I Do My Happy Go Lucky So Well

++ Vos (#105RT[XI]) ++

Set high on the edge of a mountain ridge, Vos is a gleaming spire of silver and metallic blues rising high into the heavens. Central to the region is the Vosian Citadel, home of the Cybertronian Air Command, the training grounds and headquarters of the planetary air force. Composed of multiple towers, spires, obelisks and domed needles, the air through the region and  around the polity itself is filled with wings of flying Cybertronians of    all kinds that dart in and out among the many landing platforms like flocks of birds.

Far beneath the aeries, closer to the planet's surface, are industrial centers that link the city to the rest of the planet through roads, bridges and mushroom-shaped generator complexes. Vos is rich in energy resources,  making it almost completely independent from the rest of the world; these  energy resources are mined, worked and processed by lower-caste laborers  who cannot fly upwards towards the city's more luxurious heights.

Blast Off's life has been turned upside down. He's on the run from the law- a "vigilante" is what they called him on the news- and as a result he's lost \*everything\*. His job, his wealth, his possessions, his home. The only thing remaining to lose is his body- and he's lost that before, too.... and has no intention of repeating THAT experience. So he has stayed far away from anything he used to call a place of his own. He knew his lab and habsuite would be carefully watched, and it would be unwise to return. But over time, the shuttle has been getting more homesick than ever. At least for his home ON Cybertron- he's also homesick for outer space again, but that's another thing entirely.

Surely... if he just snuck in for a peek at his own habsuite, his pursuers would have decided he wasn't coming back by now? He doesn't plan on actually entering the place, but... just a quick look. Is his comfy couch still there? How about that excellent library? Let's not forget the wine bar... And so the Combaticon makes his way up now, doing his best not to be seen by any of the doormechs or the elevator doorman in this exquisitely posh and elegant place he used to call home. In fact... he's taking the stairs... and his habsuite was almost at the top floor. \*huffff puff\*

Oh, his habsuite is still there all right. But all the stuff? The couch, the library, the bar? All of it is gone. It's probably been sold somewhere, and everything is pretty much a wreck. But it shouldn't come as a surprise to Blast Off, should it? After all he is a wanted criminal, the police must certainly have come in here and ransacked the place, searching for any clues there that might serve as a lead on where he might have run off to.

Seriously, though...what was Blast Off expecting to find? Everything in perfect order as he left it? Right.

No, Blast Off had expected everything to be gone. Intellectually, he did. Emotionally? That can sometimes be a different matter entirely. Suddenly feeling very tired, he leans against the doorway, crossing his arms with a sigh... and allows himself a moment of regret.

Well. That's it, then. His old life is well and truly gone. All he can hope is his possessions at least find their way into the hands of those who can appreciate them. He glances around- he's been cautious and expecting to spot some kind of spyware- but nothing so far. So he resumes a bit of self-pity... and he may even deserve a moment of it, considering everything.

There's no spyware that he can see, at least...but once he's been standing there for a few breems, there's a sound from somewhere near the back of the hab suite...is someone here?

Blast Off freezes. He suddenly wonders if this was such a great idea or not... actually, it \*wasn't\* but he had hoped no one would still be watching the place. For now, he remains quiet and still... unsure if he ought to dare try to see who, if anyone, is there.... or if he should just sneak away while he still can.

There's a few more moments of shuffling around. Whoever it is, they're searching for something. Finally, someone moves back into the sitting area near the door where he's hiding, their back facing him...but there's no mistaking who it is. Not that frame. No, it's definitely Blurr, the famous racer who was once a friend but who has basically ruined Blast Off's life by offering him that 'deal' with the Ezero..

Blast Off still has that EZero, too... tucked safely away in subspace. Not that he has anyone to sell it to anymore, though. Upon realizing Blurr is in there, his optics narrow as a flash of purple flickers through them... a deep purple of anger. That racer did indeed ruin everything... and stole the data that is probably initially responsible for him being on the run now- and the target of assassins. Not to mention that the cloaking field Blurr gave him was probably bugged and led the authorities tocrack down on him. He has to concentrate not to let out a low, angry vent through his systems.

But now what? Should he stay here, or should he flee? Still unsure, he does bring out the pistols he was given (after his blaster was taken away). One in each hand, he deliberates whether he should run.... or maybe, just maybe.... since Blurr's back is turned.... this might be the perfect opportunity for revenge.

