Scene #419: Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Owner	Pose
Arcee	Another beautiful day outside Jasper. The desert's as quiet and empty as it gets. Aside from the bouncing of a windblown tumbleweed and the usual noises like bird calls or the bark of a coyote, there's just not much going on. The roads are pretty barren, too. Oh, there's the requisite beat-up pick-up rumbling along, and one or two eighteen-wheelers hauling some kind of load, but these are common enough to overlook as uninteresting, just like that road runner zipping into the brush. Seriously. Only one thing rates any attention out here, and she's cruising way over the speed limit, a streak of blue no human mechanic could hope to replicate. Engine buzzing, she flies down the twisting highways, taking every bend and bump with grace and style. It's almost beautiful, the way she overtakes her companions and leaves 'em far behind. Soon enough, she's the only one on the road -- well. She's got her rider, too. He's clinging to her back like he was born to do it.
Lockdown	No vehicle should be able to keep pace with the blue motorcycle, that much is obvious. At least, nothing that is human-made. There's a low throaty hum behind the motorcycle, one that is gradually drawing closer and closer. The source is a sleek black sportscar, the hood emblazoned with a Lamborghini badge. It's an unusual sight, particularly in a town like Jasper. Sportscars aren't a thing in Jasper. Pick-up trucks, old sedans, sure - but not Lamborghinis, not Lamborghinis that, in all their dark, low-riding glory, bring to mind nothing more than some sort of wheeled shark. It's fast, and still closing, and after a minute or so it might just occur to Arcee that it's not just moving on the same path as they are... ...but that it is following them, working to intercept them. When she zips, it zips. When she zags, it zags. Not enough to cause a commotion or draw immediate attention, but it's there. It slips past the eighteen-wheeler with ease, overtakes a utility - and then truly begins to accelerate!
Arcee	Arcee notices the hot-head pulling up behind her as soon as his headlights flash in her rear-view. "Looks like we've got ourselves a race." The wind may be whipping by and her engine screaming, but somehow her voice is still audible to her rider. "I'm going to play it safe and let him pass me. We don't need the trouble." Of course, as soon as Arcee starts to slow down, the Lambo does, too. Jack looks over his shoulder and scoffs his aggravated disdain. "He's trying to egg you on. Come on, let's just give him what he wants and leave him in our dust! There's no way he can keep up with you!" "Seems to be doing just fine so far." A similar aggravation can be heard in Arcee's voice, but her reason for feeling annoyed is different from Jack's. Jack has pride that's wounded easy, and he'd feel the need to prove himself better than this mysterious challenger. Arcee's just annoyed to find her easy patrol interrupted. "Hang tight, kid." The motorcycle's engine shrieks in warning before Arcee tears off at even faster speeds. Jack hunkers down behind her handlebars and half-shield, squinting from reflex behind the visor of his helmet. Letting out a superior, confident whoop, he flashes a rude gesture at the black Lambo -- "Jack!" Arcee scolds -- but once he realizes the sports car is having no trouble keeping up, his thrill starts to shift over to caution. "Arcee, we're not losing him. How can he move so fast?!" Jack steals another glance over his shoulder as Arcee banks hard enough through a curve to get her tires squealing. "Arcee! He's almost on top of us!" "I'm driving as hard as I can!" Arcee shoots back. Her own voice has gone tense. She can practically feel the Lamborghini's front bumper kissing her back tire. The heat from the sports car's engine smolders like dragonbreath. A bit closer, and contact will be made. "HANG ON!" Cutting over to the left lane, she puts on the brakes all at once, in an attempt to get the sports car to go racing right by. If he's just a human with an unusually souped-up car, maybe he'll get on his way once he feels like he's won. If he's anything else...
