Transformers Universe MUX

Log Title: Is This The Real Life

Characters: Blast Off , Goth , Hot Rod

Location: Remote Desert Region , The Dreaming

Date: October 30, 2021

TP: Halloween 2021 , Liege Maximo TP , Fight the Future TP

Summary: Something odd happens to a handful of scattered cybertronians. But was it really a dream?

As logged by Ghost

TFU - Saturday, October 30, 2021

The Dreaming

Nebulous mists swirl and braid in on themselves. Colors flash and dim in errant pulses. Fragmented sounds, words, songs echo then seem to be eaten by the mists itself. Where is this?

You were settling in for a recharge, or perhaps your head nodded down just far enough that.. you thought, a small nap wouldn't hurt anything. And the world, it is so -heavy- right now. So full, weighty, pushing at you, so exhausting. A tiny nap, a short recharge would leave you refreshed.

As you nod off, systems cycle down, slowly settling, slowly relaxing, cortical relays cycling in for a short defrag, why not? It's still war no matter what the news reels say, the world coming alive still doesn't undo the millions of years of destruction, chaos, death. A short nap, when you can get it.. it is the way, it's just how things are, still.

That feeling, that sensation of falling is so normal, that moment between consciousness and a deeper defrag a known thing. Relaxing further, you twitch and -fall-.

Goth mutters. "Maybe.. maybe I can rest fully tonight." he says to himself as he curls up in his pillow nest.

Soundtrack: Song 1

Skyfall - Adele

Hot Rod was taking a break. Several cycles spent in Median had found ancient battle sites from however long ago. Seeming emptier than they should have been, ancient scars abound. But still seeming peaceful. Moreso than ancient places of war and conflict should be. Maybe recently salvaged? Having just commed in a slow report Hot Rod had just wanted to take a little stasis nap.. Before going back to it. Then he would be feeling relaxed. Relaxed. Then.. Flashing? Nothingness. But accompaniment. Hot Rod in whatever place he was, would snap over to attention. Bracing himself.. But, no sudden chants. No voices. No demands. No pleas. No procession to somewhere else. Hot Rod is slowly glancing about the emptiness. "Hello? Is anyone there?" Please Primus don't let it be like the last time this happened. Then reprimanding himself. He -had- to think that.

Goth blinks as he looks around, confused, at least it wasn't the dreams from before, so an improvement? He'd look down at his hands to see what they looked like.

It's the screaming, always the screaming. Always the same, every time. They don't know, they don't understand and they refused to bow, to bend, to break. And now, they pay the price. A viewscreen flashes before your optics, a rocky planet with multiple bow-waves of fire, plasma waves rocking, rolling, careening across the surface as liquids vaporize. More and more upthrusts of fiery clouds push ever higher and higher as the planet succumbs to the inevitable, to teach those left a lesson. Cowards, shaking on their knees, tied, beated, and now.. broken. Screaming at you, at yours, screaming, crying as they watch their planet slowly destroyed due to their own decisions. You now, standing still, firm in place, steady in the knowledge that this is right.

(is it?)

That this is how it should be

(is it?)

That this is your proper place at the forefront of..

(Is It?)

(DM Note: To shift to a lucid dreaming state, you must roll and succeed with an int and a cour roll at +2 your stat. No re-rolls. There will be multiple chances to attempt to shake 'the dream'. EXA: Int 6 = roll against an 8.)

GAME: Hot Rod FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of Very High difficulty.

GAME: Hot Rod FAILS a COURAGE roll of Extreme difficulty.

GAME: Goth PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Extreme difficulty.

GAME: Goth FAILS a COURAGE roll of High difficulty.

Definitely shouldn't have thought that. Hot Rod would stand his ground and be firm, even in the face of the screaming, the pleas, the rage. "Please. Please, every-spark calm down." His tone would be gentle, his hands at his sides even as his posture would betray his surprise. "Let me help. Anyone that needs it. Let me know what I can do. And we all want this conflict to end. To have peace. To let the planet heal." He can see the mourning. He fels it pulling him to his knees. Disoriented. Feeling like he was falling into the morass of suffering. Blame. Agony. Hate. Loathing. At himself. At what he had done. At what he had failed to do. So much. Blame. Guilt.

Rolling up. Failures as an Autobot. Failures at peace. Failures. Failing to stop things. Failing to help things. Failings in a personal level. Failings.. So many.

On his knees now, memories of failures past, present, future yet to come. Of energy blasts at a shuttle, at a body laid out on a medical table. Of his fault. His guilt. His trembling as he would look up to a battle that was his fault they died. Trembling at guilt both his own and not his own..

GAME: Blast Off FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of Extreme difficulty.

GAME: Blast Off FAILS a COURAGE roll of High difficulty.

Those that serve with you remain at your sides, immobile, the same face after face after face, legions even. All watching the planets destruction without reaction, without emotion, firm in their, in -YOUR- resolve, that this is /right/. A sense of right settles into your mind, a sense of belonging, a sense of all is right, all will be fine, as soon as they all -learn- that to go against.. is to suffer. You.. are comfortable seeing this, any itching thoughts of past fears, past worries fading away as if another life, another past, as if.. all of that belongs to someone else. This.. this is -YOU- now, this is what is right, what is comfortable, what is best.

To Goth: This.. this is -YOU- now, this is what is right, what is comfortable, what is best. This is.. This is.. This is right, isn't it? This.. there is something.. ill fitting about this, is it the mech standing next to you? (-1 next roll, meaning you roll against a 9 for int)'

Goth knits his ridges, this was right.. right? no, no it wasn't.. Right?... Right? He'd look over to the mech's beside him, he could feel his fur starting to ruffle, his ears flatten against his helm.

