Goa manages to sniff out the active building among the ruins. It'd taken him a couple of cycles of work to get here -- his schedule was as harried as always, and he prefers to sit down to work on a project, not squeeze by, a little file there, a little report there. But he'd managed to track down Psykeout. Without Slipstream's help, even. Finding the office, barely brighter than any of the other abandoned ones here, felt like the easy part. Two sharp raps rattle the door. Goa says nothing -- he figures Psykeout has a camera or two out here. If he's here, anyway. He does cross his arms over his chest, which may say more. And his blades were flipped out, hanging from his shoulders the entire time since he'd been on this little search. Psykeout sits at his desk, hovering over a report. So many reports that need to be filed. So many reports that need to be sent out. So many communications. But, there was the neutral laying on the table next to his desk. Completely offline, he was using it as a test subject. How much could a femme take before they completely shut down? How much pain and suffering would it take before they just gave up completely. That's what he wanted to know. The sound of his door rattling jarred him from his thoughts. He snaps his head up to the ceiling and looks at one of the camera screens in the corner. Goa. Goa with a disfiguration. Perhaps that could be a selling point. Perhaps it could be used against him. A smirk crosses his face and he spins around in his chair, his voice filling the room, "ENTER, GOA."
Goa slides the door open, but there's a pause of scanning before he steps in. Side-steps in, more like. His antennae and optics are both feeling the area out spastically, and he stands in the door like this a few nanosecs longer before the courtesy of, more cautiously, closing it. "Psykeout?" His tone is a flat inquiry, no hint of malice, but his optics narrow with it. He sees the offline transformer. That's obvious from the way his optics keep tracking back to it. But it didn't raise his hackles to see, so to speak. "Any reason you stay so far from the city?" he says, now slightly warmer in demeanor.
Psykeout's optics flicker softly, as he watches Goa walk through the door. He makes no comment when Goa first asks to make sure that he is, indeed, in the room. It was his second question that peaked his interest, "Goa, the reason that I stay so far from the city, is because my services are not just for the Decepticon Empire. You see, the Neutrals have nowhere else to turn. Nobody else to talk to. So, they come here and talk to me. It seems that Autobots also talk to them, on occasion. So, in the end, I get information and they get the satisfaction of feeling wanted...if only for a moment." His voice is cool, calm and collected. Recent events have finally settled down and he can go back to a sense of normalcy, "What brings you out to the Abandoned Factories, Goa. I assume it's not solely a social visit."
Goa tilts his nose up slightly, studiously absorbing all this. So Psykeout was an information dealer. That doesn't surprise him -- that much is displayed on his face. But it does enthuse him -- perhaps they weren't so unalike -- and he is unable to hide a curious brightening of his optics. "Good deal for you, mm?" He seats himself at the corner of a spare medical table, one tire parked halfway up its leg, bending his knee. His interlocked fingers rest there. "Was wondering if you might've accidentally snagged anything of mine while my chassis was disabled." A smirk lands on the mech's face, though awkwardly offset by the hardened scar above it. He's confident Psykeout wouldn't 'accidentally' snag anything. "Went through my subspace. Doesn't add up. Some of my crystal isn't accounted for." This was a half-truth, and Goa isn't a particularly convincing liar -- to be fair, it isn't completely a lie, to his processor. Goa didn't know the precise volume of material removed, save the amount Shred gave him.
Psykeout leans back in the chair and motions towards the scar on the mech's face, "I can take care of that in a jiffy for you, if you like. Wouldn't take two minutes." He pauses as Goa seems to make himself at home on the table, his optics narrowing slightly, "When you go to new places, do you often just make yourself at home without any invitation? I did invite you in, however, I don't remember saying that you could feel free to sit anywhere you please. I do have other chairs in storage, as I talk to more than myself...although, it sometimes may seem contrary to that." He goes to a closet hidden behind the table holding the offline femme and pulls out a chair, setting it directly in front of Goa, "If you insist on making your presence known here, at least have the slagging courtesy to sit in a chair." Settling back into his seat, he crosses his legs and laces his fingers together, "As for the mildly annoying verbage coming from your vocal circuitry...Yes. It is quite a deal, as I get information from the locals and pass it on to Megatron. At times, when it is necessary, I also perform medical procedures on the locals in exchange for their information. As for the accidental 'snagging' that you mention...no. I didn't take anything accidently. Nothing I have done has been an accident and I would think that my past actions would reflect this, Goa. Your inattention to detail is even more annoying than the screeching of that femme, Slipstream."
