Attempting Kindness

++ Kolkular ++

Time has passed.

Pleasant opera music has been piped into Blast Off's cell, and true to her word, Feint left Blast Off a bottle of enerwine - an excellent and expensive vintage dating back to the Interregnum.

Her soft footsteps echo down the hall, along with the warning about prisoners standing and putting their hands in the circles on the wall. She's come back to visit.

Blast Off sits on the small bench, staring blankly out of his cell as the opera music plays. It is \*supposed\* to be calming, apparently... but the traumatized shuttleformer is a little beyond calm right now. More like catatonic. He's shut down, and he either doesn't hear the music or it's almost becoming like Chinese Water Torture... that soft and insipid drop-drop-drop that festers in your brain until you can't take anymore.

The wine sits where it was placed. He hasn't touched it. He's almost afraid to. His fuel tanks feel like they could purge any moment, and even \*looking\* at the wine bottle makes him feel like he could go over the edge and be sick all over the cell. Not that... not that he's sure he'd even care at this point.

When the warning sounds, he stares up, slow to move once again. But when he does, it's with a more dazed demeanor than his usual defiant one.

Feint stands in front of the cell, hands in front of her, clasped lightly. "Good evening, Mister Blast Off," she greets pleasantly, as if yesterday never happened. "I came to see if you were doing well. It seems you haven't touched your wine; I would have thought you'd be thirsty by now." She raises a hand, and the music stops, giving the abused shuttle some reprieve.

Blast Off's circuits run cold the second Feint appears. The shuttle, as always, is trying to hold onto his dignity. His pride. It's just... right now... he's almost too dazed to care. He stares, jerking his head back as the nightmares hit him anew at the sight of her face. It's like someone splashing his face with ice cold water. There's a step back and he just looks at her silently. He's... not even sure what to say.

"I wanted to thank you very much for your cooperation yesterday. I'm sorry that it came to the level that it did, but I saw no other way to convince you to just tell me what I wanted to know," Feint states. She steps close to the cell and looks up at the larger shuttle. "If you like, I can make you feel better."

Blast Off stares at her warily. His optics narrow just slightly as he feels just a flash of anger about what happened before- then he freezes again at Feint's new "offer". His response is immediate. "No." It's obvious he doesn't trust her. He takes another step back, studying her, trying to make out just \*what\* she is, and what she did to him... and if she's doing it again. At the moment he's not entirely sure of his own senses. Though... ah, it seems that /blasted/ opera music finally stopped. /Thank Primus/.

Feint nods in acknowledgement slowly. "Very well then. The information you provided to me will be very helpful in your trial; it was taped and thus will be admissable in court. We'll have you examined to make sure you were not injured in any way."

A small trace of self-awareness; of pride, comes through again. "...taped?" Oh great, what did they tape, exactly? Blast Off's not even sure. Were there ever any Enforcers? Or is it just him twitching and crying in his cell? (The other inmates nearby indicate it's something closer to the latter.) "...trial?" Wait, he's actually getting one? Then he takes another step back at "injured". He's feeling pretty well \*injured\* all right... if he could just wrap his head around what exactly happened to him. He finally asks her, "....What did you DO?"

"Oh Blast Off, you started hallucenating! It looked awful; that's why I wanted to have you checked over by medical staff," Feint says. "I don't know what was going on but it must have been terrible, the way you were whimpering and twitching like that. Are you prone to seizures?"

Blast Off takes another step back, optics narrowing considerably. "...You are mocking me now." He manages to look a bit haughty at that- well, haughty and wary. He studies her. "No, you DID something to me. What did you DO?"

With Feint's super sensors, she'd probably catch sight of someone vaguely familiar coming down the corridor toward them. Yes, she's met him once or twice before--it's Blurr's handler, Cipher. What exactly is he doing here? Well, it happens that he is a very skilled mech, when it comes to mind games. Suffice it to say that he's invaluable when it comes to interrogation. He knows how to trick even the most stubborn prisoner into spilling his innermost energon, so to speak.

