A Race Through the Night
Chapter 5
Into the Snare
Disclaimer: I do not own the Transformers. Or my fabulous sister/beta enmused.
As usual, Blurr will be talking crazy fast. Also, I'll be moving my update day from Mondays to Fridays (from Sundays to Thursdays if you're in the US) in an attempt to attract some more readers, by posting on a less busy posting day. So yay! All hopes to this scheme of mine working!
Huge thanks to all my readers for your support, and feel free to send me tons of reviews! ... I say feel free, by which I mean, please do! Your feedback really helps me to improve my writing!
Enjoy!
"No."
"You need this medic and Swindle can get him for you, we just need to pay him what he wants. He just wants-"
Nightracer cut him off, shaking her helm emphatically, her tone more firmly resolute than she'd ever heard it, "Absolutely not. I refuse to have any part in this. I don't care how much or how little he wants now, because it will never stop at one payment. You get in with Swindle, you don't get out. He is a walking financial abyss, and when he's done with you, you'll be dead or in jail."
Blurr gave her a distinctly skeptical glare, "I really think you're over-reacting, and besides that, you're still technically my prisoner-asylum-dweller-thing so you really don't have any choice in the matter at the end of the cycle. This guy can get you a medic and you need a medic before I'll let you go anywhere. Besides, how bad can it be? He's only asked for two cases of super-charged high-grade which we can easily make - with the right tools, which we should be able to find in one of the old warehouses - to give to him, and then it's a done deal and we forget he even existed."
She shook her helm again, running her hand over her helm swiftly and leaning against the wall with a stressed ex-vent. He didn't understand. She had watched mechs' and femmes' lives go to the pit because of that despicable excuse for a mech. What was worse, if Blurr got them in with Swindle, the mech had some serious networking amongst the higher ups. He would find out that she was on the List, and he would sell her out to them in a spark beat.
That mech would literally have the power to sell her spark. And frankly, she was terrified.
"No... You don't understand, Autobot." She huffed, her internal cooling fans kicking up a notch as she shuddered, pulling her armor tight against her frame. "He will reel you in and drag me down with you, and then he will sell me. You don't understand just how deep in trouble I am, and dealings with Swindle will only end in death."
"Sell you? What do you mean sell you? Like you're a mercenary? It isn't like you're property to be bought and sold, I mean Cybertron doesn't have bot-smuggling! That would be absolutely absurd, even the Senate would have stopped that. Why would he want to sell you anyway?"
"Because he's Swindle!" Nightracer roared, clenching her fists to stop them shaking. Though the rattling of her clenched armor kind of made the effort moot.
Sighing deeply, she sagged against the cold wall, allowing herself to slide down to the floor with her helm in her hands. She shuttered her optics, drawing her knees up to her chest so she could hide her face from the world, because she refused to use the mask that would do just that. "I'm sorry, Blurr. It's been a rough orn."
"I did leave you a note. By the way." The mech said quietly, sliding down so he was sitting next to her. "It said where I was going and why and I even gave you a list of things you could do to help get the ship going. You know, if the boredom and alone-ness got too much. I guess you obviously never found my note though, cause if you'd found it you wouldn't be mad at me for keeping you prisoner and then running away for an orn."
Her engine let out a guttural growl, but other than that, the teal and charcoal femme didn't respond.
"It was in the captain's chair, on the bridge. I figured you'd..." Blurr trailed off with a dismayed groan. She heard a light thud and glanced up briefly to find the mech face-palmed. He gave her an apologetic smile, "Yeah, about that. I never actually gave you access to the bridge, did I?"
She shook her ridged helm, before returning her helm to her knees.
He groaned again. "My bad. Also, not even I have access to this room. The one you were obviously trying to get into. That's why I didn't think to show it to you, being all locked and everything."
Then silence reigned for a grand total of half a klick. Honestly, the sniper was mildly surprised that it had lasted that long. Blurr didn't really strike her as the quiet-loving type.
"I can't do this. I'm sorry, but I'm really not the sit-around-in-companionably-awkward-and-depressed-silence kind of guy." He chuckled somewhat nervously at her utter lack of response before plowing on, "Do you want Energon? I want Energon. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get a decent cube out there. Actually, nevermind, that was a stupid thing to say, because you've been living on the streets for half a vorn... um..." He jumped to his pedes and offered her an impatiently twitchy hand up, "Anyway, Energon?"
