| abstract | - Bandit lies on a table with wires hooked up to his frame. Apparently while in his sleep cycle he is undergoing various sets of testing. Rather extensive testing at that... Switchblade seems to be laying on a medical table, being lazy at the moment. Yet he stares at his left arm the entire time. "Damn Superion..." He says to himself, turning his hand to look at the back of it. His optics narrow, "Ill pay you back for this..." He clenches his fist, "Aerialbots, I swear that..." The late night has most Decepticons either on guard duty, border patrol, or recharging. From Fusillade's point of view, though, any time of the day is as good as any other to pursue her own interests. At the moment, she's resting her chin on one palm, lower lip poked out at the attendent as she flips through several sheets. "HEXTUPLET? Are you kidding me? How about I bring this back tomorrow?" She copies an electronic version to her personal holo-foil data padd, and after stowing it, takes considerable pleasure into tearing the offending papers into strips as she stalks through the open-access areas. Switchblade then shifts, as he moves to sit up. He pulls the recharging cables from his form. "Im getting tired of waking up in the fraggin' ward." He grins, and jumps off the table, "Though, atleast I prove myself..." He says with a satisfied tone, as he scans the latest report. Though it isn't long, that he stifles himself, as his optics spy over at Fusillade. "Well well, look who it is..." He says in a louder tone, trying to get the bomber's attention. "Proven yourself?" comes a raspy, unpleasant voice, "Proven yourself foolish perhaps." Symphony appears to be perched on the ceiling, sitting in what approximates a cross-legged position for her unique frame. She looks 'up' at Switchblade as he mutters and babbles, a sour look on her face as she regards him. Razorclaw walks into the repair bay looking better than the last time he was in here. Still something odd about the way the predacon moves. Razorclaw stops and scans the room's occupants. A small nod to Fusillade and Symphony "Huh, you're actually in one piece," Fusillade's clarion alto echoes across the medical ward, although it's hard to tell if that's directed to the larger resting reverse-winged craft still on the table, or the smaller reverse-winged craft that's swaggering her her way. Raising her piercing yellow gaze up over the edge of the shredded paper to peer at Switchblade, Fusillade hnns to herself. "Proving yourself as WHAT is the question, Switchblade," she half-chides, half-teases. "So far, your bold moves have helped the Decepticons gain much. But don't let that go to your head. The repair bills might start piling up faster than your acco--" The response from Symphony cuts her off. Canting her head to the side, she murmurs, "Evening, Symphony. Might have something for you to do later, if you're willing. Need someone quiet and submersible." The relative quiet from Razorclaw almost causes him to evade detection from Fusillade, although the bold orange and gold frame does finally catch her optics. "How's the Congo Base doing these days?" Switchblade continues but then transforms, "Hmm, do I sense a spider..." His optics gaze up, as he looks to the ceiling. "Good to see you're up to your tricks again." His arms cross over his chest. "Though you're entitled to your opinions, I believe I was working in our best interest in trying to protect the Pyrite." He then turns his attention to Fusillade, "I do what I have to, to help our cause..." It is true, this small mech, no matter how unimpressive he looks, has achieved quite a record since he first arrived in NCC. Razorclaw growls a response "Quiet." The gestalt leader walks over to Switchblade "What Fusillade says is true. Remember, when I said you had potential? So far you have proven a capacity to dish out punishment and take some punishment. You have shown courage as well. However if you end up in here too often you might need to question the judgment with which you use that courage." "Indeed, you have achieved much. But what happens when you stumble... we -all- stumble eventually... and the realization sets in that despite your god complex... you are indeed just as fragile as the next mech." Symphony's tone is ice cold as she addresses Switchblade, "Your ego is unchecked, whether you admit it or not, it can be heard in your ramblings and musings. It can be heard in the tone, and seen in your walk. Mind your ego, for it will get you killed." with those words spoken Symphony brings her gaze 'down' to meet Fusillades, "Silent and submersible, mmm? You will have to elaborate, before I can express interest I think." she turns then and offers an actual genuine smile to the cat, "Hello Razorclaw." her tone switching from raspy and unpleasant to musical with a faint click. Bandit continues to be worked on. Data streams into the various computers hooked up to his frame. The med gumbies nod their heads as they study the streams of 1's and 0's. "I will transmit the mission requirements to you, as well as their context via