NIGHTMARE PLOT: BATTLE LOG

[these_balls]

Who: Nightmare Plot participants!
Where: THE BASEMENT (dun dun dunnnnn)
When: Wednesday, October 30
Summary: IT'S NOT CHERNOBOG. But you still have to fight it.
Rating: PG-13 in general; please mark threads that go higher accordingly!
Log:





YOU ARE HERE. IT LOOKS LIKE THIS. YOU'RE FIGHTING THIS. (IT'S NOT CHERNOBOG.)

ALSO, MOOD MUSIC.


KEY:

• RED areas are inaccessible regions! This time, characters have a little less discretion in what they perceive as the reason for the inaccessibility; it'll either be something like a broken or crumbling wall, a locked door, an archway overgrown with dangerous-looking vines, thick fog, or something else of that nature!

• The GREEN area is the set of stairs you used to get down here in the first place! Again, this is here so you know where your starting point is in relation to everything else.

~

☆ THE NUMBER TO MEET OR BEAT IS 55 PARTICIPANTS ☆.

REMEMBER: IF YOUR CHARACTER DOES NOT POST TO THE BOSSFIGHT LOG AT LEAST ONCE
(AS A TOP-LEVEL COMMENT OR IN RESPONSE TO SOMEONE ELSE'S TOP-LEVEL COMMENT)
BEFORE 7:00 AM EST on OCTOBER 31, THEY WILL NOT COUNT TOWARD THE 55-PARTICIPANT GOAL!

~

QUICK LINKS

THE BOSSFIGHT INFOPOST | QUESTIONS FOR MODS | SUPERPOWERS REQUEST THREAD | BOSSFIGHT PARTICIPATION CHECK-IN

Comments

[show_my_cannons]

There's no point in asking how any of this happened. Or why. He has the lost creatures back -- all of them, because he would be damned if he left one of them behind. An Autobot did not leave their own behind, and these animals had become as much a part of his team as any other bot.

There is also no way he's going to be able to fight this thing alone. He'd tried using Napalm already, but the Onix had refused to even leave the safety of the ball she was sheltered in. He doesn't try the others. If the biggest, strongest, member of his group wasn't going to emerge, the others would follow her lead.

This thing is unnatural. This thing is vaguely terrifying. And he finds himself wishing he were himself again. At least then, he thinks he would be able to deal some kind of damage.

And no sooner does he think that, than his body feels different. It feels whole, again. He feels the pulse and hum of systems long absent. He looks down, seeing metal hands, familiar, creaking old joints. How doesn't matter. He has a body capable of violence now. One he knows, one whose limits he long-since figured out.

So it's with a roar that he lunges forward, armed only with his fists, and expression twisted into a feral snarl, toward his foe.