"I just stood here, Blast Off. I never laid a hand on you. Would you like to see the video?" Feint asks. She is aware of Cipher's approach but she's going to let him make the first move.

Cipher stops when he sees Feint visiting Blast Off's cell, nodding and smiling in polite greeting. "Ah, Feint. I didn't expect to see you -here- of all places. Still, a pleasure seeing you again." He glances at Blast Off. "Do you know this inmate?"

Blast Off sees this new mech come up, but for now his attention is focused on Feint. Something is wrong. She's not telling him the truth, he knows that much, but... he still doesn't know what happened. Did she drug him or something? There's a glance to that wine bottle, then back to her. "No." Slag no he doesn't want to see that... him twithcing and crying and... wait. Maybe he'd better find out just how BAD this is BEFORE this is made public, oh the humanity- or Cybertronian equivalent thereof. "Yes." "I mean no." Wait....

"I'm asking him some questions, Mister Cipher," Feint says, turning to address the other mech. See that shiny new badge on her? The one that's the Senate marker? IN YOUR FACE, CIPHER. "Senator Halogen made the request that I gather some information about why he's being held; he's interested in knowing how a respected member of the Primal Vanguard, and one of Proteus' attaches, ended up Kolkular's holding cells."

Cipher nods and immediately notices the badge. "Alt-mode exemption, why, congratulations, Feint!" He says pleasantly. "Hmm, well even the most respected members of society are not immune to the laws of the planet. If you murder someone, you are guilty regardless of caste is that not true?"

Blast Off just looks back and forth between the two of them. As for Cipher's question, he's not sure if that's directed at him... nor is he in a hurry to answer it, so he remains silent. But y'know, it's true... wasn't Feint some sort of disposable? What happened? ...Not that he dares ask right now.

"Yes, anyone brought to trial of their peers and convicted of murder is declared guilty," Feint replies very calmly. As if Senators are ever brought to trial for those things. She is aware of the game being played, and she chooses the neutral path.

Looking at Blast Off again, she asks, "You mentioned Blurr last time we talked; has he visited you recently?"

"And I presume that this mech is simply awaiting such a trial." Cipher states. "The state must have had good reason to suspect he was guilty of whatever crimes he stands accused of." He arches a brow ridge at Feint's question about Blurr. "Were you assigned to interrogate this prisoner?" And if so why is she asking him about -Blurr-?

Blast Off still says nothing about the whole \*murder\* issue. It's not in his best interest to do so. He glances, still warily, at Feint. Despite everything, he doesn't want to answer... but it's a simple question, and one she can easily find out herself. "...Yes." He looks at Cipher, but again- not going to answer \*anything\* unless he as to.

"I was asked by my patron, Senator Halogen, to ask Blast Off about his charges, and whether or not they were true. As Halogen is the Senator of Kaon, and Kolkular is within its boundaries, he has the right to investigate the case files of the prisoners within this fortress. Because Blast Off is a colonist - A Combatron native in specific - there are legal issues that have been raised, which Halogen wishes to present to Sentinel Prime himself," Feint explains pleasantly to Cipher. "I was sent on assignment to speak to Blast Off because we had met before and he thought that my presence might put Mister Blast Off more at ease. It's a training assignment."

Cipher nods. "So I see. Well then, good luck with your training. And again, congratulations on your alt-mode exemption and promotion." He turns to leave. "I hope the trial is executed properly, according to the law." What the slag that has to do with Blurr is perhaps a question for another time. "I do wish I could stay and chat longer, but I have other duties to attend to." And with that, he walks away, disappearing through a door at the end of the hallway.

Blast Off listens as Feint explains to Cipher- and to him, too. Ahhh. So that's it. He finds the information about legal issues being raised of particular interest, and finally speaks up- asking HER a question. His voice is very soft, almost hoarse. "What kind of... legal issues?" She HAD mentioned something about that before, but he was a bit busy going completely /MAD/ to really pay a lot of attention then. He thinks once more to himself that feint sounds so... reasonable... but then shakes his head, unsure of his own thoughts. Though he does hear the word "executed" and it causes him to glance a bit nervously at Cipher as the mech heads off again.