secure transmission," Fusillade says evenly to Symphony's glacial response. "I cannot compel you in the same way that clear benefits to the Empire can." Resting one hand on her right wingblade's holster, she shifts weight to her left hip as she continues to scrutinize those present, her gaze flicking from time to time, anxiously, to the restricted area where Bandit is recovering. Glancing upward to Razorclaw, she nods sharply. "Africa HAS been quiet. Perhaps it's time to make the most of its resources, bring them back here. There are still standing orders for us to get cobalt, steel, and nickel." She is standing about midway through the public rows of tables, whilst Symphony continues to lurk about the rafters. "God complex, I beg to differ." His arms slowly lower to his sides, "I do not put myself unto a pedestal, I merely do what I have to. Indeed, I do pride myself upon my actions, but I do not allow that to cloud my judgement." Switchblade taps his chin with his fingers, creating a small grinding noise. "Whenever I enter a mission, I do so like a soldier, merely trying to complete it..." Yet he stops, as Razorclaw did ask, more to the point, order him to still his tongue. His optics spy the Predacon as he makes his way into the room, offering him a quick nod. "Pleasure to see you again, it's been quite some time." "So you claim." is all Symphony says in response, her tone clicking to the raspy nails on chalkboard tone once more as she effectively dismisses Switchblade's objections, "You can shield the truth even from yourself, if you so desire. But the truth still lurks in your tendencies and words... heed my warning Switchblade, and do not allow yourself to travel the path of oblivion." with those words she turns her attention away from the mech. She can see her former self in him all too clearly, she remembers what she was like at that time... Her attention now goes back to Fusillade, "Only my lord and his brethren compel me, as you well know. Anything that will benefit him will be given highest priority in my routine stacks." she then throws another warm smile towards Razorclaw, curious as to what he has to say about africa. Catechism was out of the medical ward in a trice as soon as she was cleared to leave. It's with wobbly steps that she returns. Catechism has had headaches before, but this is ridiculous. Catechism can barely see straight, for the little green men with jackhammers in her head. She clamps a hand over one optic, and piratical and as drunken-swaying as one, surveys the medical ward. Arrr...gh. Fusillade sits back against the edge of one of the tables, jabbing in a few notes as she compiles the relevant information, discards some of the more sensitive design plans, and generally gets the message ready to send to Symphony. Razorclaw nods at Symphony in regard to Africa being quiet and ripe for the raiding. "Maybe we have been going at this the wrong way..." The Predacon leans on the wall with arms folded. "Whenever we raid we go out in force. We arrive, terrorize, seize and leave. Somewhere along that M.O. the Autobots have a tendency to show up and cause problems as well as injuries. We need to be more subtle. We could raid some mines in Africa. Say...stealing 1 container per mine. We spread the theft across one month. When suspicions arise we fade and work another angle for a while. Let the heat die down, then we go at it again. Slow and methodical, stealthly and swiftly." "That, my dearest Razorclaw, is why we need a fully functioning DCI. Not this hamstrung creation that's entrusted to the braindead Military Commanders." Symphony comments, "I do so hope that as I proceed forward, I am able to wrest it back from the fools and restore it to it's proper position of glory and skill." a rather random rant that seems, though she continues into a more pertinent vein, "But as to your suggestion, that is wise. I would suggest a two man team for each raid, moving quickly and quietly using whatever cover is available. If we're spotted, it hardly matters, we'd be gone before a reaction could be launched." "I believe that there is something going on about that quick Bot responses. It seems they know what we're up to, and are able to arrive quicker than normal." Switchblade turns his head to the side, thinking to himself, "Regardless, it seems we were able to aquire enough of the needed materials for our little project." He keeps his voice down, almost as if he doesn't trust everyone in the room. Maybe or maybe not, but regardless, he isn't giving out all the details. "Anyways, I need to hurry back out to the field once all my repairs are done. I believe I have some Aerialbots to dismember...." Bandit remains silent. His optics dim, his body completely still. The data streams forth like a river. From the reactions of the medical technicians, the process seems to be just about complete. Symphony turns her attention away from the conversation at hand to comment idly in Catechism's direction, "Tsk, just restored from a near death experience, and already getting drunk." she shakes her head and