Fic - Crack in the Mirror 12/15+
Title: Crack in the Mirror
Chapter: 12/15+
Continuity: G1 (part of ultharkitty’s Dysfunction AU)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing.
Beta: ultharkitty
This Chapter
Warnings: dark, angst, gen, Combaticon h/c
Characters: Blast Off, Swindle, Onslaught, Brawl, Vortex
Summary: Blast Off is still alive, even though he doesn’t feel like it.
Crack in the Mirror - Chapter 12
Blast Off wasn't dead.
He woke up slowly, and this time, there was no pain. No headache, no soreness in his limbs. Instead, he felt weirdly numb. For the first few astroseconds his consciousness was online, he thought he was back in the Detention Center. Then, memories came back.
Right. He didn't burn up. He'd made a mistake, and had been injured in battle.
There was still the sensation of isolation where only thoughts existed.
His capacity for logic returned, and he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe they'd isolated his personal component to rebuild his shuttle frame. But why hadn't they waited and told him?
Almost a klik passed before he began to feel his limbs. His fingers twitched, and his HUD onlined, warnings and messages scrolling down.
No, Blast Off wasn't reduced to his personal component. And he hadn't got back his shuttle form, either. He knew from sensations of cold metal travelling from sensor nodes on repaired rotor blades over his frame.
Blast Off didn't move when he activated his visual sensors. The room was dimmed. The ceiling had the colour of grey metal, not purple paint; it meant he was in Combaticon HQ, not in medbay on the Nemesis. It was reasonable that he was. After checking his chronometer, Blast Off realised that he'd been offline for over two decacycles. Or almost three orns. He didn't think he should use the space term 'decacycles', when he wasn't a spacecraft any more.
Blast Off stared at the ceiling. In his peripheral vision, he noticed devices next to him. A hatch on his shoulder was open, a tube attached to it for energon infusion. A small connector was plugged into the port near his audial, and led to a monitor where something was displayed that looked like a sine graph.
After another few kilks, or maybe even a breem or two, he moved. His hand reaching for the small plug and detaching it was his first real movement, but it was slow, careful.
Blast Off still was numb. As though his body didn't belong to him, and sensations of touch to the connector seemed unreal. It was as though it was only cold, sterile data that his sensor net interpreted and sent to his processor, without being able to read it right.
Just a little longer, Blast Off thought. He didn't have the strength to deal with his team just yet. Offlining his optics, he refused to acknowledge reality for a little while longer. Eventually, someone would come in. Probably Vortex, because the 'copter was the only one with his gestalt bond open, and knew when team members were in recharge, in stasis or awake.
But Vortex didn't come. Not after a breem, and not after three.
It was Swindle who entered repair bay when over a joor had passed.
Blast Off knew it was him. The businessmech was the lightest of them. His steps where the quietest when he walked, and with a quicker pace, because he was also the smallest.
The steps came closer. Blast Off didn't think to acknowledge that he was awake.
The sound of fingers pressing on keys was loud in the quiet room where only two everyday systems worked quietly. Something else was done whose sounds Blast Off didn't know, and then the tube on his shoulder was moved, the stench of energon reaching his olfactory sensors.
It was then that Blast Off onlined his optics, and turned his head.
He stared at Swindle, who stared back for about an astrosecond, then the jeep jumped a step away.
"Slag, Blast Off!" he uttered, shocked, small vents hitching. "Fraggit, don't surprise me like that." The purple optics were widened, glowing for a moment.
There was no reason to react to Swindle's surprise. "I can refuel by myself," Blast Off said, blankly, and sat up. Or at least he tried. He needed three attempts to succeed, and his vision spun as he did.
"You're okay?" Swindle asked, and they were just different words for the question 'how are you' - a question Blast Off couldn't hear any more.
A scowl built on the former shuttle's face plates, but he didn't have enough strength to spit anything sarcastic. Instead, he muttered, taking the cube Swindle held out to him. "You tell me. What happened?"
The jeep nodded, and took a chair to sit down next to the berth. "What do you remember?" he asked in return, causing Blast Off to frown. He wasn't in the mood to talk much. He answered truthfully nonetheless.
"I fought a Dinobot, and was almost burned alive."
