Work Text:
Blurr really can't take the limitations of others case in point instead of infiltrating this train in a covert way by running up alongside and hopping over some railing and then you hack a door and you're in - she has to wait for a third agent to fly them both overhead, then climb down a rope.
Okay perhaps this isn't Cliffjumper's fault. It's not like she chose this method; after all it was Longarm Prime who designed the mission specs and unlike the usual carte blanche that is usually given to them they have to use specific means and methods.
Blurr keeps her complaints internal as per usual and gestures for Cliffjumper to climb down first, dancing a little on her pedes. She doesn't need the cable, she could jump, but a ladder is safer and more guided and she's not sure Cliffjumper could do the jump therefore -
Therefore Cliffjumper swings her rifle up on her back and descends the ladder. That's far too much heavy weaponry for what should be infiltration but Cliffjumper hasn't been in the field in multiple solar cycles and while she certainly has all of her skills and far more practice in restraint she is also still caught in some kind of defensive error loop that means lots of weaponry regardless of the situation. Blurr has seen it in other veterans and has an excessive amount of hidden weaponry on her own frame, so she hasn't commented unlike some mechs.
She climbs down in a hurry once Cliffjumper is on the train, waving up at their ride who veers off into the night, and here they are on top of a moving train with a limited window to get inside of it before it goes into a tunnel and really Longarm really why this method what do you know that you omitted from the briefing?
Cliffjumper points at Blurr, then at a hatch just ahead, and Blurr nods before taking off to try it, tugging at its handles, then checking for any keypads, then of course there's a mechanical screw it just needs to be turned and opened not even security just extra assurance the hatch won't open due to weather. She opens it, and has the hatch open by the time Cliffjumper joins her. There's a pistol in her hand as she peeks into the dark of the car, before she nods and jumps inside. Blurr follows suit, closing the hatch after them and securing it.
"Not too bad," Cliffjumper says as Blurr hits the ground. They're in a cargo car so it's just rows of crates and rudimentary security that their systems automatically compensate for. Honestly, it would be devastating to their work if ever they were allowed to advise various industries in how to spy-proof their storage areas. Fortunately Longarm Prime has turned down that opportunity and Blurr is letting herself get sidetracked.
The point is with initial scans they don't find anything in the cargo that they care about. "We're in the wrong car."
"Yeah," Cliffjumper says, sighing as she subspaces her pistol, then her rifle. "Fraggit. I knew we weren't going to be so lucky to just find it and go."
"I'll inspect the other cars you get to work mingling alright?"
Cliffjumper scowls at her, but nods. It's the logical choice, even if neither of them wants to interact with other mechs. She fiddles with a panel on her wrist, then her colors begin to shift from camo-gray to her usual bright red. No need for color camo amongst mechs, their targets will either ID them on sight from shape or they won't; more likely they won't unless they act suspicious.
Blurr follows suit, changing herself back to her blue, and she's off, zipping through the rest of the cargo crates in a sprint that feels good after too long in a flier.
Blurr is searching for a cargo crate that will only appear to be normal on first glance. She's flitting past rows of perfectly aligned cylinders, bulky rectangular shapes and the cluttered racks of smaller, personal containers. Depending on proximity to cars containing passengers there are more and less of each type. With her speed she's barely noticed held up more by the doors opening and closing than anything else.
But there finally just as Longarm's briefing said: there is a rectangular container that appears normal until you take in the thin shell and the fragile markings and if you lift one observation hatch you can peek inside and there are rows and rows of what appear to be ovoids. Blurr doesn't need to count all of them just take visuals of the container and its location and tags and close the hatch and that's part one of the mission complete. Someone is transporting illegal organic material onto Cybertron and one link of that chain is on this very train they need to locate the person in charge of the cargo.
If Blurr were in charge of transporting illegal organic material covertly she wouldn't waste time riding with it but what does she know she's no criminal. She's not bound by other mundane limitations either. All of these thoughts flit through her mind as she runs back to Cliffjumper, the next part will call for teamwork.