"Technically all colonists have diplomatic immunity, but I'm not sure if that applies if you're Primal Vanguard, as the Vanguard is a pan-Cybertronian military force; as it was disbanded, that may mean that your legal obligation to Cybertron first might now be null and void," Feint explains. "It's a long shot but it might help. That's why Halogen wanted me to come in here; he remembers the Vanguard in its full glory in the past, but he was concerned that if he /personally/ came down here it would be seen as a political machination to his own ends. It's just that bad anymore, sir--" Yes, she's still calling people sir. "--Any senator that wants to do his job is being hamstrung by the vast hordes of Senators acting on personal gain."

Blast Off listens, though his shocked and stressed processor has to repeat and loop things a few times in order for them to register. But he gets the gist of it, gazing down at the floor as he works to think. Again, Feint sounds... reasonable, but he's not feeling very capable of trust now. Certainly not with her. But still... His voice is flat and soft.

"I... I served this planet long ago, and all they did was thank me by sticking me in a place like THIS." Ok, it's a little bit complicated, but... "And now... now here I am again." He gazes up at her sullenly. "I have no reason to trust that I will ever see anything that resembles "justice". The corruption has spread too deep."

"And I served in the mines for 500,000 years," Feint agrees. "Something has to be done with this and -- look, I'll level wit you - I have a gift. A gift that doesn't fit in with Functionism. Do you remember what happened to Solvent when he started arguing with Blurr? When he started screaming about scraplets?.... That was -me-. I made him see it. It wasn't real, and I don't know why I can do this, but I can make people see and hear and feel things that aren't real." She sighs, and pushes up her visor, showing Blast Off her face. She looks frustrated but earnest. "I didn't -want- to make you see all that, but you were beng stubborn and arrogant. I had to give you a wake-up slap, in a way; I was trying to find out things to help you get out of this and you were treating me like trash!"

Blast Off's optics narrow slightly as he listens (like he has a choice anyway). At least no one's tried to get him to kiss a corpse yet. /Oh yeah/, he's gonna have some issues if he ever gets out of here. I mean, even \*more\* issues. His head slowly nods up and down once. "I.. I do. I remember you sitting there very... calmly. And there was a... a voice in my head..." He blinks. "And it wasn't mine."

As she lifts her visor, and shows her face... well, normally that might be a nice surprise. He might even enjoy the sight, who knows? Well- except for that little \*experience\* he just had. Even if it's only in his head, it's all too REAL to him- and the sight of her face suddenly brings him right back to seeing the life torn from her in an agaonsizing scream as she was flayed alive practically on TOP of him, and then that face came knocking over and over into his own as the Enforcers laughed and told them to "kiss" and and OH PRIMUS. The Combaticon yelps and stumbles back. He's shaky enough already that he stumbles into the bench and lands with a rather undignified \*thump\* halfway on it. He then sits there, looking away because he can't \*stand\* that sight again. Ventilation systems start cyling heavily as he works hard to calm himself again.

Noticing how horrified Blast Off is at her face, Feint feels a bit guilty over it. She drops her visor and turns around. "Sorry, I thought it would be better that I be the one being tortured instead of you. I thought maybe that might be less frightening for you," she apologizes. "I guess it didn't quite work out that way."

A trace of Blast Off's old stubborn pride flashes forward as he insists, "I'm not \*frightened\*!" It's the first spark to his voice heard since his ordeal the other cycle. It might be complete denial, but at least his spirit hasn't entirely been broken. Yet he still can't quite face her. Instead, he starts staring at the wine bottle, as if he meant to look at that all along anyway. Straightening himself up, he sits just a little more dignified now on the bench.

And he sits there, trying to think of a response to that. I mean, really, what do you say? Oh, that's Okay, you tortured me thw wrong way by accident, it happens to everyone.

