Past the Point of No Return

Contents:
Blurr

For many vorns, the oppressive Senate and the corrupt Primal lineage have ruled Cybertron with an iron fist of strictly Functionist policies. After an attack landed Nominus Prime in critical condition, martial law, otherwise known as The Clampdown, went into effect. Those in power are constantly hunting for opportunities to gain even more control over the rest of the world, and will do whatever it takes to stay in power, quietly silencing those who would dare challenge their authority or question their decisions.

The poor and downtrodden are treated as refuse; in many cases even being denied the basic rights of a sentient being. Tensions are rising, as the oppressed begin to demand fair treatment. Who will Blast Off be? Will he side with the law and the Autobots, for the sake of his own comfort, or will he join the Decepticons, and rebel against a system that is both bereft of moral conviction and full of injustice? Injustice that has been grating on the former Primal Vanguard and his friends one too many times. How long will he put up with the corruption? As Barricade had said, how long will he sit idle, while those in power abuse their authority over the populace, even forbiding those who were -made- for space travel from reaching out into the cosmos.

Only Blast Off has managed to slip around the system, with help from a -former- friend. The cloaking field Blurr had given him is still functional, but will likely burn out soon. It wasn't designed to last forever, of course. But should he trust it? After all, he doesn't trust Blurr any more, and Blurr was the one who had given it to him. Still--how much longer can he bear it? The stars call out to him...but is he willing to risk it?

Blast Off has always been a rather self-centered mech, comfortable maintaining his place (provided that place is high-end enough and befitting someone of his station and quality). He is an aloof individual, and not overly concerned with the business of others. Leave him alone, and he'll leave you alone. (Unless you're a target and he's been assigned to kill you- then you're probably just SOL.) He doesn't \*want\* to see anything different, anything that would force him to shed that safe, comfortable detachment and actually make a stand.

But the times he finds himself in are extraordinary. They are troubled. They are catching even him up in their turbulence. The shuttle has done everything he can to weather the storm, but his blinders have been ripped away and even he cannot ignore all this anymore. But what's a mech to do? If he acts against the Senate, they will punish him... possibly kill him, or... even worse in his mind... put him back in Limbo. In that mind prison. He... he can't do that again.

As great as his fear is, though, there is something stronger still within the spark of this space shuttle. His PRIDE. His determination to find his own way, his own destiny, and NOT to allow anyone else to dictate it for him. It is HIS choice. His life should be HIS to do as he wishes. The Senate should not dictate anything- certainly not his own FUNCTION- to him, or anyone else for that matter.

So how is a space shuttle to rebel, when he doesn't know any other way? Go back to the forbidden place that calls to him- go back to space. There, if only for a moment, he can find purpose, and comfort, and... Element Zero. A valuable resource, and he's one of the few that can obtain it. With that in hand, perhaps he will have some bargaining power later? Help himself, possibly even help others? So now... off he goes, back to the place he was created for. Senate be damned.

As for the cloaking field, well... Blast Off is willing to take his chances. He's managed to survive numerous assassination attempts, what's one more risk?

What's one more risk, indeed. Up, up and up he goes...back to the dark, vast void where the shuttleformer finds himself most at peace. Away from the cruelty and injustice, away from the unscrupulous powers-that-be.

The ascent seems fairly uneventful--the field still functions long enough to get him out into space and on his way to return to the Phalaxian Belt, where he had previously obtained the rare substance.

Hopefully this time around, there won't be any pesky jellyfish aliens to tell him what he can and can't do...but when he arrives, it would seem the coast is clear for now. That conservationist's ship doesn't appear to be anywhere in sight. Those strange thermophilic aliens are there though, still going about their every day lives. They seem to have built some larger structures as well, as it's been a while since he was last here. Gracefully carved lava rock sculptures adorn the streets of the settlements, perhaps representing various celestial objects.

Blast Off is prepared for this, too. Normally he wouldn't think twice about some disgusting organics, but... perhaps it's because they seem to pay attention to the stars that they have been elevated (ever-so-slightly) in his mind. It could also be that he's in a hurry, alone, and doesn't need some angry alien bringing a fleet of ships his way right now, trying to start a fight. Whatever it is, the shuttle strides up to the aliens and looks down at the colony... so small and insignificant compared to his magnificence.