Swindle winced. "Yeah, kinda... I woke up and saw you falling, you know. Couldn't do much, however, my legs weren't functioning. But Devastator kicked the Dinobot. And Megs called for retreat a little later."
At least that Dinobot seemed to have got what it deserved.
"And then?" Blast Off wanted to know. He couldn't explain why he'd been offline that for long.
Swindle slumped on the chair, looking up at the former shuttle with a worried expression.
Blast Off didn't like it. If Swindle of all mechs was like that, something was wrong. He hoped the jeep would only feel guilty, maybe, because it was his fault Blast Off had been burned in the first place.
"The Constructicons repaired you, gave you new rotors and all. Brawl also repaired the rifle, he said it's even better now..."
"And?" There was more to it than just simple repairs.
Swindle shrugged, optics at the edge of the berth, not at Blast Off, his hesitation to speak obvious. "I don't know. You just didn't wake up. Hook did some research and stuff on you, and it seems your processor had crashed. They were working on it." Swindle nodded into the direction of the monitor with the graph. "But they said that your processor would probably have to sort itself out." More fidgeting followed, and gave Blast Off the urge to slap Swindle.
Then the businessmech spoke again, with a shrug. "So, uh... How are you now?"
Blast Off's frown turned into a glare, and Swindle winced visibly.
He stood up quickly. "I'll let Onslaught know you're awake. I think you should refuel and stay seated a bit, before getting up," he said, but then shrugged. "Actually, I don't know, I'm not a medic. Glad you're back, though." With a brief nod, Swindle hurried out.
Wonderful silence again. Blast Off relaxed, and sipped from the half empty energon cube.
More time flowed by, but not enough for Blast Off's tastes. For him, the silence never lasted long enough.
It was a comm-line ping that interrupted it this time. Onslaught's frequency - this had to be expected.
//Blast Off, it's good to hear you’re awake,// he began, but the former shuttle knew it was only a catchphrase before coming to more important topics. //When you're done with refuelling, come to my office. We need to talk. Take your time.//
Raising an optical ridge, Blast Off heaved air deeply. This... was odd.
His optics were glued at the empty cube while thoughts crossed his processor what could his commander want to discuss. Blast Off let two more breems tick by, but then stood up unsteadily. He couldn't relax any more anyway, so he might just as well get this over with.
---
When Blast Off entered the office, Onslaught was sitting behind his desk.
Datapads were in front of him, some activated and glowing, but Blast Off couldn’t make out what was written on them.
It all seemed very official, and the former shuttle could guess that the commander wanted an explanation for his crashing processor.
“Sit down,” Onslaught broke the silence and tense atmosphere, and pointed at the chair in front of the desk.
Blast Off nodded, still wary concerning what all this was about. If Onslaught was angry about the processor failure and long stasis, he didn’t show it, and this was wrong. Onslaught wasn’t the person who hid his anger; he might be less physical in showing it to Blast Off, but usually he showed it somehow.
Blast Off sat down, careful as not to entangle his rotors in the back of the chair, and waited.
The gestalt leader kept quiet, but Blast Off noticed the shoulder straightening, and heard the soft noise of intakes venting deeply.
“How are you?”
Again this question. Blast Off couldn’t resist showing his frustration, and a staticky noise emerged from his vocaliser. His voice was flat, though. “I’m okay. I guess.”
Onslaught nodded. The battle mask twitched, but he didn’t say anything. The former shuttle didn’t rush him. If he wanted to know about the crash, Onslaught should ask. Blast Off wasn’t particularly eager to talk about it.
Half a klik passed, then Onslaught rose to speak. “When you were offline, the Constructicons transferred some of the recent data your CPU had processed. They’re still analysing it, but Megatron pressed them to hurry.”
Blast Off nodded again. He’d expected something like this, and Swindle had already mentioned it briefly. What the former shuttle didn’t expect, were Onslaught’s following words.
“Megatron wants Bruticus to function even if you stay a heliformer.”
Blast Off tensed. His rotor hub locked, and his blades twitched once. He didn’t have time to ask what this meant, because the explanation followed quickly.
“He doesn’t have any plans to turn you into a shuttle any time soon. He justified his decision with the high energy and metal consumption of this process. The Constructicons also said that they don’t have most of the spare parts for all the delicate circuitry of a shuttleformer’s frame. Preparing your processor is apparently less troublesome.”
