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Shockwave	Shockwave Deep beneath layers of ruined Cybertronian infrastructure, in an ancient quarantined sector locked down by ultra-classified protocols from a bygone era, something moves. Not the ruins themselves. Something within them. For cycles beyond counting, the wreckage has remained undisturbed. Buried beneath it, automated Cybertronian repair systems have continued their work in silence, drawing upon whatever residual planetary infrastructure remained functional. Cables, conduits, articulated repair arms, and sections of machinery have become physically integrated with the half-reconstructed frame at the center of the ruin. Then an optic illuminates. The machinery stops. One hand moves, fingers closing around a thick conduit. Metal shrieks as Shockwave tears the cable from his chest. Another follows, then another. Repair arms retract too slowly; he tears them away as well, allowing sections of machinery to collapse around him. His systems begin running diagnostics. Power Systems: NOMINAL. Structural Integrity: COMPROMISED, REGENERATING. External Network Access: DETECTED. Vector Sigma: ABSENT. Memory Sectors: CORRUPTED. Then he rises. Far from the ruin, an ancient Union quarantine monitoring probe registers the activation and sends its final surviving protocols into the remnants of a network long since abandoned. << OBSOLETE UNION THREAT PROTOCOL DETECTED. >> << IDENTIFICATION: SHOCKWAVE. >> << SPECIES: CYBERTRONIAN. >> << AFFILIATION: DEFUNCT CONFEDERACY / DECEPTICONS. >> << ARCHIVED RANK: 9 - SUPERFACTION EXECUTIVE OFFICER - CONFEDERACY GENERAL / DECEPTICON LEADER. >> << THREAT ANALYSIS: OMEGA. >> << OMEGA. >> << OMEGA. >> -- The Signal Propagates To Modern Monitoring Systems --
Shockwave	Shockwave Shockwave remains unaware of the distant activity. His single yellow optic adjusts to the dim environment as his vocal synthesizer cycles online, producing a low, resonant drone. "Broadcast nominal. Pinging Confederacy communication nodes..." Nothing answers. He retries, then moves through the remaining channels. "Confederacy military network: unresponsive. Command network: unresponsive. Decepticon communications: unresolved; require protocol update. Scanning multiversal quantum signatures." The search returns a positive anchor. "Communications status: nominal. Interference negligible. Temporal displacement exceeds expected stasis-lock parameters. Duration: indeterminate." The available evidence offers several possibilities, none conclusive. Systems failure. Planetary abandonment. External containment. Temporal displacement. Shockwave attempts the Confederacy command network once more. "Respond." Silence. Then a faint return signal registers. An obsolete Confederacy relay, dormant and disconnected from its original command infrastructure, has recognized the authentication architecture of his transmission. It cannot establish a connection to the command network, but it can still acknowledge the authority encoded within the signal. Shockwave watches the relay attempt its connection and fail. "Command network unavailable." His optic flares. "Confederacy status: unknown." He turns to a surviving terminal and accesses Cybertron's archives. Much of the data is damaged, but enough remains to reconstruct fragments of the intervening history. His own personnel record is among them, preserved alongside the archives of a political order that no longer exists. Shockwave examines the information without expression before moving deeper into the records.
Shockwave	Shockwave Union: archived. Confederacy: archived. Concord: active. Paladins: active. Watch: active. His optic lingers on the unfamiliar names. "Historical political architecture differs substantially from current configuration." He continues searching, sorting the remnants of the old world from the structures that have replaced it. "Personnel status: unknown. Command status: unknown. Operational objectives: recover." For the time being, Shockwave is searching what archives that are intact which he can access regarding the Multiverse, despite the shattered and corrupt databanks and disconnections from his current vantage point of the quarantine terminal, along with a lack of permissions to engage in modern networks. The hexagonal purple head is quietly illuminated by the screen's warm Orange light, contrasting harshly with his flaring sickly-yellow cyclopean optic.
Flamel Parsons	The brakes on Flamel's van screech as it comes to a halt in the quarantine zone, after tearing through a demilitarized region of the Underworld. His scramble to exit the car is combined with an effort to tug a pressurized hazard suit on as fast as he can-- And then he's surging into the complex, disarming systems and opening blast doors using his spy-tech and telekinetics, and carefully shutting them behind as he does.     ---     The Parsons Institute, Flamel's inner mental landscape, is surging with action. The Memories department is scrambling to dig up redacted Project MYSTIC files. Navigations and Vectors is solving door after door. "Director!" One worker shouts, running simulations on blast-doors. "We're going to need firepower for the core bulkheads!!"     The Director of the Parsons Institute grimly picks up the phone...     ---     <Follow as close as you can, and charge up whatever you have! I'm going to need a lot of firepower to breach the core containment, if this place was designed the way I'm thinking it was!> Flamel telepathy-shouts. <We gotta interrupt this before it gets a full head of steam and runs clear out, at least if the Maslow Peak warnings are anything to go by...!> He's sounding breathless in his telepathy, as he speed-levitates to the final barrier, where he plans to join in charging up something to point at the final blast door...
Regulus	Regulus rides up in her motorbike, coming to a stop near Flamel's van and taking a moment to spray paint a RADIO APPLe logo on the side of it before rushing after Flamel to catch up. "Woah woah woah, I can probably get it open without blasting it apart. Do you really want to go into this place blasting? Anyone down here might be thinking the one billion year war is still going on. Oh my god they're all like ancient grandpa war machines. I'm sure even this guy is gonna be aware that there might not be a war going on still, right?" Well even if Regulus wanted to try blowing up the final barrier, she can't really do that, so instead she approaches the last set of security systems that Flamel hasn't gotten to yet to work on shutting them down and getting the doors open without Regulus having to be in an area where a large amount of firepower is expended on a door--taking the systems apart to work past whatever security keycodes might be going on to just rewire the systems through intuition so they can bypass it all and get the doors open in the least explodey way possible. "So uh, I think I missed the whole confederacy war? Was that another one billion year war, Lilian said it dumb but she seemed surprised by the one billion year war so maybe it was like only half a billion? I don't know."
Shockwave	Shockwave is still within, unknowing of others arriving due to the thickness and lockdowns of the ancient quarantine bulkheads. For now, he is still immersed in whatever he can sponge out of the existing terminal with limited access. Nevertheless, his logical mind and processors are swiftly coming to the conclusion that whatever information is available from this constrained point of access will rapidly come to a useless end. Secondary protocols are processing the previous visual scan of the room and its sealed blast doors to determine their resistance.
Powerpuff Girls	Meanwhile, in the CITY of TOWNSVILLE (Pasadena, California), a strange warning-broadcast blasts out to electronic receiving devices all over the Multiverse. The Powerpuff Girls - specifically, Buttercup - is lounging on the couch watching TV with a bowl of popcorn on herself, on hotline duty when her personal phone starts making public access type alerts and howling at her about... "The Civil War?" She asks, confused, and then starts calling around to figure out what's going on. Minutes later, she couches her phone in shoulder while pulling on an avocado green jacket with a black star on the back on over a black t-shirt with white skull print and black skirt over mary janes. "Yeah, Bubs, I don't know? There's some robot guy in a radiological zone in wherever Cybertron is." Over the phone, her sister responds. "Well, Blossom's got that thing, so... do you want me to come with?" "No, not really?" "Great!" Bubbles laughs. "I'm already going." On location, the crazy pace of Parson's van is chased by a bright blue and green pew-of-rapidness blurs that extend into watchable trails of superspeed, both resolving at Flamel's parking job as he starts sealing bulkheads behind him. Bubbles, dressed in a big blue sweater with yellow jellyfish patterned on it and a white skirt, hard-stops short of the closing door, turned towards his van. "Nice parking job!" She praises, turning while Buttercup just hustles in. "Why're you locking the door behind us, dude?" Buttercup asks, cracking her knuckles. "I can get to blasting--" "I like her plan!" Bubbles decides, pointing at Regulus, while Buttercup slaps her hand on face and drags fingers down. "We could probably tear our way in, but that just lets whatever is in, out - let's find a better way!" "Yeah you just tell me where to blast, guy." Buttercup asides to Parsons.
Combaticon	The Combaticons arrive on Flamel's heels; first it's Vortex in helicopter mode to clear the air, then shift to her smaller robot mode and drop down near where Regulus is working.     The second to arrive, laden with cargo, is Blastoff. When he shifts to robot mode, Brawl gets ejected out of his fuselage and lands heavily a full 5 seconds before he does. She wastes no time, raising her arms and twisting at the waist; transforming into her own vehicle mode. Before long, a full-sized assault take plants down its artillery anchors and swings its turret around towards the vault door.     She doesn't fire, though. A dark blue Roadmaster diesel rumbles up a few minutes later. Depthcharge disembarks before it's fully stopped, tucking an energon repeater rifle away while approaching Regulus as well, "What are you doing, organic? Let me see what components need fabrication."     Swindle hops out the passenger side, pushing a smoking shoulder gun up out of his vision and then using the same hand to shade his purple optics. Letting out a whistle, he's clearly admiring the door, "This baby must be a gold mine-- they don't build 'em like this anymore, you know. Collectors would go *wild.*"     "This is not a business venture, Swindle," the truck grumbles. After a moment, the chassis crinkles up and then splits and folds, shrinking in place as it does so until a man-sized Onslaught stands in its place. His default expression may be a scowl, but it seems...more 'scowley' than usual when he beholds the quarantine vault.     "Do what you can," he instructs Regulus and Depthcharge, "If the residual energon is not sufficient, Brawl is our 'master key'."     "Just say so!"
