Attempted Repentance

The Enforcers soon came for Blast Off.
He is pried away from his cell, pushed and pulled along if he resists, and forced up the ramp, up to the lift - he's going higher into Headquarters for some reason that is not being explained to him.
Eventually he's taken up to what looks like pleasant office space in some respectable organization. Probably very reminiscent of the days he worked for Senator Proteus, even. He's taken without comment to an office at the end of a hallway. The doors open; he's pushed inside, and the doors close (and lock) behind him.
Feint is sitting at the desk. "Have a seat, please," she pleasantly commands.
It's already been an eventful stay at Hotel California- you know, where you can check out any time you like but you can never leave? At least that's the way prison is beginning to feel to Blast Off. Drugs aren't even needed- though Element Zero is one of the things that helped land him here. No matter how hard he attempts to stay one step ahead.... he fought the law- and the law keeps winning. Smelt it all. 
Taken once more from his cell, Blast Off has come pretty quietly. There's not a lot of point fighting when not only are you not physically strong to begin with, but you're clamped with an inhibitor claw. The Combaticon maintains the majority of his focus on trying to look as dignified and high class as possible. When he's stripped of all else, that's the last thing he still has. Or hopes to keep, at least. His dignity. 
As he's pushed inside the office, though, that dignity is about to be tested. The shuttleformer looks around, wondering just why he's been brought HERE- and then he sees HER. 
Oh no. This is the person he MOST did not want to see. The person he's been most afraid TO see. Ever since he came here, he's been dreading this possibility. His fuel tank sinks and his fuel lines run cold as ice at the sight. Optics widen and he stares at the femme. Perhaps it's shock, perhaps it's his deeply ingrained rebellousness even now, likely it's both- but he remains standing.
She glances up at Shuttle-In-The-Headlights, who refuses to sit. "Suit yourself," she acknowledges noncommittally.
"Blast Off, do you have any idea why I've asked for you to be brought here?"
Once the intital shock has left his systems and he's had a chance to push thoughts of *kiss the corp-NO DON'T EVEN THINK IT* out of his mind, Blast Off takes the opportunity to look around the room. Orient himself, drink in the reality here. His one advantage this time is that he does at least KNOW what she's capable of. If she tries anything, he'll have *that* defense going for him at least. 
With a deep vent and a lift of the head, he looks back to her. His cultured voice is kept calm. He's known this possibility might be coming for a long time. "....To finish what you started?"
"To apologize," Feint corrects. She folds her hands on the desk and looks at them, unable to meet Blast Off's eyes.
"When I was asked to interrogate you, I did not know how it would affect you. I foolishly assumed that, you being a soldier, would be hardened against the images I put into your mind. That would not phase you. I tried to just... scare you a little. I never meant... I never meant to hurt you as much as I did." Her shoulders sink a little and she trembles. "I try so hard to keep my abilities in check, always in tight control. I never wanted to hurt anyone, not even you, you that I am told am an enemy."
"I would beg your forgiveness for what I did, but I do not deserve it."
Blast Off is expecting a lot of things, but not that. He blinks, then glances about the room as he considers whether this is a trick as well. But he's no mind reader and can only take the words he's given aloud and then decide what to make of them. His optic ridge twitch at the comment- or is that a jab?- about hardened soldiers, but he continues listening as the femme trembles and begs forgiveness. For the sake of arguement, he decides to take her at her word- for now. 
"I *am* a soldier and a slagging good one at that. I am a Combaticon sniper, after all. But what you had me... /see/ was far beyond anything a soldier normally deals with. Having someone /flayed alive/ while you're held down and forced to watch, to..." He has to stop a moment and work to regain that *dignity* he's trying to maintain, "...to have them held *right over you and feel their very lifeblood leave their body as they die as ...as it rains down onto you?" Again he must stop and glance away, "...That is far beyond anything I ever experienced as a soldier. As a ..sniper and a shuttle."
