Setting
A former military airbase for the now Terran Government; It is the home of Thunderstrike a Cybertronian Seeker.
This area is also the assembly plant and testing grounds for the SA-2 Samson lineup, it is approx 2,300 square acres and includes a full factory floor of 10,340 square meters plus two 2,000 square meter hangars for normal aircraft and storage. Of which up to 1800 square meters are publicly availible to lease.
The Samson Arena is nearby to Fort Veritas and is approx 68KM south of the Autobot Mansion's location {The Mansion is known to the Cybertronians as Xanxin is located approximately 22 KM north of Wing City}. It is owned by one Thundarious Stryker, Thunderstrike's alternate persona when in his Pretender Unit mode.
The property is protected by several dozen Dreads, they listen to Thunderstrike because they are scared of what he is able to do to them, a Dread named Dukeduk commands them directly, everyone of the Dreads call him 'Sir', or 'The Duke' the only one that calls him by his full name and survive is Thunderstrike.
In return for keeping unwanted guests off the 2,300+ acre property, Thunderstrike gives them room to roam as they like, and all the Energon they can stomach. Please be mindful of where you step as there are slag piles everywhere.
CURRENT PROPERTY INFORMATION
Originally a Air Force airbase of 10,000 acres. Hangars were demolished and foundations dug up as ten acre sections were sold off to private investors when the base closed. Final tally of total acreage being owned by the former Air Force was exactly 2,303 acres which included all the runways and landing zones and three hangars plus primary observation tower and main gates.
All land around the Samson Arena is empty, zoned industrial and no construction has been done around the spaceport at this time. As of this moment Thunderstrike is currently transferring ownership of the last 6,797 acres plus an additional twenty three thousand acres for additional parking structures and also energon refinery plants.
Current rating of the slag residue is 12/100 with a EFF Rating of Excellent in terms of recycling and grounds care. The slag is reused in weaponry manufacture and also part construction for the Dreads to rebuild extra body panels should they have damage taken. What is not useable is recycled through the Energon Refinery plant
CURRENT FUNDS
As of this moment the current exact price of the property with each acre purchased increased by one thousand M~ {Whatever} At the time of inital 2,303 purchase the price was 1,333 per acre {or 3,069,899 M~} At this time the total price of the property is unknown as the tally goes up daily.
Thunderstrike makes a donation to local charites every month to the following groups in terms of most to least, these are listed as part of the budget for each Cybertronian month, the Dreads do not ask why he does this, but it makes for good reviews of their 'Aircraft factory being nice to the enviroment'
Wildlife Conservation - 23,000 M~ {every two months}
Road Construction - 22,500 M~
Police and Fire Departments 22,000 M~
Emergency Crews 21,000 M~
Electriucal Crews and companies 20,900 M~
Local schools 18,000 M~
Local churches 15,000 M~
MAP OF THE PROPERTY LAYOUT COMING SOON
This area is also the assembly plant and testing grounds for the SA-2 Samson lineup, it is approx 2,300 square acres and includes a full factory floor of 10,340 square meters plus two 2,000 square meter hangars for normal aircraft and storage. Of which up to 1800 square meters are publicly availible to lease.
The Samson Arena is nearby to Fort Veritas and is approx 68KM south of the Autobot Mansion's location {The Mansion is known to the Cybertronians as Xanxin is located approximately 22 KM north of Wing City}. It is owned by one Thundarious Stryker, Thunderstrike's alternate persona when in his Pretender Unit mode.
The property is protected by several dozen Dreads, they listen to Thunderstrike because they are scared of what he is able to do to them, a Dread named Dukeduk commands them directly, everyone of the Dreads call him 'Sir', or 'The Duke' the only one that calls him by his full name and survive is Thunderstrike.
In return for keeping unwanted guests off the 2,300+ acre property, Thunderstrike gives them room to roam as they like, and all the Energon they can stomach. Please be mindful of where you step as there are slag piles everywhere.
CURRENT PROPERTY INFORMATION
Originally a Air Force airbase of 10,000 acres. Hangars were demolished and foundations dug up as ten acre sections were sold off to private investors when the base closed. Final tally of total acreage being owned by the former Air Force was exactly 2,303 acres which included all the runways and landing zones and three hangars plus primary observation tower and main gates.
All land around the Samson Arena is empty, zoned industrial and no construction has been done around the spaceport at this time. As of this moment Thunderstrike is currently transferring ownership of the last 6,797 acres plus an additional twenty three thousand acres for additional parking structures and also energon refinery plants.
