Series: The Ghost Unit
Title: Longshot - Faith (6)
Setting: IDW Transformers, inspired by the "What's Wrong with a Little Destruction" 'verse by ajremix
Note: Many thanks to rexlapinii and ajremix for beta-ing!

Building the Team: Longshot - Faith
"Live your beliefs and you can turn the world around."
~ Henry David Thoreau

The medic studied the profiles displayed on the holoscreen taking up the far wall, optics narrowing every now and then in contemplation. At regular intervals a profile would be dismissed, fading from view to let another take its place on the tapestry of lives floating before him. Deadline had been going through psych profiles and personnel files for the last deca-cycle in an attempt to lock down a suitable candidate for one of the last spots on the team. While each file which had been sent to him previously as confirmed team members had been proposed by others or Flagship, these new profiles - these were files he had gathered himself.

"You're missing something for this unit," was the first thing he'd said upon reviewing the files of his soon-to-be patients, right after he'd accepted the offer to join a "new kind" of unit. The mech who had recruited him personally had boggled for a moment, and then rocked his weight back slightly to give the comment some reflection. That alone had cemented the deal for Deadline. To be able to say something of the nature to one of the more hardened mechs who had been part of the process for the Unit's creation and to be taken seriously - to him, it meant this whole enterprise had a chance. A slim one, in his estimate, one which would depend upon the commitment and quality of each part of the whole ultimately - but a chance nonetheless. Deadline had always been inclined to bet on the long shot, the what ifs and the maybes. The realization of the improbable had always been the greatest of rewards to him, and it was this disposition which had led to him to where he was now, rather than other more final alternatives. This new life of his only made that more immediate, really. His spark still ached at the possibilities glimmering through the data and the code and the profiles he'd been presented. For the first time in what seemed like forever... he had found himself hoping for something more. Something so much bigger than anything he'd ever thought possible for himself.

"So. What are we missing, then?" The question had been posed seriously, and obviously an answer had been expected. Deadline had quickly recovered from his initial surprise at actually being taken seriously, being listened to, and after a pensive moment, he'd looked down at the datapad he'd been holding.

"You're missing the romantic idealist."

A blank, surprised look had greeted that statement, the mech evincing astonishment at him in so many ways, some small and some not so small. The flicker of a sensor relay, a twitch of the shoulder, a flexing of the hands. He knew, this mech - he knew Deadline's background and story. He knew exactly who Deadline had been, before his extraction, before his change of identity. He knew how easy it would be for the medic to read his every reaction and yet he'd still kept his stance open, let himself open to reading. Deadline was a ghost twice over now. Once for the life he'd left behind and now once more, for the new one he'd chosen. The thought had brought another flicker of amusement to the medic, a sliver of emotion coursing through his processors which had been later on, in the privacy of his new medlab, been replaced by a sense of awe. This choice was his. Entire and whole. Only his.

"All right then. Find one." The challenge was issued casually, Deadline's estimate of the lack within the team approved without any further ceremony.

And so Deadline had acquired access to every single profile in the database and then had requested more which weren't in there, and now he perused and calculated and evaluated. And profile after profile was dismissed, some were tagged as out of date and a very few were actually identified as possible infiltrators. But Deadline, very much concerned about the geometry of all things, steadily worked his way through the information at hand and would until he found what was needed.

He needed a special sort of mech, he knew. One who, even should he die in the course of duty, would leave such an indelible mark on the team that his idealism would stay in the unit's core spirit forever. There had to be more than one such mech, he told himself. Another he could find who would fill a place left empty, a kindred spirit of sorts to one whom he'd lost not so long ago.

There had to be.

---

"He said the unit was missing a romantic idealist."

"...ow, don't say things like that. My processor just declared war on me."

"Better win it fast then. The one who said that is also the medic of the unit. You know, the former Decepticon."

"Wait, the medic is THAT guy?"

"Yep."

"And HE wanted a romantic idealist on the team?!"

"Yep!"

"..."

"Roadbuster?"

"..."

"...oops."

