- Motto: "Transform and smoke 'em!"
- Weapon: Twin Shoulder-Mounted Rocket Launchers
Australia - South of Ayers Rock
“Glad to be aboard, Jazz!" Bluestreak replied to the music-loving mech as the gunner took aim at another vehicon projectile and opened fire, obliterating it in mid-air. “I’m telling you this Fallen guy’s not messing around, and he seems to enjoy using mechs like bullets. Fine by me just as long as it’s a bunch of vehicon scrap and not fellow Autobots! I don’t think I can shoot a comrade out of the sky!"
With that said, the black and silver Autobot raised his rifle up once more as yet another vehicon came flying towards their position. However, just before he was able to fire, the sound of Tailgate’s voice, followed by several tugs on his gun arm, drew Bluestreak’s attention away from the incoming projectile and down towards the small white and teal minibot. “Are you crazy, Tailgate?! You’re going to make me miss or hit a fellow 'Bot even! We’re under attack by a demigod that’s actually on fire and you want me to care about some fraggin’ vehicons?! Even if they do have their own sparks, they’re still Decepticons! I could care less how many of them I blow out of the....."
Before Bluestreak could finish his proclamation, the incoming vehicon projectile slammed right into him at a high rate of speed. The force of the impact propelled the gunner right off the top of Ultra Magnus’ trailer and sent him careening to the sand covered ground behind the Autobot leader. The black and silver mech tumbled endlessly as his momentum carried him further and further away from Ayers Rock, his rifle lost somewhere in the dust cloud left in his wake. There was little Bluestreak could do to stop himself. His only option was to ride it out until he eventually came to a stop.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the chatterbot’s momentum slowed and he rolled to a halt far behind the still advancing anvil forces. Ending up on his back, Bluestreak let out a pain-filled groan as he stared up into the sky above, catching sight of a seeker as it flew overhead. It looked like Skywarp, but he couldn’t be sure. Not that it mattered. No Decepticon would give him aid, and ‘Streak wouldn’t want it anyway. The enemy was notorious for not caring much about their own injured. So, why would they care about an Autobot?
As he lay there helpless, Bluestreak ran an internal systems diagnostic to determine the extent of the damage he had sustained thanks in no small part to Tailgate’s idiocy. I’m going to have to have a long chat with him after this. The gunner’s thoughts then shifted to the readings he was receiving. Apparently, his injuries were substantial. Blue’s chest plate was crushed inwards, his headlights smashed from the vehicon impact. Dents and ruptures covered his chassis as energon leaked out from several orifices while a series of sparks erupted from different fissures. Bluestreak’s left door wing was broken off and lying somewhere on the battlefield covered in sand. His left optic was cracked and had gone dark which left him without depth perception. Of course, that was the worst injury as far as he was concerned because without depth perception he could not adequately aim or fire his rifle. As a gunner, that was his primary function when in battle. Now, he felt useless to say the very least.
Letting out another agonizing groan, Bluestreak tried to sit up as every circuit in his framework felt like they were on fire. The black and silver mech then caught sight of four large columns of fire that had erupted around Ayers Rock. Indeed, this Fallen guy meant business. “Impressive," the Autobot gunner commented as he laid back down and finally thought to open a comm line to the medics:
>>"Ratchet, First Aid, this is Bluestreak. I’m down. Got hit pretty hard by a vehicon projectile. Multiple injuries. Need assistance ASAP."<<
Drag Strip’s focus had been on Smokescreen as the rallybot ran away from him like the cowardly Cybertronian that he was. Did he really think he could escape from a herald of the Fallen? The red and blue racer was only delaying his inevitable destruction. Why draw it out? Why not just face his ultimate fate and get it over with? Because he, like all the others, is a pathetic, disgusting Transformer and the only good Transformer was a dead one.
“You can’t run from me forever, Smokescreen! I will catch you and when I do you will crumble away into dust just like those vehicons back there!" Drag Strip yelled after the fleeing Autobot and he sought reinforcements. Not that anyone else could help him. Although, they were more than welcome to try. The more victims the merrier.
Then one such victim made himself known. The sound of Breakdown’s vocal threat reached Drag Strip’s audios, making him stop in his tracks and cast his former comrade a wide smile. "Breakdown! You nervous little glitch, you!" The yellow herald shouted back as he waved his arms around in order to mock Breakdown’s own physical display. “Did good old Motormouth send you to scare me? That’s funny coming from a coward like yourself!"
Drag Strip then raised his gravito gun and fired a shot directly at Breakdown. The shot struck the nervous Stunticon’s left shoulder, crushing it under the gravitation forces that Drag’s weapon yielded. “Hurts, doesn’t it, Breaky?! Well, Motoraft’s next! Be sure to tell him that! Ha ha!!"
The yellow herald’s laughter then quickly subsided as he caught sight of a blueish blur from the corner of his optic. A toothy grin spread across his faceplate in anticipation as suddenly, from seemingly out of nowhere, the Autobot speedster grabbed a hold of him with one arm while trying to stick him with something using the other. Unfortunately for the former racing champion, he was no longer the only one with great speed.
“What’s this?" Drag Strip queried as he swiftly reached up and grabbed Blurr’s right forearm before the Autobot was able to inject him with some kind of chemical agent. The yellow herald forced the arm down and away from his neck joint, allowing him to inspect what exactly Blurr was holding. “A syringe? Really, Blurr? You come at me with a tiny little needle? And what, prey tell, is inside, hmmm? Something the medics cooked up, no doubt? Or perhaps it was Oil Slick? Maybe he was nice enough to lend you one of his concoctions. Heh, or not!"
Drag Strip then twisted Blurr’s forearm, causing him to drop the syringe into the sand at their feet. “Too bad we’ll never know if it would have worked on me or not. But I have a better idea. Let’s inject YOU with something! Okay?!" Not waiting for a response, the yellow herald of pestilence opened his mouth wide and bit down hard on Blurr’s forearm, piercing through his metal skin until the energon lines beneath were exposed to his fang-like teeth. Then Drag’s own corrupted fluids flowed into the speedster’s system, infecting him with a potent virus that would quickly run rampant throughout the Autobot’s body.
“There!" Drag Strip proclaimed as he withdrew his teeth and released Blurr’s right forearm from his sturdy grip. Breaking the former racer’s hold around his torso, Drag turned around and pushed the blue speedster away. The yellow herald then stood back and watched as his handy work took affect. “I just gave you a little present, Blurr! An energon discharge virus! I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Soon that life-giving purple liquid inside you will start to trickle out from every bodily orifice you have. Then it will flow out in constant streams until you are finally bled dry! I hope you enjoy the suffering! I know I will! Ha ha!!"