Day 11

Hours Remaining: 67

It was morning again and all of the non-suspects, minus Scavenger and Mixmaster, gather in the lunchroom to discuss what to do today. "Well, I checked in on our murder suspects. All of them are fine, although they all complained one way or another about the room being cramp with all of them in it," Jazz informed them.

"They can live with it," Ratchet told him simply. "It's for the safety of everyone else."

"We should visit the archives today," Counterpunch told them. "If we are quick, we can use it twice today."

"You seem determine to use them," Knock Out noticed with a glanced at him.

"I need information about something," Counterpunch told him.

"Well, why don't we go right now?" Nautilator recommended.

"Well, we still need to investigate as much as we can about this place," Perceptor told them. "Could be useful to take advantage of the amount of time we got."

"Well then, are we all in agreement with that?" Jazz asked the group. Everyone gave a sign of agreement. "Alright then, let's go."

Hours Remaining: 66.5

"This is boring," Swindle complained as he read through his datapad on finances for the fifth time since he's been trapped in the room in the chair. "You think he could at least give us a little bit of time to get some more stuff."

"He made it explicit that you could go out no more once the door closes. You should've brought more," Blast Off chastised him, reading one of the many datapads he brought with him.

"I'm just saying, if you're going to keep us trapped here 24/7, we are going to need some entertainment. "Heck, even some high-grade could help make the time go faster."

"Will you cease you constant complaining?" Bludgeon asked pausing in the middle of his katas to glare at the merchant.

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm a bit grouchy, considering you're the one who forcefully acquire the berth from us," Swindle sniped back at the metallikato expert.

"I had been recharging in the hollow out shell of a volcano for the past few years. I am not giving up the berth for you," Bludgeon informed him.

"You haven't help us out with rebuilding Cybertron, so why should we give you a bed?" he asked him.

"Swindle, calm down," Smokescreen told him, relaxing in a chair in the room. "You know what happens when we fight with each other."

"Yeah, yeah, conflict begets tragedy and all of the stuff," Swindle brushed him off. "You think I haven't realized that?"

"Oh, I'm sure Vortex and Brawl realized you didn't," Nightbeat told Swindle from the kitchen.

"What was that, detective?" Swindle asked darkly, gritting his teeth together at him.

"Well, you're actions and conflicts did cause their deaths, did they not," Nightbeat pointed out. "Just an observation."

"Why you smug little bastard," Swindle growled, getting up and stomping over there.

"Woah, hold on!" Drift finally intervened, getting in-between them. "If you want to kill someone, kill one of your own kind."

"If you want me to kill one of my kind, I can easily stab you in the spark. You were one of us, were you not," Swindle threaten the swordsman, ignoring the call from Blast Off to get back.

Crunch!

"Argh!" Swindle shouted as he toppled backward from Drift's fist. Immediately, Smokescreen, Blast Off, and Nightbeat got in-between the two feuders, keeping them away from away from each other, while Bludgeon just glared at them, his concentration broken.

"Drift, what was that!" Smokescreen yelled at him as Nightbeat kept him back.

"That 'con was running his mouth. Someone had to put him in his place," Drift said coldly.

"You realize fighting is going to get us nowhere," Blast Off chastised him as he took care of Swindle.

"So?" Drift said. "I won't kill him, but the more he mouths off, the more I'll have to put him in his place."

"Screw you!" Swindle yelled at him as he tried to get up only to be met with Blast Off keeping him down.

"No. You are keeping away from him," Blast Off ordered.

"But-"

"No buts. Just ignore him," Blast Off told him.

"A good idea. Maybe we can go the rest without issuing death threats at each other," Nightbeat snidely remarked.

"Do whatever you may, as long as you all cease with your bickering," Bludgeon told them, getting ready to do his katas again. "If you don't refrain from it, I will make sure you will continue to walk with a limp." The other five looked at each other before separating and continuing to do their own things in solitude.

Hours Remaining: 66.3

"Come on, you bastard. Give me some more information about this school," Jazz growled to the computer as he continue looking through the school archives.

"Problems?" Onslaught asked beside him.

"Can't… find… info," Jazz muttered in contempt at the screen, quickly making his through the files presented to him. "How about you?"

"Both of my remaining men are currently being detained for being possible serial killers. How do you think I feel?" he asked him tensely.

"Ah, yes," Jazz said, slightly embarrassed.

"Right now, they are both in the midst of a serial killer and in danger," Onslaught continued to badger him.

"Hey, if anyone kills anyone in that room, they are going to be found out. They won't take the risk," Jazz tried to comfort him.