There's a long period of awkward silence, then he finally says, his voice quiet once more: "How am I supposed to believe anything you say, if you can simply alter my perception any time you see fit?" He keeps staring at the wine bottle. "I mean... is that bottle I see even really there?"

"That's a question that every philosopher has asked since the dawn of thought," Feint muses. "You can sit there and wonder, or you can simply take what your senses give you and act on them. Maybe it is real, maybe it isn't - maybe none of this is real and everyone and everything is just a hallucenation your brain is having to make sense of your existence - but if you become stuck worrying about it, you won't have much enjoyment out of life - real or not. The wine will taste just as good either way."

Blast Off dares to look back at Feint now... cautiously. Of course, he spent a LONG time wondering just these things. He had millions of years to wonder what was real- wonder if HE was even real- while stuck in mind prison- in limbo- at Garrus-1. Some days he still wonders if he ever really got out of there, or if they just decided to finally have a little mercy and download his consciousness into a virtual reality program. "I have... had a lot of time to ponder that question."

The shuttle is unsure what she knows of his past and is certainly not going to mention having been imprisoned in a whiteout cell in Garrus-1 if she \*doesn't\* already know. He never mentions that to \*anyone\*, because he's /terrified/ that that could lead to discussion that could lead to the threat of \*returning him there\*... and that's the greatest nightmare of them all. He'd prefer DEATH itself than to suffer through that particular hell again. He'd even suffer through the horrors of empurata and shadowplay... just please, please... let him FEEL something. SEE something. BE somewhere, WITH someone. /Please/. He could not take that again.

He turns back to the wine. And, oddly, it doesn't strike him as... tasty. No... right now anything that reminds him of this place seems almost nauseating to him. But he continues anyway, for what else is he going to do? "But I \*want\* to know if it is real or not. If it.. matters or not. What is ultimately more important? A pleasant dream- or a harsh reality?"

"The wine's real. I haven't altered that at all," Feint says quietly. "Blast Off.... I am an outlier. I make people see things that aren't there. Why do you think I was given the name 'Feint'?"

She turns around to face him again, keeping her visor on as to not disturb him further. "I would be happy to help you if I can, and I know Halogen wants to do so, because he, too, is growing tired of the caste system, the functionists, and the machinations of other Senators. But what they did to Shockwave, who was outspoken against their corruption - well, Halogen has opted to play a more quiet hand. As for myself? I am here because I am also interested in helping Blurr. You know what has happened to him. You've seen it." She walks closer to the cell, coming right up to the bars and field that overlays them.

Blast Off looks at Feint with a thousand-mile stare, his tired processor still having to work harder than usual just to comprehend anything. He's exhausted. The walls came crashing down on him and he feels completely and utterly trapped. "That... makes sense, I suppose. I'm just not..." His head slowly turns to look at the wine. "Thirsty."

His gaze then slowly shifts back to the femme, optics dim and lackluster... though he still holds his head up with a trace of proud dignity. "Yes, I've seen it. They are... controlling him. He attacked me once, and I fought back. It was /self defense/. Then he started crying and begging for mercy and I..." His head shakes slowly. "I left. I could have killed him. I \*didn't\*. But his... "handlers" came right afterwards... dragged him off again." As Feint comes towards him, his head starts leaning away alittle bit, but there's nowhere to go anymore and he's too tired for twitching and flightiness now. He feels dampened and deadweight- those walls are heavy, after all.

Feint attempts kindness.

Instead of assaulting Blast Off with more hallucenations of cruelty and enclosure, she attempts to soothe him with sensations of relaxation, release and comfort, an emotional full body hug, like a mother soothing a tired, colicky child. "I know. I've seen inside his head," she murmurs softly. "They're destroying him, Blast Off. He saved my life twice - how could I not want to do everything in my power to return the favor?"

Blast Off slowly starts to feel a little better. He begins to relax, his weary frame succumbing easily to the wave of comfort. Comfort- it's all he's really ever wanted. A nice, comfortable place to live, to be... not to be under attack, not to be lonely, not to be trapped and powerless, simply to be at ease with himself and his world. His shoulders sag slightly, and an involuntary sigh escapes his ventilation systems.

