Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers!

Please R&R!

(Do I really need another Multi-chapter fic to do? No.

Is this Ice Fata's fault for mentioning this in passing and making me want to work on it? Frag Yes.

Enjoy!)


The building the mechs had gathered in was a ruined shell of what had once been a prestigious office building at the hub of a thriving town on the outskirts of Iacon. Odd shards of decoration that had survived the fires and first wave of bombs stuck out of the rubble like a sparkling playing hide and seek.

Rolling his shoulders the disguised saboteur known as Jazz calmly joined the subtle flow of mechs towards the basement of the building, his friend and subordinate, a Towers mech named Mirage strode beside him, having come in from a different direction, his normally blue and white plating coloured black and a shady grey.

They casually nodded to each other as they joined the gaggle of mechs that had entered a grand clearing in the middle of the rubble. Some were chatting about some business while others offered glares to rivals they had hoped had been killed in the middle of the War that was going on around them.

This was the vornly gathering of the Mob Bosses of Cybertron, and Jazz was here to do some recruiting and hopefully blow the rest of the slaggers to the pit.

One mech, the Boss Elder, sat pompously on a large pile of rubble that had oddly fallen like a throne, a ruined, torn tapestry of rare organic material grandly broadcasting the extent of the devastation from behind the ancient mech. A cygar moved to and fro from between his muttering lip plates as he cast his gaze over the room like he was Primus himself, commenting to his sneering aide about the health of a certain mech or the ruthlessness of a certain family. He puffed out a trail of smoke, the coils twisting like dying cyber-snakes as they dissipated into the atmosphere. They way his frame was bulked up with armour around his middle suggested to bots that he was fat with good energon and had impenetrable armour. Jazz subtly sneered into his meagre energon cube that had been served by a scared looking servant; it wasn't the ones with the bulky armour that were difficult to send into Unicron's merciless embrace. It was the Bosses that were lightly armoured and elegantly designed, broadcasting to the world that they were dangerous and they needed no bulky, cumbersome armour to hide behind.

With a croaky rumble, the gathered Bosses were quickly silenced when a late arrival strode into the room, Jazz instantly disappeared among the crowd towards the gawking Mirage as Megatron, the tyrannical Leader of the Decepticons walked among the crowd toward the Mob Elder that raised an ancient optic ridge in surprise at the grey mechs arrogance when he casually greeted the smoking Leader. "Great Elder." The gravelly tones said with an undertone of malice that made Jazz reach for his dagger in his subspace only for Mirage to grab his wrist plating and shake his helm subtly. "I come to you for help."

Many of the elegant, lightly armoured femmes, the prize brides of the Mob Bosses who were always unfaithful, hid their bastard sparklings and younglings from view, almost as if they predicted Megatron demanding troops from the powerful mechs and even odd femme that ruled the Cybertronian underworld.

The Elder snickered with a strained wheeze, his old aquamarine gaze warily scanning over the warlord that had brought most of the Bosses' cities to their foundations, destroying business for the Hive ever since the war had begun. "I am merely a figure head Megatron. Even I answer to another now."

That got everybody whispering, all of the Underground elite quickly eyeing up their competitors that equally gazed distrustfully back. Even Jazz and Mirage paused as they made their way subtly around the room planting bombs, both giving each other a disturbed glance. That hadn't been in the information package.

Both saboteurs passed by a blue, red and white painted Praxian with a bright white '38' decorating his doorwings that leant against a shattered pillar of the building, shuffling a deck of cards with a design that Mirage instantly recognised as the Praxian mech released a cloud of smoke from the cygarette he was currently smoking in the shape of a perfect circle.

"That's 'The Gambler', hailing from Praxus." Mirage reported on a secure communication line as his superior darted between two rival families that were probably soon going to come to blows, giving one a friendly pat on the back even though he had never seen the mech before. It was better to build a fake relation or client to a Boss family than be revealed in the middle of the Hive, "One of the three brothers that rule the Praxian underground."

Jazz winced as 'The Gambler' looked up from his shuffling of his ornately designed cards to gaze suspiciously at the undercover Saboteur as he passed with a submissive looking nod. The Praxian watched quietly as Jazz disappeared into the middle of a large group before the mech went back with a sigh of his vents to shuffling his cards, the faint light catching the mech's golden chevron that delivered a blinding flash as the Praxian shifted.

He crept closer to the throne of rubble where Megatron was looking ready to spit bolts, his growling roar of 'Who?' silencing the gather Mob Bosses, all of them freezing like frightened turbo-deer in the headlights.

The Elder, looked past Megatron towards 'The Gambler' standing smirking beside his pillar, the ancient servo, reaching out with an almost exaggerated shaking motion, beckoning the younger mech towards the rubble throne. "Gambler, Middle Brother of the Enforcer Family, your elder brother is late."

"My apologies, Elder," The Gambler replied smoothly, his voice thick with a distinct Praxian Towers cadence, stubbing out his cygarette on the broken wall, trickles of embers floating around his pedes as he left the shady place of his hideaway, walking among the Mob Bosses of Cybertron with a silky stalking gait that made the Bosses and their families part like the red sea for him. "My Leader will be slightly late this fine orn. A bit of business came up that he simply had to see to, I offered to come in his place."