All this information was a shock. Blast Off just sat there while the words sank in. He wasn’t about to be turned back into a shuttle? He’d stay like this?
He didn’t know what was worse, being trapped in a planet bound frame or- “What do you mean with preparing my processor?” Blast Off asked, the shock evident in his voice, his tone bordered on panic.
Onslaught was unwell - with the facts, or explaining it all to Blast Off, the former shuttle didn’t know. He knew his commander by now, though, and saw the tension that was similar to his frame’s.
“There’s obviously something wrong with the synchronisation of your processor and your current form. The Constructicons are still working on finding the error. When they’re done, they-“
“No!” Blast Off interrupted. “I’m not going to let them poke inside my head. Not again. There’s enough programming that doesn’t belong there already!” He glared.
Onslaught kept quiet.
In the next two kliks, there was silence in which Blast Off’s thoughts were erratic. A mix of panic, disbelief and anger also showed on his face plates. It all resulted in more frustration, and eventually Blast Off shook his head and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Onslaught came to his feet as well.
“My room.” Even to Blast Off, his own voice sounded strangely flat.
He turned, intending to leave, but Onslaught moved quickly, rounded the table and blocked the way. “Refuel first.”
A frown built on Blast Off’s face plates, and he wondered if this was only an excuse to be close, to eye him up.
Suddenly, his personal space seemed to be bigger, even though it was Onslaught who stood there.
“I did refuel in repair bay.”
“You were offline for orns. Get yourself another cube.”
Blast Off shrugged. “Fine.” He was about to walk around Onslaught when a hand came up and almost touched him. Blast Off flinched away, optics glowing for a moment.
“Are you okay?”
It was hard for Blast Off to tell what the commander meant. Okay with the news? The post-processor crash? The finality of being stuck in this inferior form?
“I’m good,” he muttered edgily, and left. Not waiting to be dismissed, it was like he fled before Onslaught would try to touch him again.
Blast Off didn’t want to be touched. Not now. Not in this frame.
---
Blast Off hoped no one would be in the rec-room when he got his energon, but his hope was soon destroyed when he heard voices. Sighing, he stopped before he entered.
He couldn’t see who was in there, but it also meant he couldn’t be seen.
“Yeah, he’s acted weird, right?” It was Brawl’s voice.
“Being turned into a ‘copter would do the same to me.” Swindle answered, annoyed, but it was unclear at what.
Blast Off frowned. Great, he’d chosen the right moment. Running into them the time they were talking about him, that could only happen to him.
“But you aren’t saying being a heliformer is slag, aren’t you? Because if you do, I don’t think you’d like it,” Vortex said, in this antagonising nice tone he used often on Swindle, or subjects.
Wonderful. This meant Blast Off wouldn’t only run into them talking about him, but also Vortex and Swindle fighting, and there were only a few things that were more irritating than listening to them. He rubbed his temple with two fingers, and pondered on leaving. He could get the energon later, or not at all.
But Blast Off knew Onslaught would find out, their commander always did. Especially since he knew Blast Off sometimes was quite lax if it came to refuelling if he didn’t have to go into space.
With a sigh, Blast Off crossed the distance between himself and the entrance to the rec room, and stepped in. He’d stopped listening to the argument, but became aware of it again when he heard Vortex say. “I told you Octane would give you the wrong piece. And you say about yourself you’re a businessmech?”
“Shut up!” Of course Swindle had to react.
With their back to the entrance, crouching over a table around something, all three mechs seemed preoccupied. Maybe Blast Off could just slip past them, get his energon and leave.
“Heh, yeah, yeah… You know, I don’t think this will cheer him up. I could do that much better-“
“Yes, by fraggin’ him.” Swindle’s voice was dismissive, but Vortex didn’t seem to care.
“You’re just jealous neither me nor him will ever frag you!”
At that, Blast Off raised an optical ridge, but kept trying to sneak as quietly as possible to the energon dispenser. He stayed close to the wall, and it was surprisingly easy in this frame, being not even half as heavy as being a shuttleformer.
Again he didn’t listen to the bickering any more as he took a cube to fill it. It was almost completely full when a sudden noise made him twitch.
“Haha!” A triumphant laugh, followed by a click. Vents huffed - probably Vortex’, and Brawl gasped.
