Note: I've been trying to upload this for days now! Stupid Document Manager.
This was an idea that's been floating around my head for a while, and I finally decided to write it out. This does contain OCs, but that's because it's supposed to be what happens in the background of the canon, if that makes sense. After all, special operations must get their info from somewhere, so this is my idea about the mechs who have to go out and get it. Consider this to be pre-Earth. I know that Cybertronians would have a term for "boys", so imagine that they're saying it in Cybertronian. In fact, this would all be in Cybertronian, so it doesn't really matter. This will stay a one-shot unless someone really wants to see more, but for now I'm listing it as complete.
Warning!: This is listed as teen as there is no explicit content. There are some adult themes and sexual references as well as slash. If any of this offends you, don't read. You have been warned.
- blah- Com. link
blah - Flashback or Thoughts, occasionally
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Stryker, Pyro, and Ice Blink.
Every good special operations bot has their sources. After all, they need to stay on the up and up without actually going out and gathering that information themselves. They don't have time to run around and do things themselves, so they have sources to get their information for them.
However, not all sources are snitches. No, sometimes special operations will actually employ soldiers for the sole purpose of getting out into the field and gathering information.
These are the most unknown, unheard of mechs to ever exist in the Autobot ranks. They're the deep cover agents, the best kept secret of the Autobot third-in-command. After all, not even Optimus Prime himself knows of their existence.
They are but a rumor, a myth passed from soldier to soldier, a small worry in the back of a Decepticon's processor that maybe, just maybe, the partner that they're on patrol with right now is one of them, one of the fabled elite, one of Jazz's Boys.
As with most stories, that of Jazz's Boys had been embellished a lot over time, as each mech who told the stories added to them, improved them, and made them grander and more suspenseful. Oh, if they only knew that some of their greatest heroes were not actually a legion of highly trained super-spies, but a trio of absolute idiots.
While Jazz would neither confirm nor deny that he had a group of such mechs working directly under him as undercover Autobot spies, it was true that the group existed. It just wasn't as impressive as everyone thought. They were awkward, and they were obnoxious, and at times they made the TIC want to beat his head against the wall, but they got the job done and they did it right. Jazz needed them to get him all of the latest information through whatever means necessary, and they did, even if they really, really, really didn't want to.
"I am NOT getting it on with a Decepticon for you!" the short black mech screamed, waving his servos in the air for emphasis.
"None of us is 'getting it on' with anybody!" their leader exclaimed exasperatedly.
"Don't I know it," the black mech muttered darkly, crossing his arms.
"Hey, if you have a 'Con's sparkling, can we keep it?" the white mech asked his black colored twin, aggravating him further.
"Ice Blink, cut it out!" Stryker commanded, using his height to tower over the small white twin imposingly. Ice Blink ignored him.
"So what would we do with it?" he asked, goading his twin on. "We could get it a little collar, and ooh maybe we could train it to behave like a good little 'Con, or-"
"I am NOT having 'Con spawn!" Pyro shouted in his twin's faceplates. Ice Blink smiled back serenely.
The tall green form of Stryker glared at the pair. "Both of you shut it, or so help me Primus, I'll-"
A slight cough-like sound came from behind them, causing the trio to turn towards the video screen once again, where their superior was watching them with a small, amused smile.
"Sorry, Jazz," they all muttered like the thoroughly chastised sparklings that they were.
"Yeah, well, as I was saying, I need you three to check the place out. 'Cons and some rough n' tumble neutrals frequent the place, and from what I've heard some of the 'Cons there are involved in the construction of a new Decepticon base. I need you to get in there and find out if there really is a new base in the makings. If there is, then you need to get all the info you can on it. The location is key. Remember, any means necessary." He looked at the trio meaningfully.
"Are you seriously implying that you want us to give lap dances to Decepticons?!" Even Stryker, Jazz's ever-loyal second couldn't quite believe what his superior was asking of them.
"Well, if that's what you gotta do..." Jazz smirked at them devilishly, visor flashing.
"I hate you," Pyro stated bluntly, blue optics narrowed in supreme annoyance.
"Pyro," Stryker growled in warning.
"Seriously, we don't get paid nearly enough for this slag!" Pyro exclaimed.
Jazz only laughed. They may have been a pack of inept idiots, but they were his pack of inept idiots and he'd chosen them for a reason. He really didn't mind the cursing, or the back-sass or even the insults to himself. Not many mechs worked directly under Jazz, so most didn't know that Jazz was much more lenient with his soldiers than others would be, including allowing them to treat him as if he was "one of the gang" and not their superior. In fact, he appreciated it.
