously though," and Smooth stopped to breathe, "I'm here to tell you about a little reassignment we've planned for you."
"...that doesn't sound good. Nothing ever sounds good when you say it in a dress uniform, and, I'm just pointing this out casually, mention a 'we'," said EmVee. "But just so you can breathe a little easier, let's hear it anyway."
Smooth sighed. "When the BS-1 combat program begins, you will be assigned with a co-pilot."
Emvee waited expectantly for the bomb to drop. "...wait a minute... that's it?"
Smooth nodded. "We've reviewed the weapons system very carefully and decided that an average pilot will need some help getting started with it. So we've trained copilot/gunners on the side should the need ever arise."
"I see," said EmVee at last, looking a little relieved. "So, when am I meeting my new partner?"
"Unfortunately," Smooth began (it was not clear if he'd even heard EmVee), "we've been very strapped for time indeed, what with the training of ground troops and - let me just say the rest is classified - so we've only been able to get one copilot/gunner operationally ready. To answer your query, Rob, yes, he should be coming through that door now."
Metal Vendetta looked towards the door, and waited expectantly.
It's a little known fact that while the human eye can see a lit match a mile away, the human often can't see something that's just ten feet away from him. This is often attributed to the direction of hs attention, and not just from that old trick where you place something to the left or right where it falls under the blind spot. Often this is a very simple process indeed.
So it was that Metal Vendetta looked at the door for about ten seconds, before realising, as he looked down, that the doggy flap was already swinging.
"...oh no," said EmVee. "It can't be... you didn't..."
"Well, don't be rude, lieutenant. Say hello," said COL Smooth.
"Bark," said Rebis.
Last edited by Aaron Hong on Wed Jul 13, 2005 2:02 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Autobloke
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
- Posts:2145
- Joined:Sun Mar 06, 2005 12:52 pm
- Location:Great Yarmouth UK
Yay! Fame at last. Kind of.
And I get to buff Emvee's... cockpit.
But is that it? Will the plucky young trainee technician prove to be the ultimate savior in this story?
Although I did get proclaimed as some kind of link to God in another thread...
Not dead yet like Pred though...
And I get to buff Emvee's... cockpit.
But is that it? Will the plucky young trainee technician prove to be the ultimate savior in this story?
Although I did get proclaimed as some kind of link to God in another thread...
Not dead yet like Pred though...
Pete:"Sort your funking life out!"
Ed:"Prink."
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Metal Vendetta
- Big Honking Planet Eater
- Posts:4950
- Joined:Mon Feb 12, 2001 12:00 am
- Location:Lahndan, innit
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Señior's Covenant
- Me king!
- Posts:1441
- Joined:Thu Jul 01, 2004 3:00 pm
- Location:Surrounded by a Ring of Red at the AFW Production Facility, Iacon Nuevo, TX
- Contact:
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Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
Just so the recruits have someone to kick around again. L33t.Autobloke wrote:You never know, Pred - your character may return from the dead as a new alt ID.
***
Afternoon saw the first time A Company was dressed in fatigues, in a way that matched the true meaning of the word perfectly.
Everyone had on the same t-shirts they always wore, with great big Transformers faction symbols on the backs, as well as cargo pants and combat boots, but they were all panting and sweating so much that the camouflage colors were running. Quite appropriate in a way, since Leatherneck had just led them on a 1-km uphill jog beneath the scorching sun.
"This is just an orientation thing we're doing here," said Leatherneck, "and when you're carrying out the formal version in full battle gear, you'll thank me for this. Welcome," and here he threw in a theatrical flourish, "to the Playground."
LROP and Tired Tracks had no idea what to expect here, but as they reached the top of the slope, it all became clear...
...a football-sized field full of low walls, bars, ropes, more bars, cargo nets, odd wooden structures, at least one deep pit and some barbed wire for garnishing stared back at them. You didn't need to hear the rising groans to know just what all of it was for.
"The Standardised Obstacle Course, soldiers," said Leatherneck, approaching the nearest low wall. "You will be expected to run up that slope with all your gear, proceed through twelve obstacles in order, and run back down within a fixed time limit. We tried basing a system of times directly on your age, weight and height, but nobody could memorise the damned thing so we agreed on one time limit for everyone. Simpler that way."
A wave of complaints arose from A Company.
"TEN-HUT!"
The complaints were cut off as somebody sighed an officer approaching them on the field. He wasn't wearing his ranks, just a sleeveless blue top over the standard pants and boots, but they recognised him from a while ago. He'd even brought out a pair of sleeveless leather gloves just for this occasion.
"At ease, men," said Prowl Pants. "Neck, you could have told us about this earlier, I just ran over from a bunk inspection at B Company."
"Sorry about that," Leatherneck replied.
"Forget about it," PP replied, as he turned his attention towards the recruits. "Good afternoon, gentlemen - as you probably have guessed by now, I'm here to supervise your training on the Obstacle Course. I've never been one for boring lessons myself, so I'm going to make this a little more exciting. Laser Rod! Front and center!"
With a "HUP!" and a stamp, Laser Rod Optimus Prime stepped out of rank and approached the front of A Company - and got a shock as Prowl Pants tossed a stopwatch at him.
"...oh no, you can't possibly..."
"Oh yes I can, Neck," said Prowl Pants in reply. "What, you go through this thing five times a week, you wanna back down now?"
Leatherneck balled his fists and stood up straight. "Sir no sir," he replied, as he reached into his pockets to pull out his own gloves.
"Then it's on," said PP. "LROP, give that stopwatch a quick test and tell us when you're ready."
This is gonna be interesting, thought LROP to himself as he tested the stopwatch's functions. PP and Neck were approaching the edge of a bare patch of dirt, trodden out by dozens of soldiers past on their approach to the first obstacle - a six-foot wall.
"Wait, what are they supposed to do with that?" asked Tired Tracks.
"Show how it's done, I guess," said Shanti.
"Ready!" yelled LROP, and Prowl Pants and Leatherneck braced themselves, staring down at the wall.
"...GO!!"
Pants and Neck broke into a dash immediately, slowing down as they approached the wall before leaping up, grabbing the edge and pulling themselves over with the standard one-boot-up technique.
A Company decided to run alongside them as they approached the next obstacle, a four-foot trench that could only be crossed with a running jump. It didn't seem like such a big deal until one recruit noticed the barbed wire that covered the bottom.
Next was a thick wooden beam three feet off the ground, which Pants and Neck vaulted over easily. The next one reminded Tracks of those even parallel bars from every female gymnastics act he'd ever seen, only the two running soldiers crossed it by 'walking' with their hands on the bars. It was just the beginning of what those gloves were for.
The next obstacle was several long planks across a ridiculous ten-foot trench - Pants and Neck picked a plank each and traversed by foot, but not without some difficulty. Fortunately there was no barbed wire at the bottom of this one. Some thoughtful soul had even filled the pit with mud just to soften the fall. Unfortunately though, Prowl Pants had his walking technique a bit off and his plank shuddered more noticeably, causing him to fall behind Leatherneck a bit.
Next was a row of thick, knotted ropes tied to a metal beam fifteen feet high. Both men had to climb up the ropes - Leatherneck made better speed by only using his arms to pull himself up, while Prowl Pants clamped his boots around the knots at each pull, and both had to give the metal beam a good resounding knock before coming down again.
The next obstacle appeared to be one of those steel railings they always used on the edges of canals and stuff, only this one cut across the running route, and was six feet tall. It required a very specific technique to cross, rather than just crawling between the bars - they had to climb up and stand on the lower bar, then lean over the top bar with one hand gripping it and one hand reaching for the bottom bar, being sure to grab it as one vaults right over the whole thing. LROP knew that one was going to take a lot of practice.
The next one was the real reason this place was called The Playground - a set of monkey bars ten feet tall and equally long. Possibly more, given how long it took for Prowl Pants and Leatherneck to swing from one end to the other, one bar at a time.