Then a rattling of a device, and the room got weirdly dark. Blast Off tensed, and turned, and his intakes hitched as he saw what it was.
The rec-room was darker now; a hologram drowned out the light on the ceiling and showed a black-transparent cloud filled with thousand little bright spots, and colourful whirls.
His denta ground, his jaw clenched so tight, it caused pain within the mechanisms.
“Oh… uh, hey Blast Off.” Brawl was the first one to speak.
Blast Off snapped out of his tension, and glared. This was stupid.
“How long have you been there?” Swindle asked, not as annoyed as when he spoke to Vortex who thankfully kept quiet.
The cube was full by now, the dispenser had stopped in time before it could spill over. Blast Off turned his back to his team mates, and huffed, irritated. “I don’t need any cheering up!”
He walked out quickly.
One of them said something, yelled behind him, but Blast Off was already too far away to make out who it was or what was said. It didn’t matter anyway. His team with his stupid toys. He didn’t need anything from them, especially not some tiny 3D-projector.
---
The cube was left untouched. It was on the table next to Blast Off’s berth and had been there since he’d arrived back in his room.
Blast Off lay on his berth, optics online as he stared at the ceiling without truly processing the visual input. His thoughts were erratic, and calm at the same time. It was a process of accepting something final, something unavoidable and a situation where there was no way out.
Like before, back then, thousands of vorns ago when he’d been reduced to his personality component only. After the panic, when everything had seemed to stop and only thoughts remained - memories. Turning in cycles, around and around, with no new input while he’d relived everything again and again. At first it hadn’t been too bad. There’d been positive things, nice images and contented memories, but they’d changed, had become meaningless until only the bad things had remained. Dreadful data files, full of horrible things to see, to feel, even though there was no feel in the Detention Centre. The phantom sensation of feeling, but still too real for some things Blast Off had experienced once. They’d lasted longer, but eventually, even the bad things ebbed away.
Everything had still been there, but it had become hollow.
Blast Off felt the same now. His sensor net was oddly numb. Moving was difficult as though there wasn’t a body at all. Memories resurfaced and were as worthless as back then.
What did it matter? Did anything matter anyway? He’d rust there, no new experiences, there was nothing he could do for what he’d been built. Once.
There was no way out. Nowhere to go. He was stuck. He-
“Don’t!” he interrupted his own train of thought, and surprised himself. Optics brightened for the fraction of an astrosecond, and his fingers twitched.
Blast Off wouldn’t go back there. He didn’t allow himself to go back there, because he still existed, had a body. It did matter. He just had to cling onto this thought.
But it was hard.
Kliks and breems and joors passed - maybe. It was complicated to keep track of the time if the subjective time stood completely still.
It was a knock on his door that made Blast Off start to think clearly again. A ping followed, requesting access to his room, asking him to open the door.
It was Swindle.
Blast Off didn’t react.
Another ping, then another knock, but Blast Off remained still, and stared at the ceiling.
“C’mon, I know you’re in there.”
The voice was muffled due to the thick metal between Swindle and him.
He found himself not wanting to get up. Maybe Swindle would give him the 3D-projector, then he could see stars again. But Blast Off just didn’t want to see any of his team. Not in this pathetic frame.
“Hey, Blast Off?”
A third ping reached him, and a klik ticked by.
“Okay, fine.” Swindle seemed to have enough. “I just let it here, then. In front of your door. Don’t step on it!” It was hard to tell if the muffled voice was angry or frustrated, but Blast Off was glad the other was gone.
And even more relieved Swindle hadn’t tried to comm him.
Blast Off’s internal chronometer told him he could finally stand up three breems after Swindle left. It was enough time. If the other had waited for him to get out, he’d have lost his patience by now.
Slowly, Blast Off sat up, then got off the berth. By now, he knew how to do so and not to let his lower rotor blades scratch over the berth’s edge. He didn’t allow himself to hate it, but he frowned at himself for getting used to it.
He unlocked the door, and found the device. He’d once had one of those in Altihex, and took it with him to Kaon later. He’d found a damaged one a while back, but had left it on the Nemesis and never repaired it.
Blast Off wondered slightly how Swindle had got it. Who knows who he’d paid to break into his room on the Decepticon base.
He shrugged. Leaning low, he took the device, then closed the door.
