stunt_muppet

So I finally decided I should stop dithering and post this, in yet another misguided hope of getting myself to write something. I keep almost writing! And then not doing anything or getting distracted. It's very discouraging.

Title: No Victims Only Volunteers
Chapter: 1/?
Fandom: Transformers: Animated
Characters/Pairings: Blurr-centric, with appearances by Ultra Magnus, Alpha Trion, Perceptor, Wheeljack, Sentinel Prime, and possibly others
Rating: PG-13
Content Advisories: References violence, debilitating injuries, and physical and psychological trauma. 
Summary: There is a way back, but it winds through all the dark and narrow places. My take on a "Blurr survives" fic.
Word Count (this chapter): 1861
Notes: Title comes from the song "New Babies; New Toys" by OMD. And yes, it's still a WIP. I'm slow that way.

---



When he reactivates the first thing he's aware of is that he still can't move, and for a second he thinks he might still be in the hallways of the Metroplex.

That's disproved when he realizes that he can see - not very clearly, mind you, but there are shapes, maybe colors (too bright, too raw - must be unfiltered or unfocused input - where are his lenses?) and he isn't sure where his optics ended up a moment ago but he certainly wouldn't be able to see anything with them if he was still -

Where is he now?

He tries to look around but his optics won't focus, won't even move the way he wants them to. Secondary optic sensors not doing much good either; what isn't blank is distorted, or hurts when he tries to discern what he's seeing. He concentrates, tries to find something, a form, a light source, something he can build on.

Blue. Seeing lots of blue. It's a starting point, at least. Multiple light sources, softer ones. Some gray in there. Lighter gray. Too light to be the Metroplex. Why does he keep coming back to the Metroplex? Something must have happened, something that locked him in place like this, but he can't recall, can't remember anything, and when he tries to access his memory there's just images, sounds, data, disconnected and impossible to interpret. Long stretches of nothing, or of audio with no corresponding video, or sometimes just the burn of misfiring circuitry that drags him back to the present.

Something red enters his field of vision; above him, by the looks of it. He strains and makes out a body, a small round face - Perceptor - he attaches the face to one of the names drifting out of the wreckage of his memory banks. Perceptor. Head of the Ministry of Science. Never saw much of him, he rarely had anything to do with Intel, but he was always at the High Council meetings, supposed to be one of the oldest ones there after Alpha Trion -

Alpha Trion is on his right side, looking down at him. And Perceptor's still there, and he's talking, which is the first time Blurr realizes he can't hear anything. Nothing but a ringing sound, maybe a muffled buzzing too.

Perceptor places a servo to the side of Blurr’s head, adjusts something - he hears a crackle, louder and more distinct than anything he's heard since re-activating. Sound becomes clearer (he notices the hum of the lights and a sharp, irregular pulse), and he recognizes Perceptor's words at last: "Do you know where you are?"

He shakes his head no - a fresh rush of pain almost paralyzes him again, but he's so relieved that something moves, something works, that he overrides it and shakes as hard as he can.

Perceptor doesn't say where he is, instead turning to Alpha Trion; his processor aches too badly to concentrate on what he's saying. Fragments of their conversation drift down to him as he pieces together where he is.

"...you can see, he has been restored to functional levels at least. His memory may require further reconstruction, but, clearly, it is possible..."

His vision begins to clear a bit, the stinging in his secondary optic network dying down, and he shuts off his primary optics to block out the harsh and uninterpreted light coming in through the holes where his lenses were. There's a set of computers and tools next to him, green readouts and scrolling text he can't see well enough to read. Cables and wires spread from the computers to the gurney where he's lying.

Gurney. He must be in the Infirmary.

"...transplanting his spark core onto a blank would spare us the time needed for such extensive repairs..."

Different voice this time - it sounds like Ultra Magnus. What is he doing here?

"Impossible. We have very few protoforms remaining, Ultra Magnus...cannot waste one when his body could still be repaired..."

Must have been quite extensive repairs if they're debating a transplant, he thinks distantly. But he can move his head at least, which is impressive considering -

"...processor might be too damaged to recover whatever information he had..."

And part of his memory suddenly realigns and clicks into place. The space bridge on Earth. The double agent - Longarm Prime, if that was even his name. The tunnels of the Metroplex, locked and dark and getting smaller and smaller and the unbearable unrelenting pressure and being twisted and sheared and stuck stuck stuck - and when it ended he couldn't see couldn't hear couldn't move but his processor wasn't too shattered to think, to press frantically at the edges of his own immobile body and chase thoughts in broken, fruitless spirals until he finally, finally shut down - and now he's here and most of him still isn't moving -

He doesn't notice Perceptor until the medibot raises a bright yellow light to his faceplate, and the world goes mercifully quiet again.