sighs, "Hello, Catechism." Catechism isn't actually drunk, but the way she trips over the threshold, she should be. The only way being this clumsy is ever worth it is ten rounds of Josetron Cuervo. There is no scent of hard energon about her... just the faintest lingering scent of acid. She gazes at a lamp post behind Symphony and greets, "Oh hello, Soundwave, sir." Razorclaw straightens his posture now that he finished a quick self-diagnostic to see where he is really standing. "Exactly. A possible twist would be to send two two-mech teams in different location. That way even if by some miracle one team is discovered. The other one will make off with 100% of the target resource. If all goes well, we double the rate at which we accumulate the said resources." "I have no authority to authorize such a thing, but I would suggest the Predacon's and myself go to work on this. Initiative is often rewarded, so long as it is not accompanied by ambition." Symphony states before her optics flicker through a weird color barrage, "Ah, the details, pardon me for a moment." the shield that is built into her head closes over her face as she accesses her internal database to view a new message. Switchblade just listens to all the conversations, just staying out of them for the time being. His optics turning to each person as the speak up. His rubs his left arm again, feeling to make sure it's still there. He then looks at his palm, and opens it. "I do hope that will work out..." He says to Symphony and Razorclaw. Razorclaw chuckles "No reason why it should not work. The plan is solid, if executed properly with people who can stick to the plan we can pull this off." Symphony's tone comes cold in response to Switchblade, "It will be a far more effective tactic than trying to use a sledgehammer. Too long the tactics employed in resource gathering have been focused on bludgeoning, now we draw forth the stiletto, and aim to stab for the heart." the mask snaps open as she finishes reviewing the message she received before glancing to Razorclaw, "We should approach the Emperor in regards to these tactics, making it clear that standard raids should continue, else suspicion will rise much too quickly." Clack. Clack. Clack. Barrage's footsteps herald his arrival, and he pauses in the doorway, overhearing the last bit. "Did someone mention raids?" he rasps. "I need something to shoot anyways..." Yeah, speaking of bludgeoning... Catechism is tripped out on the floor. She crawls to her hands and knees and finds that the room has doubled since she took that floor dive. Catechism pulls herself into a sitting position and curls up, a quivering ball of wings and guns. The lights seem to shimmer and seethe like a nightclub. Sounds come to her far too shrill, like tiny picks stabbing into her audios. "Sometimes a bit of force is required to achieve victory, flitting from shadow to shadow I will admit works well. Though Galvatron probably won't agree to such a use of valuable troops." Switchblade then grins, "Plus, you got me all wrong Symphony. If you look at how I had to deal with Briar, Im sure you will note my deception, under the cover of acting like a friend." He shrugs, "Anyways, I do hope the soldier to get the brunt of the Autobot's attack, is up to the challenge..." He says this lightly, since it could be the Predacons that encounter them. Symphony's optics flare red as the femme drops rather abruptly from the ceiling, a burst of bright blue propels her to within inches of Switchblade, "Your ego is speaking again. You assume that my words were directed at you specifically, -that- is the foolishness of which I speak. You would be wise to talk less and listen more." she's gone again, vernier thrust landing her next to Catechism, next to which she kneels and - despite her nature - seems to show genuine concern, "Elite Catechism, you are not functioning properly. Do you require medical assistance?" The black seeker's optics flare to life as the data collection is complete. His fingers begin to twitch and yet the rest of him remains motionless. The medical technicians begin to take the various probes and other wires off of him. The last probe hooked up to his neural processor is pulled out with a click. Fast as lightning, Bandot's arm reaches up and grabs the technician by the throat. "Ya nee paneemayoo" The med-tech shudders "S-S-S-Sir !?!?" He clenches his grip tighter "Mne eta ne nraveetsa" The med-tech's neck begins to crush under the pressure "Siiir!" he states and the seeker throws him off and rises from the table. "Stay out of my head!" he demands, uncharacteristically. Razorclaw turns his head towards Barrage and back to Symphony "I think we found a volunteer to continue the standard routine." The predacon commander smirks behind his faceplate. "Do not be too hard on him Symphony. Perhaps this will be a good occasion for Switchblade to learn the finer aspects of strategy and stealth." Barrage blinks as Bandit manhandles the tech. Then he shrugs. Oh well, not his problem. He cocks his head at Razorclaw, and rasps, "Can I collect him after he gets