A Book and its Cover

The great fortress of Kolkular looms against the dark sky tonight, as guards patrol its perimeter and interior. Located on the northwest edge of Kaon, the worst city on the planet, everything about it seems to spell gloom and doom.

The prison sectors are crowded with inmates, mostly from Kaon, waiting for their fate as decided by the Senate or by Sentinel Prime. Some would be shipped off to remote or sub-orbital penitentaries such as Garrus-1, while others would be subjected to spark extraction. Still others sent to the Institute to be brainwashed and turned into someone else entirely. Blast Off probably hasn't been here long in comparison to everyone else, but it must feel like an eternity to him, sitting in a dark, cramped cell--one of many lining the long corridors. In the cell directly across from him, there is a dead mech...suicide, by the looks of it. Recent, since no one had come to collect the body just yet.

Blast Off is all too familiar with eternity. He already spent it in Garrus-1, trapped in a white-out cell- a mind-prison, where he had only his own looping, increasingly neurotic thoughts for company for several millions of years. No body, no senses, no feeling... just endless loneliness. It seemed to go on forever... and when a /miracle/ somehow occured and he suddenly found life and (some) liberty again.... he vowed never to return to that hell. He vowed he'd rather die than ever return to that never-ending torment. And yet.... here he is again- in a cold dark cell, facing his fate with a nauseating sense of deja vu.

He sits on the lone, thin bench in the cell and stares at the dead mech- and envies him. The shuttle remains absolutely still. He's been in a state of shock since waking up and realizing what has happened. He thinks if he can just sit here quietly... if he doesn't move at all.... then maybe he can remain unnoticed. Untouched. Somehow. At least until he can collect his jumbled thoughts and figure out how to get out of here. There's another reason he doesn't dare look around. He knows the walls are closing in on him. But if he doesn't LOOK at them- doesn't \*ackowledge\* that they are moving in.... then he denies them their power, and he'll survive one more moment before being crushed.

Suddenly, someone is standing in front of Blast Off's cell. Someone familiar. Yes, -very- familiar, in fact. Who could ever mistake that lithe blue and white figure, all decked out in the latest armor fashion? Yes, Blurr is standing there, and before long he's opened the cell and dragged the Combaticon out with a blaster up against his back. "Figured you might be getting tired of that cell by now. Hope you're up for a slight change in scenery." he grins.

Blast Off doesn't move except for a slight glance as Blurr appears. The shuttleformer tenses. Welp. Moment of truth may have arrived in all-too-familiar form. Great. Blurr. Just lovely. He wishes not for the last time that he had his ionic blaster, but of course all weaponry had been confiscated. So he's forced to move when the speedster comes in and sticks a gun in his back- though he does it as sloooowwly as possible. He'll fight back in any way he can, even if it's simply by annoying the racer. He says nothing, just gives Blurr a slight, sullen glare before staring off aloofly into the distance somewhere as he's lead out of the cell.

Blurr doesn't seem to be bothered all that much by him moving slowly. It's not going to help him escape, or anything. Inhibitors, gun to his back, and the fact that this is a fortress, of course. But before long he is shoved into a small, barren interrogation room with a single talbe that has two chairs on either side of it. "Sit down." the racer orders, nodding toward one of the seats.

Blast Off huffs softly as he gets shoved into the room, but is still otherwise silent. As Blurr orders him to sit, he looks at the chair- then Blurr- then the chair again. He takes every second he can- every little tiny display of defiance he can get.... but eventually he does slowly sit down. Then he just stares insolently at Blurr.

Blurr watches Blast Off obey with a look of mild satisfaction on his face. When Blast Off has finally sat down, he sits himself down in the seat across from him. The racer seems...different from when the Combaticon last saw him. He shakes his head, sighing in a disapproving fashion. "Oh, Blast Off. Just look at you. Always letting your ego get you into trouble. You just couldn't stay out of it, could you? Tell me, do you think you could have avoided all of this, or is it your -destiny- to become a criminal? An outcast?"

Blast Off just stares back at him for a long moment. He deliberates just what to say, if anything. He doesn't know entirely what to expect from Blurr, but he knows this song and dance. This is a game he's played before, after all. He keeps his cultured voice calm and even- and doesn't directly answer the question. "Why Blurr, I didn't know you cared. I'm touched."