Unfortunately it also calls for abnormal amounts of socialization and with a grimace she begins to activate her slowdown programs. She's jogging as she reaches Cliffjumper's car, raising a hand in greeting. Everything feels slow, sluggish - her programs completely activate and the sensation snaps. She's normal, thinking at normal speeds.
"There you are," Cliffjumper says from where she's leaning against a booth. "I was just talking to these nice strangers."
The nice strangers are a trio of lightly armored mechs who on first blink are scouts and on second blink are members of the Guard. Blurr smiles cattily at them. "Nice? You can't call these troublemakers nice, Cliffjumper."
The important part is the wink. She doesn't forget it. The tallest of the three mechs rolls their optics once they see it.
"We're not making trouble, chatterbox." Oh she hates that even if it's meant in good fun. "We're actually on the way to our next assignment."
"Yes but you're taking the train, can't you drive? Really who rides a train."
"Good question," says the short one of the three, a yellow-blue mech. "Who does ride a train?" They put their chin in their hands. "Surely not famed member of the guard Blurr, who spends so much time running she forgets her wheels!"
There's friendly laughter around the group - Cliffjumper joins in. Blurr keeps all bristling inside. The point is to relax these three and remind them that they've interacted before and humor works. The point is to use them as a springboard to talk to other mechs here. Because the question is: who does ride a train? The highways are back up and running after the long repair work - centuries of arduous, dangerous labor - and the trains are no longer the only link between cities. Trains are slower than driving yourself for most frameclasses, they're bound by schedules, and they're full of mechs from all classes and guilds. Perfect hotbeds for treasonous whispering, and so the Council had instituted a fee on tickets, so that it was no longer open to any who wished to ride.
Now you either pay up or you drive - or walk.
Blurr blinks, realizing she's skipped a sentence or two in the conversation just by thinking. The slow-downs work but they are so tedious.
" - yeah, we convinced our Prime that a train ride would make the most sense. We'll reach our post on time and together. And rested up, too!" A drink is lifted, and Cliffjumper grins.
"Yeah, tell me about it," she says. "Can you believe I was assigned to a partner like Blurr? We have to take the train, or else I arrive and she's finished all the work."
"Excuse me that's too far Cliffjumper I am considerate of others honestly!"
Cliffjumper flaps a hand. "Yeah, but you should get more solo assignments and we both know it."
"So why are you here?" asks one of the guards.
"Escorts for ultra-secure documents," Blurr says without a hitch. "And they want to trace every step of the journey old-style isn't that paranoid?"
Everyone gets that trouble, so they all get kindly grimaces. Bureaucracy is as much an obstacle as it is a useful cover.
"Have a seat," says the short one, which is exactly the opening they were looking for. Blurr settles in as Cliffjumper brings them another round of cubes, engaging in easy chatter, encouraging them to talk. What they want are names, descriptions, complaints. It doesn't matter how trivial, because every mech on this train is a suspect. Those eggs were placed by someone who is still on this train.
Now of course the most obvious course would be to check the logs on the train and they've done that and surprise surprise! They aren't listed. The smuggler isn't completely incompetent.
Blurr has to let Cliffjumper take the lead in the conversation more and more, the slowdown programs beginning to chafe to the point of pain. She releases them, covering the shiver of relief under a gulp of fuel. Of course the time dilation turns social encounters into a nightmare but she was not programmed to think at those speeds and as more information arrives she wants to analyze it properly.
Now she can multi-thread, and from the outside her participation in the conversation seems to speed up; she's attentive, she leans forward with her hands on her chin. From the inside she's completely checked out, comparing lists. Official personnel are skimmed and discarded as low probabilities as not just anyone can work on a train given the specialized skillsets, irregular mobility, and most crucially the sheer amount of people they meet as a matter of course. The train himself is discarded after brief analysis; no window of opportunity to move the cargo, let alone acquire it even assuming a drop-off.