Current rating of the slag residue is 12/100 with a EFF Rating of Excellent in terms of recycling and grounds care. The slag is reused in weaponry manufacture and also part construction for the Dreads to rebuild extra body panels should they have damage taken. What is not useable is recycled through the Energon Refinery plant
CURRENT FUNDS
As of this moment the current exact price of the property with each acre purchased increased by one thousand M~ {Whatever} At the time of inital 2,303 purchase the price was 1,333 per acre {or 3,069,899 M~} At this time the total price of the property is unknown as the tally goes up daily.
Thunderstrike makes a donation to local charites every month to the following groups in terms of most to least, these are listed as part of the budget for each Cybertronian month, the Dreads do not ask why he does this, but it makes for good reviews of their 'Aircraft factory being nice to the enviroment'
Wildlife Conservation - 23,000 M~ {every two months}
Road Construction - 22,500 M~
Police and Fire Departments 22,000 M~
Emergency Crews 21,000 M~
Electriucal Crews and companies 20,900 M~
Local schools 18,000 M~
Local churches 15,000 M~
MAP OF THE PROPERTY LAYOUT COMING SOON
McKinley Samson Arena
Welcome to McKinley Samson Arena, Please be advised, we are a Military base. But not your average military base.
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
McKinley Samson Arena is a part of 
Wing City Highway.
5 Characters Here
Thunderstrike [2] A Seeker of the Ancient Period of Cybertron, Child of Primus
Doctor Shubert [0] No, he is not really a doctor
Nadia Bathory [0]
Adrian Frost [0] "That's Commander to you Corpral."
Mike Burke [0] brutal agile and arrogant fit, armed thief,gang member
Start Character Here »
Touchdown
Locked into a geosynchronous orbit, the flagship of Descorp- Rhynn's Hammer, a five kilometer long vessel loaded with weapons and troops waited in the darkness of space. Deep inside the many layers of protective steel bulkheads and interspersing weapons of mass destruction laid the bridge- "Sir, we have a lock on those landing co-ordinates. Dispatching the first shipment now."
A figure seems to form out of the rooms darkness and gestures with a hand, "It's about time. Begin packing the second and third drops as soon as the first is down. We need to catch up. I want boots on ground and weapons in hand in less than a day."
The technician nods and begins typing into his console. It did not do to piss off the boss.
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What looked like a seed-pod detached from the underbelly of the ship, spinning in the vacuum of space a moment before small retro-thrusters fire online and begin adjusting the course of the object. On board a team of Descorp Dragoons strap in and send silent prayers to the Boss. Orbital drops sucked. Sucked bad.
Sudden acceleration as the thruster kick it into high, driving the men aboard back into their seats- the gear and supplies were strapped down and kept from bouncing about, thankfully. Or instead of high tech gear and elite soldiers...the vampires would receive a pile of hamburger and bits of broken metal. The ride was that rough. They hit atmosphere and it got worse.
McKinley Samson Arena- the target landing zone, a private place, no doubt it had cost the leeches a pretty penny to secure the rights to use. Descorp didn't care about the owner or the secrets the base no doubt held. They just needed a place to set down goods and soldiers. This port was as good as any. Though...it looked kinda like a shit-hole. A new paint job and paving, at the least. Maybe a deal could be worked out.
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The pod was coming in hot, but well within tolerable ranges- it was uncomfortable inside, but they were not bursting into flames or anything. Landing gear activated, as a set of probes extend from the fore and aft of the vehicle...a strange whine filling the air. The tips vibrated at a strange range, and somehow...the pod began to slow. It was impossible, but it was happening.
With a clunk it settled down, metal clicking as it cooled. Descorp's first delivery had arrived.
Within moments a dozen men in black uniforms were climbing free of the pod and handing down cargo, stacking it in neat piles. They had orders to get everything ready for when the vamps arrived. Six tons of weaponry and gear, as well as the beginning key structure bits to begin building a suitable hab-unit.
A separate group of soldiers breaks off, moving to dismantle the pod, they would then use the parts to build the means for transporting the weapons back to the castle- a few anti-gravity sleds. Without them it would take weeks to drag the crates.
Locked into a geosynchronous orbit, the flagship of Descorp- Rhynn's Hammer, a five kilometer long vessel loaded with weapons and troops waited in the darkness of space. Deep inside the many layers of protective steel bulkheads and interspersing weapons of mass destruction laid the bridge- "Sir, we have a lock on those landing co-ordinates. Dispatching the first shipment now."