Nightracer stared blankly at his hand for half a klick before pushing herself to her pedes, leaving his hand hanging. She was his prisoner and she could already tell that that was something she was going to have to remind herself of more frequently.
Trust no one, befriend no one, be responsible for no one. That was how being on the List worked.
Nevertheless, she obediently followed the Energon-blue racer as he padded along, talking in an unintelligible blur of unimportant things that he had learned or heard or seen or felt or thought about or even thought about thinking about, just to fill the oppressive quiet of the ship.
Still lost to her thoughts, the femme allowed Blurr to shepherd her to a table and coax her into sitting down. It would be best if she could just leave now. If she could avoid telling him that she was on the List. If he didn't know, then they would be just that much harder pressed to deviate from their mission long enough to track him down in his invisible ship.
Which would leave her one fewer life to be judged for when she offlined.
If such things even applied to a clone; a thought and fear that constantly hovered over her, taunting her at her weakest moments.
She sipped at the Energon Blurr placed in front of her, barely registering his questions as to its taste as he seated himself across from her. It had a distinct bite to it, reminding her of copper, hydrogen, and a dash of hyper-refined mercury. It tasted amazing. Best mixed Energon she'd had in vorns.
But she was too distracted to really savor it, much less tell her captor that.
Perhaps Swindle could help her. Blurr was right; she needed a t-cog before she could even consider leaving. With no external aid, no shelter, and no t-cog to boot, they'd have her smelting in Helex's chest before she could say 'Primus save my spark'.
So maybe Swindle could help. After all, like the mech said, finding a high-grade refiner shouldn't be too difficult in the mostly deserted city-state. And what harm could one meeting with the master-manipulator do? Give him the high-grade, get the medic. Done deal. Once she was repaired to top condition, she'd make her break and leave all thoughts of Blurr, Swindle, and their ready-bought medic behind her. Then the world return to being the simple, black and white life of her running for her spark from merciless killers.
What could possibly go wrong?
"Were you even listening to a word I just said?" A blue hand waved up and down in front of her optics, tearing the femme from her thoughts.
"..." She blinked at him, checking her databases for audial records of his one-sided conversation, but came up empty. She hadn't even been subconsciously listening. "Sorry, what?"
He levelled her with a flat stare, letting out a longsuffering sigh, "I asked who you're so afraid of Swindle selling you out to."
Nightracer forced her shoulders to twitch in what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. "It isn't important. You said we needed a high-grade refiner? I have an idea where we could get one."
Next Rotation
She leaned casually against the wall of the poorly-lit bar, her helm tilted down and her optics dimmed. With her arms crossed loosely over her steadily rising and falling chest, observers would have thought her to be in recharge. Not too far away from her, Blurr sat at the counter, hanging over a small, half-empty cube of sparking copper-cobalt Energon.
For the purposes of this mission, Nightracer had redone her paint job so that she wouldn't get kicked out by the proud owner of the establishment. She'd painted her forearms, calves, and chest plates a deep, almost-black shade of hunter green, while her helm, upper arms, hands, thighs, and mid-riff were a rich emerald. Her subspace belt and strip accents were a pale green.
All things considered, she had a pretty sweet looking under-cover paint job.
Her spark rolled discontentedly in its chamber as the femme waited in stoic silence. This would be her best chance of escape for the foreseeable future. Not that she necessarily wanted to escape. Besides, she really needed that t-cog. The sooner she got the cog, the sooner she would be able to leave for good.
Already she had waited too long. She should have left an orn ago.
The green-toned femme cringed as her processors chose that moment to replay the near massacre at Maccadam's Old Oil House the last time she had come here for refuge. It had been a hostage situation - or it was supposed to be until Tesarus got bored and pushed one of the innocent hostages through his blender of a chest, at which point Maccadam himself actually came out and physically kicked all six of them out of his bar.
Ironically, that made her the first and only Cybertronian to be banned from Maccadam's. The suave bar owner hadn't even banned the mechs who'd barged in, then terrorized and minced a customer for no good reason. Just her: the reason they'd come in the first place.
