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[[Prompt from ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
musing_way. Gonna crosspost everything here just for my own peace of mind.]]
Hot Rod’s no slouch at combat, but since his downgrade - Optimus says he shouldn’t call it that, but what does he know, he hasn’t been Orion Pax in eons - he’s de-emphasized melee in his own training regimen. The things that worked for Rodimus Prime are liable to get Hot Rod scrapped, and while ultimately he knows the only remedy for that is to re-train in a style that suits him, he just… doesn’t feel ready for that. Not yet.
Instead he’s spending a lot of time at the artillery range. He doesn’t have the power output of Rodimus Prime either, but it hasn’t affected his aim one bit, and he’s convinced he’s quicker on the draw than he used to be even if his range statistics don’t bear that out. He stands at the line, swinging his arms idly as the ‘range in use’ alarm sounded and the attendant loads up the targeting program. Across the range from him, the drones light up and lift off the ground, the painted targets suspended under them.
//Motion program loaded,// comes the report from the tac office. //Fire when ready.//
“Copy that,” Hot Rod answers. The targets begin to dance, their motion programming just random enough to present a challenge without banging into each other. Hot Rod lowers his visor and lifts his arms, data streaming across his vision. Power pools at the base of his wrist lasers and he clenches his fists as calculating… snaps to target acquired.
There’s a pulse of power/pleasure/charge, and the nearest target explodes in a burst of flame. //Hit logged,// reports the tac office. //Good shot, Hot Rod.//
Hot Rod grins, the fading starburst in the sky reflected in his visor. //Thanks, control.//
musing_way. Gonna crosspost everything here just for my own peace of mind.]]Hot Rod’s no slouch at combat, but since his downgrade - Optimus says he shouldn’t call it that, but what does he know, he hasn’t been Orion Pax in eons - he’s de-emphasized melee in his own training regimen. The things that worked for Rodimus Prime are liable to get Hot Rod scrapped, and while ultimately he knows the only remedy for that is to re-train in a style that suits him, he just… doesn’t feel ready for that. Not yet.
Instead he’s spending a lot of time at the artillery range. He doesn’t have the power output of Rodimus Prime either, but it hasn’t affected his aim one bit, and he’s convinced he’s quicker on the draw than he used to be even if his range statistics don’t bear that out. He stands at the line, swinging his arms idly as the ‘range in use’ alarm sounded and the attendant loads up the targeting program. Across the range from him, the drones light up and lift off the ground, the painted targets suspended under them.
//Motion program loaded,// comes the report from the tac office. //Fire when ready.//
“Copy that,” Hot Rod answers. The targets begin to dance, their motion programming just random enough to present a challenge without banging into each other. Hot Rod lowers his visor and lifts his arms, data streaming across his vision. Power pools at the base of his wrist lasers and he clenches his fists as calculating… snaps to target acquired.
There’s a pulse of power/pleasure/charge, and the nearest target explodes in a burst of flame. //Hit logged,// reports the tac office. //Good shot, Hot Rod.//
Hot Rod grins, the fading starburst in the sky reflected in his visor. //Thanks, control.//
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