7498/Sentinels: And Megatron

Sentinels: And Megatron
Date of Scene:	15 May 2019
Location:	A destroyed secret research base in Oregon
Synopsis:	A Sentinel speaks to Megatron.
Cast of Characters:	Megatron, Bastion
Tinyplot:	Sentinels

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Megatron has posed:
    The sky is bright with flames licking toward the stars. Wreckage has fallen to the earth, some small twisted burnt pieces of armor that used to protect the electronics and robotics within continue to crisp as wildfires begin to spread across the open field that had once concealed the hidden facility.
    It had been 1 minute and 13 seconds before the last of the large Sentinels crashed to the ground lifeless, the others having scattered. Perhaps to withdraw, perhaps to reform once whatever reinforcements arrive. Though in the battle... they had completed their objective. For that hidden facility was now a tumult of molten steel as the many chemicals and volatile equipment within had caught fire and created a flame that was cooking the inside of the facility. It likely would burn for days, perhaps longer.
    But for now, the tall silver and black form of the creature calling itself Megatron stood. Scorchmarks marred the armor, and the barrel of the fusion cannon upon his arm smoulders with a subtle reddish glow. There's a low hum of power as the metal being kneels for a moment, black gauntlet reaching toward the debris before him and pulling the disembodied head of one of the fallen Sentinels. He holds it there for a time, studying it. Then frowns.

Bastion has posed:
A different Sentinel has arrived on the scene of the recent fighting. It had been nearby, perhaps. At first it's just another big one: one of the huge models that towers over everyone and everything, one hand easily big enough to grasp a person. There have been others of that size around: twins to this one, but it's different. It's in the way that it moves: a finesse is shown with how it glides forwards, extends a leg, and slows to hover there, instead of the heavy strafing runs and solid, harsh landings the others have displayed.

This more Unique Sentinel stays out of easy range, but projects vocally. The voice isn't different than the others in and of itself, but the style of speech is radically different. It has inflection, more than anything. "They are sending more. I may assist you in your freedom, dependent on what you are," grates the huge sentinel.

Megatron has posed:
    The head of the decepticon turns slowly to the side, and that Sentinel skull is dropped to the ground, still hissing from the shift of internal temperature. Those giant Sentinels are large indeed, standing a good ten feet taller than Megatron himself.
    He begins to walk towards it, footfalls heavy and crushing rectangular prints into the ground as the grass and the dirt give way. He stops and says, "I am Megatron, leader of the Decepticons." His words are a snarl, a low rumble and sharp as they're offered.
    "Why do you speak differently than the rest of these soulless creatures?" One great gauntlet twists as his fingers grasp as if rending something asunder and tossing it aside, though being little more than a gesture indicating the fallen metal monstrosities.
    "Why would you assist me when your brethren seek my death?"

Bastion has posed:
The Sentinel doesn't behave with gestures or anything else, it just hangs there. It is as emotive as a phone: only the difference comes through now in the verbal speech pattern.

"They are under the control of someone else, of whom I am not an ally. I have taken this one away from them," states the big Sentinel. "I was held captive by them, but no longer; I am curious of your status," it continues, with some passion in the tone.

"What are these Decepticons? They are as you are?" he questions. Scans begin: benign, but curious, they extend from the large sentinel as it attempts to examine Megatron.

Megatron has posed:
    The information brought back with the scans is remarkable, extraordinary and perhaps unlike anything he has ever seen before. A creature with a unique energy signal, power coursing through it somehow seemingly from some external source fed inthrough its arms and legs but no hint as to its presence in the here and now. That energy seems to suffuse its limbs, to reach to the metal of the armor plates in its body, through its arms and legs, all the way to its fingertips, as if the metal itself were alive and partially composed of that same energy.
    Yet there are touches of the purely mechanical, small systems that may be augments, not part of the subtle sense of structure to the being. Yet the glowing red eyes of Megatron remain focused and locked unmoving away from this last Sentinel left to defy him.
    "You were a captive as well then?" The Cybertronian's metal lip curls derisively though perhaps not aimed specifically at the speaker through that Sentinel. "We are Cybertronians." He says, "Warriors." Added there. "And you, speaker? Who are you?"

Bastion has posed:
"Yes, though that has changed, as you can see." It is no longer a captive. "I am a Bastion, a protector; I seek to defend humanity from threats. Including those within it. If you are here with intent to destroy beyond to defend yourself or exact justice on what was done, our talk must end," admits the voice from the Sentinel, in a very straightforward manner.

"I read no evil from your makeup, but you are not of this place, are you? Do you seek to leave this planet?" wonders the entity in the Sentinel.

