- Motto: "Transform and smoke 'em!"
- Weapon: Twin Shoulder-Mounted Rocket Launchers
“You...you know, you’re really easy to talk to. Did anyone ev...ever tell you that? I mean, I’ve been in here....downing this really great energon substitute, telling you everything under Primus that’s been bothering me for the past many many many vorns, and you’ve just been sitting there....burp....listening to all of it. I mean - wow the room is spinning - I mean, most mechs would’ve just tuned me out by now, you know, or simply walked away or even made up some kind of bullscrap excuse why they had to leave. But, not you, no siry bot! You’re a real live spark saver.....that’s what you are! Hiccup! Ah, excuse me. I didn’t mean to be rude. I think I may have reached my limit. Heh.”
Bluestreak pushed the empty glass container away from him as he leaned back in his chair at one of the countless tables in the mess hall. He glanced over again at the small maintenance drone that had been forced to listen to his non-stop, increasingly slurred babbling for the past few cycles while he enjoyed the Ark-22’s superb assortment of energon substitute. Ever since Red Alert had deserted him in favor of some non-existent conspiracy, the silver and black mech had found himself alone drinking his sorrows away until one of the many cleaning bots had entered the room. The drone wasn’t sentient, of course, but it would suffice to help keep the gunner’s processor off of things that had happened long ago. It was better than having no one at all.
“Well, I should probably get going now,” Bluestreak suggested as he stood up from the table, a little wobbly. “Whoa, somebody should, um, tell Springer to fix the gravity stabi...stabilizers. Yeah, that’s it! You can do that....I’m....just going to take a stasis nap somewhere. Um, not sure where, my quarters I guess. Heh. Anyway, catch ya latter, little maintaining bot!” The gunner slapped the drone on top before staggered across the mess hall and exiting into the corridor beyond.
Bluestreak was looking for his personal quarters, but he was having a difficult time finding it. In his inebriated state, Blue would be lucky to find his own gun, which he carried on his person at all times. Still, his drunkenness didn’t stop him from trying to find his quarters as he persevered onward until he came to a turbo lift. “Mmmm...maybe I should, um, try anotherrrr deck. Yeah, that would be good.”
The black and silver mech was about to depress the button when the lift’s door parted down the center, revealing the form of Wheeljack standing inside. Bluestreak’s optics widened at the sudden presence of the mechanical engineer. “Wheeljack! Hey, buddy....burp....ah how’s it going? Haven’t seen you in, um....awhile? Right? I think it’s been a while, anyway. Heh. Time’s a strange thing wouldn’t you say?”
Wheeljack, surprised to see anyone else lurking around the corridors, stepped out of the turbo lift and grabbed a hold of Bluestreak’s left arm before the gunner toppled sideways. “Blue, are you drunk?”
“No! No, of course not. Hiccup! Why do you ask?”
“Because you smell drunk.”
“Oh...welll...heh, maybe just a little,” Bluestreak replied with a shrug. An astrosecond later, he leaned forward and purged about a quart of fuel all over the floor. “Okay, maybe more than a little. Heh. Can you help me to my, um, what do you call it, quarters? Yeah, that's it! I can’t find them anywhere. Those damn living spaces, always moving around and slag. Heh.”
“Ah, sure thing, Blue, no problem,” Wheeljack agreed, not wanting to just leave a drunken gunner in the middle of the hallway. Holding on to him tightly, ‘Jack guided Bluestreak through a series of corridors until they had reached the black and silver mech’s personal quarters. Along the way, the talkative mech continued to ramble on and on about anything that came to his processor. The scientist barely understood a word of it since most of the gunner’s sentences were slurred and therefore easy to ignore. Thankfully, Blue didn’t purge any more fuel, either, which also made the trek a little more bearable.
Bluestreak’s Personal Quarters
“Here we go, Blue, ol’ buddy. Home sweet home.”
“Thanks, Jackie,” Bluestreak responded, patting the engineer on the back. “I appreci...a-ppre-ci-ate, yeah that’s it, appreciate it! I knew I’d get it out! Ha ha!” The drunk Autobot then stood there for a moment, looking at the closed door in front of him. “Um, why ain’t the door opening?”
“You need to enter your access code, Blue.”
“Oh, right. Heh, silly me.” Bluestreak reached up to the keypad and paused a moment. “Um, what is my code?”
Sigh. Wheeljack said nothing as he leaned his comrade against the wall next to the door and went to work on bypassing the lock. Within astroseconds, the entrance to Bluestreak’s quarters was open and ‘Jack was helping his drunken friend inside. “Okay, here we are. Now, you need to sleep this off, Blue, before going back on duty. Understand?”
“Sure thing, Jackie! Hiccup! No problem!” The Autobot gunner replied as Wheeljack guided him over to the stasis berth at the opposite side of the room. Once ‘Streak was within inches of the metal slab, he collapsed faceplate first onto it and quickly drifted off into recharge.
“That’s a good ‘Bot,” Wheeljack muttered to no one in particular, or at least to no one that was conscious. The scientist was about to turn away and leave Blue’s quarters when he noticed that the gunner was now lying in a similar face-down position that Smokescreen’s new frame was in when last the engineer saw it. However, there was something different about Bluestreak’s back that differed from Smokey’s, which was odd considering they shared the same mold. “You got to be fraggin’ kidding me!”
Wheeljack put his hand up to his faceplate when he realized what the difference was. Bluestreak’s back housed a pair of retractable rocket launchers that would deploy onto his shoulders in battle just like the diversion expert. Unfortunately, ‘Jack had forgotten all about the launchers and neglected to make them for the rallybot’s new body. Great, one more thing for me to do. Like Axle and I have time for this. Dammit!
Without further delay, the mechanical engineer hurried out of Bluestreak’s quarters, locking the door behind him and leaving the gunner to safely sleep off his drunken condition. The scientist then made his way back through the corridors and towards his lab.
When he finally arrived, Wheeljack found Axle already there sitting on the floor next to the lab’s locked door with his legs drawn up and his head down. “You okay, Axle?” The concerned scientist asked, kneeling down, hoping that the field medic hadn’t decided to overflow his tanks, as well, when he was supposed to be gathering supplies for the diversion expert. “Sorry that I’m late, but after I disposed of Smokescreen’s old body, I ended up running into a drunk Bluestreak in the halls on my way back, and I had to help him to his quarters. You understand?”
Once he could see that Axle was okay, Wheeljack stood back up and entered his access codes, the lab doors opening as a result. “Now, I was able to finish assembling Smokey’s frame,” the engineer stated as he crossed the threshold and approached the rallybot’s new body that still lay face down on the primary worktable. “However, while I was assisting Bluestreak, I realized that I forgot two very important pieces - Smokey’s shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. They’re retractable, able to slide into his back when he’s not in battle. I saw similar ones on Blue since they have almost identical frames. So, I’m going to have to get to work straight away on constructing those.”
Wheeljack cast a gaze back at Axle, who still seemed a bit out of it. “Where you able to get the med-grade energon and the other supplies you needed? No one saw you, like Prowl or Red Alert, right?”