He knows it. He sees that everything is going to fall. It is inevitable. War begets conflict never-ending. No peace. Never any. One conflict merely leaving the seeds for the next. Until one of them is finally too many and the planet is torn asunder. Because that is what their failures have made. Hot Rod can only look on and contemplate his own fate in it. It's his fault. It's just natural. It's going to be what things are like in the end. His own failure. His existence is full of them.

One possible fate and future taken away from him because he failed. Because he wasn't worth it. That he could never stand up for. That he's been judged by Primus for. That he's' exiled for. His own blame. Hot Rod can only look at what might have been, what might have happened.


The last time he was taken for something grand, that was the only echo in his mindscape. And here it reverberates again. Hot Rod has never been, never shall be. His purpose is merely to be a participant and hasten the end of all things. The grand failure of Primus' plan.

So much noise, so much chaos, so much suffering... so Blast Off immediately does what Blast Offs do- he shuts it off. He clams up and closes off. See, he's above this all. All these groundpounder's fears and screams are distant to someone who soars through the stars. The stars... where are they, how can he get back to them? He'll ignore the screams and concentrate on...right. It's... just how things have to be. Onslaught, where's Onslaught? The Combaticons, are they nearby? As long as they're nearby, he doesn't have to worry. If anything's wrong, Onslaught will let him know and then they'll fly high and away- he's a space shuttle, he can leave this planet whenever he likes. Yes, this is.... this is fine.

A sudden shifting in perspective, the monitors ripple, the legions around you shift and falter, leaving you with a 3 mech squad, now. Death rolls across the fighting field like a harvester. Those that stand in your-their way having decimated the living and are coming for you and those left with you. A rumbling and the very skies start to bleed, black lines of energy lancing across the upper troposphere. There is no price too high to pay to conquer the unworthy. Even your own life. You grip your rifle firmly in hand and charge, even as the orbital bombardment from your very own burns downwards like the hammer of a god. You can -feel- your armoring bubbling as you charge forward, can -see- those nameless, faceless enemies falling as the planet itself -cracks..

And there is blackness and cold.

GAME: Hot Rod FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of Very High difficulty.

GAME: Hot Rod PASSES a COURAGE roll of Extreme difficulty.

GAME: Blast Off FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of Extreme difficulty.

GAME: Blast Off FAILS a COURAGE roll of High difficulty.

GAME: Goth PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Immense difficulty.

GAME: Goth PASSES a COURAGE roll of High difficulty.

This is the way it ends. This is the way it always does. Whether in grand conflict or small. WHether a sniper shot, stepping on a mine.. Or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if this is a final fight.. Hot Rod feels a sense of peace. Going to take up his blaster to run along once more. This is just the way the fight ends. One final charge. Not for glory, perhaps. But just for oe final attempt to amend for failures. He's failed too much. Even at this last thing.. He's with his comrades. He'll stay at their sides. He won't abandon them. Whether or not he's the last Autobot. Whether or not his story has any meaning as just one more cog in the unending servo. HE'll see it through to the end. HOt Rod can't say anything. Just that wordless charge as things flash over and bubble to non-existence. He knows he's not worthy of the AllSpark. But he doesn't plea or beg in the end. He just runs forwrds and is taken by nothingness.

DM Note: As a note, you -are- these unknowns, the legions watching a planet being destroyed and feeling that it is -right-, you are the ones on that battlefield, charging towards the enemy knowing you are doomed yet knowing that this is the way. At least at the moment ;)"

Soundtrack: Song 2: I melt with you - Modern English

To Goth: Alrighty, you're ICLy able to realize that this isn't your dream. And while horrific, it's -just- a dream. The feel of the heavy weight lessens and you feel as if you 'step back' Oh, the scene is still playing, you can see your 'body' moving forward, one of a number of mechs that look all alike, silvered and green, masked visages. You can also see ghostly afterimages over two others where their shadow doesn't fit their body at all.'

Goth's optics narrow, no, this was wrong, this wasn't his war, this wasn't him or his dream, but a dream... Why would his-- His attention is caught by the other shadows. He takes a breath (So to speak) and first, attempts to get a grip on his imagine, he knows what he looks like..

A fragile, flying creature of appeal, normally seen small, but big, bigger then he should build for caverns and he's a creature of the night, he's a beast, a vampire, a monster.. Yet not.

"I'm,.. Goth." he attempts to say a loud, an attempt at control and, maybe to see how those other two shadows respond.

Blast Off charges forward. This...seems a bit odd, isn't he usually up high, far away from the up close and personal chaos and pain? It is.... he feels uneasy. It is odd,, wait, it must be an order from Onslaught. Yes, that's it. Onslaught must have ordered this and he knows what he's doing, so Blast Off will obey like the loyal Combaticon he is. He charges forward into nothingness.

The nothing breaks into a starscape, you (YOU) are in a fleet battle. Ship to ship, torpedos and lasers scattering the enemy like so much vermin. In the faint distance, the primary star of this system starts to dim, rapidly darkening, shifting from a warming orange to a virulent red before it expands and expands and expands, eating through those planets that were nestled close to it for life itself. This is -right-, the exploding star will be used, those pulses of hydrogen and heavy metals burning through the system harnessed to fuel the legions.

DM Note: Hot Rod, Blast Off, your rolls are now unmodified. meaning roll against your Int and Courage as they are. Goth, no more rolls for you until otherwise noted."

GAME: Blast Off PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Very High difficulty.

GAME: Blast Off FAILS a COURAGE roll of Average difficulty.

GAME: Hot Rod PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Above Average difficulty.

GAME: Hot Rod PASSES a COURAGE roll of Extreme difficulty.

To Hot Rod: Alrighty, you're ICly able to realize that this isn't your dream. And while horrific, it's -just- a dream. The feel of the heavy weight lessens and you feel as if you 'step back' Oh, the scene is still playing, you can see your 'body' moving forward, one of a number of mechs that look all alike, silvered and green, masked visages. You can also see ghostly afterimages over another where their shadow doesn't fit their body at all.'