That had been the night she learned that she was on the List.
She should have known better than to hide in the same place for any period of time. If she had known better, the poor, very thoroughly scrapped mech would have been in about a million fewer pieces. Of course, she hadn't realized fully what they were capable of, nor that they were even after her at that point in time. Yet she blamed herself.
Her venting sped up faintly to cool her stressed, over-heating frame. She couldn't have a breakdown now. She needed to get away to prevent a re-run of that occurrence, and having a breakdown would prevent her from preventing it.
"Can I help you, miss...?" The beige and orange little waitress chirped happily, smiling brightly at her, awaiting a designation.
"Ersatz." Nightracer supplied quietly, having already established the cover. That was why she had had the alternate paints to start with. "And yes, since you're about to ask - like everyone asks - that's actually my name."
The waitress giggled, rolling over on her wheeled pedes to one of the other customers briefly. She curtsied quickly, making the femme's orange helm ornaments bounce. "Nice to meet'cha! I'm Lickety-Split, by the way. You waiting for a special mech, or just droppin' by for a drop of the good ol' midnight oil, Ersatz?"
She smiled softly at the cheerful femme, glancing over at Blurr. "I'll have a sweet-En, extra sweet."
"Rough day? How about a pump of high to give it some zest? Or if you've got somewhere to be tomorrow, I can give you a spark-soothing dash of diamond rose dust instead?"
"That actually sounds pretty wonderful."
"Extra-sweet with a dash of rose. I'll have that to you, lickety-split!" The femme winked, snapping her servos crisply and spinning off to the back room.
Nightracer slid onto the stool beside Blurr and leaned her helm on her hand. The mech had an odd expression on his face as he nursed his drink, "Did she seriously actually say that?"
She nodded, glaring sharply at one of the other long-since overcharged customers walking their way. This was why she avoided the stuff. The amount of pure energy in high-grade had a tendency to overload the systems, particularly the processors. That was why every Cybertronian had a fuel intake moderation chip that prevented getting overcharged. Yet many foolish bots turned off their FIMs to get 'charged on purpose.
She failed to see the allure of making one's self look like a two-bit lugnut with a processor glitch.
"So, how's the Sparking Cobalt? I've heard it's the most popular non-high-grade drink in the sector."
"It's reputation isn't exaggerated. Not in the slightest." Blurr replied enthusiastically, sliding it over to her right as her super-sweet rose En came. "Here, you've gotta try some, you won't be disappointed, believe me. Though the price is still crazy."
Smiling at Lickety-Split, who was now standing watching the two of them with eager optics, the emerald sniper took a sip of the strangely electric drink, jumping back in surprise as it shocked her lips, tingling in her mouth. She cocked her helm, regarding the cube with curiosity. "... Zappy."
Blurr and Lickey-Split burst into gales of laughter at her expression, which she imagined had to be hilarious from their perspective. The beige and orange waitress giggled, "I still don't know what the boss puts in them to give them their sparkiness, but they are the prize of Maccadam's! Anything else I can get for you?" The femme frowned at her, muttering under her breath, "I swear I recognize her..."
Nightracer leaned forward over the counter, glancing over her shoulder first, her voice lowering to little more than a whisper, "I need a favor from you... But it is vitally important that no one know about it, okay?"
The femme's grin melted and she looked around nervously before nodding for her to go on.
"We need to borrow one of the bar's high-grade refiners. The more portable the better." She raised her emerald hands to silence the waitress' protests, "We'll bring it back as soon as we're done, and we can pay for any trouble it causes."
Lickety-Split's faceplates went slack and her blue optics grew wider and wider until at last the femme shook her helm vigorously. "No, I know who you are now, and there is no way I'm going to do anything for you. You're not allowed to be here. You need to leave now, before they come and kill us all."
The orange femme's cooling fans kicked in and her armor began rattling against her as she backed away from the counter warily. "Ersatz/Nightracer, you seem like a nice enough femme, but- but... Last time you came here, bots died!"
