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“Well well, ain’t this a quaint surprise.”
“Sarcasm: not appreciated.”
“Finicky boombox.”
They ended up putting Blaster in a cell opposite to Soundwave.
It’s not an ideal situation, considering the fact that Soundwave hasn’t looked away from Blaster since he was dragged kicking and screaming into this small prison, dumped like a heap of scrap, and left to lick his wounds. It is an ideal situation in that Blaster can glare right back without craning his neck too much. Ease of a murderous glare is always a plus.
They in question shut the strange hissing door shut behind them as they slither out, leaving the two mechs in relative darkness, only aided by the slight stream of light filtering through the paper-thin vent in the divet between the wall and ceiling. It’s natural light, and already shifting to a dull purple as the planet’s sun sets.
Blaster shifts minutely, wincing at the ache pinging through his spinal strut when he tries to sit straighter. He doesn’t know what’s broken, and he doesn’t think he wants to know either.
It doesn’t help that he can feel the piercing burn of Soundwave’s stare from across the short hallway between them. He turns, his own visor thankfully intact, and meets the stare head-on.
“What you in for?” He manages to croak out. There’s a worrying amount of static echoing from his voice box. He tries resetting it, but all that comes back is an error code.
Soundwave, on his part, doesn’t jump to the jab. He seems intent on doing nothing but sit in his injuries and just stare. Fine by Blaster. It’s not like the Decepticon TIC was going to get up and move anytime soon.
So Blaster breaks their strange visor-contact first to survey his own armour.
It’s not so bad, he thinks, scanning over the numerous shallow dents and scrapes. He’s not leaking energon anymore, so his nanites are in working order. Both his legs are fine, and his arms too. Really, it’s only the worrisome needle-like pain shooting up his spinal strut everytime he moves that he’s got to worry about. Maybe a misalignment or something. Yeah, or something.
“Are you just gonna’–” Blaster coughs out more static, damned voical components “–what, you like what ya’ see?”
Soundwave responds with the epitome of emotional expression; he stares without so much as a twitch.
“Riiiight,” Blaster winces, bumping himself higher against the wall. He gives up making himself more comfortable, and his spinal struts thank him for it by ceasing the insistent burning feeling they’ve been pestering him with. Marginally.
There’s really nothing more he can do until his self-repair hits his communications net. He took a hit, and something crinkled, and his comms run red errors everytime he tries accessing his contacts. But his nanites are coded by priority. They’ll fix his internal comms soon enough. Hopefully. Maybe.
“Any luck with comms?” Blaster asks, tilting his head against the wall so he can stare back at Soundwave again. “No, wait, I love this game. Lemme’ guess.”
He makes a show of pouting to the ceiling.
“Okay, I’m thinking no?”
Soundwave doesn’t move.
“Yes?”
Soundwave doesn’t move.
“Slightly?” Blaster tries. “A work in progress? Not really?”
Soundwave doesn’t move.
“Thought so,” he sighs. “What’re the chances? Two sound systems stuck in the same room and not a single working system between ‘em.”
He thinks about what a despondent song the two of them would make. No harmony.
Something quivers inside his chest cavity.
Blaster doesn’t have the spark to open his dock, despite the insistence. It’s just Eject in there anyway; the only cassette he had managed to snag back before these strange native aliens started firing away. He tries sending a message through his cassette-bonds, but it comes back as static. He’s starting to get sick of the static.
Stop wriggling around, Blaster chides, touching a servo to his casing. At least they have their docking-bond. At least he’s still got Eject.
Let me out.
So you can, what, walk around in a small circle?
Fuck you.
At least he’s got Eject.
Blaster falls into recharge sometime between Soundwave’s persistent silence and Soundwave’s persistent stillness. He wakes up to Eject manually prying open his docking case.
“What the slag…” he murmurs, half-groggy. His HUD happily supplies him with a finalised damage report rendered from his time in recharge. Something’s unaligned in his spine, and the struts are pressing against sensitive mesh lining and his gyro pistons. Just great.
Oh, and Eject is crawling out of his chest.
“Wah…?”
“Fuckin’ finally,” Eject huffs, sliding his pede out and shutting the casing behind him. It takes a few tries for the manual lock to click. Blaster spends the kliks that pass trying to understand what is happening.
“You were serious about the circles?”
“No,” Eject scoffs, hopping off of Blaster’s chassis. The cell is dingy and small – if Blaster could stand without falling over, he’d probably stay sitting anyway, lest he want to hit his helm on the ceiling – but Eject fits right at home. He jumps, once, twice, tries to touch the ceiling and fails, and then really does walk in three circles. Blaster is still so confused.
“I got your damage report,” Eject states after his third lap. He starts inspecting the walls with little interest. “You–”
“Yes, please Eject,” Blaster coughs out, “tell dear ol’ Soundwave what’s wrong with me.”
“Oh,” Eject turns to pin Soundwave – who has yet to stop fucking staring, what a creep – with a surprised look. As if he somehow missed the whole other bot stuck down here with them. “Right. Well, it actually doesn’t look too bad.”
“It’s not.”
“Tip-top shape, wouldn’t you say?”
Blaster’s back burns when he tries to sit up.
“Oh yeah, for sure.”
“Right,” Eject nods, moving to look at the strange opaque wall that makes up the division of the two cells. Eject, like the absolute genius he is, touches it without hesitation, and yelps when the substance sizzles against his digits.
“Good call,” Blaster nods slowly. “Real smart.”
“Shut it,” Eject hisses. “And tell him to stop staring. He’s creepin’ me out.”
Eject is pointing at Soundwave, who still hasn’t moved. Blaster offhandedly wonders if Soundwave is offline behind that visor. But the chill that comes with being observed is still there, sitting right underneath Blaster’s plating. He can tell when he’s being watched.
“Weirdo,” Eject huffs. Seemingly done with interrogating their pathetically boring room, he plops right across from Blaster on the opposite wall. “Hey, Bee had that open online spymaster game going on last I remember. Got any signal down here?”
Blaster deadpans.
“What do you think?”
They’re not disturbed for over three cycles.
Blaster’s lucky in that he doesn’t have a whole lot of cassettes with him, so his subspaced emergency rations are only split between himself and Eject. Unluckily, his dock feels empty, and Eject, already confined in this little prison, is in no mood to stay cooped up.
“Don’t pull that face at me,” Eject frowns. “Looks like I kicked your dock closed.”
“You might as well have,” Blaster sniffs. “Mean. You’re breakin’ my spark.”
“As if.”
“You are,” Blaster insists, putting a servo against his glass case. “Refusin’ a wee little box-player like me? You want me developin’ empty dock syndrome?”
“That’s not a thing. That doesn’t exist,” Eject frowns.
“Does too.”
“Maybe I should kick your case.”
“Rewind wouldn’t be so mean to me.”
“Rewind would take pictures of you and then show everybot else.”
“Oh,” Blaster considers this. “Huh.”
“Hey, you think Sounders’ got his cassettes with him?”
Blaster turns to regard Soundwave, still motionless, still eerily staring at the two of them mere meters away.
“Maybe. Why don’t you ask ‘em?”
Eject turns and cups his servos around his mouth.
“Hey Soundwave! Got any tapes stuck in that box of yours?”
As expected, Soundwave doesn’t so much as blink his visor. Blaster wonders if something is wrong with him. He’s the silent type, yeah, but surely not… this silent.
