A Race Through the Night

Chapter 10

Shaky Dealings


Okay, my lovely readers! First chapter of the new year! I know it's taken awhile to get this one up, but holiday-time tends to be very busy. Anywho, onward and forward!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers. And of course, massive thanks to my sister/beta enmused for encouraging me to keep feeding my wild muses.

There weren't any reviews for this last chapter, but I want to give a special thanks to everyone who reads this, especially to those who have fav'd and followed this story so far! I want you all to know just how much you're appreciated, and would love to thank you directly, which I can do through my chapterly review responses. Thank you all again so much for reading, fav'ing, and following, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!


The clone unit Nightracer: Mark II will be terminated in precisely 8.392 joors from this moment. Primicerius is now diverting power from unit/host communication to host elimination systems.

Diverting power…

Primicerius out.

Nightracer bolted upright, a panicked scream filling her audials and echoing around her. Her claws were clenched around two different objects; one soft and cold, one warm and damp. She could hardly feel her own servos, her grip was so tight. Fiery pain shot into her side like knives, but it felt better than it had… last time she remembered. Her vocalizers were raw and overheating.

Panic was rising in her as the screams continued to sound, and her face felt constricted, tight, closing in on her. Someone was talking, trying to be heard around the wailing. He sounded concerned, afraid, attempting to sooth her.

As the person went on speaking, her audials managed to pick out the words. "-it's okay, Race, we're still safe, we're still safe, I swear it on my spark, we're still safe – Primus, help me – please stop screaming, we're okay!"

She frowned. He was obviously talking to her, but why was he asking her to stop screaming? Was that really her voice? Surely she didn't sound like that.

The sniper's optics finally flung open and she snapped away the claustrophobic mask over her face, gasping for air just as the cries ceased. Coolant was dried on her face, some recent, some almost an orn old. Nightracer vented heavily for a klick, then looked down at her hands. One was clenched around a piece of the mesh berth, torn free from its source. The other was wrapped equally tightly around a light blue hand, which shone faintly with life-En where her grip had burst a tertiary line.

The femme met Blurr's optics and her engine whined softly in apology. She thought about what Primicerius had just told her. Her orn was up. She'd been in and out of medical stasis for an entire orn. Which meant that not only was Primicerius going to kill her in a short few joors, she also hadn't moved for an orn, meaning they were late for Swindle's payment, and the DJD was probably at their doorstep.

Just as soon as she'd come to that conclusion, she heard a forceful knock on the door. Nightracer made as though to run, but Blurr grabbed her shoulders before she could get more than an inch off the berth, pushing her back down and gently but firmly restraining her to the berth.

Her wide ruby optics held a crazed fear, the look of a cornered animal, as she watched the door, trembling in her armor. A loud voice shouted – she couldn't hear what it said – but she let out a terrified squeak and struggled against the mech keeping her from escape. When fighting failed, the Decepticon sniper shuddered convulsively and vented hard, trying not to cry as the stress and weight of all the trouble she was in threatened to overwhelm.

Blurr released his detaining grip on her shoulders, but as soon as he did she sprang up and ran for it, only to crash into him as the speedster appeared in her way. Coolant slid from her optics in a clearish-pink trail and the femme at last broke down, sobbing into her captor's chest plates as once again he refused to let her run.

"Hey, look, it's okay, it's just Ironhide outside dealing with someone. It's probably just the usual Iaconian slum-dwellers, it's fine."

She watched the mech through tear-blurred optics as he patted her shoulder awkwardly. She felt nothing, and she realized it was the arm that bore the weapon. It had gone completely numb. Her vents choked on her next intake and the sniper sobbed harder, stress giving way to despair.

Primicerius wasn't going to kill her in less than eight and a half joors. It was already killing her, it would just take eight and a half joors to finish the job.

The blue speedster groaned in dismay and his optics went dim as he commed something to someone, sending an instinctive shudder of apprehension through the femme. This didn't go without his noticing and Blurr reached up to touch her face gently, tilting her chin up to look him in the optics.

