Information Overload

Today is a busy day at Ibex. Track workers hurry about, preparing for the big event. Even though the actual race won't begin for another cycle or two, spectators are already flooding the stands, all talking excitedly because Blurr, the big star of the terrestrial racing events, is to make his reappearance on the tracks after a long furlough. Well, okay it probably wasn't that long, actually. But for the race-lovers it sure felt like it!

Why, there are even several VIPs in their special viewing boxes this time around. Senators, high-ranking soldiers, other politicians and celebrities have made it a point to enjoy this event as well. The news networks are also here, with floating drone cameras all hoping to get a good shot at the athletes, and maybe, if they're lucky, an interview or two. Street vendors also patrol up and down the stands, searching for potential customers who might want a holographic banner with their favorite racer's name on it, or a noisemaker or other paraphernalia.

Somewhere in one of the locker rooms, a lesser-known athlete is being drug quietly into back office.

"Sorry luv, today's not gonna be your day to race. Don't worry, there's always next time, though!" A mostly black femme pats the cheek of a yellow and blue racer who is completely out cold, short circuited with a drink of bad engex. She sits him in a chair and sets up an empty bottle and cup on the desk in front of him. Nothing suspicious here at all!

There's a faint flash of light and the same yellow and blue racer steps out of the office, closing the door behind.

Ah, poor Halftrack. He always wanted to be a great racer, but his talents kind of paled in comparison to the others. Plus, he didn't exactly get much support from back home. Outside the office area is a central lounge where the racers and their teams are sitting around, waiting for the race to begin, if they've already finished preparations. There's Fasttrack, and Drag Strip, and a few others.

'Halftrack' gets several dirty looks and sneers, though they don't say anything. They don't -need- to say anything to him. What they can't wait to do on the tracks is going to be humiliation enough. Better to save the insults for -afterward-.

<Halftrack> is in remarkably good spirits, and pays the others absolutely no mind. It's as if he doesn't have a care in the world, or this race doesn't mean a thing to him. "Frag, this is gonna be a GREAT DAY!" he announces cheerfully in the lounge, flopping down onto an empty seat with a huge grin across his face.

Fasttrack, a scarlet-colored racer who is almost as stylish-looking as Blurr, just scoffs at his good spirits, and turns to one of his crew. "Primus, what's gotten into -him-?" he wonders, and they snicker. A faint "...has no idea what's coming to him..." can be heard admist the laughter.

"Well, well." Fasttrack finally turns to face him. "You're in good spirits today. Not your usual pathetically modest self. What is it, you got something up your tailpipe? Some trick you think'll put you at number one instead of Blurr?"

<Halftrack> leans over and stage whispers, "I know your secrets."

He then leans back does the buddy-buddy gun-finger point at everyone, before settling back onto his chair and looking at the video screen in the lounge, all grins.

They just laugh at him. "Hah, just listen to him, he's completely lost his bolts." Fasttrack chuckles and moves out of the lounge, as a voice announces over the intercom that contestants had about five breems before it was time to line up. He would've asked 'Halftrack' what he thought these 'secrets' were, but decides the rookie isn't worth his time.

It's definitely here, though. Shiftlock can feel it in her systems, there's a trace of it in the air. Her necessary drug, element zero. Her current leash, so to speak. But maybe it needn't be any longer.

Drag Strip gets up as well, shaking his head. "Well, off we go to Blurr's special day..." he grumbles. "Ugh, what is that awful scent? Hmph, I bet Blurr's got some kind of enhancer that'll make -sure- he wins."

Fasttrack laughs and slaps his colleague on the back. "Aw, don't be such a sore loser, Drag Strip. Blurr has natural talent, boosters or not. Ibex just likes to be thorough sometimes, for special events."

"Doesn't it seem kind of lame that enhancers are even used?" <Halftrack> asks, standing up with the others as they file their way out. "I mean, isn't that kinda like, y'know, cheating?" He takes all the other comments in stride, because right now? He feels a lot better than he did before. That smell? It smells like hope.

