Under Scrutiny 8 - A Commitment (g1) - R
Feb. 16th, 2011 05:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
casusfereTitle: Under Scrutiny
Chapter: 8 - A Commitment
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-explicit death, violence, gore, torture, mentions of sexual situations and cheerful contemplations of all of the preceding. In other words: this story contains Vortex in large doses.
Universe: G1
Summary: Vortex is being accused of murder, and for once, he didn't do it. Chapter 8 - Figuring out the puzzle just brings a whole new set of problems. Pre-Earth, Vortex POV.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Six sources and more raw data than most Decepticons see in a vorn, that’s what I get for sittin’ around all shift. Processin’ the data ain’t the problem; I was built for this kinda thing. It’s makin’ it all make sense that’s the problem.
Most of it, like I said, is simple dumps of massive amounts of hard data. Tallies and reports of ‘Cons dead while off the battlefield, investigations, desertions that never turned up again. Mission reports from Mayhem attack squads, kill orders, everything. Epi’s the only one of the bunch who analyses the data before he passes it over. I’m sure some people find it handy, and I guess I do, too, just not for the same reasons. Most of ‘em like not havin’ to think about well, anything, but people like me, we know that what people don’t give you is usually more important than what they do.
I’m lookin’ at a datapad with a listin’ of Armistice’s - that’d be our lovely local base commander, the fragger - former postings and dates, and a neat little list of of the locations and dates of the killings Epi tagged as bein’ probably done by our serial killer friend. ‘Bout half match up with the postin’ list, and the others are in entire different districts. First glance clears the commander - ‘cept I got reports on those outliers, and they ain’t done by the same person, leavin’ just those four as the likely victims, and Armistice as suspect number one. It’d explain a lot, y’know, about why he’d bring a Mayhem he knows in, why he’d be blamin’ me.
Thing is, Epi’d know that. He’d have the reports, he shoulda caught this. And he’d know that I’d get them and find it out, which means he deliberately set it up to look like he was coverin’ for the commander.
Add to that the victims he ain’t mentioning that I already parsed outta the raw data the rest o’ my sources sent, and I come up with some bad news. Epi’s already sold me out, the little fragger. That ain’t surprising; really, it’d be more surprising if he hadn’t. It’s how he sold me out is interestin’, because this sorta hints he knows who it was. Dumb of him, really. That’d practically be an invite for me to go “ask” him for the info, handy informant or not. Sure, crawlin’ through his security’s a real slag pot, but luckily, I don’t need to. I know who it was.
I mentioned those mission reports, right? Most of ‘em ain’t important, but a couple of ‘em are, and they ain’t from Epicenter. Like the one sayin’ that Torsion wasn’t in the city when that body was found, that he was trackin’ a cell of Autobot spies a couple cities over. Timestamp’s awful close to that meetin’ he was havin’ with the commander, too close. He wasn’t in the city on a mission, and he wasn’t supposed to be here at all.
I roll the slice of rotor cuff between my fingers, watchin’ the clip of surveillance video one of my “friends” had dug up for me. He was big, makes two of me easy, a transverse chopper design. Lots of rotors, blades stickin’ out of everywhere, and sharpened by the way they shine along the edges. Looks strong enough to cut straight through armor without needin’ to resort to laser scalpels or energon blades or suchlike. And a Mayhem ain’t got to worry about base security.
None of my contacts had been able to tell me exactly what was up between Torsion here and
the commander, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it all wrong, anyway. It ain’t that Torsion’s workin’ for the boss, it’s that our commander’s doin’ a favor for a Mayhem.
Frag it to the Pit. If it was the commander, I coulda maybe worked somethin’ out with Torsion, got some evidence - or fabricated some - and make Armistice too much of an embarrassment to have around commandin’ a base. Can’t do that to a Mayhem. I’d have to go above Torsion’s head, and I ain’t got friends up that high. Ain’t got enough on the guy to know who his enemies are, neither, and my one contact who would know is already workin’ for him.