Before Nightracer could recover from the stunned stupor that that statement had caused, Blurr had darted around the counter and pulled the waitress into an unoccupied booth, holding his hand over her mouth. "Shh, shh. Don't scream, don't yell, just don't say or do anything that might draw attention to us alright? We don't want to hurt anyone, and we're not gonna hurt anyone as long as you don't draw attention to us, okay? We're not the bad guys."
"We just need to secretly and likely illegally borrow your refiner for an indefinite period of time so we can give high-grade to the bad guys so we can buy a mercenary medic to help Blurr and myself." She muttered, slipping into the booth across from Blurr and Lickety-Split.
"Yeah! What she said." The light blue Autobot piped up, releasing the small waitress hesitantly. "So, uh, not screaming hopefully? No one's exiled from Maccadam's! It's like the hole in the wall that's beyond faction, beyond war! How'd you get yourself banned, and Nightracer, what does she mean bots died last time you were here? "
Lickety-Split pushed herself into the wall with a pout, crossing her arms over her chest with a moody huff. "I mean I watched a bot get turned into confetti in three seconds flat, just for kicks, by a guy with a giant red 'x' on his face and it's her fault." She jumped suddenly, her optics going wide with awe as she let out a muffled squeal of excitement, "Oh. My. Spark. Did she just call you Blurr?! How on Cybertron did I not recognize you?! Oh my spark, this is so awesome! Like you are the Blurr? The fastest mech alive?"
Blurr's face lit up like a neon sign, a massive grin splitting over his face. "Oh, you've heard of me? Seen posters maybe? Watched me leave last vorn's fame and glory in the dust? Fastest mech alive? I'm honored, really, do you want an autograph?"
"Know about you!?" The femme squealed, pulling a picture of him with the Ibex Cup from her subspace, "I probably know more about you than you do! ... Actually, that sounds creepy, pretend I never said that... Do I want an autograph? I know femmes who would kill to get an autograph from you; of course I want an autograph!"
She shoved the picture into his hands, vibrating with giddy excitement, whispering, "Oh, mech, the femmes will be sooo jealous! I think I'm gonna glitch, this is so awesome!"
"Blurr. She just told you a mech got turned into confetti and you're giving out autographs to fawning fan-femmes?" Nightracer rubbed between her eyes wearily, not bothering to question why he had a signature-engraving pen in his subspace. This was not what they'd spent the last three joors of waiting for.
He pushed out his lower lip, widening his blue optics, whining, "But she's a fan... We want the public on our side, don't we? She's obviously been waiting all her life for this, I'd hate to disappoint her..."
"You haven't even been racing all-"
His optics flashed meaningfully and demandingly. She raised an optic ridge, receiving a tiny little smirk from the speedster. The green sniper's large, crimson optics widened marginally as understanding dawned on her and she nodded her 'permission'. Technically, as his prisoner, she had no authority to give permission and he had no reason to request it, but she decided against pointing that out to him. It was after all, her mission, when it all came down to it.
"Now, here's my signature, all official and everything, so do you think you can get us that refiner?" Blurr coaxed gently, getting up from his seat to let the waitress out, handing her the autographed picture as he did so, winking not-so-covertly at Nightracer.
The orange femme rolled out of the booth clumsily, squealing into the palm of her hands until she locked optics with the green Con. "Wait... You being you is still like, the coolest thing that's ever happened to me, but she's on the List. If someone finds out..." Lickety-Split chewed on the tips of her servos anxiously, her wide blue optics shining with fear, "If someone finds out, I'd be better off for you to kill me now."
"No one will find out, I promise." The mech assured her, "Besides, I am Blurr: I'll just come racing in to your rescue before those bullies can even blink."
Once the waitress had left to retrieve the refiner, grinning like a sparkling on her creation day, Blurr flopped back down into the berth with an exaggerated sigh, rolling his optics. "Fans. That femme is so annoying, I can't even put it into words."
Nightracer hummed in vague agreement, not really paying attention to him. She scowled finally, looking at him with worried optics, glancing around before whispering, "You do know what the List is, and what that means, right?"
"Uh... no. You're on some sort of a list, so what? I'm sure I'm on a lot of bots' hit-lists too, no big, this is war, I don't think its even possible to be alive and not have someone hate you for something or other that you've done or not done. Why? 'S'it important?"