Also posted here
Chapter: 12/15+
Continuity: G1 (part of ultharkitty’s Dysfunction AU)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing.
Beta: ultharkitty
This Chapter
Warnings: dark, angst, gen, Combaticon h/c
Characters: Blast Off, Swindle, Onslaught, Brawl, Vortex
Summary: Blast Off is still alive, even though he doesn’t feel like it.
Crack in the Mirror - Chapter 12
Blast Off wasn't dead.
He woke up slowly, and this time, there was no pain. No headache, no soreness in his limbs. Instead, he felt weirdly numb. For the first few astroseconds his consciousness was online, he thought he was back in the Detention Center. Then, memories came back.
Right. He didn't burn up. He'd made a mistake, and had been injured in battle.
There was still the sensation of isolation where only thoughts existed.
His capacity for logic returned, and he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe they'd isolated his personal component to rebuild his shuttle frame. But why hadn't they waited and told him?
Almost a klik passed before he began to feel his limbs. His fingers twitched, and his HUD onlined, warnings and messages scrolling down.
No, Blast Off wasn't reduced to his personal component. And he hadn't got back his shuttle form, either. He knew from sensations of cold metal travelling from sensor nodes on repaired rotor blades over his frame.
Blast Off didn't move when he activated his visual sensors. The room was dimmed. The ceiling had the colour of grey metal, not purple paint; it meant he was in Combaticon HQ, not in medbay on the Nemesis. It was reasonable that he was. After checking his chronometer, Blast Off realised that he'd been offline for over two decacycles. Or almost three orns. He didn't think he should use the space term 'decacycles', when he wasn't a spacecraft any more.
Blast Off stared at the ceiling. In his peripheral vision, he noticed devices next to him. A hatch on his shoulder was open, a tube attached to it for energon infusion. A small connector was plugged into the port near his audial, and led to a monitor where something was displayed that looked like a sine graph.
After another few kilks, or maybe even a breem or two, he moved. His hand reaching for the small plug and detaching it was his first real movement, but it was slow, careful.
Blast Off still was numb. As though his body didn't belong to him, and sensations of touch to the connector seemed unreal. It was as though it was only cold, sterile data that his sensor net interpreted and sent to his processor, without being able to read it right.
Just a little longer, Blast Off thought. He didn't have the strength to deal with his team just yet. Offlining his optics, he refused to acknowledge reality for a little while longer. Eventually, someone would come in. Probably Vortex, because the 'copter was the only one with his gestalt bond open, and knew when team members were in recharge, in stasis or awake.
But Vortex didn't come. Not after a breem, and not after three.
It was Swindle who entered repair bay when over a joor had passed.
Blast Off knew it was him. The businessmech was the lightest of them. His steps where the quietest when he walked, and with a quicker pace, because he was also the smallest.
The steps came closer. Blast Off didn't think to acknowledge that he was awake.
The sound of fingers pressing on keys was loud in the quiet room where only two everyday systems worked quietly. Something else was done whose sounds Blast Off didn't know, and then the tube on his shoulder was moved, the stench of energon reaching his olfactory sensors.
It was then that Blast Off onlined his optics, and turned his head.
He stared at Swindle, who stared back for about an astrosecond, then the jeep jumped a step away.
"Slag, Blast Off!" he uttered, shocked, small vents hitching. "Fraggit, don't surprise me like that." The purple optics were widened, glowing for a moment.
There was no reason to react to Swindle's surprise. "I can refuel by myself," Blast Off said, blankly, and sat up. Or at least he tried. He needed three attempts to succeed, and his vision spun as he did.
"You're okay?" Swindle asked, and they were just different words for the question 'how are you' - a question Blast Off couldn't hear any more.
A scowl built on the former shuttle's face plates, but he didn't have enough strength to spit anything sarcastic. Instead, he muttered, taking the cube Swindle held out to him. "You tell me. What happened?"
The jeep nodded, and took a chair to sit down next to the berth. "What do you remember?" he asked in return, causing Blast Off to frown. He wasn't in the mood to talk much. He answered truthfully nonetheless.
"I fought a Dinobot, and was almost burned alive."
Swindle winced. "Yeah, kinda... I woke up and saw you falling, you know. Couldn't do much, however, my legs weren't functioning. But Devastator kicked the Dinobot. And Megs called for retreat a little later."