Petra Soroka	Petra's semi-familiar with Flamel's origin, but she's never actually cared enough to ask about it. Most of her references to it, and any information she's ever heard, has been filtered through her lens of sheer unadulterated contempt for him and everything he stands for, so her actual textual information on it is pretty sparse. She *does* know that he was developed for the Cold War, though, and so the phrase 'mutually assured destruction' does send a thrill of nuclear alarm down her spine.     Not that it would be the end of the world if Cybertron was destroyed. Or, not the end of her world, at least. The Combaticons have done nothing to ever really endear her to them, and frequently reject her attempts to get endeared, but she can't just let whatever impending apocalypse this is happen on account of that, or it'll set a *horrible* precedent. And Lilian's going, and it'll be dangerous, so that's that.     Petra is here straight from college, wearing a graphic tee that says 'I'M NEVER PUPPY STRESSED WHEN I DO MY PUPPY BEST', which has a particular aura around it given the morphmetal mechanical dog tail attached to her spine. There's no time to appreciate the irony though, because frustration with attempting to travel from the warpgate to whatever the fucking 'quarantine zone' is leads her to deploy the Beauty of Ash just to navigate the huge mechanical planet faster than on foot. The crystalline mech unfolds mid-motion, skittering on all fours down caverns that blur the boundary between cave and factory. <We gotta interrupt this before it gets a full head of steam and runs clear out, at least if the Maslow Peak warnings are anything to go by...!>     From within the Beauty of Ash, Petra responds telepathically in kind, much as she resents doing so with Flamel. <I'm gonna put my trust in Lilian whose trust is in you for now. So this is a blast on sight type of thing?> "Woah woah woah, I can probably get it open without blasting it apart."     The Beauty of Ash wiggles its upper half, head lowered, in a doglike simulacrum of shaking 'no'. Already, there's a psychic pressure differential building between its shoulderblades, like an invisible spotlight drawing attention no matter where it is in your field of vision. She doesn't work up the telepathy to say so, but the silent body language pretty clearly communicates 'no, that's too slow'.     What's faster is when the psychic cannon reaches full capacity, and then fires as a soundless burst of light towards the reinforced bunker walls. The explosion is felt everywhere but physically, like fishhooks lodged in your ego and wrenched across a black hole's event horizon, a flash of pure dissociative emptiness that drains the color from the world and the 'I' from your internal narration.     The wall is transformed into a sheet of glittering hardlight crystal emanating from a craterous point, the same material as the Beauty of Ash itself, and just as easily breakable. A telekinetic yank shatters it into a geyser of glass, swarming around the Beauty of Ash as a layer of offensive armor for whatever's beyond the wall.
Riku Asakura	Riku comes through the nearest warp gate and does his best to get to the point.  It's a really long run because Cybertron is so freekin' huge.  Finally, he catches up with Flamel and has to bend over to catch his breath after a minute.  Standing up, he looks towards people trying to open the door.  Scratching his head, he starts to think of a question to ask. "So wait, if something is trying to breach... wouldn't it be a bad thing to open the door?  Do we even know what the emergency is?  What was it containing?"  Riku looks around, then at the large door.   "I could become Ultraman.  SHOULD I become Ultraman?" he asks the others.  He isn't exactly sure how dire the situation is right now.  "Also, the Confederacy was like... one of the old Super Factions, right?  It and the Union... so I guess whatever is behind the door is either a really big threat or something that one of the factions didn't like?"
Riku Asakura	With Petra's psychic cannon that makes his head feel just completely awful and doesn't want to be anywhere near it or her when she's doing this, realizes they're going in hot... "You go!" Riku grabs a Ultra Capsule.  Activating it, a giant of light appears next to him.  "I go!" he says again, activating a second Ultra Capsule.  Each capsule is inserted into a holster.  "Here we go!" Riku grabs the Fusion Riser, a red and black device with a double-helix-style container attached to it.   He brings the Fusion Riser across the top of each capsule, scanning them into the Fusion Riser.  The Riser's double-helix container changes color with each capsule, one side turning bluish white and the other turning dark red.  "It's time to get ready!" he declares, pulling the Riser into the air before pulling it over his chest. "GEEEEEEEEED!" FUSION RISE! ULTRAMAN ULTRAMAN BELIAL ULTRAMAN GEED PRIMITIVE! The two giants of light merge into Riku, as his entire body starts to glow brightly.  Moments later, Ultraman Geed, a giant of light, stands where Riku once was.  Because this place is large, he matches the size of the Cybertronian design of the place.   He'll grab one side of the damage caused by weapons and start to pull it open, aiming to help get a way in for them.
Lilian Rook	Following Flamel Parsons into a quarantine zone based in ancient politics and a war that raged while she was a teenager is an idea that Lilian has so little fondness for that if he had come to her lab the LSCC today and asked her in person, she would have theatrically pretended to vomit and then laughed him out of the room. She would really, truly, rather do anything else than participate in such an absurdly hare-brained scheme in an equally loaded context.     Especially after everything that's just happened. Especially when censored psychosemantic payloads are being cracked apart into their memetic phonemes in her head, and she can't tell if it was the array after Arcana or the diagnostic procedures passed down by Dictum or the residual effects of Apocalpse. Not in a car with Parsons.     But unfortunately for her, she has nothing else to be doing. With her right arm still broken (splint-and-sling now heavily signed, between Laplace, Trídéag, and curious Elites, now including the names 'Cecilia, Eleanor, Hafren, Nina, Bryce, Katrina'), she can only perform a fraction of her daily training, and she can't meet her weekly screenings for Immunes duty, so she can't go into the field under formal Paladins business either. What little research she can do at home is done, and her experiments on the Luxuria Bloodline are left to process at the LSCC already, whilst 'the New Fruit' continues to be thorny roadblock, she can't teach any of her Fixer classes, and it'd be deepply impolite to show up to Saoirse HTO for a board meeting.     So the clock moves forward. The next twenty-four hours arrive the same as always, blind and ignorant to everything she has to do, and all she can do is keep moving forward.     . . . . . . . .     So here she is, fresh from managing nothing at the St. Pavlov Foundation main building out of Laplace, still in her white-and-black 'uniform', having only reluctantly moved her sidearm to her left leg, same-side as the sword mounted at her waist. The one saving grace she was able to hold to was taking a ride with Petra instead of Flamel's shitmobile.     'Was that another one billion year war, Lilian said it dumb but she seemed surprised by the one billion year war so maybe it was like only half a billion?'     "It was fifteen years, I think." Lilian says, not entirely certain, and caring less. Her state of mind is significantly better than it was when Regulus met her at the foot of Mt. Wudang, but worse than at the top. "I was only surprised to hear the name 'Cybertron'." She doesn't even look to the Combaticon presence.     'So wait, if something is trying to breach... wouldn't it be a bad thing to open the door?'     "Say that it is. If our plan is to leave the emergency seals in the way, then what? Our job would be to turn around and leave it alone." Lilian sighs. She moves to fuss with her hair on habit, but doing it with her left hand just isn't as natural. "Do you have suggestions for erecting a brand new barricade against an anomaly you know nothing about?"     She winces slightly before the Eversion Cannon fires. It's the buildup that gets her more than the explosion, ever since surviving the Titanomachia's version at ground zero.
Chuyao He	Follow as close as you can, and charge up whatever you have! I'm going to need a lot of firepower to breach the core containment, if this place was designed the way I'm thinking it was!     Chuyao leaps from the top of Flamel's van. His zhiduo robes flutter in the wind as the momentum carries him forward. The damascus steel fan, Two Rivers, drops from the sleeve of his robe before his descent begins, and lands securely in his palm. A flick of the wrist unfolds the fan, and with a controlled swipe, Chuyao sends forth a column of air to halt his forward momentum. He lands gracefully beside Flamel. Do you really want to go into this place blasting?     Chuyao fans himself with two reserved dips of Two Rivers, eyes closed in thought and nodding his agreemence. "This unrefined scholar must agree with sister Regulus' reservations, urgent as the situation may be." So uh, I think I missed the whole confederacy war?     His brow lifts, eyes open, as he turns his head to regard Regulus. "Perhaps sister Regulus would like to peruse the historical records this lowly scholar hastily requested at a later time? Though there is much which we have 'missed,' and much more besides which was lost in the chaos of upheaval, a small few records survive." A swift flick of the wrist collapses his fan. SHOULD I become Ultraman? <J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says from her radio, nestled inside the mech, "Look, it's either super dangerous, meaning we want to get to it as quickly as possible, or it's nothing, and there's no reason to worry about, like, property damage or whatever."     Chuyao frowns, sliding Two Rivers back up his sleeve. "Very well, but let us remember that danger and intent are not always entwined. Should we encounter any of the grandfathers which sister Regulus has mentioned, I, Chuyao He, shall ascertain their intent through that most reliable means of discerning one's character." And what means would that be?     He reaches into his traveling pack, procures a lacquered wooden box and retrieves one of two ink brushes from inside. After removing the sharp steel cap, closing and replacing the box, he licks the brush and dips it into an inskstone. From there, he flips to an empty page in a bound notebook and begins writing, occasionally glancing up to take note of his surroundings--even, when it fires, the Eversion Cannon.      This is his 'charging up.'
Shockwave	Shockwave had determined with celerity that the terminal within the quarantine zone was lacking in the knowledge that he required. Slowly, Shockwave pulled away from the terminal, still connected to cables that extended from the planetary infrastructure pumping energy into his frame to accelerate his regeneration. The cyclopic head turned to the inner doors of the quarantined chambers. A brief red beam emitted from his singular optic, once again scanning the bulkheads and blast doors. A few moments pass. Shockwave intoned darkly... "Inefficient." The over-30-meter-tall Cybertronian pivoted and raised his left arm. The particle wave cannon was brought to bear against the internal bulkheads, and the nuclear reactor within the core of his frame's torso began to increase its output. The cable connecting to his arm cannon pulsed with channeled energy into the arm cannon. WHUUUUM! WHUUUUM! WHUUM! WHUUUM! WHUUM! WHUUM! WHUM! WHUM! WHUM The rhythm of the charge began to increase... WHUM! WHUM! WHUM! WHUM! WHUM! The charge stages powered the cannon with increasing nuclear-energon fuel. WHUMWHUMWHUMWHUMWHUM! Three seconds before discharge as others breached through the outer doors of the chamber. WHM-WHM-WHM-WHM-WHM-WHM... "Discharge imminent," the voice intoned darkly. M-M-M-M-M-MMMMMMMMMMM!