Indeed, it's a dilemma. Should he run while he still can? Or...should he take the chance? There's a possibility that he -might- be able to ambush Blurr and shoot him before he can dart out of the way, since he -appears- to be unaware of Blast Off's presence at the moment.

Blast Off is torn. This is such a tempting opportunity, and he would so enjoy getting back at the racer for all he has done. However, if he starts shooting- even if he actually KILLS Blurr.... that's going to create noise- and then the murder of an extremely popular racer will likely be added to his list of crimes. There would be nowhere to hide after that.

As tempted as he is to shoot, the more cautious side urges temperance. And there's his more... "civilized" side, too. Though even \*that\* conflicts with his pragmatic sniper training- taking a shot while your target is unawares is kinda the name of the game, after all. Lastly, there's whether Blurr even knows what he's doing. He didn't seem to remember Blast Off last time he saw him- but then why's he here now? The shuttle's hand slowly lifts up a pistol, aimed steadily at the racer's back... but he still doesn't shoot. He hovers in hesitation...

Time is ticking...if he doesn't take action, the opportunity will be gone! Blurr is starting to move toward the door, perhaps he has decided it's time to take his leave. One more chance...to act or not to act?!

Blast Off really \*wants\* to shoot.... but it's not like he's actually at war or anything, and he's in enough trouble as is. If these pistols came with a silencer... it might be more tempting. But they don't, and... it's too risky. He thinks. Gah. This hesitation is the sort of thing that probably got Rung killed.

Finally, though, he makes his choice. He \*must\* excerise caution. No point in needlessly adding to that list of crimes... and again, killing a celebrity like Blurr would make him Public Enemy Number One. He's in enough hot water as it is. The shuttleformer lowers his weapons... slightly, and steps back towards the doorway- and the hallway. If he's lucky he wasn't spotted.

But Blurr suddenly darts forward, a blue and white streak that suddenly zooms toward the door before the Combaticon can step completely out of sight. Had he seen Blast Off? Or maybe he just decided to move like that randomly, it wouldn't be abnormal for him. Well anyway it doesn't matter whether he saw him before or not, -now- he saw him.

Strangely enough, the speedster just has a confused look on his face. "Whoa, didn't see you there. What're you doing here?"

Blast Off finds himself hiding the pistols behind his back, startled. Then again, he ought to know by now just how slagging \*Fast\* the racer is. He blinks and stares back. "I... was visiting someone. Wait, I know you. Blurr, right?" If Blurr appears to be clueless, he's going to play along with that, see if he can make some polite talk and get the slag out of here. "...What are you doing here?" He then thinks to act like he's glancing around, and asks, "Do you live here?"

"No, who would want to live -here-?" Blurr asks, giving him an incredulous look. "I mean, it's a -wreck-." He just stares blankly at the Combaticon when he says he knows him, then chuckles. "Well of course you know me, the races are starting back up in two megacycles! So uh, who were you visiting?"

Blast Off gives Blurr a miserable, somewhat deapan look and mutters, "Don't remind me." He tilts his head at the racer's assertion. "They are? I thought the races had been stopped indefinitely?" He shifts his arms slightly, pistols still in hand, but still behind his back. He tries to make it look as if he's just standing there casually, hands clasped behind back as he does sometimes.

"I was visiting... uh..." He tries to think of the name of the mech who lives two doors down. He did meet him once or twice, but then again Blast off is really terrible with names... or paying attention to other people if he doesn't have to. "... the mech who lives down the hall here." Then his optics narrow, "And why were you here then? Isn't this a bit... out of your way?"

"So you're visiting someone you don't even know the name of?" Blurr asks, looking suspicious. "Why were you look...." Suddenly, he frowns, looking uneasy. "I--I was--n-nothing." He steps back, away from Blast Off, shaking his head. "I-it'snoneofyourbusinessokay."

Blast Off blinks. "I never said that. You've never said "the guy who lives down the street" or something? His name is.." He makes something up. "Gearshaft." He hopes Blurr doesn't have a directory or something. Then it's his turn to look suspicious. "Well, seeing how my friend lives on this floor, I think that it \*is\*. This room is empty... why would you be poking around up here?"

Blurr suddenly looks frantic, and he stumbles backward into the far wall, shaking his head more. "You...wait, I -do- know you. I know you--"

His optics widen. "N-no..." Trepidation builds on his face...what exactly is happening, here?!

Blast Off stiffens. Slag, he should've shot the racer when he had the chance. The grip on his pistols tightens and he prepares to whip them around if needed. He's still \*attempting\* to get out of this without noise that attracts unwanted attention or even more crimes added to his list. "What do you mean?" He tries to sound surprised and innocent... but innocent isn't really his thing.