By this time the rest of A Company was already cheering "NECK! NECK! NECK! NECK! NECK!" as the two ran towards a... a thing made of logs bolted together into a giant pyramid nearly twenty feet tall. Close inspection revealed some logs that were perfectly parallel, acting as steps as Pants and Neck climbed up one side and down the other as fast as they could. The cargo net was next, and suspended about two feet off the ground by several posts. To the dread of A Company, this one had to be crossed by crawling underneath, all 20 feet of it.
There was another cargo net after it, bolted to the sides of the tallest tower in the Playground. Leatherneck was well ahead by now, climbing up the net with Prowl Pants five steps behind, until he reached the top and pulled himself onto the dusty floorboards of the Redwood Tower, nearly forty feet above the ground.
For some obscure reason nobody had noticed the very last obstacle, and probably the most ridiculous one of all... long ropes tied to the top of the Redwood Tower and stretching all the way back to the same edge of the field where the run had began. Possibly for the same reasons, nobody noticed that Leatherneck had a carabiner, a spring-loaded metal chainlink he wore on his belt, which he hooked around the rope and threaded his own belt through before sliding all the way down...
...coming in first by about three seconds - Prowl had tried sliding with just the carabiner, but the time he'd trimmed off by doing so just wasn't enough. And the less-than-elegant dismount as he fell and rolled across the dirt didn't help too much either.
"I thought you had this in the bag, sir," said Leatherneck.
"It's got holes in it," said Prowl dismissively. "Well, A Company, I hope every one of you paid close attention to that..."
"SIR YES SIR!"
"...because now it's your turn."
***
Fortunately for A Company, there was no timing to adhere to when they started going through the obstacle course. In fact, Leatherneck's job was to make sure they all carried out the various manevers safely and properly, and this meant having to go through the entire course three times total.
After a period of time that warranted the scene break, Tired Tracks was staring at a form of fatigue he wasn't very familiar with, hanging from the monkey bars for a couple of seconds before dropping off. LROP was flopping over the swing railings, and shaxper coldn't climb the low wall anymore. Making matters worse was the fact that this obstacle course involved using one's fingers a lot, making the final slide down the ropes even more treacherous as one recruit after another failed to hang onto the belts until they'd reached the bottom.
"So how's it going?" asked Prowl Pants, sipping on a cold soda.
"THEY ARE PATHETIC... sorry sir, I mean they're having a really bad time at it right now," said Leatherneck. "I heard that B Company mastered the whole thing in one day. These kids are nowhere near that..."
"Yes, it helps a lot when you have someone who can bash through the low wall," said Prowl Pants, remembering one Optimus Prime Rib. "And don't get me started on the spider guy. But there was that one dude..."
"...what dude?" asked Leatherneck.
"Someone did a forward flip over the low wall, and got through the monkey bars in one swing," said Prowl Pants, in lower tones now. "But he wouldn't crawl under the low cargo net. Said it was beneath him."
"...I see," said Leatherneck. "You mean that problem case."
"So you do know about him," said Prowl Pants. "Everyone's pissed at his attitude, but just because he has the best physical proficiency scores and he cleared the obstacle course the fastest, the brass won't recognise that this 'Ishin no Ookami' is a threat. This is starting to become a real army." Prowl took a sip of his soda, and continued. "God help us if he signs on."
"TEN-HUT!"
A Company stood at attention while halfway through the obstacles, creating some confusion as some recruits had their feet in places that weren't intended for standing on, and wound up falling with railings and ropes between the legs and... well.
"...oh god. I mean at ease, men," said Aaron Hong. He was in the same garb as Prowl and Neck, with the sleeveless top and pants, only they were in a red-centric color scheme. The steel-toed boots were still there.
"All right, Aaron, glad you could make it," said Prowl Pants, hastily covering the fact that he had no idea Aaron was even logged in.
"You want a go at it, sir?" asked Leatherneck, indicating the obstacle course. Given that they were right in the middle of the location in question, it was hard to indicate anything that wasn't obstacle course.
"What's the required timing for this thing?" asked Aaron.
"Twenty minutes is the lowest passing mark," said Leatherneck. "I hear Ishin no Ookami made it in eighteen..."
***
A couple of minutes later, Aaron, Prowl Pants, Leatherneck and all of A Company had gathered again at the bottom of the slope leading up to the obstacle course.
"...but regulations require that the obstacle course be completed in full battle gear, right?" said Aaron. "Ishy's score isn't official because they haven't even issued the rifles yet, have they?"
"Oh no way, I'd know if they did," said Prowl Pants.
"I'm just here to see if the official timing needs to be revised," said Aaron. "Not that there's anything really official up there at the moment. Papa Snarl told me he couldn't be buggered with every little detail about how the military dicking goes down, at least in his own words. I figured the best way to do this was to carry out some full tests, and then sort of weigh the results as we go along."
"I get it," said Prowl Pants, taking back his stopwatch. "But you'd have to be in full battle gear for..."
"SPIRIT FORCE - SPIRIT POWER!!"
There was no time at all for everyone to cover their eyes as Aaron's Spirit Morpher lit up, with its trademark blinding glare, and covered Aaron with his well-worn spandex suit and PVC helmet in an instant. Even the Dragon Gunblade was there, now with a scabbarad that hung from chains on his waistband.
"...I thought they had to take away his morpher or something?" said shaxper.
"You wanna try prying anything out of his cold dead hands?" asked LROP.
"Well, this is about as full battle gear as I normally get," said Aaron. "You ready, Prowl?"
Prowl Pants just nodded and raised the stopwatch, giving it a few practice clicks for testing purposes - but it was hard to keep his attention there, when he saw the bulging veins on Aaron's arms through his sleeves, feeding lava blood into his hands.
"Oh god," said a familiar whiny voice. "He's using his Hulk Hands again!"
"Yeah, that never fails to creep me out," said Tired Tracks, before realising why that voice sounded so familiar, and turned around to see...
"PREDABOT?!"
"What?" asked the messy blonde kid in question.
"But how in the seven flaming monkey hells did you..."
"I re-registered," Predabot replied. "Y'know, if I knew we were doing the obstacle course today I would've waited a bit, but at least I got you guys helping me out, eh?"
Dammit, Predabot, Tired Tracks groaned inwardly. Now you're Canadian as well - we'll never hear the end of it...
"Ready," said Prowl Pants, watching as Aaron steadied his gunblade with one hand and braced the other on the tarmac. Prowl had watched enough army movies to know no soldier in full battle gear started an obstacle course like that, but decided not to say aything.
"...and GO!!"
With his talons in the ground Aaron PULLED himself forward, going into a low dash, specifically designed for minimal air resistance and energy output, while simultaneously leaving Prowl Pants running like mad to catch up with him. A Company followed them up the slope as well, where Aaron deliberately slowed his pace to conserve energy as he came within twenty feet of the low wall...
...he surprised everyone by picking up speed again, executing a jump and gripping the top of the low wall with one hand (leaving claw marks) and pulling himself over it, his legs going into a split as he cleared the first obstacle.
Going over the trench was easy enough - Aaron didn't even try to jump, going straight over it without affecting his running stride. He cleared the low beam after than in the exact same way as the low wall, leaving a palm print in the middle.
Aaron unhitched the gunblade from his waistband and gripped it in his teeth as he approached the parallel bars, and jumped - gripping them perfectly with both hands, he executed a forward jump with his hands to reach the far end before jumping a second time to dismount.
Next was the ten foot trench with the unsteady plank - Aaron fixed that problem by going into a jump, keeping himself above the plank by stepping very quickly but gently as he crossed it. He'd rehitched his weapon to his waist by the time he reached the ropes, which he climbed up using that hands-only trick that Leatherneck did, but saved a lot of time by grabbing the top bar with both hands and pushing himself backward, going into a backflip and landing at the bottom.
"Well, the requirement is just to touch that beam," Leatherneck explained. "We just knock it for show."
