Disclaimer: Hasbro owns the canon Transformers, I own the others. Songs are property of Jamie Brown and myself.

Lightshow

And remember…

Do it with style

Or don't bother doing it.

Jazz's optics snapped open and he awoke from recharge with a little gasp. That dream again. He'd been having it ever since the day Maestro died – which was not long ago, only 5 days to be exact – and in it he always found himself back in the little house they used to share, just outside the town of Ferronix; back in the old mech's room, hearing him speak his last words; right before he came back online in an almighty hurry.

He sat up on the couch he'd been lying on, ran a hand across his face and then looked around. It was still a couple of hours to go before morning so the tiny living room he was in was still dark. He knew he should try and go back to sleep, but he also knew from experience that the only thing he would get out of trying it would be a lot of tossing and turning. So he didn't bother. Instead he just sat there and tried to lose himself in some happier memories for a while. Things had been so simple when Maestro was alive. Everything was black and white – a lot like his paint job. Then Maestro had died and Jazz's world had all of a sudden been tossed into a multi-spectrum of grey.

After he left the house that afternoon, a new wave of feelings and emotions had crashed into him. Abandonment, loss, fear, relief, gratefulness, sorrow; they all rushed at him and he didn't know what to do with them. He just wanted to shut them all off, so he'd headed to the one place he thought could do just that – The Cube. He sat there slowly sipping on one canister of high-grade energon after another as afternoon slowly bled into evening. He didn't care if he overcharged as long as he could numb all those feelings till he was ready to deal with them. Finally he heard the bar-mech come over to him.

"I remember you," he said. "You're Maestro's bot aren't you? How is the old mech?"

"He's dead," Jazz replied dully.

"Aw Primus! I'm sorry. Can I do anything to help ya?"

"Can you bring him back to life?" Jazz asked. The mech made no reply. "Then you can help by pouring me another drink."

"And you think that's going to help you?"

"No, but at least it'll make the hurtin' stop."

"You've never overcharged before have you, kid? Or else you'd know about the hangover it brings the next day. Trust me, you don't wanna experience one."

Jazz put his canister down. "I don't wanna deal with these emotions. I don't know HOW to deal with them."

"Them emotions're what make you alive. Without 'em you ain't nothing but a drone."

"I know that. But how do you DEAL with them?"

"Well I ain't no mind-doctor, but at a guess I'd say you give them an outlet. Release them into something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, kid. That's where you come in. Emotions feed your talents. Maestro must have given you some talents right? My advice is for you to go back home and try and figure out what them talents are."

"I don't have a home to go back to."

"Aw, slaggit." He signaled for another mech to take his place, came round the counter and helped Jazz ease off the stool. "Come with me. Your name's Jazz right?"

"Yeah. Where are we goin'?"

"Well Jazz, my name's Stirrshot. I'm taking you up to my humble abode. You're welcome to stay with me a while till you get yourself all figured out."

He led Jazz up a narrow flight of stairs to a small dwelling just above The Cube. He pushed open the door. "It ain't much, but its home. Hope you don't mind crashin' on the couch."

"Not at all. Thank you."

"No worries." He gave Jazz a nudge inside. "Now you make yourself at home, I gotta get back down to work. I'll see ya later."

After Stirrshot left Jazz gazed around the room. It was, to say the least, a veritable junkyard. Trash and all sorts of other paraphernalia covered every available flat surface. He waded through the debris over to the couch, cleared the rubbish off it, lay down and fell asleep. That was when the dreams had started. Every morning they left him so rundown that he could not even bring himself to leave the little apartment. So he spent his time slowly cleaning up Stirrshot's home.

He sighed. The happy memories were just not coming this day. Instead he just kept recalling his final moments with Maestro. He remembered the promises and the warnings. He knew he had to get his aft back in motion, but grief still weighed heavily on his shoulders and he didn't know how to shed it. He didn't even know what other talents he had – besides music. Maestro channeled his emotions into music. Maybe he could do the same.

He stood up and looked around, wondering for a moment if he should tell Stirrshot he was leaving, especially after all the mech had done for him. But Jazz didn't know if he could handle yet another goodbye. Instead he placed five credits on the table, along with a little note to say 'thank you' and quietly made his way out, and down to the street. Morning was just breaking when Jazz started walking down the road.

Jazz had been walking for days – at first strolling through familiar areas where bots, upon learning of Maestro's death, would take pity on him and offer him a place to spend the night and a few canisters of energon. Some even offered him a permanent place to move into, but as much as he would have liked to, Jazz had to politely decline. If Maestro was right about war coming to Ferronix, then he had to get as far away as possible.

He tried to talk some of the bots into coming with him, but as much as they had liked Maestro and also liked Jazz, they thought that the two mechs were also a little eccentric. They saw no need to leave their homes and strike out for the big cities just because an old mech had a bad feeling before he died.