He ran a servo swiftly across her cheeks, swiping away the spilled coolant. "Look at me. I get it, it isn't alright and it probably won't be until we leave Cybertron, but I swear to you, everything will be alright."

"You don't understand-!" She started to object, only to be cut off by an exasperated Blurr.

"So you keep telling me! But how the Pit am I s'posed to help you if every time I try you just tell me I don't understand?" The mech started pacing around the room rapidly, too fast for her to track more than his after-images. "I get that I'm a 'Bot and you're a 'Con, and I'm the captor and you're the captive, and that makes any level of trust nigh on impossible and a touch absurd, but for Primus' sake, Race, you're the living embodiment of- of secretive-ness!"

Nightracer stopped trying to follow the racer's movements, instead focusing on calming herself down. She was about to attempt some form of an answer, but just as she opened her mouth, the mech continued on to a full-on rant.

"I mean, I took you in in the first place, risking my own spark to do so, and I give you a place to stay and all you do to thank me is accuse me of alternate motives. Then I go and get myself stuck in it with Swindle, the lowest of the low down blackmailing Decepticon scum, and you're like 'Oh by the way, you're gonna die 'cause I'm on the DJD's list, but maybe you won't die, so bye!' and I keep helping you anyway even though you'd obviously get along just fine without me-"

"That's not fair." The charcoal and teal sniper growled indignantly, not that the mech was listening. She grasped her numb, immobile upper arm in her fist, squeezing harder and harder as the mech spoke. Her helm hung low and her armor was sucked in tightly to her frame.

Blurr was now 'pacing' around the room fast enough that the air currents were tugging at her in all directions, making it difficult to maintain her balance. "Oh and as if the DJD weren't enough, we show up here to get the payment to get a medic for you and Overlord just happens to be in the area! You get your t-cog in a knot over it and I carry you to safety and rust by your berthside for a whole entire orn just so you don't kill yourself in your recharge. Oh, and you forgot to mention that you're just the shattered remains of a person who's probably dead!"

The whirlwind-ing mech came to an abrupt halt a few steps away from her, an expression of horror on his angled features. He started shaking his helm back and forth, flailing his hands as if he could wipe away the words that he just spoke. "Wait-! That's not- I didn't mean- Please-"

Nightracer, in turn, bore a cold, emotionless visage. She ignored the mech's stuttering attempts at fixing what he'd just done. Her ruby optics burned with an icy flame of anger and betrayal. When she spoke, her voice was low and quiet, "A clone. Ersatz. A shattered remnant of what once was. Doomed to forever live under the shadow of a dead legend, and I will never be good enough, because I'm no more than a cheap knockoff of the real deal. In my position, Blurr, would you go announcing that to every bot you meet?"

She didn't wait to let him answer, merely walking over to the door, not particularly caring anymore what dangers might await her there. After all, she was already a legend. Another page in history. Who would miss her? The femme cast Blurr one last stony glare, "Bots like you are why I run. Because some things? Some things are far worse than the DJD."

The femme stormed out, pausing only to thank Ironhide and First Aid briefly for their help. The boxy little medic had tried to convince her to rest awhile longer, for her spark, but that hadn't gone over well. The familiar ache of her battle systems pushing for dominance had settled in again, and the medic ended up across the room with a rather unpleasant set of dents in his plating.

Ironhide hadn't tried to stop her from leaving after that. Bots rarely did.

Blurr watched her walk out, his frame perfectly still and his mind slightly dazed. He hadn't meant to say that – well he had meant to say it, but he hadn't meant it to come out like that. It wasn't supposed to have sounded like that. He was a complete and total glitch to her. Things like what he'd just told her were why the War had started.

The mentality of degrading bots because they were different.

Oh, he was a walking social malfunction. A loud shouting followed by a crash sounded outside the door and he winced. Moments later he heard the front door slam shut. This was all his fault. He needed to find her before she got herself killed, and he needed to give her time before trying to apologize, and he needed to find her and apologize as soon as possible while still giving her time, but-

He needed his femme-guardian. She would have known how to fix this. Maybe. Or she would have just punched him for being a glitch to a wounded femme and tell him to fix it himself. Blurr smiled fondly at the thought.