“Creepy,” Eject wrinkles his nasal ridge. “Real creepy.” Then he perks up. “Hey, signals running!”
Blaster startles, biting back a hiss when he presses too hard against the wall.
“Wait, what?”
“The signal,” Eject taps at his crest, “my back-up comm link is active again. Finally.”
“Are you for real mech?” Blaster guffaws. “Contact somebot! Anybot!”
“Okay, okay! Geez.”
The connection is either too weak or their nearest allies are too far away; even with the help of Blaster’s enhanced frequency, Eject doesn’t receive any feedback from his comms. It’s not the worst scenario to be in. Now they have active signalling, rations for maybe a few more cycles, and the company of one (1) Rumble that unfolds from Soundwave’s dock on the fourth cycle of their mutual captivity.
“Ugh,” is the first thing Rumble says, still half-way through prying the case door open. “Why is this so fraggin’ stuck?”
Soundwave makes no move to help the little cassette. Really, he doesn’t move at all.
“Oh, hey mech!” Eject calls, waving. “Sucks you didn’t offline, but it’s great to see a familiar face!”
“Fuck you too Eject!”
Rumble tumbles out of Soundwave’s dock, quickly followed by Frenzy and Laserbeak. Blaster feels a stab of jealousy at seeing the three cassettes clamber over Soundwave’s frame. He knows his own are still functioning, but with Eject’s streak of stubborn assholery, his dock is feeling particularly empty.
He’s cut off from his depressive musing when Frenzy turns in two full circles, takes the whole room and all of its unimpressive nature in, promptly notices the only exciting thing that exists – this would be Blaster and Eject – and then proceeds to point at them.
“Oh hey!” He announces. “It's the red version!”
Rumble hits his twin upside the helm.
“Moron,” he hisses, hitting Frenzy again for good measure.
And all Blaster can really think to say to that is–
“Soundwave is not the original version.”
“He is too!” Frenzy shoots back, clutching the small dent in his helm, courtesy of Rumble. “No way a knock-off second-rate build like you came first.”
Eject whistles long and low at that, seemingly impressed by the insult.
“I’m not a knock-off!” Blaster grits his teeth. “I’m a first-wave model.”
“And a last-wave model,” Eject mutters unhelpfully. “Considering they only made one wave.”
“If anything that proves my point.”
Laserbeak squawks something like a disagreement. Blaster doesn’t take it personally, mostly because he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. He doesn’t speak bird.
“Hey,” Frenzy cuts off the conversation he started by turning to point at the still-motionless Soundwave who is still staring at Blaster. Like he’s enamoured by him, but in a creepier way than usual. Way creepier. Maybe he should be flattered? “What happened to the boss?”
“No wonder his latch wasn’t opening,” Rumble mutters, his visor blinking in thought. “I thought Boss was just mad.”
“Hey second-rate,” Frenzy turns to Blaster with a scowl, “what did you do?”
“Stupid question, idiot. He’s in this prison too.”
“Pits if I know,” Blaster shrugs anyway, then immediately regrets the action. “I’d tell ya’ if I knew, trust me.”
“It’s true,” Eject nods along. “He’ll brag about anything.”
“Boss!” Rumble jumps onto Soundwave’s lap and starts waving his little arms in front of his visor. “Boss! Wake-up! Tell them that you’re the OG version!”
(OG version sounds like a cool holovid title. Or maybe a song name. Blaster notes it in his memory files for later.)
Soundwave doesn’t tell Blaster he’s the OG version. He doesn’t tell Blaster anything. He doesn’t do anything, period. Maybe Blaster had had the right feeling before. Maybe there is something wrong with the mech.
“Slag…” Frenzy sighs as Rumble starts knocking at Soundwave’s unresponsive helm. “This isn’t good.”
“Really?” Eject gasps. “I had no idea!”
“I’ll kill you!”
Eject snickers to himself, a job seemingly well done.
Blaster sighs wearily and sags back into the wall. He watches Rumble and Laserbeak flutter around Soundwave like mini medi-bots, pecking and poking here and there. Rumble starts tugging at Soundwave’s visor before Laserbeak pecks him on the helm. She nods at Blaster, no room for subtlety. Blaster waves back.
“Right,” Rumble grumbles – a rhyme to remember, Blaster notes to himself – letting go of Soundwave’s mask. He stares dejectedly at the blue mech before climbing off and joining his twin on the floor by his pedes. “I’m sure he’ll just… wake up eventually.”
“For sure,” Frenzy nods.
“Yeah right,” Eject’s still got his orange visor, but Blaster can sense the optic roll from a mile away. “And let’s hope that Rewind stops taking pictures of bots mid-coital too.”
Blaster’s processor takes several kliks to process that, but when it does–
“Ew, Eject, what the fuck?”
Eject shrugs.
“What? It’s true. It’s a valid comparison. Frenzy thinks so.”
Frenzy turns and flips them both off.
On the seventh day of their joint imprisonment, Eject manages to fry the strange circuit board powering the strange heat shield. Blaster gawks at him, and he has the vague impression that his cassette preening under his shock.
“A job well done, if you ask me,” Eject grins, kicking at the glass – now unheated and fragile without the weird native energy powering it up – with his pede and shattering a pathway to freedom. “I think this could be a home run!”
“You’re not a technician,” is all Blaster can think to say. Eject shrugs, unbothered on the outside and clearly pleased on the inside.
“Playback’s work.”
Blaster shutters his optics once, then twice.
“Playback is a comm specialist, Eject.”
“You know, you really are a terrible boombox,” Eject crosses his arms. “Letting your cassettes run around and learn how to hack and not know about it.”
“You… want me to keep you docked?”
“Obviously not. I’m just sayin’. It’s the principle.”
Blaster is still reeling over the fact that his cassettes know how to hack better than he does. Playback has a spinal strut made of glass on the best days; timid and hacker don’t really go together the best. Unless, of course, he’d been coerced into a false sense of safety by Eject, who is a bully.
“You’re terrible,” Blaster shakes his head. “It’s dock-time for you.”
“Nu-uh!” Eject sticks his tongue out at him and runs off toward the main door of their little prison cell.
Blaster takes a moment to really pull himself together while Eject pries open the door’s interface. His back is killing him, really burning out all his available circuits, and it takes a monumental amount of effort and cutting out several blaring red alerts to even manage to stand while leaning against the wall. He manually overrides stasis protocol, cuts the pain receptors in his struts, and straightens out knowing full well he’s probably damaging something and this technically counts as cheating.
“That’s cheating!” Frenzy scowls, rousing from recharge when Blaster pushes off against the wall. The cassettes have been taking turns keeping watch, and it’s usually Laserbeak’s turn (and isn’t it funny how that works), but the avian is either super bored, super uninterested or recharging with her optics online, because she’s almost as quiet as her docking box.
So she doesn’t bother doing anything other than putting the 'watch' in 'keeping watch' as Eject effectively breaks out of prison.
Frenzy and Rumble are less than impressed.
“Useless bag of bolts!” Rumble growls, throwing a servo at Laserbeak. She finally turns away from Blaster with a dignified squawk, hopping away from Rumble’s assault and perching on Soundwave’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to report any activity! This–” he gestures to Blaster walking out of the cell “–is reportable activity!”