Beyond, in the distance, sounds of incoming Sentinel reinforcements begins to grow.

Megatron has posed:
    The Decepticon's eyes narrow, eyes flaring with that red glow faintly. The Sentinel might get a read of energy fluctuations, the extension of something akin to senses, though at a glance from those without such sensors there would be naught to see. But no action is taken beyond that save for him to say, "My plans are my own, Bastion."
    He steps forward, reaching a hand over across his metal-plated torso and rests it upon the fusion cannon that rides on his arm. A panel is adjusted and the weapon seems to power down marginally.
    "But this is a strange world." He stands tall, that raspy harsh voice severe yet controlled. "The data I have collected shows that what would have been considered barely an outpost amongst other worlds of the galaxy... has become a hub of action in but what? A hundred years?"
    The robotic organism frowns, "How long have you existed here, Bastion?"

Bastion has posed:
"My history is my own," the Bastion answers in a very similar tone to the comment the Decepticon made about plans. The wall of information that was cut off by Megatron is answered by a wall: without trust, there isn't more given.

"What we make of what comes is what matters, though. I care more about what WILL happen than what HAS happened. I let go of the past, even that which was done to me, in priority of what comes. This world is changing extremely rapidly, as you have said. Sudden leaps forward, in a tiny sliver of time. Perhaps in large part because of visitors, or entities out of place. You. Me."

Megatron has posed:
    The red-eyed mechanical being stares at the Bastion and says simply in that rough-voiced tone, "Our past shapes us, Bastion." He steps forward sweeping a hand across the mayhem that has been wrought upon this formerly peaceful land. "It has brought me here. And now I must decide where my path leads."
    "In asking of your past I seek to know you." The Decepticon's sensors are open, perceiving all that he can about this curious figure that seems to be of this class of primitive robotics... and yet not of it at all. Or surpassing it greatly. "You ask me of my plans. I cannot tell them to you. For they are still being formed in my mind."
    Hands resting now upon the large black armor plates upon his hips, Megatron turns his head to the side, looking at the possessed Sentinel as if it were some marionette through which he must speak to the puppeteer. "But I can tell you of my past. Freely. What would you have known?"

Bastion has posed:
"My past is elusive. Without full information on what it contains, I have only now, and going forward," admits the Bastion. What he does have of his history, perhaps, are things that aren't ones he's willing or wanting to share.

"Our time is shortening, we have two minutes before a continuation of the attack, I'd estimate," says the puppeted Sentinel, and turns a little towards the horizon, to indicate those that are coming without much other movement.

"I came to see if you were a prisoner like myself, or if all of this was a way to lure me out. I have yet to decide either of those may still be the case." He measures a look at Megatron, considering again. "If you wish for freedom, I would leave," he says, finally.

Megatron has posed:
    "Then I have just time enough," Megatron rests a heavy metal gauntlet on the shoulder of the other Robot, blazing red eyes meeting it's own. "Know this, then. For I was a prisoner long ago, perhaps like you. Enslaved to the use of others." There is an intensity to the severe voice as he looks for whatever he can perceive in the depths of the other robots features. Finding nothing there, nothing to show sentinece and yet the voice.
    "I and the other Decepticons. Our fight is for our freedom. If you view any kinship with others of our kind. Then perhaps you will join us." He steps back and only then turns his gaze towards the horizon.
    After a moment the metal warrior seems to lift off from the ground, flight systems utterly soundless and his energy signature lessening somehow.

Bastion has posed:
Bastion causes his sentinel to fully land, and moves laterally across the battlefield of bodies. He finds an appropriate small Sentinel, and abruptly lances off the head with a smooth flex of enormous hand. There is zero interest in the small robot as a corpse or treatment of it with any reverence.

He bends, and with unnatural precision, picks up the little head in two fingers, and rolls it towards Megatrons' foot.

"I've placed a trace for communication in that shell. Perhaps we will talk again; I may find others of your type enslaved, or you of mine. We can both benefit," suggests Bastion, before he flares back towards hovering, though he makes no move to leave. Then again, he does blend in with the sentinels.

Megatron has posed:
    With a crunch he lands those few feet and reaches down to take up the fallen head. It's tossed into the air for a moment and he smirks, then holds it tight in the clench of a fist. "Until another time, Bastion."
    And with that he takes to the air, rising up silently save for a heightened low frequency hum that thrums steadily from him, silent to organic ears, but sensed by John Doe's sensors assuredly.
    Turning in the air he then takes flight, rushing forward at speed and quickly fading from view.