"Just a few stasis cuffs? You sure that's a hip idea, boss-man?"

On the bridge of the Steelhaven, Sentinel Prime flashed Jazz a baffled look. He tried to disregard it, but it was difficult with those optics glowing cobalt-blue in the dark. The lights of the normally well-lit bridge were dimmed as the ship temporarily diverted its power to the engines. "Why are you talking like that?" Sentinel interrupted, raising his vocalizer over the throbbing engines and the hum of the maintenance drones laboring to return the floors to immaculate status. Optimus' crew was not the most hygienic bunch, having tracked in the soils of Planet Earth.

"I like it," Jazz answered, beaming. "These humans let 'art' seep into every aspect of their lives, define themselves as individuals down to their very mannerisms. I dig 'em." Returning his attention to their leader, he repeated his question.

Ultra Magnus tapped his hammer on the floor, a habitual tick that Jazz knew indicated his unhappiness. "What choice do we have, Jazz? With the Decepticons mobilizing on every front, our warriors are needed to protect Cybertron."

"But the Allspark itself is on Earth, and scattered," Jazz protested. "Not to mention Megatron himself might still be here. Think of the devastation he could cause even if he manages to collect a fraction of it-"

"That's enough," Sentinel interjected. "Are you questioning the Magnus?"

Jazz folded his arms, huffing. He had turned down the position of Prime so long ago because he couldn't bear the thought of a desk job and he belonged on the field. Nor did he desire command of a unit slowing him down. Now, though, he regretted that decision. He hadn't considered having to put up with kiss-afts like Sentinel. During the War, 'bots like him who were "all talk and no shock" didn't last very long. In this day and age of politics, however, Sentinel reigned. Ultra Magnus was not infallible, and far from immune to sycophancy.

"It's quite all right, Sentinel," Magnus said. "Jazz, I share your concerns, but there's not much we can do. Optimus Prime can handle himself."

"It's not Optimus I'm doubtin'," Jazz answered. "But his team ain't warriors. They've done great so far, but their luck can't hold out forever." Prowl was a good bot, though his training was unfinished. Ratchet had experience but he was a doctor, not a fighter. The other two… well, he had reviewed their files. Good bots, but not warriors. "Let me stay," he begged.

"I can't spare you," Ultra insisted. "You're needed to help train our fighters back in Metroplex."

"We can't spare one bot?"

"Perhaps Jazz is right, sir. I would be more than… happy… to take command here on Earth.

Jazz stared at Sentinel cynically. It was obvious the Prime didn't appreciate this extraordinary world - in fact his ire was so flagrant he had risked a diplomatic incident. But after being humiliated at every turn, Sentinel was obviously keen to regain favor with Magnus. Continuing whatever vendetta he had with Optimus was just bonus.

"No," Magnus said, and the "of course not" was implied but definitely present. Sentinel slumped. Thank The Source, Ultra Magnus was not ignorant to all the Prime's faults. "'One 'bot,' though. Perhaps there is some merit to your idea, Jazz."

"But not me."

"No, not you. A covert operative who the Decepticons… and even Optimus' team… won't be aware of until the right time."

Jazz felt a light switch on in his head. "A wild card. I can get behind that."

"Good." Ultra Magnus turned to Sentinel. "Summon Blurr to Earth."