Fasttrack gives him a disconcerted look. Now -this- is just weird. "Halftrack? You feeling alright because you -never- talk like this." He shrugs at the comment about the enhancers. "Look, if you wanna take it up with the IAA then by all means do so. And Blurr's probably getting his 'special treatment' over his in private crew chamber so if want to confront him about it, no one's stopping you."

With that, the red racer brushes 'Halftrack' off, heading outside toward the lineups.

<Halftrack> shrugs. "Eh, I guess I'm just not feeling like myself today." As Fasttrack moves on to take his place, the shifter in disguise decides to go do just that - confront Blurr.

It's a short jog over to Blurr's crew chamber, and <Halftrack> checks to see if anyone's blocking the entranceway. He can smell that enhancer even more strongly now, and he has just GOT to know who has this stuff besides Ratbat!

Oh and the closer he gets, the stronger it is. It's pouring out of the cracks in the door, isn't it? Inside, voices can be overheard.

"Slag, how'd you get your hands on this stuff? I thought for sure it was impossible, what they were asking you."

"Heh, some people can fly in space, you know. And are missing it terribly."

"But it's so -dangerous-, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but not everyone is a fan of safety over adventure."

No one's in front of the door at the moment, but soon enough someone comes up behind him. "Hey rookie, what do you think you're doing, huh?" A gruff voice demands. A bulky mech who must be track security towers over him.

"Changing places," <Halftrack> says confidently as he turns around. He claps a hand on the security mech's shoulder -- and soon the security mech is looking right back at himself.

"I am not the mech you're looking for," the guard says with a smile, before mashing a huge fist down onto the original mech's head to knock him out.

Stunned, the security mech's optics go wide as 'Halftrack' touches him and he suddenly seems to see himself. He yelps, and collapses to the floor, taken off guard by the punch.

Unfortunately, this attracts attention. Especially the attention of Blurr and his crew. In a flash, the speedster himself is outside the room. The rest of security would have come, but he's personally told them to hold off for now. He can deal with this, right?

"Hey now. What's the problem, Halftrack?" he asks, frowning. "What are you doing back here, the lineup is starting in two breems."

Security Guard #1 is in a heap at the feet of ... Security Guard #1. "Halftrack's had too much to drink," the guard asks. "Like my twin, here."

Blurr stares at what appears to be clones of track security personnel. "The slag..." he mutters. Something isn't right, here. Had someone found out about the E-zero? That wasn't supposed to happen...

"Security, deal with this." he waves a hand at the two of them. "I've got a race to get to." He turns to one of the security chiefs and mutters something to him in a lowered tone.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast there speedy," The guard says. "Something smells fishy, and I don't mean Sky Byte."

Blurr smirks, turning to the guard. "What do you think I am, stupid? Something isn't right, and it's either you, or the other you. So we'll just have to keep you contained until we figure out it, understood? Good." He turns to the other guards. "Now do your jobs, and take care of the fake, so I can do mine." He turns to leave again, heading out to the lineups.

The officer that Blurr had spoken privately to earlier confronts Shiftlock. "Your access key. Let me see it." he watches her expectantly.

The <Guard> reaches into an access panel and removes a Senate emblem. "I think this is all the access I need," he says.

"Holy slag..." The officer examines it, looking flabbergasted. This doesn't make any sense, but he's too afraid to question it. "Hmph. Fine, get back to the tracks, then. Got quite the crowd tonight as you know. Some of them can get pretty crazy." He glances at the stasis locked -other- guard. "We'll take care of the imposter." A few of the other guards start to drag him off. The poor mech will probably be arrested, kept in police custody for a while, and then...well, who knows. Whatever the Senate decides, is whatever the Senate decides.

"Just let him sleep it off," The <Guard> suggests. Shiftlock is not inherently cold. "I'll wait here until Blurr is done with his race; I need to talk to him. Alone." That last word is said with a note of clarity and authority. Blurr just might be in trouble.

"Sleep it off?" The officer shakes his head. "In this world? No way. This could have been a major security breach. He's going to jail. 'Specially if the Senate sent you." He sighs. "Whatever, mech. I've got work to do." Off he goes to patrol the stands.

