Differentiation (Part 4)
Title: Differentiation (Part 4)
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Smokescreen. Bluestreak. Hound. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Notes: Bunny decided to change the name of this section of the fic. Ah well. At least there aren't many parts yet.
“Bluestreak, you gotta keep up with us. We are not losing you on the way out.”
“Sorry Jazz. You said Prowl went ahead so we’d be less conspicuous?”
“Yeah. Hey, help Smokey out, will you? He’s not all that familiar with Praxus anymore. Being in the army and getting your aft posted all over the planet does that to a bot.”
The saboteur’s grin drew a similar expression from Bluestreak, one that he hid when blue sensor panels twitched briefly and Smokescreen glanced back at them with a questioning expression. Jazz nudged the grey mech in the side encouragingly.
“I bet you know a couple of shortcuts he doesn’t. Who knows, we might even catch up with Prowl that way.”
Thus diverted, Bluestreak nodded, moving over to the tactician, and Jazz cycled air in relief. Next to him, Hound murmured, keeping his voice low. “Nice save. But how long are we gonna pretend Prowl exists?”
“About that… We have a Prowl. Kinda. Smokey and I named Blue’s other self that.” The saboteur muttered back, and the tracker rebooted his optics, then nodded.
“… Alright. When do we break the news to him? Do we break the news to him?”
“Don’t know the answer to either of those questions, Hound. If we do, I’m hoping it won’t be ‘til after we get out of here. Explaining things is going to be tricky enough without having to duck ‘Cons in the bargain.”
“I hear that. But I can’t fool Bluestreak with a hologram for long. Sooner or later, he’s gonna suspect something.”
Jazz sighed, looking at the two Praxians. “I know.”
= = =
He supposed it could be considered a good thing that they’d made it most of the way to the rendezvous point before the Decepticons found them. However, as he ducked a plasma blast, narrowly avoiding an early termination, Jazz couldn’t find it in his spark to appreciate that small mercy.
Bluestreak was crouched against the charred wall of their meagre cover, optics flickering, faceplates drawn as he held his rifle close, and the Ops mech eyed the grey Praxian carefully. Prowl had yet to make an appearance, but the young bot seemed to be keeping it together, even if he did look a little shattered.
A quiet chirp on his comm. told him that Hound had joined them, and the hologram concealing the tracker faded a second later (startling Bluestreak, who was thankfully quiet with his surprise), revealing Smokescreen practically welded to the green mech’s back. The visored bot grinned at them cheerlessly.
“Please tell me you have a plan.”
“Try to sneak past the fraggers and avoid getting killed while doing so.” Smokescreen replied as he risked a glance at their attackers, dropping immediately when a shot buzzed his helm.
“You know, I was expecting something a little more detailed from the tactician.”
“Unless you’ve got backup and a means of teleporting us to a better position stuffed in your subspace, we don’t exactly have a lot of options here.” The diversionary mech snapped, sending off a volley of shots to discourage their attackers from coming closer.
“Great, we can’t take their fire for much longer. And my blaster’s almost empty.” Jazz groaned. Smokescreen sighed in agreement.
“Same.”
“Any ideas as to how we’re surviving this one?”
“I’ll plant a smoke bomb here and trigger it remotely after we’ve moved off. The ‘Cons will target the smoke, and we’ll get out while they’re distracted.”
“So, we run for it and hope no one on the ‘Con side is looking too closely.”
“Pretty much.”
“Welp. I’ve had to follow worse. Hound, you up for hiding us?”
The tracker shook his head worriedly. “Not for long. I’m too low to make anything big.”
“Frag. Okay. Just hide yourself, Smokey and Blue’. I’ll manage on my own.”
“Wait, I can go without too.” Bluestreak piped up, and protested further when Smokescreen immediately voiced his refusal. “I can. I saw how close you had to stick to Hound just to get here. We won’t both fit under whatever he did.”
“Bluestreak, you don’t have any experience with this. I’ll go.”
“I’m mostly grey; I stand a better chance of being overlooked than you, especially if you provide some cover fire.”
