Title: Eden Log 2/3
Warnings: implied death of unnamed OCs, hints to an ethical dilemma , questionable medical performance, dark
Continuity: G1 [part of the Dysfunction AU], pre-war
Characters: Blast Off, Perceptor, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Sadly, nothing is mine.
Summary: Unfortunate events lead to a hasty decision which forces Blast Off to get an update.
Beta: ultharkitty

Blast Off waited in front of medbay.

The facility spread over three floors, and was underground, protected by thick layers of concrete, lead and other substances to prevent any scanning signal coming through. While Altihex had alliances, it also had lots of secrets. With factories specialised in building highly delicate and expensive equipment for shuttleformers or space researches, the city's officials were very careful what they revealed to outsiders.

Leaning against the wall, Blast Off read from a datapad. Not about the program he'd get installed – he couldn't stand reading about it any more. Instead, he read about a mission that would come up as soon as he was done with this procedure.

"You're Blast Off, I presume? I'm Perceptor, please excuse my delay." A voice with an educated accent made Blast Off look up from the datapad then down again at a mech. His alt-mode was hard to tell from the first look. "I got lost. I haven't been here for-"

"Let's get this over with," Blast Off interrupted the other.

The mech winced, but nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course." He opened the door to medbay with a code, and entered the room. There was only one other medic, Blast Off knew him, but he could never remember his name.

The two mechs greeted each other with a few words while Blast Off sat down on one of the berths.

There was no way to get comfortable. The metal Blast Off lay on was cold, and the reason he was there in the first place floated over him like a dark cloud ready to swallow his freedom.

Eventually, after a klik that felt much longer, the mech with the odd alt-mode stepped to the shuttle.

"I'll have to put you into stasis for this. Before that, I'll explain the program's workings to you," the scientist said, appearing stiff.

Blast Off frowned. "No need for that. I read enough about it. Just do it. I have a trip I need to prepare for."

"Oh, yes. Sure," the mech stammered, and sat down next to Blast Off. The device in his hand was an external hard drive. Probably with the code on it. The shuttle suppressed revving his engine in anger.

"I need to follow a few procedural instructions, however." The mech reset his vocaliser. "Your Build Code is A-HEX_0028.b40056, designation: Blast Off?"

"Yes."

"Employed by the Altihex Deep Space Institute, specialised for long travels, xenological research, exploration and linguistics?"

"Yes."

"You agree with the terms of service and restrictions of Eden Log and are aware of its terms of use and guidelines?"

"Yes. Are we done yet?" Blast Off tensed, and now his engine did rev. It was bad enough he had to go through this in the first place, to prolong the whole process was unnecessary.

The scientist winced, the shuttle saw it from his peripheral vision, but he didn't care.

"Ah, yes. After the installation, I'll need you sign a few documents. The test phase of the functionality of the program will be in four joors from now in hangar 4.8D, please be there in time."

"Of course, it will be a pleasure," Blast Off spat sarcastically.

"I… I'm sorry for the circumstances, but it's a great honour for me to work with a HEXian shuttleformer. I-"

"So." Once more, Blast Off interrupted; his mech talked too much "You're saying it's an honour for you to limit an individual's possibility for free will and freedom of choice? Interesting. Maybe it's better if you just keep your vocaliser offline from now on, and get on with your work."

The shuttle had no guilt about speaking like this. The mech was from a lower caste, and what he was going to do wasn't very noble either. Blast Off didn't care about the wincing of the smaller mech, or his uncertain expression.

"I'll initiate stasis now," was all the intimidated mech said, then Blast Off blacked out.

Blast Off awoke with a pressure in his head.

It was nothing new. Updates of programs or even larger batches of star sheet data did that to the processor, but this time, it was different. There was also an itch. Not somewhere on his plating where Blast Off could actually scratch it. It was in his head, causing a restlessness that made his ailerons twitch.

It had taken about a joor to install the code, and Blast Off would have three joors to get used to it. He knew it wouldn't be enough, and he certainly didn't look forward to it being activated.

"Is that it?" Blast Off asked, looking at the scientist with a blank expression.

"Yes. It went all according to protocol, and there weren't any complications. Your system should fully adapt to it within the next few cycles."

