NCC Medical Ward

 

     The Crystal City repair bay is far larger than previous versions in Imperial Headquarters or Trypticon himself. Clearly it was designed by a medic, for a medic. The entire room is rectangular in nature with medical beds arranged in a neat grid pattern. The beds themselves vary, with some being precious little more than metal slabs, and others having full scanners and tools attached, as well as everything in between. In total, there are about twenty beds. There is room for more in an emergency situation. The cabinets line the walls, spaced out between medical terminals. Everything has a place, and organization is key. There are windows with thick transparent metal, allowing one to gaze out and see the wounded as they approach the hospital.

 

Contents:

Mixmaster

Scrapper's Art <SA> - Eleven Pieces

Gumby Medic <NCC>

Obvious exits:

 South <S> leads to NCC Central Command.

 Southeast <SE> leads to NCC Central Hub.

 East <E> leads to Mount R'Lyeh.

 

Scrapper is at one of the medical tables, working on Project: What Wheeljack Did, We Can Do Better. The massive robot is looking more and more impressive with each passing day, and Scrapper is hard at work, installing the Dinocon's nervous system. Sparks fly as he laserwelds in the circuitry.

 

Mixmaster walks into the bay looking for Scrapper. He's got his brother's datascreen under his arm again. He's only had it a few days, so not much has happened to damage it. Just a few corrision stains, a couple of dents from dropping it, some scratches, scuff marks from jamming it in a door, and the reeeaaaaallly damaged side because he didn't have a crowbar that time.

 

Scrapper immediately looks up at the sound of footsteps entering the medical ward. "Halt!" he calls out, "Who goes there?" he squints his optical visor and grunts, nodding. "Ahhh, it's about time you got here, you lazy excuse of a Constructicon! I presume you have the formulas for the project's armour?" He tries to get a good look at his datapad, but has already given it up for lost.

 

Mixmaster snorts. /Lazy/. You take /one/ rest cycle when you're on guard duty, of /course/ the autobots would attack then, wouldn't they? And you never live it down! "Of course. Try not to blow up your datapad as you attempt to understand it," he sneers as he hands it over. "What are we going to do for a laser core? Because I've always wanted to try my hand at making one...

 

Scrapper takes the datapad, "Ewww! What in the world did you -do- to it?" he snorts, peering at all the corrision stains and scratches. He copies down the formulas (not really understanding any of it) and then hands the pad back. "Uh... you can keep it." He shrugs, "I'm going to have Hook or Soundwave do it. But since Hook's been hiding in his closet again for the past month, Soundwave'll take care of it."

 

Mixmaster woos! Free datapad! "You know every datapad you give me is recycled into more raw metal for our repair work. He sighs as he snatches the Datapad. Soundwave. He doesn't mind the guy so much.. just those two twerps he always sticks up for. "Ugh.." He leans over. "What part are you at now, anyway? Go on, Need an extra set of hands? Someone to tell you how to do the job properly?"

 

Scrapper nods, "Yeah... wait, I mean no!" He frowns as he figures out the various things Mixmaster said. "Yes, extra set of hands, no job properly. I mean, yes, the job /is/ being done properly, but no, I don't ne..." He smacks himself in the forehead. "Just get over here and see if you can figure out what's wrong with his leg. Stupid hydraulics are malfunctioning. Long Haul probably screwed up and brought me the wrong thing again."

 

Mixmaster snickers. Actually, he's been snickering the whole time. He has a lean down for a good look at the Hydraulics. "Scrapper, that looks like it's the Hydraulic for the project's upper arm! I wouldn't trust something that small to do the job! Who did Long Haul get that from, Frenzy?"

 

Scrapper shrugs, "Dunno. I just tell Long Haul to go get me the leg assembly, and then he came back with this. The upper arm? That idiot!" he snorts and looks over at the massively oversized left arm on the robot which would dwarf a minibot. "Huh... well, I guess that explains two mysteries right there..."

 

And Long Haul would've have gotten away for it, if it wasn't for that meddling Cement Truck. Scrappy-dappy-doo!

 

Mixmaster rolls his optics as he finds the appropriate tools to remove the two hyraulics. Ah, Bonecrusher's will do. "Honestly, Scrapper. You've giving leg modules everywhere a bad rep. It's because of /you/ that they think we shouldn't be the leaders."