Leaning down, the shuttle brings out a new contraption in addition to the usual container he utilizes to gather up the precious resource. Blast Off is a scientist, after all, and that gives him an opportunity to come up with certain... innovations. He doesn't say anything, just starts to work. The condensor starts to suck up the element zero- but this time it siphons off some of the element into the larger chamber. He looks at the aliens, then points to the chamber. There is an entrance to this thing- an entrance they can reach, and if they do so, they will find some of the element they need to survive within. It just may be a... bit crowded. Otherwise, Blast Off just continues to work. He's not overly concerned one way or another, but at least he tried, right?

The aliens, small as they are, aren't stupid. As soon as he arrives, the gaze up in awe at him, and suddenly start to gather around him, touching their faces to the ground. Are the worshiping him? Have they somehow equated him to some sort of incarnation of their god?

At any rate, when he points to the chamber, they waste no time in obeying, and hurry inside. It is a bit crowded, but they aren't all that big so at least they fit. Meanwhile, the condenser does its work, sucking the substance out of the thin, virtually nonexistent atmosphere.

Blast Off looks down and just hopes the things don't start \*touching\* him, because... ewww, gross. But the looks of awe?... well, THAT does make sense, after all. Yes, he IS that magnificent. He stops a moment to flex an arm slightly, like... yes, I AM that great, aren't I?... before reality strikes again and he resumes leaning down, finishing up the work at hand.

Once the work is done, he gathers up the condensor AND reaches for the chamber as well. Though he pauses a moment, staring at the astronomy-inspired structures before leaning down and plucking one of the more important-looking ones. Subspacing that, he gathers up both condensor and chamber and flies... not away, but to the next asteroid. There may be more aliens there, probably are. He doesn't really care- they can get along, or not. But he releases the doorway so they can exit and places the structure he subspaced back on the ground. No, wait... he places it in another location. Okay, that looks better. He pauses, taking a moment to admire his handiwork.

The small aliens exit the chamber. Yes, there are others of them here, but before they hurry to join them, a few of them turn back toward him and bow slightly with respect, as if to thank him. They then pick up the sculpture he had preserved for them, and carry it away to the nearest settlement.

Unlike that tentacle-looking one from earlier, these little guys seem a lot more agreeable, despite the fact that he's forced them to evacuate their original home, and has mass-slaughtered many of them before. They don't attack, or protest, or anything.

Blast Off blinks at the unexpected courtesy, and simply stares back at them. Odd little things. But... whatever, he has what he needs, so he sucks the element from the chamber and subspaces all the equipment before rocketing off again. And there... now that blasted jellyfish can't complain. Well... he CAN, but there should be less reason for attack, something Blast Off isn't keen to be... not out here alone.

So the shuttle heads back to Cybertron... taking his sweet time now. He's relishing being back here and is in absolutely no hurry to get home... where only strife and chaos -and assassins- await. But now he has a valuable resource- perhaps a bargaining chip for later. He hopes.

It is definitely a valuable resource--anything that cannot be found anywhere on Cybertron and has multiple uses for Cybertronians is definitely very valuable. It could serve him quite well...

As for what awaits when he returns home, strife and chaos is certainly an appropriate way to describe it. It's too bad Blast Off can't just take off right now and never return to Cybertron...granted the rest of the galaxy isn't bound to be any kinder to him than those back home, but maybe it would be worth a shot.

That is, given what's about to occur. As the approaches upper orbit, the former Primal Vanguard would pick up two lifesigns approaching from behind--and they're approaching -fast-. But how could it be? The cloaking field is still active!

Blast Off is just adjusting his angle to the surface of the planet, sticking his nosecone up slightly for better heat shield protection when he picks up the signals. Hmm. Not good. He puts off reentry for now, given the delicate nature of that endeavor, and circles around to meet these lifesigns, still hoping that the cloaking field is working. If it's not... well... he'll deal with that then. If he can, he'll slip off to the side of... whatever these are. WHOever they are.

As they come nearer, he can see that they're certainly Cybertronian, which should come as no surprise, and for whatever reason the cloaking field hadn't affected them. But surely they couldn't have simply -stumbled- upon him, they weren't Autobots on patrol. No, they wore no badges. They were like him, with space-capable flight form alt-modes, though theirs are a bit smaller than his, probably designed more for combat and swift maneuvering than exploration.

And they had definitely been after -him-, specifically.

As he tries to circle around, warnings flash across his HUD, informing him that a lockon has been detected. Astroseconds later, drone missiles fire from the pursuers' wings, one pair each for a total of four...he'd better shake a least half of them, or the consequences -will- be dire.

