Author's notes: PG-13 for torture scenes. And beware of some angst in this story... much angst actually, sorry for that. And I apologize to all you Jazz fans out there, I love Jazz, he's one of my favorite characters to mess with... which is why I wrote this. You know what they say, you hurt the ones you love the most.
Below is the Cybertronian-to-Earth time equivalents I use (not units of Earth time, just equivalents), it's a mixture of what I've found on tfwiki, and what I've seen other people do. Feel free to use it if you want, it's not mine.
Nanoklik = millisecond
Klik = second
Breem = minute
Joor = hour
Orn = full day (on-cycle = day, off-cycle = night)
Decacycle = week
Quartex = month
Vorn = year
Decavorn = 10 vorns
Disclaimer: I do not own the Transformers, I wish I did because then I would be very happy (and probably very rich, which I'm not). All named characters belong to somebody else, I just kidnap them for my own use.
Jazz was reckless when he was young. They say he's reckless nowadays, but it's more of a purposeful, controlled and calculated recklessness. Many believed this was a product of the war; that Jazz had honed his skills on the field. This was only partially true. He had certainly learned many hard lessons during the war, but what nobody knew was that the hardest lesson of all had come before the war.
After his creation Jazz had been eager and ready to conquer the world, and he had flown from the nest as soon as possible.
"Aw, leaving so soon?"
"Sorry, but I've gotta bounce. Stickin' around for long ain't my style."
"You're style? How do you know what your style is when you were created less than a quartex ago, my Jazz?"
The mech shrugged. "Well then, maybe tha's what I've gotta discover out in th' big wide world."
Jazz moved to the door, but turned back when the femme spoke up again. "I'll save a spot for you down at the club. We need to tear up the place again like we did last orn!"
Jazz gave a crooked grin and a jaunty salute before finally leaving, with nothing but himself and a few credits.
o~o~o
He never went back to that house again. It was nothing against his creator, Vibes. She was a cool cat, and he was sure he was who he was today because of her, but he had wanted so badly to be on his own; to discover his identity.
He moved to the city-state Tarn. It was one of the largest provinces on Cybertron, right up there with Iacon. It was booming and powerful, and it was a good place to start out and to test his wings. He wanted to get to Iacon, that's where the big bots lived, and he knew he had the stuff to make it in the capitol of Cybertron. But first he needed to make something of himself, and Tarn was where he chose to do so.
He hopped from job to job, nothing really suiting him right, or so he thought. And as he jumped through occupations, the bulk of his life consisted of doing what he did best: hitting the night scene. There was nothing Jazz loved more than the parties, the clubs, joking and laughing and overall having a good time, something definitely cultured into him by Vibes. In fact he loved the life he was living so much that he put his career on the side burner just to he could party. Why not, he thought, enjoy life while he could, before he got weighed down with something boring like a job. And so he lived a carefree life for all he was worth.
During his time in the clubs he made friends. At first they were just drinking buddies, guys with whom he shared a good time. But just like him, they were regulars at the night parties, and the more he laughed and joked with them, the more he felt like they became close comrades. It turned out these mechs were part of a closely knit group. They were like brothers; they kept each other company and watched each other's backs. And after less than a deca-cycle, Jazz found himself in among them. They trusted him and he trusted them. He felt like he was where he belonged amongst these mechs, and as time wore on all thoughts of pursuing a career disappeared from Jazz's mind.
In the naiveté of his youth, never would he have imagined there was something more to these mechs he now called friends. There were several instances he witnessed that would have left a more experienced mech suspicious...
Jazz downed another cube of high-grade. He'd lost track of how many he'd drunk so far, but he was determined to outlast his opponent, who was a slim, green and yellow mech Jazz had known only since the last orn. Apparently he was well known in these parts, for reasons Jazz did not know, but when the green and yellow had heard Jazz boasting about being able to out drink any mech who dared challenge him, he had naturally challenged Jazz to a competition. They were currently in one of the bars most frequented by Jazz and his friends. With loud, throbbing music pumping in the background and colorful lights emanating from all around, Jazz wobbled slightly in his seat.
The green and yellow drank his own cube and twisted his angular face into a sneer. "Hah," he laughed. "Remember tonight the next time you try bragging in front of everyone!"
"Don' worry I will," Jazz slurred, snatching the next shot that was offered to him. "And I'll be rememberin' th' image of you passed out on th' floor when I do!" He said before knocking back the high-grade. The mechs around him laughed raucously and jostled Jazz by the shoulders.