Then Hot Rod hears someone, something. In space, everyone can hear Starscream. So he's suddenly snapping up and over as he sees things broken down. Broken down to be remade, reforged.. But at the level of a collapsed star, of an entire solar system as it's consumed. It.. It's beyond his recognition and.. It's not his. This isn't his dream. This isn't real. He's seeing.. Things. He's seeing another.. Humanoids. Forged creations. All identical. Like they all came off the assembly line in the same body type. With.. Shadows. And darkness.

He's tensing. This is someone else's nightmare. Or hope. But in reference to -what-.. It's not like anything he's ever heard of. So is it even someone on Cybertron's?

To Blast Off: 'This.. this is -YOU- now, this is what is right, what is comfortable, what is best. This is.. This is.. This is right, isn't it? This.. there is something.. ill fitting about this, you haven't seen Onslaught? Have you been abandoned? Are they all dead on another world? You cant -feel- or sense them. Did they abandon you? (next roll is only against courage when asked for)'

Good, Goth thinks as he relaxes, knowing he now has control of himself, and then, his face twists into a flat look, and one of annoyance and long-suffering. "All things I had to be stuck in a dream with, Why did it have to include that flaming idiot." Goth groans.

However he notes the other, confused shadow, so who, who would this turn out to be? He squints, steps toward them, nervously eyeing the fire before him. "Who are you?" he asks them, tone define and claw over his own chest, clutching at where a specific crystal necklace, full of energon sat.

Now- ah, NOW things are looking right. He's in space, master of the galaxy, making short work of these hopeless fools who would dare challenge him here. Ha ha! Now he feels a bit more comfortable. Now... but wait. What was the plan? There's always a plan. Onslaught always has a plan and he... he can't remember it. Something about consuming energy, is that it, but... that red, expanding star is threatening to expand and consume HIM, so he must fly... what kind of plan is this, anyway?

And where? Blast Off hears something, some... name. Something spoken out there in the darkness. It's not one of the Combaticons, but it's familiar. Where was it? Who was that? And where ARE the Combaticons? Did they leave him? Did he leave them? No, no... that couldn't have happened. ....Could it? Where are they? He...can't sense them. Why can't he sense them? The shuttle starts flying erratically as he fights a growing panic. Then there's that familiar voice again, it's calling again, and he tries to turn around, face it, figure out who it is. It's not a Combaticon, but he knows that voice. "<<Where are the Combaticons? Why can't I feel them?!>>" Is all he can manage to say.

The wave of energies from the dying star washes over like a loved ones caress, warm, life-giving, itchy, burning. The enemy ships break apart, eaten through by the death throws of a solar body, pummeled into nothing by planetary fragments. And.. the world, your world.. tilt-shifts. The stars against the fathomless blanket of the galaxy wink out one, by one, by one, leaving a gnawing hunger behind, a rage, a yearning (fleeting for those of you realizing that this isn't -your- dream but you can still feel what these others are going through, if distantly, now.)

And the dream slips, stuttering, a flash of faces, all the same, all silvered and green, some masked, some with skull-like visages, some alive, some dying their last gasp against faceless enemies. Some striking death blows against others pleading for surrender. Yet the battles seem endless, heavy footfalls thundering against that slowly dying section of space itself. And winds whip about, another battlefield forming slowly from mists that rise and fall.

The two of you that -aware- that this is a dream, can see the others shape, misty, pulled from the shadows of those they were held within.

Soundtrack: Song 3:

God is in the rain - Suicide Commando

Hot Rod would look up at over into the shadows. All of those things mass produced. This isn't his dream. It's someone else's. Maybe Quintesson? But the Quintessons hadn't gone for this sort of mass produced weaponry and soldiers to occupy planets.. Quintessons were merchant overlords. Not conquerors. Hot Rod would take in something through his intakes. Not that there was any air. But since he'd caught hold of his own spark, he..

The mannerism was reassuring, a reminder that his core consciousness, his laser core was his own. He's watching them as more and more of the things rose up. To fight, to fall.. And he can only think <<what in Primus' Forge>> And take a step forwards.

GAME: Blast Off PASSES a COURAGE roll of Below Average difficulty.

To Blast Off: 'Alrighty, you're ICly able to realize that this isn't your dream. And while horrific, it's -just- a dream. The feel of the heavy weight lessens and you feel as if you 'step back' Oh, the scene is still playing, you can see your 'body' moving forward, one of a number of mechs that look all alike, silvered and green, masked visages. You can also pick out a familiar form there as the unknowns move away, or you move out of the 'body' you were in. It's Goth. Transparent to some degree but it looks like Goth.'

Goth's ears flick forward at the one above, Vortex?.. No far too together, and not screaming in pure bliss of this mess, no no... Only other Combaticon flyer there was.. "Blast Off?" He asks... Catching the movement of Hot Rod, he makes a hesitant gesture for him to join by Goth, if anything.. least a familiar face to help him figure just what was going on.

He has to keep his hand over his necklace, else he knows he'll fall to that rage, and it will not be pretty.

DM Note: "All 3 of you now realize this isn't -your- dream. Or realize that this is -a- dream and there are others there that are familiar."

The voice... he knows it, and it knows him. Hearing his name snaps Blast Off further away from the chaos, and he draws closer to the familiar form. Maybe he even leaves some sort of ...body behind, who knows. Stars and bodies fall around him, but now... now he can focus, and he focuses on the familiar. There's someone else, too, also drawing near. Now he's in root mode, maybe, speaking normally, and he takes a step forward to Goth, or that thing that looks like him. "I know you... Goth! What's.. what's going on?" For a moment, still detaching from the dream, his voice has lost its customary snooty tone.

