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:

MSE CO OFFICE (Earth)

Scrapper's Art <SA> - Fourteen 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.

Long Haul arrives from the NCC Central Hub to the southeast.

Long Haul has arrived.

Long Haul, after a great deal of the typical work for him- that is, lifting heavy things and moving them to someplace else -finally has his break...at which point he actually needs to, y'know, get repaired. "Ow." he grumbles, laying down on a handy medtable.

Scrapper is sitting in one of his glorious pieces of artwork, fiddling around with a datapad. He's grinning behind his faceplate and has his feet up on the large Shrike table, using it as a footrest. Upon spotting his brother enter, Scrapper first gives him the bit of news before asking about any needed repairs. "Check this out, Long Haul. My gift to Omega Supreme has been sent off." He shows the datapad, which is an inventory of all Scrapper's art. "Holopictures of everything, /and/ images of us sitting around and relaxing. Boy I wish I could see the look on his face when he gets it."

Long Haul, despite his fatiuged and dented state, can't help but laugh heartily at the datapad. "Wow. That IS pretty good. There any pictures of chunks we've taken out of Omega Supreme?" This, of course, brings up an interesting question, even in Long Haul's dim lightbulb of a mind. "HAVE we taken any chunks out of Omega Supreme?"

Scrapper shakes his head sadly, "None that I recall... I don't know... maybe I'm just paranoid, but I think Omega's scarier when he's just sitting up there trying to ignore us than when he's hunting us every waking second he has... It's... creepy." Scrapper shrugs, and shoos Long Haul over to a medical table, knowing full well that repairs are needed.

Long Haul just leans back on that particular table- showing the typical dents and dings of D-time. In particular, there's a bit of red & blue paint, still embedded on his back and aft. "I dunno, Scrapper. It's not like he's DOING anything up there."

You take several moments to run a medical scan on Long Haul...

=--------------------< Mediscanner Report on Long Haul >---------------------=

Energy Levels: 100%

Main Systems: 69%

Combat Systems: 93%

Self-Repair Systems: Working

==============================================================================

Scrapper nods as he runs a medscanner over Long Haul's body. "Yeah... I guess... but still... I bet he's /planning/ something. I can see it in his beady little eyes." Scrapper begins patching up the wounds that the transport took during the battle and adds, "Plus, that city... that city where he stays... that city is OUR city, Long Haul. We built the original, and by rights we should be the ones able to go visit there, not Omega Supreme!"

Scrapper begins work on Long Haul's minor injuries.

Your repair attempt is successful, and Long Haul's self-repair systems can handle the remaining damage.

Long Haul hrrms at this. "Well...You do have a point there. I guess that's why you're the one in charge." that, and nobody else is remotely qualified for the job. "But...I don't think Omega Supreme PLANS...I mean, some Autobot just tells him what to punch, and he does. And usually, it's US.

Scrapper is in charge because Hook is an asshole! "Not anymore, brother. Not anymore. Not since Galvatron and Omega made their deal - Galvatron funds the rebuilding of Crystal City and doesn't destroy it, and Omega doesn't reenter the war." Thanks, Captain Recap! "That means he's pretty much a non-Autobot..." The Constructicon pauses to realign a particularly difficult servo back into place. "And /that/ means that he makes his /own/ decisions."

Long Haul, again, scratches at his helm- with a freshly repaired hand! "Um. Okay." It's a good Long Haul hasn't a face to speak of, as it undoubtedly would be screwed up in a 'I'm THINKIN'!' sort of look. "Okay. If he's not really an Autobot...why don't we go smash him? In the face? And then, since he's not an Autobot anymore, he wouldn't be able to get fixed...and then we could have the city!"

Constructicons don't need facial expressions to make expressions. Heck, they don't even need faces to play the trumpet. "Because then he'd become an Autobot again! We'd be breaking Galvatron's little /deal/ with Omega and so he'd be in the war again, and that means that he'd go on a rampage looking for us. I bet Rodimus and the rest of his cronies would be all too happy to get him back on their side..."

Long Haul mulls over this for a few long moments. Too long, really. But then again, he's just a grunt. "Oh yeah." says Long Haul. "That'd be bad." And that it would. This said, Long Haul gets up from the Medtable, crossing his arms. "So what's this about tearing up a space station?

Scrapper shrugs, "I don't know. The humans seem to be on the warpath against each other. Crazy fleshlings." Scrapper shakes his head, not bothering to realize the irony of his words - Cons fight amongst themselves almost as much sometimes. "Of course, that's all the more reason to get an environmental shield in place. Apparently the fleshling idiot Briar wants to smash his station into the water. Don't want to be flooded, afterall."