"We'll see what happens when he's desperate," Onslaught told him, continuing to glare at him. Jazz, feeling his intense stare, turned away from him to look at the other side of the room. Immediately, he was met with the deep gaze of Counterpunch's optics looking at him. Jazz optics brighten a bit from the suspicious blue 'Con looking at him only for him to turn away back to the computer screen nearly instantly as soon as he realized he was made. Jazz glared at him in confusion before looking back at his screen.

What did he want with him?

Hours Remaining: 62.5

"Here you go," Blurr told Mixmaster as he handed him some cubes of energon. "How's Scavenger?"

"He's doing alright," Mixmaster told him with a small, twitchy smile. "By my estimates, I think he'll wake up tonight."

"Well, I guess that's a relief," Blurr consented as he took a seat.

"Why did you volunteer to help watch Scavenger with me?" he asked him.

"Well, let's just say that my schedule has been freed up a little bit," he told him, taking a seat in the chair on the other side of the bed.

"Huh, what had been keeping you busy previously?" he asked him.

"I've been hanging out Smokescreen, but now as you remember, he's currently a suspect for you gestaltmate's assault," Blurr half-lied to him. "I need someone else to hang out with."

"Huh, makes sense," Mixmaster turning back to Scavenger. "He one of my best customers when it comes to my high-grade."

"I reckoned he would be," Blurr remarked. "Like a bit of that high-grade."

"Yeah. He should've been renamed Ultimate Drinker," Mixmaster snarked.

"Ha! That's nice," Blurr agreed getting back up from the chair. "Do you have any of your home-brewed stuff around?" he asked, looking around.

"Should be some in the cabinets," he told him.

"Thanks. If you don't mind," he said, opening it up and plucking some out, "I'm going to drink on the job."

"Fine with me."

Hours Remaining: 60.5

"What up!" Wildrider greeted the conjunx endures at the tables of mall.

"You again," Chromedome muttered, pausing from his reading to look up to see Wildrider peering at him with a hand-held, gold-plated telescope in ultra-close range. "Why do you have that so close to me? In fact, why do you have that in the first place?"

"Reasons," Wildrider answered simply, withdrawing the telescope from his eyes. "So what are you two doing? Besides being adorable, I mean?"

"Uh, he's showing me some stories to read…." Rewind murmured confused.

"What is that on your hand?" Chromedome asked him as he looked at them. Wildrider paused before looking to see some gold dust on his hand.

"Ah! That's just the telescope. It leaves residue behind whenever it touches something," Wildrider explained with a shrugged, before placing the telescope at a resting position on his shoulder. "I don't understand your problem with it."

"Uh-huh, Rewind, do you want to continue at my room?" Chromedome asked him.

"Sure," Rewind agreed, getting up quickly. "Let's go," he said, and the two departed with an almost jogging pace. Wildrider watched as they left.

"Huh, what did I do?" he muttered before thinking things through. "Perhaps I can spied on some other people," he said to himself as he departed the scene.

Hours Remaining: 60

Blurr kept drinking the cubes of high-grade, on his seventh cube. His senses were already dumbing down to a crawl and he was getting ready to go into a mini-coma. His hands were shaking quite a bit and he had already spilled a few drops on his frame. He laid back in his chair and finished off the high-grade quickly. He let his arm rest over the armrest and to the side of the chair, dropping the empty cube to the floor. He really wanted to recharge, and a second later, he got his wish.

Ibex, Prewar.

"Dammit, this guy is good," Blurr complained to the pit crew. An accident between the racers had occurred between some of the other racers and there was a paused in the race to make sure they were alright and see if they needed to be transferred to the hospital. Thankfully, he had avoided it. Unfortunately, his rival did as well.

"I'm sure you'll beat this guy," said a pit crew member.

"I know I will, whoever you are," Blurr brushed him off.

"It's Piston, sir," he told him.

"Pisser, right," Blurr said, staring at his rival from afar. "This guy has been on my tail for the whole race. I need to make sure my victory against is not even close. I need to destroy him."

"Uh-huh, right. We can do this," Piston cheerily replied.

"Hmm, maybe we can sabotage him somehow," Blurr murmured.

"Sabotage, but that's cheating!" Piston said, worried.

"Do you know how long I've been number one? I can't even afford a chance of losing to him," Blurr reminded him, staring at him. The crew member were checking him over and one of the crew members was looking for some energon to rejuvenate him. At that, inspiration suddenly hit him. "Hey, pissant-"

"Piston."

"What would happen if someone replaced his energon with high-grade?" Blurr asked.

"Well, he would react slower than usual, which means, he wouldn't be able to keep up with you," Piston realized.

"Exactly," Blurr said as he went to a bright blue box and opened it.

"You celebratory high-grade. You're going to use that against him?"

"Yes, I am," Blurr said as he went over to him. The red-and-white athlete turned to his rival with the cube in hand and smiled.

"Well, you came to wish me luck," he said, eyeing the cube in his hand.

