* * *
"You're looking at me."
Bluestreak conspicuously turned to look at Wildrider. The grey Ferrari grinned at him, and Bluestreak wondered if he should take his chances with staring at Breakdown. No, he could handle this, he'd already been on this shift for three and a half hours, and this was his third shift in the brig. Just half an hour left, and then Sideswipe would get to watch the Stunticon pair. Then Bluestreak could go huddle in his quarters and try not to think about the stories Wildrider told so happily and what was actually going on in them if you listened to what he said instead of just hearing his voice.
The two Stunticons hung shackled in seperate cells of the Ark's brig. A high-powered energy grid covered the entrance to Wildrider's cell, but there wasn't even metal plating over Breakdown's. Neither Wheeljack or Perceptor had found anything that could prevent the Stunticon's engine-vibrations from short-circuiting it, and they didn't want to take the chance of Breakdown learning any new tricks. So Red Alert just had him chained hand and foot and hung upside down in the middle of the cell. It seemed like a good deal - they'd kept both Stunticons caged for almost three days now.
Twenty-five minutes before the end of his shift, a distress call came in the Texas oilfields. The Combaticons were hitting the place, obviously on an energy raid. Bluestreak grinned a bit as Optimus dispatched the Aerialbots to deal with them; the Protectobots were on a mission in Africa and in no place to get to the assault in time.
Fifteen minutes before the end of the shift, the President called Optimus on the big red phone. Someone had a tap on the Las Vegas power grid, and there were brightly colored F-15s circling over the city. It was a very delicate situation, and could the Prime do something about this with a minimal loss of life and property?
Bluestreak only found out about this when Ratchet ducked in, did that weird flick-twist and moved his chevron so he could jack in to the Datsun's systems. "Ratchet? Um, couldn't you have just asked whatever you wanted to know? I'm not like the Dinobots, I can tell you what's going on in my systems just fine. And this is kind of uncomfortable-"
The ambulance grunted as he examined the readouts he pulled from Bluestreak's systems. "You're too drained for this mission. Stay here and watch the Stunticons." Ratchet paused a to hit the Datsun's head lightly. "And don't let Wheeljack hear you saying things like that about the Dinobots."
"Wait, mission? What mission-? Ratchet!"
The ambulance paused in the doorway. "We've got a bad situation in Las Vegas, Bluestreak. Everyone who goes has to be in top condition, which you're not. So, we need you to just stay here and keep on this shift, all right?"
Bluestreak nodded slowly. "Sure. I can do that, Ratchet."
"Good." Ratchet left, and Bluestreak adjusted his chevron. He tensed as he heard Wildrider's sniggering and had to turn back to face the two bright-opticced Stunticons.
"Awww! Poor, tired little Autobotling. All alone with us! What should we do with him, Breakdown?"
"Stop directing his attention at me."
Bluestreak's door-wings quivered, and he double-cycled air through his cooling systems. The Stunticons didn't go away like a bad dream should. They hung there, queer purple optics on him. Staring. Just staring, and Wildrider smiling.
Well, it wasn't like they had anything else to do. They were stuck here until Red Alert and Optimus figured out what to do with them, which wouldn't be anytime soon. Prowl had made a few remarks about the argument, something about Red Alert being as bad as a Decepticon with what he suggested. It made Bluestreak nervous to hear about, and he'd asked Prowl to stop telling him about it at all until the official decision was made.
Bluestreak mustered up a smile and started a game of solitaire on the brig computer. Red Jack on black Queen...
* * *
Breakdown waited, optics on the Autobot. Fifteen minutes since Ratchet left, seven minutes since Bluestreak should have gone off-shift. He'd give it another five before he made his move.
Over in the other cell, he could hear the rustling of metal that the Autobots had reassured him was just Wildrider testing the strength of his shackles. He grinned a bit; he'd never realized the power of a paranoid fit among non-Decepticons before this incarceration. The Lamborghini had worked himself into a frenzy and almost set Bluestreak sobbing, and instead of getting hit, he got fire-engine cuddles, soothing words, and some very good drugs.
The next five minutes passed achingly slowly. Wildrider tried to start a story three times, but the Autobot ignored him. Whatever was on that monitor had to be enthralling.
As soon as the five minutes were up, Breakdown began to crank up his engines. It would take a good half hour to get the vibrations going enough to take out the energy grid on Wildrider's cell without the Autobot noticing anything before it fell. But if they didn't take this nice and slow, then neither Stunticon would ever get out of here.
The Lamborghini just hoped that whatever the trouble in Las Vegas was, it would take a couple of hours to resolve.
* * *
Wildrider wriggled against his restraints. They were a cinch too tight; he could see the wear in his paint from where they'd rubbed against his arms. He wouldn't have even noticed if his forcefields were up, though.
If he reactivated his forcefields right now... He giggled. They'd slice right through the shackles, and he'd just have to get through the energy grid. Stupid Autobots had taken away his weapons, but they hadn't even checked to see if he'd kept his forcefields up. Just assumed-!
The dissonant vibrations from Breakdown's engine buzzed along the outside of his shell and made his head-spikes crawl. It felt really fragging weird, and he kept rubbing his helm against the cell wall to make it stop. Didn't really work, but it felt better for a little while. And if he stopped rubbing them, the sensation came back a hundred times worse.
As he was industriously rubbing his spikes against the wall, the energy grid flickered and died. Breakdown's engine cut off, his spikes felt better than ever, and Wildrider reactivated his forcefields just as he heard a clatter of metal. That'd probably be Breakdown hitting the floor.
"Gyah!"
Wildrider heard laserfire as he reactivated his forcefields. They sliced neatly through his shackles, trapping about a nanometer of foreign metal next to his armor. Kinda ugly, and it'd wear his paint more, but he could fix that when he got home.
The Ferrari shook his head, then looked at the situation. He couldn't see Breakdown, so he had to be still in his cell. Bluestreak crouched behind Red Alert's desk, firing his shoulder-guns into Breakdown's cell. Wasn't having much of an effect if the sick look on his face was any clue. Silly Datsun had to be panicking; he knew better than to shoot directly at a Stunticon.
Wildrider cackled and darted towards the door. "C'mon, Breakdown! Stop fooling around!"
Breakdown stalked out of his cell, ignoring the laserfire spattering against his shields. He paused to cold-cock the Autobot before turning to his brother. "You're such an idiot."
Wildrider grinned and grabbed the edge of the door-frame as he prepared to hurl himself into the hallway. "Let's- get- dangerous."
End