 

Scrapper snorts, "Oh please. I'm the Constructicon Leader because I've got it all. Who designed New Crystal City? Mmmmm? Yeah, that's right. *I* did. Who was it that built a huge gun to snipe at Autobots from the Moon with? Oh right, it was *me*. Who was it that cleaned the floor where Starscream was incinerated?" Scrapper points to himself.

 

"Only because the rest of us thought your trumpet played was SUB-STANDARD!" he says with a smug look. "We wanted to hear what we were playing, rather than your sad attempt and composing! And look what happened to NCC! Sure, with my help you've got it looking fine now, but the original is /decimated/. What, was the first one a control specimen or something? A test in what /not/ to do when designing a battlestation?"

 

Scrapper throws his hands up into the air, abandoning his work on the robot for now. He looks truly shocked and angry. "You... you dare! You've insulted my constructioning, you've insulting my repairing... but you shall not insult my trumpet-playing!" he jabs an accusing finger at Mixmaster and announces in a loud voice, "Mixmaster, I, Scrapper, hereby challenge you to a duel of the trumpets! As written in the ancient times, we shall do battle with music as our ancestors did in the Long Ago. To the winner goes the unbridled pride and honour of the Constructicon trumpet. To the loser, defeat, dishonour, and grave misfortune!" he steps towards Mixmaster, "Do you dare accept my challenge?"

 

Mixmaster bursts into laughter. "Oh, I will play you into the GROUND! Everyone knows I'm the most creative of our brothers! Scrapper, if you are so determined to humiliate yourself in front of all the Decepticons, why don't you just try and run a chemistry experiment in the hub? You know, one of those /other/ things you need my help on."

 

Scrapper oooohs, "Play me into the ground? You sick little bastard. You know I don't go for that sort of thing." Scrapper marches over towards his vault and opens it up. He moves aside his Comcast Smelting Pit hologram and reveals his trumpet. "I hope you're in the mood for some losin', Mixmaster." He activates his radio.

 

<Decepticon> Scrapper says, "Hear ye, hear ye! Mixmaster has accepted the challenge that I, Scrapper, have made to him. As written in the ancient times, we shall duel with trumpets until a victor has been named. To the winner goes the unbridled pride and honour of the Constructicon trumpet. To the loser, defeat, dishonour, and grave misfortune. May Primus watch over any who dare accept my trumpet challenge!"

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "No no.  Spice it up!"

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "The loser shall be cannoned.  BAH!  That's overdone.  The loser...shall become our next lawn dart.  Proceed."

 

<Decepticon> Scrapper gasps. "Change the rules of the ancient Constructicon battle of trumpet? As you command, Lord Galvatron! Truly, we shall be forging into unchartered territory this day."

 

Mixmaster rolls his optics. "What you do with Hook and his 'lifting arm' when you are over energized is none of my business, Scrapper. But.." He covers his ears. "Geez, could you talk into the broad signals a little louder for me? Anyway. Yes, watching you lose would be just what I'm in the mood for. let's go." He starts walking out. Sans horn.

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "New age.  New rules.  And to the winner, 100 astroliters of energon.  Fairness, right up there next to murder and conquest.  Yes."

 

<Decepticon> Ramjet says, "Is this some kind of fight or just a blowing contest?"

 

<Decepticon> Mixmaster says, "Oh please. Galvatron, you might as well deposit the energon directly into my account. Did you know that my brothers got him to clean up Starscreams ashes when you shot him so we could hear some /real/ trumpet playing?"

 

<Decepticon> Mixmaster says, "Ramjet.. go bury your head in a concrete wall somewhere."

 

<Decepticon> Ramjet says, "with pleasure."

 

<Decepticon> Mixmaster says, "I'm sure it would."

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Beating your chest will not win the blowing contest."

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Don't tell us, Mixmaster.  Show us, or Scrapper will surely

out blow you"

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Proceed with the sport!"

 

<Decepticon> Mixmaster whines, "Galvatro-ON! I was just saying it wasn't a blowing contest!"

 

<Decepticon> Scrapper says, "To the Central Hub!"

 

Mixmaster moves southeast to the NCC Central Hub.

Mixmaster has left.

