Author's Notes: Takes place sometime during or slightly after G1 Season Three.
Vocalizer On, Should Be Off:
"Hey, Octane!" Vortex sounded chipper and happy, a sure sign he'd selected his latest victim – and since Octane was alone, it wasn't hard to guess who the lucky one was.
Octane sighed inwardly. Outwardly, he flashed a friendly smile at the Combaticon interrogator. Only an idiot showed weakness around someone whose specialty was digging out secrets.
"Hey, Vortex! Long time no see! How's it going, buddy?"
"Pretty good!" Vortex came closer, red optics shining as he zeroed in on his target. "Welcome back. Man, you are the lucky one, huh?"
Octane chuckled. "Yeah, if you can call half an orn in med bay watching the Constructicons straighten the kinks outta my frame "lucky," I guess I was."
"Not everybody survives betraying the Empire." Vortex's chipper facade slipped a bit. "I mean, first you steal Trypticon, then you join the Autobots and plot with Starscream's ghost to take over – whatever lucky charm you got, gimme double!"
Octane shrugged, doing his best 'what can I say?' face with a dash of humility. "Galvatron decided to be merciful, I'm just thankful of that." He turned back to the monitor he was studying, hoping Vortex would take the hint and leave.
No such luck. Octane could see the reflection of Vortex standing with his head cocked to one side, studying him. "Still , it's gotta be tough," Vortex said, spinning his rotors. "I mean, I know how it is; the Empire hates failure. If you'd succeeded, you'd be second in command by now an' your paramour would be at your side."
Octane turned back around. "My what?" he asked, chuckling lightly, the gentle sound in inverse proportion to the anger he could feel rising.
"Your paramour." Vortex leaned in, seemingly studying Octane for a sign that his taunting was affecting him. "You know! The Autobot triple-changer! Sandstorm! Brawl told me all about how close you two were. It must be rough here without him."
"Oh, that's a good one!" Octane's laugh rang around the room. "Vortex, buddy, you've worked in intelligence! Slag, you're teammates with Swindle, for Primus's sake. You should recognize when someone's lying to build false confidence in a sucker! That stupid Autobot gave me more ground truth intell than Soundwave and company could have gathered in half a solar cycle! Paramour? He wasn't my paramour, he was some sucker I was stringing along until I could figure out how to come home!"
Vortex shifted, his optics flickering indecisively. Clearly he'd been expecting a different reaction.
"What?" Octane sounded hurt. "You don't believe me? C'mon, I can prove it. C'mere." He gestured toward the monitor with one hand, the other tapping in an access code. "My full report to Galvatron and Cyclonus. Don't tell anybody I let you read it, okay?"
Vortex stepped in, leaning over to scan the data scrolling up the screen. "It's gibberish!"
"It's encrypted. Give the key a chance to work – what? You think Galvatron lets Ultra-class secrets just lie around where any two-bit hacker can access them?"
The words "Ultra-class" were all it took, as Octane had known it would. Swindle was greedy for things; Vortex for information.
As Vortex turned back to the screen, Octane opened a hatch and pulled out one of his siphoning hoses. His fingers brushed gently over the recessed button, activating the drill unit. Stabbing into Vortex's fuel tank was accomplished in one swift, fluid motion; one arm snaked around Vortex's throat, using it as a handle to hold the smaller mech in place.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you," Octane said, his tone just as light and friendly as it always was. "I don't need the rest of your teammates coming downon me for that – as it is, it'll be tough enough to keep them off my case for this."
Vortex's answer was an anguished mewling noise. Octane slowed the fuel draw; no reason not to prolong the agony.
"See, it's not so much you as it is me." Octane continued. "I'm getting really tired of the Sandstorm cracks. Astrotrain and Blitzwing feel the need to mention it every single day. I mean, it stopped being funny after the third time, but try telling those guys that. D'you know how annoying that is?" Octane paused expectantly, then twisted the hose in deeper. "I asked you a question, buddy. Don't be rude and leave me hanging."
"Yeah." Vortex's vocalizer crackled and fuzzed with the effort to speak. "Yeah, I d-do."
"Right, so, I guess when you showed up. I just snapped – but hey, good news is this is probably going to finally convince those gearheads to back off, so I suppose I should thank you. You did do me a solid."
A click told Octane he'd taken just enough of Vortex's fuel reserves to leave the Combaticon on the painful borderline between consciousness and inoperative status. With a happy sigh, Octane withdrew the siphon and released Vortex, letting him drop to the floor. "Thanks buddy. And oh, one more thing – next time, fuel up with something decent. How you can even walk with that sludge in your system is beyond me."