An outright smile moves across Goa's face. "Appreciate the offer, Psykeout. Got a good deal on cosmetics work in Cubicron." He quietly observes Psykeout's tirade. When he sets the seat down, he looks at it, then Psyke, repeating the motion a couple of times. "I do." A chuckle. "No one invited my aft back to Cybertron, and here I am." He hops to his feet, then makes a point of outright lounging in the chair provided, hands still clasped, but over his abdomen now. "No point in making a nuisance, though. 'Nless there is."
There's a bucket of bait swimming in Psykeout's words, and Goa refuses to acknowledge any of it. Though one antennae does quirk aside slightly, seemingly of its own volition, when you mention the seeker. Silently, he thanks Megatron for pulling the same verbal tricks last drill -- otherwise, he might not be handling this so well. "So did you take any of it on purpose?" The green mech hunches forward in his seat. "Shred did. Returned it to me, after seeing what it does. I'd hope you'd follow the lead medic's example." Psykeout sighs audibly, "Just because nobody has had manners in your past doesn't give you the right to completely ignore the fact that others do believe in them," Pausing for a moment, "I notice that you skirted around my offer," He motions to the table, "We could get that taken care of in a moment, Goa. Just say the word and it'll be done." His optics flick up at the antennae the moves ever so slightly, but he makes no mention of it. Goa is overzealous and needs to be dealt with accordingly. Leaning back in the chair, a smile teases his lips. There is the mysterious amount of lies mixed in with the truth when Psykeout talks. One has to work hard to make sure that they pull the truth out of the lies. A blatant lie is always easy to see through and sheer truth never results in good things. So, mix the two.
That being said, Psykeout clasps his hands around his crossed legs, "Goa, I can tell you beyond the shadow of a doubt that /I/ did not take anything. I have no reason to. As for Shred's decisions, I have always questioned those, but I shall not try to overrule the decisions of Lord Megatron."
Goa's antennae fold back into their housing, his optics following Psykeout's gesture. His smile has drooped by this point. "I said no," his shoulders rise slightly, "Not so many drones around. In case it explodes." There's a bit of a smirk returning to his faceplate, but it's more of a quizzical response to Psykeout's insistence. Goa's hands unlock and he laces them behind his helmet, making himself even more at home than he already was. "Shredder didn't have a reason to, either, but there she was with it. I believe you, but I'd still like to take a look wherever you keep the haz-materials. There's some doubt about the parasite cure, topside. Lot of radiating energon derivatives -- know about them, used to move them. I want to acquire some to take to the scientist types."
Psykeout smiles faintly, "Drones are useless, but if you want to walk around with the deformity, it is your own decision. I will not force you to make such a decision." His optics narrow to mere slits and a grimace crosses Psykeout's face as Goa stretches out. The complete and total lack of respect is enough to send him over the edge. He pulls his hands off of his knees and uncrosses his legs, obviously starting to get frustrated.
"Shred likes to think that she has reasons for the things that she does. However, I still doubt that her neural circuitry is one-hundred percent." He pauses, looking around his home, "Do you really think that I would leave my hazardous materials just laying about? I have nothing of yours in this place, nor am I going to give you the authority to seek out any particular materials." He brings his hand to his chin and strokes it slowly, "Radiating energon, hmm? Guess whoever has the last bit should be rather careful with it, then. Which reminds me, how much exactly is left? You said some wasn't accounted for...I'll keep an eye out and ask some of the others if they have seen it."
He knows exactly where the last bit is kept. He also knows exactly how much is left. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't take it...A gumby took it and broke a piece off. But, he made sure to hide it in another office. His forgotten office. Down deep in the furthest depths of Cybertron.
"Yeah. Careful," Goa replies, suddenly very flat. The servos around his cheek scar twitch. "I can't say for certain. Can say that what I have isn't all of it, though. Not heavy enough." The roller seems to get a thrill from pushing Psykeout's buttons -- he muffles a chuckle at his restlessness. But his expression starts to sour again. "Said I believed you, Psykey. Some reason you don't want to be noted for assistance? In engineering a defense from the parasites?" One of his twiggish legs rolls forward and back against the floor lazily, Goa's posture no less relaxed. "What did you /want/ to do to my face, Psykeout?" He chuckles again, his blade-wings rotating out sideways to accompany the back of the chair.. "You didn't strike me as the most finessed doc."
Goa thought he'd been keeping up pretty well. He caught an odd amount of defensiveness. But he made a range error -- he thought Psyke was referring to Shred as the alternative thief.