Laserbeak squawks again, probably says something over their joint cassette bond, and then nuzzles further on her perch. Rumble’s scowl deepens.
“That’s cheating!” Frenzy announces at Blaster again, as if nobot heard him the first time.
“It’s not cheating,” Blaster counters, walking up the few scant meters between their designated cells. “It’s workin' smarter, not harder.”
“That’s a point for the red version,” Eject snickers from the main door.
Blaster scowls.
“Not a red version. I’m an original copy,” he turns to Soundwave, still unresponsive, and now staring ahead at Blaster’s empty cell. “Hear that Sounders? Original. Design.”
Rumble and Frenzy pin him with twin glares. He can’t help but laugh at them.
“Alright, listen up,” Blaster crouches down, ignoring the sparking circuits he can hear going off in his lateral plating. “I’m a mech of honor and equality and all that jazz Prime says about us.” He taps the Autobot insignia etched into his glass case. “So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to help you guys get out, and then if we manage to escape you need to help me find my Autobots.”
“That’s stupid,” Frenzy announces. “That’s a stupid move. If I were you I’d leave us here.”
“Yeah,” Rumble nods along. “That’s you doin’ all the work, genius.” Then some lightbulb must go off in his head, because he perks up and immediately follows with, “uh, no, wait, that’s actually…yes, if I were you I’d totally free us from here with no expected compensation.”
“That’s a lot of big words there, Rumble,” Eject mocks. “You sure you didn’t hit your helm or something?”
Rumble bristles.
“You–”
“There were more Decepticon ships up in orbit than Autobot ones,” Blaster explains, cutting the purple minibot off. “And I’m no TIC, but Sounders is. I bet we’ll run into Decepticons before we run into my mechs.”
“Did he just call himself disposable?” Frenzy turns to Rumble.
“That’s just sad,” Rumble tells Frenzy.
“Are you done being stupid?” Blaster asks them both.
They both nod quickly, realise what they were nodding to, and quickly start cursing him out.
Eject sends a databurst including what he uncovered during his trial-and-error hacking while Blaster had been offline. Blaster opens the packet and downloads the copy of code that Eject has used to overrun the rather primitive tech system, and then gets to work applying the dormant virus to the open interface panel beside the cell door.
“What if we find Autobots first?” Rumble asks, watching Blaster work.
“There’s this thing called being a prisoner,” Blaster grins, ignoring Laserbeak’s pointed glare.
“We’ll take you prisoner,” Frenzy fires back before Rumble can shut him up with a hit on the helm.
“Then I’ll just leave you here. Sound good?” He makes to get up, and when the twins start protesting he hunkers back down with a snicker.
He implements a countdown for the code to activate, disconnects his digits from the panel, and watches as kliks later the strange opaque energy coating the glass sparks and flickers, once, twice, before melting away like hot breeze.
Eject is still working on the main door, apparently more advanced than the barrier cells, so Blaster takes the time to approach Soundwave. Who has yet to move.
The cassettes don’t try to stop him, though Frenzy bares his teeth and mutters curses. Blaster takes his time to really look at his counterpart now that there isn’t a dizzying wall of energy between them.
They’ve got the same build to some degree, and have the same skill sets. Cassette carrier’s were all constructed for similar roles as a class of disposables alongside their minibots. Blaster has never really liked Soundwave a whole lot, but to be honest, it’s not like he’s got much experience facing the other cassette player. Countless cycles of war and you’d think the rarity of functional boomboxes would mean a sort of mutual understanding.
Maybe it’s the fact that there are so few of them that Blaster isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to do. Praxians' got a code of honor and all that. Do boombox's speak in rhyme or something?
“You know what happened to ‘em?” He asks, raking his optics over the blue mech. He’s scratched up, much like Blaster, and his arm is crumpled at the elbow joint, but there’s nothing Blaster can pick up on that would leave Soundwave stuck like…like this.
“Not really,” Rumble mutters. “Was about to deploy when Boss just locked his case and stopped relaying orders.”
“Did you see anything?” Blaster asks Laserbeak. The avian shakes her head.
He wonders if Soundwave can even perceive anything right now. He’s clearly online, with his systems running at a low hum and his visor half-lit. But that’s about the extent of it. He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t so much as twitched for cycles. But he’s online, and he seems to be awake. Blaster wonders if Soundwave is reading his thoughts right now, unable to move but still present, still parsing through Blaster’s processor. He suddenly feels uneasy, and puts up an extra layer of firewalls.
“Medically-induced stasis?” He guesses after a pause. “Stasis cuffs?”
“Nada and nada,” Frenzy shakes his helm.
“Frag…” Blaster dares to move closer, plating prickling. He’s never been this close to Soundwave before. They’ve never done more than exchange cassettes over the battlefield. He suddenly feels way out of his depth. “I don’t know what to do.”
::Shock him.::
Blaster startles, looks around, and then finds Laserbeak staring at him with her beady little optics trained on his face. The comm is foreign and barely encrypted, an open transmission more than a direct line. He internally checks with Eject, who sparces through the line with his own checks before deeming it safe.
“That you?”
::Shock him,:: Laserbeak sends again. ::I think he was struck with a circuit inhibitor. You need to shock him.::
“Oh,” Blaster pauses. “Why didn’t ya’ say anything?”
::I don’t like comm’ing Autobots.::
Blaster can’t help but snicker at that. Laserbeak clearly doesn't appreciate this.
“Hurry it up, Blast-mech,” Eject calls from over his shoulder. “I’m almost done frying this bad bot, and then I’m ditching your aft here.”
“Mean,” Blaster rolls his optics. He crouches before Soundwave, peering into that infamous crimson visor. It’s half-lit, and flickers every now and then like a light on low power. Shocking him would probably restart his processor with a hard reboot, and whatever is running through his system would hopefully burn out. However, shocking him would require a hardline connection.
Blaster doesn’t want to touch Soundwave at all, let alone with his medical line.
“Slag this,” Blaster mutters, unlocking his medical hatch and unspooling the cable from his wrist. “He better not shoot at me for the next millenia for this.”
He doesn’t want to touch Soundwave, so he looks to the twins for help. Frenzy is still glaring at him, so Rumble is the one to climb up in Soundwave’s lap and pat around his frame. There are a few medical ports on a bot, but cassette builds are a bit different. They’ve only really got one. Being disposables and all that. So Blaster isn’t surprised when Rumble gently tucks Soundwave’s helm forward, manually unlatches the single medical port cover resting at his nape, and tilts his carrier for better access.
“Don’t go swimming,” Rumble warns, as if he can do anything to stop Blaster.
“No promises,” Blaster grins. Before he can psych himself out of anything, he plugs into Soundwave’s jack.
There’s a lot he can gain from this connection, he thinks to himself as Soundwave’s systems open up to him one by one. Realistically, he should be using this opportunity to do a clean sweep through Soundwave’s files and gather any intelligence he can. He’s got the Decepticon TIC under his mercy. Prowl would probably scold him for not taking advantage.
But it feels icky, and it feels wrong. I’m the Comms Officer! Not Spec Ops! So he puts up firewalls between himself and Soundwave, bypasses any urge to snoop around, and with a deep in-vent, surges the medical plug with electricity straight from his own engine. He feels his frame thrum with each pulse of energy he channels, his engine, the source of his power, revving with an angry growl. Blaster’s got plenty to channel too, what with being a cassette carrier. His empty dock hosts minibots, and with no minibots – both absent and unwilling – he uses the excess energy he’d usually feed to them into Soundwave instead.
