Foreign Dance
He likes watching the spasming body of his victim dance in tune with their screams.
It's something he can't control readily, an unpredictable force that propels a body to move in random, sporadic intervals, that has no sense of reason or logic thought behind it. It fluctuates from every mech, a new, thrilling experience that pulses with energy and dying power; one he relishes more than the final blow through a spark, more than the sounds he can evoke from their vocals as he stretches their mind and body taut.
Because their sobs of terror can never match the delicious, foreign dance that comes with it.
The twitch of an arm, the jerk of a leg, the whirring and clicking of gears grinding over crushed circuits - so delicious, so beautiful. The trembling frame, the dark spray of energon, the crumpled piece of servo painting grotesque pictures onto the ground - so enticing, invitingly beautiful.
There is nothing more satisfying than retreating back to base with blood smeared all over his armor, the bottom of his pedes caked in wire and dirt from his latest killing spree, adrenaline rushing through his very core as he replays each spasm and shudder of a dance. Each ripple and flicker of life rushing out, emptying itself from a decaying, rotting frame; the last echoes of the world vibrating in the mech's hollow shell.
The smell of burning metal and the sound of breaking vocals have nothing against these stunning concerts.
Sometimes he can even feel his feet tapping in place, to a rhythm that matches these individual, set dances. He breezes across the field of bodies, visor flashing blue with excitement as he sings along with their atrophic waltzes, plunging his mind deeper into the melody of each dying, tortured corpse.
He is still a mech of soul, after all, and even if he rarely finds free time from his work, he always makes enough time to map out these every movements, the exotic, desultory steps splayed before him, locking the new experience in his processor for later study.
Because one day, even he can imagine himself doing that same foreign dance on the grounds of a bloodstained battlefield.
And he likes to think that he'll go screaming into the void with the same passionate fevor as his predecessors.
A/N: Quick drabble of the night (and one of my set themes).
I have no idea why I chose Jazz out of all the other insane Autobots, but I guess it has to do with how he loves his music and I automatically connect music to dance x'D