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ajremixTitle: Win Some, Lose Some
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1444
Characters: Freestyle, Blinky, little bit of Megatron
In Response to:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
littlecafei’s birthday
Summary: She wanted to see our respective cars and cross-faction snark. One side wins, the other side… also wins.
If one didn’t know any better they’d say Freestyle was right at home moving around the halls the way he did. And, granted, it wasn’t really all that odd to see him dodging the Ark’s security cameras or skulking in the shadows. But the fact of the matter was this was not Ark and he probably shouldn’t be humming something to himself as he maneuvered so deep inside a Decepticon base.
Not to say he wasn’t being cautious (as cautious as someone in his field could be) but there was a big battle going on elsewhere that Freestyle was taking full advantage of and infiltrating the base. The security drones were easy enough to bypass and he was the glad that the Decepticons were such headstrong, posturing idiots that they all had to go out and fight. Made his job easier.
Bopping internally, Freestyle reached the main systems conduit, timed the sweep of the security camera and spliced a limited loop into the security feed of the command center. Thank Primus they kept to such archaic building schematics. They obviously didn’t think other Autobots hadn’t figured out all their weak points during that four million year hibernation the Ark and Nemesis mechs endured.
With his loop set for more than ample time, Freestyle strode right into the command center, curious to see what plans he could hack.
“Hold it right there, Autobot.”
Oh. This wasn’t in the plan. Freestyle froze, all too aware of both his thin armor and that the loop wasn’t set for that much ample time.
“Should I be putting my hands where you can see them?” He asked deceptively calm.
“Fine. Whatever.”
Curious. “Can I turn around? Kinda rude talking with my back to you, isn’t it?”
“You’re pretty demanding for a prisoner.”
“I’m a prisoner, am I?” He’d prefer simply being shot, all things considered.
“You’re being held at gunpoint. What else would you be?”
“Robbed?”
There was a long pause. “Are you joking?”
“You asked a question, I answered.”
There was another pause. “Are you always like this?”
“Pretty much.” The saboteur listened to his captor grumble unintelligibly for a moment before asking again, “So… can I turn around?”
“Yeah, sure. Not like it’ll change anything.”
Oh, you’d be amazed, Freestyle thought to himself. When he turned, though, he recycled his optics in surprise.
Now both Rally brothers weren’t the epitome for height even for the Autobots and were, in fact, slightly shorter than average. But this Decepticon was short. Like minibot short. Not that minibots weren’t their own force to be reckoned with and Freestyle was willing to bet this diminutive ‘con was much the same. Especially when Freestyle was looking down the barrel of a weapon larger than anything he’d seen Cliffjumper wave around.
The big-ass rifle was hefted with intent. “You done staring?”
“You’d rather I be looking around?”
“…Good point.”
“Kinda new to this taking prisoner thing, huh?”
“Not really what ‘cons do.”
“Yeah, I’m kinda wondering about that.” Freestyle said slowly. “How come you’re not out fighting?”
The white mini… con glared petulantly. “At the size I am? That’s a joke.”
“What about the Cassettes?”
“They’ve got Soundwave and their little abilities.”
“You don’t have any special abilities?”
“What is this?” The big, hurty end of the rifle was jabbed in his face. “20 questions? Don’t try to pry information out of me!”
“I’m not!” Freestyle protested mildly. “I’m just thinking that the ‘cons kinda have the entire ‘bigger, better’ mentality and are always trying to one-up each other in battle. But since you’re here and you haven’t called anyone about capturing an infiltrator, it doesn’t seem like you work on the same ‘beat now, wonder if they important later’ wavelength. So I’m wonder what it is you do do.”
The minicon’s expression twisted with great distaste. He grumbled almost too low for the saboteur to hear. “Admin.”
To his credit, Freestyle’s lips didn’t twitch despite the amused light in his optics. “Admin? You do paperwork?” The barrel nearly engulfing his chin stopped that amusement quick. “Ya know, paperwork and Decepticons just never really connected in my head is all.” He added hastily.