Okay, okay. He needed a plan of action. Plan of action, plan of action… Scrap. The mech flopped down cross-legged on the berth, facing the wall. He banged his helm against the wall futilely. He really wanted to go after her right then and try to patch this up, but at the same time, he'd struck a nerve with what he'd said, and it would probably be better to let her have a cycle or two to cool down so she didn't just try to murder him.

But he couldn't just sit here for that long, otherwise she'd be long gone and he'd never be able to find her again, and the DJD or Overlord would find her and off her and it would be his fault cause he promised he'd keep her safe – which now that he thought about it, was a really stupid thing to say too, cause he'd never forgive himself if he broke his word, but he didn't really have any right to promise anyone that, because he was just him and what if that wasn't enough to keep her safe?

"Blurr? Y'alright, mech?"

Agh! Guardian! Quit banging your helm on the wall… Quick! Look natural, act natural… He scrambled to the chair by the berth and sat down just as Ironhide came in. He sat there, one pede crossed over the other, his back stiff as a board.

"Yep! I'm fine, perfectly fine, better than fine – I feel great! Why wouldn't I feel great? Of course I'm alright, no big!" Blurr blurted out, finally getting himself to stop blathering. He internally rolled his optics at himself. Not at all suspicious.

"Yer femme friend just left somewhat, ah…" The red mech ran a hand over his helm, sighing heftily, "Violently. You say somethin' to 'er?"

"Who? Me? No, of course not, why would something I said make her freak out like that?"

"Yer the first friend she's 'ad since whenever it was she got cross-ways wi' Tarn 'n 'is goons, aren't ya?"

Blurr opened his mouth to object, shut it, opened it again, and shut it. Finally he huffed at his guardian. "How'd you find out about that? I never said anything about it and – scrap, she'll kill me the nano I find her, 'Hide! What do you expect me to do about this?"

The big red old mech just shrugged with a little smile, "That ain't really my problem, kid."

Desperate to not be left hanging like that, the blue speedster's engine whined faintly, "Come with me, 'Hide. I- I got a ship and fuel and medical supplies and- and the coolest gun range and simulator you've ever seen, it'll be great, you can come with us and we'll patch together a crew and it'll be just like old times! Come with me, 'Hide."

He just kept rambling on, and on, and on, faster and faster, more and more desperately, because he could already see his answer in his dark blue optics. He could already see that nothing he ever said would change his guardian's mind, but he tried anyway. Even as he spewed out an ever-growing list of reasons to come with him, Blurr's shoulder bolts were sagging and his tone was growing more and more pleading.

Ironhide's expression showed just how much it pained him to see his adopted mechling begging him, but that firm decision in his optics never wavered. At last the old mech clapped a hand on his charge's shoulder, halting the spiel.

"Ah can't, Blurr, ya know Ah can't come wi' you. Ah can't leave Cybertron, mech, Ah just can't." The guardian sighed heavily, "Ah've given up far too much fer this rock to leave it now. But thank you, Blurr – an' Ah really mean it – thank you. Ya gave me a reason ta live again, an' Ah figger Ah've got a few vorns ta make up fer. There's still bots 'ere that need me and Aid's help."

Blurr looked into his guardian's optics, knowing in his spark he was right. Ironhide gave him a tight, swift hug, and smiled at him, "Now go get 'er, mech. Make sure she don't get 'erself killed.

Seven Joors Later.

The dead planet's dark sky shimmered, but the stars were dim and the moons were long since torn from Cybertron's orbit. City lights were scarce; most bots had fled at least a vorn ago, and most of those who were left knew better than to light up such a beacon.

It was still beautiful though, to her. Dark, broken, and lonely, but beautiful. A lot like her.

On the tallest standing spire of the war-torn city perched a teal and charcoal femme, ready to pounce or flee at a moment's notice. She watched the plaza where she was expecting company with optics like a cyber-hawk. The sniper's skill was such that one would never see her where she crouched behind the point of the spire.

Harsh winds tore at her frame, but the young Decepticon's balance wasn't swayed.