torched a few times? Better me than Chopshop, after all..." Take a moment to glance over some armory inventory, and the world goes to hell. Fusillade glances up to see Catechism operational, albeit on the floor, Symphony somewhere else other than the ceiling, and an Insecticon trouncing in looking for destruction. Well, at least Bandit, Switchblade, and Razorclaw were her anchors of sanity -- wait, scratch Bandit, who has joined the others in loopy-land. "Well, in theory, I can do what I want with you right now, Switchblade, given Blitzwing's orders." Fusillade grumbles something about punishment duty, before blurting out a 'HEY!' at the spastic resurrection. Casting a dubious glance at first Catechism, then Bandit, she utters a curse. Jabbing a finger in Catechism's direction, she says, "Let's get her into containment." Flicking that very same card that she supposedly returned to Fulcrum, she wedges herself into the door, bellowing for others to clear the way. Switchblade grins behind his faceplate as Symphony gets infront of him. Yet, he returns his answer to Razorclaw, "Im up for any mission..." He stops as there seems to be problems with Bandit and Catechism, He keeps quite for the time being, since he really doesn't know how to appraoch this. "YOU! My PROPERTY for now, yes, YOU. When I say get her in here, I mean YOU. And be gentle." Fusillade bosses to Switchblade, indicating Catechism. Vortex wanders into medical, heading towards the restricted zone. "So show me the insanity." Catechism curls in a little tighter at the mention of 'her'. Yes, that's her. She is she. It's not the heat death of the universe, where everything in not black, not cold, but so uniformly the same that she cannot tell where she begins or ends or even if she exists. It's the medical ward, still and again. It's a little chilly, but it's not snowing curious static-snow in liquid air. It's not Russia. It's the medical ward, in crisp angles and fluid blue, familiar as the stars are strange. Razorclaw idly points back to Vortex. Switchblade narrows his optics rebelliously at Fusillade, but, he knows what will happen if he disobeys and order. Following suite, he walks over to Catechism. Reaching down, he tries to gain some control be taking her into his grasp. "Calm down..." He says, in a mock attempt to bring her back to their world. Yet, as he does this, he keeps himself observant, because the moment she would lash out, he'll pull away. Symphony speaks again, "Catechism, can you hear me." why is Symphony so concerned anyway? She usually takes virtually no interest in another's suffering, unless it were to enjoy it. Her optics have rolled to orange as she tries to get a response from the Elite warrior. Vortex smirks. "I mean besides me." He heads over to Catechism. "What do you see?" he asks. Barrage shakes his head. "Could be worse, I suppose." He promptly moves to the wall and leans against it... pausing before starting to rummage through an ammunition bin. "Hnnh, type five, type five... where th' slag are the type threes..." Ravage pads into the medical ward, beaten up from his fight. He shows laser burns, ripped open paneling, and burns. It looks like he's been through hell. Catechism yanks away from Switchblade, who is most certainly not a component of the nice, familiar medical ward. She sends herself sprawling back on the floor. Catechism glances at Vortex, and says, quite clearly, "I see a fair-weather friend. Can't you see the sun above your head? You hide behind it whenever clouds come." And insanity is pretty easy to find. Fusillade's snarling out orders to those quite unused to taking them, while Catechism writhes on the ground. Bandit has the tech by the neck behind the plascrete shielding. Fusillade herself is wedged in the threshold of the usually restricted access area, before palming the card. She scowls a bit, and then kicks a bin over and uses it to take her spot in the open doorway. Several timers are tripped, causing warning klaxons and lights to begin splashing the walls with amber light. "BANDIT!" Fusillade barks out, as the tech goes flying. She skids to a halt in front of him to halt him from any attempts to lurch out of the room. Snapping out one hand to clutch at his wrist, she tries to stall him as she turns her helmet to glare over her shoulder at the delays. "GETTIR IN HERE ALREADY!" Maybe the voice will jog something in one or the other's misfiring psyches. Vortex quite suddenly seems spooked. As someone who has been cored once before, the idea of coming back insane is quite distasteful. He came back just fine when he was cored. Yep. Just fine. He looks over his head. "Usually when a bright light's over my head I've made Blast off mad somehow and I end up in here. Fair weather friend? " He pauses. "I do not hide. Listen. I want you to talk to me. ride it out. Shut down when it gets too bad but..." he pauses. "Come to me. I've been there." He looks to the door, afraid. "I have to go. I will be back. Too many poeple." Razorclaw says, "If you will excuse me I need to exercise a bit to get used to my newest replacement