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Post by Deleted on Aug 24, 2016 21:48:40 GMT
Not far from Ft. Worth, is a secret underground makeshift Skywatch base. The base is used for experiments. It's diemensions are 1x1x1km (height, width, length), making it considerably small compared to ordinary Skywatch bases. Most of the base is sectioned off by large several 10 feet tall bulkhead doors, guarding a large room that goes up to 60 feet. Within the base there are dozens of crash suits, ready to be deployed. Odd for an experiment site.
But why so close to Ft. Worth instead of anywhere else? What reason would Skywatch have to set up a makeshift base here? The answer was simple really: To pick up what's been left behind.
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Post by The Predaking on Aug 30, 2016 14:25:53 GMT
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Post by The Predaking on Sept 1, 2016 19:16:08 GMT
The ensuing fireball sent the line of four Crash Suits flying through the air, the one to be directly hit by the blast getting shredded as the front section of armour peeled from its frame and tore off the various locks keeping the cockpit in place; opening up its internal workings as the pilot ejected. The next row charged forward, foregoing their ranged weapons ( which did little more than bruise the Predacon's armour ) and instead used the exosuit's raw strength to try and overpower the beast. Rugby tackling the head, forelimbs and neck, the group of soldiers pushed with all their mechanical might as the various pistons and motors in their armour began to whirl with exertion.
To the beast's surprise they actually seemed to be pushing him back, the series of deep claw marks slowly forming in his unwanted wake more than evidence enough. Letting out an enraged snarl, the Predacon slammed its back paws into the ground, hard enough to crack the stone, and pushed back; halting its forced retreat with a low hiss echoing down the hall. Entering something of a stalemate, the two forces almost perfectly matched eachother's power, if only for a second...
With a feral scream, the Predacon sharply swung its head up, headbutting the metal supported ceiling and shaking the entire structure as the pilot within the Crash Suit suddenly lost consciousness: spine breaking with the sheer force inflicted upon it. With a sharp flip of the snout, the beast snapped the suit's leg in its maw. Then, using the limp suit as a weapon, arched its head around sharply and slammed it's prize into the human currently grappling its right forelimb, releasing its grip on the suit as the two were sent tumbling away. Now free to use its claw, the beast-con quickly reached over and wrapped its silver digits around the other suit holding its leg, wrenching it away from the paw before slamming it into the ground, once again sinking it's metal frame into the ground slightly as he dropped almost all of his weight onto it.
Now with three of the four Crash Suits deposed off, the remaining one barely holding onto his neck was easily ignored. With a hissing roar, the beast charged forward down the hall, bursting through slowly closing blast doors and crushing any opposing forces underfoot, quite literally in most cases.
Pausing at a junction in the the facility, allowing the crushed remains of an unfortunate scientist to split off his claw, the Predacon sharply turned its head from left to right. He was faced with an option, one that hardly mattered in all honesty but one non the less: reinforcements were no doubt on their way and while his pride told him he could dismantle them all, he'd much prefer to just escape to his creator. With a quick series of taps of his mandible against the side of his snout, the beast attempted to focus on its instincts, using them to try and discern the correct route to take. The answer quickly presented itself in scent, or to the informed of Predacon biology, a chemical cocktail in the air his natural sensors could identify and catalog at the speed of thought. To the beast, ignorant of its own functions, this scent was one of familiarity: the outside world. The scent of fresh air, wheat and civilization.
Snapping open its closed optics, which seemed to have idly shut in his time spent concentrating, the Predacon quickly turned right and resumed its journey with triumph screech; something of a smile etching onto its crude features. Smashing through several more, sealed now, bulkheads and embedding the few remaining Crash Suits into the walls, the beast-con felt its goal within reach as it rammed into the final blast door...
With a crash of metal, the entrance doors blew open as the dark brown form of the Predacon sprung out from within, leaping out into the sun light as alarm sirens blared out from inside the base. Impacting against the ground and taking a section with it as his silver claws easily sunk into the compacted dirt, the beast continued charging forward across the open field ahead of it. With optics turning to the sky, the Cybertronian's underused functions whirled into life as its titanic wings unfurled, forming their impressive width as the Predacon crouched down suddenly, before bursting up and flung itself into the air. With a mighty flag of orange, the dragon propelled itself quickly and forcibly into the air, shooting past the cloud layer as tendrils of puffy white clung to its frame.
To the surviving scientists clawing their way out of the wreckage, a distant screech made itself known as the Predacon roared out its victory and, to any who'd dare listen, vowed to return home. It'd been since the King was free....
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