Outside, the race is already in progress, and as per usual, Blurr is in the lead, and the fans are going crazy. In fact, a fancy holographic banner can be see dancing over the crowds--it's his name in his armor colors. They really are quite obsessed with him.

<Guard> watches the race going on - from inside Blurr's pit area. Sitting in the back, he's taking full advantage of being able to just breathe in the fumes of the accelerant. It's helping mitigate the rapid changes <Guard> has had to make today. Even though they were external appearance only - dabbling her fingertips in their stream of consciousness - they cost him.

Yes, there are a few lingering fumes in the air that get into her systems, though it soon runs dry. Finally, a few cycles later the race ends, and Blurr (obviously) emerges victorious. The fans parade him around for a while, as usual, and finally he and his crew return to the recharge area, congratulating each other, but mostly congratulating Blurr.

When he notices her still sitting there, he arches an optic ridge at her. "What are you doing still here? Race is over. It's time to go home and relax."

"I need a word with you, Blurr," <Guard> says. "Alone, if that's all right. I won't keep you long."

"Alone, eh?" Blurr looks slightly disconcerted. What the slag is this about? He hesitates, then dismisses the rest of the crew, releasing them to their respective residences for the evening.

"All right, tell me what you want, and make it quick." he demands, his tone impatient. He doesn't like this. Something about it just doesn't seem right...he keeps his distance from this guy, standing a few feet away, because he didn't like what he saw on that security feed.

<Guard>'s appearance begins to change; with the clicking and clattering of a thousand tiny transformation plates that border on being to small to see, the form shrinks and changes, until a glossy black femme with chartreuse trim and magenta visor is sitting in the pit crew in front of Blurr.

"The smell in here," she says. "It's very, very familiar to me. You're using something besides energon, aren't you?"

Blurr's optics widen, but then narrow again at the sight of Shiftlock. Oh, he remembers -her-, all right. So she's some kind of shapeshifter. He keeps running into weird people, lately it seems. What with Feint and her weird emotion projection thing, and now this. He folds his arms, glaring down at her. "You must have lost your bolts, because I don't smell anything. Just look at me, do I -look- like someone who even -needs- boosters?"

"No, which is why it's so very puzzling that you use them," Shiftlock says with a wide grin. "You might as well come clean, I've got chemical samples already. You're not getting out of this one, pretty mech. Not without answering some questions at the very least."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Blurr insists. He doesn't falter, either, his expression remaining determined. "I don't use any chemical performance enhancers, or other boosters besides standard nitrous oxide, that's it. Now get the frag off my turf, before I call the enforcers on you."

Shiftlock slides a panel down on her arm, revealing a Senate emblem. "I am the enforcers," she replies calmly. "Now come on, don't be like this. I could smell the fumes!" She stands up and pushes the panel back up on her identification mark. "Look," she says, venting a sigh and spreading her hands. "I'm not here to cause trouble or to drag anyone in. I just really have to know where you got that enhancer. It's important to me, personally."

"You personally, huh? And where exactly did you get the idea that I -care- about 'you personally'?" Blurr scoffs, then curses angrily. "Well in -that- case," he replies to the statement about the enforcers, his jaw clenched. "If they won't deal with you, then I guess -I- will just have to do so -myself-." Maybe it's better that way, he's been wanting the punch her for a while. "Now, I'm going to warn you one final time. -Get- the frag out of here, or I will drag you out -myself-."

Shift just smirks. It's an irritatingly cool and confident smirk. "Sure. Go ahead. Hit me with your best shot, lover-boy, because I'm not budging until I get some answers. Maybe it's time you started thinking about something other than how good you look for once, because trust me, toots, you're the paint peeling off the sides of this decaying civilization, and you're gonna be one of the first things to fly off when it wrecks."

She's going to be defiant like that, is she? Well then, Blurr will have to put her in her place. Before she's even finished speaking, he has darted behind her, and attempts to shove her forward and send her onto her face on the floor.