Flamel Parsons	"Why're you locking the door behind us, dude?" Buttercup asks."     <In case we don't pull this off.> Flamel's words are a bit blunt. <Coming up on what *I'd* make the last door now. Get your blasty-hands ready for blasting.>     <So this is a blast on sight type of thing?> Petra said.     <Blast to get in on sight, at least. Maybe it's someone nice.> He says sheepishly. Does he have... blasts? He usually only has small-arms equivalent. Well, it'll be nothing compared to what she has.     Outer safety doors are shattered glass. Inner locks engage, but Regulus' mechanical sense and genius in the electronics interrupts. On Flamel's word, ideally, the Powerpuffs' abilities should cleanly knock out straining, ancient mechanical hydraulics meant for giants, and give the Combaticons -- human-sized or otherwise -- enough weakening to work the disabled machinery open. Geed's huge hands make for perfect ways to wedge them in place. Flamel motions to Lilian to stack up behind him at the inner-airlock type door -- <Rook, on me.> -- and preps to rush after turning the last heavy wheel with a huge telekinesis-hand. Flamel flicks invisible. And the innermost, most sound-proof door glides open silently in a sudden motion...     Flamel's invisible scamper into the middle of the doorway is averted by the fact that a gun was already on him. He chokes and freezes, doing his very, very best to hold in the panicked "GAH!!" that rushes into his mind. <ALREADY AWAKE, ALREADY HAS A BIG GUN POINTED AT THE DOOR HOLD ON A SECOND.> He tries to telepathy-whisper, urgently to his companions in a way he *desperately* hopes isn't detected by the guy who accidentally has the huge, *LOUDLY* whirring gun pointed at him. <HOLD HOLD HOLD until his gun's off me.>     Decent chance that a *certain someone* might pick up the frequency of telepathy, though. At the very least, he's likely visible in a few non-light spectrums.     ---     Inside the mindscape of the Parsons Institute, several scientists finish up with a presentation they're giving to The Director in a lecture hall, about what types of blasters one can survive having fired at their head. "That doesn't seem like many at all." He says, grimly, fidgeting with his cane. "We should try to get out of the way."     Sheepish letters and directives fly through pneumatic tubes to the Motorics department.     ---     Flamel puts a finger to his lips and waves the other hand at the others to gesture them back away from the breached door invisibly. Then he takes the most careful, cautious little steps backwards and to the side to clear his body from it so that he can get out of that accidentally-held-at-gunpoint scenario...
Riku Asakura	Given how quickly they work on the entryway, it's shocking that something is already happening inside.  Flamel is through before any of them could really get there, and almost immediately, Flamel is coming under fire from whatever is locked in the room.  Geed doesn't even consider his own personal safety for a second... "Flamel, behind me!" Geed says to the mentalist before pushing himself through the door and immediately raising the GEED BARRIER, a large barrier made of light, that can protect him (and others behind him) from attacks that come at him from in front of him.  Geed, a giant himself but not a Cybertronian, will likely be easily visible to the robot inside the prison. Geed immediately tries to shout out for Shockwave to stop his attack.  "Hey, we're not enemies (I hope).  Stop firing that weapon!" he calls out, unsure if he's talking to a sapient being or a monster locked away because it was too dangerous.   However, Geed at least tries to calm the situation down first.
Regulus	Regulus grimaces, instinctually grimacing her ears at the expression of eversion cannon. She squeezes her eyes shut, takes a few breathes in and out, and then open her eyes to drop her hands. Well, at least people agreed with her even if the person who could obliterate a door in a couple seconds didn't. No use crying over spilled door. ''It was fifteen years, I think.'' "Jeeze, that's practically a billion." Regulus says, sympathetically, giving Lilian a long look. Better than at the foot of Mt. Wudang and worse than the top of Mt. Wudang is ... ... well, it's always hard to keep those highs up isn't it? But she decides she oughta still do what she can. After all, no harm in cheering up extra amounts. But right now she's having a bit of difficult focusing on that because she's worried about being shot at. The only thing worse than being shot at, in Regulus's book, is being shot. And most bullets aren't as gentle as Schneider's were. ''Perhaps sister Regulus would like to peruse the historical records--'' "Uh, sure, I can read." Though she's a little uncertain about whether she can read dry historical accounts and if this was some stupid ass fifteen year war, she might be too SAD to continue let alone what her attention span might be able to manage. "Yeah, let's not rush to a fight at least..." Once the barrier is open, Regulus immediately gets down on the ground, covers her head, and shouts, "WE COME IN PEACE WE COME IN PEACE, PEACE AND LOVE, PEACE AND LOVE!" In the hopes that nobody gets shot. She eventually peeks an eye open and sees that it's Flamel with a gun in his face so Regulus just stands up, relaxing considerably but not entirely. "We do come in peace though, for real, uh, no fire. Please."
Petra Soroka	"It was fifteen years, I think."     <Was it really that long? I didn't think it started before I was born, but I guess the rules on what actually consitutes a 'war' are intentionally fuzzy.>     The experience of riding on the Beauty of Ash's back for Lilian is shockingly comfortable, giving how jaggedly the mech seems to move. Its feet only lightly scrape gouges into the metal floor, balanced perfectly on each tip like a ballerina or a deer, and despite its sharp turns and rapid, energetic pace, the telekinetic pressure is applied evenly enough that she's never jolted around. Even when whipping around at max speed to change direction, Lilian's seen how Petra ignores momentum to scamper around plenty often, but as gentle as riding a trotting horse.     <Man, actually, fuck the old superfactions and fuck the war. I've never had any reason to blame anyone in particular, but that shit made literally everything worse.> "Yeah you just tell me where to blast, guy."     You have LOST reputation with the Bubbles faction! You have GAINED reputation with the Buttercup faction! "Should we encounter any of the grandfathers which sister Regulus has mentioned, I, Chuyao He, shall ascertain their intent through that most reliable means of discerning one's character."     The swirling cloud of glass-that-used-to-be-metal carries with the Beauty of Ash as it advances into the quarantine chamber, clicking together into temporary minitature shields that break apart in the telekinetic current. <Go ahead. I'd love if they're chill. I'm gonna focus on keeping everyone alive first.>     The *height* of the chamber is what skeeves her out the most. Underground, vertical space is especially at a premium, and the Beauty of Ash standing upright would still feel like a child compared to the ceiling here. It steps carefully, quiet scrape-clicking of its feet while leading the way with Ultraman Geed as the two biggest Elites here, until-- <ALREADY AWAKE, ALREADY HAS A BIG GUN POINTED AT THE DOOR HOLD ON A SECOND.>     The Beauty of Ash flickers, vanishing backwards from its cloud of borrowed material with Lilian still on top. The hardlight crystal flattens into rows of ablative shields, pairing with the Geed Barrier to blunt the the blast that shatters them into vaporous light on impact.     <Hey!!! We've got ¶the whole clown car/diversity win!/Elites from everywhere¶ here to meet you! Can we talk before blasting?!>
Combaticon	Onslaught raises his hand and gestures. In order to open the doors, he-- > <ALREADY AWAKE, ALREADY HAS A BIG GUN POINTED AT THE DOOR HOLD ON A SECOND>     --remains still. Brawl doesn't move, but there is a sense of 'hesitating' somehow from the giant tank. When Onslaught lowers his hand, Brawl speaks up, "So... No blastin'?"     "Stand by," Onslaught steps forward past the tank and approaches the breached door. When he stops, he lifts one hand to hold it under the Decepticon symbol on his chestplate and illuminates it.     "I am Onslaught of the Decepticon Justice Division. Power down your weapons." He isn't visibly armed, though Blastoff steps up to a few paces behind on his left, his own sigil plainly visible.     In response, Brawl transforms again, landing heavily on her feet but at least now in a fashion that isn't pointing Giant Tank Cannons at another world's Decepticon.     Depthcharge lets out a sigh at the state of the door, "Barbarians. Can't even open a *door* properly."     Vortex shrugs, "The 'bot inside wanted out, what choice did we have?"     "An integrated particle wave cannon," having already identified the weapon, Swindle's eyes shift upward in thought, one hand cradling his chin, "Nobody *I* know. I might be fuzzy on names but I never forget a weapon."
Chuyao He	A sharp sound passes by Ultraman's head. It sounds like an angry hornet, or maybe like a baseball just barely missed. He sees it, a half-second after it goes zipping past. One of Chuyao's steel-tipped calligraphy brushes pierces a bulkhead in sight of Shockwave. It fastens a torn sheaf of paper to the wall with its point.     Written out in Late Middle Chinese is a jueju-style poem. Though Chuyao doesn't know Shockwave's name or even that he exists, the poem is for him, or at least, for 'someone in his position,' and he'll realize it the moment he takes even a second or two to read it. The cold trench has spent a long time in the dark. Few things in this scant light can grow. The sound of the first breeze seems like the cry of a beast. The wind brings seeds, and with them, trees.
Lilian Rook	<Was it really that long?>     "It was something like that, at least." Lilian says. "It's hardly as if it's ever mattered to that little corner of the Multiverse anyways. I suppose it might have even started before I was born." A frown twitches at her lips. "For whatever meaning that metric has."     <I've never had any reason to blame anyone in particular, but that shit made literally everything worse.>     "Name a war that didn't."     '<In case we don't pull this off.>'     "Suck me." Lilian huffs. She tries to roll her eyes about it, but feels sincerely bitter instead, remembering the last time she said words like thos to anyone.     '<Rook, on me.>'     Shuffling to a dismount position from the Beauty of Ash, Lilian sighs, tosses her hair, and says "Don't try to sound like a professional now." as her hand comes to rest on the pommel of Night Mist. On some level, she had been determined to assume this would be one of his baffling little spy-thriller capers, so that she could decide not to not get herself wound up. Flamel's strangely fervid tension flies in the face of that assumption, and it makes her both unhappy and uneasy. She has to pass the intervening time in her usual way. <J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "The whole superfaction war was just a load of bullshit violence anyways. I can't even remember when it officially started, just when it ended." <J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "... Obviously if there's anything that seems, like, personally important, we'll be careful with it." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, slightly sarcastic, "And look at the diversity we have here today." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook leans into the bit until she starts laughing near the end. "Concord, Paladins, Watch, humans, robots, apples, ultramen, psitanium skeletons, silver puppydogs, existential threat vectors, men and women, old and young; some of us aren't even white. Oh how the old brings the new together."     The giant nuclear cannon has plans otherwise. Lilian blinks.     <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "--Oh fuck."     'Flamel, behind me!'     '<HOLD HOLD HOLD>'     'PEACE AND LOVE, PEACE AND LOVE!'     §If that man fries for locking the door, it'll serve him right. I don't know the output. Behind it, I suppose? At least as cover against a potential radiation shadow. I can relocate Parsons by checking his telepathy. Petra is still in the Beauty of Ash, but she's already shielded herself; she should make it with Asakura in the way; he's a lost cause already at that size.§     §Who else? Chuyao and Regulus? I can't do more than one at a time like this, and I wouldn't be able to add the robots if I tried. Surely the girls have dealt with something like this before, right? Doesn't matter. Deep breaths. Scope the back room while you can. Places for three people . . .§     Even though there's no way Regulus is listening, Lilian whispers "Ach ansin arís . . ." on her own.