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Scrapper, did he just correct me?"

 

You move southeast to the NCC Central Hub.

 

NCC Central Hub

 

     This is the very center of New Crystal City and serves as the gateway to the other areas. There are spires that reach up high into the sky and domes that crouch down low to the ground, facilities constructed purely of transparent materials, and even tunnels that travel into the ground. Vast sky-roads loom overhead, providing access to many of the buildings in a mad crisscross pattern. Among the buildings one can access from the central hub are the gleaming crystal dome-like command center, the hardy bunker-like medical ward, and the huge metal Coliseum-inspired arena. The various roadways travel to other parts of the city, including a decrepit sky-road that plunges underground to the dungeon, a wide low road to the residential plaza, a short bridge that travels to the elevated spaceport, and a twisting, winding maze of a street that leads out to the coastline.

 

Contents:

Mixmaster

Energy Generator

Sensor4

The Powerbase

Obvious exits:

 North <N> leads to Mount R'Lyeh.

 Northeast <NE> leads to NCC Dungeon.

 Northwest <NW> leads to NCC Medical Ward.

 South <S> leads to NCC Coastline.

 Southeast <SE> leads to NCC Residential Plaza.

 Southwest <SW> leads to NCC Spaceport.

 East <E> leads to NCC Arena.

 West <W> leads to NCC Central Command.

Fly <Up> 

 

Galvatron arrives from the NCC Arena to the east.

Galvatron has arrived.

 

<Decepticon> Scrapper says, "Don't worry, Galvatron. I'll blow enough for the both of us."

 

<Decepticon> Mixmaster coughs nervously. "Uh... My apologies, sir. It was Scrapper. He made me do it."

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Excellent.  Beat him...slowly."

 

Scrapper snorts at Mixmaster and shakes a fist while holding onto his dear, dear trumpe. "You talk a good game, Mixmaster, but we shall see if your trumpet skills are up to par." He marches out of the medical ward and towards the central hub, standing on one of the sky-lanes that leads towards where Trypticon's massive ugly hulk is resting. He holds up his trumpet like a weapon. "When I left you, I was but the learner. Now *I* am the Master."

 

"Scrapper when it comes to Trumpets..." Mixmaster snidely says strolling out casually. "You don't blow.. you /suck./" Mixmaster still doesn't have a trumpet with him, even though Scrapper has his. It's just not in his pose.

 

Scrapper squints, "What? But you can't play a trumpet by sucking..." he says, suddenly concerned that perhaps Mixmaster has determined a new way of trumpeting. "So... will you be getting your trumpet, or do you plan to forfeit already?" He sneers.

 

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Oh for the love of.  They're actually serious!  I thought they were just overnergized again.  Very well then.  Decepticons gather.  This is one ridiculous argument we must let these foolish brothers settle.  See which constructicon blows the hardest."

 

Mixmaster smiles as he gestures to a gumby medic wandering about. That same one who did both paint jobs on Comcast. "Aerosol?" he says with a smirk, not taking his optics off of Scrapper. "Go get me Clarice."

 

Galvatron leans against a pillar, shaking his head as he watches. He can't believe they're actually doing this, but very well. He'll let them settle their argument so they can finish fixing his city instead of bickering. He murmurs to himself, "He actually named it..."

 

Scrapper squints, "So... I see that Clarice is still around, eh? Funny, I would have thought you'd have finally thrown her into the junk pile," he sneers. He waits for Aerosol to bring Mixmaster his trumpet.

 

Mixmaster grunts. "You're just used to things /you/ care for being smashed one way or another, through inferior design, or your own cowardice. Me, my works are for /life/, as Clarice will attest to. The gumby brings out Mixmaster's trumpet on a delicate cushion. About the only thing Mixy has that's undamaged. It's not the lengthy ceremonial horn they used for Starscream's coronation, more of a smaller trumpet-sized deal here. But to Mixmaster, it's just 'Clarice.' He picks him up, and looks at the instrument affectionately "Hey baby, I've missed you."