Cutting off Pyro's torrent of swearing, Jazz said, "I sent you a chip with the coordinates on it. And this time, guys, just find a way of disposing of it so there's no evidence. When I said to eat it last time, I was joking." Everyone looked at Ice Blink.
"Well how was I supposed to know you were kidding?!" the white twin complained, pouting. "If you didn't mean it, you shouldn't have said it."
"Yeah, well I'm not getting the thing out of you if you swallow it this time," Pyro told his twin. Stryker nodded in agreement.
"Ow, Ow, OWWWW!!!"
"You dumbaft fragger, stay still!" Pyro shouted. "Stryke, keep him down!"
"I'm trying!" the green mech said from his position atop his white subordinate, basically laying on him in an attempt to minimize his thrashing.
Pyro's servo was shoved deep in his brother's circuitry, twisting around as he felt for the chip that his slagger of a brother had actually swallowed.
"Ow – couldn't you – PRIMUS – move a little – slag it – slower – you pit-spawned glitch slagger?!" Ice Blink did not slow in his movements, extremely uncomfortable at having his completely-untrained-in-any-medical-field twin shoving his servo around in his innards in an attempt to remove the chip he'd swallowed that his tanks apparently could not break down or process, so it had to be forcefully removed to prevent any damage. Well his brother was doing most of the damage right now!
"If I moved any slower it would be called torture!" the black mech snarled.
All mechs present shuddered at the memory.
"In other news, you're seriously planning on having us get it on with some 'Cons?" Ice Blink asked with wide, supposedly innocent blue optics.
"I already told you, I ain't getting it on with a 'Con and that's final!" Pyro was one of those who subscribed to the idea that "If you say it enough times, it will be true."
"Stop saying that!" Stryker admonished his team.
Jazz sighed. "Sparking with the Decepticons and anyone else will not be necessary unless you really, really want to, in which case, I want details. But really, none of you has to spark with anybody, okay?"
"Better not have to," Pyro grumbled, always needing to have the last word.
"So how's Prowl?" Ice Blink asked their superior in a light, happy tone, as if none of the previous conversation had occurred.
"Prowlie's good. Still overworking himself, but he's good."
"None of us have ever even met Prowl," Pyro admonished his brother, smacking him upside his helm.
"That doesn't mean that we have to be impolite and not ask," Ice Blink sniffed.
"Yeah Snowflake, 'cause you're sure known for your manners," Jazz chuckled, using one of his many nicknames for his team members.
"You know it!" the white mech commented brightly.
"Uh-huh. Well, is that all then, Captain Jazztastic?" Stryker asked. After Jazz began calling them odd, obscure nicknames, they'd felt the need to come up with a few of their own for him.
"Yep, Big Guy, that's it. Try not to get yourself too slagged, you hear me?"
"Apparently were getting slagged in a different way than you're talking about." Ice waggled his optic ridges suggestively. Both Stryker and Pyro smacked his helm this time.
"'Kay, I gotta go boys, I'm due for a meeting with Prime soon," Jazz said. "See ya!" With that, the feed cut out.
"So are we gonna get it on with some 'Cons?" Pyro asked quietly after a few moments of silence.
Sighing in defeat, their leader said, "That is exactly what we're going to do. Now c'mon, we have to find some way to make you two afts look attractive by tonight."
"I am attractive!" Ice Blink shouted.
"We all know that I'm the better looking twin," Pyro said, pushing past his brother.
"Are not!" Ice punched his brother in the arm, and soon they were in a full out brawl worthy of the nefarious twin terrors that Jazz had told them about.
Stryker sighed. They had a lot of work to do if they wanted to be ready for that night.
Later that orn
The trio stood outside of what was, in human terms, a strip club. A strip club for freaking huge robots, but a strip club nonetheless. How do giant robots strip? By wearing less armor, of course! A human wouldn't notice the difference, but to a Cybertronian it was a very promiscuous thing to do.
They were waiting in line with some seedy looking mechs who kept staring at them lustfully. Well, that's what they were going for, but it didn't make them feel any better. Stryker had to keep stepping on Pyro's pede to keep him from growling at passersby.
Once they finally reached the front of the line, which wasn't very long because it was early in the orn for most patrons, they put their plan into action. Step one: Infiltrate the premises.
"Hi," Stryker said in a bright tone, pasting on an airy smile. "We're just passing through the area for the night, and we're in need of a few extra credits. Do you think we could work here for the night, maybe?"
Stryker had to keep from gagging as he put on the act, subtly sliding his servo down his own chassis, knowing that the mech at the door was watching him. The trio was always undercover, so they never wore symbols of the Autobot faction, though occasionally they'd wear the Decepticon symbol if the mission necessitated it.