---

The second time he wakes up he is still in the Infirmary, and he remembers why, and he still can't move his legs. Arms were getting better though; he could clench his digits, make a fist, though not easily.

"We've built you new optical lenses." Perceptor's voice appears to have no source, and he realizes that he barely even noticed that his sight has, more or less, returned. He's probably so used to seeing normally that he forgot he shouldn't have been able to. "We used the newest schematics available. They should be much more precise than your old ones."

He shifts his gaze to find Perceptor; a heads-up display arises, briefly, rendering him in exacting detail and recording his position in the room, where he is, what he's doing - a basic spy tool, useful for quick information-gathering, but this is so much faster than his old one, and whether because of the readout speed or his own aching processor he almost can't read the data it's displaying.

"Your recovery has been unexpectedly successful," Perceptor continues. "We were able to salvage most of your essential circuitry, though there may still be gaps in your memory and some motor functions may have to be relearned. Most of your chassis we have had to replace. The damage was too extensive for repair."

He looks down at his legs and realizes that the reason he can't move them is because one of them is a crumpled, shapeless hunk of metal and the other one is missing. Dizziness twists in his engine like a wrench thrown into their workings, and he lifts his gaze back to the ceiling.

"Unfortunately many of the parts you require had to be custom-ordered," he says, and Blurr thinks he can hear something of either regret or irritation in his uninflected voice. He isn't sure if he'd prefer it that way or not. "Even standardized parts are backordered with the increased Decepticon activity - "

The mention of Decepticons fires his memory again, and he sits up as best he can, propping himself up (and his body feels so impossibly heavy) on his half-responsive arms and resisting the torpor in his crankshafts. "Sir, Ultra Magnus and the Elite Guard are pursuing the wrong bot; after analyzing a transmission I intercepted on Earth between Megatron and the double-agent I was able to positively identify him as the Decepticon Shockwave; furthermore, once I approached Chief of Security Longarm Prime with this information he immediately proceeded to ensure that no one else was aware of the identity of the double agent and subsequently attempted to silence me before I could reveal his identity to - "

But Perceptor silences him with a wave of his servo. "We are aware of the identity of the Decepticon spy, Agent Blurr."

Perceptor explains to him what he has missed - the shutdown of the space bridges, the attack on Ultra Magnus, the security lockdown and curfew institution, the increased frequency of Decepticon attacks along the edges of the galaxy and the strain on resources and soldiers that it has caused. And while Perceptor never actually speaks the words he also explains to Blurr that his entire mission on Earth, that everything he worked to uncover and everything he did to protect Cybertron and every cycle leashed to that organic and his remote and every cycle in the tunnels and at the bottom of the disposal chute unable to move -

He might as well have done nothing at all.

He doesn't hear much of what Perceptor says after that; something about the projected schedule for his repairs, when they anticipate receiving the struts and connecting rods he'll need to make his legs work again. Sitting up even slightly has exhausted him, and he's sore with the strain he put on his body, and all things considered it would be much easier if the medibot would just overload his consciousness until the repairs were finished and stop waking him up again and again as if he urgently needed to hear every detail of the operations (which he didn't).

But after a while Perceptor mentions upgrades - if they're going to need new parts anyway, he reasons, they might as well have the engineers craft the newest and best available, prototypes, even, so he can be on top fighting form on his recovery. The Intelligence Division will surely need him. In addition to the improved HUD in his optics Perceptor has recommended streamlining of his core processor to improve reaction time, a prototypical bearing-cushioned shock absorber system, new models for the legs and axles to improve speed -

"If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd rather be restored to my old body," he interrupts. "You did say that it would take time to fully recover motor function, and combine that with the trial-and-error period required for any upgrade of that magnitude..." It's a terrible excuse and he knows it, but his mission and his function and maybe part of his memory, stellar cycles of his life, are back there in the corridor, crushed and useless, and his body shouldn't be there with them.

"I cannot do that with clear logic circuits, Blurr," Perceptor replies, and he presses a button on the computer beside him; Blurr feels cold, and suddenly slow. "You were chosen for reconnaissance on Earth for a reason; you are a spy of extraordinary skill and value. Upon your recovery you will very likely be called back into service. You will need the advantage that a system upgrade will provide." The chill pervades him now, and his intact limbs are as lifeless as they were when he awoke before. "But as you are a member of Intel and of the Elite Guard, I am duty-bound to inform you of any procedures I perform so soon as you are capable of understanding them." He adjusts the settings on top of his EMP Generator. "The next time you wake up the upgrades will be complete. The adjustments are very low risk. I anticipate no problems."

Another flash of yellow light, and then everything is quiet again.




---

I've been thinking about maybe following pixxistixx4me pixxistix4me in producing 50 things this New Year - be they stories, crafts, whatever - so maybe that'll help me write some more too. I've been busy, is part of the problem.

But for now it's high time for bed.