Clearing the swing railings was easy enough, but the monkey bars were up next - fortunately, Aaron still had his hands in talon form and cleared the entire array in about three swings. Predabot swore he saw both of his hands not touching the bars at each swing, as if Aaron was throwing himself forward instead of crossing one hand at a time.
By the time they reached the log pyramid, signs of fatigue showed as Aaron ran through that obstacle normally without any tricks. Truth be told, all Aaron really had was those hands of his, and the all-rounded nature of the obstacle course meant that he'd still only have a partial advantage, but that was it. Next up was the low cargo net, where one of Aaron's tricks came into play - thanks to all the mud created by A Company crawling under the net so many times, all Aaron had to do was grip the posts on the sides and pull himself forward, reaching the end in two tries.
A Company was cheering by the time Aaron made it to the vertical cargo net, and pulled himself to the top with just his hands. They were half expecting Aaron to slide down the rope with just his hands, but Aaron just stopped for a quick breath before pulling out his gunblade and hooking it on the rope, using that to slide down the rope...
...letting go as he reached the end, going into a tuck and roll, and running towards the road without slowing down. The official route included running back down the road and to the starting point, because the brass couldn't be arsed to make two of them, and Aaron had one last trick in store...
...he unhitched his scabbard, threw it on the kerb and jumped onto it, creating a rain of sparks and a deafening grinding sown as he slid the rest of the way down the slope. Running on the kerb and the road were both allowed, and apparently a cross between the two counted as well.
Aaron slowed down as he (and everyone else) reached the finish line, grinding past the white lines on the road before stopping and kicking the scabbard back into his hands. "Time!" he shouted.
"Fifteen min..." Prowl Pants did a double take. "Fifteen minutes."
"You sure they'll allow that rail grinding bit?" asked Leatherneck.
"They allow the carabiner, and it's part of your full battle gear," said Prowl. "I guess everything you start the run with is fair game. Not bad, Aaron, you've given us a maximum passing requirement." And Ishin something to think about, he added to himself.
"Glad... I could help," said a now breathless Aaron, removing his helmet - and giving everyone a scare as superheated steam came out. Aaron's lava-blood driven physiology meant that his body could generate stroke-inducing temperatures that would kill normal people - it was a problem in his teenhood, but as an adult now, it was not known just how much Aaron could really take.
At least not yet.
-
Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
This one's a kind of short one, but a plot point's being hinted at here, so pay attention.
***
In one of the camp's many unrevealed locations, Black Ops commander Ikijigoku was giving a briefing to his newly-assembled team of covert operatives - well actually, he was spending the first five seconds looking them up and down, and trying to work out whether or not to believe what he saw.
Everyone wore some kind of ridiculous blue-grey camouflage fatigues and webbing with too many straps and pouches. Someone had been handing out ski masks, and without the official radio headsets issued they'd all taken to wearing the handsfree systems from their handphones. The few who chose to go unmasked had instead covered their faces in shoe polish. And all of them carried some kind of oversized sniper rifle.
Three of them are using the FAMAS! thought Iki. God crappit, this place has turned into a CounterStrike convention!
"TEN-HUT!" yelled Obfleur, who stood at attention, while everyone else could only reach a shoulder-level hunch on account of all their excessive equipment. Someone dropped a rifle on his own foot, and screamed in pain.
"...at ease, men," said Iki, sparing himself some of the agony. "Now... it's true what many of you have heard. This unit you are in now would not have been possible without the success of the first actual covert exercise, executed by myself and my second-in-command, CPT Obfleur Allnightprotection..."
The men clapped exactly five times, in perfect timing.
"...but the real journey is ahead of us. As Specialised Warfare or SpecWar operatives, you will be called upon to execute the most dangerous missions the brass can give you, you will be required to go above and beyond the call of duty and even good sense, and regardless of the cold hard evidence, you will succeed..."
"Who knew they'd give our Iki a post this important, eh?" Sergeant Legion whispered. "I know part of his track record, but I gotta admit this came as a surprise..."
"I think that's the whole point of it being a covert operations unit, Legion," said Sergeant Strafefox.
Yeah, I guess they're right thought Obfleur. Nobody's going to know when we have to travel off the Board for poop knows how long, nobody will know when we sneak back to TransFans, and nobody will know whether it was the same number of us each time... Look at Iki there, he knows all this better than I do, yet he's standing there telling the kids plain as day that they're all going to die, and they're just... they're just accepting it, taking it in like it was all right.
When Ob looked up again, Ikijogoku had somehow gotten a massive map of TransFans on the wall behind himself, with entries like Mod-Dor and Teh River l33t all indicated, along with a few Ob never heard of before. Banned-Dor? How do you even pronounce that?
"After the close of the last treaty with TFArchive," Iki explained, "we've designated a clump of no-fly-zones that both sides cannot enter at any time. As you probably know, the reason we're all here is because treaties aren't worth the paper they're printed on, so all I can really tell you is where we most likely will be inserted in case we need to roll out. I won't lie to you - saving hostages is the least of our worries. We're going in there to kill."
By the time Iki brought out his pack of specially-labelled playing cards, the truth had hit Obfleur like a ton of bricks - he'd always loved watching army movies and the like, and he admittedly had the skills necessary for your basic military exercises - but this wasn't just charging into battle with guns blaring, this was creeping in the shadows, shooting them in the head, and killing anyone who just happened to be near just because they were a liability. Assassinations. Murder.
"...you will notice that the backs of your mortality waivers are completely blank - the oath you are expected to swear in is printed there in phosphorescent ink. I'm going to dim the lights and activate the UV, so if you will all stand at attention..."
A waiver? Like... a contract? Nobody told me there was a contract... hang on. There might be a way for me out of this after all, thought Obfleur as his trademark glint retuned to his eye - he smiled as he stood at attention at the same time as everyone else, as the lights dimmed - and sure enough, everyone's papers were illuminated with hidden text.
"Hold on, this isn't an actual oath," Legion pointed out. "It's supposed to be written in the first person."
"He's right, where's the 'I, name rank and serial number'?" asked Strafefox.
"That is because the first person no longer applies," said Ikijigoku. "From the moment you viewed these words, you are all a part of the same SpecWar unit. You are a single, throbbing lifeform under my direction, and all you need to remember are the Ten Commandments of SpecWar, rules that you will follow without question. And I find that speaking your name, rank and serial number out loud can be a bit of a security infraction at times. Now, is everyone ready?"
"SIR YES SIR!" said everyone - except for Obfleur, who was still chuckling at the word 'throbbing'.
"Then repeat after me..."
1. I am the War Lord and the Wrathful God of Combat, and I will always lead you from the front, not the rear.
Obfleur giggled at the word 'rear'.
2. I will treat you all alike - just like sh--.
Obfleur stopped.
3. Thou shalt not do anything I will not do first, and thus will you be created Warriors in My deadly image.
4. I shall punish thy bodies because the more thou sweatest in training, the less thou bleedest in combat.
5. Indeed, if thou hurteth in thy efforts and thou suffer painful dings, then thou art Doing It Right.
6. Thou hast not to like it - thou hast just to do it.
7. Thou shalt never assume.
8. Thou shalt Keep it Simple, Stupid.
9. Verily, thou art not paid for thy methods, but for thy results, by which meaneth thou shalt kill thy enemy by any means available, before he killeth you.
10. Thou shalt in thy Warrior's Mind and Soul always remember My Ultimate and Final Commandment - There Are No Rules. Win At All Costs.
***
In one of the camp's many unrevealed locations, Black Ops commander Ikijigoku was giving a briefing to his newly-assembled team of covert operatives - well actually, he was spending the first five seconds looking them up and down, and trying to work out whether or not to believe what he saw.
Everyone wore some kind of ridiculous blue-grey camouflage fatigues and webbing with too many straps and pouches. Someone had been handing out ski masks, and without the official radio headsets issued they'd all taken to wearing the handsfree systems from their handphones. The few who chose to go unmasked had instead covered their faces in shoe polish. And all of them carried some kind of oversized sniper rifle.