"... I did not know. It is something I have seen as a disposable. I simply assumed... " Feint trails off, quieted.
The shuttleformer's gaze returns to the femme and he gazes at her evenly now. "YOU had people flayed alive on top of you?" His voice is a bit deadpan, unbelieving.
"We're mining tools. No one thinks about taking apart a tool and throwing the parts into bins. No one misses a tool that is buried alive. No one flickers an optic when a tool is sold to be vivisected for a top grade in a medical paper," Feint says quietly, morosely.
This does put a stop to any other possibly sarcastic things Blast Off might have had to say. The shuttleformer absorbs that with a blink, his head leaning back a little as his optics scan some random spot on the wall. This, of course, is not something he ever encountered as a High Caste. 
"I... see. Like..." His optic ridges furrow down as he attempts to remember the mech's name, "That... individual at MacCaddams. The one who bought you. The one who would..." His voice trails off. "Well, he didn't, so I suppose it doesn't matter now." Then one of those optic ridges lifts up. "I must say, I wonder how a disposable goes from ...*that* to.. well..." he gazes around the office. "...Here."
"Have a seat, please. I suppose there's no harm in telling you now, as I may not live to see tomorrow," Feint says.
"There are Senators who have listened to Megatron's words, including Senator Halogen of Kaon, my sponsor. Halogen... knows what I can do. That I am an outlier. -That- is how one goes from Disposable to Great House in short order." She looks back up at last. "Halogen wants to eliminate the Caste System, tonight, when the Senators have all conviened here. He wants me to use my powers to force them all to agree to change everything."
Feint's comment on maybe not living to see tomorrow does get a blink from the shuttle. Wait, what? He can't entirely conceal his surprise as she continues. Though when she explains how she got where she is- yes, that does make sense. His head leans back once more as he takes this all in. "....Eleminate the caste system... completely?" The former High Caste sounds conflicted on that. He stares a moment.... and then glances to the chair. He stares at THAT a moment, too, glance back to her, deliberating.... and then he sits down with a tired sigh. It's still uncomfortable given the inhibitor claw- but he hasn't been able to sit down in quite awhile in that crowded cell, so getting a load off his (rocket) feet is actually rather welcome. 
"And I you believe you can get away with this?" He goes back to staring at her... then ahhs. "..Or no, you /don't/ think you can... thus your concern. So... he actually believes in some of the Decepticon ideals... but he's willing to use the usual Autobot mind-control to achieve it?" Blast off gives her a sigh and a pointed stare at that. "I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose." There's a subtle head shake, then he looks back up at her. This is news to him. "....They are coming... here tonight?"
Feint nods. "I'm not sure I can affect -that- many people all at once! Halogen believes I can but... if it fails... They'll kill me. Or worse."
"I talked to Megatron, I wanted to try to see if I could help him but... he thinks I'm a monster. He asked me to him what I could do, and I did and... he just told me to leave, that he wanted nothing to do with me." She's visibly pained by that. "But I'm going to try any way. If I can get them to do away with the caste system, if I can change their minds, then maybe - maybe I can help all of you in the cells. Get you out of there. If the caste system is gone and everyone's equal then there isn't a need to fight anymore, right?"
Blast Off listens to this intently, sinking a little more into his seat. The shuttleformer somehow manages to look at least somewhat dignified as he sits there restrained. "Yes... they would kill you... or worse." He allows himself a small huff and looks around the room, taking in what details and decorations there are. He's well acquainted already with the *worse* part. 