It hurt Jazz that none of them took Maestro's warnings seriously, not even Stirrshot, which just gave him another reason to not stick around anymore. There was nothing left for him in Ferronix anyway. Bronze was gone, Maestro was gone. All that was left for him to do was to make himself gone as well.

Every step he took each day took him further and further away from the neighborhood he knew and more and more into unfamiliar territory. Places to spend the night became few and far between. Every so often he ended up sleeping in some little corner of a street when there was no one willing to take him in. At first it felt degrading – having to beg for sustenance and shelter, and sleeping on the streets when he couldn't find a place to stay – and he often wondered what Maestro would have said had he seen his creation like this.

Maestro would have said he'd done what was necessary, he realized soon enough. The old mech had told him how he'd given up his beautiful home in Polyhex and come down to Ferronix just to create him. Jazz had never been to Polyhex of course, but Maestro had described it very vividly. If Maestro could do that, then Jazz could lower himself to do this. He still had the money that Maestro had given him tucked away carefully in a subspace pocket. He was reluctant to spend it and had decided to use it only in emergencies.

Besides, once he got used to being on the streets, he realized it wasn't that bad. At least he wasn't alone. There were other bots like him who lived on the streets or in a shelter if one could be found, though he never stayed around in one place long enough to forge any friendships with those bots. No one seemed interested in striking up a conversation with him either. Each mech and femme were more content to keep to themselves, so Jazz did the same. In the little free time he had between walking (he found transforming and driving used up more fuel) and resting, he usually sat down and pulled out a datapad and began to put his emotions into words.

But not all areas were friendly neighborhoods as Jazz found out one time. He'd entered the north-eastern area of Ferronix, and after finally managing to obtain a small ration of energon from a less than friendly old femme, he settled down at a street corner to continue with his writing. That was when shadows fell across his datapad. Jazz looked up to see 3 large, bulky mechs standing in front of him, arms crossed, optics narrowed in ugly frowns. They didn't look friendly.

"Hey, can I help you mechs?" Jazz asked nonetheless.

The mech on Jazz's left reached down and hauled him roughly to his feet. Jazz took a step back, a bit startled, and felt the wall behind him. Running was not exactly an option at this moment.

"Look fellas, I don't want any trouble," he said.

"Shut up," the one in the center snapped.

Jazz immediately clamped his mouth shut. The mech took a step closer and looked him up and down.

"You're new here," he said.

"Just passing through. I'll be gone come mornin' I can assure you," Jazz replied.

The three mechs looked at each other with sneers on their faces. Then the one in the center looked back at him.

"Well then, kid," he said. "Just pay us the tax and we'll leave you alone. Simple as that."

"Tax? What tax?" Jazz asked.

"The street-tax. You pay us and you get free run of the streets – go where you like, do what you like."

"But the street's a public area. You cant impose a tax on that."

"Oh, looks like we got a smart one here," the center mech said to the one on the right.

"Heh, yeah. That's funny," the one on the right replied.

Then he lashed out, clamped a hand around Jazz's neck and yanked him forward. Jazz balanced precariously on his toes to avoid the hold becoming a choke. He didn't struggle though because something told him that doing so would only make his situation worse.

"I told you it was real simple, kid," the center mech said. "And it is. Just give us all the credits you have and we'll let you go. Refuse, and we'll take it from whatever parts are left of you."

Now Jazz was a relatively honest bot who preferred telling the truth whenever possible. However at this moment, he figured telling a little white lie might be more to his advantage. He just couldn't give these three thugs Maestro's money. And even if he did, there was no guarantee that they would let him go alive.

"I don't have any money," he said.

The grip around his throat tightened. "Wrong answer kid," the mech said.

"Think about it," Jazz tried to reason, struggling just a little now so as to loosen his vocalizer. "If I had any credits at all, would I be sleepin' out here on the streets? I'd have rented a room for the night instead."

"He is a smart mech," the bot on the left said. "I don't like smart mechs, they make me look bad."

Jazz was not in a position to mention that the mech looked bad whether or not he had a fully-functioning processing unit. With Jazz still in his grip, the mech on the right slammed him back into the wall, still maintaining his hold on Jazz's neck.

"Last chance, kid. Give us the credits or you can say hello to the scrap yard."

"I told you. I don't have any."

This time the mech raised Jazz off the ground, scraping his back along the metal wall hard enough to give off a few sparks. "I've had just about enough of you."

"HEY!" A new voice broke in. "Leave the mech alone."

Jazz was released and he dropped to his knees as the three turned to face the newcomer. Satisfied that nothing in his throat was damaged, he turned his head to get a look at his savior.

"Shut your optics Autobot!" the mech yelled.

Before Jazz knew what he was doing, his optics blacked out on their own right before a blinding light burst out from where the other mech stood. He heard shouts of pain and surprise from the three muggers and then felt a yank on his arm.

"C'mon! We gotta get outta here before those three goons realize what hit them!"

