#mxstro

[pas-tandp-resent]

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.

[pas-tandp-resent]

Skyfall hadn't really been known to keep his temper. It hissed and flared in anger, sputtering and spitting, especially when the only one he could really take it out on wasn't there. It had been Dart's insistence that No One go to the Prime, give him the statue and keep him away from the Predacon caves...

He took a vent, growling low and as he stormed out of his office and into the secondary room, door slamming behind him. Engex grabbed and popped open, vents harsh and engine rumbling low.

"Frag it.." A growl and hiss before shaking himself out. They'd fund him in the morning, probably coaxing out the Predacons from there caves...

No One was convinced he could reintegrate the feral things into there society.

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.

[pas-tandp-resent]

"P-Please! I-I don't know what I've done unless I'm told! I-I can fix it!" Whatever it was, he would pretend to at least. Make a show of it, show them in gifts and shanix. Send No One to deliver them when he didn't have the time nor care to. Servos claw at Riccochets arm, desprate as dark blue optics flicked over his frame. Wings low and trembling before stilling at the clamps.

"E-Ego? I-I've never been told my ego was an issue!" Panicking now, knowing he wasn't getting out of this as easily as more clamps were on him. Landing with a thud as he was dropped, and thrashing more as the net was thrown on and pulled taught.

"Please! I-I," Vox glitching with static as he looks between them, pedes kicking out before stilling. Easy pickings now, for the two. "I have a brother! H-He can't be left alone, he has proccessor damage! He wouldn't know what to do without me!"

Using No One as a scape goat worked before, even if he couldn't find him now. Surely, someone should have heard his squawking and shouting now, why had no one come? Optics flicked between the two, spark twisting wildly in his chassis.

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.

[pas-tandp-resent]

Skyfall isn't hard to knock down, he had grown lax in his position of power, believing himself safe from all harm. Little care for those under him made them ignore any odd sounds, figuring he was throwing another fit. The medic who had to continuously repair No One grumbling to herself at the sounds and preparing to be called.

The bright blue seeker looks between them, golden optics flickering to a dark blue.

"W-Wait! W-Wait, hold on! There must be a misunderstanding!" Struggling to shake off the feeling, wings trembling and jerking. "I-I would never do anything to undermine the Prime! O-Or the Council!" Wings lowering and twitching, struggling to get his peds under him.

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.

[pas-tandp-resent]

The Seeker is fuming, wings flicking with anger, before a spit of static leaves his vox. Wings flap as he stumbles, arms flaring out and claws slashing what he could. Things were dizzy, the world suddenly tettering. One wing snapped inward, trying to slap whoever was on his back as he lurched to the side to swipe at... whoever.

Only so many lights worked in Vos, they had to find new ways to get lines and powers everywhere.

And Skyfall didn't have the greatest night vision, not like some others.

Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.

Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.

Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..

— and their target.

Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.

The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.

Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.

No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.

So why now?

And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.