His opponent didn't look pleased, and motioned for two shots to be handed to him instead of just one. A collective "Ooooh!" of excitement arose from the watching crowd. He easily downed the two shots.
Jazz grinned wolfishly and motioned for two as well. As usual the crowd set up a cacophony in response, but suddenly all went quiet in their circle. Jazz, about to down the first of his two shots, looked around in confusion. He soon discovered the source of their silence: three mean looking mechs that had just entered the bar. Jazz's group were all staring at them with looks of, did Jazz dare define it as, hatred? And in turn the three newcomers were each glowering back at them.
Eventually the three moved over to the other side of the bar and sat down, but Jazz's group didn't return to normal; many of them exchanged calculating looks.
Jazz was completely clueless. "Hey guys," he finally spoke up. "What's with th' silent treatment?"
Several mechs, including the green and yellow that was Jazz's drinking opponent, broke away from the group and disappeared into the crowds. Now Jazz was thoroughly confused. "What's goin' on you guys?"
"Hey let's get out of here, it's getting a little crowded," a mech spoke up from behind.
Jazz gave him a quizzical look. "Nuh uh, what're ya talkin' about?"
Despite his protests the others around him seemed to agree with the proposition. Jazz soon found himself being herded by his buddies towards the back door.
"What's th' deal?" he asked in agitation.
Faintly he heard a whispered conversation going on behind him.
"Why should we bother with him?" One mech muttered.
"He's not ready," said another.
"Who the frack cares?!"
A shout, crash, and thud followed by more shouting from farther in the bar cut out parts of the next line from Jazz's hearing as he was being shoved out the door: "… oesn't wan… lose this one."
Jazz threw a confused glance behind him before the door finally closed and he and his group were now outside and away from the noise of the bar.
o~o~o
Jazz quickly forgot the events of that night, dismissing the unusual behavior of his friends to the fact that he had been highly over-energized. There were several other unusual events that took place that Jazz might have thought odd, but he learned to just forget about them because he really couldn't figure out why his friends might be behaving in such an odd manner.
Time wore on and pretty soon the erratic night life Jazz took on became routine. The life that had been so exciting was now monotony, and Jazz might have become bored if not for one change that took place.
He met a femme. She was a drifter, like him, who was searching for her place in society but was really just looking for a good time. She was always happy, always looked on the bright side of things, always knew what to say; how to make any situation funny, lighthearted, or exciting. She was boisterous and fun, never shy, but she was also kind and caring and sweet. Jazz soon found that when he sought out company, he looked for her first, and if he couldn't find her then he met up with his other friends instead. She made his life exciting and fun again.
Once more his life slipped into routine, but this time it was a comfortable one. His relationship with his friends tightened, and when he wasn't with them she was always there with a smile and a laugh.
Several deca-cycles went by and just as Jazz thought he was really beginning to get comfortable, he something happened that turned his world completely upside down.
It happened late one off-cycle. Tarn was dark as Cybertron powered down for the orn, with not much more than the star light to illuminate the way. Jazz and several other mechs were walking along the streets after a long cycle of drinking at their bar. Jazz, for once, was not overly energized, but several of his buddies were. They talked loudly and laughed raucously as they walked, joking and pushing each other around.
At some point they passed a mech and femme, who skirted around the rowdy group with discreet looks of disdain. Jazz didn't pay any attention to the pair, but his buddies nudged each other and grinned wolfishly after them. When the pack suddenly decided to change direction and began following the mech and femme, Jazz was confused.
"Hey guys," he called after them, "what's up?"
Most ignored Jazz's inquiry, but one mech looked back at him with, what Jazz could only describe as, a bit of a wicked grin. "Come on and you'll see," he said, waving Jazz after them.
Curious, he followed. He thought: his friends must know the two that had passed by earlier, and they were planning some kind of joke or something. If this was the case, then he definitely wanted to see.
The couple had disappeared from his view, but the others must've known where they had gone, because they moved forward with confidence. Eventually the leader reached the entrance of an alleyway, and when he looked inside, a nasty grin split his face and he leapt in. The rest were quick to follow.
Soon Jazz's curiosity turned into something else. He heard a short, high pitched scream, a scuffle and some shouts coming from the alleyway. Suddenly Jazz felt a sinking feeling in his spark. He felt, what? Apprehension, worry… fear? But why? What about this situation felt so dangerous? He hustled to the alleyway to see what was going on, and the situation became suddenly, horrifyingly, clear to him.