Psykeout arches an optic ridge, "I was there and the security tapes would show that I am there. I did participate in the procedure. But, I have nothing to worry about." He pushes off of the chair and walks over to Goa, running his finger over the scar, "Well, given the amount of materials in the area, Goa, I could go ahead and patch that up. Have you looking good as new. Besides. You may not think of me as a skilled medical professional, but isn't it most important to make sure that the handiwork goes unseen? There are more skills and talents inside of this mind then I could even begin to explain, Goa."
He pauses again, leaning back and staring at the scar for a few moments longer, "If it isn't heavy enough, they you should theoretically weigh the amount you have and add weight until it's the same approximate weight. Then you would have a better idea of how much you were looking for. But, that's not any of my concern. Just offering a fellow Decepticon some friendly advice."
Goa clearly quails at the finger to his cheek. But he considers. Torque had been swamped lately -- so had he -- it could be a while. A scar builds character, sure, but it also prematurely aged a mech; Goa's beard did that for him, it didn't need help. And he was easily stronger than the medic, if he tried something stupid. "Alright." He swings his legs aside, smiling wryly. "Smooth this slagger over and maybe I won't twitch when you look at me."
He moves to resituate himself on the table, same position, same place Psykeout got so flustered about him sitting before. "Don't doubt you were, but it's not what I was talking about. They want to build a shield, or a weapon."
Psykeout allows his face to relax, but shows no emotion beyond that. As Goa gets onto the table, he motions towards the straps, "Goa. What I am going to do is going to be painful. Taking off part of your face isn't going to be pleasant for you and I don't want you to overreact, lashing out at me. I am going to strap you to the table, if only to make sure that you don't try to hurt me."
Goa freezes up a moment. He blinks his optics off and on slowly. "Psykeout, how pleasant did my condition look to you? When you cut it out?" His upper lip tightens just a bit over his dental plates. "I've withstood pain other Cybertronians would lose it under. Did." The scythes at his shoulders shift forward in their mounts. "If you're afraid of me hurting you, take those. Admit I've gotten stabby before." He cringes to himself, recalling some distant past.
Psykeout raises an optic ridge and reaches to pull out the scythes. Once removed, he tosses them to the other side of the room and grabs a laser scalpel from his desk, motioning for Goa to lay down. He's in the zone, now. Nothing is going to break him from this. There is so many opportunities right now. There are so many ways that this could go. Raising an optic ridge, he taps on the back of the chair, waiting for Goa to get into position.
Goa has lost none of his skill in getting comfortable. His hands are defiantly steepled over his chest, at any rate. He doesn't trust Psykeout a moment, but perhaps his lack of outright /fear/ will irritate him further, into giving Goa what he wants, he can hope. Or maybe his vanity is just a half-pace ahead of his better judgment. Still, he has no reason to believe he can't overpower the mech. So he relaxes -- just eyeing him with a particularly detail-cautious glare.
Psykeout leans over Goa, his optics focused on the scar. It's hovering mere inches over the scar, when a wire slips underneath his foot. Psykeout takes a step forward to begin the procedure, when it slips underneath and he finds himself falling towards Goa. More specifically, that laser scalpel is aimed directly towards Goa's optics. There is a distinct possibility that the scalpel could connect with the optic. Any movement could result in the scalpel in the optic. Another scar. More damage to Goa. A split second decision...
Goa keeps his helmet locked to the spot -- one optic shutter closes sharply, and he grimaces. His closest arm snaps out to the side to intercept Psykeout's, the long fingers closing around the medic's forearm like a vice. True to his word, though, that's all he does. "Accident, Psykey?" He smirks.
Psykeout snaps back, looking down at the floor, "Yes...yes it was, Goa." He takes a step back and truly looks shocked, as though something happened that he didn't expect. All the planning. All the ideas. All the revenge that needed to be finished. Gone, because of a slagging wire. He goes back over to his chair and plops down in it, still in awe of what happened, "Goa...Goa, I believe that perhaps you should leave. I...I need to take a look at myself and find out what happened. Find out why something like that occurred." Without waiting for a response, he spins around on his chair and leans on the desk, staring at the wall in front of him. A few clicks later, his voice fills the air once again, "I will be on the lookout for the rest of the materials. If I find them, I will radio you about their location."
Goa slides his legs off the table slowly, slumping the rest of his body off of it to stand. Psykeout got ahead of himself -- that's all the victory Goa needed for a smug look to be welded onto his face. "You need a cleaning drone," he remarks, as he shuffles his way to the door. One of his hands swings and pats Psykeout on the shoulder as he passes by. It always bothered Goa when Torque did stuff like that. "Thanks for trying. See you in 'Hex." The door opens, then shuts behind him, and it's only a click before his vehicle mode's engine starts to hum into the distance.