Hearing about Megatron brings those violet optics to rest on the femme again. In a way I'm surprised... he speaks of equality and inclusiveness for all. Then again, knowing what happened to... certain individuals in the Decepticons, and knowing about all the... methods Autobots use to keep control.... I can't entirely blame him." Blast Off tilts his head to the side in a sort of half-shrugged acquiescencing gesture. "Still... if you succeeded, then... yes, I suppose you might be right. I... I ..." He hesitates. "I believe the caste system has its uses, personally. There are times it just... makes sense to me. However..." He looks thoughtful, "I have had to... reconsider some things. Had my... optics opened since I was forced to live in Kaon. And I do believe that ultimately this planet will NOT get back on track until everyone has the freedom to *choose* their destiny. To work for it. Not have their destiny dictated to them the moment they step off the assembly line. So..." He begrudgingly admits, "...Perhaps having no caste system would be the place to start." 
He takes a moment of silence, his longing to be High Caste again with all its perks and privilages conflicting with a belief in the power of choice. Then another thought occurs to him, and he looks up- a little wary now. "....Why are you telling me this? ....What's to prevent me from going back to the cell and loudly proclaiming what you've told me to anyone who will listen, including the guards?"
"I wanted to pay my penance, Blast Off. In my quest to save Blurr, I have learned the skills of mnemnosurgery. If you told anyone else, told the guards, I could erase their minds. It's not what I want, but I am trying to place myself in your hands while I still have time," Feint explains. "I... I can take away the memory of what I showed you. Give you back some peace of mind, if you want me to. I know you have no reason to trust me, that I will not do something terrible to you, but I have already repaired a young Decepticon in the cells after one of our officers did something unspeakable to her. Before I risk my life... I wanted to make ammends."
Learning that she is in fact a mnemnosurgeon does NOT make Blast off feel any more comfortable. But it makes sense. The shuttle wasn't really planning on doing that, but when your captor begins telling you top-secret information you do have to wonder why. "I... see." But the offer to *take away the memory* gets a relatively strong reaction from the Combaticon as he stiffens, jerking back a little. "No." Is his immediate, quiet but firm reply. "No... I don't have reason to trust you, and I've had quite enough friends and associates who *have* had their heads poked and prodded into. And each one is *dead* now." That last comment is strained with some emotion. 
The shuttle glances away, ventilation systems cycling a little faster. "....If you want to make amends, then..." He stares her right in the face, "...Then you do one thing. You make sure that what happened to Shiftlock *never* happens to anyone ever again." Flickers of his anger and frustration waft across his face. 
Blast Off's already feeling on edge about all this, but the mention of the *young Decepticon* makes it worse. Oh no. He knows just what she's talking about. The *blue Senate lady*, after all. There's another pause as he hesitates even asking the question. He's not sure he wants to know. 
"....Pursuit. What... what did Whirl do to her?"
Feint nods. It was worth the attempt to at least try. She can live with Blast Off's rejection. As for Shiftlock's fate... how can she protect that many people from something Feint knows little about? She'll try.
And then that question. She knows that Whirl and Blast Off are close, the shuttle can't bluff his way out of that one. It's for that reason she's honest. Blast Off deserves to know. "Whirl attempted a forced interface on her. Being that she is only two days old, it nearly dropped her into permanent stasis lock. He dumped a lot of memories of Shiftlock into her and her mind shattered. It took some work, but I've restored her. Removed the shared memories and rebooted her. She's healthy and whole."
There is the chance Feint is lying, simply attempting to force a wedge between the perceived relationship of Blast off and Whirl (which *everyone* and their endura seem to know about :I ). And yet, somehow.... Blast Off doubts she is. The news hits him like meeting a brick wall at 300 mph, and suddenly he feels like thje room is spinning. He sinks as far back as he can manage, trying not to fall off the edge as his optics dim. For a moment he just isn;t capable of trying to hide how that impacts him. He sits there like that, feeling sick now. Eventually his optics come back online and he tries- a bit late- to not look like he took that as personally as he did. 
"I... I suppose this is just something I should... expect from an... an Autobot." His voice is strained as he tries to make it sound like his is simply the outrage of a mistreated prisoner, and not disgust at what someone he deeply cares about has done. Staring at a random spot again, he is silent a moment. Then he looks back to her, frowning. "...She is healthy again, that is... that is good. But... why memories of Shiftlock? Because of... Barricade?"