One of his companions had the femme caught; one arm keeping her from escaping, the other hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled to break free, but she was not nearly strong enough. Her mech friend was also caught, but had to be restrained by two instead of one. He struggled, but he was also unable to escape. Another of his companions, a mech slightly larger than Jazz with a dark blue and black paint scheme, had an energy blade in his hand and was sneering nastily in the captured mech's face.
"Whoa whoa, what'r you guys doin'?!" Jazz nearly shouted; horrified by the scene that was playing out in front of him.
Everyone turned to face him. Another grin lit up the face of the armed mech. "Ah Jazz!" he suddenly exclaimed, as if he had just now noticed that he had been part of their group. "Why don't you join us?"
Jazz was aghast, and didn't know how to respond except to just stare, optics wide with shock.
"Oh, this is your first time isn't it?" The mech continued. Jazz just gave him a confused look. The mech laughed and waved him over, "Why don't we show you the ropes?"
Jazz's mind was still struggling to comprehend the situation, but he found himself shaking his head and beginning to back away. "No, I – I don't want to be part of this," he stammered. He nearly jumped when somebody appeared behind him and placed an arm around his shoulders.
"Come on, it's fun!" The mech behind Jazz said, easing him forward into the alleyway.
The captured femme suddenly lost her nerve and struggled again but was easily subdued. This only made her mech friend struggle as well, but the blue and black quickly poked prisoner's neck with the tip of his blade, shushing him as if he were an unruly youngster.
Jazz found the nerve to break away from the mech who had ahold of his shoulders. "You guys, this isn't right. Ya've gotta let'm go!"
A couple of his comrades snickered, but the blue and black just stared at Jazz in a calculating manner. Finally he let a sinister smirk sneak onto his face. "I think Jazz here needs to learn a lesson," he announced. The others agreed noisily while the femme whimpered quietly.
The blue and black walked up to Jazz. "You see these two?" he said before indicating the captives. "They're nothing to us. They think they're above us, smarter than us, better than us. They think they hold power over us because they live in a higher class! But they're wrong. You see Jazz, they deserve this." He walked toward the captured mech again, who up until this point had been staring down at the ground, but now looked up with a nervous expression.
"Hey, you're all a li'l drunk right now, ya don' know what yore doin'." Jazz said, trying his best to pacify the situation. "Just let these guys go before ya do omething' you'll regret later on."
The blue and black didn't face Jazz again until he reached the mech captive. When he turned around, the sinister glee that had lit up his face earlier had been replaced by a dark and dangerous glare. "Don't be so stupid. You think what we're doing here is wrong? Well what they've done is worse. They've belittled us, looked down on us as nothing more than dirt under their pedes. They've wrongfully claimed superiority over this society. Well now it's time to show them that they're not above us! You think you're so powerful?" and here he turned to his captive. "Let me show you how very wrong you are!"
Jazz saw it coming before it happened. "Wait…!" he shouted but it was already too late. In one swift movement the blue and black brought the knife up and buried it in the captive's chest. The mech lurched and let out a pained gurgle; the other mechs around jeered and laughed; the femme let out a muffled scream as she struggled anew; Jazz could only stare.
Then the blue and black yanked the knife upward, gruesomely rending the metal of the captive's chestplate. The wounded mech lurched and moaned again, a trickle of energon beginning to leak from the corner of his mouth; optics dimming. Finally he slumped forward, optics flickering dimly. His captors finally let him go, only for him to fall to the ground, offline.
Jazz had never seen so much spilt energon before. He'd never seen an offline mech before. "What – what have you done?" he stammered in horror, beginning to back away.
"Welcome to the real world, Jazz" the blue and black said.
The femme was sobbing hysterically now.
Jazz stumbled backwards, ready to flee. But then he was grabbed by the arm by the same mech that had pushed him forward earlier. "If you leave now you will regret it," the mech growled into his audio.
Jazz yanked his arm away. Briefly he caught sight of the femme. She was looking at him, optics full of pain and fear, silently pleading for help. But he still ran. Like a coward he ran. He could have – no should have stayed to help her. He could have distracted them, could have gotten them away from her. He could have saved her. But instead he had run away. He never found out what had happened to that femme, frankly he didn't want to know, and he was ashamed of it. But that off-cycle, as he fled, there was only one thing going through his mind, and that was the mecha he had called his friends were not, and never had been, his friends.
o~o~o
The next on-cycle he sought her out. She was the only person he felt he could trust anymore, the only friend he had left. She wasn't answering any of his calls, so he hunted her down. For joors he looked for her, and just when he was getting worried that it might be too late, he found her by a small market. She was busy shopping, and hadn't answered any of his calls because she had turned her comm off, to escape the worries of life for a while. She did this every once in a while, although Jazz couldn't figure out why he hadn't remembered this while searching for her.