"Here, some energon for you, Fasttrack. I can't help but notice your pit-crew member floundering about like turbo-fox without a head," he told him, handing the cube to him.

"Thanks," he said, handing it to a crew member. "Put it in an injector."

"You got it sir," a crew-member said, getting it in an injector.

"Well, see you again right behind me when I cross the finish line," Fasttrack told him as Blurr walked away.

"Same thing to you," Blurr mentioned offhandedly, heading back to his section.

"Well, it looked like he took the bait," Piston said.

"Yes, he did," Blurr affirmed, looking at Fasttrack as the injector pierced his mesh.

"ATTENTION ALL RACERS! THE RACE WILL START AGAIN IN FIVE CYCLES! GET IN POSITION!" the announcer told them.

"Well, good luck," Piston said to him.

"I don't need it," Blurr said, transforming into his alternate mode and made his way to the front of the field. Fasttrack was right beside and slightly behind him. They went around until the remaining racers had all made it to the track.

"READY… SET… GO!" the announced started and the racers sped ahead, Blurr and Fasttrack both going at nearly the same speed. The sped around the track at high velocity, not stopping.

It was near the end of the race. One more lap and they would be done. Blurr was getting mad that Fasttrack hadn't slow down once and was almost his equal. He had to dominate him! There was no other way this could end. He had to-

Fasttrack was swerving. He had to slow down or he would crash. The high –energon was finally taking effect on that bastard. Soon he will slow down and bow out of the and Blurr's complete and utter dominace would be com-

CRASH!

Blurr barely made out the sound of him of a wreck happening and looked to see Fasttrack had serve out of control and smashed into the cars behind him, casing a massive chain reaction. The racers started smashing into each other, causing a massive pile-up of them. It was so awe-inspiring that Blurr didn't noticed him crossing the finished line. "BLURR WINS! NOW, CAN WE GET PARAMEDICS TO THE RACETRACK?!" Blurr braked and quickly did a 180 and rushed back to the pile-up. That wasn't supposed to happen! That wasn't supposed to happen!

The crash was a mess. A scene of cars twisted and wrecked, many of them caught mid-transformation. Small fires were spread out around the area along with debris from the racers themselves. If there was one good thing about the scene, it was the fact that all of the racers were still alive at the moment.

Although one was surely going to die soon.

"Fasttrack!" Blurr yelled, transforming back to robot mode as he reached him. Fasttrack was suffering from many cuts and dents, mostly in robot mode with his feet still stuck together. However, what was killing him was a piece of pipe stuck in chest, causing a hole to the spark. He was dying and his odds of survival was nearly zilch if this had happen in the surgical room, which meant that he undoubtable going to die. "Come on, stay with me," Blur begged him as he looked around for anything to help.

"B-b-blurr?" Fasttrack gasped, barely able to speak.

"Fasttrack, stay awake," he told him.

"You... you did this. Some… something that you… did with my energon. I'm sure," he sputtered out. Coughing energon out of his mouth.

"It-it-it doesn't matter. Just stay alive!" Blurr ordered, trying to ignore it.

"You… slagger. I hope… you rust… all… alone…," his voice faded as the light in his optics died out. Blurr was speechless, unable to say anything, as he laid there unmoving. Paramedics had arrived on the scene and was helping everybody else, but it was too late for Fasttrack. Blurr kept staring at his dead body until some paramedics pushed him away and looked at the racer and him. He didn't get a second look at the body as they guided him out of the racetrack to a safe area. He found at later that Fasttrack was pronounced dead in the scene.

That event forever stayed etched in his head.

"Wake up!" Mixmaster yelled at him.

"Uh, what?" Blurr said.

"He's woke up," Mixmaster told him.

"Uh?" Blurr said, turning his optics to see Scavenger up and alive staring at him. "Oh, well good."

"It is," Mixmaster said, turning back to his gestaltmate. "How are you?"

"Tired," Scavenger said, sounding like he was in pain. "I want some oil balls."

"Hah, that's alright. I guess I can go get some at the mall for you," Mixmaster said.

"I'll get them," Blurr said, getting up and stretching him limbs. "I need to go and do something."

"That's fine. It's 12:25, so nobody else should be up."

"Alright," he said, setting out.

Day 12

Hours Remaining: 50

Scrap…" Blurr muttered, exiting the candy store. He need to get some monocoins from his storage locker before he could buy some oil balls from him. He quickly strode over to the storage door and quickly opened it. He went and slid the electroID over the device to the Autobot side.

"Welcome, Blurr," the voice greeted, opening. Blurr put his Id up and quickly entered the place before stopping in his track, his mouth wide open.

DING! DONG!

"A body has been found. Following a brief investigation period, we will hold a class trial."

There, in the middle of the storage room, face down, with a knife stuck in his back and energon covering it, was Counterpunch.