Soundwave’s frame drinks it all up. He must have been on some low power mode, because even through the firewalls Blaster puts up he can feel the way Soundwave’s operating system shakes itself awake. Renewed.
Of course, Soundwave reaches a threshold fast, and steam begins pouring out of his seams when Blaster keep feeding him anyway.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Frenzy yells. Soundwave’s plating rattles as he begins to shake.
“Short-circuiting him,” Blaster says through clenched teeth. “I need to fry whatever’s keepin’ him locked.”
“Hurry it up,” Rumble bites. “He’s going to overheat.”
::He’s already overheating.::
“Astounding observations, guys,” Blaster manages to grit out. “Real observant.”
“Blaster,” Eject cuts in, urgent additives lacing his glyphs. He says his designation like a warning. “Blaster.”
“What?” Blaster snaps back.
“Hurry it up,” Eject snipes. “Oppositions’ headin’ our way, and I’m almost done with this door.”
Blaster grimaces.
“Just great.”
“Hurry up! Hurry up!”
At this rate he’s going to blow Soundwave’s circuits out.
“I can’t!”
“You’ve forty kliks!” Eject calls.
“Frag,” Frenzy curses, and Rumble hops off of Soundwave to draw his blaster out. “Hold that door!”
“Once I blow the panel I can’t,” Eject explains, backing away from the sparking interface. He joins Frenzy by the edge of the prison cell, his own blaster in hand. “We’re gonna’ have to do a full-court press.”
“A what?”
“Does nobot watch Cube-ing?”
Soundwave’s frame gives a volatile jerk, his visor bright red, smoke filtering past his seams.
Laserbeak squawks something loud in Blaster’s audial, and though he doesn’t speak avian, he’s pretty sure Laserbeak is saying something like “Primus, it’s working!” and Blaster can get behind that, because yes! It’s working!
“He’s going to feel like slag,” Blaster grins. Sends out another massive surge. Soundwave jerks again, shocked, quite literally. “Oh yeah, like slag alright.”
“Twenty kliks mech!” Eject calls from over his shoulder. Frenzy moves to brace against Blaster’s old cell, blaster pointed at the sparking door.
“I can feel them running,” Rumble says, crouched low with his servo flat against the floor. “Less than twenty kliks. Slag, they’re almost here!”
“Blaster!” Eject yells. Something shouts from outside, loud and alien, a grating noise that sounds like nails against stone. “Blaster–!”
Soundwave gasps in a bout of static just as the door explodes.
Blaster disconnects fast, whipping around and quickly transforming his hand. He doesn’t have any built in Prime weapons like an axe, which would be awesome, but he does got his sonic blasters. Notably less fatal, but they can cause enough of a distraction to maybe get all of them out of here without too many casualties.
Eject and the twins are already firing into the fray, hitting the strange techno-organics that downed them in the first place. They’re minibot sized but armoured like Insecticons, and most of the blaster fire ricochets off of their bodies. Blaster tries his luck, notching the intensity high before firing.
It doesn’t make the aliens explode, which sucks, but the bulky metal helmets integrated into their fleshy heads begin to vibrate when Blaster hits them with a sonic blast. Anticlimactic, but it makes the aliens shriek like crazy and drop their advances, so there’s that plus.
“Frequency!” Blaster yells at Eject.
“It’s Eject!”
“No, you dumbaft! Use frequency!”
Frenzy and Rumble provide cover fire while Eject ducks to adjust his blaster. From above Blaster spots Laserbeak shoot overhead and into the rolling smoke, her small form disappearing down the jagged hallway. Blaster sincerely hopes Soundwave’s cassettes are loyal and not simply looking out for their own plating. He wants to see the sunrise online and well, thank you very much.
Eject quickly joins in on shooting up a music party, the audial-splitting frequency of his blaster nearly subsonic. It shakes the walls, makes dust rain down from the stone ceiling.
Or that could also be the work of Rumble slamming his transformed-piston-arms into the floor. Splinter cracks trails along the stone, reaching up and out with each punch Rumble delivers. The floor quakes, and everything – bots and aliens alike – stumble to catch their footing.
“Watch it!” Eject snaps, clinging to Blaster’s leg. “Are you glitched?!”
“Start running, idiots!” Rumble yells back. “Grab the boss and book it already!”
The aliens are recovering from the surprise attack, some gearing up their weird tentacle-guns and shooting back. Blistering heat shots blitz by his frame, some pinging off his armour in painfully hot dents. At this rate these aliens were going to put holes through his plating.
“Eject!” Blaster calls, but his cassette is already on the move with Frenzy, providing another round of sound blasts. The reprieve from gunfire is long enough that Blaster can spin around and focus back on Soundwave.
The blue mech is still smoking, but his visor is online and he seems to have recovered from the energy purge and subsequent reboot. He rubs at his helm, plating twitching. When he spots Blaster, he immediately transforms an arm into a gun.
“Woah, cool it!” Blaster raises both his arms, transforming one back into a servo. “We don’t have time for this!”
Soundwave is a smart mech, but he’s a cassette player first, and a Communications Officer second. He’s got the build of a frame made for high-efficiency processing and massive depth within his processor functions. Built for information. Built for relay. It takes Soundwave two kliks to look around, another to assess their situation, and then half of one to look at Blaster, visor to visor, and connect all the dots.
“Query: escape?”
“Bling bling bling, a point for the blue version!” Eject yells. “Now move it!”
Soundwave takes Blaster’s offered servo without hesitation, because he’s a smart mech, and he’s fast at processing, and he can probably see that right now, a joint attempt at escape has higher chances of success than simply fighting each other right now. He’s a smart mech, and he doesn’t question anything when Blaster swings one of Soundwave’s arms around his neck, doesn’t say anything when Blaster shouts commands at both of their cassettes, and doesn’t say anything when the two start rushing forward with uneven pedesteps.
“Hurry it up Boss!” Frenzy calls, running in front of the pair, blaster aimed and at the ready. There’s smoke filtering throughout the jaggedly-cut hallway, and these aliens are screaming at each other and some are back to firing their strange heat bullets. It’s chaos, and Blaster is sure that Rewind will throw a fit for having missed such dramatic action footage.
Eject and Rumble bring up their rear; Eject firing his blaster-turned-sonic-canon and Rumble destroying the hallway behind them. Soundwave stumbles, circuits still fried, but with Blaster’s help they manage to drag themselves forward.
Blaster doesn’t know how Frenzy knows which way to turn; they hit numerous forking halls and meet countless little aliens and Rumble leaves the caverns a mess in their wake, but Frenzy doesn’t falter with his directions. It takes a klik for Blaster to realise that it’s probably Laserbeak supplying those directions. Soundwave’s cassettes really are handy.
Eventually they manage to break away from the fray long enough to find a secluded hallway. Blaster’s vents are on full blast and he’s being bombarded with system warnings. But they can’t afford to linger now. He turns to Frenzy in silent question.
“Laserbeak found a way out,” Frenzy relays, looking at the two big mechs. “But it’s a vent opening, so Rumble will have to break it. She says it’s still pretty deep underground, so we’ll have to be fast.”