Blurr smiles, leaning forward slightly with his hands on the table in front of him. "Oh, really? Well I'm pleasantly surprised! I didn't know you had the -capability- to be touched by something. And of -course- I care, I'm not like most of the others, you know. It makes me sad, seeing you like this, seeing how far you've fallen. I mean, you had a great place back in Vos, doing science, and all that good stuff. Was all that just not enough for you? Was it just that you were longing for -more-?"

Blast Off keeps a steady, violet-hued gaze on the racer, and replies calmly, "I'm glad to hear it. I was worried our friendship had been irrepairably damaged." He remains silent as Blurr continues, glowering just slightly at "fallen" and the "great place at Vos" but mostly maintaining a detached demeanor. "...Doesn't everyone long for /more/? Isn't that the Cybertronian condition? How could we ever better ourselves if we didn't?"

"So what was it?" Blurr prods further. "What were you longing for? Space travel? I mean I gave you that, right? So what -else- were you after? I mean I'm sure it wasn't hanging around lugnuts like Hot Rod and Shiftlock, right? And Rumble? I mean I don't mean anything against them, but I don't know, they just don't seem like your type."

Blast Off's optics narrow just slightly. "Of \*course\* I want space travel. I'm a \*space shuttle\*; it's what I was \*built\* for. Even the Functionists would surely understand THAT." He glances away at the mention of names, then returns Blurr's gaze once again. "Perhaps not. But then again, there really \*weren't\* many of "my type" in a place like Kaon. It's not like I \*wanted\* to spend time with /any/ of them." Which is a lie, but he's in no hurry to admit otherwise.

"Then why'd you hang around them so much, hm? If you didn't actually -want- to spend time with them for the sake of relationships or whatever, then I'm sure you had something -else- to gain from it." Blurr insists. "I mean I know you, you don't just do things because you -like- people. You do them for yourself and yourself only, don't you?"

Blast Off raises his head just slightly to stare at Blurr, optics taking him in as he considers his response. He \*could\* admit to caring about someone like Shiftlock- and that would actually be the truth. Even people as annoying as Rumble actually did an alright thing or two- Rumble brought him that music collection, for instance. Ok, so it was /stolen/, but still.... it's the thought that counts right? Blast Off was surprised at how he came to almost enjoy certain people's company.

The Combaticon also knows that ever admitting to that would be dangerous not only to him- but them as well. And if they knew he cared about Shiftlock, then.... she'd have even more headaches to deal with. There's only one way to protect the both of them, and it's so easy to do- and so believable, too. Sometimes Blast Off's incessant (false) insistance that he doesn't like anybody actually /does/ come in handy. He waves a hand dismissively. "Of course. So? I'm better than any of those groundpounders, anyway. But they seemed at least tolerable, and I needed a place to stay. So I might as well... well, \*tolerate\* them while I tried to earn some shanix again. They came with benefits, after all- the saps even gave me shelter and weapons- for FREE." He shrugs, playing the part of the cold, callous Combaticon with practiced ease.

"So they helped you, then." Blurr leans back a little, folding his arms. "But you helped them back, didn't you? You were trying to hide from me, that one cycle." he points out, referring to the time he pretended to be a 'Pinnacle'. "You helped them back, even if they were only tolerable. But it's a debt owed, I guess. Which I'm sure they were aware of, otherwise why else would they help someone like -you-?"

Blast Off shrugs again, putting on his best arrogant and aloof manner (which is pretty darn good, too). "Yes. It's the way the world works- you scratch my back, I scratch yours. No one does anything for selfless reasons. Everyone just \*wants\* something. I'm a Combaticon... I was Primal Vanguard, as I'm sure you know. I'm very good at doing a job- for pay, of course."

A job for pay, huh. "So that was your pay. The weapons and shelter they gave you. And what did you do for them?" Blurr questions further.

Blast Off thinks about that a moment. What did he do? .... Not a whole lot, really. Well, there was... "I fought in the Pits, provided that bit of.... entertainment for the management. I provided transport of cargo that one time, too..." He shrugs, and wouldn't have admitted to that except Blurr SAW him do it. "It was only one time, though, I have better things to do with my time than play \*transport\*."

He tries to think what else he could qualify as a "job". "I... provided training... battle training." Ok, so there was that one time he offered to try and help someone and it ended \*extremely\* embarrassing for the shuttleformer (/pinned/ beneath a dancing, wiggling Shiftlock)... but he knows Shutterfly and her assistant saw that. As much as he really, really wishes they \*hadn't\*.

