Jazz stood at the edge of the roof, a manic grin on his face.

"You are completely insane!" Mirage hissed. "There is no way that we can manage what you're suggesting!"

"I hate to say it, but I agree with 'Raj," Smokescreen said. He was casually leaning against a nearby wall, acting completely nonchalant, but his doors were speaking volumes. He was nowhere near as calm as he was pretending to be.

Mirage's optics narrowed in irritation. It was well known that he hated the mangling of his name and the fact that the con-mech kept insisting on using it was not ingratiating Smokescreen with the former noble.

"Look, the plan will work," Jazz said in a tone that implied that the discussion was over.

Smokescreen crossed his arms under his bumper stubbornly. "You're plan has more holes in it than, than ... than something with a lot of holes in it!"

"Yes, a thing with holes in it," Mirage sneered and it took all of Smokescreen's control to not attack the former noble.

"Frag off, 'Raj!" the Praxian spat, promising to plot something terrible against Mirage at the first opportunity. The former Noble had never made any kind of attempt to get along with him but but tonight he was being far more blatant about his hatred.

"Guys! Chill, all right?" Jazz said, that same insane grin never leaving his face. "We break in there, we get the antidote to whatever this thing is that the 'Cons slipped us, and we get out. It'll work out just fine. Now, can you two put your differences aside long enough for us to get this done?"

"And how, precisely, are you planning on getting us past the security guards?" Mirage asked. "Guards, I might add, who are armed to the optics and are spoiling for a fight? I mean, you and I could slip past unnoticed, but Doesn't-Pass-Emissions-Tests over here isn't exactly quiet."

Barely holding back a growl, Smokescreen launched himself at Mirage, only to be stopped short by Jazz. The Special Ops commander had not only placed himself between his underlings, but he had pulled two guns and was calmly pointing them at Mirage and Smokescreen.

"We can do this one of two ways, gentlemechs. Either you get yourselves back under control and help me or I shoot you both, get the antidote myself, and then worry about explaining a friendly fire incident to the Brass after everything's done," he said matter-of-factly. "Your choice."

Both Smokescreen and Mirage took cleansing breaths and reworked their firewalls and subroutines to counteract the virus that was running through their systems. A virus that seemed to be enhancing the worst parts of their personalities.

"Fine. Fine," Smokescreen said through gritted teeth. "But I still say that this plan is going to fall apart before the word go."

"Wanna bet?" Jazz asked simply.

"Fifty credits," Smokescreen replied without hesitation, holding out his hand to seal the deal.

"And what about you, 'Raj?" Jazz asked.

"We are going to get caught and we are going to die. And it'll be all you're fault, Jazz," Mirage grit out, but it was clear that he was planning on following his commander down into the lab.

"Don't think about it too much, 'Raj," Jazz replied, slapping Mirage companionably on the arm with one hand. "My plans always work best if you don't think about them too much!"

With that the saboteur transformed and sped off toward the front gate. The incredibly well armed front gate.