[IDW] Truth in Advertising - Chapter 30 - Back to Normal

[dracoqueen22]

Summary: Routines are established. Wheeljack announces himself to the world. And Obsidian makes another move.

Truth in Advertising - Chapter Thirty

Back to Normal

Do nothing.

It sounded counter-intuitive, but it was the best course of action they had.

Do nothing. Wait for the spies to turn up some kind of lead. And in the meantime, pretend that all was right with the world.

Starscream would continue to lead Cybertron. Blurr would continue to heal, make connections, and look into rebuilding Maccadam’s.

It sounded so simple in theory. While Starscream might have mastered the art of playing casual while under stress, Blurr had not. He couldn’t help constantly looking over his shoulder, peering into dark alleys, and being suspicious of anyone he came into contact with.

Which meant he nearly leapt out of his plating when he walked into the lower floor of Starscream’s apartment building and Jazz was lounging on one of the benches as though he belonged there.

“A little jumpy there?” Jazz asked as he hopped to his pedes, every inch the casual spy that he was.

Blurr gave him a sour look. “Excuse me for not being a stealthy assassin who can spot trouble coming from a galaxy away.”

Jazz chuckled. “I ain’t that perfect, mech.” He fell into step beside Blurr, giving him a lookover. “I see that you and Starscream made up.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks to me?”

“In part.” Blurr gave him an askance look. “And you’re here because…?”

“Just wanted to check on ya.” Jazz patted him on the shoulder and then followed Blurr into the lift. “See how things were goin’. Catch up. That sort of thing. Why aren’t ya at the announcement?”

Blurr selected the penthouse and waited for the lift to activate. Jazz beamed at him, full of bouncy cheer.

“I didn’t want to steal Wheeljack’s thunder,” he deadpanned. His lips curved into a small smirk. “Or Starscream’s for that matter.”

“Mmm.” Jazz tilted his helm, something incisive in his gaze. “So I’m guessin’ that ya’ll finally sat down and realized what the rest of us already knew.”

Blurr dragged a hand down his faceplate. “Everyone around here is nothing but a bunch of busybody, nanny-bots,” he muttered.

Jazz laughed. “It’s only cause we care. Well, that and because you and Starscream are the epitome of high entertainment around here.”

Blurr covered his mouth. “You do know Starscream killed Metalhawk, right?” He wasn’t sure why he blurted that out. Maybe so Jazz would stop looking at him like this was all some kind of comedy routine.

The bounce in Jazz’s pedes ceased. “I suspected as much. Old Screamer has some pretty bad habits.”

The lift donged and deposited them on the top floor, with Jazz following Blurr out and to the front door of the penthouse he now shared with Starscream.

“Metalhawk was a threat to his leadership, and a threat to the potential stability of Cybertronian politics,” Jazz added with a thoughtful hum. “The opportunity was there. I ain’t surprised he took it.” He tilted his helm and looked at Blurr. “Funny ya don’t sound angry about it.”

Blurr scanned himself into the security system before the door opened, admitting he and Jazz into the dim quiet of the suite.

“I know I should be,” he said with a small ventilation. “I should be horrified. Furious. Terrified even. But I’m not.” He swept a hand over his crest. “What that says about me, I don’t know.” He moved to the couch and dropped onto it with a relieved ex-vent.

Nearly a week of rest and his hip was almost fully healed. Soon enough, he could badger Wheeljack to repair or replace his boosters, and Starscream couldn’t whittle him down into agreeing not to wear them just yet. He wanted them back, frag it. He didn’t feel like himself without them.

“To be fair, no one really liked Metalhawk,” Jazz said as he hopped into a chair.

Blurr thought that might have been a joke. He frowned and stretched his arms across the back of the couch, giving Jazz a long look.

“I’m fragged up,” he said. “And I don’t know if I should be blaming Starscream for that, or if I was always like this and he just brought it out in me.”

Jazz’s visor flashed. “Blurr, we’re all messed up in all kindsa ways. That’s what happens when yer one of the lucky few to survive a war that pretty much destroyed your planet.” He leaned back and propped his pedes on the low table between them. “I say, as long as yer happy, frag the rest.”