 

Scrapper snorts, "My... /cowardice/? Hey, I'll have you know that that was one fricking HUGE turboant! He shakes a fist at his idiot brother. "Lets get it on," he mutters, having had enough of Mixmaster's evil trickery. Clarice is tough, but he's confident that his trumpet is badass as well. Putting his trumpet up to his lack-of-a-mouth, Scrapper begins playing, breaking out a royal fanfare. oO Beat this, you psycho! Oo

 

Galvatron shakes his head at the two, "Get on with the ceremony!" Oh, they remember that line. Protect the trumpets boys! But, no blast comes. Plus, his blast would melt their entire face off anyway. Wait! He likes that. But, alas, he still does not shoot. "We have more important things to do, like fixing MY CITY. Decide who blows their trumpet better and finish it."

 

Mixmaster raises a finger in exclamation suddlenly. "I decide /I/ am! But Poor scrapper here needs re-educating, it seems."

 

Scrapper continues to play his song, tapping his foot as he does. It's his usual Constructicon excellence, and finally he lowers the instrument. "Now that, if I don't say so myself, was some mighty fine blowing." His modesty doesn't apply to other Constructicons. "Your turn, Mixmaster. IF YOU DARE."

 

Hardshell arrives from the NCC Residential Plaza to the southeast.

Hardshell has arrived.

 

Galvatron just waits for Mixmaster. He agrees this is stupid, but hey, gotta let brothers settle their differences, plus he isn't in the mood to shoot things right now.

 

Galvatron says, "Beautiful Scrapper, if I enjoyed that sort of thing. Mixmaster, proceed.""

 

Mixmaster grunts. "You couldn't play that tune until Hook showed you a metronome!" He yells as he puts Clarice to his lips. His LIPS. He repeats the same fanfare, only in a more upbeat tempto, and with more 'meat' in the tune. Scrapper played notes he read on a page. Mixmaster plays with /Rhythym/.

 

Galvatron puts is face in his hand, "For the love of. Very well. Judgement: You both blow. Hard. and Vigorously." he sighs, "I cannot determine a winner, therefore, you are both skilled. Now can we please, oh pretty please?" he says this mockingly, "Fix my city? Or must you continue to have a decided winner?" he already knows the answer. He's sure it will be "continue"

 

Scrapper growls and walks around Mixmaster as he plays, trying to throw him off his game. "Ooops!" he says, 'accidently' trying to nudge Mixmaster with his elbow as his fellow Constructicon plays his tune. "Whoopsie. I'm sorry, I didn't mess you up, did I?" he asks mockingly. To Galvatron, he says, "Don't worry, my Lord. I'm sure Mixmaster doesn't have what it takes to last for long."

 

Mixmaster puts a bit more emphasis into this tune, given his anger at the cheap shot. He finishes the tune, save for a slight fluster when someone bumped into him. "How DARE you desecrate the ancient rules of duel by trumpet!!" He says, shaking a fist. "IF this is to be determined by combat, I'll take you down on the spot now, and get over with. Until then.. play with /honour!/" He makes his point with a sharp backhand aimed for his irritating brother.

 

<Attack:> Mixmaster used slap. (&combatspam me=1 to stop this.)

Mixmaster strikes you with slap for 6 points of damage.

 

Galvatron growls, "Stop your insidious infighting or I'll stop it for you! On with the blowing! Blow, damn you, blow! Get this overwith. Prove your skills, not how much like small terran children you can act like."

 

Scrapper grunts as Mixmaster... Mixmaster SLAPS him! His head shifts to the side. "You sicko!" he roars, but rather than strike back against his idiot brother, he battles... with the power of music! He whips his trumpet back up to his lack of mouth and begins playing, trying to be louder than the chemist. Scrapper blows like only a Constructicon can blow, playing an ancient song that hasn't been heard since the days when they were working on Crystal City.

 

Mixmaster huhs. Scrapper /has/ improved. Better keep it up though, Mixy still has a lot in it. "You don't have to play it /loud/ to play it with /feeling/!" He calls out. Not in anger or anything, just a tip for his brother.

 

Scrapper snorts, "I know all about feeling!" he says, "But loudness AND feeling makes it even better!" he leaves it at that so he can concentrate on his trumpeting. He taps his foot along with the beat, suddenly shifting from the old song towards a dark, battlemarching tune.

 

Mixmaster starts tapping his foot too. Not so much in beat with Scrapper, but because his current tune is taking so long. I mean, three poses! He just sits there waiting for him to finish.

