At the beginning of this battle he had a full company of warriors under his command in Blue Company, forty eight trained killers that, at least nominally, were pledged to follow his orders as they would those of Megatron. That number had been winnowed down by the uncountable breems spent hunkering in that Primus damned trench under a curtain of artillery fire, trimmed by the mad dash across no-mech’s land that he had ordered, and slashed during the brutal hand to hand once they had reached the Autobot positions. His regroup order had brought only three other warriors to join Vermillion and himself at the corroded base of the heavy gun position, he panned his optics, looking them over, his keen cerebral core desperately trying to piece together some strategy in which this small number could take the Autobot reserve position that even now was likely to be massing for a counter attack. Scythe was a former factory worker in one of the huge armaments works assembling gun cradles in Tagon until an industrial accident had shorn away both of his forearms in a violent explosion. Thundercracker had visited a similar facility during his time under the slave banner; they were hellish places wherein injury and dismemberment seemed commonplace. Scythe had asked to continue to contribute to Cybertron in some capacity, but was unceremoniuously told that, due to his injuries, he would be forced to retire to a spark cycle of lackluster nothingness. He travelled to Kaon the very next solar cycle, a willing recruit for the Decepticon cause who would rather die under Autobot guns than be forced to live like some obsolete empty. His forearms had been replaced by wicked, monomolecular edged blades, which were presently dappled in the vital fluids from a half dozen Autobots. It seems that killing Autobots came naturally to the former industrial bot, and his work was widely considered to be something of an art form among the lower ranks. Turmoil was something of an anomaly among the Decepticons, his alternate mode was an emerald green ground vehicle and he was not able to fly in mechanoid form. Of course, this meant that he was the target of unrelenting cruelty for his entire spark cycle, which had molded him into a hateful being that seemed to find contentment in killing only. He stood stoically at attention, bits of enemy armor and cables stuck between the road wheels and the tracks on his back. As a relative novice to the ranks, Nagata Gamma Six had not yet taken a proper Decepticon mechasignature, but he had already proven himself an effective warrior on several occasions. He favored the heavy flamer, and Thundercracker had watched as the youth gleefully immersed Autobots in gouts of boiling flame. Even now his yellow optics were fixed to the primer flame, and his mechaphalange was toying with the trigger, the violent pyromaniac seemed as if he would put his comrades to the torch as quickly as the Autobots.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Sep 2014 08:58:41 +0000
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