“Yeah, well,” came the grudging reply, “doesn’t seem to compute in other Decepticons’ heads, either.” He lowered the weapon and glared at the piles of datapads nearby. “Half of them can’t even seem to form one coherent sentence.”
A whistle came out of Freestyle’s vents. “You have to go through all that?”
“It’s because I have an actual working processor in my cranial unit. Megatron has me deciphering all the unintelligible slag before it goes his way.”
“Ouch.” Making himself quite comfortable in the enemy’s stronghold, Freestyle plopped down close to where the Decepticon had been sitting- looking but not touching. “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”
“Blinky.”
It was said so fast and clipped Freestyle almost missed it. “Sorry?”
“Blinky.” The small mech repeated with a glare. “Problem?”
“No, no problem. Just wondering if it’s sho- a nickname or something.”
“No.”
“Oh. Well,” the Autobot gave an experimental spin in his seat. His captor didn’t seem to care. “I’m Freestyle.”
“Good for you.” Blinky regarded the blue mech for a moment, considering the way he spun about in the chair. “You can leave, you know.”
The spinning came to an abrupt halt. “You really are new to this prisoner concept, aren’t you?”
He snorted. “I’m familiar with the basics. I’ve got plenty of paperwork to deal with without having to add all the prisoner processing slag on top of that.”
“You have to fill out paperwork for taking a prisoner?”
“Now who’s new to the concept?”
“Hey, I’ve only been the prisoner, not the captor. Which, by the way, this experience beats hands down.”
“Look, you’re free so why don’t you go before someone comes back?”
“I’m curious about this paperwork stuff!” Freestyle protested, swaying in his seat like some over-excited fledgling. “Who makes the worst reports?”
“You mean besides all of them?” Blinky slouched in his own seat, half-heartedly picking up a datapad. “You got Stunticons that can never focus on what they’re supposed to be reporting in, Hook and Starscream always have to put in these pretentious big words and take an entire screen just to say one thing and everything the triplechangers write is so full of arrogance I want to purge.”
“I can’t imagine what you all are doing to warrant so much work! Are they mostly incident reports?”
“Meh. Incident reports, patrol schedules, shipment info, battle plans, whatever. Pretty mundane.” He gave the Autobot a look. “Don’t you do anything like that?”
Freestyle shrugged and put his feet up on the desk, tire scattering a small tower of datapads over another haphazard pile. “I guess. Mainly I report in straight to my superiors during a mission debriefing. I usually just keep it your standard SALUTE report- size, activity, location, unit, time, equipment. The basics.”
“That makes your reports better than about 80% of the slag I have to go through.” Blinky groused. “I’m lucky if half the reports have all those variables in them, let alone any real detail.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but sucks to be you.”
“Trust me, I know.”
His internal chronometer warned him the loop was going to be ending soon, so Freestyle pushed himself to his feet, leaning slightly against the table. “I should probably head out. I’ll see ya around!”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
He shrugged. “Ya try to be friendly…” but he strode out of the command center with a little wave, humming to himself again.
Some time after the battle, with more half-aft reports dropped unceremoniously before him, Blinky found Megatron growling down at him. “Vortex sent an intelligence report to you. Where is it?”
The minicon looked up at his leader for a moment before turning to search through the datapads. Asides from not finding Vortex’s report, Blinky realized he was also missing about five other datapads- all of which he recalled having put in the stack that the Autobot had kicked over.
Oh, that sly little fragger…
That left Blinky in a bit of a conundrum. Should he tell Megatron what happened and then get yelled at and beaten for letting the saboteur go with possibly sensitive material or say he hadn’t received it because it’s not like that was something that never happened?
He looked at the very big fusion canon on Megatron’s arm, then up at the glowering visage high above him. “Can’t say I received anything from him recently.”
Getting someone else in trouble and having less work to deal with? Oh yes, there were worse ways to end the day.