And she's waiting for that physical contact. The moment Blurr lays his hands on Shiftlock, she gets a brief surface scan of him. There's a brief flutter of her thoughts across his mind as he does so, and it's a mix of hypervigilance and fight-or-flight mixed with a yearning for freedom and that being tied to the element-zero Blurr semes to have.

<Blurr> hits the floor but then he's up just as fast as he landed. "Do you get it now?" he's talking as fast as the real thing, but at this speed they can both understand each other just fine. It's the rest of the world that's moving at a snail's pace. "You've got what I need."

On the other side of the street, Shift gets a glimpse of how mad he is at her, but also that he's quite young. In fact, the amount of memories he has stretches only over a very brief span of time, that is, in Cybertronian terms. She probably already knows his rise to stardom was quite rapid, but there actually doesn't seem to be much from before that.

Blurr stares at her, stunned for a moment. So -that's- how that happened with the guards. Finally, he regains his composure, and folds his arms again, looking indignant. "And why should I help -you-?"

"Haven't you ever wanted to be something more than someone else's lapdog?" <Blurr> asks, trying to reason with the original. "I got a taste of your mind as deeply as you had a taste of mine. And you've seen what I can do - that's why I'm in the Senate's employ. Or rather, why I don't have any choice but take orders. Every time I shift like this, it uses up the same chemical you use for boosts. Only for me, if I don't have it, I -die-. I'm tired of this, Blurr. I'm tired of being used as a tool to crack open people's minds for the Senate's gain, but if I don't obey... I die. I'm a \*prisoner\*."

"No," Blurr shakes his head. "No I don't believe it. I -won't-! You're just messing with me! You're working for one of my rivals, I just know it! Well I'm going to tell you again, I -don't- use any kind of special booster. Tell whoever sent you to just accept the fact that I have natural talent, and I -am- winning these things fairly, and if he doesn't like it, then he can get the slag off the tracks and go get himself a job at an orbital mining outpost or something, where he'll never have to concern himself with this again!" He always knew Drag Strip was such a sore loser. And of course, he tosses the idea of working at the mines around like a joke, too, being completely unaware that people -suffer- there.

"...Get out. Get out -now-."

"Not until I get it through that thick skull plate of yours!"

<Blurr> lunges for the original, and tries to grab hold of his arm. As they both have the same rate of speed, Blurr can no longer use it as a factor to fight with - he can't simply run and dodge; he has to employ actual combat techniques. As for Shiftlock, it's all gamble. This level of connection - if she can grab it - is going to leave her vulnerable, drained and marked.

Blurr tries to jump away, but while he is the best at racing, he's never really learned to fight before. And now that she's as fast as he is, she manages to grab hold of him.

And the two-way street is opened. Shiftlock learns that Blurr was actually created by the athletic association at Ibex. The reason she hadn't seemed to find anything beyond racing and stardom the first time around was because he hadn't really -had- a life before that. He'd been locked away in isolation, where the research team kept experimenting on him in the name of trying to 'fix' him. Finally, the famed psychiatrist Rung had intervened, and somehow made him presentable to the public. So, as it turns out, the story the association had put in all the public archives and advertisements about him having some kind of zero-to-hero type life before the races was a complete lie. He couldn't have more than a dozen or so metacycles old!

And about the E-zero? It was true, what Fasttrack had said earlier. The IAA just wanted 'insurance' for certain events. After all, he was their creation, they couldn't just have him fail or embarrass them...though there is the ominous feeling that there's something beyond just that. Someone else pulling the strings, but it isn't made clear from Blurr's perspective. He probably doesn't know. What is clear, however, is that Blurr himself resents using the boosters, because he believes he doesn't need them. Just as he'd been saying just now. But he doesn't have a choice but to comply--he's easily influenced, especially by those who -made- him.