The battle rages on around the three lucid dreamers now, the sounds, the smells, the -feeling- dulled, dimmer now that they've all pulled out to varying degrees. But it still flows onwards, now focusing on a squad of those mechanisms firing down on beings that are on their knees, surrendering and yet.. still being removed from existence.

Soundtrack: Song 4:

Invisible Sun - The Police

Hot Rod would slowly notice the others, "I'm guessing this isn't your napping either?" Going to hold his hands up and over in a gesture of appeasement, "And whatever those things are they look like they're all uniformally produced in a line. I don't think they're Quintesson." he offers that out of less of a sense of fluency with the technology just than it didn't -fit- them. He's holding his hands up and over while scanning along. And looking over at the things.

"This is someone else's nightmare. But who.. I'm not sure it's even someone on Cybertron's."

That catches Goth off guard for a moment, Blast Off's response is NOT what he expected from a dream figure, but there it was, he'd take a slow breath and exhales. He'll entertain it though. He runs his hand through his black mane that is tide in the back into a pony tale with a red ribbon.

"I am.. unsure, This is a dream, but not one I am familiar with, or have an idea how ones brain module came up with as I've never seen any of these figures, creatures, scenes." He muses in a very tired analytical tone, eyeing the scene behind him with pinned ears.

He then looks at Hot Rod. "The fact this one is here and speaking in logic alone is an indication things are off." Goth adds with a jerk of his thumb.

Blast Off squints as he becomes aware of... "Hot Rod." NOW the snootiness returns to his tone. He mutters under his 'breath', as it were, trigger finger twitching as he reaches for a weapo- wait. He stops and looks around, hand remaining empty. Does he need a weapon right now? Does he even have one? He looks, but he also glances to the other two people he at least recognizes, though he edges closer to Goth.

"Something is off, certainly." he glances around again, still uneasy about NOT knowing where the other Combaticons are, then focuses on the other two again. "I don't..." he pauses. "There's no plan." Then he asks, "Why are YOU two here?"

The battle shifts, it's the docking bay, the interior of some alien ship, now. More of those same mechanoids are present, some variance in their shapes, sizes, frametypes. All similarly colored, however. There's the faintest of -tugs- from three of them, the three that those 'dreaming' would have been 'inhabiting'. They are shackled, trussed to upthrust pillars of meta as wordless noise seems to fill the area, words, that can't be made out, muttered, mumbled slurred. And then the trio are lashed, 10 each.

DM Note: Please roll: +roll Int at your stat, and then +roll Int with no number."

GAME: Goth PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Immense difficulty.

GAME: Goth PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Average difficulty.

GAME: Blast Off PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Very High difficulty.

GAME: Blast Off PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Average difficulty.

GAME: Hot Rod PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Above Average difficulty.

GAME: Hot Rod PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Average difficulty.

There's the faintest of tingles against your back plating. But no pain, and you're able to shake it off as 'not your dream'

Soundtrack: Song 6:

Idioteque - Radiohead

The smack talk directed at Hot Rod by Goth is ignored as Hot Rod would watch things and shake it off in thought. "I don't think it's someone on Cybertron's. Or even on the Colonies. This speaks of personal experience or vision.." He would watch the fighting continue, as those three would be trussed up. "So it's someone from space." As the question of why he was here..

"I don't know." Being honest in it while keeping his hands at his sides. "The detail seems pretty firm. This is someone who saw it in person or saw optical records that were teh real thing." Why was he being so analytical here?

Goth pauses and blinks in surprise, wait... Waaait a minute, his slanted cat-eyed optics move from side to side as he thinks, Blast Off is aware... Goth himself, is aware, Blast off doesn't know where they are, Hot Rod doesn't know where they are.. How could they all be dreaming the same dream?

"...How.. could we be dreaming the same dream? That should be impossible for those not part of a currently jointed combiner." Goth finally says aloud as he brings a claw up to his goatee, trying to ponder just WHAT was going on.

Absently, he gives Blast Off a reassuring nuzzle, like that of a cat, a bit unaware of his actions.

Then things shift, and Goth almost falls back into a panic, letting out a terrified squeak and yelp, as he's almost sent into what was almost FAR too similar to a experience he actually had, but, he has to keep himself from loosing control of his emotions here, maybe, perhaps things would not leak as much as he feared before, he starts to pull on the restraints, he'd broken something like this before, he could again, even if a dream.

Blast Off stands, arms crossed, trying to figure this out. He watches Hot Rod carefully, though the Autobot makes no aggressive moves so Blast Off returns the favor- for now. "Odd, then." He turns to listen to Goth, frowning behind his faceplate- does he even have one? "If I was going to have a joined dream, then...yes, it should be with the other Combaticons." Pause. "But I... I don't sense them anywhere," he adds softly, apprehensively. The 'body' he had had was... whipped, and he feels a tingle, but no pain.

Then Goth nuzzles him. He jerks in some surprise, staring at the bat, but quickly calms and... maybe it's the lingering tingle on his back, but... the tailfin centered on his back wags for a moment as he relaxes again. "How does one even get caught up IN someone else's dream? Is that possible?"

Hot Rod would shake his head over at Blast Off, "Well, no clue on my end." His tone just a little wary; his last extensive interaction with Blast Off having been the engagement where Bruticus was freed of the influence of the Robo-Smasher.. And then the tremendous disappointment that came after with no change in the Combaticon's behavior, still being willing servants of Megatron and trying to kill himand his friends. But this was neither the time nor the place.

"Sorry Gentlemechs, but I think our priority in figuring out should be less on the 'why and how' and more of the 'what's going on'. We're in someone's dream. We're not going to figure out why until we're out of here. So let's figure out what is going on in the dream first?" He would offer. "And I'm worried about what those things are. Destroying star systems on an industrial scale.." That only one being has ever been capable of. And these he prays to Primus or whatever PRime listens that it is not related to that one.