"No, not really." She mumbled, sighing in relief. This was good. He didn't know what the List was, and more importantly, he didn't know who was after her. Meaning, he was just about as safe as a bot could be when acquainted to her.
Lickety-Split came back, smiling as bright as ever. It was clear in her optics that the smile on her face was completely fake though. She discreetly passed Blurr the refiner, saying as she did so, "Here's what you wanted. Don't bother bringing it back, and don't bring yourselves back either. I don't know about you, but I like being a perfectly normal, fully-functioning neutral waitress at Maccadam's, and I really don't want to get murdered to death by the bots she's gotten crossways with."
With that, the orange femme wheeled off to cheerily greet a new table of customers, acting as if nothing had happened.
Blurr turned to face her, his expression rather disconcerted. When she failed to supply an explanation, he shrugged, "Swindle wants to meet us in the old waste disposal facility a couple hics from here, two rotations from now, at 2400."
"Let's go back and start getting the super-high ready for him then." She winced as she stood up, wrapping a hand over her damaged t-cog. Looking down at her green-toned paint-job, she added, "And put 'Ersatz' back in the closet where she belongs."
0150, Two Rotations Later
Tap-tap-tap... Tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap-tap...
Tap.
Tap-tap... Tap-tap... Tap-tap.
Nightracer glared pointedly at the blue racer, causing him to pause in his impatient tapping for a klick. Apparently Swindle, as professional a business-mech as he had claimed to be, did not consider punctuality very important. She sighed, scanning their surroundings again.
She didn't like this. Not in the slightest.
A glitch-mouse scampered across the cold floor, followed by a shrieking gust of wind whistling through the rust-ridden walls of the abandoned facility. The partially severed roof creaked ominously under the black void of a night's sky, the moons long-since departed and the stars only faintly glimmering, as if they had grown weary of shining on their war ravaged world.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
"Blurr!" She shouted, her patience having run dry about a groon and a half ago, "If you don't stop that incessant tapping right now, I swear I'll shoot you."
"Well, well, well..." A smooth voice drawled from the shadowed doorway across the room from where she and Blurr stood guarding the cases of high-grade. "I take it you pleasant bots are my newest clients?"
"Step out where we can see you, Con." The teal and charcoal femme snarled, drawing one of her gold rifles from subspace.
"You're one to talk, femme... You won't be needing that, trust me." His purple visor gleamed in the dark before Swindle's whole purple and tan, grinning self came into view. His hands were held up in a placating way. He cocked his helm, conceding, "Actually, you probably know better than to do that anyway."
The visor locked onto the stack of Energon cubes, his grin widening. "I see you brought the goods..." The mech trailed off as his attention was drawn away from the payment and towards the gold sniper rifle in her hands, his visor brightening greedily, "Is that... It is. One of the original Nightracer's personal sniper rifles, gold-class, heavily modified and personalized... That weapon is almost more of a legend than the femme herself; a single bullet is worth at least a thousand shanix with the right buyer..."
"One more step and you'll find a couple thousand shanix lodged in your spark." She sneered at him, brandishing the weapon at the slowly approaching weapons-dealer, opting to leave the second in subspace.
"Alright, alright, take it easy." Swindle replied, not losing his composure for a nano-second, his greedy gaze still on her gun. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to negotiate a price on such a... valuable weapon? The troubles you must have gone through to steal those beauties... I will pay you handsomely to get my hands on those."
"They aren't for sale, Swindle, and that isn't why you're here anyway. We brought you the high-grade, and it's the real deal, so where's the medic you promised us?" Blurr demanded, stepping in front of their payment and crossing his arms.
The Combaticon cleared his vents, casually drawing a scanner from his subspace and maneuvering around Blurr to scan the high-grade, tilting his helm in satisfaction, "Authentic, good. Did I not mention? This is an excellent down-payment-"
"Down-payment? Whaddya mean down payment, you never said anything about a down payment! This was the deal, we give you the high-grade, you give us the medic, we part ways, the end."
Nightracer snapped her battle mask up to shield the dreading expression growing on her face. Nothing was ever as simple as it should be when it came to Swindle. If things were simple, he would lose profit. He thrived on bots' desperation, because no one ever went to Swindle until they were at rock bottom. Until they couldn't argue any longer, because he was their last chance.