Tonight they'd had to clean and polish their armor, as well as remove all of the bulkier pieces intended for battle. All of them had a few weapons hidden internally, but Stryker still felt lost without the comforting weight of his cannon on his arm. He really wanted to use it on the mech who was feeling him up with his optics.
"I might be able to fit you in," the mech all but purred. Stryke's tanks churned in disgust at what he was doing. "Let me go get the boss."
The mech left and Stryker sent a look to his own subordinates, one reminding them that they couldn't mess this up. He soon returned, bringing with him a foul smelling mech with a greedy look in his optics. Once again Pyro was barely stopped from growling.
"Yeah, we could use them," he agreed, looking at the three as if they were property. "You two twins?" he asked the monochromatic mechs. The nodded, putting on fake smiles for him.
"Good. A lot of the patrons like twins." They were doing all that they could to keep from shuddering. Or purging their tanks, either one was a distinct possibility at the moment.
"Some of them like the bigger ones, too," he commented, apparently referring to Stryker's height. "Most of my dancers are on the smaller side. They'll do," he said to his bouncer. To the trio, he said, "Follow me. I'll tell you how things work here."
The three followed after the club owner, sticking together as they looked around warily. Strobe lights flashed and the odor of cheap high-grade energon permeated the air. All around them mechs were gyrating and groping in some sorry excuse for dancing.
"Okay, here's how things work. If a mech asks you, they can pay for a dance. They may give the credits to you, but once you're done the credits go directly to the bartender, got it? The longer the dance, the higher the cost. Prices are posted at the bar and on the wall. You keep any tips you get and you'll receive a cut of the profits at the end of the night. Sound good?" The group nodded, not being able to do anything else.
"If a mech wants more than just a dance, well, that's your choice. Back rooms are free for just that purpose. If you don't want to get involved in that, politely decline. If they hassle you, find the bartender or a bouncer or come to me. No one hassles my dancers. Any questions?" They shook their heads now, and they were turned loose.
"What do we do now?" Pyro hissed to their leader.
"Wait until one of the guys we're looking for shows up, I guess," he replied. Along with the coordinates of the club, Jazz had sent them images of some of the mechs they were looking for who may have ideas about this new base.
"But what do we do right now?" the black mech pressed.
"We dance!" Ice Blink said happily, already moving and twisting to the beat.
"You are an idiot," his brother scorned, but he allowed his twin to pull him towards him, dancing together. Next to them Stryker moved slightly, enough to look like he was dancing while he scanned the room for their targets.
Loud laughter could be heard from the entrance as a large group of mechs came in. All were sporting the Decepticon symbol.
"I think we've found our guys," Stryker murmured to the twins, who nodded subtly in return. "Let's get to work, boys."
Ice Blink wriggled his optic ridges, and Stryker had to keep from living up to his designation.
The group of Decepticons sat on some expensive looking lounges that were really worth much less than they appeared to be. They already appeared to be overcharged, but they were still ordering more high-grade.
All the better for us, Stryker thought. The more overcharged they were, the more information they may be willing to give up.
The rowdy group of 'Cons were calling at the mechs around them, checking out the night's "pickings". The trio moved over to them, trying to gain the attention of the 'Cons. It didn't take long for someone to call out the twins.
"Good luck," Stryker told the pair as they flounced off to the mech to do...unsavory things for him.
"Hey," one of the dancers said, tapping Stryke on the arm. "That mech over there wants you." Surprised, Stryker turned to see who could have possibly asked for him. He almost fell over when he saw who it was.
Soundwave?! Soundwave, the Decepticon third in command and Communications Officer was here?! He was asking for him?! What was he even doing here? Everyone said that he didn't do things like go to strip clubs asking for lap dances. Why the Pit was he here, then?!
Wait, wasn't Soundwave telepathic? Holy Primus, think of something stupid! He told himself, before singing along with the song lyrics playing in the club to keep from thinking about how he shouldn't think of things.
"What can I do for you?" he asked the visored mech in a hopefully sultry tone. Instead of speaking, the mech handed him a chip with credits on it. Comparing the amount of credits to the sign on the wall, he calculated the amount of time he'd need to dance for and nodded, subspacing the chip. Hopefully the twins would have more luck than he would, because Soundwave didn't seem to be much of a talker and considering he was wearing a mouth guard, he didn't seem very inclined to ingest high-grade anytime soon.
Stryker began to dance, feeling like a dirty slagger the entire time as he practically pelvic thrusted the other mech in the faceplates. Inside, he was dying of shame and embarrassment, but he made sure that his surface thoughts were all light and happy, things that a normal dancer would think.
