the s.ee.ds of [destruction]
The city that never sleeps.
The words rang true so sharply that it was difficult at times for Barricade to believe. The humans had a very strict 24 hour schedule that coincided with their planet's solar cycle; the sun came up, most of the insects woke, and went to work; the sun went down, they came back, and went to sleep. That was how the vast majority of the human race functionedů.but Vegas. Las Vegas, Nevada was hopping with activity no matter the hour or the season. March for the desert city had proven to be warm, but by their standards, eighty-degrees Fahrenheit was cold compared to the blistering triple-digits the city typically saw during the day in the summer.
Now the weather was fair, pleasant, if the shock trooper had any sort of opinion on it, cool at sixty or so degrees and falling. He did have to admitů he had one hell of a view.
Barricade sat complacently in the dark on an outcropping of rocks, positioned on a mountainside facing the west sector of Las Vegas, Nevada, watching the lights as the town of neon continued it's hustle and bustle into the ever present darkness of night. Nobody knew he was there, watching, studying, observing their habits as he waited for the fun to begin. The local fauna, certainly, they knew he was there. In fact the Elite was very aware of a tawny presence just to his left, staring at him, absolutely motionless for all she had no idea of what he was. A shift in position, a change of optical target and the cougar's hackles raised, but she left with nary a sound and Barricade did not see her again.
The Saleen smiled; an honest, true representation of the gesture, but it was crooked and terrible and ugly. The city that never sleeps as it lay spread out before him suddenly, quadrant by quadrant, went completely dark. A chorus of screeching tires and smashing metal stung the air in the distance and only made Barricade's temperature rise in pleasure and excitement.
It had begun.
It was something, right. Finally an end to that slagging time of waiting, building and planning. Knowing that their first proper move against the fleshbags and the Autobots was just minutes away. All of which would have made Coldfront grin ferally if he'd been able to in his current form. No time to spend on the ground, so both he and Sunburn had taken to the air a good while ago. Moving into position to be ready to assist any of the grounders as needed. Between them able to reach any place where one of them would be of use, rather quickly.
Coldfront's engines growled as Blindsight's transmission reached him. Even at an altitude of several thousand feet, he saw the ground down there suddenly darken. Fleshbag communications, like for all those planes in the air, and many other things, suddenly shutting down. It would be a busy time, alright. But in this case, Coldfront sure didn't mind. One of the designated targets so close, and many others to hit waiting. Chuckling, almost gleefully, the jet descended sharply. Not to attack, yet, but certainly more than ready.
<<&&Present,&&>> he responded over the 'Con communication line. <<&&And ready to strike where I'm called.&&>> Circling, cloaked and certainly out of sight by the panicking bugs down at the ground. His true identity could probably be guessed by any 'Con waiting down there, if close enough to hear his engines.
It all came together in a symphony so sweet that no mere musical composer could match, no matter the era, no matter the effort. Only the hands of war and murder could sing that sound. Bach and Mozart both would look upon the orchestra with envy as it played; screeching tired as strings, horrid, delicious human screams and the roar of fire as wind, catastrophic explosions as missiles impacted with volatile substances as the bass pounding of drums as Barricade played his little musical, hearing notes that only he could hear and understand.
He was a bold critter, waltzing as he did down the Las Vegas Strip. Local law enforcements, puh, they didn't know where to start as they scrambled about like cockroaches, trying to get their darkened city back under control. The Saleen snarled, overturning a minivan onto a Tesla, and in the next step he flung with so much ease a pickup truck straight into the screaming faces of a family sedan. Mom and Dad did nothing, could do nothing, except die messily and become a wretched mass of gore, combined with their three poor children sitting in the back seat. Rather than use up his missile stock, the twisted interceptor used all the explosive chemical he had surrounding him: gasoline. Each and every car backed up by wrecks and traffic usually held two fantastic things: humans, and gas.
Barricade grinned and picked up a Chrysler 300, slamming it onto the roof of a limousine filled with hopeful college graduates, sent to Vegas as a congratulatory trip. Talons and teeth proved the 300's demise as he tore into it, hunting, searching, finding and puncturing the gasoline tank and finding it delightfully full, and with a mighty shake and a thrusting talon the corrosive, sweet smelling liquid cascaded through the cab and onto the limo below. Now for something.....ah. Here we are.
Silver hands of fate reached and retrieved a red-hot piece of metal debris, fantastically on fire and plunged it with finality into the open wound of wreckage, and as he walked away, Barricade smirked, and smiled, a true and honest smile at the bass drum beat of the explosion and screams behind him.
Jet engines. Hmmm....even better, they were Tomcat engines. Despite his overall absence to the base in his near-two-year mission deploying this virus, Barricade still knew of Coldfront's reputation as a merry mass murder. He paused, looking up at the smoke-filled, star-spattered night sky. <<&&You are late for the party, Coldfront. Or might it be your spectacular late entrance? Come play.&&>>