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1444
Characters: Freestyle, Blinky, little bit of Megatron
In Response to:
littlecafei’s birthdaySummary: She wanted to see our respective cars and cross-faction snark. One side wins, the other side… also wins.
If one didn’t know any better they’d say Freestyle was right at home moving around the halls the way he did. And, granted, it wasn’t really all that odd to see him dodging the Ark’s security cameras or skulking in the shadows. But the fact of the matter was this was not Ark and he probably shouldn’t be humming something to himself as he maneuvered so deep inside a Decepticon base.
Not to say he wasn’t being cautious (as cautious as someone in his field could be) but there was a big battle going on elsewhere that Freestyle was taking full advantage of and infiltrating the base. The security drones were easy enough to bypass and he was the glad that the Decepticons were such headstrong, posturing idiots that they all had to go out and fight. Made his job easier.
Bopping internally, Freestyle reached the main systems conduit, timed the sweep of the security camera and spliced a limited loop into the security feed of the command center. Thank Primus they kept to such archaic building schematics. They obviously didn’t think other Autobots hadn’t figured out all their weak points during that four million year hibernation the Ark and Nemesis mechs endured.
With his loop set for more than ample time, Freestyle strode right into the command center, curious to see what plans he could hack.
“Hold it right there, Autobot.”
Oh. This wasn’t in the plan. Freestyle froze, all too aware of both his thin armor and that the loop wasn’t set for that much ample time.
“Should I be putting my hands where you can see them?” He asked deceptively calm.
“Fine. Whatever.”
Curious. “Can I turn around? Kinda rude talking with my back to you, isn’t it?”
“You’re pretty demanding for a prisoner.”
“I’m a prisoner, am I?” He’d prefer simply being shot, all things considered.
“You’re being held at gunpoint. What else would you be?”
“Robbed?”
There was a long pause. “Are you joking?”
“You asked a question, I answered.”
There was another pause. “Are you always like this?”
“Pretty much.” The saboteur listened to his captor grumble unintelligibly for a moment before asking again, “So… can I turn around?”
“Yeah, sure. Not like it’ll change anything.”
Oh, you’d be amazed, Freestyle thought to himself. When he turned, though, he recycled his optics in surprise.
Now both Rally brothers weren’t the epitome for height even for the Autobots and were, in fact, slightly shorter than average. But this Decepticon was short. Like minibot short. Not that minibots weren’t their own force to be reckoned with and Freestyle was willing to bet this diminutive ‘con was much the same. Especially when Freestyle was looking down the barrel of a weapon larger than anything he’d seen Cliffjumper wave around.
The big-ass rifle was hefted with intent. “You done staring?”
“You’d rather I be looking around?”
“…Good point.”
“Kinda new to this taking prisoner thing, huh?”
“Not really what ‘cons do.”
“Yeah, I’m kinda wondering about that.” Freestyle said slowly. “How come you’re not out fighting?”
The white mini… con glared petulantly. “At the size I am? That’s a joke.”
“What about the Cassettes?”
“They’ve got Soundwave and their little abilities.”
“You don’t have any special abilities?”
“What is this?” The big, hurty end of the rifle was jabbed in his face. “20 questions? Don’t try to pry information out of me!”
“I’m not!” Freestyle protested mildly. “I’m just thinking that the ‘cons kinda have the entire ‘bigger, better’ mentality and are always trying to one-up each other in battle. But since you’re here and you haven’t called anyone about capturing an infiltrator, it doesn’t seem like you work on the same ‘beat now, wonder if they important later’ wavelength. So I’m wonder what it is you do do.”
The minicon’s expression twisted with great distaste. He grumbled almost too low for the saboteur to hear. “Admin.”
To his credit, Freestyle’s lips didn’t twitch despite the amused light in his optics. “Admin? You do paperwork?” The barrel nearly engulfing his chin stopped that amusement quick. “Ya know, paperwork and Decepticons just never really connected in my head is all.” He added hastily.