---

Deadline watched from a distance as the mech beamed and smiled and - without even trying - made himself the center of the flock surrounding him. Some moved away and others arrived, but invariably the mess hall ended up revolving around the noble perched upon a table, recounting some tale or other of days long past before the war. Though the mech seemed a bit light on the processors at times, Deadline could see the currents eddying around the focus of his observation easily enough - and how the mech redirected the frowns, turning them into smiles and how conflicts dissolved before even starting, each moving away lighter of step and spirit.

Eventually, the noble moved on and the mess hall reformed without him after his departure, a bit duller and quieter for the absence despite being as typically rowdy as any mess hall had ever been.

Deadline waited in the shadows of the hallway, calculating the interactions he had seen, evaluating the mech's behavior and matching it to the common points of the psych profile he had - adjusting a few others to tweak the data into something more accurate than what was on file.

The noble's arrival wasn't hidden - he simple rounded the corner and walked straight towards Deadline, deep in thought.

"You've been watching me. Why?" The question was diffident enough, Deadline not even being looked at in the process. Leaning against the wall, the noble looked though the windows lining the hallway, down into the city below.

"Your potential is being wasted here." The words were neutral, matter of fact. The noble's demeanor changed at them though, going from casual and light to something else entirely.

"They don't want to risk me in actual combat." The statement was dropped between them like a stone, the other bot's voice no longer the sing song, mellifluous thing it had been up until now. "Which means keeping me safely away from any real action and not risking any political fury over my potentially getting hurt." There had been issues, Deadline knew. He'd read the mech's profile, after all - and then had dug deeper.

"What would you be willing to do, then," he asked, having long thought out the question and how to phrase it, "for the chance to do something more?" He paused, carefully counting out the moments before going on. "For the chance to make a difference. Not just balancing the dynamics of those around you, but rather to truly make a difference."

Narrow-eyed, the noble didn't respond - suspecting perhaps a prank of some sort, or the treachery of lady chance offering something he wanted so very badly only to snatch it away at the last second. Deadline withdrew a data card from where it had been tucked away under the plating of his arm and held it out. As the other finally reached out to take it, he held on, still waiting for a response.

"I'd do anything for that," was the simple response, finally. Truth shone from the optics watching him, and as he relinquished the data card to the other mech's grasp, Deadline knew they had him.

---

"So. I have take on a new name, then?" The cultured tones were fluid, almost a caress and the way he spoke clearly wasn't even an afterthought to the mech. He'd just always spoken that way. That - and everything else - was going to change, though.

"Indeed you do. I have some shell models for you to look at, as well," the medic pulled out a few medical data pads from seemingly nowhere and handed them over to the smaller, graceful mech walking beside him. The make and lines of his root mode made it clear that no expense had been spare in his creation, nor any in his continued maintenance. Everything about him breathed "costly".

"Huh. You know, I think the hardest thing in all of this will be figuring out the name," was the slightly sheepish response, the sniper activating the data pads casually. After viewing a few of the models he stopped in his track with a small sound, the medic overshooting him briefly before pausing to look over his shoulder. A faint smile creased his lip plates at the sight of the other mech, cooing over one of the data pads with a love-struck expression. It was, Deadline knew, the one he'd based off some older vids. Even the accent he'd implemented for the vocalizer of the model was inspired for the patterns and lingual characteristics of the old heroes of many a young Cybertronian's pre-war days.

"I suggest Longshot," he said, entirely unashamed at taking advantage of the other's distracted state, hiding his satisfaction with little effort. The sniper had chosen exactly the model he thought he would. It was the direct opposite of his current frame in many ways, with a few similarities - but enough that he would retain his inherent natural grace when in motion, preserving the same loose fluidity of the joints and limbs.

"All right. That's good. Could we go with this shell? And could we integrate an internal range scoping mechanism? Though I think would like to bring a few modifications to it first, and then..."

The sniper's enthusiasm for the refit and overall knowledge in regards to his weapon of expertise was received with reserved approval from the medic and both mechs continued down the hallway, discussing the benefits and downsides of the various upgrades listed in attachment to the sniper's new shell.

It would be hard to keep his distance from this one, Deadline knew. Experience had shown him - oh, how it had - how important someone with such a psychological profile was to the harmony of a team.

Life was going to get... interesting.

Current Mood: calm