At least that Dinobot seemed to have got what it deserved.
"And then?" Blast Off wanted to know. He couldn't explain why he'd been offline that for long.
Swindle slumped on the chair, looking up at the former shuttle with a worried expression.
Blast Off didn't like it. If Swindle of all mechs was like that, something was wrong. He hoped the jeep would only feel guilty, maybe, because it was his fault Blast Off had been burned in the first place.
"The Constructicons repaired you, gave you new rotors and all. Brawl also repaired the rifle, he said it's even better now..."
"And?" There was more to it than just simple repairs.
Swindle shrugged, optics at the edge of the berth, not at Blast Off, his hesitation to speak obvious. "I don't know. You just didn't wake up. Hook did some research and stuff on you, and it seems your processor had crashed. They were working on it." Swindle nodded into the direction of the monitor with the graph. "But they said that your processor would probably have to sort itself out." More fidgeting followed, and gave Blast Off the urge to slap Swindle.
Then the businessmech spoke again, with a shrug. "So, uh... How are you now?"
Blast Off's frown turned into a glare, and Swindle winced visibly.
He stood up quickly. "I'll let Onslaught know you're awake. I think you should refuel and stay seated a bit, before getting up," he said, but then shrugged. "Actually, I don't know, I'm not a medic. Glad you're back, though." With a brief nod, Swindle hurried out.
Wonderful silence again. Blast Off relaxed, and sipped from the half empty energon cube.
More time flowed by, but not enough for Blast Off's tastes. For him, the silence never lasted long enough.
It was a comm-line ping that interrupted it this time. Onslaught's frequency - this had to be expected.
//Blast Off, it's good to hear you’re awake,// he began, but the former shuttle knew it was only a catchphrase before coming to more important topics. //When you're done with refuelling, come to my office. We need to talk. Take your time.//
Raising an optical ridge, Blast Off heaved air deeply. This... was odd.
His optics were glued at the empty cube while thoughts crossed his processor what could his commander want to discuss. Blast Off let two more breems tick by, but then stood up unsteadily. He couldn't relax any more anyway, so he might just as well get this over with.
---
When Blast Off entered the office, Onslaught was sitting behind his desk.
Datapads were in front of him, some activated and glowing, but Blast Off couldn’t make out what was written on them.
It all seemed very official, and the former shuttle could guess that the commander wanted an explanation for his crashing processor.
“Sit down,” Onslaught broke the silence and tense atmosphere, and pointed at the chair in front of the desk.
Blast Off nodded, still wary concerning what all this was about. If Onslaught was angry about the processor failure and long stasis, he didn’t show it, and this was wrong. Onslaught wasn’t the person who hid his anger; he might be less physical in showing it to Blast Off, but usually he showed it somehow.
Blast Off sat down, careful as not to entangle his rotors in the back of the chair, and waited.
The gestalt leader kept quiet, but Blast Off noticed the shoulder straightening, and heard the soft noise of intakes venting deeply.
“How are you?”
Again this question. Blast Off couldn’t resist showing his frustration, and a staticky noise emerged from his vocaliser. His voice was flat, though. “I’m okay. I guess.”
Onslaught nodded. The battle mask twitched, but he didn’t say anything. The former shuttle didn’t rush him. If he wanted to know about the crash, Onslaught should ask. Blast Off wasn’t particularly eager to talk about it.
Half a klik passed, then Onslaught rose to speak. “When you were offline, the Constructicons transferred some of the recent data your CPU had processed. They’re still analysing it, but Megatron pressed them to hurry.”
Blast Off nodded again. He’d expected something like this, and Swindle had already mentioned it briefly. What the former shuttle didn’t expect, were Onslaught’s following words.
“Megatron wants Bruticus to function even if you stay a heliformer.”
Blast Off tensed. His rotor hub locked, and his blades twitched once. He didn’t have time to ask what this meant, because the explanation followed quickly.
“He doesn’t have any plans to turn you into a shuttle any time soon. He justified his decision with the high energy and metal consumption of this process. The Constructicons also said that they don’t have most of the spare parts for all the delicate circuitry of a shuttleformer’s frame. Preparing your processor is apparently less troublesome.”