Lockdown	The answer comes soon enough. As Arcee weaves to the left and slams on the brakes, the black Lamborghini is just a fraction too slow to keep track with her. The brakes slam on with a deafening whine, and the Lamborghini slews to one side to try and match the maneuver - but it can't. It's fast, sure, but it's too big. And that's when the Lamborghini splits into a thousand pieces. Along every sleek line, every section of the sportscar, a thin line appears and everything becomes a section of armored plating. The entire vehicle comes to pieces, even as it slews in the middle of an aborted turn, smoke curling from its tires. It is obviously a Cybertronian transformation, all whirling ordered entropy, albeit much less elegant than Arcee's own, even before the arms and legs of the unknown Cybertronian come to life, kicking great chunks out of the asphalt so this black-armored giant can find purchase. He remains low to ground, glaring in Arcee's direction with green optics and a skull-like visage, almost bisected by a great scar over one eye. Slowly, with a certain sense of self-assured inevitability, Lockdown gets to his feet. As hectic as it had seemed, it's almost like this cybertronian figures it has all gone precisely as he had planned. He takes one slow step towards Arcee, cracking the road beneath his feet, and then another.
Arcee	Lockdown's form explodes and reshapes itself into an angular form unrecognized by Arcee -- unrecognized by her entire universe. Malice shines in his optics, and in the shuddering weight of his massive footsteps. "Jack..." Arcee's voice has gone hard, grim, serious. "...head for cover on my mark. Those rocks, to the right. Call home once you're there. I want you in a ground bridge as soon as it can be opened up, you hear me? Don't stay here, don't endanger yourself on my account. Optimus and the others will come for me. You can't stay here." For once, Jack seems inclined to follow orders without question. Lockdown's malevolent design inspires fear not only in Cybertronian hearts, but human, too. Shockwave was built to intimidate, and his single optic could make the staunchest soldier into a coward, but by now, he was almost familiar, almost /expected/. Lockdown looks like nothing Jack's ever seen before. It's so much easier to be afraid of the unknown... "You got it, Arcee." Jack swallows back a tightness in his throat as Lockdown takes another step forward. Arcee backs up slowly, three feet at a time, working her way into a better angle for Jack's escape. Lockdown's forward march will consume the distance between himself and Arcee in almost no time, but she intends to use every second she has to maximize her chance for survival. Only a few more inches -- "NOW!" Arcee's body expands and unfolds all at once into a sleek, feminine form armed by cannons already humming. Jack, vaulted from her seat by the transformation sequence, tears off to the rocks she pointed out to him, drawing his cell from his pocket as he goes. "I don't know who you are," Arcee snaps at Lockdown, doing her best to hold his attention, "but you're picking the wrong fight!" Jack skids across the sand, and slips his way into shelter. Arcee's barrels glow. "You get one chance to BACK OFF!" She might be smaller than Lockdown, but what she lacks in height she certainly makes up for in bravery.
Lockdown	Lockdown isn't too much bigger than her - there's not much mass packed in that Lamborghini. His height is approximately the same, but his build is stockier. More angular, meaner. As he advances, Lockdown rolls his head to the side. Left and then right, remarkably casual. "Little Autobot," Lockdown rasps, with a voice of dark velvet, "I /never/ pick the wrong fight. /You/ have one chance to tell me what I wish to know." As if to punctuate his point, Lockdown's left arm shifts from his forearm down and a wicked, curved hook snaps into place where his hand should be. He doesn't gesture with it, in fact, he makes no move to acknowledge it. That, in its own sense, makes the sudden transformation only the more unsettling. He doesn't give Jack a second glance.
Arcee	Yeah -- it's unsettling. Arcee holds her ground anyway. The barrels she keeps leveled at Lockdown keep steady, keening in preparation to let loose a barrage of heated energon. Arcee's optics narrow, becoming flinty, resistant, and a hard frown settles in. The hook holds her sole attention for no more than a beat. Who brings a knife to a gun fight, anyway? "Tell me who you are, and what you want, and I won't slag you here and now." His closeness creates a mounting sense of impending doom. Arcee finally concedes ground, taking a single step backwards. "Have you ever tried /asking/ for what you want, instead of trying intimidation? A few good manners go a long way, you know." Still a smart-ass, despite her apprehension. Or maybe it's /that/ which makes her mouthy! Jack, meanwhile, calls back to base, fighting against poor reception to get a message through to Ratchet. Spooling up an accurate ground bridge will take a few minutes, but if the warning gets through, it won't be long until Arcee has back-up...