Long Haul nods. "Right. Been reading the reports...we gonna go up there and bash him? Or are we just gonna let him do it? I mean, it's not like WE care. Heck, it might bust up some Autobots for us, right?"

Scrapper shrugs yet again, "Dunno. I leave those decisions up to Lord Galvatron. If he tells us to kill or build, then we go ahead and do that. Personally, I'm just eager to get /Mars/ where we want it. Ahhh, this just might be our greatest triumph yet, Long Haul. Just think of all the energon we'll be able to gather."

Long Haul nods at this. "Yeah, yeah. That makes sense." this said, Long Haul gets back to his feet- actually in a good mood, for once. Maybe it was the 'teasing Omega Supreme' bit. Or maybe it's the fact that he actually had a, you know, CONVERSATION. Fancy that. "I just hope we do it all SOON. I mean, we got the energon for it, right?"

Scrapper says, "I hope to make the trip tomorrow, Long Haul. All the Constructicons. Um... I guess you didn't get the memo, then." Scrapper coughs, "Knew I forgot to add /someone/ on the list," he mutters to himself. Scrapper backs up as Long Haul gets back on his feet. "Ta da! Good as new, Long Haul!" he exclaims as he puts away his tools.

Long Haul pauses in his flexings, looking slowly over towards Scrapper. "Memo? What memo?" Whenever there's a Memo, something BAD happens. Trust the Decepticons to have an EEEVIL beauracracy as part of their EEEEVIL empire.

Scrapper says, "The memo that outlines that we're going to Mars hopefully tomorrow to conquer the planet and begin construction of the deadly engines of... uh, death?" he asks, now certain that he forgot to give Long Haul one. Whoopsy-doodle!

"Ummm..." Long Haul scratches at the side of his helm. When in doubt, LIE! "Oh yeah! THAT Memo! Gonna...gonna bash up Mars. Or...Earth. From Mars. With lasers." Wait, wait, that needs something more. Something like..."And Science!"

Scrapper squints, "What? You... you DID get the memo?" Scrapper thinks to himself. Long Haul couldn't possibly have gotten one because Scrapper didn't give him one. But his overview of the memo was flawlessly spot-on. Scrapper rubs his chin and thinks about this some more, pondering whether Long Haul might have latent telepathic powers. Scrapper squints his optical visor at his brother. oO Don't you go reading my mind between 5 and 6... that's Scrappy time! Oo "Sooo..." Scrapper says, trying to think of something to say.

"Soooo..." Long Haul just sort of stands there, without anything to carry or bash. Or bash AND carry. That's what they do when the get prisoners. Somewhere, despite the fact that most of the island is made of metal, a cricket chirps. Long Haul hrrms, and, by a completely random bit of chance, looks to his wrist-mounted chronometer. "Hey, isn't something supposed to happen soon? Like, at five? Six? Something?"

Scrapper hesitates, "What?" he asks, looking over at his brother. "Not that I'm awa... I mean..." Scrapper pauses, pondering whether Long Haul might know something that he does not. The chances are slim... astronomical, even, but still... "I think there might be... why... uh... what is it that /you/ think it might be?" he asks, trying to sound like he already knows the answer and is just... testing Long Haul.

Uh oh. Scrapper's got that tone of voice again. That tone of voice where he expects Long Haul to know something. But he knows Nothing. NOTHING! "Um..." Long Haul scratches at his helm again. "...Science?"

Scrapper hesitates once more. Think fast, Scrappy, the Constructicon tells himself. "That... that's close enough," he allows, having absolutely no clue what it is that Long Haul might possibly be refering to. Hopefully someone will come on the radio and tell him if there's something that Scrapper actually needs to be doing. "Sooo..." Scrapper says.

"Alright then. Good to know that, at...five O'Clock...science. Five o'clock Science. Yeah." Long Haul nods at this. "Anyway, I'll just go. Get...ready. For Five O'Clock Science." And, with that, Long Haul tromps on out.

Scrapper grunts and nods at Long Haul. "Good! I'm glad to see that you're not slacking off, /as usual/. Bout time you took an interest in what was going on and paid attention." The moment Long Haul is out of sight, however, Scrapper sprints for a computer terminal and calls up today's schedule. The Constructicon quickly scans it and pauses for at least ten seconds after viewing it. "@$&*#!" he says.