Fic - Attention, Ch. 6 of 7
Title: Attention, Chapter 6
Continuity: G1 cartoon, Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: talk of violence and smut
Characters and/or pairings: Drag Strip, Breakdown, mention of Vortex and Wildrider
Summary: Drag Strip thinks nasty thoughts about the Foul Betrayer Wildrider, after which Breakdown turns up with some news.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 7]
Drag Strip wasn’t fond of counting his losses. It was, however, acceptable to count false starts. He’d had four of them so far. All of them interruptions. The shuttle, the tank, that overbearing, possessive glitch of a commander, and his own dumb-aft team mate. What had felt like a win back in medbay no longer had the ring of a victory about it.
He paced his room, his force field engaged so that he didn’t scuff his finish.
He was going to kill Wildrider. Seriously kill him; knock off his head and use it as a lampshade, tear off his arms and shove them down the garbage chute.
That is, if there was anything left over after Motormaster was done with him.
Drag Strip kept getting twinges through the gestalt bond, shame and pain and something resembling remorse. But he blocked them out. Wildrider deserved it. This was the worst possible betrayal.
And he had no idea where Vortex was. Drag Strip hadn’t seen him crash, but he’d heard it. The two of them laughing, giddy and happy and frag it wasn’t fair. It should have been him! But he wasn’t mad enough to launch himself at a airframe in flight. Not that he couldn’t have, and with infinitely more grace and finesse than Wildrider could ever have managed.
But he hadn’t. And that moronic glitch of a team mate had got to the copter first.
First place was his place, not Wildrider’s. Stupid scrapheap.
A thump on the door, and Drag Strip’s train of thought came shuddering to a halt. Breakdown, it had to be. No one else could knock so loud while making it sound so unobtrusive.
“Use the buzzer!” Drag Strip shouted.
//It’s, uh, not working.// Breakdown’s response came via comms. //Can I come in? I… I need to talk to you?//
“Either you do or you don’t.” Drag Strip muttered. He punched the code into the door lock, then flumped on the berth. “Fragger.”
“Thought you were re… re… restitute,” Breakdown stammered. “Not like you to be defeated.”
“It’s resolute,” Drag Strip said. “And I’m not. Defeatist that is. I’m thinking.”
“That’s what Dead End’s for,” Breakdown said. He perched on the edge of the berth; their force fields made gentle contact, tingling.
“Yeah.” Drag Strip refused to let himself laugh, but he couldn’t help smiling just a bit. “You had something to say to me?”
Breakdown nodded. He fingered his pistol, holstered at his side. “I’m not running messages for you,” he said. “You guys wanna… y’know…. I think Dead End’s right, it’ll end in pain and death and stuff. And he’s creepy.”
Drag Strip sighed. “If you made sense, it’d be easier to listen to you.” He stood, and resumed pacing.
“Don’t be so mad at Wildrider, right? He can’t help it.” Breakdown glanced up, then continued in a rush. “And don’t be mad at me! I’m just here cause Vortex wanted… he wanted… uh.”
“Out with it!” Drag Strip snapped. Wanted to frag Wildrider, probably. The insane glitches always stuck together. And how it burned.
“He, he wants to see you. Says meet him at his room at, uh, 2300 joors. Says you, uh, got his attention?”
A sudden and very wide grin appeared on Drag Strip’s face. He’d won. Holy frag, he’d won! Then he huffed, of course he’d won, it was ridiculous to have ever doubted it. He turned his back to Breakdown, looking over his own shoulder.
“Can you see any smears?”
Continuity: G1 cartoon, Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: talk of violence and smut
Characters and/or pairings: Drag Strip, Breakdown, mention of Vortex and Wildrider
Summary: Drag Strip thinks nasty thoughts about the Foul Betrayer Wildrider, after which Breakdown turns up with some news.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 7]
Drag Strip wasn’t fond of counting his losses. It was, however, acceptable to count false starts. He’d had four of them so far. All of them interruptions. The shuttle, the tank, that overbearing, possessive glitch of a commander, and his own dumb-aft team mate. What had felt like a win back in medbay no longer had the ring of a victory about it.
He paced his room, his force field engaged so that he didn’t scuff his finish.
He was going to kill Wildrider. Seriously kill him; knock off his head and use it as a lampshade, tear off his arms and shove them down the garbage chute.
That is, if there was anything left over after Motormaster was done with him.
Drag Strip kept getting twinges through the gestalt bond, shame and pain and something resembling remorse. But he blocked them out. Wildrider deserved it. This was the worst possible betrayal.
And he had no idea where Vortex was. Drag Strip hadn’t seen him crash, but he’d heard it. The two of them laughing, giddy and happy and frag it wasn’t fair. It should have been him! But he wasn’t mad enough to launch himself at a airframe in flight. Not that he couldn’t have, and with infinitely more grace and finesse than Wildrider could ever have managed.
But he hadn’t. And that moronic glitch of a team mate had got to the copter first.
First place was his place, not Wildrider’s. Stupid scrapheap.
A thump on the door, and Drag Strip’s train of thought came shuddering to a halt. Breakdown, it had to be. No one else could knock so loud while making it sound so unobtrusive.
“Use the buzzer!” Drag Strip shouted.
//It’s, uh, not working.// Breakdown’s response came via comms. //Can I come in? I… I need to talk to you?//
“Either you do or you don’t.” Drag Strip muttered. He punched the code into the door lock, then flumped on the berth. “Fragger.”
“Thought you were re… re… restitute,” Breakdown stammered. “Not like you to be defeated.”
“It’s resolute,” Drag Strip said. “And I’m not. Defeatist that is. I’m thinking.”
“That’s what Dead End’s for,” Breakdown said. He perched on the edge of the berth; their force fields made gentle contact, tingling.
“Yeah.” Drag Strip refused to let himself laugh, but he couldn’t help smiling just a bit. “You had something to say to me?”
Breakdown nodded. He fingered his pistol, holstered at his side. “I’m not running messages for you,” he said. “You guys wanna… y’know…. I think Dead End’s right, it’ll end in pain and death and stuff. And he’s creepy.”
Drag Strip sighed. “If you made sense, it’d be easier to listen to you.” He stood, and resumed pacing.
“Don’t be so mad at Wildrider, right? He can’t help it.” Breakdown glanced up, then continued in a rush. “And don’t be mad at me! I’m just here cause Vortex wanted… he wanted… uh.”
“Out with it!” Drag Strip snapped. Wanted to frag Wildrider, probably. The insane glitches always stuck together. And how it burned.
“He, he wants to see you. Says meet him at his room at, uh, 2300 joors. Says you, uh, got his attention?”
A sudden and very wide grin appeared on Drag Strip’s face. He’d won. Holy frag, he’d won! Then he huffed, of course he’d won, it was ridiculous to have ever doubted it. He turned his back to Breakdown, looking over his own shoulder.
“Can you see any smears?”