That sounded good in theory, but also, incredibly selfish. Blurr wasn’t sure he could call what he felt right now ‘happiness’, but maybe it was a start toward something like satisfaction.

“If you say so,” he said. “Get your pedes off my table.”

Jazz chuckled. “Sure thing, boss.” His pedes snapped to the floor, and that seemed to launch him right out of the chair. He stretched his arms over his helm. “Guess that’s my cue ta leave.”

“You just got here.” Blurr narrowed his optics.

“Yeah, and ya spilled the beans faster than I thought ya would.” Half of Jazz’s visor fluttered in his version of a wink. “I wish you and Starscream many happy returns, nights of overloads, and sappy poems.”

Blurr scowled. “You’re impossible.”

Jazz planted his hands on his hips and chuckled. “’Sides, I got work to do. Ya’d think my team and I woulda found Obsidian by now, but he’s a lot more slippery than we thought.”

“And Strika,” Blurr corrected.

“Yeah, that’s the thing. No sign of her.”

Blurr frowned. “Huh. Weird.” Usually the two were so close as to be attached the hip. You never saw one without the other. Strika, more often than not, was the tactical mind, but Obsidian had always been the charismatic one. Or so Blurr heard at least.

He tugged a datapad out of subspace and powered it on. It contained a list of potential locations to rebuild New Maccadam’s, and while he didn’t intend to do any kind of construction while Obsidian lurked in the dark, it was fine to start planning.

“How’re Mirage and Rattrap getting along?” Blurr asked.

Jazz snorted a laugh. “Mech, you don’t even wanna know.”

“That bad, huh?”

Jazz tapped his audials. “If you had ta hear the bickering I do, you’d pity me.”

Blurr chuckled and swept his fingers over the datapad, dismissing a location that was a bit too near the ruins of Kimia for his comfort. Besides, last he’d heard, Starscream’s Enforcers were setting up camp near there and the last thing Blurr needed was his bar within shouting distance of the local law.

“Maybe I need to find you a Seeker of your own. For stress relief,” Blurr commented.

“Pah. Ya keep the one you got. He’s more of a handful than I ever want.” Jazz waved a dismissive hand.

The front door chimed.

Blurr cycled his optics.

“Ya expecting company?” Jazz asked.

“Do I ever?” Blurr pushed to his pedes, setting his datapad aside, and moved to answer the door. He felt, more than saw, Jazz tense, and knew Jazz had his back if necessary.

Maybe he should look into having Wheeljack acquire him some replacement weapons before he thought about his boosters. His blasters had both been wrecked in the explosion at his bar, along with the rest of his possessions. Without his boosters, he couldn’t outrun an attacker for long either.

Blurr keyed his code into the panel, bracing himself for anything. The door slid open, and all of the tension left Blurr in a rush.

“Am I interruptin’ sumthin’?” Rattrap asked with a raised orbital ridge. He strutted into the apartment as though he belonged there, two datapads tucked under his arm.

“You usually let yourself in,” Blurr said as he stepped aside and Jazz stood down, surreptitiously tucking a blaster back into whatever secret place he kept it.

Rattrap smirked. “Yeah, well, this time I didn’t. I figured ya were pretty twitchy.” He grabbed the datapads and handed them to Blurr. “These’re for Starscream. Final list of the volunteers fer the task force.”

“Why aren’t you in the sublevels?” Jazz asked.

“Why aren’t you giving these to Starscream?” Blurr added, though he still accepted them. He was curious who all had volunteered. “Especially since he’s supposed to be meeting with the task force after Wheeljack’s announcement.” Which, he checked his chronometer, ended about ten minutes ago.

“Had ta come up for a breath of fresh air,” Rattrap said in answer to Jazz, with an implication of ‘you’re not the boss of me’ which, while true, was a bit rude. “Mirage is fine. Yer pretty spy can take care ‘o himself.”

Jazz folded his arms under his chassis. “It’s not Mirage I’m worried about.”

Blurr waved the datapad pointedly. “Why are these here?”