Blast Off maneuvers past the ships, as always- except... this time that doesn't actually work. No, the ships come \*after\* him. As the HUD warnings flash, he engages thrusters to try and rocket away. It is too late, however, and the missiles launch, coming right at him.

SLAG.

Or, well, HE's going to be slag pretty soon if he doesn't get away. Fortunately for the former Combaticon, he is extremely agile in his shuttle mode, and with a quick roll to the right he evades the first missile. He pulls up and around as the three remaining missiles trail after him. Thrusters fire up and his fuselage begins to shake with the force of movement as he avoids the second one as well.

Missile 3 and 4 are still arcing after him, though, and despite his evasive manuevers missile 3 makes contact, briefly, across his afterburners. The explosion is less than spectacular, since this is space and there is no oxygen, but that doesn't make it \*hurt\* any less. <<Gah!!>> The shuttle wobbles, trailing pieces of armor now, as well as that last missile, and he kicks thrusters in gear as hard as he can to attempt to avoid that last hit.

Now, on top of the fourth missile, the attackers open fire with mounted railguns, speeding up in an attempt to close the distance between him and them. And they're -fast-. They're certainly not rookies when it comes to space flight. Despite his versatility, it's two on one. What are the odds of evading them?

As they draw nearer, he might be able to note that they look identical except that one of them has a turquiose and gold color scheme for a paintjob while the other has one of red and black. The turquoise one, Quantum, hails him. <<Heheheh, well hello there, Blast Off. Nice to finally meet you. I'm Quantum...and that's Sublight.>> An audible chuckle. <<So, you thought you could keep gettin' away with this, eh? Think -again-.>>

Blast Off is not liking this... at ALL. Though at the moment, he doesn't really even have the time to dwell on that. Right now, the only time he has ...well, it just ran out as Quantum and Sublight close in. Blast Off's scans tell him these two mean business, and aren't going to be pushovers, either. Inwardly bristling at the mention of "keep gettin' away with this"... slag, have they tracked him doing this before?! Slag slaggity slag....

The brown and purple shuttle gets showered with yet more arsenal, managing to avoid the majority of it through sheer aerial skill and manuevering. But even he can't avoid it all, and his wings and fuselage are peppered with shots. The last missile gets destroyed in the chaos, rocking his form with the blast, though fortunately he misses most of the damage. It's still bad, though. He isn't built for any kind of major warfare... not anymore, at least. This new body is more of a civilian one, not a true "Combaticon" frame complete with heavy armor, and he can't sustain a lot of damage and reenter the atmosphere.

Blast Off circles around and up, soaring over the other two ships. <<...What do you mean? I.. am simply on Senate business. Get out of my way!>> Well, it's worth a shot, at least. Right?

Sublight speaks up this time, laughing derisively. <<Ha! Senate business my afterburners! We -know- why you're out here. A cloaking field is only a cloaking field to those who don't know it's there.>>

<< I mean, you -had- have expected this was coming. That one of these cycles your little sneaking game wouldn't end up so well!>> Quantum goes on, as the both of them continue their relentless assault, weapons still blazing hot as they emulate his upward maneuver, moving in on his tail. Oh they definitely mean business, and they -know- aerial combat. <<So Blast Off I heard you were pretty proud of your little heat shields! Let's see how you handle reentry without 'em!>> The shots glance off of his frame, chipping steadily away at the shields.

Blast Off keeps getting hammered, and these two other ships are correct, he is NOT going to be able to hit reentry safely if enough of those shots connect. he's agile, and that fact keeps him alive... but so are they. And there's two of them, and they mean business. <<Slag it all, you're spacecraft too! Why fire upon your fellow spacecraft?! Where is your /pride/??!!>> He continues to try dodging them, taking several shots in the meantime. Indeed, his heat shields are chipping off, leaving a trail of ceramic tile floating in the near-zero gravity of space. The tiles glitter like the stars around them.

The shuttle circles up, hard, thinking. He's got some basic weaponry... nothing much, since he wasn't equipped in this new body for any kind of major fighting power. But there are a few lasers, and he starts warming those up now. These mechs may have been sent by whoever sent Drift and the other assassin... or perhaps it's something else entirely. Blast Off isn't even sure anymore. Who's behind all this, or who he can trust. <<Who SENT you??!!>>

<<Who do ya -think-?>> Quantum replies, copying Blast Off's moves once again, and sticking close to his tail. Sublight follows suit, just slightly behind his partner. <<Who do ya think gave ya the cloaking field, and how do ya think we found you?>>

<<Yeah, you're smart, do the math!>> Sublight chips in. They ignore the comment about spacecraft pride. Apparently they have no class. Which shouldn't come as a surprise, they're probably just hired guns. <<Money talks. And -kills-.>>

Quantum remains behind with the guns still blazing, while Sublight accelerates suddenly, moving up beside Blast Off. He rolls sideways, attempting to knock the other vessel off course.