Swindle shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by Blurr's anger, "See, the medic I hired for you raised his price, leaving me no choice but to raise yours. And then of course, there's the obvious risk factor. Don't get me wrong, my clients always come first, but hey, a mech's gotta make a living too."
"What risk factor?" She asked calmly and politely, forcing her concerns out of her voice, glancing at Blurr to gauge his reaction and signal him to calm down. Losing one's cool with this mech would only make him dislike them, which would only put them deeper in his snare.
The brown and purple mech leaned up against a stack of dusty cargo boxes in the center of the room, making a point to appear friendly and relaxed, "I deal with all sorts of bots. Bots from the Senate, Decepticons, Autobots, neutrals, criminals... I really don't care. If they can pay, that's all that matters."
He flicked a micro-beetle off his arm, watching his two clients glare at him with suspicious optics, wondering just what he was getting at. He went on, "Thing is, I have my sources, and my sources give me an idea of who I'm working with, just a casual background check for my personal records, nothing major. I like to know whose hit lists my clients are on, for my own safety of course. And well, you, Nightracer, have managed to get on the bad side of a group of bots even I know better than to mess with. I'm putting my life on the line to deal with you, and that isn't cheap."
"How much?" Nightracer asked flatly, hoping to keep the mech from spilling more information than she cared to have announced.
His answer was instantaneous, cementing her suspicions that this had been his plan all along. "Fifty-thousand shanix by this time next orn."
She stared at the Decepticon blankly for a whole klick, her masked mouth hanging agape. At last her gaze darted over to Blurr, finding him staring at Swindle with much the same expression. "You're joking."
"I never joke about money, sweetspark." Swindle replied, his voice seeming to ooze over them. An optic ridge showed itself over his violet visor as he smirked. "The way this works now, ladies and gentlemechs, is you pay up, or the deal's off and you're down two cases of super-refined high-grade, no gain. With the DJD involved, prices just sky-rocketed, and I'm guessing you're really not in a position to decline."
She glanced at Blurr again, but he seemed to be having difficulties processing what he was hearing. She frowned, glowering at the floor. Turning her piercing glare to the mech, she snarled, "And how do you expect us to get that much money in thirteen rotations? Cybertron went dark three quartex ago."
The smirk grew back into a full grin, "Ordinarily, that's not my problem, but what can I say? I'm feeling generous."
The mech summoned her over and laid out a portable holographic map on the top of the box, waiting until Blurr too had come over to examine the map warily. Swindle then proceeded to give them detailed instructions that would allow them, hypothetically, to sneak into the Altihexian citadel, hijack the trans-mat to get into Iacon - one of the last densely populated city-states on Cybertron.
Once they were in Iacon - the transmat would take them to the outskirts, leaving them to find their own way in - they would locate and infiltrate the Autobot high command. Hidden in a high-security ward, was a room filled with experimental, out-lawed weaponry.
The weapon in particular that they were after was a quantum-powered, dual-barrel cannon equipped with processor guided targeting systems. It could fire practically any ammo, including grenades, and via the processor interface automatically personalized itself to fit the size, class, function, and preference of the user. It had a variety of settings ranging from stunning to vaporization. It was even rumored to cloak the user when the user felt his or her life endangered, though Swindle was plainly skeptical of that.
To put it simply, the weapon was a work of art, envied by every weapons designer in military-science. However, it had been outlawed as an unnatural exploit and danger to the Cybertronian mind, as well as possessing a list of harmful and/or unknown side-effects that seemed to be twice the length of the weapon's rather impressive specs list.
Swindle looked rather smug at their awed expressions as they read through the specifications. He drummed his black servos on the box top, deactivating the holo-projector, "So. Do we have a deal?"
Since Blurr was still doing no more than blinking periodically as he stared blankly into nothing, Nightracer nodded reluctantly, feeling sick to her tanks, a pall of dread hovering over her spark. She shook the mech's hand swiftly, glad for once to have her mask raised, shielding her disgust.
"See you next orn, then." The brown and purple Decepticon smiled triumphantly as he made to leave, calling over his shoulder, "Try not to die prior to paying up."
Into the snare. She could only hope that they could eventually get back out with their liberty intact.