She updates the list of passengers, comparing faces and names to official lists, adding in the information these guardsmechs have provided; another easy out is plugged as every face matches the official registry.
Cliffjumper rises as the conversation winds down and Blurr joins her, linking arms as they walk down the dining car, moving past tables and onto another car. An empty seat clearly isn't theirs but they take it, Blurr against the window, Cliffjumper with a hand on hers.
"Anything?" Cliffjumper asks against her hand, and outloud: "Are you okay?"
"Perfectly fine thank you perhaps we can go without too much conversation," she complains, grimacing. Her hand speaks: "No obvious mistakes."
"You know there's no fun in a train ride if we're not talking to everyone," Cliffjumper says. "C'mon. It's good to push yourself."
Blurr makes a face at her but she doesn't mean it. If her endless irritation with interacting with other mechs interrupted with her work she wouldn't be here. Cliffjumper reads her reports and knows how to best work with her. It goes both ways too: Cliffjumper truly dislikes the finesse of social missions, as she's awkward and blunt with strangers. It's taken training to be able to talk casually with mechs, and neither of them are perfect at it.
Another question for Longarm later, and this she says into Cliffjumper's hand: "Why send us?"
Cliffjumper shrugs as they get up, vacating the seat and moving on. There's a small concert being held two cars up and it will be a perfect place to mingle and listen.
//
If she's been deployed to the field, there's going to be violence. Cliffjumper has never said this outloud, but it's understood by her boss and fellow agents. She's a soldier looking for a war.
So why is she standing on a luxuriously carpeted floor, clapping alongside the small crowd as the musicians take a bow and reset their instruments? She couldn't tell you what genre that music was. She's not even sure what instruments those are; some kind of synths? They're rectangular shapes held in two hands and strummed by a third, but it's not the wobbly sound she associates with string instruments.
This is stupid and she wants something to explode.
Nothing does. Instead the mech nearest her - not Blurr, some blue and green car who is actually wearing plastic gloves - turns and smiles, friendly-like.
"It's so nice to see who comes to listen," they begin. Cliffjumper smiles back.
"It's my first time," she says. "I thought it'd be heavier, but that worth listening to."
Longarm's instructions echo in her mind. 'Never directly criticize. Mechs want to talk, but if you make them defensive they'll shut down. Instead say that you didn't understand it, or you're used to another style. This gives them an opening to talk, and you can encourage that. Sharing interests builds rapport, which is what you need for the soft assignments.'
If no one knows that she's directly copying what she was told, that's fine. All she needs is to listen to train-wide gossip, learn names. All she has to do is keep her simmering impatience under wraps. There will be violence later. Longarm knows not to deploy her to peaceful, soft missions.
Or this could be a punishment. A nasty prank. Send Cliffjumper on a mission, see her wound up for violence that never comes. Longarm would do that.
"Oh, you haven't heard of neosnap-string yet? It's the latest craze. Still too new to really evaluate of course, but the sounds are so unusual. The freak factor alone makes it exciting to come to the concerts."
"How stupid do I sound if I say I don't actually know what their instruments are?" Cliffjumper asks, and the car laughs lightly.
"Not terribly. Have you been kept from culture by work?" They nod meaningfully at Cliffjumper's badge.
Cliffjumper wants to make up some lie about being kept off-planet on some assignment... but she can't bring herself to do it. She just sighs and chooses another angle. "My department was audited recently and the boss wanted everything checked. That's part of why I'm here - I need a break!"
"Oh, I understand. That instrument is... I believe it's called a guitynth - some organic word mangled in with Cybertronian. Everyone's been talking about them and what they can mean for the sound. Wait, ah, I have been rude! I'm Copperrun, from Iacon. As much as I'd like to say this is a trip for pleasure, it's for business instead - something I can't do remotely. Honestly, it should be criminal to mandate travel instead of trusting delegation... but, ah. The music makes it worth it."