parts." The Predacon commander is heading out. "I will contact you about a raid sometime this week Symphony." A small glance at the chaos and ponders briefly putting a stop to it predacon-style but would probably only aggravate the situation. Barrage pushes off from the wall as lights flash and things get crazy. Sighing, he draws his sonic blaster, charges it with a snap, and walks up directly behind Bandit as Fusillade distracts the other 'Con. "Okay, let's try it my way... Bandit, if you don't quit, I'm going to shoot you. And I've been itching to shoot something all day." Symphony just shakes her head and straightens, "Waste of time." she mutters, "Compassion is pointless." that sounds more like the Symphony everyone knows. The femme turns abruptly and stalks towards the door, leaving the scene of madness behind her as if she hadn't a care in the world. Switchblade moves over to Catechism again, and grasps at the mech, "Enough of this..." He says, doing all he can, to not resort to harmful actions. He attempts to urge her towards the restricted area of the medical ward, having quite a hard time with the larger femme. Bandit senses the approach of Fusillade, which on a normal day would be a pleasant surprise, but considering the situation and the abrubtness of her entrance and the grabbing of his wrist, his optics flare. "Ya khachoo yest'" he states just as he reverses the grab on his wrist, swings her down to the floor. His motions are swift and seem to be half wrestling and half martial arts in style. One of Fusillade's arms go behind her back, followed shortly by the next. With his legs he he arches her back, in what looks like some freaky camel clutch maneuver except that he holds her arms in place instead. As the black seeker straddles the totally surprised Fusillade he whispers "Shto vi pasavyetooeetye?" in her audio receptors as he tightens his grip. This is getting irritating. There are two madmen in the medical lab, and Ravage needs assistance. Since Bandit looks more dangerous than Catechism at the moment, Ravage leaps up onto the ceiling and digs his claws into it, inverting. The damaged Decepticon moves along the ceiling, his tail whipping back and forth, as he positions himself over Bandit and Fusillade. Catechism once trained with a dancer to improve her agility. He saved her life, oh, three times. She doesn't think she'll ever see him again. Perhaps he burned away, dissolved in a vast melting pot with all the familiar things. As Switchblade makes a grasp at her, and springs into a crouch and vaults backwards, touching down with her hands, and spinning back over to her feet. Fixing her gaze on a table behind Switchblade, she declares, "You and your Aerialbot buddies can just lay off. It's a Seeker-only art." Switchblade has had enough of this himself, Catechism isn't the only one trained in aerobatics. Flipping over her in a small flip, he turns around, trying to grasp the femme's wrists and pull them behind her back. To add, his moves his leg infront of her own, trying to keep her from eluding him any more. "Calm down, or I will /put/ you down..." He tries at a threat, maybe it will be enough to calm the maddened mech. Catechism isn't just trained in aerobatics. She's trained in ACRObatics. She can balance on a slackwire suspended thousands of feet in the sky on one finger without her antigravs on. Catechism hisses out, "I am calm. I was minding my own business, keeping to myself, but you and that *bomber* decided to make trouble. Now leave me alone, little man." She contorts inward and transforms. Catechism transforms into her alternate mode: a F-35, Marine Corps variant. Her feet flip up against her shins, her nosecone rotates through her body and out in front where it belongs, her arms tuck into her torso, and her wings rotate into position. The motion is deft, swift, and soon Fusillade emits a 'GURK' as her feet scrabble against the flooring. The only thing that pops into her mind at the moment is to get him to recognize her, somehow. Say something, yes, something RUSSIAN! Fusillade's face contorts into a gape, a combination of pain from the submission hold wrenching at her elbow and shoulder servos, and the effort of recalling it. The only thing she could think of: "Tochka opori! TOCHKA OPORI!" So. She's screaming a mech's name OTHER than the one currently atop her. There's a faint 'hey' as Catechism's insult filters in. And then, from that stillness, there's a mighty heave and buck from her to send the pair smacking against the edge of one of the tables. Barrage succeeds in grasping Bandit, throwing him off-balance. Switchblade ignores her little stab at his size, though he looks over at Bandit manhandling Fusillade. Right now he is much more a threat than the femme before him. His movements are quick, as he assists Fusillade in holding back the Russian mech. "I suggest something drastic!" He says, knowing that Bandit is probably much stronger than the two of them. His hand move forward to grasp and hold back the furious Decepticon. Switchblade misses Bandit with his grasp attack. Barrage