The three trussed up for what seems to be some sort of punishment are let loose, dragged off down a hallway. There's a perception shift again, a sense of falling, and a glimpse of what may be the same three, being parted out, while still functioning. There's a sense of words, harsh, firm, being said, over and over and over and over and over again, a cadence to them.

GAME: Goth FAILS a TECHNICAL roll of Very High difficulty.

GAME: Goth PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of High difficulty.

Goth shudders, his fur, and mane that followed his spine, rising up his back and grumbles. "Right.. right." he says in a shaky tone he tries to hide.

"Tsk, perhaps something the related to the Black Block Consortia." Goth says, sarcastically, shaken of course but still, gives some kind of answer to Hot Rod.

Again the Dream that shifted and, oh.. Oh dear, that definitely starts setting Goth's untreated PTSD off, he starts wheezing, his already compromised state from lack of rest not helping, all of his bio-lights start to flare brightly red.

GAME: Hot Rod FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of High difficulty.

Hot Rod expected the Combaticons to be grateful? Tsk. Combaticons are not grateful, something. Wait, where are the other Combaticons, anyway? Blast Off's own thoughts keep going back to that, and again he looks around, trying to sense where his teammates are. The tailfin flicks again, this time in a more agitated manner. He frowns again as he ...senses? the three beings? bodies? being taken apart, alive? "What IS this? I..." He shakes his head. "I haven't seen any of these star systems- or aliens, or whatever these are. They're not anything I recognize."

And there's words... what ARE they saying? Blast off tries to listen. "Hush..." he hisses at the other two as he does. He's important, they should do what he says! Goth, stop flaring!

GAME: Blast Off FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of High difficulty.

Hot Rod would call outa t Ghost, "It's okay. This is just a dream and we're not.. Real." What here is not real. He would nod over at Blast OFf's words. And quickly would try to evaluate.. "Can you help him? You're his friend." Of Blast Off to Goth. "He doesn't know me and I'll make it worse." The cavalier musing quietly.

Looking at the things and then going quietly, "This is laid out.. Efficiently. It's designed for this purpose." Looking at the layout.

Soundtrack: Song 7 (this is the sense and cadence of the words that constantly flow through, this -isn't- exactly what is being said but the feel of it)

Legio Aeterna Victrix - Roman march

"Shut up.. Shut up.." Goth mutters softly as he covers his ears and doubles over, trembling.. A Dream, a dream, this is a dream.. Still its just as bad, if not worse then the ones plaguing him before.. He's not alone here, even if ONE of the occupants is.. Well, Hot Rod.. His ears sag as he tries to cover them.

"Eternal... legion... victorious... Our strength... is... legion, our duty the Empire always.. You... you have failed, your f-frame will not be.. lost in vain. Your deaths... so-o that o-others may live." He repeats, trying to match the chanting to what is being said so the others understand, and could help him in his compromised state.

The droning words just outside the range of understanding continues to rise and fall even as the three hapless mechanisms that Hot Rod, Blast Off, and Goth were dream-inhabiting fade out. They repeat, a seeming endless cadence as the world, the perspective once more ripples, slowly twisting as if struggling to change again. there's a ripple of blackness, a -HUNGER- that seems all pervasive, a PRIDE, a DRIVE that reaches out to the three dreamers once again, even visible as amorphous translucent streamers coming from the three dream-bodies reaching towards the trio of lucid dreamers.

GAME: Hot Rod PASSES a COURAGE roll of Extreme difficulty.

GAME: Goth FAILS a COURAGE roll of Average difficulty.

"Designed for this purpose?" Blast Off asks Hot Rod, then hushes HIMSELF as Goth hisses back. Silently, he listens as the bat starts chanting with the voices. "..." He looks around again. "Empire? The Empire is legion?" There's a huff, even as he senses pride, hunger, and drive- oh, he knows this kind of mentality, all right. "So they think they're Decepticons, do they?" He crosses his arms again.

GAME: Blast Off FAILS a COURAGE roll of Average difficulty.

GAME: Blast Off PASSES a COURAGE roll of Average difficulty.

Hot Rod would glance at Goth, listening to him translate and finally muttering, "That's just Prime.." Adding more, "The dreamer.. I don't think they survived. The details are too good, they had to be here themselves.." And this is a disposal unit. They wouldn't have made it out.

Then as things would CHANGE the hunger would clash over Hot Rod as pain - even in his state of lucidity and awareness this wasn't real would roll over him. "I.. Am.." He would stagger to one knee, folding over and moving to pick himself up. "I am.. Hot Rod. I am an Autobot. I don't know what you are or what this is. But I will do everything I can to stop you. To help others stop you. The suffering you've inflicted, you have inflicted, you will inflict.." T he threats are empty he knows. The dreamscape is empty. But the threats give him focus. They give him perception. They rally his spark as the sense of meaning lets him shake off the pained haze and look through it.

"I am a nothing. I'm nothing important. I'm not me elsewhere that has a purpose. I'm not me that has a big, grand destiny. I'm a failure with nothing greater. But I'm still an Autobot. We stand for justice. For peace. And no matter what we'll do all we can to stop this." And the words are.. Baiting.

IF something is behind this dream, hopefully it would lash out at this and respond directly.

Goth flinches and just.. does what he does best when he can't control a situation, when he can't get a grip and his emotions run wild.. He rages, and he rages out violently, and with every bit he can muster into a high-pitch scream with his vocalizer set to the highest setting possible.