Takin’ out Torsion wouldn’t solve my problems, even if I could. I ain’t exactly a front-liner here. Maybe I could frame the commander, but unless I can find a reason for him to switch scapegoats, he ain’t gonna listen. Rippin’ my head off would be easier for ‘em. Maybe I could turn the commander on him usin’ this info from Epi, but the same problem applies.
I’m floundering, lookin’ for ideas, a way to get out of this, but I ain’t comin’ up with much. Runnin’s occurred to me, but I ain’t gonna get far without a lot more time to prep than I’m gonna get. Even if I find somethin’ to convince either of them to not melt me down, I can’t use it because I can’t face either without some pretty fraggin’ tough backup that can’t be cowed by force or by rank-
It takes me a moment to realize that I’ve stopped midstep as it hits me. Frag it Vortex, for a genius, sometimes you’re really slaggin’ stupid. Onslaught. My gyros bleep at me about it bein’ an unstable position, standin’ there off-balance, and I sit down on the berth again, shovin’ data crystals out of the way. Fragger’s tough as they come, and he’s already proven he ain’t as scared as he should be about the Mayhems when he went and put me on a fake assignment. What I’m thinkin’ of now’s a mite bit more dangerous than that, but I’m sure I can spin this somehow.
Onslaught answers his comm calm as can be, and doesn’t even ask what I want before agreein’ to meet me. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad sign, but I ain’t got any other options, so we’ll just have to wing it either way. I spend some time clearin’ everything of me out of the apartment and stagin’ the scene a bit. Whatever happens, I ain’t gonna be comin’ back here.
A couple o’ breems, and I’m outta there, leavin’ nothin’ but an old murder scene that no one’ll care about. Happens every day, and the police ain’t what they were before the war. It gets that way when you try to arrest a few too many heavily-armed war machines in a district where their commanders think that locals make good target practice. ‘Cons only care about dead ‘Cons.
I don’t bother with the tricks and checks I pulled on Stall - if Onslaught’s gonna attack me, I ain’t gonna have much of a fightin’ chance, and he knows it, so he ain’t gonna bother with an ambush. He might even tell me he’s gonna do it; he’s strange like that. Gives people a chance to surrender and ruins my fun all the time - of course, I ain’t gonna surrender, I’ll be runnin’ like hot slag. And if there’s someone followin’ him that thinks they can ambush me and him, they got a big surprise comin’. Ol’ Onsies likes to pretend he’s a gentlemech, but he’s great fun to watch on a battlefield once he gets goin’.
“I assume you have ascertained the identity of the killer?” Onslaught says without any preamble as I land next to him.
“Hello to you, too, Ons,” I say cheerfully, transforming.
He’s telegraphing again, and this time it says “Get to the point or I’m going to backhand you.” So cranky. I’m feeling better than I have since all this started, but since I kinda need Onslaught, I don’t wanna irritate him too much, so I give in and answer him in the affirmative.
“And you have proof?”
“We-ell, not so much proof as a “good indication towards,” if you know what I mean,” I tell him. He doesn’t seem real happy about that answer, but y’know, neither am I.
“Who?” Onslaught doesn’t seem in much of a mood for chit-chat tonight.
“You want the real answer, or the answer least likely to get me killed?” I ask, the slightest nervous twitch in my rotors. For all that I need Onslaught, there really ain’t a guarantee that he won’t turn on me here.
“Vortex,” he growls. There’s that familiar engine rumble. I have a feeling that if I wasn’t facing him full-on he’d have a hold of my rotor hub already.
I waft my rotors innocently at him, my processor busy trying - and failing - to come up with some brilliant last-minute alternative. Nothing. Frag. So I tell him, about the set up , the double-set up, and the real reason Torsion was here. Then I start to outline my hastily made plan to manipulate or force Armistice to turn on Torsion, but I barely get past “We go in there-” before he interrupts me.
“Why should I help you?”
Huh? There’s an icy feeling in my struts, like my coolant’s sprung a leak. Why’d Onslaught have to pick now to start actin’ like a Decepticon? “C’mon, a favor for an old buddy,” I wheedle. I’m good at wheedlin’.
Onslaught don’t look nearly as impressed as I’d like.
“A big favor?” I try.
Onslaught stays quiet. I don’t like this, not at all. I start thinkin’ over exit vectors. Guess runnin’ might be the only option left, even if it ain’t a good one.
“C’mon, Ons...” I slide a half step back, watchin’ both ends of the alleyway out of the corner of my optics.
“I will fish your aft out of this mess,” Onslaught says finally, “And you’re going to- listen to me, Vortex!” he barks as I relax a fraction. “If I help you now, I want the location of every body you dump, every scam you pull, access to every contact you make, and most of all, I will have your obedience to every order I give you. And as long as you serve me faithfully, I will protect you from Megatron himself if need be.”
“I do whatcha tell me now.” I’m whinin’ now, I admit it.
“No, you do as much as suits you, and connive and manipulate your way out of the rest.” Onslaught doesn’t even waver. “I require your absolute commitment, Vortex, or nothing at all. I will decide when you can... play... and when you behave. You will kill who I say, and only who I say. I will know where the bodies are and every move you make. And you will not lie to me.”
I feel dizzy. “That’s... that’s a lot to ask, y’know.”
“That is the deal, Vortex.” Onslaught’s voice is implacable, and he’s suddenly not so easy to read. “Obey me or take your chances alone.” He turns sharply on his heel and stalks towards the entrance to the alleyway.
I can’t do this-
I can’t afford not to.
But what he’s asking is enough to bury me a hundred times over - I’m not exactly innocent of ‘Con-on-’Con murder here. I think that’s the point. If I give him all that, any attempt to betray him would end up with me gettin’ eaten alive by the Mayhems. Onslaught’s probably my favorite commander, but I don’t exactly trust him - but I got to.
“Wait!”
Onslaught pauses, turning slightly to look back at me over his shoulder. “Everything, Vortex. I know some of it already, and if I even think you’re leaving anything out, I will hand you to Torsion myself.”
I fidget, rotors twitching. Can I do this? Do I have a choice?
Onslaught waits patiently.
“Alright,” I say finally. “You got a deal.”
Chapter: 8 - A Commitment
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-explicit death, violence, gore, torture, mentions of sexual situations and cheerful contemplations of all of the preceding. In other words: this story contains Vortex in large doses.
Universe: G1
Summary: Vortex is being accused of murder, and for once, he didn't do it. Chapter 8 - Figuring out the puzzle just brings a whole new set of problems. Pre-Earth, Vortex POV.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Six sources and more raw data than most Decepticons see in a vorn, that’s what I get for sittin’ around all shift. Processin’ the data ain’t the problem; I was built for this kinda thing. It’s makin’ it all make sense that’s the problem.
Most of it, like I said, is simple dumps of massive amounts of hard data. Tallies and reports of ‘Cons dead while off the battlefield, investigations, desertions that never turned up again. Mission reports from Mayhem attack squads, kill orders, everything. Epi’s the only one of the bunch who analyses the data before he passes it over. I’m sure some people find it handy, and I guess I do, too, just not for the same reasons. Most of ‘em like not havin’ to think about well, anything, but people like me, we know that what people don’t give you is usually more important than what they do.
I’m lookin’ at a datapad with a listin’ of Armistice’s - that’d be our lovely local base commander, the fragger - former postings and dates, and a neat little list of of the locations and dates of the killings Epi tagged as bein’ probably done by our serial killer friend. ‘Bout half match up with the postin’ list, and the others are in entire different districts. First glance clears the commander - ‘cept I got reports on those outliers, and they ain’t done by the same person, leavin’ just those four as the likely victims, and Armistice as suspect number one. It’d explain a lot, y’know, about why he’d bring a Mayhem he knows in, why he’d be blamin’ me.
Thing is, Epi’d know that. He’d have the reports, he shoulda caught this. And he’d know that I’d get them and find it out, which means he deliberately set it up to look like he was coverin’ for the commander.
Add to that the victims he ain’t mentioning that I already parsed outta the raw data the rest o’ my sources sent, and I come up with some bad news. Epi’s already sold me out, the little fragger. That ain’t surprising; really, it’d be more surprising if he hadn’t. It’s how he sold me out is interestin’, because this sorta hints he knows who it was. Dumb of him, really. That’d practically be an invite for me to go “ask” him for the info, handy informant or not. Sure, crawlin’ through his security’s a real slag pot, but luckily, I don’t need to. I know who it was.
I mentioned those mission reports, right? Most of ‘em ain’t important, but a couple of ‘em are, and they ain’t from Epicenter. Like the one sayin’ that Torsion wasn’t in the city when that body was found, that he was trackin’ a cell of Autobot spies a couple cities over. Timestamp’s awful close to that meetin’ he was havin’ with the commander, too close. He wasn’t in the city on a mission, and he wasn’t supposed to be here at all.
I roll the slice of rotor cuff between my fingers, watchin’ the clip of surveillance video one of my “friends” had dug up for me. He was big, makes two of me easy, a transverse chopper design. Lots of rotors, blades stickin’ out of everywhere, and sharpened by the way they shine along the edges. Looks strong enough to cut straight through armor without needin’ to resort to laser scalpels or energon blades or suchlike. And a Mayhem ain’t got to worry about base security.
None of my contacts had been able to tell me exactly what was up between Torsion here and
the commander, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it all wrong, anyway. It ain’t that Torsion’s workin’ for the boss, it’s that our commander’s doin’ a favor for a Mayhem.
Frag it to the Pit. If it was the commander, I coulda maybe worked somethin’ out with Torsion, got some evidence - or fabricated some - and make Armistice too much of an embarrassment to have around commandin’ a base. Can’t do that to a Mayhem. I’d have to go above Torsion’s head, and I ain’t got friends up that high. Ain’t got enough on the guy to know who his enemies are, neither, and my one contact who would know is already workin’ for him.
Takin’ out Torsion wouldn’t solve my problems, even if I could. I ain’t exactly a front-liner here. Maybe I could frame the commander, but unless I can find a reason for him to switch scapegoats, he ain’t gonna listen. Rippin’ my head off would be easier for ‘em. Maybe I could turn the commander on him usin’ this info from Epi, but the same problem applies.
I’m floundering, lookin’ for ideas, a way to get out of this, but I ain’t comin’ up with much. Runnin’s occurred to me, but I ain’t gonna get far without a lot more time to prep than I’m gonna get. Even if I find somethin’ to convince either of them to not melt me down, I can’t use it because I can’t face either without some pretty fraggin’ tough backup that can’t be cowed by force or by rank-
It takes me a moment to realize that I’ve stopped midstep as it hits me. Frag it Vortex, for a genius, sometimes you’re really slaggin’ stupid. Onslaught. My gyros bleep at me about it bein’ an unstable position, standin’ there off-balance, and I sit down on the berth again, shovin’ data crystals out of the way. Fragger’s tough as they come, and he’s already proven he ain’t as scared as he should be about the Mayhems when he went and put me on a fake assignment. What I’m thinkin’ of now’s a mite bit more dangerous than that, but I’m sure I can spin this somehow.
Onslaught answers his comm calm as can be, and doesn’t even ask what I want before agreein’ to meet me. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad sign, but I ain’t got any other options, so we’ll just have to wing it either way. I spend some time clearin’ everything of me out of the apartment and stagin’ the scene a bit. Whatever happens, I ain’t gonna be comin’ back here.
A couple o’ breems, and I’m outta there, leavin’ nothin’ but an old murder scene that no one’ll care about. Happens every day, and the police ain’t what they were before the war. It gets that way when you try to arrest a few too many heavily-armed war machines in a district where their commanders think that locals make good target practice. ‘Cons only care about dead ‘Cons.
I don’t bother with the tricks and checks I pulled on Stall - if Onslaught’s gonna attack me, I ain’t gonna have much of a fightin’ chance, and he knows it, so he ain’t gonna bother with an ambush. He might even tell me he’s gonna do it; he’s strange like that. Gives people a chance to surrender and ruins my fun all the time - of course, I ain’t gonna surrender, I’ll be runnin’ like hot slag. And if there’s someone followin’ him that thinks they can ambush me and him, they got a big surprise comin’. Ol’ Onsies likes to pretend he’s a gentlemech, but he’s great fun to watch on a battlefield once he gets goin’.
“I assume you have ascertained the identity of the killer?” Onslaught says without any preamble as I land next to him.
“Hello to you, too, Ons,” I say cheerfully, transforming.
He’s telegraphing again, and this time it says “Get to the point or I’m going to backhand you.” So cranky. I’m feeling better than I have since all this started, but since I kinda need Onslaught, I don’t wanna irritate him too much, so I give in and answer him in the affirmative.
“And you have proof?”
“We-ell, not so much proof as a “good indication towards,” if you know what I mean,” I tell him. He doesn’t seem real happy about that answer, but y’know, neither am I.
“Who?” Onslaught doesn’t seem in much of a mood for chit-chat tonight.
“You want the real answer, or the answer least likely to get me killed?” I ask, the slightest nervous twitch in my rotors. For all that I need Onslaught, there really ain’t a guarantee that he won’t turn on me here.
“Vortex,” he growls. There’s that familiar engine rumble. I have a feeling that if I wasn’t facing him full-on he’d have a hold of my rotor hub already.
I waft my rotors innocently at him, my processor busy trying - and failing - to come up with some brilliant last-minute alternative. Nothing. Frag. So I tell him, about the set up , the double-set up, and the real reason Torsion was here. Then I start to outline my hastily made plan to manipulate or force Armistice to turn on Torsion, but I barely get past “We go in there-” before he interrupts me.
“Why should I help you?”
Huh? There’s an icy feeling in my struts, like my coolant’s sprung a leak. Why’d Onslaught have to pick now to start actin’ like a Decepticon? “C’mon, a favor for an old buddy,” I wheedle. I’m good at wheedlin’.
Onslaught don’t look nearly as impressed as I’d like.
“A big favor?” I try.
Onslaught stays quiet. I don’t like this, not at all. I start thinkin’ over exit vectors. Guess runnin’ might be the only option left, even if it ain’t a good one.
“C’mon, Ons...” I slide a half step back, watchin’ both ends of the alleyway out of the corner of my optics.
“I will fish your aft out of this mess,” Onslaught says finally, “And you’re going to- listen to me, Vortex!” he barks as I relax a fraction. “If I help you now, I want the location of every body you dump, every scam you pull, access to every contact you make, and most of all, I will have your obedience to every order I give you. And as long as you serve me faithfully, I will protect you from Megatron himself if need be.”
“I do whatcha tell me now.” I’m whinin’ now, I admit it.
“No, you do as much as suits you, and connive and manipulate your way out of the rest.” Onslaught doesn’t even waver. “I require your absolute commitment, Vortex, or nothing at all. I will decide when you can... play... and when you behave. You will kill who I say, and only who I say. I will know where the bodies are and every move you make. And you will not lie to me.”
I feel dizzy. “That’s... that’s a lot to ask, y’know.”
“That is the deal, Vortex.” Onslaught’s voice is implacable, and he’s suddenly not so easy to read. “Obey me or take your chances alone.” He turns sharply on his heel and stalks towards the entrance to the alleyway.
I can’t do this-
I can’t afford not to.
But what he’s asking is enough to bury me a hundred times over - I’m not exactly innocent of ‘Con-on-’Con murder here. I think that’s the point. If I give him all that, any attempt to betray him would end up with me gettin’ eaten alive by the Mayhems. Onslaught’s probably my favorite commander, but I don’t exactly trust him - but I got to.
“Wait!”
Onslaught pauses, turning slightly to look back at me over his shoulder. “Everything, Vortex. I know some of it already, and if I even think you’re leaving anything out, I will hand you to Torsion myself.”
I fidget, rotors twitching. Can I do this? Do I have a choice?
Onslaught waits patiently.
“Alright,” I say finally. “You got a deal.”