All this information was a shock. Blast Off just sat there while the words sank in. He wasn’t about to be turned back into a shuttle? He’d stay like this?
He didn’t know what was worse, being trapped in a planet bound frame or- “What do you mean with preparing my processor?” Blast Off asked, the shock evident in his voice, his tone bordered on panic.
Onslaught was unwell - with the facts, or explaining it all to Blast Off, the former shuttle didn’t know. He knew his commander by now, though, and saw the tension that was similar to his frame’s.
“There’s obviously something wrong with the synchronisation of your processor and your current form. The Constructicons are still working on finding the error. When they’re done, they-“
“No!” Blast Off interrupted. “I’m not going to let them poke inside my head. Not again. There’s enough programming that doesn’t belong there already!” He glared.
Onslaught kept quiet.
In the next two kliks, there was silence in which Blast Off’s thoughts were erratic. A mix of panic, disbelief and anger also showed on his face plates. It all resulted in more frustration, and eventually Blast Off shook his head and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Onslaught came to his feet as well.
“My room.” Even to Blast Off, his own voice sounded strangely flat.
He turned, intending to leave, but Onslaught moved quickly, rounded the table and blocked the way. “Refuel first.”
A frown built on Blast Off’s face plates, and he wondered if this was only an excuse to be close, to eye him up.
Suddenly, his personal space seemed to be bigger, even though it was Onslaught who stood there.
“I did refuel in repair bay.”
“You were offline for orns. Get yourself another cube.”
Blast Off shrugged. “Fine.” He was about to walk around Onslaught when a hand came up and almost touched him. Blast Off flinched away, optics glowing for a moment.
“Are you okay?”
It was hard for Blast Off to tell what the commander meant. Okay with the news? The post-processor crash? The finality of being stuck in this inferior form?
“I’m good,” he muttered edgily, and left. Not waiting to be dismissed, it was like he fled before Onslaught would try to touch him again.
Blast Off didn’t want to be touched. Not now. Not in this frame.
---
Blast Off hoped no one would be in the rec-room when he got his energon, but his hope was soon destroyed when he heard voices. Sighing, he stopped before he entered.
He couldn’t see who was in there, but it also meant he couldn’t be seen.
“Yeah, he’s acted weird, right?” It was Brawl’s voice.
“Being turned into a ‘copter would do the same to me.” Swindle answered, annoyed, but it was unclear at what.
Blast Off frowned. Great, he’d chosen the right moment. Running into them the time they were talking about him, that could only happen to him.
“But you aren’t saying being a heliformer is slag, aren’t you? Because if you do, I don’t think you’d like it,” Vortex said, in this antagonising nice tone he used often on Swindle, or subjects.
Wonderful. This meant Blast Off wouldn’t only run into them talking about him, but also Vortex and Swindle fighting, and there were only a few things that were more irritating than listening to them. He rubbed his temple with two fingers, and pondered on leaving. He could get the energon later, or not at all.
But Blast Off knew Onslaught would find out, their commander always did. Especially since he knew Blast Off sometimes was quite lax if it came to refuelling if he didn’t have to go into space.
With a sigh, Blast Off crossed the distance between himself and the entrance to the rec room, and stepped in. He’d stopped listening to the argument, but became aware of it again when he heard Vortex say. “I told you Octane would give you the wrong piece. And you say about yourself you’re a businessmech?”
“Shut up!” Of course Swindle had to react.
With their back to the entrance, crouching over a table around something, all three mechs seemed preoccupied. Maybe Blast Off could just slip past them, get his energon and leave.
“Heh, yeah, yeah… You know, I don’t think this will cheer him up. I could do that much better-“
“Yes, by fraggin’ him.” Swindle’s voice was dismissive, but Vortex didn’t seem to care.
“You’re just jealous neither me nor him will ever frag you!”
At that, Blast Off raised an optical ridge, but kept trying to sneak as quietly as possible to the energon dispenser. He stayed close to the wall, and it was surprisingly easy in this frame, being not even half as heavy as being a shuttleformer.
Again he didn’t listen to the bickering any more as he took a cube to fill it. It was almost completely full when a sudden noise made him twitch.
“Haha!” A triumphant laugh, followed by a click. Vents huffed - probably Vortex’, and Brawl gasped.