That's too good to be true. This mech isn't the one, but Cliffjumper tosses the rapport back. "Cliffjumper. I usually drive when I have to travel, but this is pretty swank. I'm thinking of doing it more in the future. Is it always this crowded?"
How gauche it would be to mention that he can't always afford this! How gauche it would be to comment on it!
"Oh, usually moreso! Sometimes there's no seating room in here, and," they're off to the races. Cliffjumper listens, noting the patterns and numbers and she coaxes Copperrun to talking about the most exciting train rides, and the best concerts, and it's with regret on Copperrun's face that they have to quiet down as the musicians start their next set.
In an environment like this, they can't use comms. The buzzing would disrupt sensors when you're supposed to be focused on audio only, so Cliffjumper can't ask if Blurr has learned anything useful.
The music thrums, hisses. Cliffjumper almost looks around or wonders if there's a problem before she realizes the sound is intentional. The musicians rattle their vents in tempo, and yeah, this song is more experimental than the last. She kind of likes it. She'd like it more if she could stomp her pedes and get a real carriage-rattling shout going, but the floor is carpeted. Huh. Did they install that for decor or to prevent the less restrained passengers from joining the music?
She is desperate for anything to do. She admits it. Blurr at least has moved on, found more exciting carriages. That's one of the problems with social work: there's no way to speed it up. She can't arrest them all and shake out the details.
A scream splits the airwaves and she jerks to the side on pure instinct. There's nothing to dodge, but when she looks one of the other audience members is shaking and pointing at the ceiling.
Cliffjumper frowns, seeing nothing. One of the musicians lets out a noisy ex-vent. "Really? You're interrupting us for - "
Something long and sinuous lunges at the musician, knocking them back into the ground and then everyone's shrieking as Cliffjumper grins. A twitch at subspace and she's armed, hurrying up to the snake-like organic as it coils around the mech. It's a writhing, crashing thing as the mech tries to get it off, or bang it off, or something, but the organic doesn't squish like it should.
Cliffjumper jumps up and lands hard on the musician's chest, startling them into stillness as she lines up her shot - between the shoulder and helm, one of the narrower parts of the organic - and fires three times.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Not muffled, either! That'll shake the crowd, and Cliffjumper hears some pained gasps from mechs who don't have augmented sensor arrays. Peh - civvies. She reaches in, getting her hand smeared with red as she grabs the torn open flesh of the organic and pulls, dragging the whole thing off of the musician.
It twitches, thrashes, but it comes off in coils and lies on the carpet, soaking it. Cliffjumper skips words and sends a visual to Blurr in a burst of data.
::There will be more than one look out warn the civilians look for the culprit!::
Frag, yes.
//
Oh frag oh frag this is her fault she fell for the trap but also was this a setup? She didn't know the eggs were ready to hatch and now they have to remove them before they escape the train and Blurr needs to run in five directions but picks one, speeding to the cargo she found earlier and the screams sweep around her oddly as she finds more of the organics attacking other passengers.
Daggers work nicely at speed just cut-cut-cut and the victims won't see her as more than a blur as she hurries onwards, torn between duties. Faces are catalogued but she doesn't stay to listen to anything just hurrying and in there there's the container with the eggs the observation hatch has been burst open from the inside and even as Blurr's peering inside another organic slips out of an egg.
An egg - one egg. One of the eggs has hatched, one of the ones near the back. The rest are still intact or seem to be. Blurr shudders all over with angry distaste but protocol is clear infestation can't be permitted even if Cybertron has its own defenses organics are adaptable more than most would realize. She shoves the whole lid up and open and begins to stuff eggs into her subspace, each one a warm throbbing mass that she hates touching. Her subspace is set to stasis and if she's lucky and there's no weird glitch or interaction between organic material and the systems the eggs will be stuck in time in there. All of these thoughts run by as egg egg egg goes into her.
When the entire container is contained within her anchored to her spark and engines she dances back from it and gets to the real work: hunting down the hatchlings and collecting corpses.