Lockdown	When Arcee's optics narrow at him, there's the briefest expression across Lockdown's face, his lips pressing into a thin line that's barely the ghost of a grim smile. There's no humor behind it and less good will. And, as that expression passes, Lockdown is already moving. He takes a step, spins, whirling like a dervish, one arm thrust forward to strike out at Arcee. As he turns, however, it becomes clear that that first strike is a feint. In completing his spin, his hook comes whirling in from the side. It /hums/ as it carves through the air, seeking purchase within some gap in Arcee's armor plating. Who brings a knife to a gun fight? Someone who knows how to use it. "I have no more need to ask you for anything, Autobot," Lockdown spits, "Then you would need to ask /it/ for anything." It? Does he mean Jack? A few good manners? It seems like he could use /any/ good manners at this point!
Arcee	Arcee's no slouch in a fight, and hand-to-hand combat happens to be where she excels. As light on her feet as a twelve-foot-tall butterfly, she skips backwards in evasion of the feint, and ducks -- twisting right -- to dodge the hook's true path. What she makes the mistake of attempting is to simultaneously scoot forward and snap one of her arm blades across his gut. If she hadn't stepped /in/, the hook might have missed, but because she alters her positioning, she's left open to a gouging scrape along her flank. It hurts more than it should. "What is it you want to /know/, then -- if I can kick your tailpipe?! Because that's a guarantee already! And /it/ -- " Arcee bounces left and swings her remaining cannon around to fire a strafing shot across Lockdown's knees. " -- is my /partner/!"
Lockdown	Sparks fly as Lockdown's hook parts Cybertronian living metal with the ease of a hot knife through butter. He goes to step past Arcee, remaining in constant motion, as he whirls his hook above his head and goes to bring it down on Arcee's shoulder. Her arm blades clash against his abdominal plating, drawing bright sparks that contrast against the black armor there, but Lockdown moves with it, deflecting much of the force. It does drive him back, however, and his hook scythes through nothing but air. And still he keeps /moving/. Arcee might be reminded of an Earth saying, courtesy of Jack - the oak that bends with the wind doesn't break. Of course, that just means that you shoot it with an energon cannon. Lockdown's left knee explodes in a gout of flame, sending bits of shrapnel raining down over the highway. He stumbles, but only for a moment, as he goes to trap the arm that shot him in a firm hold, twisting both elbow and shoulder joint to disarm her! But perhaps, luckily, only in the metaphorical sense. His scorn is open and undisguised. "Partnership with the humans? You bring shame upon us all, no matter the universe!"
Arcee	Arcee lets out a yell as her arm's bent back into the kind of hold not even a contortionist could escape without difficulty. The gears and cables in her elbow joint shriek, hyperextended beyond recoverable angles, and the light in Arcee's cannon flickers out. The stronger joint in her shoulder fares better, but the plating around it cracks and bends. If she was human, she'd be left feeling sick, dizzied, and possibly in shock. Fortunately, an Autobot's got sterner constitution, but she's still in kind of a pickle. Pulled in hard against Lockdown, Arcee jabs her free arm straight up. It looks like she's just punching uselessly at the sky; Lockdown, however, has a considerably different perspective on the action. To his optics, Arcee's suddenly introduced the sharp, curving edge of her arm-blade to his faceplate. Simultaneously, she sweeps her leg back and behind his injured knee, and gives a rough jerk, trying to knock him off-balance. The double attack could cause him some pain; she at least hopes it'll get her free. "These /humans/ are some of the bravest and most capable creatures I've met in my travels -- and that includes other Autobots! I'm not ashamed to trust Jack, or to consider him my partner -- " If Lockdown falls, Arcee will whip around to try and capitalize, her arm blade lashing out as his hook-bearing wrist. Energon drips down her side in bright splashes, but this doesn't seem to keep her from moving as fluidly as she ever does. Somewhere nearby, a bright green spark appears hovering mid-air. It begins to rapidly expand, to form the gaping mouth of a stabilizing ground bridge...