“No biggy,” Blaster huffs, wiping dust from his visor with his free hand. Soundwave adjusts in his grip, but doesn’t pull away. He’s a smart sound system. “Sounders, my mech, you doin’ fine?”
“Soundwave: still recalibrating.”
“How long is that gonna’ take?”
“Timespan: two breems.” He turns to address his minibots. “Rumble: proceed forward.”
“Rumble: do this. Rumble: do that,” Rumble mutters, scowling. He transforms his arms back and turns to start running down the hall. “This faction is a fuckin’ joke.”
“Faster, slowaft!”
“Fuck you Frenzy!”
“Primus,” Blaster sighs, exchanging glances with Eject. “Talk about healthy relationships.”
“Autobot Blaster: assisting Decepticons,” Soundwave cuts in.
“Way to state the obvious.”
“Cassettes: cannot guarantee protection. Decepticons: likely to take Autobot Blaster prisoner.”
“Wait,” Frenzy frowns. “Are you for real?”
“Wait,” Blaster backtracks, “so you had been online the whole time?”
“That’s jacked, mech,” Eject nods along.
“Autobot Blaster: acting–”
“Soundwave: should shut the fuck up,” Blaster hoists Soundwave higher on his arms, ignoring the tell-tale creak of damaged plating behind him. “Because we: have to get moving.”
They begin ambling in the direction Rumble had taken off in. Eject and Frenzy shoot insults back and forth like it’s a competition. Surprisingly, it’s Soundwave who breaks the silence between them first.
“Autobot Blaster: is not guaranteed protection,” he repeats.
“Neither are you, mech.”
“Autobot Blaster: will be taken prisoner.”
“Alright Sounders.”
“Autobot Blaster: a fool?”
“Yo, that’s a catchy line. Potential for a song title, don’tcha think?’
“Autobot Blaster: a fool.”
Blaster laughs, and it’s full of static, because something is seriously wrong with his system but he’s not going to look too into it. That would mean leaving Soundwave to his own devices. And Soundwave…well, Blaster isn’t sure what Soundwave will do if their positions were reversed. Maybe steal Eject? No, no, Eject’s shot Soundwave in the pede before. He’d probably kick Eject like a Cube.
“You’re the Decepticon third-in-command,” Blaster grunts when Soundwave’s leg lags for a klik. “You sure you can’t pull in any favours?”
“Decepticons: likely blowing alien base to bits. Too busy: to pull favours.”
“Ah, yes, the good ol’ blow-shit-up-ask-questions-never tactic.”
“It’s hasn't failed us so far,” Frenzy butts in.
“Right,” Blaster deadpans.
“Decepticons: will see Blaster as threat. Blaster: better off separating.”
“It’s almost like ya’ care,” Blaster coos. “But no. This rock is crawlin’ with your bots, mech. I’ll take my chances with you.”
“Ill-advised.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
They reach the point of exit Laserbeak found in the same amount of time it takes Soundwave to finally calibrate his systems back to full function. He’s wobbly, but upright, and doesn’t blow Blaster’s helm off the moment he’s on his two pedes. Blaster considers that a point.
Point for the red version, Eject snickers at him.
Rumble is already digging away, his arms transformed into those battering pistons, and Laserbeak is chirping avian orders that Rumble is constantly sniping back at.
“–heard you the first time, you Pit-spawned spring on wings” is one such creative quote.
Eject whistles, impressed.
“That’s a good one.”
Frenzy, apparently a bot of little loyalty, snickers at his twin’s expense.
“Rumble: expedite digging.”
“Rumble: is sick of this slag Boss!”
Soundwave, steadier on his pedes the longer they stay standing, turns his full attention to his trio of minibots. Blaster waits a klik, then two, but when the Decepticon doesn’t turn around and start shooting and declaring a change of spark, Blaster sighs. He doesn’t even want to know what will happen if he reactivates the receptors in his back, but he won’t be able to access his diagnostics until he does. And by the way Eject keeps shooting him concerned glances, he knows it’s not going to be a party.
It…it’s really not that bad, Eject tries, giving Blaster an uneasy grin. You might still score a few contending points before it gets real bad.
Reassuring, Blaster mutters through the bond. His energon levels are pinging him, lower than he’d like. They’d have to stop and refuel at some point, but they can’t risk lingering near this strange underground base and give these aliens the opportunity to get the jump on them again. Eject nods along to Blaster’s line of thought, adding to it the fact that they still don’t know where the other cassettes are, and how they’d need to dedicate time to find their whereabouts as well.
Comms still down? He asks.
When we’re topside I’m sure I can do something.
…so no docking anytime soon?
Can it, carrier-helm.
Rumble ends up caving the tunnel in, but it works out well enough in that, even though it draws the attention of the aliens, the six of them are able to crawl through the debris – and subsequently make a mess of debris behind them – faster than the aliens can dig through to them.
It’s a dark purple sky that greets them, and lots of fog. Layers of it that climb high into the air and act like an overgrowth for the spindly organic shrubbery that stretches past even their helms. Blaster switches through his visor’s different visual settings before settling on enhanced photoreception. The world brightens up around him, but only marginally. By the identical glows of everybot’s visor around him, he’s not alone with the new visor settings either.
“Damn,” Eject mutters, subspacing his blaster and looking around. “This planet is complete slag.”
“Statement: accurate,” Soundwave agrees, taking in the thick fog above them. They blend seamlessly with the clouds, and leave nothing but a purple cast for the surface to reside in. It’s a gloomy planet alright. Blaster shares this sentiment with Eject. Eject readily agrees.
They walk along a path deemed fit by Laserbeak, though her internal GPS is only slightly better than the rest of them. She flies overhead to survey the lay of the land, but comes back mere breems later with the unfortunate news that:
::There is limited visibility and no signs of Cybertronian activity on any available frequency.::
“If we’ve been left here to rust I’m going to lose it,” Frenzy growls. “I’m going to blow this planet up with my bare servos.”
“Don’t think that’s possible, mech. You might get away with a pebble or two though.”
“And I’ll start with Eject,” Frenzy snarls at the blue minibot. Eject grins back like the little glitch he is.
“Frenzy: desist,” Soundwave’s warning tone is something to behold, but unfortunately ineffective, because Frenzy does not desist. He does the opposite of desisting. He starts cursing up a storm and kicking the ground. “Decepticons: have not left orbit.” Soundwave turns to regard Blaster for a short while before deeming him benign and continuing. “Energon depot: still planet-side. Group: shall follow energon signature.”
“I’m a threat, ya’ know,” Blaster pouts. “I’m the Communications Specialist.”
“Are you tryna’ go offline?” Eject asks as if Blaster’s an idiot.
“Soundwave: is aware.”
“I’m part of High Command,” he points out. “I’m important. I’m threatening.”
Soundwave turns to stare Blaster visor-to-visor. It’s an unique experience, being so close to a bot so alike to himself. Soundwave’s got everything that Blaster has, down to the dimensions of his dock. Blaster idly wonders if their schematics were ever crossed over during construction. He wonders if Frenzy had been right, and Blaster had been made second, in the image of Soundwave, in the image of another cassette player now rusting away.
He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but Blaster’s voice box activates on its own, and by the time he’s aware of the face that he’s blurted out–
“I swear I’m an original version.”
–the glyphs have already left his intake.