As soon as he found her he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her aside. She looked at him, startled, but then laughed when she recognized him.
"Oh, it's just you Jazz. You frightened me!"
Jazz just stared at her, suddenly realizing he had no idea how to go about telling her what had happened to him. Did he want to tell her everything? Should he keep what had happened last off-cycle a secret? Was that the right thing to do?
When several kliks had gone by and Jazz hadn't responded, she looked at him with concern. "Um, are you okay?"
Jazz snapped out of his stupor and managed to pull off an easygoing grin. "Hey, I was jus' thinken'," he said. "Wanna jus' get outa here?"
Now she looked confused. "What?"
"Come on, this place is getting' a li'l old, and neither of us have been going anywhere. Isn't it time ta be somewhere else?"
"You mean leave Tarn?"
"Yeah! Let's jus' get outa here! Come on it'll be fun!"
"Where would we go?" she said with a bit of a laugh, but it was clear she was very uncertain about the proposal.
Jazz shrugged. "Who knows? Tha's what makes it xciting'!"
"But what about all of your friends?" she asked.
Jazz shook his head and shrugged. "We're not tha' close really."
But she didn't look convinced. When she didn't give an immediate reply he took a step closer. "Please? I don' wanna go alone," he implored.
"Well…" she began. Jazz felt a little bad about thrusting this all on her all at once, but he didn't know what else to do. He had to get her out of this city. Finally she looked at him and let a little smile creep onto her face. "Why not? It does sound exciting."
"Great!" Jazz nearly shouted, a huge grin splitting his face. "Let's go right now!"
She laughed. "Hold on, hold on. I can't just up and leave like that! I've got to get a few things in order."
Jazz's grin wilted a bit. "Oh, okay."
She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll meet you by your place in about… two joors. Okay?"
Jazz nodded, smile coming back. "Sounds like a plan ta me!"
They separated, she going off to get her affairs in order, and Jazz going straight to his place to wait for her. And for the entire two joors he waited. When another half a joor had gone by and she had yet to show up, he began to get worried. He was just thinking about calling her when she finally arrived, apologizing for her lateness.
And so they left. She wanted to walk most of the way so that she could take in the last of the city before it was all behind her. Jazz tried to keep them moving, but she wanted to see all the sights. Slowly, but surely, they made their way out of Tarn.
When they had reached the suburbs of the city Jazz began to relax. She noticed, and teased him about being too eager to move on with life, severely mistaking the source of his nervousness. He just played along.
But just when Jazz thought they were safe, everything crumbled around him. At first he just heard a noise behind them, but shook it off as nothing important. Then a mech appeared ahead of them, leaning against a wall and hidden in shadows. He was too far away to identify, but as they got closer Jazz became more and more suspicious of him. Finally Jazz was able to pick out some of the mech's details, and suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.
She looked at him. "Something wrong?" she asked, having not noticed the mech ahead.
"Uh, let's go another way; I think this way leads to a dead end."
"It sure does," a voice suddenly came from behind them. They both jumped and whirled around to see who had spoken. Jazz was horrified to find that it was a mech from the last off-cycle. The newcomer sneered at Jazz, "Told ya you would regret it if you tried to leave."
She looked at Jazz with a confused expression. "Jazz what does he mean?"
Jazz didn't answer the question, but shoved her to the side and told her to run! She stumbled and looked at him for a moment, shock and bewilderment written across her face, but eventually she turned to do as she was told. But her path was blocked by another stranger. They were already surrounded, and Jazz pulled her back just as they were jumped. He did his best to protect her. He was surprised by how well he fought back; he and his "friends" used to spar as a pastime, but never did he imagine that he would ever use his fighting skills in real life. Nevertheless, there were too many for him to hold back, and in no time someone had him pinned from behind. Still he fought, he could hear her struggling to fend off the attackers, calling out to him. But finally he felt something prick him in the crook of his arm where his armor was weak, and almost immediately his systems started to shut down. The drug was too powerful to fight, and soon he was succumbing to it. The last thing he heard before he offlined was her screaming out his name.
o~o~o
Jazz woke up intermittently as the drug wore off, but he could only remember vague details from these moments of consciousness. The first several times he woke he just barely registered the fact that he was being dragged by the arm along a dirty and uneven floor. It might have been dark and musty as well, but that could have just been a projection from his own drug-addled processor.