He drifts towards a more conversational tone. "That... is understandable, I suppose. I try to repay my debts. It's... it's only civilized, after all... And I \*want\* to be civilized." It's just... sometimes hard to be, when you're someone like him. He looks to Feint. "Who? Who are those handlers? What do they want?" He stares at her. "I... I imagine you could be quite... persuasive to them if you wished."

"The IAA. They're trying to turn Blurr into some kind of soldier, I think, but they're altering his mind and memories in the process. Cipher is his handler now. I've dealt with them off and on because I've been resisting their efforts to clumsily ruin his mind," Feint explains, continuing to sooth Blast Off as recompense for his prior suffering. "Cipher, that mech you just met? He's the one messing with Blurr's mind now."

Blast Off ahhs. "They are the ones who wanted the Element Zero." He's still unaware that his gradual relaxation has been induced by Feint, and is too weary to really care anyway- at least right now. "Probably the ones who sent the assassins after me, too." His optics dim as he recalls Cipher- he'll remember that mech if he ever sees him again. "Yes... they had him rummaging around my old habsuite, attacked me... he's spying in Nyon and who knows where else."

The shuttle glances at the wine bottle again and frowns. His next statement is a bit ironic, considering who he's telling it to. "No one... should have their mind.... "messed" with."

And certainly not extracted from their very body and stuffed in a box for millions of years.

"Indeed. I'm very fortunate to have been rescued from the Institute. It wasn't my mind they wanted, however, it was my body. There was an old arachnicon there - he intended to put me in a frame like his own. He said I was 'payment' for his work and that I would be his mate," Feint explains. "You can probably appreciate how much I desire to help Blurr for sparing me that fate."

Blast Off blinks and looks back to Feint again. "Uh... yes. Having your mind... ripped from your body..." He blinks again. "Well, I doubt it would be pleasant." Understatement of the century here, folks.

"Old Arachnicon?" That stirs a memory. "Tarantulas?"

"That was his name, yes!" Feint exclaims, a little surprised. "--Do you know him?"

Blast Off looks at her, and for a moment debates trying to bargain a little for the information. He doesn't \*like\* just sitting here, yapping away with a captor and spilling his circuits. But then he thinks of how- uh, persuasive- she can be, and decides against that. Besides, it's not all that much information. And he feels better, so... he's a little more communicative anyway.

"Not a lot. I saw him once. In Senator Proteus' offices. He came to speak to the Senator while I was working as a Guard. Arcee was there, too. They spoke about business... Proteus seemed beholden to him, I remember. Tarantulas seemed a little ...too interested in Arcee, as well, though as I recall she "wasn't his type"." The shuttle leans back against the wall. "He had given Proteus a... a "pet", I guess. An insecticon named Kickback. When Tarantulas left, he ordered Arcee to get rid of the thing. Instead, she took care of him. I even looked after him for awhile."

".... Tarantulas told me that the mental experimentation laboratory that I was in was /his/ laboratory, and that I was payment for his having built it for someone else," Feint says in a whisper, shocked as she makes the connection.

Blast Off nods, looking a bit fatalistic and sullen. "Like I said, it's all corrupted. They're all conspiring against anyone who isn't... "them". There is no justice, except what we make for ourselves."

"We are in agreement on that. So is Senator Halogen. He says the Decepticons aren't wrong in their anger and outcry, but that violent uprisings will only increase suffering for everyone. He's going to try to make it right," Feint nods. "I believe that things need to change, too. He's... going to risk it all very soon, Blast Off, that is why he is training me to take his place. He believes he might die for what he is going to bring to the senate."

"... He's going to table a motion to do away with the caste system entirely."

Blast Off listens to this, but part of him has to wonder if this is even his problem anymore. He's half-expecting Senator Proteus or the IAA or who the slag knows to come in and finish the job they tried to start with Quantum and Sublight. But he's not dead yet, so he can listen, and besides... he's feeling rather relaxed now. For some reason.