Suddenly, Blurr's expression hardens, and he points accusingly at Blast Off. "You! You're the one who lived here! That's why you're here! You're a -criminal-, you murdered Sublight! You're--you're one of THEM!" He actually looks quite livid, now. In fact, has the shuttle ever even -seen- the racer that angry before? It's kind of scary...and to make matters even -scarier-, an ion blaster not unlike his own suddenly emerges from a panel in the arm that is currently pointed at him, it discharges without further hesitation! The Combaticon had better get out of the way...

Blast Off is slightly taken aback at the fury in the other mech's face. His pistols swing from behind his back at this point, just as Blurr fires upon him. But there's not much of anywhere to go... he still manages to avoid any major injury, but Blurr's shot does strike against a shoulder as the shuttleformer ducks down. A piece of metal plating tumbles off. The Combaticon hisses with pain, then returns fire. He's an excellent shot- but Blurr's extremely fast. Can the racer dodge in time? "One of WHO? Them? What's THEM?," he protests.

Something is off about Blurr this time around. Not only has Blast Off never seen him this angry, but this is certainly not his usual behavior, either. Since when did he have weapons in his arms? Since when did they use -those- in racing? No, there's something else going on, here. He seems...frozen to the spot with a mixture of anger and determination to take the other mech down, and the Combaticon's shot slams him right in the lower torso. Energon and other body fluids spew out onto the floor, and he staggers backward, slumping toward the floor. The fury abruptly gives way to confusion and panic. "...ghh..wha...what's happening..."

Blast Off winces at the gore, though it's not in sympathy but an instinctive reaction at such a huge mess in his spotless habsuite. Except... it's not his habsuite anymore, is it? He lifts his weapon to continue shooting, but pauses at the others' apparent confusion.

It's not a long pause, however. He showed mercy before, and it got his friend killed. He's a Combaticon, trained to fight and kill and he shouldn't keep hesitating like this. The noise damage has been done, so quickly he steps forward, taking another shot as his optics blaze in intensity. "WHY are you here? WHAT do you want?"

The second shot hits as well, though it's not quite as bad as the first. Still, Blurr's already leaking out, so it only worsens his condition. "...I-Idon'tknow..." He stares up at Blast Off, his optics wide and panicked. "..s-stopplease...Idon'tknowwhat'shappening..."

Blast Off takes another step towards the racer, looking down at him and pointing his pistol at the other's face. He stops, though, when Blurr starts pleading for mercy and his optics narrow suspiciously. However, the Combaticon's warring sides are apparently still fighting each other, for he does stop this time. His finger remains on the trigger, a split second away from another shot.

He keeps pointing the weapon in the other's face as he stands several steps away from him. "You're trying to trick me. Why were you so angry just then?" He leans in slightly, knowing he doesn't have much time. "TELL ME why you're doing this... why THEY are doing this! I want to be left \*alone\*!"

Blurr continues to stare helplessly up at Blast Off. He looks completely innocuous, clueless, as he cringes away from his attacker. "...I-Idon'tknow...Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingabout...whowhattheyIdon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingaboutIdon'tknowhat'shappening..." he mumbles, his voice nearly incomprehensible. "P-please...stop...Inevermeantanything...Idon'twanttohurtyou...Ineverwantedtohurt...t-tohurtanyone..." His optics flicker; he is about to fall into stasis lock as a pool of his own fuel forms around him.

Blast Off glares down as Blurr seems to cringe and falter before him, and the Combaticon finds himself at a loss for what to do. He's still not sure if this is just a trick, or what? Then Blurr's optics flicker... is he going into stasis lock?!?!

Blast Off looks heaven-wards in exasperation, "OH slagging pit of..." His voice trails off into some more curse words, then he looks down at the bleeding superstar. Primus. If Blurr dies on him, Blast Off will NEVER be able to rest... he'll be Cybertron's Most Wanted. The shuttle's wing elevons twitch in agitation. He doesn't have a lot of time. Nervously he glances towards the door, and starts edging away. Maybe if he can just get out of here... Maybe call for help... anonymously... once he's safely outside or something...

Blurr struggles to stay conscious, but when he sees Blast Off starting to edge away, he looks desperate. "N-no! Don'tleave...p-please...tellmewhat'shappeningtellmewhat'sgoingon...don'tleavemealone...whydidyouhurtmewhyareyouangry??"