Blast Off listens as Hot Rod begins a speech... and the Decepticon's violet optics squint and narrow. PUH-lease. His crossed arms grip ever tighter and there's another small *huff*, but he doesn't respond otherwise. It doesn't appear that Hot Rod is addressing him, anyway, so he waits to see what happens. Maybe something will come out and eat the Autobot and leave him and Goth alone. That's what you get for putting on that "Autobot brave act', hmmph.

Though then Goth goes into...rage mode?! And then...the noise, the noise! The shuttleformer uncrosses his arms and tries to muffle his audials, stepping away from the bat in a hurry.... Frag, everyone's getting.... annoying. And/or alarming. Blast Off keeps backing away, now just looking for escape. Where are the stars, anyway? Does UP mean escape?

Goth's scream seems to shake the fabric of reality and that shift bends, warping. And out of the mists comes a grouping of those same designed mechs, slowly solidifying, chirp-calling to one another as they -look- at the dreamers. "Nomen! Ordo! Nomen! Ordo!" They're arming themselves now.

Hot Rod would go to shake his head rapidly as the mechs would go to form up. Yelling at Blast Off, "YOu have to learn whatever you can!" About to add 'for MEgatron' and then correcting himself. "For Onslaught! He needs all the data you can bring back so he can make a plan to deal with all this!" Hoping that Blast Off goes true to form and that what's being yelled is enough to get the shuttle's attention.

Hot Rod moving to put himself in front of Goth in a defensive position. "Goth, fall back if you need to." His tone firm and focused. There's no witty comments. No quips.

Hub Centurions rank up, 2 in front, 3 behind, raising weapons as they once again call out, "Ordo! Nomen!" Those weapons are powering up now.

GAME: Hot Rod FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of Very High difficulty.

GAME: Blast Off PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of High difficulty.

GAME: Goth FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of High difficulty.

Goth snarls at Hot Rod and pushes him away, he's lost control and let his raging emotions control him and meld into a boiling rage, who the frag where these bots? the frag was going on? who the FRAG did they think they where for messing with him and one of his friends?! HELL, who where they to DARE even think they could mess with him?! but there is some sentience of sense in him still, given his optics remained green.

"Step out of the way, bot, I am not defenseless." He snarls stepping forward, the sneer twisting into a sinister smile, and he threateningly lowers his hand, that elongated index claw glowing, along with his fangs.

"I'm not quite sure whom you all are, or whom denes to think them selves wise enough to dance with I, but you may call me by a title from my home world I earned." He'd grin. "Mourner." He states simply.

To Blast Off: It.. It sounds like something you've heard in a seedy bar.. ahem, spacers port of distinction once upon a time, a bastardization of ancient Cybertronian blended with Neocybex, it's own dialect. And you recall those words being barked at.. no no. not you, Swindle perhaps, Asking for name and rank.'

Blast Off glances over at Hot Rod warily.... but the Autobot is a lot wiser than the shuttle would give him credit for. The instant Onslaught's name is mentioned, Blast Off blinks. Megatron can go jump in a lake full of sharkticons, actually, but Onslaught.... Another blink and Blast Off looks around. "That..." He pauses again, everything still seeming so weird and dream-like, "...makes sense." He sounds a bit confused- Hot Rod and /sense/ seem like contradictions in his mind. And suddenly there's hope in his chest. "If I could... gather data, then maybe... maybe I can find Onslaught, and he....if he was here, we'd have a plan in no time! Everything would make sense then!"

Ok then. He starts scanning, even as... centurions appear? What the frag? The shuttle stops, listening at strange words... but something rings a bell. Something heard in... seedier places. "Not quite... Cybertronian mixed with... Neocybex?" He squints, listening.... "Name and... rank, I think?" He looks up, at Goth and Hot Rod, and says more clearly, "I think... they want name and rank." Now he straightens and puts on a military salute. "Blast Off, Combaticon Second in Command." He barks with military precision in a manner that would make Onslaught proud.

Soundtrack: Song 8:

The Hunting - Joel Neilsen

Hub Centurions raise rifles, and take aim at the trio. They don't seem to respond at all to Goth's menace attempt. If anything there's a snort of derision from one. Another looks at Blast off, yellowish optics gleaming. "Sordes. Falsus Cybertronian sordes." And they open fire! "Filth, False Cybertronian Filth."

+INIT: Ghost has cleared this room's Init. +INIT: Goth is set up for this Combat Round. +INIT: Hot Rod is set up for this Combat Round. +INIT: Hub Centurions is set up for this Combat Round. +INIT: Blast Off is set up for this Combat Round.

>> Hub Centurions misses Goth with Laser <Medium>. <<

>> Hub Centurions misses Hot Rod with Ballistic <Medium>. <<

>> Hub Centurions strikes Blast Off with Laser <Medium>. <<

Goth moves swiftly and with almost super-natural speed, dodging bullets and laser fire, He's angry, reality, dream, prophecy, who cares at this point? not him, he just wants to smash in these bastards faces, and they just gave him ample reason too, he'd come to a spot in front of them, real back his monstrous clawed hand and slash at the lead Centurions chassis, intent on killing.

>> Goth misses Hub Centurions with Slash. <<

Blast Off falls vertically, his arms folding over his head. His legs join together, his wings come forward and Blast Off becomes a shuttle.

Standing up straight and tall military-style, ironically, leaves one at a tactical disadvantage when suddenly being fired upon, and Blast Off pays the price as shots are fired before he can step out of the way. "Argh!" he stumbles back, energon bleeding out from his shoulder...and that's it. He's had enough already. Still confused and now injured, he takes refuge in the only thing he can see that will provide immediate relief- the air. He's always been safer there.

Now he's above it all, above all these ants, and he can exact vengeance. The shuttle's lasers lock on the Centurions and he lets loose a volley of fire. "<< You DARE call a Combaticon shuttle FILTH? I'll show you just who should be crawling in the DIRT! >>" He attempts a zinger back in their own language... though Primus knows if he got that right. ...He doesn't care.

