Chapter Text
No one tells you that when you become head of an organization, you actually don’t get a substantial raise despite the fact you’re taking on a lot more responsibilities, or that you have a spot on the Autobot council. No, Highbrow told Longarm Prime none of that. Makes sense because last Longarm checked he was a greying frame with the last dose of laced Energon on his derma. So Longarm finally got his goal, along with the title of youngest head of the Intelligence Department, and a pat on the back for good measure. Then he was promptly handed a rooms worth of improperly filed datapads since Highbrow hadn’t bothered using a comprehensive system near the end of his life and told to get to work.
So that’s how he ended up here, with a cycle without a defrag because a report to his benefactor just couldn’t wait. When Cybertron’s sun peaked through his cramped apartment, sparsely furnished but somehow suffocating at the same time, Longarm got up from his desk and trudged over to his energon dispenser. He took a disposable cube and set it down. Inputting the codes he waited for the energon…and waited….and waited. Eventually he heard whirring and clicking from inside the dispenser which had him desperately turning off the machine. Once Longarm cracked it open he saw that multiple parts had broken, and the entire dispenser would need to be replaced. Great. He was running on low fuel until he could get to the department.
He quickly wiped down his frame, putting a few datapads in his subspace and left the apartment. The neighborhood itself wasn’t bad, a bit of a ways from the government plaza, more often than not the renters were fresh officers out of the academy. Longarm shouldn’t count himself part of the population but if you weren’t in the field inside the intelligence department…your pay might as well not exist. Longarm made his way to the bus stop, and waited.
Longarm’s alt mode wasn’t a vehicle type unlike most on Cybertron. He transformed into a crane and only did a successful graduation from the academy did he avoid a fate of working in the construction field. So this meant the fastest way to the department was to take the woefully underfunded public transportation department. After warframes were expelled from Cybertron, public transportation became seen as obsolete. War frames were once flight locked, and couldn’t transport creating a demand to move them from one place to another. Now as Longarm climbed onto the cramped bus, the workers who used the buses and subways were the disposables. He knew him and Perceptor were the only non vehicle transforming bots in all of the council, and Longarm was the only one whose altmode didn’t explicitly tie into his job.
As he looked up from his musings, expecting to be near the Intelligence department he instead found the bus at a standstill, and traffic as far as the optic could see. Great. He put his helm in his arms and closed his optics. He couldn’t wait to get to his sanctuary that is his office.
It seems that Primus is a cruel god because not even a klik after he sat down with a cube of energon, finally able to refuel his systems, did his his chronometer buzz with the notification he had a meeting with Sentinel Prime in 15 kliks. As if his processor ache wasn’t already bad enough. He downed the rest of his energon, threw away the cube and made his way to the meeting space. There was no one else in the room, and it would only be him and Sentinel. He contented himself with thoughts of cutting off the security footage and strangling the Magnus’ lackey to death before hoisting the blame off to an elite guard member. Sentinel came into the room 5 kilks after it should’ve started. Longarm stood up and nodded at Sentinel, “Good morning to you, Sentinel Prime.”
Sentinel’s faceplate was a mix between a smug face and a scowl, so essentially a neutral expression for the mech. He did return the greetings though and sat down. Sentinel did as he did best, ramble and embellish. So it went in one audial and out the other.
“And that’s why we must increase security in these sectors! More cameras installed, more secret agents! I’d even say a curfew too! The Decepticons should not be allowed to rise once more!”
Finally seeing a breakthrough, Longarm held up his servo, “Rise up? In a tourist district? A lot of the mechs who go there are from our sister cities looking see the grandeur of Iacon. I wouldn’t think insurrectionists would gather there. Instead we can look at these districts-“ he pointed to middle class bordering working class neighborhoods, plausible but far enough away from actual activity that he had started, “As entryways, instead of focusing our resources in trying to crack down on bars that may not have licenses.”
Sentinel scoffed, “I have orders from the Magnus to tamper down on any illegal entertainment, we’ll be focusing on this district.”
Longarm let out a long vent but nodded, “If the Magnus says so.” He knows very well Sentinel is just throwing his weight around as Ultra Magnus’ pampered protégé, even if Longarm is 100% sure that Sentinel wasn’t his first pick. He would highly doubt that Sentinel was anyone’s first pick for well…anything.
Most of the meeting went like that. Longarm would make more reasonable suggestions but Sentinel threw it away to do everything by the book. If only he could slam Sentinel’s helm against the wall, and then his own. The glory of when they wrapped up everything was unrivaled, and Longarm walked back to his office only to hear bickering. It was the telltale voice of his secretary and unofficial second in command: Cliffjumper Prime. Cliffjumper was a good worker, a dab hand at organizing, a keen optic for details and excellent at technology. His only glaring fault though, and the reason he wasn’t considered for field work was his temper.
Which had flared up here. Cliffjumper was yelling at some spy which had just returned for ruining another mission. His thick accent was coming through as he berated the bot twice his height but no less fearless, “That was the third time!!! In a row!! That you slagged things up!! I don’t know where we even get you! The smelter maybe! You should pick up a datapad in stealth and read it! But you’ll also need a dictionary to understand the meaning of subtlety because you clearly have none!”
The mech, sputtered and tried to regain their composure but Cliffjumper kept going on and on to the point where it looked like he was about to blow a gasket. Until Longarm rested a servo on his shoulder, looking down, “Take a deep vent, and back off. I’ll review the mech’s performance for myself and consider if there’s any course to take.”
While Cliffjumper’s anger didn’t immediately dissipate, it slowly lost steam and he nodded, his faceplate going back to its regular hue. He left without another word while the mech looked…terrified. Despite Longarm being only a head taller than Cliffjumper he seemed to have a presence that would unnerve other mechs if they were on the opposing side. The spy just bowed and hurried off, Longarm relishing in the expression for a moment before heading to his office.
The next joor was relatively sane, only that the interns messed up his very perisce organizing method again and that meant he spent the next 3 joors fixing it. He could get so much more done if it was just himself. During his break, numbly sipping on the energon cube it all came crashing down. He was just so done. So done with this. Nothing was right, this frame didn’t even feel right. He rested his helm on the table and resisted the urge to scream as loud as possible. That’d surely send him to some type of hospital.
A few more kliks into his…rest? Crash out? The door suddenly opened and in burst a familiar blur of blue and white. It was Blurr. Longarm barely had time to lift his helm off the table when he started to yap off about his report. He had sent Blurr on a scouting mission right before his departure last cycle and Blurr was back. Yes. Longarm could typically understand Blurr’s speech without much difficulty but now he was having trouble, everything felt real and not at once, which just had him nodding dumbly to get it over with. It seems like the speedster noticed as he got out, “Is-something-wrong-sir? I-had-filled-everything-out-as-requested-and-you-sent-a-message-earlier-today. It-seems-your-primary-functions-are-affected.”
Longarm hadn’t even recalled sending a message to Blurr but he tried to wave it off, “Everything is fine Agent, just..composing myself.”
Blurr nodded but he wasn’t convinced. After a moment of silence and tapping his pede he offered, “Maccadam’s-Oil-House-has-a-buy-one-get-one-free-offer-on-high-grade. It-has-been-a-moment-perhaps-we-should-change-that?”
Oh Primus the bot looked hopeful, and Longarm for one brief traitorous moment didn’t want to see him disappointed even if he’d take it in stride. Blurr had a habit of curbing his more selfish behaviors around him. So Longarm nodded and offered the first true smile of the day, “I’d appreciate the offer, Blurr.”
The smile that Blurr returned said all.