The next time he woke he was lying still on the same dirty uneven ground. The atmosphere was still dark and dank, but then again his processor was still muddled from the drug. His head hurt, and he didn't have the willpower to try and move, but he recognized the fact that his hands were bound behind his back. He also heard some strange sounds, most of them he couldn't place, but among them he thought he heard screaming or crying, or both.
When he woke up for good he was again in a different situation. He was sitting in a plain, hard chair with his hands tied behind the back. When he tried unshuttering his optics a light blinded him and penetrated his helm like hundreds of knives, and he had to squeeze them shut again. He shook his helm, groaning, trying to get the last of the drug out of his processor. When he tried to open his optics again he managed to keep them open. The light really wasn't that bright, the source being a single bulb hanging above his head, but any light at all was a stark contrast to the dark he had gotten used to. For the longest time he stared dumbly up at the light, trying to figure out just how bad this situation was for him.
Finally he ventured to look around the room he was in. It was small, uncomfortably small. Only five or six medium sized mechs might have been able to squeeze into it. The metal that made up the floor, walls, and ceiling was uneven and rusty. And the light really wasn't that strong, it only lit up a circle around Jazz's chair, leaving the corners of the room in shadows. Jazz was already feeling a little more than uneasy about this place before he spotted the wall to his left. It was absolutely covered in nasty looking tools and devices; some blunt but most had razor sharp edges, hooks, teeth, and a number of other grisly details. He groaned and shook his head again; this was really, really bad.
"Oh good, you're awake," a voice came from behind him.
If Jazz could have, he would have jumped out of his seat. He twisted around to see who had spoken. A mech stalked into view. He was dark and hulking, with a black and purple paint job that helped him blend rather nicely into the shadows of the room. He was nearly twice as large as Jazz, and had broad shoulders that were made up of the treads that no doubt went along with his tank altmode. He was just large enough to fit in the room comfortably with a single prisoner. It was as if this room was made for him. He had an angular face and he inspected Jazz with optics that were a dull, penetrating red.
The huge mech stopped when he was in front of Jazz and stared at him. "I was beginning to get concerned," he finished off his last statement.
Jazz strained at his bonds to no avail. "Who are you? Where am I?" he asked sharply.
The mech rubbed his chin in thought as he inspected his prisoner. "Oh, you don't need to know any of that. What you do need to know is why you're down here. Do you know why, Jazz?"
It irked Jazz that this mech knew his name. He fiddled with the restraints around his wrists, trying to find a way to get them off but knowing in the back of his mind that it probably wasn't going to happen. "I'm bettin' it has somethin' to do with my leavin' town?" he said in regards to the mech's question.
The mech grinned nastily. "Very good!" he said as if congratulating a newly sparked who had just learned how to control his altmode. "My friends and I don't take kindly to those who try to leave. It upsets us. And when this happens they turn to me. Do you know why?"
"Oh gee, maybe because of your warm and welcoming nature?" Jazz snarked.
The mech stared at Jazz, somewhat of a disappointed look in his optics. "Watch yourself," he warned. He then walked around Jazz again and headed towards the wall of nasty tools. "Oh no, you see, this city here is really my territory. All those punks out there think it's theirs, but I'm the one who deals with the deserters. Like you." He surveyed the wall before picking out a small saw-like instrument and tested its edge on his finger.
"Whenever somebody tries to leave, I know about it. And nobody leaves Tarn without my permission, Jazz. Nobody." He paused while he fondly put the tool back in its place, and then walked back to Jazz.
"It's really a shame. They told me you had potential, you would have been a great asset to the uprising."
Jazz's nervousness was increasing by the klik. He shook his head, "Uprisin'? What're ya talkin' about?"
The black and purple mech gave a wave of his hand. "None of that matters to you now. Oh, but speaking of things that matter to you, I've got something you might want to take a look at."
He turned and walked towards the edge of the room. Jazz fidgeted, not liking where this was going. The mech stooped when he reached the corner and seemed to grab ahold of something. When he turned around and walked back, an ominous dragging sound followed him.