Soundwave cocks his head, much like a cybercat. There are minute differences in their frames, something that sets them apart, something that appeases the little sliver of unease within Blaster’s spark. Soundwave’s got a flat helm and vents lining his face. He’s got a battle mask. His crest sits lower, right along the edge of his visor. He’s got a sonic cannon mounted on one shoulder. He’s a bit shorter than Blaster. He’s blue.
Blaster is not some second-rate Soundwave painted red. He’s different.
“Soundwave: is aware. Schematics: scrapped post-construction.”
And there’s a lot to unpack there. All Blaster can think to say is:
“Oh. Okay.”
Then he turns to Frenzy and says:
“See! Told you!”
Frenzy flips him off.
“A point for the red version!” Eject announces, “that makes the score 3:1 mechs,” and then starts forth once more.
“Is it really three to one?” Rumble asks, trotting to catch up to Eject. Frenzy is still sulking, so he trails behind the duo. It’s a weird sight. Three minibots, purple and blue and red. Usually it’s with different colors. Blue and black and white. Playback’s paint is always chipping, but he’s usually white. Rewind likes to hide in dark places and take pictures like a creep. Rosanna is bright pink, but rarely hangs out with them. So it’s usually blue and black and white.
Purple and blue and red look good together though. Foreign, but good. Blaster’s dock aches. Eject sends him a pitying look.
With the cassettes occupying each other – “so you really haven’t played cube before?” – it is once again, to everybot’s surprise, Soundwave who broaches the silence first.
“Autobot Blaster: strange.”
“Thanks,” Blaster snorts, chancing a glance at Soundwave from the corner of his visor. “I get that a lot. I could probably make a playlist, actually.”
“Blaster: Communications Specialist.”
“Yessir.”
“Query: explain current position?”
“What, you think a sound system can’t run out, guns blazing?”
Blaster has never seen Soundwave’s face, but he’s pretty sure the mech is deadpanning at him.
Chuckling, Blaster carefully rolls his shoulder joint, sighing in relief when no new pop-up shows on his HUD.
“If I say why I’m out here, will you?”
“Clarify.”
“Come on mech, it’s not like you’re a field fighter,” Blaster turns to look at him. “I hate to break it to ya’, but you’re a known home-mech.”
Soundwave spits out static, something like a snort, and it’s a novel sound, something that Blaster stores into his memory unit. It’s not everyday you meet another boombox, he tries telling himself. Eject scoffs at him through the bond.
“Conditions: acceptable.”
“Alrighty,” Blaster nods. Would this technically count as conspiring with the enemy? Giving away information? Whatever. Prowl can magnetise his aft to the ceiling of the medbay later. “I wasn’t actually supposed to be deployed. They never deploy me these cycles. It’s always: Blaster, funnel the comm links! Blaster, intercept these transmissions.”
“Blaster: can intercept Decepticon transmissions?” Soundwave asks. Blaster preens at the subtle surprise hidden in those glyphs.
“Blaster: cannot say,” he grins. “Blaster: is a very skilled mech.”
“Blaster: is irritating.”
“Blaster: does not agree, but he digresses,” he snickers at the glare he can feel through Soundwave’s visor. For such an impassive mech, he sure is emotive. Or, well, Blaster’s assuming he’s emotive. A lot of these feelings are assumptions, yeah, but he swears on his spark they exist! He’s not making it up!
“So, well, I was funnelin’ comms, like usual. This planet’s got natural frequency disruptors – you probably already know that too – and I was pitching my systems through our ship systems, enhancin’ clarity, doing what a sound system does.” Blaster shrugs. A warning pops up, blaring red. He makes a note to not do that again. “Then the connections cuts.”
“Situation: familiar. Decepticon communications: experienced blockage.”
“Right! Crazy coincidence, no? Hey!” Blaster perks up. “That’s a catchy song name! Note that down, would ya’?”
Soundwave does not look impressed
“Blaster: easily distracted.”
Blaster nods, then shakes his helm when he realises what he’s agreeing to. He goes back to his story. “So Prime deploys me to figure out how to clear the grid from the surface. Closer to the troops and all. It’s nothin’ unsual. Guess I landed in the wrong place at the wrong time; no transmissions were going through, so I ended up right in the fray.”
“Explanation: acceptable.”
“Glad to hear it,” Blaster snorts. Then freezes when realisation slides over his processor like ice. “Wait, acceptable why? Did you pry through my head?”
“Query: elaborate?”
“Don’t act stupid,” Blaster scowls. “You’re a telepath. Everybot knows that. You diggin’ through my files?”
His spinal struts are in no condition for a fight. He pings Eject through their bond, who is already responding to Blaster’s unease. Take it easy, Blast-mech, Eject warns carefully. I’m coverin’ your files too. I’d feel him if he tried anything.
The notion helps a bit.
Soundwave stops too, turning to look Blaster straight in the visor. There’s something unsettling about looking at a mech and seeing nothing, sensing nothing. He’s got his field wrapped up tight. His frequencies are locked up. He’s an impenetrable wall. Blaster thrives on connection. He'd been built for it. He wonders if Soundwave would hit him if Blaster touched him. Just a brush. Metal on metal. Hey, that's a good line.
“Soundwave: has not utilised ability. Blaster: is safe.”
“‘Cause I totally believe you. Let me use my own boombox abilities real quick.”
“Soundwave: is sincere.”
“He wouldn’t lie,” Rumble adds, glancing over his shoulder. Blaster hadn’t even noticed when the rest of them had stopped too. “Boss Bot wouldn’t lie about this.”
“Decepticons,” Eject points out. “It’s kinda’ in the name, see? Un-Deception. Anti-Deception.”
“Autobots,” Frenzy counters. “It’s in there too.”
Eject’s mouth twists down, confused.
“…what?”
“Auto…like, automatically…wrong?”
Nobot says anything. Frenzy has enough decency to look sheepish.
“Dude,” Rumble mutters under his breath. “That was lame as fuck.”
“…Frenzy: an embarrassment.”
Laserbeak nods solemnly in agreement.
Steam pours out of Frenzy’s vents. He turns around and goes back to marching away like an angry sparkling. Blaster snickers. What a personality.
“Conversation: digresses. Blaster: safe. Soundwave: vows to privacy. Soundwave: will vouch for Blaster.”
“Right,” Blaster laughs uneasily. “Decepticons. The faction of truth and love and Primus’s shiny aft carved on your doors.”
Rumble starts cackling.
“Blaster: is an idiot.”
Soundwave had ended up on the surface much like how Blaster had. Poor communication, deployed to clear the relay, and sent down into a fight.
Blaster thinks that it’s a bit suspicious how perfectly the stories line up. Soundwave’s a known telepath; he’s probably making slag up from Blaster’s memories to appease him or something. Blaster doesn’t know the mech well, but he knows to be wary. He’s honestly surprised he’s kept his cool for so long. He’s even more surprised that instead of ripping open his dock and leaving him for scrap, Soundwave hasn’t so much as looked at him the wrong way.
“Cause of tension: unnecessary,” Soundwave starts, uncharacteristically chatty. Blaster thinks he should probably be more suspicious. Probably. “Soundwave: repaying favour.”
“Okay,” Blaster nods.
“Query: reason for distrust?”
“Let’s see,” Blaster taps a digit on his chin. “Decepticon TIC. Spy-master. Telepath. Off-brand copy of me.”