Blast Off's reply was only a nod. He had nothing to say to this, and he didn't want the mech to hear his staticky voice, which he often had after an update.

Sitting up, he let his equilibrium chip reboot once before he got off the berth.

"I need you to sign these," the scientist spoke hastily, as if he'd fear Blast Off would leave without doing so.

Stupid mech, his short term memory was functioning.

Skimming over the content, it was just standard procedure of how he felt and agreeing to more things he actually didn't truly agree to.

The scientist said something, but Blast Off didn't listen when he went out. He had three joors to pass; it was enough time to refuel.

The next time Blast Off saw the scientist, he sat in shuttle-mode in the hangar. His cockpit door was open, and the mech typed things into his control console.

The shuttle didn't like it.

Neither did he like anyone being inside his cockpit, nor someone tinkering with his controls and letting the commands through. Usually, he'd overwrite whatever someone typed in. He was the shuttle after all, he knew what to do, and he knew how to fly.

The scientist ran some scans, a device attached to the data port in his cockpit, and talked over comm-line to one of his colleagues outside.

It took a while until the scientist addressed Blast Off. Maybe he'd learnt eventually that the shuttle wasn't fond of small talk and so had kept it to a minimum.

"I'll activate the code now. Please don't fight it. It'll be over soon."

Blast Off would have nodded if he'd been in root-mode, but like this, he didn't even have time for an acknowledging grunt.

He sensed code spreading, the itch in his processor increasing and almost becoming real. Like thousands of small electric shocks on his plating on the outside and inside. It made him shuffle, ailerons trembled, and firewalls worked. The pressure on his thoughts was amplified, but then dampened. The feeling of wrongness spread, but then ebbed away.

Firewalls were coaxed into giving in; a buzzing inside his processor was like a voice that tried to convince him. The itching sensation became less annoying. It wasn't really unpleasant any more. It was just a sensation, like an energy field wrapping around him, somehow soothing. There was a feeling of this being okay, that there was nothing wrong with giving in, and Blast Off knew he would.

But he didn't. He hated himself for this idea. His engine revved to a growl, and the dizziness that had covered his thoughts vanished. It had all been a matter of astroseconds, only that his penultimate thought and his last one had been almost two joors apart.

Blast Off's chronometer told him so.

He panicked.

Inside his cockpit was another mech talking with the scientist and staring at readings of the device. The itch came back, but was less present, it was just before the program was activated, with the same straining sensation in his processor.

Time had passed, and Blast Off hadn't realised it. It hadn't been stasis, there was no protocol for what had happened, no camera files that were recorded while his consciousness was gone.

It was a hole in his existence.

"Get out," Blast Off spat over his on-board speakers and caused the mechs to flinch. They looked up at one of his cameras, optics widened.

"Get out!" he said anew, more urgently, and his engine rumbled. A threatening noise that was loud enough to echo from his thrusters through his cargo hold and made his frame vibrate.

"Blast Off, how are you feeling?" They didn't move, only stared.

"Leave", Blast Off didn't answer. How was he feeling? They'd robbed time from him, and who knew what they'd done during that? "Leave now, or I swear by Vector Sigma, I'm going to crush you inside me!"

After that, they finally hurried out.

Blast Off didn't wait until the staircase to his cockpit was withdrawn, and transformed as soon as they were gone.

The first steps in root-mode seemed weird. As though his legs had rusted, and another form of dizziness raised. One that made him feel sick.

Blast Off rubbed his forehead, venting air deeply.

"Are you okay?" the mech asked again. It wasn't the scientist who'd installed the code, it was the other which Blast Off hadn't seen before.

"What do you think?" he growled, but didn't give them time to react. "Are we done here?"

"Ah, yes." The scientist with the weird alt-mode nodded, and held out another datapad. "These are your test results. This copy is for you in case-"

Blast Off snatched the datapad from the other hand, and revved his engine again. He didn't wait to see if it caused a reaction; he just turned on his heel and left.

Frustration built up while he walked out of the hangar and to his quarters. Frustration he had no idea how to deal with. At least the whole process was transparent enough that they let him have the data.

It was just good that Blast Off almost never flew within a team, or had passengers. Hopefully, this program would never be activated again.