Jazz had the feeling he didn't want to see what was being dragged, but realized he really didn't have a choice. After a few agonizing kliks the mech dumped his possession at Jazz's feet and walked away with a sneer.
It took a few moments for Jazz to comprehend what he was looking at, but when he did he felt as if his spark had frozen over. He gasped and then cried out. Her body lay at his feet; mangled, tortured, and offline. Her optics that had once been so lively and happy and friendly, now stared blankly up at him. He felt like screaming, like tearing his optics away from the gruesome sight, but he could only gape and stare. Energon still leaked from her wounds, but it was dim and stale. A wave of nausea swept through his body, followed by numbness.
An evil chuckle came from beside him. "You cared for her didn't you? I can tell. You know, she cried for you during her time with me. She cried a lot actually. I found it quite… pathetic. I prefer less fuss and more finesse, if you know what I mean. And I hope you do, because I expect you to put on a better performance than your girlfriend."
Now he walked back to the wall of tools and picked out the same instrument from before. He turned the tool over in his hand a few times, admiring how the dim light reflected off its surfaces. Jazz hadn't moved during the time, hadn't even torn his gaze away from her hollow chassis. He was stunned; he didn't know what to do. He felt like he had failed at life, so miserably, and before he had even known what he had gotten himself into, he had dragged her into it as well. And now his world was shattered and there was nothing he could do to fix it. So when his captor turned back towards him with tool in his hand and an evil smirk on his face, Jazz didn't even spare him a glance.
"Shall we begin?"
o~o~o
He didn't know how much time he had spent in that little room, it could have been orns. The black and purple mech seemed to relish each jerk and shriek of pain that he managed to coax out of Jazz, and he made sure every klik was filled with agony. It got to the point that Jazz felt like he couldn't bear it anymore; he just wanted it all to be over and done. But every time he opened his optics he saw her looking up at him, questioning him: why would you do this to me? How could you let this happen? And every time her optics asked him those questions he knew that he deserved this, and he forced himself to endure.
His torturer talked to him the entire time. He spoke of culture and music and the fine art of writing poetry. He discussed Cybertronian anatomy and explained what each component of the body was used for as he jabbed and gouged at the parts in question. He expressed his particular interest in the transformation cog, the piece of equipment that allowed a Cybertronian to transform. All of this and more, just about anything that came to mind he talked to Jazz about it. The strange contrast between brutal violence and talk of high class interests made the ordeal all the worse. It was not what Jazz had been expecting and it made it seem even more so that he was at the hands of a madmech. Not only that, but that this madmech was cultured, educated, and still chose to pursue the area of his greatest interest: the fine art of torture.
Occasionally the mech would pause in his discussion to change position or select a different tool from his wall, and during these times the dripping of spilt energon was the only sound in the room. But eventually the torturer put his tools away for good and walked back empty handed, and Jazz was sure this was the end. The mech stopped in front of Jazz and knelt down so that he was face to face with him. But Jazz couldn't even hold his head up anymore. He didn't even have the energy to online his optics.
"Well you've proven to be an interesting subject," the mech said. "I hope you've had fun with me tonight, and that you've learned your lesson. Now, shall we end this?"
Jazz gritted his dental plating and waited for the end. The mech walked around behind the chair. Jazz's imagination ran wild, but he pushed it aside with the reassurance that in a moment all this will be over and he'll be with her again, and he could tell her how sorry he was, how so very sorry he was.
But then the unexpected happened: instead of snapping his neck or plunging a knife into his back or shooting him in the head, the mech unbound his hands. Jazz slumped forward at the sudden unexpected freedom. He briefly put his head in his hands before looking at them in wonder.
The black and purple returned to Jazz's side, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his pedes, but Jazz promptly fell down when his knee joints just couldn't hold up his injured body. It was only after a moment of blinding pain that Jazz realized he was using her body to prop himself up. For a horrifying moment he just stared into her cold, blank optics.
"Now I need you to listen to me very carefully," the big mech said as he crouched down to Jazz's level. "I'm giving you a second chance to correct yourself. If I ever catch you again, you will regret it even more so than you do now. Do you understand me?"
Jazz slowly looked up into the vicious crimson optics of the mech, who loomed over him even in a crouching position. Jazz had no answer; he could only wait for the mech to make his next move.
"If you are made of better stuff than what I saw tonight, then you will run. Or I can end it for you right now," and here he pulled out a long, sleek blade from his subspace. "The choice is yours."