Powerpuff Girls	Bubbles continues to hover (literal) near Regulus, smiling at the rocking alchemist with an oddly knowing look in her eyes. Does she know... that Regulus is really a pirate?? Buttercup, meanwhile, charges up to ready for smashing open the door and getting right to socking the monster, when the Eversion Cannon renders nearly the entire practice moot! Left with a dusty ruffle in her dark hair she shakes off with a quick rattle of her head, Buttercup looks up from the blast and rubble to the Beauty of Ash and Petra inside, crossing her arms. "Okay, that was sufficiently sick," Buttercup admits. "-but you sort of killed the pose-like-A-team vibe." Buttercup sighs as she picks up to an even-with Petra float. "So feel sufficiently bad about that, or pleased you just solved the problem, or both. Is that a dog tail?" Bubbles pouts for a moment, cheeks puffed as she watches people move to the quarantine door, kicking a sufficiently close piece of rubble without heart and knocking out a chunk of the floor. "We so very much could have avoided harming the terrain! It was very nice and locked before!" She protests mildly as she blue-blur zips up to the door to squint and hold hand up to level at her brow and surveil deeper. "Hmm. X-ray vision doesn't help much with all this solid walling. It's like a big mystery!" Bubbles observes, gasping, before it seems to be decided that they're going to try peace! Once again, Buttercup is pulled back from pointing on charging in - by Bubbles landing and lifting her thick-sweatered hands to join Regulus in the line of fire and peace. "Our friend thought it'd open the way faster! We'd love to talk!" She adds on to Regulus' entreatments, knowing Geed's barrier would be close and Regulus would be easy to grab and zip to safety if she remained close. "Hey." Bubbles asides to Regulus. "If it gets bright, just hold your breath and don't worry, okay?" Buttercup, hanging back in the shadow of the door, peeks around the corner. "So we're just running into the muzzle to plant flowers in the barrel, huh?" "Yep!" Bubbles genuinely returns, smiling.
Shockwave	Shockwave keeps the particle wave cannon of his left arm charged, the hum VERY DISTURBING... M-M-M-M-M-M-MMMMMMM! Shockwave's yellow optic falls on the Cybertronians that are... dimunitive. His monotone droning voice echoes within the chamber, "Onslaught identified. Status: Altered. Conclusion: Alternative universe. Doubt: Mini-con disguise possible; proof required. Execute the Enigma of Combination." His words become normalized, but the cannon does not power down yet. "You are... very wee." The optic sweeps over the rest. The poem that is lodged is swiftly read. If Shockwave was his emotional self before the Cybertronian Senate had mutilated him, he might have enjoyed it. The words are catalogued, but the optic turns coldly on its progenitor. A voice, cold, mechanical, devoid of emotion, recants: "Irrelevant." The optic falls upon the Ultraman and then upon Flamel and suddenly another red beam emits from his optic... The Analysis Beam washes over the entirety of the gathering, assessing. The cannon has not powered down - yet. A single query emits. No inflections. No enunciations. "Identify yourselves." With the quarantine doors opened, suddenly an onslaught of channels open to his transmitter. Internally, he begins to ping the Multiversal rádios, updating his protocols, though nothing gives it away. His internal processors begin to assess the chatter. The words exposed to him upon the opening of the doors regarding peace and wanting him to practically stand down have him responding with a simple query: "What is the status of the Citadel?" The individual throwing their arms over their head was of immediate interest, though not out of malice. More of a curiosity and skepticism that such display of humility is fraudulent at best. The gaze turns upon Regulus briefly before focusing again upon Flamel. However, to Petra, the optic briefly glances up, focusing. "State intended purpose. If it is within consensus of my necessities, then.. blasting ..will be postponed." The optic returned to Flamel. Any cursory examination of Shockwave's mind would be met with a singularity - or perhaps NULL - of pure logical solidarity.
Riku Asakura	Another red beam emits from the optic... 'Shoot,' Ultraman Geed thinks. 'Does it have laser eyes?'  Of course, nothing actually happens to the barrier.  So, gingerly, the barrier is lowered when Geed realizes the red beam isn't harmful, but perhaps some sort of scanner?  He's also facing down a robot as tall as he is.   He also acknowledges Onslaught.  Though it isn't like it was a warm welcome or anything.  So this guy is from their world, but also another version of their world... Also, the one thing that Shockwave would get from Ultraman Geed is that he is a type of energy being.  While somehow physical... what makes up the inside of the Ultraman is mostly very dense energy.   'Identify yourselves.' "I am Ultraman Geed, of the Paladins.  You are..?" he asks, because Geed still hasn't gotten a name, nor does he know the Cybertronian by sight.   'What is the status of the Citadel?' "I have no idea what that is," Geed states, shaking his head.  "As for why we came here, it's because we got a warning that something was breaking out.  We thought it might be a horror from the old war, not... well, a person.  How did you get here anyway?"
Flamel Parsons	"Identify yourselves." Shockwave said.     "Ahh-- oh, you have one of those beams that sees me." The man sheepishly exits invisibility, into bright-yellow hazard-suit visibility, though he remains behind Geed just in case. "Flamel Parsons. Agent of a vague yet ominous government organization!" His way of speaking is bright, startlingly friendly -- and almost informative in a way.     "What is the status of the Citadel?" Shockwave asked.     Flamel sucks air through gritting teeth of a still-friendly smile behind the opaque hazmat suit helmet. "It's not... good." He tries not to use the phrase "lie-down-adel" like he's heard from the young campers. "Here, I'll--" He tries to provide a telepathic batch of explanation. And it just... slides right off Shockwave's head. "--Huh? Hang on." He tries again. No dice. "What...? Are you... Sentient? I checked what was happening, you had to have been doing a *lot* of thinking, but I can't...?" One more time. No.     ---     "Director?" One of the technicians at the switchboard in Communications looks up to the man, as he holds his cane tight. "No response. I'm not sure there's anything there."     "No." The Director grimly asserts. "I recognize this. It's..."     ---     "...Darkened? Shadowed?" He finishes a conversation with himself. His focus is somewhere else. Back in Elibe, perhaps.     "Um-- Look, the state of things is *very* different. Something happened to the superfactional structures, and they're..." His posture gets odd for a second. "Better left buried, at this point."     "Both of them."     "But seriously. Blast-postponing, really appreciated."
Regulus	Regulus was so focused on the cannon, he kind of missed the floating superheroes. Regulus smiles back at Regulus, but not quite with the confidence of a Townsville Citizen, but she does seem vaguely reassured despite not knowing her at all. "Y-yeah plus we don't really know you so why fight?" She nods to Buttercup. "Oh yeah! That's classic!" If she ever saw the episode with the evil clown, she'd probably think more highly of these two but she certainly is appreciating Bubbles here! "Oh I'm Regulus! I'm a dj pirate and member od Team Timekeeper!" Okay maybe Regulus is lying but she seems so pumped up about identifying herself, it might be true! "I've never been out that way!" She adds, on the Citadel. "Uh...The war's been over for a long time though. Before my world even Unified. Is that the word you guys used back then." She stays close to Bubbles, ready to spirit her away to safety in a heartbeat! "What kind of music do you like? Me, I'm a rock and roller girl, but I bet there's a whole slew of out there space music I can only dream of." He said the poem was irrelevent though.... "Have you, uh, ever danced?"
Chuyao He	Chuyao lets out an anxiously held breath. He steps out from behind Ultraman, just in time to be scanned by the Beam.      Identify yourselves.     "I, Chuyao He, scholar of the late generation and Paladins Chevalier, respectfully greet the mechanical uncle." He offers a fist in palm salute, before retrieving Two Rivers from the sleeve of his robe. The movement with the fan could be construed as fanning himself, though it's held a bit lower than the face. A soft grunt of effort escapes him, and a strong current of air pulls the calligraphy brush free of the wall, carrying it to Chuyao's waiting hand. The poem written for Shockwave gently flutters to the ground. What is the status of the Citadel?     "The Citadel... Ah! Of course." He nods once, after a brief perusal of a book in his traveling pack--he flips back to a bookmarked entry, his index pointing at a specific point on the page. "Gone, along with the Confederacy--and, this lowly scholar should add, the Union. There are children today who have never known either, nor the upheaval of the constant battle between them."     Closing the book with one hand in a soft 'whump,' he stows it away, then softly clears his throat. "May I know how to address the formerly-confined uncle?"