Blast Off rolls and dodges, but the other spacecraft stay close... too close. The Elite Guard has some slick moves, and utilizes them, but fraggitall, so do the other two. He can't get away, and he's beginning to bristle internally as his personal space keeps getting further intruded on. Lethally so, if these two get their way. These two \*uncultured heathens\* apparently, who seem have no spacecraft pride. Hired thugs, is that it? <<How high does this go? If you're to kill me anyway, I might as well know exactly who my executioner IS...>> He snarls at them. Of course, he has no intention of letting them execute him... no, not at all. But it's becoming maddening. <<The IAA? The Senate??>>

His own weaponry systems come fully online just as Sublight suddenly comes straight at him, trying to knock him aside. He rolls with the other ship, getting another scratch for his efforts as Sublight's wings scrape against his own, causing more damage. <<Aiigh!>> At that close range, however, Blast Off's weapons finally fire up- and shoot straight at his attacker!

"Argh!" Sublight takes the lasers in the side, and falters slightly, while Quantum's assault on Blast Off's tailpipes continues. He pulls away a bit, but doesn't fall back. <<Your feeble attempts at self-defense are laughable.>> Sublight taunts.

<<Yeah, give it up, scrapheap! You're no match for us! And ain't no one gonna come to your rescue out -here-!>> Quantum adds.

Sublight moves in again, despite the incoming fire. <<You can't stay out here forever. So I might as well give you a head start.>> There's a sinister chuckle in his voice, and he flies sideways again, shoving Blast Off into Cybertron's gravity field. The two attackers turn and fly down after him, with Sublight transforming and grabbing onto his tail as he fell. << I believe you have something that belongs to us.>>

Blast Off is in some serious trouble. The taunts make him angry, though the aloof shuttle works to keep his head about him. He needs to- especially right now. But there's something these two hooligans don't seem to know about him. A very \*key\* thing. Blast Off has immense pride and has /NEVER, EVER/ liked being told what to do. When Quantam calls him a scrapheap and orders him around, something in the former Combaticon snaps.

There's a flash of anger once more as Blast Off's systems seem to prime for extra action, extra speed- maybe extra \*lethality\*.

But Sublight takes the momentary distraction to shove Blast Off into the thermosphere, where his heat shields begin to warm against the extreme friction. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but now there are several HOLES in those heat shields. This is the kind of thing that causes a shuttle to be destroyed upon reentry. The heat is already intense, and Blast Off gasps in pain as it hits- and so does Sublight. Engines roar as he tries to get away from the grasp, but the other spacemech has his vertical stabilizer in a firm grip.

Thrusters roar again, sounding furious as they spark against the heat in a swirling apocolyptic flame. With two mechs descending upon him, he does the only thing he can think of to escape- transform. Suddenly Sublight-if he held on- will have Blast Off by the fin that sticks out of his back- and there's an ionic blaster aimed over his shoulder-straight at Sublight's face. "I will give you NOTHING- except THIS!" He fires, point blank!

It's hot. -Very- hot. Quantum and Sublight still have most of their heat shields intact, but such is not the case for Blast Off. He is in some -serious- slag right now.

Sublight is still hanging onto his rear stabilizer even after he transforms, while Quantum continues to fly downward after them. As Blast Off prepares to fire, Sublight also draws his own weapon and shoves it up against the mech's back--intending to kill the former Vanguard and rip the Ezero from his cold, dead grasp before it all burned up in the atmosphere. Right at the very moment that the Combaticon pulls the trigger, the -other- trigger is pulled as well. The blasts tear into their targets--Blast Off's shot going straight through Sublight's brain module and out the other side. His grip relaxes, and his body falls away. There's an infuriated howl from Quantum, who has just witnessed his partners death.

"SUBLIGHT! NOOOOOO! YOU...YOU FRAGGER I'LL GET YOU!!"

And he launches his entire missile payload straight at Blast Off. Though strangely enough, he doesn't continue pursuit, instead he pulls up out of the atmosphere and disappears into the blackness of lower orbit. It is then that the Combaticon might see why...the cloaking field has been deactivated, likely because the device had sustained too much damage during the fight and/or reentry. And there's also the fact that he may have put a hole in Sublight's head, but in the astroseconds before that happened, Sublight had put a hole in Blast Off's torso...