Blast Off is almost out of the door when Blurr starts pleading again. The shuttleformer cringes in irritation, but he stops and turns. "Why did I hurt \*you\*? Because you attacked ME, that's why! I didn't exactly do this to /myself/, you know..." He points to the damage on his shoulder and, indeed, it would be quite difficult for him to shoot himself at that angle.

Optics brighten with anger and he takes a step back towards the racer. "You have made my life miserable. You've made the lives of the people I knew miserable. Your own data collection may well be what \*killed\* Rung ultimately! I thought he \*meant\* something to you? I thought he was your \*friend\*?"

Blurr's optics widen with horror at Blast Off's words. "What...whatnothat'simpossible...that'simpossible...Idon'thurtpeopleIneverhurtanyone...I--Rung?! WhatdoyoumeankilledRungisdead?!" What happened to Rung??! "No! Nowhathappenedtohimhe'snotgoneishe?"

He curls up into a miserable ball and begins to mumble to himself. "Nononono...whathaveIdonewhathaveIdone..."

Meanwhile, footfalls can be heard in the hallway. Someone is coming...

Blast Off looks down at the pitiful wretch and slowly begins to shake his head. "You really don't remember, do you? You're a puppet, Blurr, and someone's pulling your strings. The IAA, and perhaps others. Rung tried to help you, but you betrayed him."

Then he hears footfalls and tenses, whipping his head around to look towards the doorway. "Slag. And here they are now, I bet. I'm leaving. Who knows... if I can survive long enough, perhaps you'll even finally get a chance to make your own choices... instead of having everything decided FOR you." With that, he starts trying to get out of the doorway before whoever that is arrives.

"..." Blurr just watches him leave, looking so...lost and confused and miserable. "R-rung..n-no.." He really must not remember at all. Fortunately for Blast Off, he manages to evade notice just in time, as a trio of mechs pass through the doorway just as he ducks into the shadows. However, if he lingers a moment longer, he might be able to catch a glimpse of what's going on in the room, now.

One of the mechs looks very high-class, with long blue wing blades, almost like a senator but lacking the golden Senate sigil. The other two are probably private security from the looks of them, like the Quantum and Sublight, the ones who had been sent to kill him before.

The winged one tsks, shaking his head at Blurr scrunched up against the wall. "Blurr, Blurr, what have you gotten yourself into this time, hm?"

"...Idon'tknow...Idon'tknowwhathappened...Rung...where'sRungwhereishepleasetellmehe'sokay..."

There's another sound of disapproval. "Oh, that won't do. Come now, we'll get you fixed up."

Blurr suddenly looks even more panicked. "N-no...n-notagain...p-please..."

"I'm sorry, but if you would just stop getting yourself into trouble, then perhaps this wouldn't be necessary." He nods to the security mechs. "Take him away." They nod and obey, dragging the speedster out of the room, fuel trailing across the floor as the racer continues to whimper and plead with them not to do...whatever it is they were planning to do to him.

Blast Off slips out just in time, and once he's found a spot to hide in he remains there, letting the others pass by. He's just beginning to head away when he catches sight of this little exchange. He actually finds it in his spark to feel a little sorry for the racer. Having had his own mind ripped from his body once before, he can't imagine much worse than having one's mind messed with- not having \*choice\* anymore. It's... important. SO important.

However, he's not so sorry for him that he's willing to risk his neck for him. Blurr's too unpredictable, and besides- Blast Off is armed with pistols and those security mechs look like the equivalent of Sublight and Quantum. So he stands in the shadows and watches them take Blurr away. Perhaps he can relate all this to Arcee next time he sees her.

The security mechs drag him into the elevator, and the winged one follows after, muttering irritably about 'unstable programming'. Blurr is still whimpering about Rung's death, but the leader isn't exactly in the mood to listen to it, so he turns to one of the guards. "Shut him up, will you." The mech obeys, and smacks the racer on the side of the head with the barrel of his assault rifle, sending him into stasis lock. Then the doors slide shut, and then they are gone.

Blast Off listens to that, and while he's not the most compassionate individual... he's certainly seen enough. The day WILL come that he will exact his revenge on these people, and stop their manipulation of him, of Arcee, even of Blurr. Of \*everyone\* they so callously mess with. And he will \*enjoy\* it. Once he's sure they're gone, he takes one last look at his habsuite. He dares to step to the doorway, gaze out towards the window and that glorious view that once was his... then he slips away, never to return.