Jazz cut in. “Blue’s got a point. Smokescreen, we have to move now, that wall’s not going to hold much longer.”
The blue mech growled in frustration, then gave in. The black and white mech patted his shoulder, then turned to the other Praxian.
“Bluestreak, listen close, alright? I’ll go first. See where and how I move, and join me as quickly as you can. If you get spotted, dive for the first bit of shelter you can reach.”
When Bluestreak nodded, Jazz slipped out into the open as Hound and Smokescreen occupied the Decepticons with sporadic bursts of weapons fire. The grey mech quickly followed, and was soon sharing a bombed out building with the visored Ops bot. The Praxian went to his knees the moment he was under cover, and Jazz rubbed the young mech’s trembling sensor panels gently.
“Good job, Blue’. You did well.”
“Jazz, I-” Bluestreak shivered, a hand rising towards his helm, only to stop when the smoke bomb went off, but neither Hound nor Smokescreen appeared. Catching Jazz’s gaze with a fearful one, both mechs looked outside to see the holographer half dragging the tactician as they ran, fully visible, to hide behind a fallen pillar.
Blasts impacted the other two Autobots’ makeshift refuge, and Bluestreak was on his pedes, weapon in his hands so fast Jazz hadn’t seen him move. Just as quickly, Bluestreak fired the rifle, his aim eerily precise, and soon the only sound was of the grey mech’s intakes whirring and debris slowly clattering to the ground.
Hound and Smokescreen darted into their hideout, and Jazz stopped them from going near the grey Praxian. Bluestreak dropped his gun, sinking to the ground as he buried his face in his hands, muffling his whimper. When his intakes slowed, Smokescreen carefully approached him.
“Bluestreak? You with us, Blue’?”
“Are you alright? Hound?” The young bot rasped, optics flickering as he clutched his helm.
“Yes, thanks to you. Hound’s here as well. We’re okay, we’re all okay.” The blue mech murmured, wrapping an arm about the shaky mech. The younger Praxian sighed, pressing close to the tactician.
“S’good. Smokey?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s someone else in my head.”
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Smokescreen. Bluestreak. Hound. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Notes: Bunny decided to change the name of this section of the fic. Ah well. At least there aren't many parts yet.
“Bluestreak, you gotta keep up with us. We are not losing you on the way out.”
“Sorry Jazz. You said Prowl went ahead so we’d be less conspicuous?”
“Yeah. Hey, help Smokey out, will you? He’s not all that familiar with Praxus anymore. Being in the army and getting your aft posted all over the planet does that to a bot.”
The saboteur’s grin drew a similar expression from Bluestreak, one that he hid when blue sensor panels twitched briefly and Smokescreen glanced back at them with a questioning expression. Jazz nudged the grey mech in the side encouragingly.
“I bet you know a couple of shortcuts he doesn’t. Who knows, we might even catch up with Prowl that way.”
Thus diverted, Bluestreak nodded, moving over to the tactician, and Jazz cycled air in relief. Next to him, Hound murmured, keeping his voice low. “Nice save. But how long are we gonna pretend Prowl exists?”
“About that… We have a Prowl. Kinda. Smokey and I named Blue’s other self that.” The saboteur muttered back, and the tracker rebooted his optics, then nodded.
“… Alright. When do we break the news to him? Do we break the news to him?”
“Don’t know the answer to either of those questions, Hound. If we do, I’m hoping it won’t be ‘til after we get out of here. Explaining things is going to be tricky enough without having to duck ‘Cons in the bargain.”
“I hear that. But I can’t fool Bluestreak with a hologram for long. Sooner or later, he’s gonna suspect something.”
Jazz sighed, looking at the two Praxians. “I know.”
= = =
He supposed it could be considered a good thing that they’d made it most of the way to the rendezvous point before the Decepticons found them. However, as he ducked a plasma blast, narrowly avoiding an early termination, Jazz couldn’t find it in his spark to appreciate that small mercy.
