Whiteout paused in his clearly one-sided conversation when the minicon began to chew on his ice in what he thought could only be a fruitless endeavor. He bothered to scoff, but somehow it wasn't as derisive as it was factual. He held a finger up to draw attention to the point he was about to make. "Don't bother. The only way you're getting out of that is if..." He trailed as he saw a strange acidic secretion drip from between the jagged teeth of the minicon and melt away the ice. As if on cue, the neural pathway to his arm lost all information feed and dropped abruptly, along with his pointing finger, with a loud clattering of metal against metal. Whiteout could only play the role of an annoyed bystander as his body acted without his consent, and then he looked up, looking notably more peeved. "I guess I should have expected a surprise like that from a dog that goes invisible," he credited. He would make a note to infuse his ice with acid resistant solutions next time he encountered this bot, assuming their next encounter was something shy of friendly.
Feeling relatively assured that the dog had no intentions to leave or to harm him (at least, not immediately), Whiteout settled back into the rocks a little more comfortably, his optics lingering on his built in tracking device as Kat's blipping DNA signature drew nearer to them. When he caught the minion's cue for him to continue, he looked up again and grinned somewhat bitterly. "It's not much of a sob story, though," he warned before continuing casually, "If you're not aware of who I am, it may surprise you that I was hired to invade a mobilized Decepticon lab and procure some sensitive materials and exterminate a particularly valuable Decepticon scientist and his assistants. I'm not one to take jobs concerning factions so large, but the payment was too intriguing to pass up. Admittedly, I was unprepared for the task. I got in alright, took care of a few guards, but in the end I was compromised. I won't tell you how I managed it," he supposed that his "good" reputation might be ruined if he ever divulged the details of his bargaining with the Decepticons, "but I managed to talk them into sparing my life. However, the Decepticons aren't much for passing out freebies. I had to join them or die, so I joined them. Only I was never able to slip free of their ranks as I had originally anticipated; they keep their shacks tight and their leashes short."
It was hard to tell Whiteout's true feelings towards his small, underwhelming story. He liked to keep it underwhelming because he knew the truth--or rather that he did not know the truth. Shortly after he had been forced into the ranks of the Decepticons he had been tasked with raiding and destroying Velocitron along with a small task force. He had had friends there, he remembered, close ones, which was odd considering his conviction over the matter of companionship on any level. Though it yet pained him to reflect upon all the looks of betrayal, horror, and ultimately death he had been pierced with that day (he knew why he had chosen to kill them instead of to die himself, though he would admit the reason to no one), there was something somehow more disturbing to him. When he had come back from the mission, he had been frantic, unraveled, anguished; he had been sobbing, wailing even. He had begged for some memory to be removed, and it had. Whoever had retired it had done a superb job, for there seemed to be a scattering of perfectly precise holes in his memory. It was like a corroding sheet of metal, only everything around the holes was perfectly intact. It was eerie, and it frightened him that there was something --or someone-- out there that could reduce him to a sobbing, frantic mess.
That was why he kept his story underwhelming.
"See? Not much of a tear jerker," he dismissed. "Nevertheless, I can't say I enjoy all of the unfair discrimination I'm subject too, nor can I say I ever took any pleasure in the Decepticon's penchant for senseless and violent murder. They even kill their own kind, the idiots," he dissented, disabling his tracker as Kat came within hearing distance on the road. He could hardly believe she had actually found him. He wondered if her success came from determination or intelligence, or perhaps both?
Perhaps unexpectedly, his lips shifted into a wry grin. "My human has arrived," he said as Kat neared the rock formation which hid them from view. "I take it you're okay with them though, seeing as you defended me on the basis of my care for her before." This was not a question, but a statement. Besides, if the mutt went ballistic, he'd fill him with so much ice he'd explode like a super nova star, even in his disadvantaged state.
Shockwave appreciated Arachnid's divergence from her usually flattering, seductive tone. He had never seen the logic in it and much preferred the factual tone she had adopted when informing him of what was likely true. There was a fair chance he could send the formula sooner than he had estimated for Arachnid, though he had no interest in angering the femme if Nightshade proved to be more difficult than anticipated. However, he was not opposed to or threatened by Arachnid's insistence. "Very well."
He stood in the elevator again, prepared to leave and somewhat uncomprehending as to why Arachnid still spoke. All of her words were impossibly easy to infer, just as easy to infer as the results of a reaction between aluminum and bromine. Nevertheless he deigned to stoically listen, bowing his helm once she dismissed him. He pressed a button on the elevator's control panel that sent the doors closing and the elevator sinking back down through the mountainside and to its base, where he exited and soon emerged back up through the earth's surface in the opposite way from which he had plunged beneath it. Wasting no time at all, he transformed beneath a great moving shadow of reverberating wings and took off at full speed back towards his main lab.
He arrived within the hour, transforming mere meters from the hidden entrance and successfully passing through the security stages barring his entrance before lumbering back into the lab. He produced the case containing the converter for Nightshade to see. "I have procured the molecular energon converter," he stated simply, moving to set it on a suitable trolley to examine it for functionality.
Hijack watched as Shockwave left, listening until it was impossible to hear Shockwave over the whirring of the computer. His stature relaxed vaguely, though he kept impeccable posture in the presence of his queen, who he presently looked at behind his stoic lenses. Her final words to Shockwave had filled him with dread. He did not enjoy watching his fellow soldiers be drained of their precious energon, though he understood the purpose and so did not mourn their loss into something less sentient. In a way, he was almost jealous of those who sustained Arachnid. However, he supposed that he might be more useful serving Arachnid in other ways, such as this synthetic energon her and Shockwave had been talking about. When he had the chance, he would be sure to pry as much information about the formula from Shockwave as possible, though, with his limited oratory skills, he doubted he could get much.
