Well, this is just perfect. I'm just beginning to get settled on my Cybertron, and I end up here, on some barely formed rock, hearing some story about the "first-forged."

... Well, it could be worse, I suppose. And it's not much different from the planet I found when I... came back, I suppose.

Salutations. My name is Sky-Byte. I am a storyteller. A poet. An entertainer, if you will. And I suppose if I'm stuck here, I might as well make the best of it, eh?

Now.

Is there a bar anywhere abouts? Because I need a stiff drink right about now.

 [Now that the battle with the Sharkticons had ended, and he'd done a meet n' greet at the party, Wheeljack was on to bigger and better things. And what were these things you speak of? Well, that was his own business. He often took several trips to the junkpile and back, searching for new things that he could tinker with.  And for those that know Wheeljack a bit better than 'acquaintance', you should know what he's up to.

You guessed it. Grenades.


At least he was keeping himself busy! Hobbies were hard to come by on a planet that was just starting out.  When he wasn't scouting around or checking the communicator, he holed himself up in his room, with only the sounds of welding and creaking metal being heard.  You'd think this would be cause to worry, and...you're not far off from the truth. Anyone who knows any Wheeljack would understand. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle, he'd done this several times before...it's just he's always experimenting. And with this one? It's a much thinner casing. More compact and easy to carry. And it required more articulate handling.

His communicator is on, however, and it shows him putting the internal workings of the grenade inside it's casing. He seems almost undoubtedly careful on this, one eyebrow slightly perked as his hands smoothly try to deliver it inside. If he were a more aspiring mech, he'd try out to be a medic, but...well, no one wants to be a Ratchet now, do they.  To be honest, this was a Wheeljack's almost got the tube inside; a near perfect fit. The mechanic gives a smirk to himself as he starts to pull his hand out--

The next few moments were probably the largest span of expressions from him ever. His face went from smirk, to surprise, to fear, to 'oh scrap'. In a matter of four seconds. He'd tripped the pin, and before he could pull any other emotions out of himself, he was sent back from the explosion. Within two nanokliks, the room as charred black,  a smoking grenade (or what was left of it) in the center and a just-as-blackened Wheeljack in a pile of rubble.]

Ow.

[He sits up, rubbing his head and groaned. Scrap, man. That didn't go as planned. How that didn't outright kill him, not even he knows.

Those who didn't see it first hand on the comm link, you may have heard a BOOM! from Wheeljack's room. He's sorry guys. REALLY.]

[A gold robot with a very stylish red mohawk is staring at the screen, foot tapping lightly and obviously displeased. Clearly a new arrival, or this thing has never made itself known before now. It raises a red boxing glove like hand, gears screeching in almost a kind of huff, and carefully fixes the amazing mohawk. Of amazing.

Once it seems satisfied with its mohawk being in perfect condition it points to the glyph on its arm, then gestures at the screen in a "seriously?" and "I'll kill you" motion. There is graffiti on his glorious self.

How dare you. How dare you all.]

Hmm hmm hm~. Now isn't this interesting? A whole new world to sink my teeth into. Hello all, my name is Airachnid, and it seems I've found myself on this... quaint little world that isn't quite yet-to-be Cybertron.

Now, I know certain parties that aren't quite happy with me are out there, and to them I say this: Don't even bother trying to trace this signal, because I've already covered it with several layers of encryption. Can't really expect me to put myself at risk, do you?

To the rest of you... I'm eager to see what opportunities meeting individuals from other worlds may afford. Dare I say it, but I believe it will be a one-of-a-kind experience...

[Drift can't imagine the mechs he saw give their all to help fight the sharkticons as dangerous or threatening. They were good mechs, sparks in the right place, brave and honorable. Gunmax had nearly died, fighting to protect a world that wasn't even his. ]

[But at the same time, he doesn't disbelieve Kagerou. He can recognize that tone of borderline fear and desperation. And if what Kagerou is saying is true...?]

[This is all a mistake. A misunderstanding. It needs to be straightened out one way or the other. If he needs to protect Kagerou, he will.]

[He pings the Brave Police, then Kagerou. The new arrival can listen in, even if he doesn't say anything, so he can hear for himself.]

Brave Police.  There's something I need to talk to you about.

[Ouch. Rough start. He sighs, thinks, starts again.]

Whatever was on your world, your Japan, it's not here. Old grudges, old missions. They don't apply here.

[He frowns.]  You're honorable mechs; can I have your word on that? 

[There's clearly something behind why he's asking.]