Blast Off gasps as Sublight falls away, and for a moment he even thinks to himself that.... well, that wasn't so bad. That's when the REAL pain hits, and the shuttleformer stiffens before nearly hurling energon from his mouth in what /would/ have been a very messy reflex, given his faceplate. Some trickles from his mouth as it is, and he wipes the purple drizzle from his chin as it leaks... though what he doesn't get is soon evaporated in the heat anyway. He realizes that he's in shock.

Everything is a shimmer, even the enraged Quantum, who almost doesn't look real as Blast Off peers hazily up through the cusp of the atmosphere at him. Well- either it's the heat, or Blast Off's optical sensors are faltering... and at this point it could be either. He doesn't know. But he does see Quantum launch a huge volley of missiles his way, then leave, as Blast Off himself looks down to see the hole in his torso. He starts falling back himself, and some of the missiles hit. Arms and leg plates shred and fall away at the hits, and he hunches inward in pain with a muffled scream. But the scream soon turns into a growl... a groan of engines and roar of thrusters.

NO. No. He will NOT die like this. Using what strength he has left, he starts flying..not up but DOWN... trying to reach Sublight's falling form. The dead mech's head may be a mess, but his heat shields /aren't/.

More missiles are still headed his way...can he take that many? But it seems that question won't need to be answered, as something intercepts the remaining projectiles. Is it a friend? Far from it. No, it's the Autobot orbital patrols, come to save him so that they can arrest him.

As he pushes himself toward Sublight's dead body, the officers fire long, thin stretches of wire with barbs on the ends, designed to drive themselves through the victim's armor plating and into his struts. "Citizen, you are under arrest for unauthorized access to upper Cybertronian orbit. Surrender and you will not be harmed." Not harmed? Well, someone has a different standard of harm, given that those barbs, should they hit, are pretty slagging painful.

Blast Off's optics widen as something suddenly saves him...wait, not really. As the orbital patrol approaches and tells him he's under arrest, Blast Off's violet optics, already flickering from damage, go near white in color. Oh slag.

No... again, so /much/ NO. Blast Off was a prisoner before- kept in a mind prison for millions of years, his body destroyed and mind only recently brought back into this world, into a new body and a new life- only to find it utterly confusing and corrupted. He's already been betrayed, enclosed, constrained, had everything he ever was ripped away into nothingness. This former prisoner /cannot/ go back.

Blast Off hesitates just a second, then thrusters roar as strong as they still can, and he pushes hard, downward, trying to avoid the wire and grab Sublight before he falls out of reach. "You LIE!"

Five lines shoot out at him, most of them falling short but one of them catches on his leg. Oh and slag does it hurt. The barb bores down into his armor and hooks into his struts like a fish biting down on a hook. "If you would stop struggling, you could make all of our lives much easier, including your own."

The officers speed up, closing distance between them, and fire the wires again, hoping to snag him good this time. Well at least the wires are slowing his descent; thus causing the heat to let up a bit, despite the pain.

Blast Off grunts as the wire hook strikes his leg, stabbing down to the struts. He watches with exasperation as Sublight's body just keeps falling away. The former Combaticon is forced to divert his attention to the police officer instead. Optics still shine white and almost... empty. The pain, the heat, the frustration swirls around him like an inferno as he can still feel metal searing and circuits starting to melt on the more ragged, frayed edges.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!!" The shuttle is furious now, and every bit of Primal Vanguard training he has suddenly rips up to the surface. "I will NOT go quietly. I am a PRIMAL VANGUARD, and I will NOT be ordered about by the likes of YOU! By ANYONE!" He's not going back. To the white room? To execution? The Senate will make sure he conveniently disappears- they did once before, after all.

Suddenly, his ionic blaster is up and he rushes right AT the officers, firing with skillful precision- his optics ablaze with a deep purple that looks made of pure, cold, reawoken fire.

The officers start reeling him in using the wire gun, but an ion blast to the wing sends one of them reeling. "Glitchead! You do realize that if you kill us, you'll fall to your death? Just look at you, there's no way your armor is going to survive reentry! Do you have a deathwish?!"

You say "I am a SPACE SHUTTLE, I can FLY." Of course, he's in horrible shape, but there isn't much time to really dwell on that fact. "I will NOT go back." He stares the officer right in the optics, and growls, "I'd rather DIE." Blast Off has shed any veneer of civility. Right now there is only survival. He grabs the wire hooked into his leg, and despite the pain- he pulls it, hard, trying to yank the officer on the other end off balance- and maybe into his fellows. Meanwhile, with grim determination, he fires again.