>> Blast Off strikes Hub Centurions with Ionic-Blaster <Medium>. <<

Hot Rod gets enough warning of 'False Cybertronian' and then some sort of a threat that comes out to go dodge. As Goth is going to shove him out of the way Hot Rod can only be glad that at least his comments got Blast Off in the fight and engaged. He doesn't exactly have the time to try and coordinate (and doubts that the other two would anyways). So Hot Rod just goes to transform over to his vehicle mode and his tires would groove. Finally something felt right in this dreamstate. He would screech around, doing a series of rapid figure eights to build up momentum, and then is going to rev his engine as he's charging into the midst of the Guardians! The groove of his engine moving as he's just trying to strike through the morass of them like a Dinobot through Sharkticons to ram his way and send them scattering to give the others some cover! The young robot begins falling forwards, as his roof spins into place, legs come together, chest rises into position, and arms form into doors, converting him once again into a futuristic hot rod car.

>> Hot Rod tries to ram Hub Centurions but misses. <<

The 5 mech squad splits: 2 to the left, 2 to the right, with 1 mech leaping upwards and over Hot Rod as he tries to run them down. The one in the air falls victim to Blast Off's aerial strike, landing on his back as the formation closes back up, Goth's slash meeting only empty air as they moved almost as one. Rifles are shoulders with the 4 standing and spit forth an amalgam of lasers, heavy and light while the one on the ground slowly rises, shifting to ratchet into place a rocket launcher. That is aimed upwards at Blast Off, while 2 turn to fire at Hot Rod and 2 fire at Goth!

>> Hub Centurions misses Hot Rod with Plasma <Medium>. <<

>> Hub Centurions misses Goth with Heavy Laser <Medium>. <<

>> Hub Centurions strikes Blast Off with Missile. <<

Goth snarls as he hits empty air, however he is sleek enough to dodge out of the way, under the fire, being bipedal (Wyvern like??) had its benefits. He lunges once more at the Centurions, specifically going after the one harassing Blast Off! letting out a harsh hiss, or that could of been the acid from his index claw that comes forward... Or Both, all the same its aimed at a spinal strut, or one may very well be.

>> Goth strikes Hub Centurions with Acid Slash. <<

Blast Off is the only one hit...and then the only one TO hit. Heh. He smirks internally as he circles around- only to get hit again, and this time far more substantially. The shuttle wobbles mid-air, ceramic tiles flying as various things start to leak. He groans, but he can't give up now. No, he'll hit them with all he has. There's a glow of blue energy just before the ground itself seems to buzz and crackle- and then there's that massive KABOOM as Blast Off's X-ray orbital bombardment laser strikes with the force of everything he has. This must end- now. He does try NOT to hit the others, however- even Hot Rod. You're welcome.

>> Blast Off strikes Hub Centurions with Orbital Strike <High>. <<

Hub Centurions is overcome by injuries, losing consciousness.

Soundtrack: Song 9:

Survivalism - NIN

Swerving along, even as one of the Centurions goes to leap up and shoot at him, going to abort his follow-up attack run as he avoids the two shots that would have been nasty on him. The heavy damage to Blast Off is winced at, but he can't deal with that now. "All right mechs.." Hot Rod goes to shift over to transform, popping up and over to robot mode as his hand would switch to a buzz-saw, "I'm going to teach you guys a short, sharp, lesson. It's going to bring you to a whole new world of flame while you reap the whirlwind. It looks like there's an awful lot of you guys so you'll be surplus to requirements!"

Going to charge in with his handsaw, Hot Rod goes to try to slash once, aiming over at the weapon that the soldier had been shooting at him, trying to make them instinctively lift it up to block, hopefully tearing it down the middle. Next hand also shifting to buzz-saw, going for a follow-up attack and swing hopefully on the opposite angle, moving to slash through the hand at the wrist. Third attack of his first hand, hopefully getting in a good slash over the torso, with luck messing up his attacker; or even if not forcing him on the defensive and if at close range his comrades would be just as likely to shoot at him instead of HOt Rod.

Also not sure where -all- those metaphors in his statements were coming from either. But hey.

The sleek, futuristic sports car begins to stand up, doors forming arms, hood lowing into the chest piece, roof twisting around one-eighty degrees. Soon, the familiar appearance of Hot Rod is revealed.

Goth's assailants fail to strike true on the enraged bat and instead fall victim to that acidic lash out of his, Plating bubbles and fizzles, the two dripping back to cover the rocket-wielding one. Whos.. strike upwards seems to have netted a hit! There's no cheering, no congratulations as the 5 continue to work as if a well oiled machine. The ones targeting Hot Rod miss, the plasma ripping up the 'ground as the Autobot car careens out of the way. They duo steps back then tries to outflank Hot Rod as he comes in with that handsaw of his.

Then unholy.. or holy hellfire rains down on them all and they fall, the rocket wielding one, previously injured lets out a thin scream, the ones acid etched join him, then the last two as the Orbital strike erases them from existence. Or memory. Or dream.

The world shifts, shakes, ripples. Darkness rushes inwards towards the three, enveloping in a sense of numbness, of nothing and everything at once and then...

Hot Rod has left.

Goth has left.

Blast Off has left.

Remote Desert Region

Blast Off, Goth, and Hot Rod...

Wake up... together. Surrounding their laid out frames is that mist, that fog again from the other cycle, rippling around in whirls and wisps, small pulses of denser energies weaving in and out.