Ooh, he's the third in command! I wonder if he tips well, then. He should; he gets paid enough.
What's with the mouth guard? How's he supposed to drink energon with it on?
How much longer is this? Five breems? I guess I can deal with that.
Ugh, everyone is staring at me. So they get to watch without paying, huh? Wonder how much admission is at the door. They should probably raise it.
Ooh, I like this song!
And so his thoughts continued, making him sound like a boring, insipid dancer. Jazz would be proud.
He thought he was doing a pretty good job, but he couldn't help but feel a small amount of pettiness because Soundwave wasn't showing any sort of reaction.
Who asks for a dance and then just sits there? He thought as he trailed his servos down the cassette player's chassis.
"Statement: Your thoughts are a cover."
Stryker almost fell over in shock at the sudden monotone from the mech he was dancing for, spoken so quietly that he could barely hear it over the pounding music.
"How so?" he asked with an innocent and naive smile.
"Your thoughts: An attempt to hide true thoughts." It was a little unnerving that Soundwave's voice could be heard but there was no indication that he was speaking, given the mouth guard.
"It's not very nice to read other people's thoughts," Stryker pouted, though inside he was scrambling for a way to get out of this situation.
"Apology: Not given. Reason: Real thoughts are interesting."
Well that one threw him for a loop. Was he being...flirted with?
"Are you flirting with me?" He tried to sound like mechs flirted with him all the time, though in reality he was flattered and just a little touched. Even if it was from a no-good slag-eating 'Con.
"Your question: Ignored. Inquiry: Do you dislike the Decepticons?"
Stryke scrambled for an answer. "Um, it's not that I don't like them, it's just that, you know, the war, and-"
- Yo Boss, we got the info. Drunken slaggers, can't keep their mouths shut. Let's dump the credits at the bar and get the Pit outta here, huh? These dirty 'Cons got their filthy paws all over me. I want to get home and soak in some corrosive acid for an orn. Heh, even that probably won't get rid of the feeling. –
While Stryker was grateful for the com from Pyro that would allow them to get out of there, he really wished that it had come at a time when he wasn't having his mind read against his will by a Communications Officer, especially one that was a Decepticon.
- Stryker, you coming? –
Soundwave was looking at him intently. Checking his internal chronometer, Stryke saw that his time was up, anyway.
Giving Soundwave a grin and a wink, he said, "Gotta go!" He hoped that Soundwave hadn't heard that message, he really hoped that he hadn't heard that message.
Meeting up with the twins, they dropped the credits at the bar and received their pay. The owner looked at them and said, "Shame you're leaving so early. Soundwave never takes a liking to the dancers." Stryker nodded like it was a real shame before the three left quickly, the twins chuckling the entire time.
Once they were well clear of the club, the twins broke out laughing, clutching at each other for support.
"Dude, you danced for Soundwave?" They found this idea absolutely hilarious.
"I'd stop laughing if I were you," Stryker said solemnly. "He was reading my mind and he was on to me. That's probably the only reason he had me dance; he knew we were up to something. I think he may have heard your messages to me, too. You better pray to Primus that he didn't – you said my real name there."
The twins soon sobered. They began making attempts to take their leader's mind off of their mishaps, knowing that he'd dwell on it, by regaling him with their own tale.
Apparently they'd ended up with some very overcharged Decepticons who didn't seem to understand the "Servos Off" policy. The one upside was that they'd just come from the construction site, and with a few purred questions they'd given the twins enough information to write a tell-all novel.
So basically, mission accomplished for Jazz's Boys. They'd have to have a talk with their superior about what was and wasn't acceptable to ask of your subordinates. Still, it was funny to be able to add "Strip Club Dancer" to their list of accomplishments and previous jobs, alongside geologists, accountants, missionaries of Primus, turbo-fox caretakers, sparkling-sitters, fighters in an illegal undergound ring, and poisoned-energon testers, among others. Still, they still never, ever, ever wanted to do that again. Ever.
As Pyro had said, they so weren't paid enough for this.
Soundwave sat in his chair, watching the tall green mech depart with some monochromatic twins.
Stryker, he mused to himself, remembering the name one of the twins had called the mech that they referred to as their "boss". Who are you?
Well, now Soundwave knows something of Jazz's Boys, not that he realizes who they are. This didn't come out nearly as funny as I'd hoped. Oh well. I hope I got Soundwave-speak right. I didn't intend for this to come off as...romantic in any way, though I think it sort of did...and now I'm liking that direction... For now this is a one-shot but if you want to see more, tell me and I may continue. Otherwise, leaving a review would be nice.