Lilian Rook	'You are... very wee.'     Lilian nearly burts out laughing on the spot. Quick thinking and the back of her left hand are employed to turn it into a strangled-down coughing fit instead.     One and a half seconds later, thirty different pieces of context that she didn't know were missing have clicked themselves neatly into place, and so Lilian whispers "Oh my god." as her eyes slowly and scandalously track back to the Combaticon team. "They're like little post-apocalypse gnome people. They're the far future mutants! I get it now! Everything's been lost to history and they turn into helicopters for shamanistic purposes!" Saying it out loud is either purely for her benefit, for Petra's entertainment, or both. Giant beam cannon or not, if the guy behind the door can use 'wee' in a sentence, he has the spirit of whimsy in him and it'd be disrespectful not to play ball.     'The cold trench has spent a long time in the dark.     Few things in this scant light can grow.     The sound of the first breeze seems like the cry of a beast. The wind brings seeds, and with them, trees.'     Oh. That's the most reliable means. Lilian stares at Chuyao, baffled, yet implicitly approving. "And here I was worried you were going to start duelling like at the Langya Pavillion." she says, smiling. "Lord knows I'd catch feelings if I heard that at the right time."     God she hates 'Analysis Beams'© though. Lilian hadn't put up with this even for Lala and her nosy 'Mother' AI. She doesn't need to know precisely what it does to know that a big read horizontal beam sweeping everyone up and down like a barcode scanner denotes a socially maladjusted pervert (according to her).     'Identify yourselves.'     So, though she'd ordinarily love to barrage a confused stranger with all her titles before he can put the gun down, Lilian sniffs, pulls her knee up to rest her right arm across, and says, "Beg pardon? Did you first introduce yourself while I wasn't paying attention? I'll forgive your waving a gun around at strangers, given that you seem to be very confused, but you're nobody until I hear your name." Riku is charitably holding the Geed Barrier for everyone! He's implicitly volunteering to be a martyr! It's fine!     'What is the status of the Citadel? State intended purpose. If it is within consensus of my necessities, then.. blasting ..will be postponed.'     "I'm not certain if you've noticed, but you look like hell." Lilian sighs, impatient. "If I were in your state of disrepair, I wouldn't try to make gunpoint demands at fourteen heavily armed strangers all at the same time." Never mind the fact that she's the one with the broken arm. "If you mean the Citadel, I don't mind telling you that it imploded into a waking nightmare realm during the Reality Quakes a decade ago."
Combaticon	> "Doubt: Mini-con disguise possible; proof required. Execute the Enigma of Combination."     "Well. This certainly is a *version* of Shockwave." Depthcharge mutters, arms folded. Her optics shift, white pupils fixed on Onslaught-- who looks like he's just been insulted. Or is that just the regular scowl he always has?     "Combaticons, unite," Onslaught commands, "Forma Maximus."     'Forma Maximus' catches most of the other robots by surprise; though Brawl seems excited by it. With a cheery "MAXIMUUUUUUS!" she twists herself at the middle and unfurls into a tank again. There's a pause, a secondary ratcheting noise of the transformation cog, and the tank transforms a second time.     "Haven't done Maximus in a while," Blastoff says with a laugh. His leg-jets ignite, carrying him aloft mid-transformation into that sci fi fighter jet mode of his. With the second action of his transformation cog, the wings fold in and a great fist emerges from just beneath the rear thrusters.     "Can't help it if he wants to show off, I guess," Swindle shrugs, eyes closed. Without changing his posture, his body unfolds and flips open, expanding into a fully sized futuristic humvee-like truck. After a similar pause, the Humvee angles forward and folds in half, matching Brawl's new form as-- a giant lower leg?     "I've never even done Maximus before--!" Vortex, excited, backflips into the air and unfolds her body into that of an attack helicopter. With the second round of the transformation cog, a linkage extends that splits the vehicle in half front-and-back, the tail reconfigures, then extends a fist. Her rotors fold back into paired V-shapes angled down the forearm.     "Such pointless showboating. Very well. I will play along," Depthcharge steps away from Regulus if only because when she transforms, the resulting vehicle is kind of large; a fast attack boat, just kind of... sitting there on Cybertron's metal ground. Her transformation cog emits a second noise and the craft splits between top and bottom. The upper works reconfigures into a precisely engineered twin-barrel rifle. The main hull splits, re-orients, and alters into a thruster pack with stabilizer wings.
Combaticon	Onslaught wordlessly transforms back into that deep blue Roadmaster artillery truck, though this time he produces a long flatbed trailer. When the Transformation cog ratchets up a second time, the vehicle flips into the air as it reconfigures. One thigh slots into the top of Swindle's new shape, then the other locks into Brawl's. A colossal chestplate fills out the complex greebles of the torso. One shoulder forms; connecting to Vortex. The right shoulder next, linking to Blastoff.     A huge, proportioned head rises out of the chest, eyes flashing read. The flight pack slams into the colossal robot's back, attaching with multiple linkages. Reaching out with the arm that was once a helicopter, it then snatches up the energy rifle half of Depthcharge's second form.     Like this, the combined Combaticons tower over even Shockwave, on nearly the same scale as Ultraman Geed. The left arm sweeps down, aiming the beam cannon directly at Shockwave. The right arm raises, fingers flexing back into a fist, while a jet of flame readies itself from the starfighter's exhausts.     "BRUTICUS MAXIMUS ONLINE." the colossus roars in a voice of all six robots merged, "PREPARED FOR EXTERMINATION."
Powerpuff Girls	Front and 'center' (supportingly behind Regulus), Bubbles waves. "Identify myself? I'm Bubbles!" Leaning out on the frame of the quarantine door, Buttercup retains a slightly disinterested, slightly worried look. Talking wasn't her strongest suit, especially with super robots, and she almost wanted to see what the big cannon would do even though she knew it was wrong. "And I'm Buttercup." Together, synched up beat for beat despite the slightly dry tones of Buttercup, their intro continues: "And we're-" "-two thirds of!-" "The Powerpuff Girls. We've usually got a red one too." The scan sweeps from Buttercup at one fringe to Bubbles in the center, and both are roughly identical! In that they are chemically arranged oddities with extremely outsized energy signatures and freakish densities, and plainly powered. "What's the Citadel?" Buttercup sotto voices towards Flamel, but the question is answered over and over by everyone else not knowing so the green-coded young woman saves the 'nah I don't know either' step and shrugs instead. Bubbles, looking at the jumping-together and jumbling of the Combaticons, lifts a hand to cover mouth, and then... With gouts of flame and potent cannon pointing, Bruticus is formed! Roaring with the incredible power of six hearts as (mostly) one--! Bubbles's upward flight brings her besides the cannon in a smear of azure, and she grins widely towards Shockwave while geeeently pushing down the top of the cannon (at scale, as an adult might gently push down a child's offending nerf blaster from pointing at a housegust). "Theeeee extermination of misunderstandings! Because we're still talking!"
Petra Soroka	"So feel sufficiently bad about that, or pleased you just solved the problem, or both."     Before Shockwave...     Being level with Petra either means floating up to the blur of color inside the Beauty of Ash's translucent chest, which is just barely above eye level on the ground anyways, or it means floating besides its head and the singular golden eye that glows from the crack within it. Petra, for her part, emotes more with the latter, than with her actual body.     <That's my secret, Buttercup. I feel bad about *everything*.>     <Yeah, it's basically a dog tail. I took a bite of the new Fruit of Knowledge and it gave me a bonus sin no one's ever done before.> The Silver mass is actually still present even when Petra's hidden inside her mech. In fact, it's mirrored and scaled up, a similar mechanical tail merging the two materials at the base of the Beauty of Ash, morphmetal fur scattered in the cloud of glass. The tail flicks demonstratively, sharpening into a blade for a moment, before softening into a loose liquid shell.     <It's kinda cool though. Just a little embarrassing.> "You are... very wee."     Now,     The Beauty of Ash is the second largest machine here, despite the presence of the Combaticons, and it's less than half of Shockwave's height. The weird off-blue crystalline structure is completely unlike anything on Cybertron, and it crouches defensively on all fours like a wary wolf, but it's enough of a 'machine' that his scan can pick up on its function, alien though it may be.     » 'Crystalline hardlight': a quasi-material made up of photons rather than atoms, these particular crystals are purified and tempered to the quantum frequencies of human perception. Termed 'observational semiconductors', the material holds its shape through, as well as conducting, psychic attention, vaporizing back into the electromagnetic spectrum when severed from it and otherwise incredibly durable.     » 'Iorite': The faintly luminescent hydraulic fluid that courses through the internal network of the mech serves as a complete replacement for any of the typical technology necessary to make a machine like this function. Psychically charged, it carries power, and can be 'bled' out.     » The mech itself acts like a puppet and a magnifying glass. No motors or pistons move it, just its rider's telekinesis, which the hardlight material amplifies drastically as well as all of her other psychic powers. Through the resonant web of her bodily concept of the mech, it can still move as a cohesive unit even when shattered, turning into a swarm of razor sharp shards. "State intended purpose."     When no blast is immediately forthcoming, the Beauty of Ash slowly eases out of its defensive stance, picking around the floor carefully on its four limbs to linger neat Lilian protectively. Unlike Lilian, though, she takes a more open diplomatic approach, on account of Lilian having a broken arm.     <I think we'd all prefer a postponement in blasting. You've only just gotten up, so you can't be wanting to drain your energy fighting all *that* badly, can you?>     <Petra, Partner of the Concord, one of the factions that rose up after the Union and Confederacy blew their own dicks off and collapsed. It's been... like, a decade since any real trace of the Confederacy's been around. The war's over and everyone who survived it ended up integrating into one of the new power structures, or just going home.>     "So what exactly are your necessities?>
Shockwave	Shockwave intones to Ultraman Geed, "My designation is Shockwave. Originally of Iacon of Cybertron. Decepticon Military Operations Commander." He does not state his Multiversal historical rank. That, he has already ascertained, is defunct and obsolete. To the statement of not knowing what the Citadel is, Shockwave's optic flares. "My preliminary analysis is conclusive. The historical political architecture of the Multiverse is no more. I require information regarding which exacted such magnanimous change." Then he looks to Flamel. "Information, matter, energy .. such distinctions are irrelevant. Your informational presence was detected, Flamel Parsons, agent of an... organization. Then came the words regarding the Citadel of not being 'good'. He does not register the psychic imprint. It just doesn't even glance off of his mind. "I am sentient, yes," he replies. He does not register whatever else is happening. The cannon is -still- powered up. Nobody has met his consenus as of yet. To Regulus, his optic turns. He listens. DJ, pirate, Team Timekeeper, all of it is stored away. And then the commentary about the war being over. There is no emotional response. Instead, Shockwave FINALLY... lowers his left arm and powers down. "Music and dance are irrelevant to my objectivities and activities. The Confederacy and Union are both listed in archives as defunct. Immediate, mid-term, and long-term purpose under significant recalculation. Historical information required, access to scientific databases requested." He does not know how to speak on this individual's level of communication. But, nevertheless, words were expressed that met his analytical conclusions that caused his stand-down. Then his optic fell upon Chuyao. "Paladins - faction recognized; unknown. Chevalier - unknown. Uncle? Organic familial connections unresolved. Explain." Then came more information. "Gone... Union, gone." The optic dims a moment, but mostly out of internal processing. "Shockwave," he reiterates to the query. More processing, more calculations. To Lilian's words, Shockwave looked directly. They were heard, processed. But the 'advice' about not doing something is what tickles his processors. The sickly yellow optic flares and a single foot steps forward, the room trembles, and his heavy frame takes on a more aggressive stance. His voice intones flatly, "Many have attempted to direct my activities. You will be disappointed. My designation is Shockwave." There was little else he was interested in reacting to. And there it was. 'Combaticons, unite'. When Bruticus is formed, Shockwave lifts his head and looks upwards to the towering superstructure Cybertronian with the weapon aimed and powered up. "Stand down, Bruticus. Your status is recognized. Your Decepticon badge triggers acceptable authority protocols, despite alternative universal origins. Well met, Combaticons. Please inform me of the Multiversal status of the Decepticon organization." There was no fear, no emotion, not even impression. It was Shockwave. The faceless cyclopean optic observed the Combiner with regard - whether it was positive was for anyone to guess. Then came Bubbles? Shockwave glanced over. "Power--" He seems to glitch a moment. "Humanoid, carbon-based organics, stating themselves as ... Powerpuff ... Girls." The information computes and processes for a few moments. "Understood. Registered." Unbeknownst to them, all of the radio channels that were publicly being chattered on were being read. He looks the group over and then returns his optic to Petra finally and examines. "Hardlight superstructure. Psychokinetically projected. Petra, Partner of the Concord. Dicks are irrelevant. After a cursory examination of multiversal databases, your existing factions are bureaucratically ineficiente, lacking wholesale Direction or purpose. My necessities are to assimilate causal identity to Multiversal existence, Multiversal parameters, extraplanar barriers, possibility of dimensional multi-universal anchoring to resolve energy deficiency, similar pursuits of multidimensional
Lilian Rook	The only mechanical devices Lilian has on her are her smartphone in one of the carry-cases attached to the back of her double belt, the Multiversal radio earpiece tucked into her hair, and the sidearm in a drop-leg holster on her left side; a hefty one, using a lot of heavy black metal, loaded with a strange rod of metal amalgam and emitting only trace energy through occultic circuits that run through its long axis. The radio is on. Her smartphone is locked. It probably cost two thousand dollars.     Incidentally, there's a very small amount of metal inside of her. Completely unidentifiable, widely dispersed, practically just trace particles scattered at random, save for concentration below her left knee, in her right hand, and the small, sharp-edged scar under one eye. It . . . has, an energy signature. God knows what. Faint, and a little unpleasant.
