This is written as a tribute to Jazz as well as to all those in the real world who have gone before.
Please note, it is not an uplifting or humorous piece as it was written mostly to help me get my thoughts in order and deal with the jumble of emotions caused by loosing a close relative very unexpectedly. But I am a writer at heart, which means I deal with things by putting pen to paper... If you have liked my other writing, this is simply a more serious example of the same style and approach. I don't want to scare anyone away, but I don't want to give anyone a false picture of what this story is.
If you watched the movie, you know what happened to Jazz. That, and the moments immediately following, is what this story explores. While I do not get into highly graphic descriptions of pain, suffering and gore... Jazz died in a very painful manner and I'm not brushing over that either. Fair warning, there is a spiritual aspect to this story.
That said, it is not an overly depressing piece so much as it is a reminder, set in the universe of my favorite fandom, that death is not the end of one's existence, merely the gateway into the next.
Despite the protests of his battered frame, Jazz snapped his gaze up at the sound of Megatron's snarl. His processor raced. Bumblebee was out of commission from Starscream's first strafing run. Ironhide and Ratchet were both occupied dealing with that flying pest as well as the other 'Con that was blasting holes in the local infrastructure.
Even with his processor still somewhat dazed from being hurled against the building, Jazz knew Megatron joining the battle was a very, very bad thing. For all involved.
/I'm on my way./ Optimus' comm. signal reached his CPU sounding like a blessing from Primus himself. /ETA less than three minutes./
Releasing a vent equal parts relief and equal parts dread, Jazz pushed himself to his pedes. Optimus was almost here. It was like music to his audios, but it would not be soon enough.
A mech like Megatron could wreck untold havoc on a relatively fragile environment like this human city and claim countless lives in the process.
Ironhide could conceivably take on the former Lord Protector and stand a chance, but the weapons specialist was currently occupied.
Jazz saw Megatron lift his weapon as if in slow motion and knew if he did not act now many lives would be lost. The humans in this place did not have three minutes. Megatron would not give it to them.
Jazz's pedes were moving before he had made the conscious decision to do anything.
He knew he did not stand a chance against Megatron, not in a frontal attack like this. He was little larger than a minibot, the warlord was almost larger than Prime. Jazz could only hope to distract the Decepticon, to bide time for Optimus to arrive. Perhaps the tyrant would find sufficient entertainment in beating the slag out of him, that he would be too occupied to kill the thousands of innocent lives that had been unwillingly swept into a war that was not their own.
It was at once the hardest decision Jazz had ever had to make and also the easiest.
His comrades, those under his command, were depending on him. He had a duty to act that did not ask what he liked or preferred. But, even if it had, he would not have balked. If someone was going to do it, he would rather it be him – if only to spare those he cared about from what he knew would happen.
The world swirled past him, but did not include him in its passing as Jazz leapt at the larger silver mech.
The saboteur might have said something, but he was not sure as he pounded his fists into thick metal armor. Jazz did not stop moving, knowing his only strength here was speed and agility, knowing in the end it would not be enough to save him. He only hoped it would be sufficient.
Megatron roared, but Jazz paid no heed, idly his chronometer counted down the remaining seconds he had to bide until Optimus arrived. Wondered, in a rather detached manner if there was even a remote chance he would survive.
"You wanna piece of meh? You wanna piece of meh?" Jazz heard his own voice taunt the raging mech. Saw the ruby-red optics flare.
He was going to die anyway, so he was going to do so with his fists flying, he was going to do so in the same style that had marked his life.
"No." His current nemesis growled lowly, and full of painful promise. Pain exploded through his shoulder as razor-sharp claws pierced armor like tissue paper, severing lines and tension wires.
He did not cry out. This was it. His spark knew it before his processor could and he glared silently up at the mech who was once a trusted superior and friend.
The only mystery left was exactly how it was going to happen.
An evil smirk filled his vision. "I want two!"
And like that, Jazz knew. Through life he had accepted the blows he had been dealt, he would do so in death.
He had known when they had gotten word that the AllSpark had been located on an inhabited planet that their war would eventually endanger yet another untold millions of innocent lives. That it was their duty now, as Autobots, to do what they could to mitigate the consequences of their actions.
He had known when he had assisted with evacuating the AllSpark off Cybertron that, one day, they'd have to go after it.