She caught sight of her target and sprang from her position, sliding nimbly down the side of the building by the claws of one hand. Remaining in the shadows, Nightracer asked gruffly, "Did you bring the medic?"

"Did you bring the payment?" Swindle countered, not at all fazed by her distrust.

The femme stepped out of the comfort of her shield of darkness and grimaced slightly. Her optics swept the area and she mentally marked each possible escape route, battle protocols running on stand-by.

"There were… complications." She replied tersely, indicating the arm that bore the Primicerius device. The numbness had spread to her shoulder and side, and hiding the limp from a lack of feeling in the upper half of her pede was becoming more and more difficult.

The tan and purple weapons-dealer scowled for the briefest of moments before his usual easy grin slid back into place. "Hel-loo, beautiful… What have we here?"

He strolled over to her and picked up her limp arm to better inspect the gun, pulling and yanking on the appendage as he examined his payment. As he was doing so, a second mech stomped over, crossing his arms over his chest.

"This is the patient?" The bright green mech grunted, huffing. His red visor brightened as he scanned her thoroughly, making the femme squirm slightly. "T-cog is blown, lacerations along the back – probably glass – armor worn through in multiple places, evidence of prolonged lack of fuel – already being treated – and the spark chamber's a wreck. And that's without any equipment. Slag, Swindle, you don't joke when you say you have a client for me."

"You mentioned complications?" Swindle asked somewhat distractedly as he continued his examination.

Nightracer smirked self-depreciatively, "Yeah. They have to do with the fact that I can't take the gun off, and its AI system's given me about another joor and a quarter to live."

The tan Decepticon cocked his helm, "Interesting. I thought the AI was self-preserving?"

"It declared me a threat for 'malicious intent'." She winced, "It was after all an Autobot-built device… Apparently my thought patterns were less than cheery, fighting Overlord."

The green and purple medic guffawed, "You went one-on-one with Overlord?! Do you have a death wish, femme?"

She just shrugged nonchalantly, finally pulling away from the weapon's-dealer, scowling at him and stepping back to a more strategic position. "You get the gun off of me, the deal's set."

"Now, it's none of my business, but didn't you have an Autobot partner running the deal?" Swindle questioned idly, flipping through a datapad of his records.

"He- He crossed one line too many." She cocked her helm, her servos lightly massaging her frozen shoulder. "But that's not important. We have a deadline to meet."

The wind was howling outside an old warehouse in Altihex. Inside the old warehouse in Altihex, a femme howled with it.

Cold metal servos and medical tools shifted in her wiring, and the green and purple medic working on her swore sharply under his breath. "-Femme! Sit still!"

Nightracer gasped as Hook cut another wire in her upper arm. Numb and immobile apparently did not include pain-free. At all. She clenched her jaw and bit back another shriek as after cutting more wires, he yanked on the Primicerius weapon to see if he had broken its grip on her.

"I don't know what else to do." Hook growled, slamming down a medical utensil. "The gun is fused, and severing its connections hasn't accomplished anything."

She hissed, but said nothing. She could hardly move at all now, and according to her chronometer, she was going to be dead in less than half a groon. They were out of time, and the doctor's only plan had failed.

"Why don't you just cut it off of her?" Swindle asked coolly, showing no signs of thinking it unusual to request a client's amputation. His purple optics held an almost unnoticeable glint of anxiety as he glanced around the warehouse again. "You know how to reattach the limb once the prize is removed."

"In case you've forgotten, this prize is killing me." The sniper snapped at him. His nonchalance as she sat there dying was wearing thin her patience.

The combaticon quirked an optic ridge at her, his tone still maddeningly unaffected, his lips still wearing that bright, flashy grin, "You see, Nightracer, I'm a fair mech. I like to keep my clients satisfied, so long as they can pay. I also know when a transaction has reached an end. I've kept my end of the bargain, and you'll keep your's either way. Because the thing is, sweetspark, whether you live or die isn't really my concern."

She chuckled quietly, smiling like a bot who already knew she had the winning cards. "Fair point. Will it be enough to save you from Tarn's wrath when he finds out you not only aided me, but let me die without his permission as well. What do you wanna bet he won't kill you in my place?"

