#comm link

[heartofmachinaisms]

It would be fun if Zeztz's secondary and tertiary riders were both women

[rendezvousaveclamort]

@egyptiandeathgod

::You know, there is not one person in here who wouldn’t kill to switch places with me, right now, as your pilot.::

[rangerup-blog1]

comm link 📲 rangers

KAT: Good evening, rangers! We've got great news.

HAYLEY: After a week of gathering the proper materials, we've managed to concoct a device that'll make Devone think twice before before raising his sword.

Billy: We've created, what is basically, a mechanical incendiary device. When the trigger is pulled, pressurized fuel from the tank will be released into a hose and from there, it will flow into the gun housing. What results is a burning, combustible, stream that will generate enough heat to short circuit the Cylatron's ability to function, perhaps even melt them entirely. They'll be rendered useless while the device disabling the city's power is found.

TOMMY: [Excitedly.] It's a flamethrower, Billy... We've made a flamethrower.

KAT: Three, actually. And we've got enough fuel here to light the city ablaze, so please. Be cautious.

BILLY: Actually, the stream is narrow, but effective. It should be as simple as point and shoot. [sighing is heard.]

TOMMY: Right. For Cylatron melting only. This is you're move Eurydice. How d'you wanna play?

[roreomarsh-blog]

COMM LINK 📲 RANGERS

Ro: If one were to say, start a /small/ fire in a hallway full of students, and for some reason, lost the power of ice... where might one find the closest fire extinguisher to room 214B? Don't ask Griffin.

[h3atwave]

COMM LINK

Heatwave huffed in frustration as he trudged his way over to the ship’s communication console. Twisting the red chair stationed by it and throwing himself into it in an ungraceful heap. His enthusiasm for checking messages had long since been worn out. Three years of radio silence tended to do that to a mech. 

He tilted his helm backwards with neck on the edge and helm hanging off the back of the chair. Lethargically, he reached forward and pressed the refresh button. Not even bothering to look as he pushed it. 

A nano-second later and the console responded in a smooth, feminine voice--

“No new messages,” he mouthed along.

Still no word from Optimus Prime, eh? What a surprise. 

Heatwave’s faceplate went deadpan at his own internal sarcasm.

It was almost as if the Autobots had forgotten they’d dumped the Rescuebots on Griffin Rock and basically told them they weren’t aloud to contact anyone the Prime didn’t approve of first. Which was a very small list of mecha. Excluding Heatwave’s own team, there were maybe five mecha on it. And he didn’t even know the comm frequency of three of them.

To be frank, it was getting ridiculous. But not in a funny, ha ha way. More in a way that made Heatwave want to send his fist through the damn comm console in vexation. 

Bah! If Prime was never going to be around to answer questions, Heatwave might as well--

He sat right up in his chair. A slow smirk spreading itself across his faceplate as a terrible idea came to his processor.

What if he didn’t ask Prime?

It would be unwise. Certainly not something a responsible leader would do. And had Optimus been present, he would have scolded Heatwave for his foolhardy behavior. But the Prime wasn’t here, was he? The matrix-bearer rarely ever was. Feh, how the frag was the mech supposed to set an example for him if he was never around?

His smirk faded and Heatwave let out a weary sigh as he made his decision. It was unlikely anything would come of it anyway. But he couldn’t keep sitting on his thumbs doing nothing as he waited for word from the Autobots. It was a small risk, anyway. What with how few of their race had survived the war. The chance of another mechanism answering were low at best.

But, still...

Thick servos hovered over the communications controls. The Rescuebots couldn’t continue as they were. So uninvolved with the Autobots and the rest of their Cybertron, they might as well have been organic. They needed answers somehow. From someone. Anyone.

Quickly, before he lost his ball bearings, he set the console to run through a random assortment of frequencies until one of them answered.

It was a long shot, but... At least one of them had to belong to an Autobot, right?

[rangerup-blog1]

COMM LINK ⇄ RANGERS

Dr. HILLARD: [inputs five distinct numbers into the digital system and follows the prompts Billy gave her to secure the line. Hitting enter, the call goes out and connects the six of them together for the first time.] Good evening, students. I'm sure you've got a lot of questions.