"Trust?" he inquired at last, tilting his head at Arachnid. He wanted to know his queen's thoughts on Shockwave so that he may alter his attitude towards the mech accordingly.
Feeling relatively assured that the dog had no intentions to leave or to harm him (at least, not immediately), Whiteout settled back into the rocks a little more comfortably, his optics lingering on his built in tracking device as Kat's blipping DNA signature drew nearer to them. When he caught the minion's cue for him to continue, he looked up again and grinned somewhat bitterly. "It's not much of a sob story, though," he warned before continuing casually, "If you're not aware of who I am, it may surprise you that I was hired to invade a mobilized Decepticon lab and procure some sensitive materials and exterminate a particularly valuable Decepticon scientist and his assistants. I'm not one to take jobs concerning factions so large, but the payment was too intriguing to pass up. Admittedly, I was unprepared for the task. I got in alright, took care of a few guards, but in the end I was compromised. I won't tell you how I managed it," he supposed that his "good" reputation might be ruined if he ever divulged the details of his bargaining with the Decepticons, "but I managed to talk them into sparing my life. However, the Decepticons aren't much for passing out freebies. I had to join them or die, so I joined them. Only I was never able to slip free of their ranks as I had originally anticipated; they keep their shacks tight and their leashes short."
It was hard to tell Whiteout's true feelings towards his small, underwhelming story. He liked to keep it underwhelming because he knew the truth--or rather that he did not know the truth. Shortly after he had been forced into the ranks of the Decepticons he had been tasked with raiding and destroying Velocitron along with a small task force. He had had friends there, he remembered, close ones, which was odd considering his conviction over the matter of companionship on any level. Though it yet pained him to reflect upon all the looks of betrayal, horror, and ultimately death he had been pierced with that day (he knew why he had chosen to kill them instead of to die himself, though he would admit the reason to no one), there was something somehow more disturbing to him. When he had come back from the mission, he had been frantic, unraveled, anguished; he had been sobbing, wailing even. He had begged for some memory to be removed, and it had. Whoever had retired it had done a superb job, for there seemed to be a scattering of perfectly precise holes in his memory. It was like a corroding sheet of metal, only everything around the holes was perfectly intact. It was eerie, and it frightened him that there was something --or someone-- out there that could reduce him to a sobbing, frantic mess.
That was why he kept his story underwhelming.
"See? Not much of a tear jerker," he dismissed. "Nevertheless, I can't say I enjoy all of the unfair discrimination I'm subject too, nor can I say I ever took any pleasure in the Decepticon's penchant for senseless and violent murder. They even kill their own kind, the idiots," he dissented, disabling his tracker as Kat came within hearing distance on the road. He could hardly believe she had actually found him. He wondered if her success came from determination or intelligence, or perhaps both?
Perhaps unexpectedly, his lips shifted into a wry grin. "My human has arrived," he said as Kat neared the rock formation which hid them from view. "I take it you're okay with them though, seeing as you defended me on the basis of my care for her before." This was not a question, but a statement. Besides, if the mutt went ballistic, he'd fill him with so much ice he'd explode like a super nova star, even in his disadvantaged state.
Shockwave appreciated Arachnid's divergence from her usually flattering, seductive tone. He had never seen the logic in it and much preferred the factual tone she had adopted when informing him of what was likely true. There was a fair chance he could send the formula sooner than he had estimated for Arachnid, though he had no interest in angering the femme if Nightshade proved to be more difficult than anticipated. However, he was not opposed to or threatened by Arachnid's insistence. "Very well."
He stood in the elevator again, prepared to leave and somewhat uncomprehending as to why Arachnid still spoke. All of her words were impossibly easy to infer, just as easy to infer as the results of a reaction between aluminum and bromine. Nevertheless he deigned to stoically listen, bowing his helm once she dismissed him. He pressed a button on the elevator's control panel that sent the doors closing and the elevator sinking back down through the mountainside and to its base, where he exited and soon emerged back up through the earth's surface in the opposite way from which he had plunged beneath it. Wasting no time at all, he transformed beneath a great moving shadow of reverberating wings and took off at full speed back towards his main lab.
He arrived within the hour, transforming mere meters from the hidden entrance and successfully passing through the security stages barring his entrance before lumbering back into the lab. He produced the case containing the converter for Nightshade to see. "I have procured the molecular energon converter," he stated simply, moving to set it on a suitable trolley to examine it for functionality.
Hijack watched as Shockwave left, listening until it was impossible to hear Shockwave over the whirring of the computer. His stature relaxed vaguely, though he kept impeccable posture in the presence of his queen, who he presently looked at behind his stoic lenses. Her final words to Shockwave had filled him with dread. He did not enjoy watching his fellow soldiers be drained of their precious energon, though he understood the purpose and so did not mourn their loss into something less sentient. In a way, he was almost jealous of those who sustained Arachnid. However, he supposed that he might be more useful serving Arachnid in other ways, such as this synthetic energon her and Shockwave had been talking about. When he had the chance, he would be sure to pry as much information about the formula from Shockwave as possible, though, with his limited oratory skills, he doubted he could get much.
"Trust?" he inquired at last, tilting his head at Arachnid. He wanted to know his queen's thoughts on Shockwave so that he may alter his attitude towards the mech accordingly.