//
One benefit to working with Blurr: she's already handled the epicenter of the problem, freeing up Cliffjumper to make herself useful and look for someone who isn't surprised by the presence of snakes on a train.
The keys to look out for: nervous optics. Trying to head towards the front of the train. If Cliffjumper's lucky they'll be that obvious.
Cliffjumper is.
She walks past with a determined stride, appearing like just another working violent mech who's out to find the monsters. She waits a few beats to be sure they're still moving, then turns back to stalk them.
It's a passenger in red, no highlights. Even the protoform is red, and that's odd. Not odd to the point of being suspicious just for the color, but it's distinctive. Cliffjumper can't decide if it's clever or not. Depends on if they change their colors. Their frame is otherwise just another batchmech - looks like a jeep. She'd think of a notorious traitor with the same frametype, but she's on a mission.
The jeep's luck keeps running out: one of the organics attacks them, and Cliffjumper's there to watch as they defend themselves with some kind of spray from a handheld dispenser. Cliffjumper forwards that to Blurr, their comm buzz lost in the heady storm that's suffusing the train. The jeep doesn't turn around or notice, and Cliffjumper cleans up the corpse while they move ahead.
Bad form to let a target out of optical view, but Cliffjumper knows where they're going, and who knows if any corpses will spawn more? Organics get weird. Don't take chances when it's your planet on the line.
Cliffjumper jogs to catch back up, tapping the jeep on the shoulder. "Hey!"
The jeep turns, a question forming as Cliffjumper punches them right in their crackable optics. They tumble to the ground, clutching their face.
"Who the frag are you! Why - !"
"Because you're an aft and an idiot and you're under arrest!" Cliffjumper snaps back as she claps a stasis-cuff on their wrist. "Smuggling organics onto Cybertron - that's a felony. Smuggling organics across Cybertron - that's idiocy! We can't risk any infections!"
A smart smuggler would protest their innocence. Cliffjumper knows the steps and is ready to just cuff and hold 'em until Blurr's done.
This one is stupid. Good, she likes stupid: she records every word out of their vox.
"But they weren't supposed to hatch! I don't move volatile goods, and I was told these wouldn't - this shouldn't happen! You have to let me get to the container. I can help you contain them!"
"Bit late for that," Cliffjumper says as she secures the other wrist behind the jeep's back. There's fluids dripping from their cracked optics which makes Cliffjumper feel better.
"But - you have to let me help." They're miserable.
"I don't, actually. Got 'em all, Blurr?"
"Yes don't set me up like that I don't like being used for dramatic effect the organics are secured and you have the culprit are you working with anyone no don't say anything I can check no they're not we can go Cliffjumper this mission is over we're in cleanup now."
Cliffjumper grins at her, picking up the jeep, slinging them over her shoulder. "Awesome. I really need a rinse."
"As do I come on come on I don't want another moment here," Blurr says, and swaps to comms as they exit the carriage, climbing up the train's side to stand together on the roof. Their ride is flying up, flashing lights at them; all's well.
::What'd you do with the eggs?:: Cliffjumper asks, mostly to hear Blurr complain.
::They're in my subspace it's disgusting I keep thinking about what would happen if they burst in there or the stasis fails I need to be completely cleaned Cliffjumper this is terrible!:: It doesn't stop there. Cliffjumper lets it wash over them, grinning.
::...and furthermore I think Longarm Prime set us up you have to agree that she probably knew we'd have to contain something like this the timing is too convenient what if we hadn't been there?::
Cliffjumper's grin turns vicious. ::Yeah. Chaos, panic, escaping organics everywhere. Explains why we were sent, too.:: Their boss is overly clever and Cliffjumper wishes not for the first time she could punch Longarm right in that smug smile.
Blurr begins to pace and aborts as their ride arrives; they're first on the ladder - but they turn to offer Cliffjumper a hand, and that, Cliffjumper appreciates.
//