“Oof,” Eject grins. “Point for red.”
“No fair,” Rumble whines. “Boss Bot is kissing aft right now. He’s got tons of good ones packed! He's got his famous Soundwave: superior right around the corner, trust.”
“I’m sorry, my mech,” Eject pats Rumble on the shoulder and shakes his head forlornly. “It’s 4:1.”
“Slag…”
Soundwave turns to Blaster, a glint in his visor, something unreadable but Blaster swears there's something cheeky hidden in there. He swears it.
“Soundwave: older than Blaster.”
“I doubt that, mech.”
“Soundwave: confident.”
“Soundwave: needs to review his facts.”
Soundwave shakes his head.
“Soundwave: constructed under experimentation. Carrier frames: new phenomenon. Soundwave: first copy. Built under duress.”
Blaster gapes.
“No way,” he stares. “You weren’t part of the wave of power grid boosters?” And then. "Hey, would this count as sensitive intel?"
Soundwave shakes his helm.
“Information: irrelevant." Then he continues. "Soundwave: worked under Senate. Senator Ratbat: experiment’s main funder. Schematics: altered. Originals: scrapped. Soundwave: original copy.”
“That’s a point for blue!” Rumble butts in. Eject curses softly. “4:2.”
“Fuck, mech,” Blaster scoffs, half in disbelief. “You’re old.”
“Soundwave: detests statement.”
Blaster can’t help but laugh. At Soundwave’s silent question – it’s an inkling of a feeling, but it’s there, Blaster swears it – he continues.
“My group of carriers had been built for communications. Power boosters. I onlined in a little box, wires attached all around. I didn’t have these bad boys.”
He gestures to his legs. Soundwave doesn’t say anything.
“My cassettes weren’t even sentient at the time. Poor little drones were used to collect energy, map out the grid, collect data, the good boring stuff.”
“Caste: disposables. Function: computer system.”
“Glorified version, yeah,” Blaster sighs, leaning back far enough that he can scan the barren purple clouds above without snapping his struts. “I got access to everything though. Downloaded so many music packs. Bet your job was more exciting though.”
Soundwave hums static. Emotive little spymaster.
“Soundwave: glorified datapad,” he pauses, and then, in a quieter tone, “first cassettes: drones as well. ”
There isn’t any grief in his glyphs. It’s hard to feel anything when the cassettes had been little more than computers. It’s a strange feeling to have. He’s sure Soundwave can relate. Not-grief. What a tune.
“What a world we had lived in,” he murmurs. “Before, ya’ know, you guys blew it up.”
Soundwave pins Blaster with an unimpressed look. Blaster grins back, unabashed.
(In the privacy of his mind, he thinks of how the two of them wouldn’t make a terrible song after all. A little uneven. Two carrier bots, glorified communication mechs. There’s got to be some good rhyme in there.)
They decide to rest along a line of sharp rocks that jut out from the ground like talons. It’s a similar formation to a few they had already passed too, so it’s not too suspicious. Laserbeak patrols the area for danger, Frenzy is sent to let off some steam by tracking their position planet-side, and Eject and Rumble scurry off to see if better connection exists elsewhere.
Blaster can’t help but groan when he sits, unwilling to lean back against the stone wedge behind him. Eject has insisted that there weren't any major tears in his armour, but something is seriously bent out of place back there, and he doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t want to activate his receptors though. He can’t risk it. They’re too vulnerable. He’s too vulnerable.
Soundwave unsubspaces rations and hands some to Blaster. Blaster declines, shows off his own, and comments on how Soundwave should try some of his because it probably tastes better than the rust the Decepticons grow in their labs.
“Statement: ridiculous.”
“Just say you’re jealous, mech,” Blaster smirks. “I’ll understand.”
“…Command: trade.”
Decepticon rations taste like slag, much like Autobot rations. Honestly, the difference is minimal. Blaster wonders if they get supplied by the same manufacturers.
A warning pops up on his HUD. He dismisses it.
“Ration: similar. Minimal difference.”
“Heh,” Blaster grins. He probably looks stupid. “Thought the same thing myself.”
Soundwave eyes Blaster. Well, eyes his as best he can with no optics in sight.
“Query: Blaster injured?”
“Query: rejected.”
He has a feeling Soundwave is frowning.
“Blaster: being stubborn. Group: needs optimal functioning for survival. Query: Blaster injured?”
Blaster weighs the pros and cons – hah! – of the situation. He’s a sound system, but he was a computer system first. He assesses quickly, within kliks, and the answer flashes within his logic unit before he can even consider it properly. Soundwave is right. If he had wanted to, Blaster would have been going grey cycles ago. The only problem is the telepathy. Blaster is pinging Eject before he can even think about it. Eject pings back reassurance.
Jumpy cassette box.
Shut up.
“Soundwave: means no harm. Temporary truce: mutually beneficial.” Then, in quieter tones. "Blaster: cassette carrier. Soundwave: not a unique frame. Statement: appeasing."
Blaster doesn't know what to say to that. How does one even open up like this? Hey, I like knowing there's another boombox around. I like not being alone.
“Wouldn’t have booted you back up if I didn’t agree,” Blaster ends up saying, grunting when he tries adjusting his weight. “I can’t access my diagnostics without activating my receptors. It’s gonna’ hurt like slag. If you offline me, just know that Eject whines a whole lot and hates to dock, but ends up recharging the longest out of all of ‘em. Take care of him. He’s a softie on the inside.”
“…Blaster: has cranial damage?”
Blaster sighs dejectedly.
“Maybe.”
Soundwave helps him to lay on his front, and he doesn’t feel as much trepidation as he probably should feel with having a Decepticon High Commanding Officer at his back. Maybe it’s a cassette player thing. Who knows. Maybe Blaster really does have cranial damage. He lays on the ground, braces himself, counts down from five.
He tries psyching himself out and activating the receptors on count three. It doesn’t work; his processor was built as a computer first. He thinks it’s the thought that counts.
Hang in there, idiot docking bot.
Blaster ends up offlining.
The amount of alerts that had flooded his system were overwhelming in and of themselves to the point where, when the wave of pain finally registered, Blaster was already fighting back imminent stasis warnings. He could barely feel Soundwave’s servos at work, could barely feel the digits tapping at his medical port – he only has one, and Soundwave knows this, because apparently Soundwave had been the original model, which Blaster still can’t believe – and opening the protective panelling.
He thinks he might be saying something. He thinks he might be screaming a bit, bouts of static, incomprehensible through the burn that melts into every single strut, every wire and cable. He feels like he’s been dumped into a smelting pit.
Soundwave is as unobtrusive as Blaster had been, when their roles had been reversed, He puts up firewalls, pulls up Blaster’s medical commands, and puts him under. Blaster never even feels fear. It’s strange. Maybe it’s a cassette player thing.
He thinks he feels a servo brushing over his helm.
He onlines to a light purple sky and Eject visor inches from his own.
“Oh,” Blaster croaks through static. “Hey.”
Eject’s little digits are rubbing small circles around Blaster’s horns. Little softie.
I hate you.
“Sure,” Blaster mumbles.
He sits up gingerly, relieved to find that the intense pain has boiled down to a light ache. He can feel a patch job digging into his seams, but it's only slightly sore. Whatever Soundwave had ended up doing, it had worked wonders.