Hook just watched the two of them interact, at long last clearing his vents to draw their attention, trying not to think about the fact that she just said she was on the List. Which indirectly meant he was probably going to wake up burning in Helex, or chewing on his own processor module in the next quartex or so.

"As to your question, no, I can't just cut off her arm, because the virus the weapon planted has already spread through her systems." The green and purple Decepticon grimaced, "You said it didn't consider you a valid user?"

The femme nodded her helm slowly. Hook went on cautiously, treading thin ground where any Decepticon was concerned. "Then we make it think otherwise."

"How do you want to do that?" She asked quietly, already knowing the answer by the medic's tone.

"Processor link."

She tried to shake her helm, but found that she couldn't even make herself move even that much. Nightracer moaned in displeasure. "I don't think I've got much in the way of options."

For a moment the mech just blinked at her, not entirely sure he'd heard her properly. Then he raised an optic ridge, "You mean you're not going to argue? Kick, scream, try to rip my spark out?"

Big ruby optics filled with resignation, Nightracer huffed quietly, "I can't move and I'll be dead in two breems if I don't. Sync cable's on my neck, right side."

"Odd place for it." Hook commented as he took his hand away from her wrist and moved to where she'd indicated, easily finding the cord and sliding it into his port directly.

She shuddered as his presence filled her processors, but held her firewalls down for him, sending a vague pulse of curiosity that he'd trusted her to do it directly.

I know a bot with nothing to lose when I see one. Was all the medic replied, respecting her privacy and moving straight to where he needed to be.

The Primicerius' programs were sloppy and disorganised, standing out like a beacon against Shockwave's flawless coding. She could feel through the link that the designer of her code had not escaped Hook, but she was grateful that he didn't see fit to ask. She could also feel that the programming mayhem that was the weapon disgusted the perfectionist medic.

In her memories, she couldn't recall very many times being synced with a bot, but at the same time, in her spark she knew that it was a frequent occasion in her life. Shockwave was her programmer, her master, and in a way, she feared him far more than even the DJD. Because in a way, he was worse than them. They ended bots.

He gave them life.

She still wasn't sure how she could be here. Living. If all she was was a copy, built and programmed in a lab. Her only purpose was to kill. To be the legend that she could never live up to. She shouldn't even have a spark, if she truly was a clone, like Shockwave had told her. Which left her lost. She didn't even know what she was.

Except for a lonely, hunted, and hated mistake who'd refused to fulfil her purpose.

When one turns back on their sole purpose in being… What does that leave them with? Who does that make them?

All these thoughts, by a skill and habit she couldn't recall having attained, Nightracer held to herself, giving Hook an impression of an uncomfortable, worn out, mental silence within her mind. How she managed it, she had no idea, except that she had done this before, too many times to remember.

You're good at this. Hook commented, still prodding at Primicerius' code. She sensed a sliver of frustration every now and then, but for the most part the waves off of him led her to the conclusion that he was making headway and ought to be done with the program before the program was done with her.

So I noticed. She replied cryptically, certainly not complaining about this ability.

Your spark is-

None of your business. I didn't hire you to pry. Nightracer cut him off abruptly, then felt somewhat bad about snapping, her mental tone softening, Please, just get rid of the program and leave.

The femme sighed inwardly, her thoughts and spark still in turmoil. Blurr had called her the shattered remnants of the original Nightracer. Shockwave had called her a clone; the result of a cloning experiment that hadn't worked out good enough. If she were cloned, she wouldn't have a spark, yet she did. What did Blurr mean by that?

A small part of her sneered at herself, thinking, 'Well, if you hadn't thrown a fit and run away, he might have told you.'

She sighed again, this time accidentally letting it slip through her thought-barrier, making the constructicon medic give a pulse of inquiry. She sent back the equivalent of a weary smirk, determining to leave her thoughts for a later time.

Whoever programmed this was an idiot. It works, true, but there is no order, no functionality to the code. Crude worksmechship. Hook muttered indignantly, his presence flaring with disapproval. It reeks of that two-bit klutz, Wheeljack.