A klik went by where nothing happened. Jazz seriously considered letting him do it, letting him end it all as he had promised, with that knife. Because what did he have to live for now? How worse can his life possibly get? But as he sat there considering his future, crouching over her still body with a knife-wielding mech lurking over him, a little kindling caught fire inside of him. How worse can his life get? After all that had happened to him, he was being offered a second chance… was he really going to turn it down?
First Jazz stumbled backwards, but then he somehow found his strength and he scrambled to his pedes. Then he ran, as fast as he could, sparing one last glance behind him for her. As he did so he just barely caught the last line spoken by the black and purple.
"I'll be looking for you."
Jazz didn't know where he was, but he had been sure he was just inside some abandoned building in the outskirts of Tarn or something. Turns out he was wrong. As he left the torture chamber he was met with a long dark hallway. He ran down this hallway without thinking, and pretty soon he came upon a fork in the passage. Blindly he took a right turn, and kept going until the hall split again, this time in three ways. Once again he followed one of the passages without any thought, but when this happened three more times he came to realize he was not in an abandoned building. He still didn't know where he was, but what he did know was that he was inside a maze; a big, dark, bleak, and confusing labyrinth.
Here he stopped, venting heavily. He didn't know what to do, his plan had been simply to run, but now he didn't know where to run to. He could have been going in circles for all he knew. The place was completely dark; the only reason he was able to see where he was going was because of the night-vision his creator had installed in his optics. Venting heavily, he looked behind him desperately; a trail of faintly glowing energon that had dripped from his wounds marked the path he had recklessly taken.
Jazz clutched at a his arm where some armor plating had been torn away and slumped against the wall, feeling the weight of his injuries come back after the rush of his flight. Suddenly he remembered the line that had been spoken to him, as if he had just now heard it: I'll be looking for you.
Jazz looked behind him again, this time in horror. Was it his imagination, or did he see movement just around the last corner he had taken? Fearfully he ran again, not knowing or caring where the next turn took him.
Eventually he stopped again, practically wheezing from the pain and exhaustion. He realized now that what had appeared as an offer for freedom was merely the second phase of the torture. He was hopelessly lost, and his spark sank when he realized he was still probably going to die down here. Jazz had never felt more demoralized in his life.
But still he ran. Pain and exhaustion slowed him down but the demon behind him pushed him onward. Occasionally he passed a grey and hollow chassis on the ground. Just some other poor sap that had been dragged into the same situation as he. Jazz couldn't help but imagine his own sparkless body lying down here forever, contorted and rusty, watching with blank optics as future victims of the labyrinth passed by helplessly.
He didn't know how he kept going. The time came where he just couldn't keep running, but he walked. Pretty soon the walk turned into a pathetic limp and he was practically dragging himself along. He didn't know why he kept going. His hopeless spark told him to give up but his body kept moving. Somewhere inside of him an ember stubbornly clung onto life.
Jazz was sure he went in a million circles before he found his way out. At some point he had started scratching the walls when he made a turn so that if he ever saw those scratches again he knew to take the other passage. It had all seemed pointless, just a way to make it seem like he was making progress. But finally he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. It was bluish and dim, not at all like the brilliant light of the on-cycle he had been hoping for. But still, it was the light of Cybertron and once he had spotted it he couldn't look away.
He hustled as fast as he could until finally he stepped out of the darkness and into the open. He fell to his knees as he vented in the gloriously fresh atmosphere of the off-cycle. He could see the stars above him, twinkling and welcoming him back to the world of the living. But then his face contorted into a grimace and he had to bury it in his hands. He let out a plaintive cry as the horrors of what he had just experienced washed over him. He was free, but she wasn't. She was gone, and her body was still back there in the darkness, grey and collecting rust.
Jazz pulled his hands away and looked at them. What was he supposed to do now? Just continue living as if she had never existed? As if this all had never happened? How could he do that; but what else was he supposed to do? Was there anything he could do? Slowly he pulled himself to his feet and limped away. No, there wasn't anything he could do.
o~o~o
Jazz left Tarn for good. He picked up energon and medical supplies in Iacon before he moved on to Uraya and finally stopped for a while in Kalis. He hunkered down here, getting himself a place and a small unassuming job so he could earn a few credits. He never went out during his spare time, just holed himself up and drowned his misery in high-grade. He decided he would never think of her again, nor would he ever speak her name again. Any lingering remnant of her that remained in his spark he wrapped up in a shell of pain and anguish, and it stayed hidden inside of him like an evil black pearl. Over time the initial shock and pain wore off, but his spark still ached where she had once been; where he knew a piece of himself had been ripped out and left behind in the labyrinth.