"And you control the Mob Hive?" the grey tyrant asked, the War Lord giving a sneer as 'The Gambler' looked up at him with an unimpressed air, the glossy wings tilting down in clear disdain.

"Until my brother finishes his business with a client," The Gambler smiled almost lecherously, his doorwings, embossed with a white '38' rising to flutter slightly in amusement, his azure optics glinting with hidden, cheeky intentions and gossip. "It is annoying when one tries to get out of a deal isn't it?"

The Mob Elder laughed with a throaty wheeze, his mouth expelling a cloud of foul grey smoke as his glossa held his cygar in his oral cavity. The other Bosses chuckled collectively to ease their nerves at these turns of events.

"Jazz," Mirage hissed from behind him, the blue and white noble having shed his disguise and activated his invisibility cog. "Let's get out of here; we're five breems late to the checkpoint."

Giving himself a mental shake, Jazz gave a shudder when he saw 'The Gambler' seeming to stare at him through a gap in the crowd and silently, carefully made his way towards the exit, the trigger for his placed bombs safely clasped in his servo, ready to activate at the slightest moment's notice.

If he was to go down, he was taking them with him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you Jazz." The soft, young voice had him freezing in his tracks beside the hidden entrance, out of sight from all the commotion going on between 'The Gambler' and Megatron.

"'Silverstreak'." Jazz greeted lowly, his gaze catching the flash of silver paint emblazed upon a naturally grey frame highlighted with red, sitting polishing an ornate, powerful sniper rifle, blazing baby blue optics, hooded by a shorn ruby chevron, focusing single-mindedly on the task as the saboteur signalled for Mirage to go ahead to the checkpoint without him.

"I would have thought you could have used my real name Jazz." The youngest member of the Enforcer Family said with a fake cheeriness as he finished rubbing away a smudge on the shining barrel of his gun and stowed the cloth in his subspace. The Praxian smiled softly, almost angelically as he reared the rifle so the butt of the gun was resting on his thigh, the barrel pointed loftily at the crumbling ceiling and a finger curled over the trigger. "We used to be like family."

"I want nothing to do with your lot." Jazz snapped, perhaps over harshly, for the bright optics dimmed with contempt as he shook the servo with the trigger in front of the Praxian's faceplate. "You all lied to me; I nearly bonded to that slagger!"

Optics flashed a furious red, and Jazz found the barrel of the rifle promptly shoved into his throat cabling making him choke, dropping the trigger for the bombs in shock, both watching it roll away under a low slab of ruined building, "My brother loved you." The now devilish assassin of the Enforcer Family snarled quietly, gray finger trembling on the trigger as he turned back to the busted infiltrator. "And you… you saboteur… you broke his spark."

"I broke his spark?" Jazz growled furiously, unaware his voice was getting louder and gaining a slightly hysterical tinge.

"It's curious though." 'Silverstreak' continued, faceplate twisted and haunting as he tapped his clawed digit on the trigger of his trusted sniper rifle. "He didn't order that you should be silenced, Makes me wonder if big brother dearest still cares for your sorry aft, somehow. Good frag, were you Jazz?"

The saboteur roared his rage, forgetting everything, his mission, the bombs, backpedalling away from the rifle barrel in his throat before leaping at the mech, only to get hoisted up by the scruff bar so that he was dangling like a scorned feline, twisting, hissing and spitting his fury into the smirking faceplates of a golden chevroned mech known as 'The Gambler', the leering Megatron holding him tightly in his grasp as he charged his fusion cannon, many of the Mob Bosses peering around the corner curiously at the disturbance.

"I knew there was a saboteur." Megatron rumbled dangerously, as 'The Gambler' hummed in agreement; 'Silverstreak' snickered in the background, his job of revealing Jazz done. "If you don't mind… I'll take this cretin back to the Decepticons for interrogation before we send his frame back to those sentimental fools that call themselves Autobots."

"I'm afraid not Megatron." 'The Gambler' said diplomatically, withdrawing a cygarette from his subspace and lighting it with a casual spark from clashing two of his claws together, blowing a smoke ring that haloed Jazz's helm as he dangled from the War Lord's grip, earning a snarl of defiance. "Autobot Jazz and our family have a history." The Praxian grinned darkly up at the Tyrant that suddenly chuckled in understanding. "He's currently on the naughty pad and my brother will seriously consider your generous offer of joining the Decepticons if you give him to us..."

"Very well." Megatron smirked as 'The Gambler' twirled a set of stasis cuffs on his finger, fitting them to Jazz's wrists as the gun-former hauled the saboteur's arms forwards, "Consider him payment for your services and a... test of your worth."

"Our gracious thanks, Lord Megatron." 'The Gambler' grinned, with an exaggerated bow as the Warlord turned away and left the hideout of the Mob Bosses.

"Now Jazz." 'Gambler 'said with a sigh, turning to the growling saboteur, who was immobilised by the current of the stasis cuffs clasped around his wrists. "I hope you're ready for a reunion. It's going to be one Pit of a party."

Giving a cry of frustration, Jazz could only watch as 'The Gambler' reached forward and offlined him with a single tug to a set of cables in his neck.