A figure seems to form out of the rooms darkness and gestures with a hand, "It's about time. Begin packing the second and third drops as soon as the first is down. We need to catch up. I want boots on ground and weapons in hand in less than a day."
The technician nods and begins typing into his console. It did not do to piss off the boss.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What looked like a seed-pod detached from the underbelly of the ship, spinning in the vacuum of space a moment before small retro-thrusters fire online and begin adjusting the course of the object. On board a team of Descorp Dragoons strap in and send silent prayers to the Boss. Orbital drops sucked. Sucked bad.
Sudden acceleration as the thruster kick it into high, driving the men aboard back into their seats- the gear and supplies were strapped down and kept from bouncing about, thankfully. Or instead of high tech gear and elite soldiers...the vampires would receive a pile of hamburger and bits of broken metal. The ride was that rough. They hit atmosphere and it got worse.
McKinley Samson Arena- the target landing zone, a private place, no doubt it had cost the leeches a pretty penny to secure the rights to use. Descorp didn't care about the owner or the secrets the base no doubt held. They just needed a place to set down goods and soldiers. This port was as good as any. Though...it looked kinda like a shit-hole. A new paint job and paving, at the least. Maybe a deal could be worked out.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The pod was coming in hot, but well within tolerable ranges- it was uncomfortable inside, but they were not bursting into flames or anything. Landing gear activated, as a set of probes extend from the fore and aft of the vehicle...a strange whine filling the air. The tips vibrated at a strange range, and somehow...the pod began to slow. It was impossible, but it was happening.
With a clunk it settled down, metal clicking as it cooled. Descorp's first delivery had arrived.
Within moments a dozen men in black uniforms were climbing free of the pod and handing down cargo, stacking it in neat piles. They had orders to get everything ready for when the vamps arrived. Six tons of weaponry and gear, as well as the beginning key structure bits to begin building a suitable hab-unit.
A separate group of soldiers breaks off, moving to dismantle the pod, they would then use the parts to build the means for transporting the weapons back to the castle- a few anti-gravity sleds. Without them it would take weeks to drag the crates.
Forty of the Forces Vankoryth arranged themselves around the one who would sign.
Silently, the Dracul stepped forth to sign for the package. Next time, he would send a henchman.
Silently, the Dracul stepped forth to sign for the package. Next time, he would send a henchman.
Dozens of Dreads wandered the property, most of them overseeing the assembly line of the military craft comissioned through the TNG's military, military craft built by Cybertronian creatures, nobody was the wiser of what the massive fleet of countless black militart grade Hummers really were. And none knew what exactly was Thunderstrike in truth. The property was being expanded as well. Thunderstrike was working to get another ten thousand acres of industrial zoned property to use as Energon refinery locations.
The only problem was paperwork.
Thunderstrike had cornered a certain Detective to ask for information, with the detective was a woman that he thought he recognised briefly as Swallowtail, but it was not her. The massive helo touched down and transformed in a heartbeat to his Hummer alt mode and stepped out in his Pretender Unit. the young man, now looking to be in his late 30s entered the masive complex and begain the task of information searching once more.
He sent out two of his dreads, those who were present when he cornered the Detective. Dask and Dusk, once more to find a certain person. In the mean time he got to work on his new designs. Getting some of the parts and required items to make said parts however was going to be a problem.
He needed a man inside the TIB. Or rather, a digital mole.
It was time to get to work.
The only problem was paperwork.
Thunderstrike had cornered a certain Detective to ask for information, with the detective was a woman that he thought he recognised briefly as Swallowtail, but it was not her. The massive helo touched down and transformed in a heartbeat to his Hummer alt mode and stepped out in his Pretender Unit. the young man, now looking to be in his late 30s entered the masive complex and begain the task of information searching once more.
He sent out two of his dreads, those who were present when he cornered the Detective. Dask and Dusk, once more to find a certain person. In the mean time he got to work on his new designs. Getting some of the parts and required items to make said parts however was going to be a problem.
He needed a man inside the TIB. Or rather, a digital mole.
It was time to get to work.
It was uneventful, at least until he descovered some new arrivals. Ah slag! Decepticons had arrived. Three by the look of it, in the Slums. Well, this just wont do at all. He sent off a notice to Bolts before sending notice to three of his own Dreads before leaving the tarmac himself and taking to the air to go look for these Decepticons. More decepticons in the city, or even in the system, meant trouble. Lots of it.
- 4 posts here • Page 1 of 1