Eventually he moved out of Kalis and settled in Polyhex. He tried socializing more, but couldn't bring himself to be the cheerful and happy mech he had once been. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, every time he looked at himself all he could see was a mistake, he saw her tortured body and the self-blame started all over again. And he knew that whenever someone else looked into his optics all they saw was the pain and misery underneath.
Sometimes he wondered whether she was really the free one and he was the one that had been lost. That one spoken line still haunted him, on- and off-cycle: I'll be looking for you. He didn't know whether he was being paranoid or whether he was right to keep running, but it didn't matter because he still ran.
One orn he was wandering the streets of Polyhex when he came across a shop selling visors. He stared at them for the longest time. Vibes wore a visor sometimes, she said she wore it when she wanted to look cool and pick up mechs. Eventually he decided it couldn't hurt and he got himself one as well.
Next he moved to Protihex. When he tried socializing again he found it easier to do. The visor helped, he no longer had to see the self-loathing whenever he looked at his own reflection, and no one else could see it either. Slowly he learned to laugh and joke again. He made friends, but kept them at a distance. They only knew him in the bars and clubs; he purposefully disappeared during the on-cycle.
But eventually Jazz thought that maybe things were okay now, maybe the visor had been just the thing he needed to get over the hurt. One off-cycle he took the visor off and looked at himself in the mirror, and couldn't stand the sight that met him. All he saw was a scar, and suddenly it all came rushing back to him. He had to look away, disgusted. And so he kept the visor.
Time wore on and Jazz kept moving from place to place. With the visor on he could feel and act like his old self, but that didn't keep him from running. Vorns passed like this. He scraped out a living where he could and he made temporary friends along the way. He never became attached to anybody, how could he? Whenever it felt like he was getting too close to someone was when he moved on.
Cybertron changed as the vorns passed. Unrest arose between the upper and lower classes. Many unsatisfied Cybertronian's protested against the caste system that kept them from rising to their potential. But the Senate and Sentinel Prime refused to even consider a change in Cybertron's social order.
Eventually the Decepticon cause rose into being, with the charismatic Megatron at its head. The mech talked of peace on Cybertron, of equal opportunity and elimination of the caste system if only the Senate and the rank of Prime were destroyed. Even though Megatron managed to win over many followers, nobody thought the cause would become much of anything; that the Decepticons were simply an extremist group. But then the war started. At first the Autobots were just a military force designed to subdue the unruly Decepticons, but then the small skirmishes morphed into full blown battles that ravaged cities and claimed lives. The world was able to see how ruthless and bloodthirsty of a mech Megatron was, and that he would go to any length to conquer Cybertron. But this didn't prevent the Decepticon army from growing. When the call went out for more Autobot recruits and the time came for every Cybertronian to choose a side, Jazz jumped at the opportunity to join the Autobots. He remembered clearly talk of the "uprising," and wanted nothing to do with it. And besides, he wouldn't have to run if he was part of an army.
Jazz quickly proved his worth in the area of espionage, and rose through the ranks. Then the Senate began to crumble, and when Sentinel was killed in battle a young mech named Orion Pax was chosen as the new Prime: Optimus Prime. When finally the Senate became obsolete and Optimus Prime became simultaneously the sole leader of Cybertron and its military commander, a team of officers was put together to help aid, advise, and enforce the word of Optimus. Jazz was one of them.
Jazz's job became his life. As the war consumed Cybertron, Jazz thought once again that maybe things have changed enough so that he could function without the crutch that was his visor. But he couldn't. As he looked at his face in the mirror, it was just as before. He just couldn't get past the scar he saw in his optics. But now it wasn't about her anymore, not really. It was about a weakness; a vulnerability. And in the game that he played now he couldn't afford to have weaknesses, or at least he couldn't afford to let them show. And it was at that moment that Jazz knew the visor was never going to leave. It was part of him now whether he wanted it to be or not. So he went all out. He got himself a better one that suited his style, and had it outfitted with all the fancy upgrades he needed.
He became the best in his field. He learned all the tricks; he even learned how to kill. And he no longer worried about who might be chasing him, because who can hurt him when all of his secrets were locked up inside? He just wished he could find a way to keep those secrets from hurting him instead.