sputters as Bandit starts wrestling with Fusillade. "Not fair, pal, there's no lube involved here!" As Fusi struggles, the gaunt Insecticon eels up right behind Bandit, wrapping an arm around his neck. His grip isn't terribly strong, but it doesn't have to be -- as his sonic gun is jammed securely against the side of Bandit's head, right up against the audiosensor. "You are really torquing me off..." He thumbs the sonic blaster to full charge, making a soft hum. "And everyone knows how I deal with that." F-35B ratchets back into her robot form and takes a few stumbling steps backward. So she's a bit shaky. It's not her fault that the world is spinning around her. It's move or be moved, and nearly dying is fairly moving. She watches as a kaleidoscope of Bandits and Fusillade play horsey, and she is seized by the terrible, horrible urge, and shouts, "Oi, tovarisch! How about a little more glasnost and perestroika and little less with the Iron Curtain, eh?" F-35, Marine Corps variant, transforms into robot form. Catechism's feet unfold, her arms unfold out of her body, her nosecone rotates through her body and ends up on her shoulders to expose her face, and her wings rotate into position. Bandit succeeds in grasping Barrage, throwing it off-balance. Bandit releases his hold on Fusillade as Barrage puts his weapon against the side of his head. In a flash, quicker than anyone should be able to move he whips around Barrage's back putting him in an full nelson. He motions to the camera's "You are forgetting that weapon will set off the...." Alarms begin to ring on cue. "Prasteete" he says as Switchblade makes a sad attempt at reigning him in. He returns to Barrage "Now you can let the internal defesnes be doing their magic..." He pushes the con away from him onto Fusillade, steering clear of the armed Decepticon, and from the internal defenses. Ravage unhooks his forepaws from the ceiling, and hangs down behind Bandit. He opens his jaw and extends the laser in his mouth. It hums to life, and Ravage doesn't say a word as he stares into the back of Bandit's head, the laser ready to fire. Catechism watches the sounds swim around her like sharks. She had hoped to maybe get some of that extra strength migraine medication here, but... perhaps out in the canyon, yes, where the river has died, a sacrifice to the sun. It's quiet there, and so very dark is night. She could find a cliff-side cavern and hole up in the cool of the shade, an eagle ground. It sounds nice now. A picture of no canyon that has ever existed on Earth set firmly into her mind, Catechism makes to leave her step sure although not smoother. Switchblade misses Bandit with his grasp attack. Barrage's optics flare. He forgot about that. And so after he lands on Fusillade (something he'd normally enjoy), he suddenly -- vanishes? Where'd he go? No, wait -- he's now tiny-insect sized as he scuttles under a table. "Crap crap crap!" Oh boy, everyone seems to be activating their weapons. Not a good thing, since that will set of the interal ward defenses. Switchblade looks at Bandit, and tries to push the Seeker into a table. Yet in all the chaos, he seems to miss, ramming his mid section to the slab of metal. "Ooofff..." He says in a whine. His optics shift, as he turns around. "Holster your weapon!" He says to Ravage, before the weapons lock onto him. "AH, SHI--" *blort-THOOM* The medical bay suppression systems discharge. The aim is pretty dead on to the Insecticon, but alas, his size change makes the discharge nail Fusillade in the left shoulder. With shudder and crackle of dissipating energy, Fusillade halts, sprawled on the floor, face frozen in a rictus. A tinny voice calls out from under one of the tables, "NICE WORK, BANDIT, YOU SLAGHEAD." Bandit watches as the supression cannons do their dirty deed and he makes his way out of the secured area and the med ward in general as if nothing ever happened. Bandit leaves the NCC Medical Ward for the NCC Arena to the west, a polished set of doors swishing behind him. Catechism wanders out. She may just end up in Arizona. But no one would have any idea where she might have gone. Catechism switches off its radio. Switchblade narrows his optics, as Bandit tries to make a break for it. The autoguns aren't aiming for him, but there is probably alot of crossfire right now. He busts for it, and runs down the hallway, trying to follow the Russian mech. "Get back here, Bandit!" He yells aloud, and thus begins to persue him. Rhinoceros Beetle hides under the medical table until the systems power down again. Then he scuttles out (still in tiny bug form) and makes for the door. As the med-bay defenses turn on, Ravage discharges a beam of energy at Bandit as he drops from the ceiling. The laser beam flies wide, and he hastily beats a retreat. There's no way to win here, as the systems blast at him. The quick panther dances between blasts, heading for the door. Ravage begins retreating, leaving itself vulnerable to parting shots from Switchblade, Catechism, Fusillade. --End--
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