Three of them are using the FAMAS! thought Iki. God crappit, this place has turned into a CounterStrike convention!
"TEN-HUT!" yelled Obfleur, who stood at attention, while everyone else could only reach a shoulder-level hunch on account of all their excessive equipment. Someone dropped a rifle on his own foot, and screamed in pain.
"...at ease, men," said Iki, sparing himself some of the agony. "Now... it's true what many of you have heard. This unit you are in now would not have been possible without the success of the first actual covert exercise, executed by myself and my second-in-command, CPT Obfleur Allnightprotection..."
The men clapped exactly five times, in perfect timing.
"...but the real journey is ahead of us. As Specialised Warfare or SpecWar operatives, you will be called upon to execute the most dangerous missions the brass can give you, you will be required to go above and beyond the call of duty and even good sense, and regardless of the cold hard evidence, you will succeed..."
"Who knew they'd give our Iki a post this important, eh?" Sergeant Legion whispered. "I know part of his track record, but I gotta admit this came as a surprise..."
"I think that's the whole point of it being a covert operations unit, Legion," said Sergeant Strafefox.
Yeah, I guess they're right thought Obfleur. Nobody's going to know when we have to travel off the Board for poop knows how long, nobody will know when we sneak back to TransFans, and nobody will know whether it was the same number of us each time... Look at Iki there, he knows all this better than I do, yet he's standing there telling the kids plain as day that they're all going to die, and they're just... they're just accepting it, taking it in like it was all right.
When Ob looked up again, Ikijogoku had somehow gotten a massive map of TransFans on the wall behind himself, with entries like Mod-Dor and Teh River l33t all indicated, along with a few Ob never heard of before. Banned-Dor? How do you even pronounce that?
"After the close of the last treaty with TFArchive," Iki explained, "we've designated a clump of no-fly-zones that both sides cannot enter at any time. As you probably know, the reason we're all here is because treaties aren't worth the paper they're printed on, so all I can really tell you is where we most likely will be inserted in case we need to roll out. I won't lie to you - saving hostages is the least of our worries. We're going in there to kill."
By the time Iki brought out his pack of specially-labelled playing cards, the truth had hit Obfleur like a ton of bricks - he'd always loved watching army movies and the like, and he admittedly had the skills necessary for your basic military exercises - but this wasn't just charging into battle with guns blaring, this was creeping in the shadows, shooting them in the head, and killing anyone who just happened to be near just because they were a liability. Assassinations. Murder.
"...you will notice that the backs of your mortality waivers are completely blank - the oath you are expected to swear in is printed there in phosphorescent ink. I'm going to dim the lights and activate the UV, so if you will all stand at attention..."
A waiver? Like... a contract? Nobody told me there was a contract... hang on. There might be a way for me out of this after all, thought Obfleur as his trademark glint retuned to his eye - he smiled as he stood at attention at the same time as everyone else, as the lights dimmed - and sure enough, everyone's papers were illuminated with hidden text.
"Hold on, this isn't an actual oath," Legion pointed out. "It's supposed to be written in the first person."
"He's right, where's the 'I, name rank and serial number'?" asked Strafefox.
"That is because the first person no longer applies," said Ikijigoku. "From the moment you viewed these words, you are all a part of the same SpecWar unit. You are a single, throbbing lifeform under my direction, and all you need to remember are the Ten Commandments of SpecWar, rules that you will follow without question. And I find that speaking your name, rank and serial number out loud can be a bit of a security infraction at times. Now, is everyone ready?"
"SIR YES SIR!" said everyone - except for Obfleur, who was still chuckling at the word 'throbbing'.
"Then repeat after me..."
1. I am the War Lord and the Wrathful God of Combat, and I will always lead you from the front, not the rear.
Obfleur giggled at the word 'rear'.
2. I will treat you all alike - just like sh--.
Obfleur stopped.
3. Thou shalt not do anything I will not do first, and thus will you be created Warriors in My deadly image.
4. I shall punish thy bodies because the more thou sweatest in training, the less thou bleedest in combat.
5. Indeed, if thou hurteth in thy efforts and thou suffer painful dings, then thou art Doing It Right.
6. Thou hast not to like it - thou hast just to do it.
7. Thou shalt never assume.
8. Thou shalt Keep it Simple, Stupid.
9. Verily, thou art not paid for thy methods, but for thy results, by which meaneth thou shalt kill thy enemy by any means available, before he killeth you.
10. Thou shalt in thy Warrior's Mind and Soul always remember My Ultimate and Final Commandment - There Are No Rules. Win At All Costs.
-
Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
And here's the long bit to make up.
***
Metal Vendetta didn't have much of an appetite for lunch that afternoon. Jetfire just sat there and watched him tracing random lines across his steak with his knife, without a single bite ever coming near his mouth.
"...you wanna eat that before it gets bored and walks off?" asked Jetfire.
"I'm being upgraded to combat status," said EmVee. "I'm getting a copilot and everything."
"Hey, that's great!" said Jetfire. "Those of us still flying the PWN-3D aren't even allowed to flip the trigger covers open. Day in, day out, it's always maneuvers maneuvers maneuvers. Like we wouldn't remember which way is port and which way is starboard."
EmVee raised his eyebrows. "I just call 'em left and right..."
"That's the thing, man. You had a shot at actually being an airplane, before they took back our TransFan badges, they musta figured your flight experience was the best in the unit." Jetfire started whispering. "I heard Smooth say he could never get the BS-1 to lift off in the simulations, and you got it right on your first try!"
Simulations? Smooth's the Air Commander and he's never been in the sky? thought EmVee. "Look, forget all that... the real issue here is that they only had one copliot available..."
"Who's that then?"
"Rebis."
Jetfire made the mistake of sipping his coffee at that very moment. Metal Vendetta wiped his face and took a moment to look at just how much of his person was currently soaked in the lukewarm latte.
"Aww man... sorry about that."
"Yeah, whatever," EmVee grumbled. "I mean, his only qualification is for guard dog, how does one move from that to being flight-worthy?"
"I think he was juggling that with another job," said Jetfire. "If I recall correctly..."
***
EARLIER THAT DAY, 0500HRS
As much as Sheba complained about the din every morning when the recruits came stampeding into the cookhouse, it was nothing compared to the commotion when it was actually time to wake up.
Someone a long time ago had thought up the diea of some unfortunate bugger being saddled with the task of blowing into a bugle early in the morning. And he had to be blowing a specific tune. Not just any old tune, but the traditional revellie, a fixture in any army movie no matter what the setting. And most importantly, it had to be done correctly. Too many bum notes would not earn a tongue-lashing from Simon Cowell though - no, a hundred pushups while everyone had breakfast was the minimum punishment for messing up the revellie.
Thus it was that the task of blowing into that bugle every morning fell into the capable hands - or possibly paws - of Rebis, the Insolent Dog himself. He had a good ear for notes, good strong lungs, and all he needed was a mike stand to get the job done.
Add to that teeth that could chew the concrete off the steel rods, and nobody complained.
***
BACK TO PRESENT TIME
"...as you can see, that sort of thing scores well with the brass," said Jetfire. "When they sai it's the little things you do that matter, that's what they mean, the little things you absolutely have to do to keep the brass satisfied..."
"...and not the big things you do out there when the chips are down," said EmVee, looking into the sky as someone flew an PWN-3D overhead. "This is starting to become a real army."
"And air force," Jetfire added. "I don't know what we're doing for a navy, though..."
***
Colonel Ikijigoku, or at least that was his rank on the record, spent a few seconds or so studying the envelope that sat squarely in the middle of his desk. He didn't need to crack it open to see what was inside because this was a moment he contemplated a dozen times, even living out on occasion - but Obfleur was looking on expectantly from the other side of the desk, and with Obfleur's facial expressions, one could never really tell.