Shockwave	Shockwave (continuing from last pose) ... "extraplanar barriers, possibility of dimensional multi-universal anchoring to resolve energy deficiency, similar pursuits of multidimensional understanding and applications of testings of systematic formulae. I ... desire ... to KNOW."
Riku Asakura	Ultraman Geed nods once as Shockwave introduces himself, but thanks to the radio and conversation with the Combatacons, he gets the general idea of who he is.  Though it appears that Shockwave is not aware of what happened to the two super factions, or what ended the war that was literally over a decade ago.   "I'll be honest, I do not know the finer points of the old war.  I think some sort of act of god happened to destroy the two Superfactions.  Some Multiversal calamity that hasn't happened since then.  Dunno if maybe someone in the two groups started it or whatever.  But it's been a long, LONG time of relative peace." In fact, it happened well after he unified.  On the other hand, it's not like there isn't a local war happening that he's involved in, the looming threat of Ultraman Belial, or a thousand localized problems that they respond to every day.   Thankfully, things cool off with Regulus, and the gun is pointed down.   'Many have attempted to direct my activities.' "Whoa there, friend.  She's not wrong... you're not in good shape, and a fight right now would not go well for anyone, but even less for you.  Just calm down and think this through," Geed attempts to cool off Shockwave.   Though it does look like things are calming down.  "Do you have... a place to repair?  I think that'd be a good first step."
Lilian Rook	'Information, matter, energy .. such distinctions are irrelevant. Your informational presence was detected, Flamel Parsons, agent of an... organization.'     "Agent Flamel Parsons, of an organization." Lilian repeats, whispered giddy. "Oh this is great?" she says, testing at first, then, "This is great. The first time that war has ever been relevant to me and I'm getting so much value out of it already."     'Immediate, mid-term, and long-term purpose under significant recalculation. Historical information required, access to scientific databases requested.'     Lilian, wholly unnecessarily, leans in a little closer to Petra. "He just . . . talks like this? All the time?" It takes her no time at all to decide. "Isn't that way more what you'd expect from a big robot guy? It's sort of hard to follow, but, like, it's not 'actuate those servos, tungsten-bumper!' right?"     The great big rumbly step towards her from the thirty foot Cybertronian distracts her again. Her hand drifts back to the hilt of her sword, for a second; then she correctly reads 'aggression' into the gesture, and her fingers fall away again. She suddenly looks very pleased with herself.     'Many have attempted to direct my activities.'     "Oh I'm sure they have." she says, side-eyeing Petra again. "You were in the military before, weren't you?" Come on!     'My designation is Shockwave.'     "Thank you." she says, prim enough to finally fit the received pronunciation. The fact that he'd already told everyone else his name for normal reasons, and that this had absolutely nothing to do with her being pushy, is treated as completely irrelevant on purpose. "Dame Commander Lilian Rook. Paladins. O-5 commission. Doctorate of Aetherial Dynamics and Biology. Liaison to Team Timekeeper, Director of the Trídéag Association, so on and so on." She considered being a little funny with it, but decided she wasn't that interested in being confusing for no reason.     'Stand down, Bruticus. Your status is recognized. Your Decepticon badge triggers acceptable authority protocols, despite alternative universal origins.'     "Really? The little corgibots?" Lilian says, having to look back down again to turn her head Bruticus-wards. "That's fascinating. Were you two alive at the same time? Oh, beg pardon; you and a version of those guys."     'Petra, Partner of the Concord. Dicks are irrelevant.'     Nope. That's the end of her endurance. Lilian doubles over laughing.
Regulus	Regulus is about as threatening as a kitten and she is preparing to try to dance at Shockwave for peace but fortunately, the guy lowers his gun. Maybe all that stuff Flamel said about his mind was bullshit or maybe the guy at least doesn't shoot people for waddling up to say hi. She'll take it! Unfortunately she has no information about stuff thst happened like a million years ago so she isn't going to help there. The gun being powered down and lowered down does wonders for Regulus's confidence. Her breathing calms because she isn't gonna learn just how invincible Bubbles is today and she'd rather never learn since she seems so sweet that even harmless bullets feels just too mean. "Well, they may be irrelevant for your objectives, but perhaps it's an opportunity to try out some new... Funjectives." She almost doublefingerguns Shockwave, immediately thinks better of it, and instead just starts wiggling energetically in place. But she has enough werewithal to say, "Uh, sorry that so much has changed so suddenly." "I could introduce you to APPLe, he reads a lot of stuff." Regulus continues to wiggle. "Some people like dicks." She swings her arms up and down as she dances because if she stops she'll go back to being nervous again.
Lilian Rook	'Whoa there, friend. She's not wrong... you're not in good shape, and a fight right now would not go well for anyone, but even less for you. Just calm down and think this through,'     God bless large men that Lilian can rely on to speak large man to other large men. Well, large boys, in this case. But an Ultraman is a kind of Cybertronian. Or vice versa? She doesn't really know; they just read on a similar 'giant alien' wavelength to her.     'After a cursory examination of multiversal databases, your existing factions are bureaucratically ineficiente'     Gathering herself back up, Lilian wheezes, "Oh goodness. He's figured that out already? I'm going to clip this for my next organizational open hearing so I can complain about the red tape again."     'My necessities are to assimilate causal identity to Multiversal existence, Multiversal parameters, extraplanar barriers, possibility of dimensional multi-universal anchoring to resolve energy deficiency, similar pursuits of multidimensional understanding and applications of testings of systematic formulae. I ... desire ... to KNOW.'     "Oh goodness. Alright. That's quite a few topics." About half of which make sense to her at a glancing impression. "So you're looking for scientists? Were you on a science team before you--" Oh god. Lilian's total antipathetic ignorance towards the Cybertronian words is biting her in the ass here. "--Got stuck here?" is her fallback.     "I haven't the foggiest clue what you want the 'extraplanar barriers', nor why 'multi-universal anchoring' is something you need to solve what I presume is an energy crisis, but it's not as if all the researchers went away you know. If they haven't gone private sector, they've joined the Concord or Paladins. Though, between you and I, the state of scientific research must be better now than it was back then. Groups have popped up all over now that they can research something other than how to kill each other."
Combaticon	Bubbles pushes down Bruticus' frankly ludicrously huge weapon. The turn of the robot combiner's head suggests he acknowledges her, but there's some amount of visible restraint from lashing out at her. Flamel can easily detect a veritable volcano of unspent, highly pressurized aggression straining, searching for a single crack in-- Onslaught's? It's unclear-- resolve to stay on-task.     The resistance Bubbles encounters is intense at first, but after some of her insistence, Bruticus relents and allows his weapon to be lowered. The right arm also lowers, flames extinguishing with the contents of the flamethrower unspent. There's that sound, that ratcheting mechanical-digital sound of multiple Transformation Cogs all at once, all in sync. In five descending pulses of noise, Bruticus disassembles himself back into his component vehicular parts.     One by one, the Combaticons then resume their human-sized robot modes. Onslaught is the first. His scowl as scowley as ever, arms folded, his synthesized voice carries a tense and annoyed tone with it, "The majority of Cybertronian citizens have opted to reduce the size of their robot modes in order to conserve energon for post-war reconstruction."     Depthcharge folds her arms. Her battlemask is in place, so her expression is unreadable. She doesn't speak, but Parsons picks up an errant surface thought: Archaic energon guzzler.     Back in robot mode, Swindle presses his palms together, leaning to one side to get a better look into the space Shockwave emerged from. This lasts about as long as it takes for Brawl to regain robot mode and hit him with a dull metallic *clonk*.     "Primus, that was more of a rush than I expected." Vortex's rotors are shaking. Even her hand servos, when she holds them up to take a look. She glances sidelong at Blastoff when he speaks up.     "Right, I keep forgetting how young you are," He gives his fellow flyer an elbow in the side, "You get used to it. Most of that intensity is probably from Brawl, anyway."