“Yeah, well,” came the grudging reply, “doesn’t seem to compute in other Decepticons’ heads, either.” He lowered the weapon and glared at the piles of datapads nearby. “Half of them can’t even seem to form one coherent sentence.”
A whistle came out of Freestyle’s vents. “You have to go through all that?”
“It’s because I have an actual working processor in my cranial unit. Megatron has me deciphering all the unintelligible slag before it goes his way.”
“Ouch.” Making himself quite comfortable in the enemy’s stronghold, Freestyle plopped down close to where the Decepticon had been sitting- looking but not touching. “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”
“Blinky.”
It was said so fast and clipped Freestyle almost missed it. “Sorry?”
“Blinky.” The small mech repeated with a glare. “Problem?”
“No, no problem. Just wondering if it’s sho- a nickname or something.”
“No.”
“Oh. Well,” the Autobot gave an experimental spin in his seat. His captor didn’t seem to care. “I’m Freestyle.”
“Good for you.” Blinky regarded the blue mech for a moment, considering the way he spun about in the chair. “You can leave, you know.”
The spinning came to an abrupt halt. “You really are new to this prisoner concept, aren’t you?”
He snorted. “I’m familiar with the basics. I’ve got plenty of paperwork to deal with without having to add all the prisoner processing slag on top of that.”
“You have to fill out paperwork for taking a prisoner?”
“Now who’s new to the concept?”
“Hey, I’ve only been the prisoner, not the captor. Which, by the way, this experience beats hands down.”
“Look, you’re free so why don’t you go before someone comes back?”
“I’m curious about this paperwork stuff!” Freestyle protested, swaying in his seat like some over-excited fledgling. “Who makes the worst reports?”
“You mean besides all of them?” Blinky slouched in his own seat, half-heartedly picking up a datapad. “You got Stunticons that can never focus on what they’re supposed to be reporting in, Hook and Starscream always have to put in these pretentious big words and take an entire screen just to say one thing and everything the triplechangers write is so full of arrogance I want to purge.”
“I can’t imagine what you all are doing to warrant so much work! Are they mostly incident reports?”
“Meh. Incident reports, patrol schedules, shipment info, battle plans, whatever. Pretty mundane.” He gave the Autobot a look. “Don’t you do anything like that?”
Freestyle shrugged and put his feet up on the desk, tire scattering a small tower of datapads over another haphazard pile. “I guess. Mainly I report in straight to my superiors during a mission debriefing. I usually just keep it your standard SALUTE report- size, activity, location, unit, time, equipment. The basics.”
“That makes your reports better than about 80% of the slag I have to go through.” Blinky groused. “I’m lucky if half the reports have all those variables in them, let alone any real detail.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but sucks to be you.”
“Trust me, I know.”
His internal chronometer warned him the loop was going to be ending soon, so Freestyle pushed himself to his feet, leaning slightly against the table. “I should probably head out. I’ll see ya around!”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
He shrugged. “Ya try to be friendly…” but he strode out of the command center with a little wave, humming to himself again.
Some time after the battle, with more half-aft reports dropped unceremoniously before him, Blinky found Megatron growling down at him. “Vortex sent an intelligence report to you. Where is it?”
The minicon looked up at his leader for a moment before turning to search through the datapads. Asides from not finding Vortex’s report, Blinky realized he was also missing about five other datapads- all of which he recalled having put in the stack that the Autobot had kicked over.
Oh, that sly little fragger…
That left Blinky in a bit of a conundrum. Should he tell Megatron what happened and then get yelled at and beaten for letting the saboteur go with possibly sensitive material or say he hadn’t received it because it’s not like that was something that never happened?
He looked at the very big fusion canon on Megatron’s arm, then up at the glowering visage high above him. “Can’t say I received anything from him recently.”
Getting someone else in trouble and having less work to deal with? Oh yes, there were worse ways to end the day.
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Date: 2008-08-07 01:07 am (UTC)But running sounds like a good plan.