"...is this what I think it is, captain?" Iki asked.
"Yes it is, sir," Ob replied. "My letter of resignation."
Iki picked up the letter and turned it over a few times. "Technically you can't resign, this being the army, you have to transfer to a different unit, and even then you need two weeks' notice..."
"I've thought this over long and hard, sir... heh heh, long and hard, heh... ahem. I mean, I've come to the realisation that the black ops unit is not for m..."
"Specialised Warfare Division, Obfleur," Iki interrupted, and not without reason. "That's the first thing I want to talk about. By leaving this unit you become a liability and a walking security infringement..."
"But the training hasn't even begun yet! Those quick runs we did through the old buildings were just exhibition runs, off the record!" Obfleur protested.
"You're one of our longest-standing TransFans, Ob," said Iki. "Your commitment to the Board is only shadowed by your field experience, we need you..."
"It's nothing other people won't pick up after a year in TransFans," Ob replied.
"...because of our unique jurisdiction, we are exempt from several of the regulations. You don't have to cut your hair at all, Ob."
Ob's hands reached subconsciously for his messy hair, running through it for about two inches before jamming. "Better clippers than theirs have tried, Iki. Yes, how they tried."
"Your skills and knack for improvisation are defining factors in your assignment here, you're one of the best men for the job, you'd never be happy elsewhere..."
"Happy?!" said Obfleur out loud, taking Iki by surprise. "Blowing up key installations and all the workers in them? Sneaking into buildings for something as small as a floppy disk and having to kill anyone who even glances at you? Watching people through a telescope for days only to blow their heads open from the opposite building before it's over? Does that sort of thing make you happy?!"
Ikijigoku couldn't think of the proper textbook answer right away. "We're going to war, Obfleur, make no mistake about that... it can be with hundreds of soldiers on some godforsaken corner of the Board, or it could happen quietly with just one of us in and out of the TFArchive or any board of your choice, without anyone even knowing. It might not even involve killing anyone..."
"Not in the short run, I'm sure," Obfleur replied. "I'm a lover, not a killer. I can't make myself do this, so don't bother trying to make me. I'd be a real liability if I stayed on in this outfit, Iki."
Iki wasn't sure whether or not to follow Obfleur's downcast eyes, but when he reached for his wallet and pulled it out, Iki had a good idea what would happen.
"...that's why she left me, you knw that?" said Obfleur, looking into his wallet. "I never told anyone... about Sephrenia... it wasn't love or responsibility that drove her away... it was fear..."
"...all right then, Ob," said Iki, who fought to restrain something within himself as well. "I see where you're coming from... since we're doing all this off the record, I won't even keep you for two weeks. You're free to go."
Obfleur's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Iki, thank you," he said, trying not to choke, "this means so much to me you wouldn't believe it... thank you..."
***
And thus it was that Obfleur was able to walk back out of Iki's office, down the corridor and into the elevator...
...where his beleaguered plod became a confident strut as he walked out again at the street level, and the emotions he'd been stifling the whole time turned out to be something completely unexpected, as a big fat grin reached his lips.
"...I can't believe he bought that! HA HAAH! Even the bit about Sephrenia, heh, that made a good plot point..." Obfleur pulled out his wallet again, revealing the thing he'd been looking at to be, not Sephrenia's photo, but his driver's licence. "Class 3, baby! Cushy driver assignment, here I come...!"
***
Obfleur wasn't the only one with a secret here.
Back in Iki's office, the colonel was hunched over his desk, his shoulders quaking as his own emotions fought for purchase - and he finally gave in.
"...I mean, WTF?! 'I'm a lover, not a killer?' Who even says that anymore?!..."
***
Metal Vendetta didn't have much of an appetite for lunch that afternoon. Jetfire just sat there and watched him tracing random lines across his steak with his knife, without a single bite ever coming near his mouth.
"...you wanna eat that before it gets bored and walks off?" asked Jetfire.
"I'm being upgraded to combat status," said EmVee. "I'm getting a copilot and everything."
"Hey, that's great!" said Jetfire. "Those of us still flying the PWN-3D aren't even allowed to flip the trigger covers open. Day in, day out, it's always maneuvers maneuvers maneuvers. Like we wouldn't remember which way is port and which way is starboard."
EmVee raised his eyebrows. "I just call 'em left and right..."
"That's the thing, man. You had a shot at actually being an airplane, before they took back our TransFan badges, they musta figured your flight experience was the best in the unit." Jetfire started whispering. "I heard Smooth say he could never get the BS-1 to lift off in the simulations, and you got it right on your first try!"
Simulations? Smooth's the Air Commander and he's never been in the sky? thought EmVee. "Look, forget all that... the real issue here is that they only had one copliot available..."
"Who's that then?"
"Rebis."
Jetfire made the mistake of sipping his coffee at that very moment. Metal Vendetta wiped his face and took a moment to look at just how much of his person was currently soaked in the lukewarm latte.
"Aww man... sorry about that."
"Yeah, whatever," EmVee grumbled. "I mean, his only qualification is for guard dog, how does one move from that to being flight-worthy?"
"I think he was juggling that with another job," said Jetfire. "If I recall correctly..."
***
EARLIER THAT DAY, 0500HRS
As much as Sheba complained about the din every morning when the recruits came stampeding into the cookhouse, it was nothing compared to the commotion when it was actually time to wake up.
Someone a long time ago had thought up the diea of some unfortunate bugger being saddled with the task of blowing into a bugle early in the morning. And he had to be blowing a specific tune. Not just any old tune, but the traditional revellie, a fixture in any army movie no matter what the setting. And most importantly, it had to be done correctly. Too many bum notes would not earn a tongue-lashing from Simon Cowell though - no, a hundred pushups while everyone had breakfast was the minimum punishment for messing up the revellie.
Thus it was that the task of blowing into that bugle every morning fell into the capable hands - or possibly paws - of Rebis, the Insolent Dog himself. He had a good ear for notes, good strong lungs, and all he needed was a mike stand to get the job done.
Add to that teeth that could chew the concrete off the steel rods, and nobody complained.
***
BACK TO PRESENT TIME
"...as you can see, that sort of thing scores well with the brass," said Jetfire. "When they sai it's the little things you do that matter, that's what they mean, the little things you absolutely have to do to keep the brass satisfied..."
"...and not the big things you do out there when the chips are down," said EmVee, looking into the sky as someone flew an PWN-3D overhead. "This is starting to become a real army."
"And air force," Jetfire added. "I don't know what we're doing for a navy, though..."
***
Colonel Ikijigoku, or at least that was his rank on the record, spent a few seconds or so studying the envelope that sat squarely in the middle of his desk. He didn't need to crack it open to see what was inside because this was a moment he contemplated a dozen times, even living out on occasion - but Obfleur was looking on expectantly from the other side of the desk, and with Obfleur's facial expressions, one could never really tell.
"...is this what I think it is, captain?" Iki asked.
"Yes it is, sir," Ob replied. "My letter of resignation."
Iki picked up the letter and turned it over a few times. "Technically you can't resign, this being the army, you have to transfer to a different unit, and even then you need two weeks' notice..."
"I've thought this over long and hard, sir... heh heh, long and hard, heh... ahem. I mean, I've come to the realisation that the black ops unit is not for m..."
"Specialised Warfare Division, Obfleur," Iki interrupted, and not without reason. "That's the first thing I want to talk about. By leaving this unit you become a liability and a walking security infringement..."
"But the training hasn't even begun yet! Those quick runs we did through the old buildings were just exhibition runs, off the record!" Obfleur protested.
"You're one of our longest-standing TransFans, Ob," said Iki. "Your commitment to the Board is only shadowed by your field experience, we need you..."
"It's nothing other people won't pick up after a year in TransFans," Ob replied.
"...because of our unique jurisdiction, we are exempt from several of the regulations. You don't have to cut your hair at all, Ob."