About a breem later, mere klicks before her time would have been up, Hook started backing out of her mind, his mental presence radiating professional satisfaction.

Done. You should start regaining system function and mobility in the next groon or so. Another few moments later and the mech disconnected from her mind, standing up from where he'd been crouched beside her.

He grabbed the gun, and after a small moment of hesitation, pulled on the clasps once again, giving a pleased smile when it came free, the previously solid fusing crumbling to dust under the slightest pressure. "All's well, with four klicks to spare."

"Shame; spare parts sell for a fortune these days." Swindle winked at her and grinned at the medic, snatching the weapon away from him and gently placing it in the protective carry case he'd brought for it. "Anyway, it's been a pleasure working with you, but I have other… business to attend to."

Without another word, the tan mech transformed and sped off into the night, leaving Nightracer and Hook alone in the darkness.

Nightracer attempted to give her left arm a trial lift to no avail. She snorted at the tiny shred of her that had actually hoped it would be so easy. The femme watched Swindle's dust trail, then shifted her gaze to inspect the warehouse they'd chosen to camp out in. It was sturdy enough, but far too open for her liking.

The walls most certainly would not be helping block her signal. Be that as it may, since she couldn't twitch her servos much less run for her spark, she was pretty well dead if anybot that didn't like her decided to show up. Hook would no doubt be leaving soon, deal or no deal, and the only bot that had cared what happened to her, she'd left in Iacon to rust with his guardian.

Hopefully the mess Overlord had made would be big enough to keep the DJD off her bumper for a bit.

"So." Hook drew out the word, briefly filling the silence before he went on, "Tarn's wrath, eh?"

"Yup."

That brought an expression of bemused question to the bright green mech's face, what part of it not covered by his red-orange visor. "Yup? You're on the Decepticon Justice's hit list and all you've got to say about it is 'yup'."

Nightracer raised an optic ridge, her lips twitching towards a smile as she replied simply, "Yup."

Hook crossed his arms and his visor flashed briefly before he decided to drop the matter. "Swindle said you had a safehouse with all the equipment I'll need to patch you up. This obviously ain't it."

She gave a derisive snort, glancing around at the large, shattered windows, the mostly-fallen roof, and the one and a half walls that had crumbled and caved in on themselves. "Obviously. Unfortunately, that arrangement's no longer mine to offer…"

The teal and charcoal femme pursed her lips. That wouldn't pose much of a problem though. Blurr had inadvertently let her see where the access panel to the cloaked ship doors was. Which meant she could probably hack it. There were very few doors she couldn't hack, and while several rooms in the ship were such, she doubted the front door would be, since Blurr had figured it out.

Living by herself, for herself when no bot wanted to help her and most bots wanted to kill her… well, she had learned a lot in the past vorn. The thing was, she didn't particularly want to run into Blurr.

"Well, deal or no, unless you have shelter, fuel, and supplies for me to work with, I'm outta here." Hook told her bluntly, already packing his gear.

"I… I can still get in." Nightracer said quietly, everything in her screaming that this was a bad plan. This was just like everywhere else. She was perfectly welcome until too many secrets got wretched into the open, and then she was gone.

Going back to a place never worked. Last time she'd tried that had been Maccadam's. It had nearly ended in a massacre. No, going back never worked. Did she really have a choice though?

"It's just a few hics from here. As soon as I can walk, we'll leave. The… owner might make a fuss, but I-I'll make sure he isn't an issue." The Decepticon sniper met the medic's gaze with a cold determination in her crimson optics. "So… do we still have a deal?"

Hook levelled a suspicious glare on the immobile femme, setting his wire-cutters back in their proper place in his meticulously tidy med-kit. "And if I say the deal's off, what then?"

"Other than me dying? Not much." She shrugged the one shoulder that the virus had released. "I don't deal in death threats. I've got enough of my own to deal with."

The medic's optic ridges shot up so high she could see them over the top of his visor. Nonetheless clearly distrustful, the constructicon nodded, "Fair enough. Give me a reason to and I'll kill you though."

She shrugged again, having fully expected as much. "Fair enough."