Flamel Parsons	Flamel listens to the plan.     ---     "Assimilation. Information-gathering obsession. And the... emotionless drive of formulaic control and limitless energy." The Communications technician's display shows ideas and concepts to the Director. She's glancing at her colleague.     The Director turns to the department manager from Foresight and Predictions, who continues. "Megalomania." He says. "Since the psychic phenomenon isn't rooted in *emotion*, instead in *self-perception loops*, we're fairly sure that any access to resources is going to create exponentially-growing problems for larger peace."     "Describe the problems."     The Foresight manager puts a powerpoint up on the screen. "Recent-- Ahem. Recent developments in Elibe and in unstable regions of the Storm-Earth zone are *vulnerable*. If we can achieve peace in Elibe, he'll be the first one to cause problems in favor of draconic energy dynamics. If we can stall the Storm, he'll be the first to assume he can control it."     "You're suggesting we *attack* him here?"     "No. We'd cede a lot of social consensus."     "And we'd be abandoning the cause of our Institute."     "Director?"     "We don't just keep peace. We heal minds."     "Sir, he's--"     "Mutilated. We allow him to repair."     "But his megalomaniacal--"     "So that we can *heal* him, afterwards."     ---     Unlike Shockwave, the man's emotions are unsuppressible. There's a shift to his posture when he sees Shockwave's obsession, and his heart beats faster. His heart? Well, the replicant bio-construct around his artificial body beats the heart faster, anyway. His stone brain crackles softly, but he tries to calm himself a bit. "I've been there." He says, empathetically towards the one who will least receive it. "The thirst for knowledge, I mean. So, ah. Best done without damage! It's," He says carefully, "Pretty inefficient, for anyone to get anything done with damage. The Citadel might be gone, but there's plenty of mechanics around Sector Zero I'm sure the Combaticons gang can connect you with."     A path of least resistance to minimal hazard-exposure. Right? Flamel is hoping things will stay calm. Something gets on his mind though, and he winds up tilting his head...     ---     "But even still." The Director says. "We have to check."     ---     "...And if you don't mind." He says. "It'd probably help if I decontaminated you. Make sure there's no hazardous data. Looks like you can handle just about anything, but no guarantees about everyone else." He holds out one of his heavier, more pitched-whining handheld machines, as if he were offering to scrub radiation off him. Although Shockwave's mind is utterly impossible to pierce, Flamel responded to this because of some type of info-hazard. It looks like he'll want the bot cleaned of possible cognitive hazard before he goes.
Petra Soroka	"Many have attempted to direct my activities."     The back of the Beauty of Ash splinters and spikes up, like a hostile cat, as it arches up to the full height of its limbs. The telepathic output, sounding like needlepoints and static in the back of your mind, pitches up in evident alarm.     <Hey-heyyy! It's alright! We're not fighting! All the weapons are down, and we're talking with Shockwave here!> "Stand down, Bruticus. Your status is recognized."     Now Petra's much shorter than Bruticus, unfortunately. The mech crawls around like a small housepet, singular glowing eye peering up at the exchange between the two Cybertronians. "Psychokinetically projected."     <And the Beauty of Ash.> After being scanned and having her properties said out in the open like that, it's only polite for Petra to introduce her mech too. 'Dicks are irrelevant' makes the Silver tail of her mech shiver with suppressed laughter, contorting into weird angular shapes. The telepathic responds *sounds* like she's on the verge of giggling too.<No, it's just kind of small.> "After a cursory examination of multiversal databases, your existing factions are bureaucratically ineficiente, lacking wholesale Direction or purpose."     Oh, this is such a good track for the conversation to take, actually! Petra can't imagine that elaborating on the gruesome downfall of the Confederacy and following total societal rejection of everything to do with it or its former partner faction would help anything much at all, much as she could belabor on the ruins around the Maw of Tyrants. Instead, she can try to put this guy towards a productive future.     Really, Flamel's analysis of Shockwave makes him easier to understand, not less. Overly emotional Elites aren't *more* recognizable as people like her just because they have confabulatory tantrums or arbitrarily believe in different things each day. The Beauty of Ash straightens up onto two feet, bipedally still, like, waist height to Shockwave, at best.     <That's not really true, actually! It might look that way from the outside, but the Concord's bureaucracy actually exists for one specific reason: enabling the Partners' missions with as little friction as possible. All the Elites of the Concord are people who are driven to their own personal, extremely important missions, and everything complicated just exists to support that.> "I ... desire ... to KNOW."     Okay, so Petra can't really isolate any particular actionable goal out of those things Shockwave stated. She can't imagine what... things he actually wants to know? But just going by his tone, she gambles and the arms of her mech fold in front of its chest.     <Actually, I'm a scientist myself.>
Powerpuff Girls	"Well maybe don't feel bad about everything, Petra." Buttercup asides, late to reply, late to consider, having floated around the middlepoint of the Beauty of Ash, near the jumble of 'Petra' inside the photons. It makes her 'short' relative to Petra's point of view, but she doesn't avoid that - or obviously doesn't care. With 'negotiations' continuing, Buttercup floats back up to a lazy air slouch, leaning on the sharp shoulder of the Beauty like it was a convenient ledge or railing and not a piece of a robot after it ceased its defensive posture and took up a more creature-coded posture. "You'll hurt the part of you that knows when it stops, and you'll just be a fish in that water. And then Bubbles will give you sad fish talks." Bubbles, with her super-hearing, gains a little curl to her smile while facing the other way, palm on Bruticus' gunbarrel. The open question about what would happen if the combined Combaticons were to pull their particular trigger and make Bubbles prove the kind of invulnerability she had - or if Shockwave would make her prove similarly - is left unanswered more emphatically with every passing second. Talking continued. The process of understanding begun! "We, broadly, represent a cross-section of the groups of the Multiverse! And, it sounds like an incredible span of time has passed." Bubbles works through, not worrying about the lack of understanding on what the Powerpuffs were. It was hard to explain! "So as far as your needs, the way out of this bunker is open, and if there's still a society you can connect with, we can go on not directing you!" "The reason and research and gun-lowering all around is a real good sign, of course." Buttercup unhelpfully adds, looking down at herself. "Yeah, probably plenty of carbon in 'everything nice'." She mutters, scoffs warmly, then looks back up. 'Petra, Partner of the Concord. Dicks are irrelevant.' And immediately drags a long nasal chuff at her corpsing at the return towards Petra's introduction. "And you heard it here first, huh." She jokes. Bubbles, still using super hearing, drops a just-loud enough "Oh, definitely not *here* first." Then, Buttercup fully bursts out laughing, incapable of denying that one. Relieved from sisterly snarking for a moment, before Bruticus disassembles, Bubbles pat-pats the massive supercannon arm in her pushing - even if that means it gives up some space, and turns head into the combiner. "Thank you for listening. And for showing, both. I think it was all important!" She admits, and then floats down as the Combaticons pull themselves apart again, hands folding behind back as she lets the Cybertronian team leader talk.
Flamel Parsons	<Archaic energon guzzler.> Depthcharge thought.     Flamel cants his head just slightly at the stray thought. It's easy to see him listen to sounds that aren't there. Classic telepath. So this sort of tension among Decepticons isn't just within the Combaticons alone, but outside... While Shockwave's immune to telepathy, he can at least use the surroundings to judge tendencies.
Chuyao He	Organic familial connections unresolved. Explain.     "This is considered a polite way to refer to a man much older than the speaker, in my state of Song. If uncle Shockwave does not care for this form of address, he need only say so." Chuyao inclines his head respectfully. I desire to KNOW.     "Splendid!" Chuyao exuberantly exclaims, nodding fervently. "Truly splendid. Alas, if only there were more in the Multiverse who hold such a love of knowledge. Nevertheless, I, Chuyao He, the scholar of the late generation, am pleased to answer what I may. To begin with..." He clears his throat.     "This lowly scholar would argue that each of the three major factions has their own motives and methodology, different from the battle for primacy which you likely remember."     "The Commonwealth, which we Paladins serve, seeks to preserve true peace, equity and prosperity for its people. It does so through ensuring that the voices of the common people are heard and given due weight. Membership in this Commonwealth is earned by deeds, not presumed by association. Many worlds which once held membership in the Union are seen as too repressive to be allowed into the Commonwealth."     "We of the Paladins are not a standing army, or constables, but resources to be called upon--even by non-member worlds. We are expected to be circumspect in our dealings, to consider not only their effect but how they may be seen by the common people, whose representatives spare no expense in equipping us for success. It is inefficient and slow compared to the forceful path, perhaps, but this is like saying that black powder is better at tilling soil than a hoe." Groups have popped up all over now that they can research something other than how to kill each other.     "Indeed! This is truly a golden age of knowledge." Chuyao affirms brightly, nearly bouncing on his heels. "In the Paladins alone," He says, gesturing with a gentle sweep of his empty hand between himself and the other Paladins present, "We are able to call upon experts in various sciences, healers of various disciplines, and laborers suited to many manners of emergencies."     "The Concord, which values the exceptional over the common person, and strives always for excellence in all things, no doubt has a formidable array of experts to call upon, as well." Actually, I'm a scientist myself.     Chuyao shakes his head, smiling. "Junior sister Petra is very humble. This lowly scholar will note that she is most talented at creating complex machines, and despite her excellence in this field, she still seeks a well-rounded education, pursuing literature and music. Truly, an inspired student."