Feint nods. "Pursuit is Barricade's elected daughter. From the memories I took out of Whirl... he blames Barricade heavily for Shiftlock's death. I think it was an attempt to hurt Barricade by hurting his child."
She adds, "I think he realized something was wrong, too. The connection was physically aborted. The memory bleedover I saw indicated that he was in a panic."
Blast Off looks ...extremely sober. "Yes. Barricade threw Shiftlock out after interfacing Whirl.... placed a *kill order* on her." It doesn't sound like the shuttle is particularly happy about Barricade either. "But if he had a problem with Barricade...he should have dealt it TO Barricade, not some...some..." That look of distaste flickers across his face again, "Some *two day old*." 
Her comment on the connection gets a glance. "Panic? ...What was wrong? Is there something wrong with her?"
"Well, he realized she was too young, for one. Let me sort through the data files." Feint bows her head, optics going dark as she closes her eyes and concentrates. Minutes pass, and then Feint suddenly gasps, eyes coming back on, head snapping up to stare at Blast Off. "... She's got Shiftlock's spark!" she exclaims. "That's what made him panic, he sensed it - she's alive in that body!"
That sense of vertigo, of falling off his chair and into an yawning chasm below, goes from distinct possibility to terrifying reality as the chair vanishes from udnerneath him and Blast Off falls, falls, falls into unseen depths below. Still clamped in his inhibitor claw, he is helpless against gravity, spinning like a careening top as he plunges into eternity. Or that is what it feels like when she says *that name*. Is this one of her illusions... or just a metaphor? The reality is unimportant as he finally lands on his feet back in the chair as if nothing happened... and yet it has. Oh has it ever. 
The shuttle stares at her, dazed. Then his head starts to slowly shake. ".....What?" If she thought he looked like a turbo-deer in the headlights it's nothing compared to the stunned look he has now. Then a wave of suspicion. "...What? Is this some kind of... sick joke?"
"You'll have to ask Whirl. It's his memory files I'm looking at. It would corroborate the sudden panic and disconnect," Feint states.
That causes Blast Off to stop and stare. Commence even MORE vertigo. "....Why would I...ask Whirl?"
"Whirl attempted to flood Pursuit with all his memories of Shiftlock, including commiseration with you over her demise," Feint says.
Oh smelt. Blast Off's going to be sick now, he just knows it. He'd lean back in the chair even more if he could but with the inhibitor claw on that's not possible, so he settles for leaning his head back even further to stare at some spot above Feint's head. Eventually his gaze comes down to meet the outlier's. He looks at her, still /trying/ to keep some of his dignity, in the uncomfortable positon of knowing she truly holds all the cards now. His voice remains even. "....And what do you plan on...doing with that information, if I may ask?"
"Nothing. We all have our secrets to keep, Blast Off," Feint says quietly, understandingly. "My hands are no cleaner than yours."
Blast Off was expecting many things from this encounter, but none of those actually occured. And yet, in some ways the expected outcome (as terrible as it was) would have probably been easier to deal with than all of this. The shuttle's still rather dazed- he has a lot of very heavy information to absorb, and it won't happen all at once. Plus.... is Pursuit Shiftlock? Feint is right.... he must speak to Whirl. Somehow. He's just not sure HOW yet, given his situation. 
But he looks to the femme sitting across from him, and for once he allows himself a modicum of his old gentlemechly behavior. He gives her a polite nod, looking the part of the aristocratic shuttle for at least this one moment. "...It is... appreciated." He glances to the door, wondering what happens next, and how the Senate meeting will go. "....Then I imagine you have an important night to prepare for." His gaze goes back to her, and he does something even more unexpected. 
He means it when he says, "...Good luck."
"Thank you," Feint smiles, genuinely. "You as well, Blast Off. Maybe now I can face my impending death with a clearer conscience."
She signals the Enforcers outside to come and take Blast Off back to his cell.