Jazz broke into a run from his kneeling position as his optics began to come back online. The mech who'd saved him still had a firm grip on his wrist and Jazz hoped that this wasn't going to be a case of 'out of the scrap-heap and into the smelter'. His vision cleared in a few seconds and the first thing he did was glance over his shoulder at the three mechs who were lying on the ground with their hands over their optics.

"Don't look back! Just follow me," the other mech said.

"Where are we goin'?" Jazz asked.

"Away from them," the mech replied. "Don't worry, I know a place we'll be safe, just keep running."

"Why don't we just transform?"

"We'd miss it that way."

The mech continued to pull Jazz along the ever-darkening streets till finally they turned into a narrow alley. It was only when they reached the dead end that he let go of Jazz's wrist.

"I think we'll be safe here for a while," he said.

"Guess I should thank you for savin' my tailpipe back there," Jazz said.

"Not a problem. Couldn't let them beat up a fellow Autobot now could I?"

"How'd you know I was an Autobot?"

"Well the big, red symbol on your chestplate is kind of a big hint. Shoulda told them to slap it on you in some place less conspicuous. Like me for instance."

The mech turned his back to Jazz and pointed to the red insignia just above his skidplate. Then he turned around to face Jazz again with a wide grin.

"The name's Lightshow."

"My name's Jazz."

"Jazz? Like the music? That is so cool."

"Uh, thanks, I think. My creator was a musician, went by the name of Maestro, but he uh… died kinda recently."

"I'm sorry. My creator's dead too. His name was Flaire. He left me to work in some factory dump and went off to help the Autobots fight down in Levatron. I heard he got killed a few weeks ago. so I quit my job and came out on the street."

"But why did you do that? At least you had a place to stay and you were given energon."

"Trust me when I say that there are worse places to live in than the streets. Out here I'm my own mech. Don't have nobody telling me what to do, working me to the ground and then short-changing me on an energon ration. Anyways, I don't have much to work for now that Flaire's dead."

"Yeah, I think I know the feelin'," Jazz said as he sat down and leaned back against a wall.

His air circulators were starting to return to their normal speed now that they'd finished rushing cooled air to his motor servos. Lightshow raised a brow, shrugged, then sat down next to him.

"You really miss this Maestro don't you? Shows you two were close. Tell me about him."

Jazz looked at him. "You wanna hear about Maestro?"

"Sure, if you got nothing else to talk about."

"You don't have anywhere else to be? Any other friends?"

"No and no. I'm stuck with you, unless of course you'd rather go back to solitary brooding, which I don't think is something you particularly enjoy."

"Not really, though I seem to have been doing a lot of that lately."

"Well then, go ahead and tell me what a mech like you from the nice part of this miserable town is doing in the miserable part of this miserable town."

Jazz saw through the street-smart, tough-mech attitude. In truth, Lightshow was just like him – lost and alone, looking for the right way to go, looking for a friend. So Jazz talked about his short life, told him about Maestro and Bronze; and while he did, he was able to get a good look at Lightshow.

The other mech was a dark maroon in color, with streaks of pale, silvery yellow here and there. He had a pair of transparent panels that stuck out at odd angles from his back. He had an open, almost rounded face and a pair of keen blue optics that had a playful, almost wild, glint to them.

"So you really think a war is gonna come crashing down on our heads?" Lightshow asked when Jazz was finished.

"Maestro seemed to think so, before he died."

"But bots you told thought you were looney huh?"

"Pretty much."

"Hey, you tried. Don't let it get you down. Flaire tried to be a hero and look at where that got him. Same deal with that mech Bronze. The main thing now is for us to get our tailpipes outta here before those three recycled trash cans start looking for us. Where did you say you were going?"

"I'm trying to make it to Iacon. Any ideas on how to get there?"

"Not a clue, but hey, first time for everything."

"Got that right." Jazz turned his head to look down his shoulder and back. "Dang, I'm gonna need some paint. That guy scratched up my back pretty bad."

"Hey, I'm your rescuer not your artist ok?"

"Guess I can wait till we get hold of some paint." He lay back on the ground. "First thing in the mornin', we're outta here."

"Alrighty, I'll just hang a 'do not disturb' sign on the door while we catch a few Zs."

"I thought you said we'd be safe here?"

"Yeah, but I didn't say for how long. We'd best get moving."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who nearly lost his head."

"You wanna hang around for them to come finish you off?"

Jazz groaned and sat back up again. "Fine, but we're gonna have to stop and rest somewhere."

"First shelter we find, I promise." Lightshow stood up and levered Jazz up with him. "Trust me."

"Just walk," Jazz said.

Lightshow looked down. "And what's with this datapad you keep carrying around?"

Jazz suddenly realized he still had his datapad clutched in his hand. "Its nothin', just somethin' I'm working on."

"Can I see?" Lightshow made a grab for it and Jazz whipped it out of the way just in time. He quickly subspaced it.

"No you cannot see, its personal. Now lets go!"

"Ooh touchy. Must've nicked a circuit." Lightshow smirked as he led the way out of the alley.

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