Ob's hands reached subconsciously for his messy hair, running through it for about two inches before jamming. "Better clippers than theirs have tried, Iki. Yes, how they tried."
"Your skills and knack for improvisation are defining factors in your assignment here, you're one of the best men for the job, you'd never be happy elsewhere..."
"Happy?!" said Obfleur out loud, taking Iki by surprise. "Blowing up key installations and all the workers in them? Sneaking into buildings for something as small as a floppy disk and having to kill anyone who even glances at you? Watching people through a telescope for days only to blow their heads open from the opposite building before it's over? Does that sort of thing make you happy?!"
Ikijigoku couldn't think of the proper textbook answer right away. "We're going to war, Obfleur, make no mistake about that... it can be with hundreds of soldiers on some godforsaken corner of the Board, or it could happen quietly with just one of us in and out of the TFArchive or any board of your choice, without anyone even knowing. It might not even involve killing anyone..."
"Not in the short run, I'm sure," Obfleur replied. "I'm a lover, not a killer. I can't make myself do this, so don't bother trying to make me. I'd be a real liability if I stayed on in this outfit, Iki."
Iki wasn't sure whether or not to follow Obfleur's downcast eyes, but when he reached for his wallet and pulled it out, Iki had a good idea what would happen.
"...that's why she left me, you knw that?" said Obfleur, looking into his wallet. "I never told anyone... about Sephrenia... it wasn't love or responsibility that drove her away... it was fear..."
"...all right then, Ob," said Iki, who fought to restrain something within himself as well. "I see where you're coming from... since we're doing all this off the record, I won't even keep you for two weeks. You're free to go."
Obfleur's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Iki, thank you," he said, trying not to choke, "this means so much to me you wouldn't believe it... thank you..."
***
And thus it was that Obfleur was able to walk back out of Iki's office, down the corridor and into the elevator...
...where his beleaguered plod became a confident strut as he walked out again at the street level, and the emotions he'd been stifling the whole time turned out to be something completely unexpected, as a big fat grin reached his lips.
"...I can't believe he bought that! HA HAAH! Even the bit about Sephrenia, heh, that made a good plot point..." Obfleur pulled out his wallet again, revealing the thing he'd been looking at to be, not Sephrenia's photo, but his driver's licence. "Class 3, baby! Cushy driver assignment, here I come...!"
***
Obfleur wasn't the only one with a secret here.
Back in Iki's office, the colonel was hunched over his desk, his shoulders quaking as his own emotions fought for purchase - and he finally gave in.
"...I mean, WTF?! 'I'm a lover, not a killer?' Who even says that anymore?!..."
-
Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
Insanely long update ahoy!
***
With another day at TransFans came another rising digital sun, and another round of Rebis blowing on that dreaded bugle, as the recruits of the First TransFans Regiment was roused from their sleep, to proceed with their daily training.
It should be noted at this point that the recruits only made up the majority of the First TransFans Regiment. You had your Board regulars who made officer on account of experience, like the way Smooth got to be Colonel on account of his well-known Professor status. Then there were those who knew their way around just well enough, but hadn't built up that level of trust among the moderators, that they had to be carefully placed where they wouldn't be any trouble.
They'd been quite cautious of saysadie, for example, ever since her masochistic tendencies with that Thwacking Stick(tm) of hers were made known. She'd started out in a desk job, but someone in the brass learned words like 'tedium' and 'occupational stress', and now she was sitting in front of a radar screen directing Transfans air traffic, or at least watching helpless as the air traffic took on a mind of its own.
What are those idiots in the PWNs doing up there? she asked herself, as the blips zigzagged across the screen. What training program were they on, G-LOC?!
***
"Mayday, we have a Situation Crap up here!" yelled Jetfire into his radio, as he and two fellow pilots tried to outmaneuver the incoming explosions in their PWN-3D aircraft. "I don't know who the hell is doing it but we are being fired at! Repeat, we are under fire!"
"You think Seibertron or somebody is onto us?!" yelled one of his wingmen.
"Cut the chatter, Red Two," Jetfire retorted. Dammit, if this was EmVee up her he'd be out of this mess by now... what the heck is going on down there?!
***
One of the sad and bitter truths about the military is that there are a lot more vocations one can be assigned in, each more tedious than the last - or at least it seemed that way. Footsoldiers thought they had it bad because they slept under trucks at night, deskjobbers developed piles when they weren't out getting coffee for the officers, and the officers often wished they hadn't had to worry about how a hundred soldiers when one of their own had to be thrown into the brig for something as trivial as taking the wrong way back to camp. The camouflage paint is always greener on the other side of the barbed wire.
That's why the first thing a soldier really learns, before he shines his first boot, is to make do with his lot. You got assigned where you were because they thought it was best, not because you had a say in it. The second thing a soldier learns is to lighten their load just a little that they could live with it, but not enough that you'd wind up hammering tanks' licence plates.
Lieutenant Redstreak had heard of this theory early on, in one of those nonsense spamming threads where they'd finally gotten Aaron Hong to talk about his days in the Volunteer Corps - but he hadn't been paying just enough attention. Now assigned to train the Artillery division of TransFans, he'd had to push his specialists through one hour after another of loading and clearing drills for the J00 Mobile Destruction Cannon, a hulking 20 feet of cumbersome machinery designed for the explicit purpose of firing shaped charge projectiles at up to twice the speed of sound. Of course he knew what the repetetive work, combined with the potentially hazardous gunsmoke, could do to his troops, so he'd gone and organised an unofficial shooting competition.
And that trio of aircraft just happened to be there.
"Umm, sir," asked a concerned bobaprime, "do you think we'll get in trouble for, y'know, shooting down one of our own fighters?"
"No chance of that, soldier," said Redstreak. "If they thought we were a genuine offensive threat, even though we have the most powerful firearms in all of TransFans, they wouldn't have given us a surplus of king-size paintballs now, would they? Now load that round and get back to it! There's a spatter of red on that one plane's wing already!"
***
A sharp clunk from a wooden workbench was all it took to silence A Company.
There was no real reason for them to be on tenterhooks here - they were all dressed in tank tops above the standard cargo pants and boots, the required attire for informal briefings and coffee breaks. They'd been sitting in a training shed, which was basically a long gabled roof held up by four concrete pillars at the corners, and the best place to spend the afternoon by dint of the ventilation. And they'd been chatting amongst themselves the whole time, up until that moment, and then the clunk just forced the silence upon them.
The fact that it came from an assault rifle being placed on the workbench probably helped.
"This is the PR1M3 assault rifle," Aaron Hong began. "It's 3 feet 5 inches long from muzzle to butt, weighs in at 15 pounds, fires 350 rounds per minute at an effective range of 600 feet, and can carry up to 100 rounds with the drum magazine attachment..."
Aaron gave a few seconds for the 'oooh's and 'aaah's to settle down.
"Those are all just numbers, soldiers," he snapped, regaining their attention. "Our Besty probably likes to hear soldiers who can rattle off all these specifications on command, but when you're out there, all that matters is how quickly you can get it ready to fire. Immediate Action Drills, or IA Drills, are what you will learn to execute in the event that your weapon has jammed for some reason, and that is what I am hoping to cover by the end of the day... if you can complete the first test."
A Company shut up immediately, their prevalent sense of dread kicking in once again... until they saw SGT Leatherneck bring out the same stopwatch from their repetetive obstacle course runs, and curiosity kicked in.
"Ready, sir?... Whoa, hang on..."
Leatherneck hadn't had any time to test-click his stopwatch before Aaron's sinewy hands went to work, darting back and forth around the M3 rifle to pull on pins and loosen parts, even turning the whole rifle upside down at one point to pull out a complicated piece of machinery from the rifle body and lay it down behind the now broken-at-an-angle rifle. These parts were now at the end of a row of smaller parts, nuts and bolts of some very odd design indeed, and even a long curvy spring that was still rolling back and forth by the time Aaron was done.