 

Scrapper finally ends his after the dark tune finally fades out. It's pretty gosh darn good, if I don't say so myself. He looks to Mixmaster expectingly.

 

Mixmaster picks up Clarice. They play. A light little ditty of a tune. Mixmaster treats it as if he's just flirting with his instrument before he starts turning up the heat. Sudden sharp changes of notes, tempos, and feeling. Signature playing for the creative, unpredictable Constructicon, and allround best Constructicon EVAR.

 

Scrapper can't help but bob his head along with Mixmaster's music, but then stops when he reminds himself that he hates Mixmaster right now and Mixmaster's music sucks. The Constructicon Commander decides that he can outdo this, and he isn't going to wait until 'his turn'. Ancient texts be damned! This is a time to be progressive! Scrapper pulls his trumpet up to his mouth and begins playing. Amazingly, and possibly by accident, his tune is lighthearted, and seems to mesh well with Mixmaster's.

 

Mixmaster gets annoyed with Scrapper but he's barely going to stop upstanding his brother to complain about the disrespect he is giving to the ancient texts. I mean, this is important! Mixmaster decides to test his brother and see if he can keep up. He kicks the tempo into high gear. Mixmaster is definately capable of holding at this rate, and yes, even faster.. but for how long?

 

Scrapper's face starts to turn blue despite how impossible that is on so many levels. This is slowly starting to wear him down, but he's not willing to give his brother the satisfaction of a victory. As Mixmaster shifts into high gear, Scrapper does the unexpected as he moves into low gear, playing a slow, sombre tune that serves to accentuate Mixmaster's quicker tempo. Where Mixmaster's is fast, furious, and no doubt really insane, Scrapper's is slow, calm, and hauntingly beautiful.

 

A cowards play, Scrapper. Ooh, look at me, I can play /slow!/ Gasps and ohnos! Mixmaster continues to stretch his horn to it's veritable limits, a flush of energon as he taxes himself, turning his face red. The beat takes a definate sway, he's really going for it here. An audio challenge has been issued, Scrapper. Dare you not take it?

 

Scrapper switches from slow to a madening pace on the proverbial dime. The haunting tune has been upgraded to a manic pace, and his trumpet dances around to the tune as he plays like only someone who doesn't have a mouth can play, doing his best to keep up with Mixmaster and, if at all possible, go even faster. Now the two songs don't really mesh all that well, but hey, that's ok. Scrapper's face is turning blue again.

 

If the ancient texts gave out handicaps for Constructicons with no mouths, Mixmaster might concede that Scrapper was winning. He continues the pace, jumping note and beat rapidly, trying to spice up the duel from Scrapper's rather tame 'manic pace.'

 

Galvatron vanishes out of reality.

Galvatron has left.

 

Scrapper is now going at his maximum speed, and his frame is starting to wobble from the sheer effort of it. The Constructicon staggers, but keeps on playing. Is that smoke coming out of the end of his trumpet? Nah... impossible. Scrapper's giving it his all, though, and his optical visor shimmers as he very nearly blacks out.

 

Mixmaster's optics are internally fogged by the sheer effort he's putting into this challenge. He's not letting Scrapper win. He has been holding this pace up longer than Scrapper has, though. And he's wearing himself down...

 

Scrapper wobbles and stares at Mixmaster, but finally he gives out and the trumpet falls from his lack of a mouth. "Grrrnngh..." he whimpers as he falls backwards onto the ground, unaware of how well or poorly Mixmaster might be doing over there.

 

Mixmaster can't see through his fogged up optics at all. He plays and plays.. and finally let's out one, loud, squeaky, pathetic wail, before dropping Clarice. "fuuuuuuh," he lets out, his last breath before he too crashes down. Oddly enough, it was at the same time Scrapper was falling down. Their heads knock together with a loud >CLANG< before hitting the ground together.

 

Scrapper's head smacks against Mixmaster's head and they both fall down, with Scrapper sleeping like a baby. He'll wake up later and make a good ol' fashioned assumption on who won.

 

Mixmaster gasps for breath, panting on the ground. He pulls himself up, noticing his brother on the ground there. He looks about.. Galvatron has gone, but drat. Hardshell is there. He can't lie about it. Oh well. He gives his brother a pat on the back before dragging himself to his feet.