A Sad Reflection by gruff
"He's not malfunctioning!" Wheeljack insisted, fiddling with the clearly-redundant remote control. "He must have taken Spike's helmet, the control overrides anything I can do." One by one, each set of optics followed that of Wheeljack's gazing slowly skyward at the Autobot's champion, prized asset-turned uncontrollable nightmare.
"Danny!" Spike pleaded. "Stop this madness!"
"It's not Danny!" Arcee screamed, the relief in her voice clear for all to hear as she thundered into the fray, the unconscious form of Daniel cradled in her arms. She knelt down and lowered him to Spike. "He's OK."
"Great." Springer shrugged. "If we're going to have a madman run amock with a city, chock full of weapons, I'd have rathered it be one we knew than one we didn't." Although Arcee's news served only to reassure Spike, Springer's glib remark impressed no-one. "So who is it?"
The thought had crossed Jazz's mind, more than once, particularly because he was the one kneeling with Fortress Maximus towering over him, weapon in hand and ready to pull the trigger. Images piled into his mind, thousands of faces of thousands of lives over thouasands of years, those he betrayed, those he had failed. Prowl? Ratchet? Or any of them onboard the ship that day. "Ironhide?" For a second, Primus himself popped into his mind. He had, after all, been on the team that had awakened him. Perhaps this was his Judgement Day? Or maybe one of the hundreds killed at Unicron's hand in the insuing celestial conflict?
"You really don't remember me, do you?" Maximus squeaked, his voice trailing off with the innocent disappointment of a shattered child.
Perhaps a Decepticon, modified to take on the form of the Autobot's visage. Starscream? Macabre? Or one of the Sweeps? Another image haunted him. "Megadeath?" The memory of that psychotic general he was supposed to have condemned to an eternity in the Cybertron Acid Wastes not once, but twice, struck Wheeljack like a train. As if mentally connected to Wheeljack like this imposter was to Fortress Maximus, it was not the surpressed thought of the megalomaniac's execution that hurt Jazz, nor indeed their dishonourable deception and subsequent pseudo-salvation, but the inevitable recollection of the friend they let die. "Stampede?" Wheeljack edged back, his cowardly optics daring to look for an escape route; if either had returned, he would surely be next.
With the athleticism of an Olympic gymnast, Maximus' head leapt from his shoulders, transforming into the Jazz-sized figure of Cerebros and landing on the Citybot's forearm. "You need a closer look?" The momentary relief for Wheeljack that it was neither Megadeath, Stampede nor anyone else from that painful period in history did nothing to relieve Jazz from the images that kept flashing before his optics. The head of Cerebros contorted into its human form, landing gracefully upon the barrel of the gun clamped in the fist of Maximus and walking to the end with a nonchalant swagger of bravado. Jazz squinted, trying to make out the figure beneath the visor.
No, not a Decepticon. A human? Perhaps one of the Neo-Knights he had abandoned on a dying Cybertron? No matter; the fact his list of suspects could be so long shamed Jazz half to death anyway.
Then it hit him; the resemblence was uncanny.
Jazz looked beyond the past into the present once more. "I'm sorry." he whispered with sinister sincerity, the images finally stopping on one face. His optics powering down, unable to watch the glow of Maximus' weapon. "I'm so sorry," he repeated as the energies ripped both his face and conscience in two, "son of Zeke."
THE END