By now, he's not too far from the surface. A few more seconds of falling, and he'll hit the ground. The wire jerks, and the officer, not having expected that, careens out of control and slams into his partner, the engines impacting the fuel reserve. And now that they're well into the atmosphere, where there are plenty of combustible gases--the explosion is much more spectacular. Hot gases rush at Blast Off, propelling him downward even faster, the long now-severed wire trailing out of his leg. The ground rushes up to meet him--will his thrusters even work at all at this point?

Blast Off is trailing smoke by this point- he's burning up, he just hasn't been able to acknowledge it- or even care. Too busy trying to survive here... somehow. The explosion causes the shuttleformer to swing his badly damaged arms up, servos protesting and creaking. One snaps, and the arm suddenly shifts out at an odd angle. He grunts in pain, but doesn't even have time to dwell on THAT. No time. No time... at all. Metal screams in pain... or is that just him screaming?... as he forces himself to transform as the ground rushes up, threatening to swallow him alive.

Perhaps it's that stubborn pride of his, but something makes that WORK, and his thrusters sputter and glitch- but finally roar to life. The shuttle billows out white smoke, entwining with the unhealthy black smoke already trailing behind as they join together in a dance of death-and life. But when that dance is done, LIFE has emerged the victor... and Blast Off's systems come online enough to prevent him from outright crashing. He still falls towards the ground- but it's a more...."graceful" fall. A ...survivable one. He heads towards the ground, shifting wing elevons and trying to land... in one piece (more or less).

Thankfully for Blast Off, he just barely manages to get his thrusters up and running to slow his fall enough to keep the impact from outright destroying is already badly damaged body. However, it is by no means a smooth landing. The planet's rugged terrain is not kind to him today, scraping up his armor even more than before.

When he finally comes to a rest, he would find himself somewhere on the outskirts of Kaon...lucky for him, perhaps. It's the one place on the planet where the other Autobots would be least likely to find him. 'Other' Autobots...wait, he isn't an Autobot any more, is he? They've spurned him, cast him out. Whatever remains of that severed wire still trailing behind him is proof enough of that. As for the two who had just been after him--well let's just say he won't be having to worry about -them- any more.

That might be small consolation to the shuttleformer, however. For now there would be no returning to his comfortable high life. He would be hunted at every turn. While this particular fight is over, the -real- fight for his life has only just begun...it won't be long before news of those Enforcers' deaths would reach Sentinel Prime. Blast Off should know that better than anyone.

Oh, and there is still Quantum, who quite obviously now has a serious and -personal- vendetta against him...on top of the chaos that was -already- going on in his life. Drift no doubt is still after him as well.

*They won't rest until you're dead.*

One thing is for sure. His chances of surviving this alone are about zero to negative. So as much as he might loathe admitting his need for support...this time it might be undeniable.

Blast Off sends a sonic boom across the ground as he impacts the ground, and the shuttle lies there for a long time, smoke billowing up from the wreckage. And indeed, that's what it is... and he is. Wreckage. Everything he knows has been destroyed and he must once more pick up the pieces and put them together into some semblance of a life. This time, that need is literal, as he uses the last of his strength to transform once again before collapsing onto his hands and knees.

Optics dim, he lies there quietly, equilibrating. But he doesn't have much time. Time. That's the thing he seems to keep running out of. Optics flicker back to life and he lifts his head, every servo, circuit and metal plating hurting like slag. Wincing, he pushes himself up and staggers to his feet, stumbling once or twice before finding a post to lean against.

His head lifts up to stare into the sky- and the stars above. Once again, they seem so far away. His gaze casts back down and optics narrow. Yes, he does need to pull himself together... and perhaps he might even find help here, near Kaon, if he can bring himself to admit it. But perhaps that's the ultimate display of pride in the end- having enough /pride/ to know when you MUST seek help in order to /survive/.

Blast Off glances off in the direction of Vos, and feels a pang of loss for his former life- the comfort and luxury he knew. There will be little wine and comfortable couches here. But he's picked up the pieces before... and he will do so again. He was Primal Vanguard, and he was a Combaticon.

No. He /IS/ a Combaticon. The shuttle sniper drags himself into the shadows- ultimately triumphant against his foes today- and ready to do his slagging /best/ to live another day. Blast Off the Senate servant is dead. Blast Off the Combaticon is /back/.