Then a rattling of a device, and the room got weirdly dark. Blast Off tensed, and turned, and his intakes hitched as he saw what it was.
The rec-room was darker now; a hologram drowned out the light on the ceiling and showed a black-transparent cloud filled with thousand little bright spots, and colourful whirls.
His denta ground, his jaw clenched so tight, it caused pain within the mechanisms.
“Oh… uh, hey Blast Off.” Brawl was the first one to speak.
Blast Off snapped out of his tension, and glared. This was stupid.
“How long have you been there?” Swindle asked, not as annoyed as when he spoke to Vortex who thankfully kept quiet.
The cube was full by now, the dispenser had stopped in time before it could spill over. Blast Off turned his back to his team mates, and huffed, irritated. “I don’t need any cheering up!”
He walked out quickly.
One of them said something, yelled behind him, but Blast Off was already too far away to make out who it was or what was said. It didn’t matter anyway. His team with his stupid toys. He didn’t need anything from them, especially not some tiny 3D-projector.
---
The cube was left untouched. It was on the table next to Blast Off’s berth and had been there since he’d arrived back in his room.
Blast Off lay on his berth, optics online as he stared at the ceiling without truly processing the visual input. His thoughts were erratic, and calm at the same time. It was a process of accepting something final, something unavoidable and a situation where there was no way out.
Like before, back then, thousands of vorns ago when he’d been reduced to his personality component only. After the panic, when everything had seemed to stop and only thoughts remained - memories. Turning in cycles, around and around, with no new input while he’d relived everything again and again. At first it hadn’t been too bad. There’d been positive things, nice images and contented memories, but they’d changed, had become meaningless until only the bad things had remained. Dreadful data files, full of horrible things to see, to feel, even though there was no feel in the Detention Centre. The phantom sensation of feeling, but still too real for some things Blast Off had experienced once. They’d lasted longer, but eventually, even the bad things ebbed away.
Everything had still been there, but it had become hollow.
Blast Off felt the same now. His sensor net was oddly numb. Moving was difficult as though there wasn’t a body at all. Memories resurfaced and were as worthless as back then.
What did it matter? Did anything matter anyway? He’d rust there, no new experiences, there was nothing he could do for what he’d been built. Once.
There was no way out. Nowhere to go. He was stuck. He-
“Don’t!” he interrupted his own train of thought, and surprised himself. Optics brightened for the fraction of an astrosecond, and his fingers twitched.
Blast Off wouldn’t go back there. He didn’t allow himself to go back there, because he still existed, had a body. It did matter. He just had to cling onto this thought.
But it was hard.
Kliks and breems and joors passed - maybe. It was complicated to keep track of the time if the subjective time stood completely still.
It was a knock on his door that made Blast Off start to think clearly again. A ping followed, requesting access to his room, asking him to open the door.
It was Swindle.
Blast Off didn’t react.
Another ping, then another knock, but Blast Off remained still, and stared at the ceiling.
“C’mon, I know you’re in there.”
The voice was muffled due to the thick metal between Swindle and him.
He found himself not wanting to get up. Maybe Swindle would give him the 3D-projector, then he could see stars again. But Blast Off just didn’t want to see any of his team. Not in this pathetic frame.
“Hey, Blast Off?”
A third ping reached him, and a klik ticked by.
“Okay, fine.” Swindle seemed to have enough. “I just let it here, then. In front of your door. Don’t step on it!” It was hard to tell if the muffled voice was angry or frustrated, but Blast Off was glad the other was gone.
And even more relieved Swindle hadn’t tried to comm him.
Blast Off’s internal chronometer told him he could finally stand up three breems after Swindle left. It was enough time. If the other had waited for him to get out, he’d have lost his patience by now.
Slowly, Blast Off sat up, then got off the berth. By now, he knew how to do so and not to let his lower rotor blades scratch over the berth’s edge. He didn’t allow himself to hate it, but he frowned at himself for getting used to it.
He unlocked the door, and found the device. He’d once had one of those in Altihex, and took it with him to Kaon later. He’d found a damaged one a while back, but had left it on the Nemesis and never repaired it.
Blast Off wondered slightly how Swindle had got it. Who knows who he’d paid to break into his room on the Decepticon base.
He shrugged. Leaning low, he took the device, then closed the door.
Also posted here