"Sorry about that, Neck, but I was trying to make a point here," said Aaron. "And the point is: you will be required to strip and assemble your M3 rifle within 60 seconds each time, but in my experience I find that it's easier to meet that time frame if you don't let it cramp your style. When you're hiding behind a tree in the middle of a firefight, nobody will stand around with a stopwatch telling you how long you have left to work out why your weapon jammed up. Someone with the brass may be around to inspect, and when that happens I expect all of you to be good enough at this that you'll only need Leatherneck to time you once."
A wave of relieved sighs arose from A Company... and sort of cut off by themselves as Aaron got back to work, reassembling every part of the M3 rifle in the same meticulous fashion he did before, executing a quick test by pulling the ******* handle and squeezing the trigger a few times to listen for the hammer clanks, and finally, without any warning, twirling it a couple of times cowboy-style before sheathing it in the side of the workbench.
There was a clunk, as someone's jaw dropped.
"...sorry, couldn't resist," said Aaron in his best sheepish voice. "Leatherneck, think you can explain all the details to them?"
"No problem, sir," Leatherneck replied. "But if the brass really comes down to inspect, do you want them to do the whole stageshow version?"
"Excuse me?" asked Predabot. "I couldn't help hearing, but... what do you mean by stageshow version?"
***
You couldn't hear the military tattoo playing in the background, but it was implied well enough by the current scene playing out in the training shed.
A Company had not only put their shirts on, but were now trussed up in their combat webbing and bandoliers, complete with water bottles slung at their hips, and helmets strapped firmly on their heads. The army was all about regulations, after all, and somewhere among those regulations was the need to be in proper battle order when handling the firearms, even if live ammo wasn't even within smelling distance at the time. It might have been to look the part, possibly.
They certainly looked the part to General Computron, who was here to observe the firearms training session because Besty was elsewhere doing other stuff. And thanks to the regimentalisation and the placement of new rules, Computron had not been near his booze for a long time, and was now sobered up to the level that he could sit bare-assed on the floor and tell you how many pins were dropping on it.
This, as Predabot would find out the hard way, was the stageshow version. Complete with a hardened old heckler in the balcony.
"First Detail, Up!"
Upon Leatherneck's order, a row of ten recruits including Tired Tracks and Shanti stepped forward, stopping in front of five tent-sized canvasses and standing at attention. Ten PR1M3 rifles lay on the canvas and pointed directly forward in a neat row. Compy was just standing beside Leatherneck at this point, looking on casually but only on the outside - he would be expected to do something like this later for Best First, only with less battle gear and a lot more red tape.
"First Detail - Strip Weapon!"
"Strip Weapon!" yelled everyone in the front row as they stomped at attention and dropped to their knees, taking the rifles and getting to it. They couldn't really replicate Aaron's exact method, especially with a few rather pudgy fingers pulling on smooth metal parts that were about 2mm wide at times, but at the end, TIred Tracks and Shanti tied for first place as they stood up together, stepped at attention and announced "Rifle Stripped!"
"We'll be doing this again for those Immediate Action thingys later, won't we?" asked Predabot at a whisper. It got a bit harder to hear him as the reassembling of the weapons began.
"Most likely," LROP replied. "It's just their way of keeping things in line, I really don't think the brass really cares about all the stepping and announcing all that much..."
"Shh! We're up!"
"Second Detail, Up!" Leatherneck barked before sprukner was done talking, and soon LROP and Pred were looking at the M3 rifles up close - well, as close as one can get standing upright with the rifles on the floor.
"Second Detail - Strip Weapon!"
"Strip Weapon!"
"Yo!" yelled Predabot with a fist pumped skyward - before he remembered what the hell was going on, and dropped to the ground and started work. LROP winced as Pred's disciplinary fate played itself out in his hed, but it was soon shifted to the backbench as LROP suddenly noticed how Predabot's hands were working with the parts, sometimes pulling on pins that were on the underside of the weapon and out of his view while his eyes searched for the next step.
The fact that Predabot tied with LROP despite his initial stumble should have made it clear enough.
"Second Detail - Assemble Weapon!"
It became clear at this point that moving around in the full combat webbing and helmet formed a prominent handicap for Predabot, mostly due to his spindly build, but when his hands started reassembling the M3 weapon, it looked as if all ten of his fingers had minds of their own. Predabot even replicated Aaron's *******-hammer test before standing at attention and announcing "Rifle Assembled!"
"Third Detail, Up!"
The next row of recruits stepped up as LROP, Predabot and their row returned to the back of A Company - Predabot sat beside Tired Tracks, who greeted him with a silent tip of his water bottle between sips, and Predabot reached for his own water bottles as well - before realising he hadn't filled either of them at all.
"Dude... Lars, right?" asked sprukner. "You gotta tell me, man... how the hell do you do that?"
"Do what?" Predabot's nervous expression had set in a long time ago, and it was hard to tell if he was being genuine.
"I saw you pull on two pins with the same hand," said Tired Tracks. "Did you have your pinky nail specially manicured or something?"
Predabot just shrugged. "I guess, when you've been playing with Lego Technic since the age of eight... you learn some stuff."
***
With another day at TransFans came another rising digital sun, and another round of Rebis blowing on that dreaded bugle, as the recruits of the First TransFans Regiment was roused from their sleep, to proceed with their daily training.
It should be noted at this point that the recruits only made up the majority of the First TransFans Regiment. You had your Board regulars who made officer on account of experience, like the way Smooth got to be Colonel on account of his well-known Professor status. Then there were those who knew their way around just well enough, but hadn't built up that level of trust among the moderators, that they had to be carefully placed where they wouldn't be any trouble.
They'd been quite cautious of saysadie, for example, ever since her masochistic tendencies with that Thwacking Stick(tm) of hers were made known. She'd started out in a desk job, but someone in the brass learned words like 'tedium' and 'occupational stress', and now she was sitting in front of a radar screen directing Transfans air traffic, or at least watching helpless as the air traffic took on a mind of its own.
What are those idiots in the PWNs doing up there? she asked herself, as the blips zigzagged across the screen. What training program were they on, G-LOC?!
***
"Mayday, we have a Situation Crap up here!" yelled Jetfire into his radio, as he and two fellow pilots tried to outmaneuver the incoming explosions in their PWN-3D aircraft. "I don't know who the hell is doing it but we are being fired at! Repeat, we are under fire!"
"You think Seibertron or somebody is onto us?!" yelled one of his wingmen.
"Cut the chatter, Red Two," Jetfire retorted. Dammit, if this was EmVee up her he'd be out of this mess by now... what the heck is going on down there?!
***
One of the sad and bitter truths about the military is that there are a lot more vocations one can be assigned in, each more tedious than the last - or at least it seemed that way. Footsoldiers thought they had it bad because they slept under trucks at night, deskjobbers developed piles when they weren't out getting coffee for the officers, and the officers often wished they hadn't had to worry about how a hundred soldiers when one of their own had to be thrown into the brig for something as trivial as taking the wrong way back to camp. The camouflage paint is always greener on the other side of the barbed wire.
That's why the first thing a soldier really learns, before he shines his first boot, is to make do with his lot. You got assigned where you were because they thought it was best, not because you had a say in it. The second thing a soldier learns is to lighten their load just a little that they could live with it, but not enough that you'd wind up hammering tanks' licence plates.
Lieutenant Redstreak had heard of this theory early on, in one of those nonsense spamming threads where they'd finally gotten Aaron Hong to talk about his days in the Volunteer Corps - but he hadn't been paying just enough attention. Now assigned to train the Artillery division of TransFans, he'd had to push his specialists through one hour after another of loading and clearing drills for the J00 Mobile Destruction Cannon, a hulking 20 feet of cumbersome machinery designed for the explicit purpose of firing shaped charge projectiles at up to twice the speed of sound. Of course he knew what the repetetive work, combined with the potentially hazardous gunsmoke, could do to his troops, so he'd gone and organised an unofficial shooting competition.