Shockwave	Shockwave looks to Ultraman Geed and his optic flares again. His voice drones out monotonely, "Peace? Peace stagnates development. Breakthroughs are created through urgency of conflict. This is objectively a statistical fact." If there had been a face, it might have sneered. Instead, the optic dims a moment. At the attempt to calm him down, he states resolutely, "The Cybertronian Senate cow-towed me into who and what I am. I do not resent. I am ultimately more efficient as I am now. Tolerance to further manipulation of my activities is unacceptable. Nevertheless, you are correct. I am incomplete. I require no location to regenerate. Only time." His posture does not change, still forward-facing, though there is no further change, no exposure of change. As weapons were reached for, he does not display if he sees it. Of course it is registered. Nevertheless, his head turns finally to the voice introducing. "Dame Commander Lilian Rook - Paladins - 0-5 commission - legacy rank: Colonel. Subsequent titles irrelevant." To the questions regarding his connection to Bruticus and the Combaticons, he turns his optic to Bruticus briefly, but offers no reply. Instead, "Yes. The rigid military structure of the previous superfaction was aligned with my objectives." He observes Regulus, noting the tension in the biometric scanners of his hardware. The nervousness is noted. He reiterates: "Dicks are irrelevant." But there is something in his tone that is not ... quite ... monotone. "Acquaintance with APPLe is queued as ... interesting." Back to Lilian, "Negative. Your views of my requirements are narrow and bespeak of inability to parse intent. I do not require scientists. I require knowledge." The octagonal head turns upon Petra, faceless, unknowable, listening. "Incorrect." That is the only word replied to the description of the Concord and the way it functions. "Lacking structural consensus and desire towards common goals removes pressure to accelerate research to reach conclusion. Statistically, individual motivation stagnates. Competition, comparison, and friction, even against institutional regulation, increases progress throughput. Reiteration: Bureaucratic inefficiency." Shockwave regards the diminutive Onslaught for a moment and then states, "Size matters little. Mass reduction results in population increase due to increased spatial allowance, thus increasing energon usage for increased spark-consumption." The surface thought is not picked up on. If it had been spoken? There might have been enlightenment. Instead, he glances across the Combaticons and states, "Query unanswered regarding the state of Decepticon affairs. Query to be established again at a later, convenient moment." The sudden uptick in heartbeat is 'heard', registered, and Shockwave looks immediately at Flamel. "If the Citadel is eradicated, then its existence and any subsequent aftermath is irrelevant. The relevance correlated with organizational cohesion." Then came the words of decontamination. The device was lifted. It was analyzed instantly. And then his voice intoned, "...You may try. Though you will not succeed in anything meaningful." Shockwave did not register a threat. Then to the girls, Shockwave canted his head only so slightly as it turned, his optic bearing upon them. He listens to the rhetroic. Registers they name themselves some so-called mediator. The idea was absurd to Shockwave. He does not engage. He watches all unfolding, the attempt at diplomacy, but he detects a certain level of insincerity, perhaps snarkiness. "Indeed. The exit is open. It shall be used." He listens to Chuyao's explanations, attempt to defend the political landscape, to 'sell' it to Shockwave, who merely reiterates, "Inefficient. Pursuit of knowledge and scientific breakthroughs only occur within a friction landscape, even competing against peers seeking similar pursuits. In a vacuum, stagnancy and contentment reign, and thus no hunger to progress." To the entirety of the group, he finally steps back and powers down his cannon. He had lowered it, and it h
Shockwave	Shockwave To the entirety of the group, he finally steps back and powers down his cannon. He had lowered it, and it had indeed lost its earlier charge, but now all power levels registered as negligible. He was still not complete, still regenerating. "...Leave me. In one cycle, I shall make contact for further information." He cast a lasting cycloptic look on Onslaught for longer than might seem couth before he turned away and began moving towards the quarantine terminal once again. Signals had been established now that the blast doors were open. And oh... was he listening.
Lilian Rook	<No, it's just kind of small.>     Lilian starts choke-laughing at the utterly inane inside-joke. "Shot off in the war."     <That's not really true, actually! It might look that way from the outside, but the Concord's-->     "Oh my god, here we go." Lilian says, already rolling her eyes. Still, there's definitely like zero percent chance she can recruit this guy into the Paladins, right? Would they even want a Confederacy . . . war hero? Mad scientist? The optics can't be great, right? Surely it looks very bad on her to just let a Concord asset try to snatch talent right in front of her, but that's a problem for future Lilian.     <Actually, I'm a scientist myself.>     "No you're not." Lilian groans, only half-serious. "You're a roboticist. You don't study anything. Not outside of interwar poetry and classical literature at least." She's splitting hairs and she knows it. Petra is always researching some weird new thing that caught her fancy. "The Kepler thing doesn't count." Lilian says, one-quarter committed at best. "I'm a scientist. You're more of a mad genius inventor sort."     'Oh, definitely not *here* first.'     "Oh god. It just keeps getting funnier. Please." Lilian whispers the words and subvocalizes the laugh.     From there, she seems pretty content to leave it in Chuyao's hands. He has a soothing, mature presence, and a lovely way of speaking politely and respectfully to everyone he meets. She even watches him fondly while he does.     'Indeed! This is truly a golden age of knowledge.'     "Isn't it just?" Lilian says, only just now forming this opinion for the first time. "Between Laplace Scientific Computing Center, Sapient Heuristics, Saoirse HTO, the R&D division at Trídéag, and a certain private circle, I feel as though I'm swamped in ten times as much research as active duty." She pauses, thoughtful. "It's lovely, actually. Studying psychic powers, alien paradigms, supernatural bloodlines, prehuman history, interstellar civilizations, strange and unimaginable dimensions . . . I thought I'd have to throw that away for the military."     ". . . You know, Petra has a point." Lilian says, after a comically long and transparent pause.
Lilian Rook	'Nevertheless, you are correct. I am incomplete.'     There we go! Big man to big man communication! Peace on planet Earth!     'Yes. The rigid military structure of the previous superfaction was aligned with my objectives.'     "Is that so?" Lilian says. She curls her fingers under her chin, resting her head at a slight angle, genuinely curious. "I struggle to imagine how a 'rigid military structure' is a particularly useful framework for understanding the Multiverse. The necessities of war sort of demand that your research stays focused on 'winning', doesn't it? What couldn't you gain by working with a proper research association?"     'I do not require scientists. I require knowledge.'     That makes her frown a little. "How do you think people get that knowledge? If all you want is a political primer, walk out those doors and you'll get it from any old Multiversal news source. If you want to know what happened to the Union and the Confederacy, though, scientists are still studying it."     'Competition, comparison, and friction, even against institutional regulation, increases progress throughput. Reiteration: Bureaucratic inefficiency.'     'In a vacuum, stagnancy and contentment reign, and thus no hunger to progress.'     ". . ." Lilian's hand falls away again. "Mm. No. Never mind. I think I've begun to understand."     '...Leave me. In one cycle, I shall make contact for further information.'     "Fine. Get well, have fun, be yourself." Lilian sighs.
Riku Asakura	'Breakthroughs are created through urgency of conflict.' "Well, you're not wrong that war and conflict CAN make innovations happen on a shorter scale, but if you think about it, it doesn't really happen.  Think of all of the destruction a war causes; it destroys more infrastructure, kills potential developers, and eats up money that goes to war that could go to developing things." Ultraman Geed disagrees with Shockwave.   Though internally, Riku was concerned that this might be a bad idea to let out a person whose identity is so wrapped up in war and conflict.  On the other hand, keeping him locked up wasn't any better.  Maybe they can reason with him before he does anything regrettable?   Riku sure hopes so... Though it does appear he needs just time to repair, so that's... good.  "Alright, well... if you need help, don't be afraid to ask." Though then he asks them to leave, he also says something interesting.  "How long is a cycle?" He looks towards Onslaught; maybe he'd know?
Flamel Parsons	Flamel gets to work. It emits all of the weeeeewooooooooooeeeeeeeoooooooeeeeee you've come to expect from a tool in the hands of a man in a bright yellow hazardous-materials suit. But when it goes over Shockwave's lower leg, the only area Flamel can reach without floating, it suddenly turns to soft, rhythmic clicks. Click, click, click... Flamel mutters softly, "Jeez, you weren't kidding." He rises into the air, levitating psychically, to try to draw it over the rest of his body.     Click. Click. Click. Click. Flamel tenses up. There's not even background infohazard. Shockwave's contaminant level might be lower than Flamel's; did the quarantine keep him in or keep the hazard out...? Something about this situation has him *locked in*. The way he squeezes the tool makes the thick plastic of his gloves creak.
Petra Soroka	"Size matters little."     Petra stifles another laugh, Silver tail shivering. Much more to Lilian and the Puffs than to Shockwave, she exclaims, <That's what *I'm* saying!> "I require knowledge."     Now Petra's been gassed up enough by Lilian and Chuyao that she's *invested* in the pitch, rather than just making it as a peace offering. The Beauty of Ash's diamond-shaped head tilts up, eye to meet Shockwave's eye, and it adjusts its posture for the longer drawn out conversation.     <Well, dog, if you want a wikipedia article, I'm pretty sure they existed fifteen years ago too. Knowledge isn't just waiting out there to be passively discovered; everyone who searches for it is a scientist. Laboratories, expeditions, engineers, whatever, but it's all towards that same end.>     The razor-tipped arm of the Beauty of Ash gestures around, landing on its hip with a squeal of glass on glass. <Conflict is the only thing that drives any kind of progress, whether it's scientific, personal, or political. The reason for the Concord is to put all of our missions in contest with each other, against each other and the entire world, to forge them in that crucible to become better or die. My whole reason for being a Partner is to fight my way into improving.> "...Leave me. In one cycle, I shall make contact for further information."     In response to Shockwave ending the conversation so succinctly, the Beauty of Ash lowers back down onto all fours. She's pretty pleased with how that went, overall. If leaving Shockwave alone causes him to burst free of this underground containment chamber and wreak havoc on Cybertron, that's frankly not her problem for the next twenty four hours.     <You've got it, big guy. Given your skillset, I think you'll know where to find us.>     The mech trots over to Lilian, limbs tik-tik-tikking on the ground. It lowers down its head and forelimbs as if kneeling, to make it easier for her to climb back on for the way out.