Lockdown	She almost takes out an optic. Lockdown jerks his head back, a little snarl slipping past his lips. In fact, he has to throw much of his body back in order to avoid losing one of his optics. Arcee goes to sweep his injured leg and Lockdown falls. Almost impossibly, Lockdown twists in mid-fall, bringing one of his legs up to plant his two-toed foot against Arcee's middle and kick her back. He uses that momentum to avoid sprawling in a heap, hitting the road in more of a controlled fall. But he still falls. She whirls on him, just as he's recovering, and slashes out at his wrist with an arm-blade. She bites deep, and bright green energon sprays from the wound before auto-repair systems engage. He's no bruiser, not like Megatron or Shockwave, but he's slippery - like he's perfectly aware of how to leverage his own strengths against his enemies. He can't take a hit, so he bends with them, slips past them, and avoids getting hit. But he can hurt, he can bleed. Whoever this black-armored spectre is, he's not invincible. He pushes himself off the dirt with his good hand, hook folded in close to his chest, his elbow extended to try and piston into her solar plexus, beneath her spark chamber. He hasn't noticed the ground bridge, not just yet. Or maybe he thinks he can finish off his target before help arrives.
Arcee	"ARCEE!" The voice comes from the right, ringing out in distress as Arcee snaps in half over the flung elbow. A scrapper to the last, the hit doesn't exactly knock her out of the fight, or even prevent some minor retaliation in the form of a sudden sizzling streak of energon headed for Lockdown's face, but when she bounces across the pavement, limp-limbed and out of control, it doesn't look good at all. No wonder Jack's upset; no wonder he's running out from cover. A flash of yellow cuts across the desert sands and interposes itself between Lockdown and Arcee in the form of a larger Autobot spitting a wordless electronic jumble of noises that translates into a direct, bold challenge. Black cuts across his chassis in bold stripes, and though his limber form is 'muscled' compared to Arcee's, he's no less nimble, and no less a spitfire. His cannons are already warming. Dwarfing him is the roaring sound of a massive vehicle. Clouds of dust are kicked up under this thing's huge tired. Its dun green paint job evokes a military quality of not messing around. When the off-road vehicle transforms, it's into a hulking figure wielding two big wrecking balls in the place of fists. "You said it, 'Bee -- let's kick some tailpipe and get our girl home!" And behind /him/ strides the noble red-and-blue giant whose very presence is a significant force on any battlefield. Though more calm than his subordinates, he approaches with no less purpose, his faceplate shielded, his optics stern. Optimus Prime speaks to Lockdown without any fanfare or wasted words: "I would reconsider your actions before they become your last, stranger. We Autobots fight as one, and an attack on our own becomes an attack on all of us. You may leave now, or face the consequences." Arcee, for her part, gets back up on one knee, but she keeps a defensive posture behind the legs of her comrades, one hand on her stomach, the other arm limp at her side.
Lockdown	The moment Jack comes out of cover, Lockdown points his other arm - the uninjured one, the one that doesn't end in a hook - towards him, and from his wrist extends a two-pronged blade. "You think this concerns you, human?" Lockdown asks, "You are sorely mistaken." Lockdown's nose - or the closest thing to it on his gaunt facial plating - twitches. One, two, three more opponents. And one of them is- "Optimus Prime," Lockdown almost seethes at his presence, a reminder of the Prime he hasn't caught, the last insurgent he needs to bring to heel. He looks positively /surly/ at his appearance which is an abrupt change from casual arrogance. Still, he knows when he is beaten, and while his resources are considerable, this fight would be too much of a distraction from his real task. He takes one final look at Arcee and leaps backwards, onto his hands, and folds his bottom half into itself, shifting his angular black plates into a storm of whirling metal. And then Lockdown is gone, subsumed into the distinctive Lamborghini, already peeling off down the highway with the distinctive squeal - and smell! - of burning rubber. In moments, that is gone, too.