A/N: Can you blame me?

Here's the 411: I'm unaware of Wheeljack's speaking mannerisms. I took a shot.

I didn't bother to make any indications in the text that Blurr talks quickly. Anyone who's ever given a damn has seen the show. If not, that's your problem.

Obviously I don't own "Transformers Animated." Not that I want to; way too much responsibility.

Push (-verb, -noun)
1. to press upon or against (a thing) with force in order to move it
2. a vigorous onset or effort

Coming online was weird.

He knew exactly who he was, what he was, about the Great War, the Deceptions, Megatron, and his designers. He was born an adult, born with personality, born with a predetermined purpose in life, and, above all, born with speed.

That was what he didn't like. "Predetermined purpose?" You mean he couldn't choose?

The first Autobot he spoke to – or rather, who spoke to him – was Wheeljack.

'Congratulations, you've just booted up for the first time,' explained Wheeljack, in a gruff voice he wasn't too sure he liked. 'How you feel?'

Bored already, and this was his first day. At top speed: 'That is an odd question to ask considering that your purpose is to just turn me on and not talk to me. Protocol clearly states-'

'Woah, slow down!' exclaimed Wheeljack. 'You're words are nothing but blurs!'

Two seconds alive. He was irritated, but amused.

Ten hours alive. He got visitors – some guy named Perceptor and another called Red Alert. They examined him like he was an experiment, something about his feet. (Not that he could make of anything they said. They talked so slowly!) He didn't see anything special about them. Except, perhaps, the hollow wheels and the fact that they were quite heavy.

Wheeljack started calling him Blurr. It was annoying at first. But after three or four times, he saw the potential in it. Blurr. Blurr. Had a nice ring, prompting a weak smile from the Autobot once he voiced his opinions...and after a few times of repeating himself.

Eighty-Two hours alive. Time to walk. He felt childishly ignorant, but caught on in under a minute. Wheeljack kept going on about his slagging feet. Apparently Perceptor had designed them to be the fastest.

'How am I supposed to be the fastest Autobot on Cybertron with these weights? As a matter of fact the Deceptions will catch me before I can get away. These things will slow me down by approximately eighty-eight point five percent, a significant number considering the odds, not only that but-'

'Your training has to begin ASAP,' Wheeljack cut him off. 'You're designed to be an espionage agent, so you gotta be quick. Now run.'

Blurr looked at him. Then at the treadmill set out for him. It was like they expected him to be good straight off the assembly line.

'They only feel heavy because you haven't used them,' said the engineer. 'Now get on there and run, else we're not going to get anywhere.'

'This is a complete waste of time because as soon as I get out of here I'm trading these in for normal feet, ones that aren't so heavy. I was thinking that maybe I could order some lightweight metal to be collected on-'

'Run.'

He sighed and got on the treadmill. After a few steps, he tripped. (Wheeljack smirked.)

'Perceptor must really be an idiot, what's the point of making these so heavy? I'll never get the hang of these things. Why don't I just-'

'You gotta push yourself, Blurr,' said Wheeljack. 'You gotta push, before whatever you're pushing pushes back. These are top of the line. You're lucky, not many bots get this kind of special treatment. You're not chucking these, so you're just gonna have to get used to it. Now run.'

He straightened up, still thinking that this was a pointless task.

Blurr didn't expect the enormous walls being pushed into his path.

His speed worked against him. He'd thought that maybe he could finish first out of all of the trainees leaping gracefully around him. Perhaps – just this one time – he wouldn't wind up tripping over his own feet. But obviously fate worked against him. He managed to dodge the first two and flew above the third. Blurr landed harder then expected, waving his arms frantically as he was floored.

Typical. He didn't move for a minute, dully listening to the brief roars of laughter whizzing by him. The others were far ahead. Now he had no chance of winning, all due to his slagging, over sized, beyond irritating feet.

He would've given up then and there. But he wanted to be the fastest, and lying here thinking about how hopeless this situation was would not help. So Blurr bolted. He was last, however he tried not let his failure discourage him.

Try again.

He'd gotten it.

'Nice work, Blurr!'

'Solid.'

'You're an agent, Blurr.'

You're an agent.

Blurr had always admired Longarm. He'd have to thank him later for pulling some strings and getting him this job. In the past, he imagined that life as a secret agent would be easy. After all, who else could get away from Deceptions faster? Who else could eavesdrop on their conversations and bolt before they realized the intrusion?

Due to his inexperience, Blurr was paired with a seasoned soldier, whose name escaped him. (Mirror? Mirage?) Longarm wanted him to get a taste of the real world before he went on an actual intelligence mission. They were supposed to escort a traitor to prison.

The prisoner kept saying he was innocent.

'Don't listen to him, Blurr,' snapped Mirage. 'This one's lost it.'

But he wanted to listen. Maybe whoever had caught him was wrong, and an innocent bot was going to be imprisoned for crimes he did not commit. Had there even been a trail for this guy? He asked Mirage.

'Don't,' was his one-word, very firm answer. 'Just push him in there, and it isn't our problem anymore.'

Blurr wheeled the traitor and passed custody over to the prison guards.

'You gotta listen to me, this is a mistake!' the green bot pleaded.

Instead, he walked away, Mirage congratulating him on completing his first mission. Soon, he might be doing solo work. But Blurr didn't feel successful. He tried to push back the thoughts, instead focusing on the future.

This assignment was not unlike many of the others he'd done, some taking years to complete. Direct orders had come from Ultra Magnus. He required the help of the best agent Longarm Prime could offer. Blurr.

'...Monitor the activities of Optimus Prime and his crew on Earth, but under no circumstances are you to make contact with them...'

But slag it, he had to get into this underground thing.

He thought he'd have some fun while he was here. After all, a break was rare in his business. Surely he deserved it, and who was around to tell on him?

Blurr couldn't control himself. He hated every minute of it, forced to abide to a human's rules. He was too full of pride to admit his mistake and contact Cybertron for much needed assistance. (Perhaps risking getting fired.) After much debating – and winning several races – he decided to fight back. He would push until he fell apart, for the love of Primus!

So he fought until he broke free...with some help. First instinct was to get away before Bumblebee noticed he was gone. But he had to protect his fellow Autobots. Blurr challenged Blizwing. He pushed, he won.

Blurr had never really thought about death.

Sure, he heard news of Autobots dying out in the field. But he'd never thought about his own eventual demise.

He knew who the traitor was – the one he once called his mentor, now the one called Shockwave. They were supposed to be the heroes! Why was this happening?

Blurr pushed the walls, ran but didn't go anywhere, whimpered and no one heard him. In a matter of seconds, he went through a series of emotional changes. First, acceptance that he was about to die. And then retaliation.

He'd spent his entire life pushing, so he pushed back.

In the last minute, he spotted the air duct. It wasn't big, but maybe it was his salvation. Blurrr dived, just the walls began to crush his body. He felt his own skull collapse. His legs were crushed. Everything turning inside out, thoughts twice as rapid as a mixture of panic and pain gripped him.

This wasn't fair. He didn't want to die.