Bluestreak was crouched against the charred wall of their meagre cover, optics flickering, faceplates drawn as he held his rifle close, and the Ops mech eyed the grey Praxian carefully. Prowl had yet to make an appearance, but the young bot seemed to be keeping it together, even if he did look a little shattered.
A quiet chirp on his comm. told him that Hound had joined them, and the hologram concealing the tracker faded a second later (startling Bluestreak, who was thankfully quiet with his surprise), revealing Smokescreen practically welded to the green mech’s back. The visored bot grinned at them cheerlessly.
“Please tell me you have a plan.”
“Try to sneak past the fraggers and avoid getting killed while doing so.” Smokescreen replied as he risked a glance at their attackers, dropping immediately when a shot buzzed his helm.
“You know, I was expecting something a little more detailed from the tactician.”
“Unless you’ve got backup and a means of teleporting us to a better position stuffed in your subspace, we don’t exactly have a lot of options here.” The diversionary mech snapped, sending off a volley of shots to discourage their attackers from coming closer.
“Great, we can’t take their fire for much longer. And my blaster’s almost empty.” Jazz groaned. Smokescreen sighed in agreement.
“Same.”
“Any ideas as to how we’re surviving this one?”
“I’ll plant a smoke bomb here and trigger it remotely after we’ve moved off. The ‘Cons will target the smoke, and we’ll get out while they’re distracted.”
“So, we run for it and hope no one on the ‘Con side is looking too closely.”
“Pretty much.”
“Welp. I’ve had to follow worse. Hound, you up for hiding us?”
The tracker shook his head worriedly. “Not for long. I’m too low to make anything big.”
“Frag. Okay. Just hide yourself, Smokey and Blue’. I’ll manage on my own.”
“Wait, I can go without too.” Bluestreak piped up, and protested further when Smokescreen immediately voiced his refusal. “I can. I saw how close you had to stick to Hound just to get here. We won’t both fit under whatever he did.”
“Bluestreak, you don’t have any experience with this. I’ll go.”
“I’m mostly grey; I stand a better chance of being overlooked than you, especially if you provide some cover fire.”
Jazz cut in. “Blue’s got a point. Smokescreen, we have to move now, that wall’s not going to hold much longer.”
The blue mech growled in frustration, then gave in. The black and white mech patted his shoulder, then turned to the other Praxian.
“Bluestreak, listen close, alright? I’ll go first. See where and how I move, and join me as quickly as you can. If you get spotted, dive for the first bit of shelter you can reach.”
When Bluestreak nodded, Jazz slipped out into the open as Hound and Smokescreen occupied the Decepticons with sporadic bursts of weapons fire. The grey mech quickly followed, and was soon sharing a bombed out building with the visored Ops bot. The Praxian went to his knees the moment he was under cover, and Jazz rubbed the young mech’s trembling sensor panels gently.
“Good job, Blue’. You did well.”
“Jazz, I-” Bluestreak shivered, a hand rising towards his helm, only to stop when the smoke bomb went off, but neither Hound nor Smokescreen appeared. Catching Jazz’s gaze with a fearful one, both mechs looked outside to see the holographer half dragging the tactician as they ran, fully visible, to hide behind a fallen pillar.
Blasts impacted the other two Autobots’ makeshift refuge, and Bluestreak was on his pedes, weapon in his hands so fast Jazz hadn’t seen him move. Just as quickly, Bluestreak fired the rifle, his aim eerily precise, and soon the only sound was of the grey mech’s intakes whirring and debris slowly clattering to the ground.
Hound and Smokescreen darted into their hideout, and Jazz stopped them from going near the grey Praxian. Bluestreak dropped his gun, sinking to the ground as he buried his face in his hands, muffling his whimper. When his intakes slowed, Smokescreen carefully approached him.
“Bluestreak? You with us, Blue’?”
“Are you alright? Hound?” The young bot rasped, optics flickering as he clutched his helm.
“Yes, thanks to you. Hound’s here as well. We’re okay, we’re all okay.” The blue mech murmured, wrapping an arm about the shaky mech. The younger Praxian sighed, pressing close to the tactician.
“S’good. Smokey?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s someone else in my head.”