He had known when he had accepted Prime's offer to become Third in Command that with the additional authority would come additional responsibility. Responsibility for the lives of those under his command. Responsibility for the outcomes of his orders and decisions as well as the unintended consequences of the same.
He had known when he had decided to train for special ops that his life would be filled with danger and risk. That he would be faced with difficult decisions. He had known that the lives of many would depend on his skills and on him making the right decisions.
He had known that taking upon himself the unofficial duties of morale officer would not always be easy, that he would have to spend his energies looking after others rather than wallowing in his own misery.
He had known when he had sworn his allegiance not just to his Prime, but to the ideals and convictions his leader stood for, that it was a lifetime commitment. He had known that it would have to become his own spark if he were to overcome the hardships he knew were to come and had accordingly committed himself thus.
He had known when the first whisperings of unrest had swept across the streets of Cybertron that war was on the horizon. Accordingly, he had known that he would one day have to choose a side. And he had known he would have to choose the side that respected freedom, the side that valued life. He had chosen such even knowing what it might one day cost him.
From the moment he had had the Autobot insignia branded to his frame, he had known it represented a promise. A promise to uphold freedom, to protect innocent lives, to defend his brothers – regardless of the cost.
Every choice he had ever made had led him to this point, and every choice went back to that one.
Another set of claws ripped into his pelvic joint sending a wave of searing pain through his frame, wrapping him in agony. And then pressure; tearing, rending pressure that started in his chassis and spread outward like plasma. Metal twisted, welds strained, bolts started to give. And it only grew worse.
He heard the splitting of armor plating and, even though Jazz knew it was his own frame being torn in two, he felt remote from it, enveloped and shielded from it by the agony the torture itself caused.
Black flicks warred against brighter flashes and clouded his vision. But he did not fear, he did not rage. He had accepted this when he had chosen to act.
Then, through it all, a frustrated growl, one that was not his own, echoed in his audios. With the last bit of conscious processing power, Jazz made out the distinct thrum of his Prime's engine.
Against all odds, he had succeeded.
Jazz smiled.
With a flash of white, he felt his sparkcase rupture…
Then the pain was gone. The roaring in his audios was silent. He drifted in the white ether that had claimed him with the extinguishing of his spark.
That was when Jazz heard the voice: rich, deep, full. It carried the wisdom of the ages and felt as old as time itself and yet above and beyond time, as if separate from it. Eternal.
His full name, whispered in the almost musical notes of ancient Cybertronian, swept through him, not just his audios, but into his very core.
Jazz knew that voice, even though he had never once in his life heard it before.
It was not his place to speak to such an eternal greatness. His spark trembled in awe. "Primus…?"
All his accomplishments, everything he had ever done in his long life, suddenly felt like unimportant scrap next to the glory that was Primus's light. His very essence.
"I do not deserve ta stand before ya." His spark whispered brokenly to the presence, the sheer power, that was surrounding him.
"You have faithfully served my chosen Prime and in so doing have served me." The voice answered with a warmth that staggered the silver mech. "When I was depleted, you gave me energon. When I was injured, you helped repair me. When I was lost you helped me find my way."
Confusion gripped Jazz. "When? When did I do those things?"
A brief series of memories played before him in a quick kaleidoscopic montage of his life. The time when his scouting team had been trapped behind enemy lines for longer than they had planned and he had intentionally taken less of the energon rations so that his 'Bots would have more. The innumerable times he had snuck into med bay behind Ratchet's back to help lift the spirits of injured countless Autobots. All the joors he had spent with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker helping them curb their blind thirst for vengeance into something less volatile though no less dangerous. The orns he had spent holding a shaking Bluestreak after the destruction of Praxus. The times he had shown mercy to surrendered Decepticons. And so on. Up to the moment he had sacrificed his spark for hundreds of innocent humans whose designation he did not even know.
You have with honor upheld my greatest ideals." The voice of Primus stated again with warmth and…love?
It swelled around him, filling him with untold joy and erasing the memories of a lifetime of hardship and difficulty as well as the very agony that had ended his mortal life; the love of a creator welcoming a sparking into his house.
"You have earned your rest, my youngling."
And, for the first time in his eons-long life, Jazz found peace.
.
In loving memory of D.G., my uncle
Laid to rest this day, the 28th day of August, 2012
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
Remember to count the days you have been given, to live for what really matters, and hold tight to those you love for no one knows when our time on earth is done.