Soundtrack: Final:

A New Reality - Klaxons

And then there's a wham. And they're back on Cybertron. Falling.. Falling.. Back to reality. From the abnormality. Hot Rod is in pain as they land; whether it's psychometric or actual. "Ugh.." But everything is real. All too real. As he would look to see the others about him and know this was no dream.. Nor was it a nightmare.. It was all too real. Looking at Blast Off, holding up his hands, "You were hit pretty bad. I can.. Try and help do basis repairs so you can get back to where you're based out of."

Goth grunts as he comes to wakefulness, what.. where.. how did..? He'd sit up and rub at his helm, still feeling exhausted, more aware of the pains in his frame then he once had and looks around. "How..?" He says aloud.

Blast Off wakes, too, sitting up with his hands spread out like wings...wait, he's in root mode? Optics flicker and he looks around. Then focuses on Hot Rod, who's offering... "What? No." He winces, pulling away. "I can take care of myself." *huff* He runs internal scans and... all the damage is gone? More confusion. Now it's just a dull ache. Recharge seems best, but... not here. He gets up. "No, I am fine," he adds, a bit less snarky this time. Now he looks down at Goth. "What about you?"

As everyone wakes, the mist rises upwards, into a curtain wall surrounding them before dropping, seeping into the very ground once more. The ragged, rough surface of Alyon seems to gleam with it's own gilded light before the glow cast by Luna 2 takes over. The ground has an odd sort of springiness to it as you rouse. Not quite molten but warmer than it should be by any rights.

The shuttle uprights as the wings and stabilizer fin fall away and the engine cylinders fall forward. The top half of the shuttle breaks apart to reveal Blast Off.

Hot Rod would go through a systems check, "Everything fits out here. And.. Ugh." He would rub at his temples, running his processor through a reboot. t this point he might say 'was this real' or 'just weirdness' but the fact he was with two other Cybertronians who had just been through the same circumstance made that pretty blatant. "Uh.. I think that you should tell Onslaught about this, Blast Off. I'm going to do the same with Kup.

Goth mutters. "Still hearing and seeing bloody ghosts.. But otherwise.. well." He'd reply, lost as he tried to sort out what just had happened, and to try and find a explanation for it... He remains silent as he listens to the other two.

Blast Off stops and just *looks* at Hot Rod a moment, optics narrowing ever-so-slightly. But then, finally, he relaxes a little. "...I shall." He eyes the Autobot a moment longer, then returns focus on Goth, hands at his side, not reaching for weapons. He nods as Goth answers, then looks to both. "I... still do not understand what just happened."

Hot Rod would shake his head over at Blast Off, "I don't either. But it means something. And we have to let.. Others know about it." Hot Rod is guessing that no one up the chain would pay -him- saying it any heed. But Kup would.

Goth pushes himself up, very unsteady due to his sleep deprivation, but he gets his footing. "Nor do I.. It makes no sense.. Logically, or scientifically." he'd grunt. "I... need to look into this more as.. I wonder what has happened too and if we should.. should be worried." he gets out and mutters to himself something.

Hot Rod would glance at Goth, "And since when has everything oN Cybertron ever followed the vibes of logic and made sense?" His glibness back. "We have a mystery to work on. Or at least pass the information along to others who can figure it out." He's not got any idea why it was them.

Blast Off listens, but he still has no idea why this even happened- nor does he care to keep admitting that. So he nods briefly. "Well, I shall inform Onslaught and I'm sure he'll have a plan in case this ever happens again." He brushes some of the sand from a heat shielded arm. Then glances to the sky. "At least these things are not here, now."

Goth lets out a short, tired huff. "Indeed." Goth pauses and glances back at the other two, then Blast off. "....Tired and haggard as I am... quite happy to see you, Blast Off." he smiles weakly before he sighs and starts walking home.

Hot Rod would just let out a sigh, "Yeah. And now we welcome the latest mess to Cybertron." He's sardonic over and amused in a dark sort of tone. And having no clue why this particular mess went out of it's way to go after him.

Blast Off looks back at Hot Rod. He sure HOPES the Autobot is wrong. "...Time will tell, I suppose." He gives the 'bot a nod, then walks after Goth. "Of course," he answers. Well, it IS Blast Off, he has to sound full of himself. Still, his tone is warm. And then he looks to the bat and asks, "...Are you unable to fly?"

Goth glances over with a blink of surprise, but a smile softens on his face. "...My severe sleep deprivation, combined with the auditory and visual hallucinations I am having, makes me far to unsteady, even on my feet, thus making it /far/ too dangerous for my to fly currently without serious risk of injury without being found, or death, so.." He'd chuff, and gesture out.

"Walking I go.. Chela's sake if the others found out I'd hear no end of their worried chiding." He'd chuckle.

Goth is in good.. Rockets? Hot Rod doesn't know the other Cybertronian. So he can only hope. Hot Rod goes to transform, turning to vehicle mode and heading off in a circuit. But not in the direction of Iacon. He needs some time to process things.

Blast Off slows in his step, faltering. "I... see." There's a long pause. He doesn't offer his services lightly. In fact, he turns like he's going to just fly off himself, stopping to watch Hot Rod leave (sorry, Rod, no rides for Autobots). Then he stands there. Then he transforms into shuttle mode, tssch-tsk-chikking into a MUCH larger form, air steaming out of newly locked fissures, gears snapping into place, and his engine *rumbles* in feigned annoyance. "<< FINE. Get in but don't you *dare* dirty my interior. However, I trust you have more class- and intelligence- than half my team, so... I *suppose* I will do this...thing. Once. >>" HUFF. The cargo door opens.

Goth pauses and gives a tired chuckle. "Please, when have I ever done such a thing?" He asks and gives a nod. "Thank you amigo.. it's.. more appreciated then you know." he says, clearly sounding very tired, but also grateful for the lift and steps in.

Blast Off just rumbles like this is sooo annoying, but he closes the door and even takes off reasonably gently as he proceeds to transport the tired bat home, free of charge.