In return, Shiftlock is unfolded like a piece of origami to Blurr. Her memories are jarring, disjointed, missing pieces. There is an overwhelming sense of despair and hopelessness and being forced to do things that go against every frequency of her spark. Images of Ratbat giving her orders - a seeker-type doctor with him in red, white and blue, always there poking and proding and coddling and lowering needles into her field of vision. She's a freak of forging, something that her fragmented memories recall as 'Shifter', something that isn't specifically of Cybertron, but somewhere outside of it.

Blurr will also find strings of different terrified faces, of all kinds, types, frames and walks of life, every last one of them with their own reflection on their optics. There's pain and guilt and shame to go with them. There is all of Cybertronian civilization - from the wretched starvation of Empties, to the pit fighters in Kaon, to the artists and scientists and even other Senators, and all of it is tied together in gordion knot of greed, survivalism, and anger.

Blurr staggers backward...this was information overload of the worst kind. He slumps against the wall, his body going limp and motionless. He was so young, all his life he knew so little of the world. Maybe his mind wasn't even capable of taking all of that in such a short span of time?

<Blurr> frowns. "... I didn't mean to--" He's over near the other Blurr. "Slaggit. I'm sorry. I just... I just wanted you to understand is all. Here... this is gonna hurt me, but help you..." 'Blurr' becomes Shiftlock again, and she initiates contact again -- but this time, there's no mental exchange. Instead, she infuses Blurr with just a little bit of herself, gifting him with a faster self-repair mechanism.

The self-repair does its work, and Blurr finally jerks back up again, optics wide. He stares at her for a long moment, then finally struggles to his feet. "I...whatdidyoudotome??" He demands.

"Just some... something t' make up for.... the information," Shiftlock pants, sinking to her knees as if she were exhausted. "y' saw... everything. I saw... everything."

Blurr may be naive, but he certainly isn't cold. "Well it worked. I saw it. Everything..." he shakes his head. "How could I live like this, Shiftlock??" He has this...desperate look in his optics. Like a child who had been exposed to all the horrors of the world in a moment's time, after having been blissfully ignorant all their lives. "What can I do, what can I possibly do??!"

"Just... stay calm. I haven't... figured it out yet. But you just... have... t..." Shiftlock can't manage the energy to speak anymore. She's just exhausted.

Stay calm? How could he possibly stay calm, after that?! After what he just -saw-?! Blurr is positively freaking out right now. "To what? To what??!" the racer insists. "Oh nonononono...Shiftlock, stay with me!" He grabs her shoulders and shakes her, frantic. "Ohohohtheelementzerothat'sright,I-Icangetyousomeofcourse..." He's not sure if it will help, but he ejects what remained of the stuff after the race. "Here,Idon'tknowhowtoadministeritwhatdoIdowhatdoIdo??"

"Just... give me a little bit to get my strength back. If I take any now, they'll know I have extra supplies, and then we're both in trouble. I just need to be able to ... secure some for... for a long-term getaway," Shiftlock explains. "I'd take you with me, but... it won't be fun. It won't be easy."

Blurr nods quickly. "Well, here." He takes out a small datapad, and leaves an address on it before handing it to her. "This is the address and access codes to my hab suite in Translucentia Heights. I keep most of it in a storage vault there. You can come by and get some whenever you need it. Just...don't let -anyone- else see this, got that?" He stands up. "You sure you're going to be okay?"

"tell... tell your friend to run," Shiftlock says as she takes the datapad and tries to stand. "They're looking for Outliers. They want them for medical research. She won't be safe staying in one place. I'll be okay. I've been in worse shape before."

"What? No, she'll be safe with me." Blurr insists. "I'll make sure they won't find her, and even if they do, they'll have to go through -me- first." Yes, he's a bit brazen and overconfident. He's so used to getting his way, and getting away with just about anything. "I'd better get out of here, before someone sees us..."

"Go home then," Shiftlock says, leaning against a wall now for support. "Try to remember. No matter what though... you're going to heal a little faster than normal, now. They won't be able to change that about you. They'll pass it off as just part of your systems, part of your speed... but that's my gift of gratitude."

"I...thanks." Blurr nods, and turns to leave. "Thanks for everything..." And then, in a flash there's the blue and white streak, and he's gone.