"Training as in combat training, I take it?" Blurr asks, he's taken out a datapad and seems to be recording this. "What was that cargo, exactly? And they trusted you with it?"

Blast Off quiets down a bit, looking off to the side now as if starting to get bored. There's a brief glance at that datapad, then he stares off at some spot again. "Yes, combat training for the pit fights. The wanna-be warriors desire to learn skills that keep them alive. A skilled warrior such as myself is just the one to train them.... when I'm not too busy winning my own fights, that is." The mention of the cargo earns a small shrug. "Fuel. I guess they've got some hungry empties, or something. Bleeding sparks, I suppose. I didn't care- I didn't need it."

"Heh. So they trust you, yeah?" Blurr asks, looking up from his notes. "At least as far as you could tell? Because you seem trustworthy, or because you -needed- them?"

Blast Off gives Blurr a slightly annoyed glance. Where's he going with this, anyway? "I don't know. Do I /look/ like I would have cared enough to find out?"

Blurr shrugs. "No, but not everyone is exactly what they seem to be on the outside, now are they?" He chuckles a little. "I just assumed the same thing applies to you."

Blast Off gives Blurr a shrewd look. "No, I suppose they're not. /You/ certainly aren't."

"No?" Blurr laughs. "I guess not. So do you really care, Blast Off? Did you want them to trust you? I mean, I've been thinking about it, and you weren't even a loner before, you were part of the Primal Vanguard, weren't you? You were at least on a -team-. Is that what you were longing for? Companionship? That same sense of...comraderie?"

Blast Off blinks. ".... Why the slag would I care about \*that\*? I'm a Combaticon warrior, and more than that- I am a space shuttle. We are /built/ to be alone. We are \*meant\* to be alone as we travel vast reaches of the universe. Yes, I got stuck with a team long ago, and even now have wound up fighting with them in the team fights. Might as well, we at least know each other and how to work together. But if you're seriously suggesting I actually \*like\* idiots like Brawl and sadists like Vortex or slimy mechs like Swindle, you are out of your little blue racer's mind."

Of course, this is his way of dancing around the reality that he's really quite lonely, has been lonely a long time, and feels like somehow less of a shuttle for even feeling that way (because what kind of space shuttle gets /lonely/?), ....but he has absolutely no plans on admitting it.

"So if that's what you've always wanted, then why didn't you just -do- it when you had the chance?" Blurr questions. "I mean, I gave you that cloaking device, remember, and you made it into outer space on more than one occasion. You had plenty of chances to just take off right then and there. Find some other fueling station to go to, the galaxy is a big place. Plenty of places you could hide, and no one would ever find you. You could've left this world behind!"

Blast Off huffs at that. "Not enough fuel. Plain and simple. The galaxy is vast... and the closest fueling stations aren't close by enough.... not the amounts I could fill my tanks with at the time, at least. Believe me, I \*wanted\* to leave. I wanted to just keep going, not return back to a planet that tells me I can't do the very thing I was built for."

"Oh come on I'm sure you could have figured out a way around it." Blurr smirks. "If you wanted it badly enough, you would have. You would have brought a bunch of auxiliary fuel reserves--at that point you would've had access to them. But it sounds like that wasn't quite the case. You -didn't- want it badly enough, did you?"

Blast Off's huffing sound draws out further this time as his optics narrow once more. The shuttleformer tenses and leans back, glaring at Blurr. "What? Why are you going on and on about this? What does this have to do with \*anything\*? If you're going to sound like a broken recording, I think I am \*quite\* ready to go back to that cell now!"

Blurr gets a rather smug look on his face at this. Ha, there we go. He's getting all irritated, and losing his composure. He doesn't want to talk about it, which means, he doesn't want to admit it. "Fine, fine." he stands up. "We don't have to talk about it any more if you don't want to." He goes to the door nods to a couple of guards passing by. "Take him back to his cell."

Blast Off stops the huffing, straightening up to give Blurr the stink-eye for a moment before gaining his composure once again. He blinks, almost a little surprised Blurr acquiesced to his demand. But he won't complain about it. The shuttle vents once, as if to shake off the ordeal, then gets up as the guards approach. He glares at them, once again moving as \*slowly\* as possible for that tiny bit of defiance and dignity.... and is led back to that cramped, miserable cell. Where he'll once again just try not to \*move\* and will have to hope the walls don't close in... too fast.