The Combaticon tries to wrap his head around that. All of it. "No caste system? But... but...." This is something hard for a (former) High Caste (Astro Class, no less!) to comprehend, despite everything he's been through. "How will people know their place? Their function?" He frowns, then realizes how... snobby that might have sounded. "Well, I mean... I know the Low Caste have struggled- I've seen that now with my own optics. I've \*met\* some of them. And what they have gone through isn't.. it isn't fair, no. What you went through with that insufferable bore Solvent wasn't right. The Low Caste deserve a chance to better themselves, but... still. No caste system at all? Society might crumble."

"And it isn't crumbling now?" Feint asks pointedly.

Blast Off blinks. "Well... I.... uh..." He slumps a little. "I suppose you have a point." His armor plating flattens down completely. "I'm supposed to be one of the Highest Caste of all... Astro Class... and I can't even get to do what I was built to do. Legally, at least."

"The idea of giving everyone an idea of what they might be capable of is a great idea, but it can be very abitrary and oppressive. I'm a flying type, and I was made to work underground in mining tunnels, where I would never fly. I didn't fly for almost my entire life, not until I was brought out into the light to be sold as chattel to Solvent," Feint says. "/That/ is wasted resources, not low caste miners! If the gods are real, if Primus is real, then we'll know in our sparks what we were made to do. And if they aren't? Then we should let our population seek out the skills and jobs they desire and are attuned to, regardless of frame. -That- would give us greater efficiency! Imagine a word where everyone is passionate and inspired to their work, not because they are -told- to do it, but because they -want- to!"

Blast Off stares at her. "They made you work...underground?! That's no place for a flyer." There's both a trace of his aerial superiority-snobbishness.... and a bit of his own claustrophobia mixed in. "Yes... that is a waste of resources." He stares off at some random spot and shakes his head slowly. "And... what happened to you was not right. You are correct... having a CHOICE is vital. People should be free to make their own choices, not be..." He slumps back against the wall. "Not be told what to do." He mulls over the irony that their positions are now swapped from the time he first met her. Now SHE is the free one and HE is the captive. "Not be... trapped."

Feiint sighs. "I dare not tell Blurr such things, he's brainwashed into 'fighting the terrorists', and the terrorists are anyone that disagrees with the state and government." She sends warmth and consolation to Blast Off, one more big psychic hug. "I'll do what I can to get out of here. I think we have both been victims of the machinations of others."

Blast Off nods. A flyer himself, he thinks for the millionth time how a place like this is not a place for HIM either. When even being stuck planet-side can make you feel confined, try getting stuck underground in a cold, cramped cell barely bigger than you are. But that strange, pervasive sense of comfort is still there, and he's too tired to question it right now. Denial is his friend.

He still doesn't trust her... he's tired of trusting and having it come back to bite him later. But right now... he doesn't feel like fighting, either. Not if he doesn't have to. "Yes. His mind is not... his own. Which is... a terrible fate." Blast Off shudders inwardly a little, since he's still worried HE might suffer that fate too. "Well... I wish you well, in that regard. Even HE doesn't deserve that." Her last comment gets a glance... and he tries not to feel gratitude towards someone who is essentially his captor (Hello Stockholm Syndrome)... but it's a little hard. "...Thank you."

"I'm sorry I had to trick you Blast Off. You don't seem like the terrible criminal they said you would be," Feint says. "Good luck."

With that, she turns and is on her way, that psychic hug slowly ebbing as she leaves.

Blast Off isn't even quite sure how to take that. Part of him thinks, no, I'm NOT. I just wanted a comfortable life and to be left alone. Then another part- the Combatron part- worries that with people getting impressions like that, no one is ever going to take him seriously as a mighty warrior. It's confusing. Welcome to Blast Off's world.

He nods and watches her leave. And slowly... that feeling of comfort subsides, and he's left in a cold, cramped, desolate cell... with only his own neurosis for company. What might have just happened slowly dawns on him, leaving him feeling even colder than before. The shuttle withdraws inward and awaits his fate.