And that trio of aircraft just happened to be there.
"Umm, sir," asked a concerned bobaprime, "do you think we'll get in trouble for, y'know, shooting down one of our own fighters?"
"No chance of that, soldier," said Redstreak. "If they thought we were a genuine offensive threat, even though we have the most powerful firearms in all of TransFans, they wouldn't have given us a surplus of king-size paintballs now, would they? Now load that round and get back to it! There's a spatter of red on that one plane's wing already!"
***
A sharp clunk from a wooden workbench was all it took to silence A Company.
There was no real reason for them to be on tenterhooks here - they were all dressed in tank tops above the standard cargo pants and boots, the required attire for informal briefings and coffee breaks. They'd been sitting in a training shed, which was basically a long gabled roof held up by four concrete pillars at the corners, and the best place to spend the afternoon by dint of the ventilation. And they'd been chatting amongst themselves the whole time, up until that moment, and then the clunk just forced the silence upon them.
The fact that it came from an assault rifle being placed on the workbench probably helped.
"This is the PR1M3 assault rifle," Aaron Hong began. "It's 3 feet 5 inches long from muzzle to butt, weighs in at 15 pounds, fires 350 rounds per minute at an effective range of 600 feet, and can carry up to 100 rounds with the drum magazine attachment..."
Aaron gave a few seconds for the 'oooh's and 'aaah's to settle down.
"Those are all just numbers, soldiers," he snapped, regaining their attention. "Our Besty probably likes to hear soldiers who can rattle off all these specifications on command, but when you're out there, all that matters is how quickly you can get it ready to fire. Immediate Action Drills, or IA Drills, are what you will learn to execute in the event that your weapon has jammed for some reason, and that is what I am hoping to cover by the end of the day... if you can complete the first test."
A Company shut up immediately, their prevalent sense of dread kicking in once again... until they saw SGT Leatherneck bring out the same stopwatch from their repetetive obstacle course runs, and curiosity kicked in.
"Ready, sir?... Whoa, hang on..."
Leatherneck hadn't had any time to test-click his stopwatch before Aaron's sinewy hands went to work, darting back and forth around the M3 rifle to pull on pins and loosen parts, even turning the whole rifle upside down at one point to pull out a complicated piece of machinery from the rifle body and lay it down behind the now broken-at-an-angle rifle. These parts were now at the end of a row of smaller parts, nuts and bolts of some very odd design indeed, and even a long curvy spring that was still rolling back and forth by the time Aaron was done.
"Sorry about that, Neck, but I was trying to make a point here," said Aaron. "And the point is: you will be required to strip and assemble your M3 rifle within 60 seconds each time, but in my experience I find that it's easier to meet that time frame if you don't let it cramp your style. When you're hiding behind a tree in the middle of a firefight, nobody will stand around with a stopwatch telling you how long you have left to work out why your weapon jammed up. Someone with the brass may be around to inspect, and when that happens I expect all of you to be good enough at this that you'll only need Leatherneck to time you once."
A wave of relieved sighs arose from A Company... and sort of cut off by themselves as Aaron got back to work, reassembling every part of the M3 rifle in the same meticulous fashion he did before, executing a quick test by pulling the ******* handle and squeezing the trigger a few times to listen for the hammer clanks, and finally, without any warning, twirling it a couple of times cowboy-style before sheathing it in the side of the workbench.
There was a clunk, as someone's jaw dropped.
"...sorry, couldn't resist," said Aaron in his best sheepish voice. "Leatherneck, think you can explain all the details to them?"
"No problem, sir," Leatherneck replied. "But if the brass really comes down to inspect, do you want them to do the whole stageshow version?"
"Excuse me?" asked Predabot. "I couldn't help hearing, but... what do you mean by stageshow version?"
***
You couldn't hear the military tattoo playing in the background, but it was implied well enough by the current scene playing out in the training shed.
A Company had not only put their shirts on, but were now trussed up in their combat webbing and bandoliers, complete with water bottles slung at their hips, and helmets strapped firmly on their heads. The army was all about regulations, after all, and somewhere among those regulations was the need to be in proper battle order when handling the firearms, even if live ammo wasn't even within smelling distance at the time. It might have been to look the part, possibly.
They certainly looked the part to General Computron, who was here to observe the firearms training session because Besty was elsewhere doing other stuff. And thanks to the regimentalisation and the placement of new rules, Computron had not been near his booze for a long time, and was now sobered up to the level that he could sit bare-assed on the floor and tell you how many pins were dropping on it.
This, as Predabot would find out the hard way, was the stageshow version. Complete with a hardened old heckler in the balcony.
"First Detail, Up!"
Upon Leatherneck's order, a row of ten recruits including Tired Tracks and Shanti stepped forward, stopping in front of five tent-sized canvasses and standing at attention. Ten PR1M3 rifles lay on the canvas and pointed directly forward in a neat row. Compy was just standing beside Leatherneck at this point, looking on casually but only on the outside - he would be expected to do something like this later for Best First, only with less battle gear and a lot more red tape.
"First Detail - Strip Weapon!"
"Strip Weapon!" yelled everyone in the front row as they stomped at attention and dropped to their knees, taking the rifles and getting to it. They couldn't really replicate Aaron's exact method, especially with a few rather pudgy fingers pulling on smooth metal parts that were about 2mm wide at times, but at the end, TIred Tracks and Shanti tied for first place as they stood up together, stepped at attention and announced "Rifle Stripped!"
"We'll be doing this again for those Immediate Action thingys later, won't we?" asked Predabot at a whisper. It got a bit harder to hear him as the reassembling of the weapons began.
"Most likely," LROP replied. "It's just their way of keeping things in line, I really don't think the brass really cares about all the stepping and announcing all that much..."
"Shh! We're up!"
"Second Detail, Up!" Leatherneck barked before sprukner was done talking, and soon LROP and Pred were looking at the M3 rifles up close - well, as close as one can get standing upright with the rifles on the floor.
"Second Detail - Strip Weapon!"
"Strip Weapon!"
"Yo!" yelled Predabot with a fist pumped skyward - before he remembered what the hell was going on, and dropped to the ground and started work. LROP winced as Pred's disciplinary fate played itself out in his hed, but it was soon shifted to the backbench as LROP suddenly noticed how Predabot's hands were working with the parts, sometimes pulling on pins that were on the underside of the weapon and out of his view while his eyes searched for the next step.
The fact that Predabot tied with LROP despite his initial stumble should have made it clear enough.
"Second Detail - Assemble Weapon!"
It became clear at this point that moving around in the full combat webbing and helmet formed a prominent handicap for Predabot, mostly due to his spindly build, but when his hands started reassembling the M3 weapon, it looked as if all ten of his fingers had minds of their own. Predabot even replicated Aaron's *******-hammer test before standing at attention and announcing "Rifle Assembled!"
"Third Detail, Up!"
The next row of recruits stepped up as LROP, Predabot and their row returned to the back of A Company - Predabot sat beside Tired Tracks, who greeted him with a silent tip of his water bottle between sips, and Predabot reached for his own water bottles as well - before realising he hadn't filled either of them at all.
"Dude... Lars, right?" asked sprukner. "You gotta tell me, man... how the hell do you do that?"
"Do what?" Predabot's nervous expression had set in a long time ago, and it was hard to tell if he was being genuine.
"I saw you pull on two pins with the same hand," said Tired Tracks. "Did you have your pinky nail specially manicured or something?"
Predabot just shrugged. "I guess, when you've been playing with Lego Technic since the age of eight... you learn some stuff."
Last edited by Aaron Hong on Tue Aug 30, 2005 3:32 am, edited 1 time in total.
-
Laser Rod Optimus Prime
- Decepticon Cannon Fodder
- Posts:91
- Joined:Wed Apr 25, 2001 11:00 pm
- Location:Texas
- Contact:
