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casusfereTitle: Under Scrutiny
Chapter: 9 - A Conspiracy of Trust
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 9 - He really should know better. Pre-Earth, Vortex POV.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Trust is a funny thing. Don’t make a whole lotta sense, when you think about it. It’s all about takin’ for granted that you ain’t gonna get stabbed in the back, even though it’s to the other person’s advantage. And that’s... stupid.
Onslaught doesn’t bother to even look at the data crystal I pass him, and I ain’t sure that’s a good thing. Onslaught ain’t stupid, and I’ve got every reason to hold back information. Well, and a couple good reasons to to hand it all over, both of ‘em named Torsion, but hey, what’s life without a little risk? Really, I’m kinda insulted - I spent a lot of time last night preppin’ that thing with everything Onslaught might suspect me of, and weedin’ out the really good info I don’t want him to know. Got the rest tucked away, just in case. But y’know, what Ons doesn’t know... really will hurt him one day, but hey, that’s the fun part, right?
“So we gonna do this?” I modulate my tone to a somethin’ surly-like, appropriate to the info I supposedly just handed over. Don’t get me wrong, that crystal might just get me shot if Onslaught hands it to the right people, but the other crystal’s the one that would get my shot by... well, most everybody. I push past Onslaught, matchin’ body language to tone.
Aaand there he goes again with the rotor assembly-grabbin’. That’s not a handle, really!
“Vortex,” Onslaught says, in that low dangerous rumble he gets. He’s holdin’ a hand out.
I play dumb. .”What?” I whine back.
“The rest of it,” Onslaught says flatly.
“That’s everything!” I squirm a bit, for emphasis.
Ow. Not only is that not a handle, diggin’ your fingers in ain’t exactly healthy for my flyin’ abilities, Ons. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Vortex?” he asks, voice still soft and dangerous. I swear I can feel my swashplates grinding together. It’d be hot if I wasn’t so occupied with this whole not-getting-killed business.
“No-” I start, but Onslaught just goes right on.
“I believe I was very clear with my instructions. Was there any part of those instructions that you had any confusion regarding?”
Squirming isn’t helping, - and wow, does Onslaught have some serious poundage in his grip. My rotors scrape against my shoulder as he bends the control rods. “Eh heh-”
“I had one stipulation for my protection, didn’t I? Do you remember what it was?” I really don’t like this quiet tone. It’s makin’ me nervous. “Obedience, Vortex,” he says, voice holdin’ all the gentleness that his hand lacked. “I expect your full effort with every order I give and honesty with every question I ask.” His grip loosens, and he strokes the abused control rods. I can’t help the whine that escapes my vocalizer, and I find myself leaning a bit into the touch. Hey, it’s a kink.
“Now,” Onslaught says, still soft. “Let’s try that again. Do you have the information I asked for?”
I hand it over. Come to think of it, maybe I shoulda made three crystals - but a glance Onslaught’s way, and I get the feeling that doin’ that mighta been a bad idea.
Frag, this trustin’ Onslaught thing’s gonna take some work.
x-x-x
Gotta hand it to Onslaught, always a pleasure to watch the mech work. There we are, Armstice’s office, and he’s just as calm and polite as can be, tellin’ the duty officer he’s here to see the commander. The duty officer tries to tell him no, but he’s talkin’ to Ons’s backplates, cuz Onslaught’s pullin’ the smoothest brush-off I ever did see, managin’ to leave the duty officer standin’ there, gapin’ and flustered. I gotta learn how to do that.
“-Not to be disturbed,” Armistice is sayin’ as I slip in after Onslaught.
“I’m afraid,” Onslaught says, pausin’ a moment and noddin’ to me to lock the door, “That your orders are no longer my concern,” he finishes, calm and serene as if he were reportin’ on the number of spare datapads in storage.
“Mutiny, Onslaught?” Armistice’s optic band brightens. “I had thought you were smarter than that.”
I sidestep a bit, tryin’ to get a better view of what he’s doin’ behind the desk. I can’t see one of his hands, and the commander’s a sneaky little fragger. Weapon or alarm? His head snaps around to follow me - least until Onslaught starts talkin’ again.
“Command finds you to be cautious beyond the appropriate attitude of a Decepticon officer,” he says, still standin’ at that easy parade-rest he does. “They are... displeased with your performance these last few vorns.”
Oh, smooth. Suggest this is a sanctioned execution, get him backin’ himself in a corner, make him think twice about callin’ for help if he thinks they might not be on his side, and get him to stop payin’ attention to the grey helicopter sidlin’ around to your shoulder.
“No,” Armistice snaps. Ohhh, quick denial. Feelin’ uncertain about it, Commander? “I’ve ran this base perfectly - and they wouldn’t send the likes of you to deal with me,” he says, all reasonable-like.
“Wouldn’t they?” Onslaught counters, cool as ice.
Hey, cute little plasma pistol you’re hidin’ under the desk. Guess that assessment of you bein’ an idiot wasn’t quite right - you’re even more stupid than I thought. Piddly little thing wouldn’t do more’n make Onslaught mad.
And Armistice just keeps on arguing, completely oblivious to the idea that he’s already fragged - and to the little tool I got tucked in my palm. The blade’s a nice one, warm and familiar, and perfectly capable of stabbin’ through a tank’s armor, much less the former commander’s.
“Vortex,” Onslaught says, ignorin’ Armistice. “Shut him up.”
Finally. Armistice doesn’t seem much inclined to take a knife to the laser core quietly - he grabs up the pistol and turns it on me - but I’m already lungin’. Not towards him, but back for the door and outta Onslaught’s firin’ line.
Armistice realizes the mistake before he even gets fully into firin’ position - but that’s rather too late. Onslaught’s shot catches him square in the chest as he twists. Me, I prefer it when Onslaught gets all personal with his kills, but hey, a corpse is a corpse.
‘Course, Armistice ain’t quite a corpse yet. Onslaught’s sidearm packs a wallop, but it ain’t usually fatal. He seems to like prisoners - not that I’m complainin’ about that one, mind you, and not that he ain’t packin’ a whole heap of lethal weaponry, not the least of which is his fists.
But that’s all beside the point. Point is, Armistice may be bleedin’ and twitchin’ but he ain’t dead yet. The blast threw him back and rattled him hard enough to blow all the little capillary lines, leavin’ lubricant and suchlike seepin’ outta his armor.
A quick slice - you didn’t think I was gonna bring my favorite cuttin’ knife and not use it, did you? - and his cortex is severed from his fuel systems, renderin’ him effectively immobile as the pumps shut down. Another takes care of his vocalizer and a twist to snap the leads to his radio. Onslaught wants him alive. For now, he says.
Considerin’ that my rotors still ain’t straightenin’ right, I ain’t pushin’ my luck and askin’.
The door chirps as someone tries to open it, due no doubt to the racket Ons’s shiny gun makes. Hey, I said he was smooth, not quiet.
Onslaught don’t seem to mind the poundin’ of the mechs outside once they realize that the door ain’t budgin’. He just kicks Armistice outta the way and rights the chair to sit down. Only one whose got an override who’ll dare to use it is the Mayhem. Me, I agree, ‘cept I think the only one who’ll care enough is Torsion, but it amounts to the same thing. Sure enough, it all subsides fast enough. Voices for a bit, then just mutterin’ - then a deep voice, demandin’ to know what was goin’ on.
Hey, Torsion, what took you so long?
Chapter: 9 - A Conspiracy of Trust
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 9 - He really should know better. Pre-Earth, Vortex POV.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Trust is a funny thing. Don’t make a whole lotta sense, when you think about it. It’s all about takin’ for granted that you ain’t gonna get stabbed in the back, even though it’s to the other person’s advantage. And that’s... stupid.
Onslaught doesn’t bother to even look at the data crystal I pass him, and I ain’t sure that’s a good thing. Onslaught ain’t stupid, and I’ve got every reason to hold back information. Well, and a couple good reasons to to hand it all over, both of ‘em named Torsion, but hey, what’s life without a little risk? Really, I’m kinda insulted - I spent a lot of time last night preppin’ that thing with everything Onslaught might suspect me of, and weedin’ out the really good info I don’t want him to know. Got the rest tucked away, just in case. But y’know, what Ons doesn’t know... really will hurt him one day, but hey, that’s the fun part, right?
“So we gonna do this?” I modulate my tone to a somethin’ surly-like, appropriate to the info I supposedly just handed over. Don’t get me wrong, that crystal might just get me shot if Onslaught hands it to the right people, but the other crystal’s the one that would get my shot by... well, most everybody. I push past Onslaught, matchin’ body language to tone.
Aaand there he goes again with the rotor assembly-grabbin’. That’s not a handle, really!
“Vortex,” Onslaught says, in that low dangerous rumble he gets. He’s holdin’ a hand out.
I play dumb. .”What?” I whine back.
“The rest of it,” Onslaught says flatly.
“That’s everything!” I squirm a bit, for emphasis.
Ow. Not only is that not a handle, diggin’ your fingers in ain’t exactly healthy for my flyin’ abilities, Ons. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Vortex?” he asks, voice still soft and dangerous. I swear I can feel my swashplates grinding together. It’d be hot if I wasn’t so occupied with this whole not-getting-killed business.
“No-” I start, but Onslaught just goes right on.
“I believe I was very clear with my instructions. Was there any part of those instructions that you had any confusion regarding?”
Squirming isn’t helping, - and wow, does Onslaught have some serious poundage in his grip. My rotors scrape against my shoulder as he bends the control rods. “Eh heh-”
“I had one stipulation for my protection, didn’t I? Do you remember what it was?” I really don’t like this quiet tone. It’s makin’ me nervous. “Obedience, Vortex,” he says, voice holdin’ all the gentleness that his hand lacked. “I expect your full effort with every order I give and honesty with every question I ask.” His grip loosens, and he strokes the abused control rods. I can’t help the whine that escapes my vocalizer, and I find myself leaning a bit into the touch. Hey, it’s a kink.
“Now,” Onslaught says, still soft. “Let’s try that again. Do you have the information I asked for?”
I hand it over. Come to think of it, maybe I shoulda made three crystals - but a glance Onslaught’s way, and I get the feeling that doin’ that mighta been a bad idea.
Frag, this trustin’ Onslaught thing’s gonna take some work.
Gotta hand it to Onslaught, always a pleasure to watch the mech work. There we are, Armstice’s office, and he’s just as calm and polite as can be, tellin’ the duty officer he’s here to see the commander. The duty officer tries to tell him no, but he’s talkin’ to Ons’s backplates, cuz Onslaught’s pullin’ the smoothest brush-off I ever did see, managin’ to leave the duty officer standin’ there, gapin’ and flustered. I gotta learn how to do that.
“-Not to be disturbed,” Armistice is sayin’ as I slip in after Onslaught.
“I’m afraid,” Onslaught says, pausin’ a moment and noddin’ to me to lock the door, “That your orders are no longer my concern,” he finishes, calm and serene as if he were reportin’ on the number of spare datapads in storage.
“Mutiny, Onslaught?” Armistice’s optic band brightens. “I had thought you were smarter than that.”
I sidestep a bit, tryin’ to get a better view of what he’s doin’ behind the desk. I can’t see one of his hands, and the commander’s a sneaky little fragger. Weapon or alarm? His head snaps around to follow me - least until Onslaught starts talkin’ again.
“Command finds you to be cautious beyond the appropriate attitude of a Decepticon officer,” he says, still standin’ at that easy parade-rest he does. “They are... displeased with your performance these last few vorns.”
Oh, smooth. Suggest this is a sanctioned execution, get him backin’ himself in a corner, make him think twice about callin’ for help if he thinks they might not be on his side, and get him to stop payin’ attention to the grey helicopter sidlin’ around to your shoulder.
“No,” Armistice snaps. Ohhh, quick denial. Feelin’ uncertain about it, Commander? “I’ve ran this base perfectly - and they wouldn’t send the likes of you to deal with me,” he says, all reasonable-like.
“Wouldn’t they?” Onslaught counters, cool as ice.
Hey, cute little plasma pistol you’re hidin’ under the desk. Guess that assessment of you bein’ an idiot wasn’t quite right - you’re even more stupid than I thought. Piddly little thing wouldn’t do more’n make Onslaught mad.
And Armistice just keeps on arguing, completely oblivious to the idea that he’s already fragged - and to the little tool I got tucked in my palm. The blade’s a nice one, warm and familiar, and perfectly capable of stabbin’ through a tank’s armor, much less the former commander’s.
“Vortex,” Onslaught says, ignorin’ Armistice. “Shut him up.”
Finally. Armistice doesn’t seem much inclined to take a knife to the laser core quietly - he grabs up the pistol and turns it on me - but I’m already lungin’. Not towards him, but back for the door and outta Onslaught’s firin’ line.
Armistice realizes the mistake before he even gets fully into firin’ position - but that’s rather too late. Onslaught’s shot catches him square in the chest as he twists. Me, I prefer it when Onslaught gets all personal with his kills, but hey, a corpse is a corpse.
‘Course, Armistice ain’t quite a corpse yet. Onslaught’s sidearm packs a wallop, but it ain’t usually fatal. He seems to like prisoners - not that I’m complainin’ about that one, mind you, and not that he ain’t packin’ a whole heap of lethal weaponry, not the least of which is his fists.
But that’s all beside the point. Point is, Armistice may be bleedin’ and twitchin’ but he ain’t dead yet. The blast threw him back and rattled him hard enough to blow all the little capillary lines, leavin’ lubricant and suchlike seepin’ outta his armor.
A quick slice - you didn’t think I was gonna bring my favorite cuttin’ knife and not use it, did you? - and his cortex is severed from his fuel systems, renderin’ him effectively immobile as the pumps shut down. Another takes care of his vocalizer and a twist to snap the leads to his radio. Onslaught wants him alive. For now, he says.
Considerin’ that my rotors still ain’t straightenin’ right, I ain’t pushin’ my luck and askin’.
The door chirps as someone tries to open it, due no doubt to the racket Ons’s shiny gun makes. Hey, I said he was smooth, not quiet.
Onslaught don’t seem to mind the poundin’ of the mechs outside once they realize that the door ain’t budgin’. He just kicks Armistice outta the way and rights the chair to sit down. Only one whose got an override who’ll dare to use it is the Mayhem. Me, I agree, ‘cept I think the only one who’ll care enough is Torsion, but it amounts to the same thing. Sure enough, it all subsides fast enough. Voices for a bit, then just mutterin’ - then a deep voice, demandin’ to know what was goin’ on.
Hey, Torsion, what took you so long?