“Because I ain’t traipsing halfway across the city when ya can make sure he gets them just as well as I can,” Rattrap said with a huff. “I got work ta do. I ain’t his errand mech, ya know.”

“Sure seems like it,” Jazz remarked.

Blurr ignored both of them. He flicked on the datapad Rattrap had given him, skimming the names available. Most he recognized as belonging to Starscream’s entourage. A few were NAILs who were often patrons of his shop. There were two former Decepticons, and a former Autobot as well. It was a fairly rounded group.

One name in particular stuck out: Fasttrack.

Blurr tapped on his designation, bringing up the file attached. There was an image capture of the mech: definitely a speedster, colors similar to Fasttrack but not an exact match, and he had a visor where Fasttrack had not. It could be a coincidence. Or it wasn’t one at all.

“I ain’t done nothin’ that weren’t invited,” Rattrap was saying as Blurr turned his attention back to the two pseudo-spies.

Jazz’s armor was fluffed aggressively. Rattrap’s denta were bared, and even the optics on his alt-mode seemed to gleam with anger.

Blurr slid between them, waving the datapad in Ratrrap’s face. “Fasttrack. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Should it?” Rattrap asked.

“You were supposed to look into him. Find out more about him. Remember?” Blurr said giving another shake of the datapad. “Now here he is, signed up for the task force.”

“And?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said. “I have to agree with the rodent. What is the point you’re tryin’ to make here, Blurr?”

Blurr gritted his denta. “Fasttrack is dead,” he hissed, free hand curling into a fist. “Has been for centuries. I want to know who’s using his name and why.”

“Lotsa people’ve changed their names. It ain’t that big of a deal,” Rattrap said. He shrugged dismissively. “I don’t see why yer so hung up on this one.”

“Fine. I’ll look into it myself,” Blurr snapped, and whirled away from the both of them. He shoved the datapad into his subspace and stalked back toward the couch, sweeping up the other datapads he’d left behind.

“Seriously,” Jazz said as he followed after Blurr. “What about this one caught your optic?”

Blurr didn’t answer him. He was too busy looking out the transsteel of the balcony, where a plume of smoke rose in the distance, billowing high into the sky. It was in the direction of the ruins of Kimia, where Starscream’s Enforcers gathered, and where he’d arranged to meet with his new task force. Where he should be, right at this very moment.

Blurr’s spark dropped into his pedes. His hand shot to his comm. “Starscream!”

Static crackled through his comm.

Frag.

Blurr spun on a heelstrut and ran toward the door, shoving past both Jazz and Rattrap. Now would be a fragging good time to have some wings, he seethed. He slammed his code into the lock, cursed the slow verification system, and pinged Starscream’s comm again.

Nothing.

He told himself to calm down. That Starscream’s comm could have been fried, that there could be a dampening field, that Starscream could have been knocked into a brief reset. That there were dozens of explanations other than the worse case scenario.

The door opened, and Blurr made a beeline for the lift. He didn’t bother to wait for the others. If they weren’t on his heelstruts, they could take the next one. They were there when the doors closed, however, and as Blurr punched the button for the ground floor.

“What happened?” Jazz asked. “I’m gettin’ all kinds of reports. Fires. An explosion. All emergency responders are being summoned.”

Rattrap snorted. “What else? Obsidian got tired of bein’ patient.”

Blurr’s engine revved. He didn’t want to hear theories. He pinged Starscream again. He didn’t bother to leave a message. If he found out Starscream was ignoring him for whatever reason, he was going to blow a gasket.

“I’m sure Starscream’s fine.” Jazz squeezed his shoulder.

Blurr shrugged him off and hurried out of the lift. He didn’t want any empty platitudes. He wanted answers.

Luckily, he could still transform without his boosters. Oh, it was medically inadvisable, but since when had Blurr ever paid attention to what the medics said? That was how races were lost.

Blurr transformed and hit the ground with tires grinding against the rough, uneven road. He heard Jazz shift to alt-mode behind him, and didn’t know what Rattrap had done. It didn’t matter.

He had to find Starscream.

***

a/n: Thank you for reading.  This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/359228.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.