When he looks around, he finds that Eject and him are alone.
“Don’t panic,” Eject cuts in, patting Blaster on the helm. “Soundwave got in touch with some of his mecha. He promised safe passage. Prisoner exchange, I think Sounders said.”
“We’re Decepticon prisoners?”
Eject looks at him like he’s stupid.
“What did you think we’d be; Decepticon consorts?”
The thought makes his vents feel hot. It’s got to be a cassette player thing. Eject laughs at him.
“Point for the blue one? That makes it 4:3. You’re a lousy player.”
“Shut up.”
Soundwave returns, Laserbeak on his shoulder, Ravage slinking like a shadow by his pedes.
“Ah,” Blaster nods at the feline, grinning, “welcome to the party. We’re playing the Decepticon’s Top Ten Singles by yours truly. Guess what’s on right now?”
Soundwave sighs long and deep.
“Ding ding ding! Strut Straightener by Soundwave!”
“Blaster,” Eject groans, slamming his helm into the rock behind them. Repeatedly. “Please short-circuit and die.”
“Can I please rip his vocaliser out?” Ravage asks Soundwave.
“You can’t still be mad about Nightcrawler,” Blaster pouts. “He complains that your engine snores when you recharge. Is that true?”
“Blaster: delirious,” Soundwave mutters into his palm. “Advised: shut the fuck up.”
“Aw mech. I thought we had a cassette player thing going on.”
“Can I please rip his vocaliser out?”
“Ill-advised.”
Soundwave hefts one of Blaster’s arms over his shoulder, roles reversed, and starts trudging them forward. Ravage keeps glaring over her shoulder. The cassette can sure hold a grudge. Nightcrawler had bonded with Blaster millenia ago. It’s old news now!
“Megatron: agreed to prisoner exchange.”
“Okay,” Blaster nods along. There’s still a lot of fog outside, but it’s clearly the day cycle. There’s fog moving around in Blaster’s processor too. Less of a day cycle, more of a drugged cycle. “Did you implant a virus?”
“No,” Soundwave mutters. “Soundwave: should have.”
Blaster snickers.
“Is that four for four?” Eject asks Laserbeak, who shrugs. He then turns to Ravage, who stares with confusion.
“What?”
“4:4. Tie-breaker.” When nobot responds, he sighs dejectedly. “Where’s Rumble when ya’ need him.”
“Who’re you exchanging me for?” Blaster asks. He tries squinting, but it does the opposite of helping. Soundwave tightens his grip on Blaster’s arm. His frame is warm against his side. Blaster really has to wonder if it’s a cassette thing.
“Correction: not who. What.”
“I’m not even worth a bot?” Blaster pouts.
“Autobots: found energon depot first. Agreement: temporary ceasefire. Both factions: low on fuel. Casualties: unnecessary. Megatron: agreed to prisoner exchange. Blaster for fifteen percent bracket of share.”
“…huh.”
They break through the thick lilac fog, Soundwave half-dragging Blaster along. Ravage leads them toward the giant dark hull of the Nemesis, sitting like a fortress amongst the jagged energon crystals shooting up from the ground. There are Decepticons littered about, but Blaster can see some Autobots too. Nobot bats an optic at them, mostly because they are too busy arguing with each other. The beauty of peace, if only temporary.
“Advised: dock cassette,” Soundwave says, but his tone is quieter, softer, nudged right into Blaster’s audial. “Eject: will be safe.”
“You hear that?” Blaster turns to Eject. The blue minibot had plastered himself to Blaster’s side since he'd onlined, because he’s a tender-sparked cassette before he’s a sports junkie and cool-bot-wannabe. Blaster’s dock aches. Eject frowns up at him real hard.
“Soft-sparked carrier,” Eject mutters. Contradictory, this little mech. He jumps up, transforming into a neat little cassette tape. Soundwave catches him, and Blaster doesn’t feel an ounce of fear when he sees his little cassette in enemy servos. Eject looks right at home. Blue on blue plating. Blaster’s casing opens, eager, and there are vulnerable components inside. One wrong shove and he’s going to be hurting for cycles.
Soundwave places Eject inside with a gentle brush of metal, something soft, something tender. It must be a cassette player thing. It must be.
Soundwave ends up slipping the two of them through a little side entrance that Blaster insists he’s totally going to remember for when he returns to his own team. Eject’s already powered down, so he doesn’t offer any snide comments about Blaster’s short attention span or anything of the sort. He is led inside in mutual silence, for which he’s grateful, because his visual feed is spinning and flickering. He wonders just what had been wrong with him.
“Soundwave: deactivated receptors. Energy rerouted to nanites. Prioritised healing.”
“You a medic or somethin’?” Blaster mumbles. So that’s why it’s so hard to think straight. For a klik he’d been worried about his credibility as a sound system.
“Negative. Injury: familiar.” Soundwave looks at Blaster with that impassive visor that Blaster swears up and down is emotive. It’s expressive. He can feel it. “Soundwave: acquired similar disrepair. Under Senator Ratbat.”
“Huh,” Blaster huffs. “Small world…before ya’ blew it to bits, anyway.”
He’s led through winding halls, a pathway he can’t hope to remember. Eventually he finds himself being slotted into a vertical slab. He tries to ask something, thinks he gets out a few glyphs between the static. He wants to take a panel out of Eject’s datapad and recharge. I’m a prisoner, he reminds himself. He doesn’t really feel uneasy anymore though. Cassette players were built weird from the beginning, he reminds himself instead. touchy and needy and with sparks just a tad bit too big. Just look at the original design.
“Stay,” Soundwave says, pressing wide servos against Blaster’s chassis. This is some comfortable prisoner quarters, he’s got to admit. All warm and snug. “Recharge.”
Sound system to sound system sympathy. What a novelty. He thinks they’d made a nice song. He thinks he’s already got the title for his album.
“Cassette Player,” he snorts. “Sounds stupid, no?”
Blaster is being held captive on a Decepticon ship, in a stasis pod that feels nice and warm, and put to ransom by his leader’s arch nemesis’ TIC. There’s a lot to really consider right now beyond all that, like how they are all stranded on some alien planet, how Soundwave isn’t actually just some mindless husk, and how, somehow, Blaster is a second-rate version of a disposable. How low can you go? Wait, hit that back, that sounded good.
He hums a tune with his vents, or he thinks he does. It probably sounds stupid. He's not at his A-game right now. What had the score been? Right. 4:4. That's, like, C-game level playing, max.
Blaster snickers.
There’s a lot to worry about too, he thinks. He’s got cassettes that are MIA. He’s got a shoddy patch job along his back. He’s been potentially drugged. No, wait, just power rerouted. Idiot. He thinks Soundwave’s servo feels good against his casing. He wonders if Soundwave would let him record some featuring lines during this shaky ceasefire.
“Cassette Player,” he offers. “Sounds off, right? Wonder why…”
“Plural,” Soundwave offers, shaking his helm. Blaster thinks his voice modulator would add an edgy background to Blaster’s pitch. He thinks they’d make a good song. Shaking his helm, he focusses long enough to catch Soundwave say: “Cassette Players. Plural.”
“Oh right,” Blaster hums. Suddenly, it all makes sense. “Right. ‘Cause there’s two. How could I forget?”
Red and blue, baby. Now that’s a song to look forward to.