Dropped Plotlines (Journal Entry #4 of Pilot Power Master Steel Crush HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros)

The dizzying horizon before me brings an almost inappropriate sense of serenity with it. After all of the chaos and pain I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros have been through since entering this green hell, I am not used to feeling safe. It is hard, however to not feel safe doing what it is I do best: cruising in my helicopter.
The trip back from my encounter with the quite insane Ms. Earheart was swift, or at least it seemed like no trouble at all after I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros had walked the distance in agonizing hunger just recently. Now my hunger had been sated, as I had made a habit of indulging in the plentiful meat I had gathered.
Still, I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros did not enjoy the ride back so much as I enjoyed getting back into my own copter, which I had come to believe I would never see again (an utterlycomprehensivelylame prospect). Having refueled the helicopter and patched up the tank’s tear using materials from Earhart’s plane, I set off to discover what lay at the end of this place.
I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros found something interesting among the personal effects Earhart kept around her plane- A notebook, what appeared to be a scientific journal called “ The Metallic Property (Threshold Theory)”. No, it doesn’t really make sense that I’d be snooping around all the papers that chick kept in the back of her plane, and yes, the chances of me actually finding a document so completely relevant to the main story is a bogus plot move. But give OSK a break; he’s taking this one step at a time, and he would’ve introduced this in part three if he’d known where this was going. So yeah, it’s a lame move just to progress the plot. Deal with it. Maybe I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros just have totallysweetnice file-finding skills, okay?
The file was written by a man named Cenron Henderson; I assume this is the scientist whom Earhart spoke of, a man she surely turned into a drumstick to add to her bonfire of meat. I read the overarching details of the file before I resumed my coptering. It basically says exactly what Earhart said it did: That somewhere around 5000 distance units in this environment, the metallic content of the green material became so superheated that it melted away, possibly (“possibly” was something my friend Cenron stressed mercilessly) opening passageways to whatever lay beyond, hopefully the world from whence I came.
Therein lies the excitement which floods my mind presently. My distance currently reads 4600, and with mere minutes until 5000, I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros am filled with anticipation about whether this threshold exists or not. The temperature has certainly been rising drastically; I do not believe any creatures could survive on the surface this far in.
4700. If I squint, I feel that I can almost make out spots of red on the horizon. I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros wonder if there are mirages in here. I do not know about science. After all, the RazorClaw Cerebros family is a family of warriors, bred for more effective courses of action than scientific study. As such, I do not know whether tricks of the mind are even possible in here.
My heart begins pounding. The red is growing more and more intense. There can be no doubt about it now: There is a threshold. There is a threshold and I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros am going there. There are a mere four blocks between me and it.
Suddenly my complete happiness, my wonderful hope, is crushed. As I fly below that
first block, I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros hear an engine kick into full power behind me. Something was waiting in hiding behind that block. I catch a glimpse of it in my rear view mirror- it is the Anti-England Transformer Rebel ship which I had pursued into the Bermuda Triangle. I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros believed that I had destroyed it, or at least had lost it when I entered the horrible vortex which brought me here, but apparently we are in the same predicament. I consider for a moment that perhaps the mysterious pilot recognizes this, and may be merciful in this matter.
I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros am wrong. There is a cliché high-pitched scifi energy weapon sound as the craft opens fire. As if these blocks weren’t enough for me to worry about, now I had hostile fire on my ass. However, being the skilled pilot of the RazorClaw Cerebros family (and of the wholly superior rank of Power Master Steel Crush) I am able to progress aptly with little trouble. I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros begin to entertain the fantasy that my tricky maneuvers through the blocks will cause my enemy to crash. However, he seems to be a worthy adversary, if not as good a pilot as I.
As I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros approach the threshold, I cannot believe my eyes. It seems to me, from my distance of 92, 91, 90 from the red, that the blocks within it are…moving. There is no doubt about it- those red death traps are rapidly bouncing up and down, taunting me, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros.
Crossing the threshold, I almost misjudge the position of the first, and must fly up at the lasts second in order to avoid a hot death. My guard goes down as I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros frantically compensate for this mistake, and in this moment my copter is grazed by enemy fire, causing it to drop from the sky.
I panic. The controls are not responsive. Desperately, I throw the door of the copter open. I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros am engulfed in an intense heat, so intense that I feel that I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros am burning. Before I jump out, I take one last look at the ground below me. It is distant, but its red surface approaches with every passing moment. I jump. This is surely an act of suicide, but so is staying in the helicopter, and somehow I have convinced myself that I have more of a chance falling by myself than being buried in metal.
What I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros do not count on is the idea that my enemy may want me alive. Seeing what I have done, the enemy craft swoops down below me, skillfully avoiding the moving blocks, and places itself between myself and my destination. My body slams onto the hull of the craft. The metal is agonizingly hot, as it has been superheated by its hellish surroundings. Every point of contact on my body is burned. Through the fog of tears in my eyes, I catch a final glimpse of my falling helicopter as the enemy craft fires at it, destroying it in a blinding flash of light.
I give into despair. I am burned beyond thought, I am alone, and now I do not even have my helicopter, my one hope of getting out of this place. Suddenly a hatch opens a few yards away from me on the ship. A metal claw reaches out and grabs my leg, yanking me inside.

My next few days are miserable. Imprisoned in a dark cell, I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros begin to undergo the symptoms of a severe illness. My daily activities consist primarily of vomiting profusely, hallucinating wildly, and rubbing the lesions appearing all over my skin, somehow convinced that rubbing them will alleviate the pain, when all it really does is make them bleed.
On either the second or third day, I am visited by a man. They insist on being referred to as “men”, though they in no way resemble any man I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros have ever seen. The first thing I notice about this “man” is that he shares my illness. Lesions plaster his face (Luckily for me the face has not been a popular spot for my lesions), and he grips his stomach regularly in obvious agony. He grabs me by the shirt and drags me out of my terrible cell.
We walk down a hallway as black as the cell I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros have endured. The “man” says nothing. Finally we turn a corner, and brilliant white light assaults my (Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros) eyes. As I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros struggle to open them again, my pupils committed to retreat, the “man throws me down onto my hands and knees. Being the strong England Wrestler-Transformer I am, I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros win the battle with my eyes.
The sight before me is beautiful. On the other side of a thin sheet of glass I see my helicopter, slightly bruised but in one piece. I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros do not understand it. I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros cannot rationalize it, but I do not care, for it is there.
I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros may have cried a little. No big dea,l okay?
The “man” who has brought me this wonderful moment kneels beside me, speaking into my ear.
“You will fly it for us. You will teach us.”
I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros cannot understand why he would ask this of me, but am so endeared to them for saving my craft that I do not question him.
“Yes,” I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros agree, “I’ll fly it. I, Pilot Power Master HeliCyrus RazorClaw Cerebros will fly it.”

-OSK

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