Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Just the plot and OCs.

Hello all! Seems my muse has decided to throw something else at you all, so here you go. This is a prequel of sorts to one of my other stories What Once Was Lost. It is a direct tie in to that story and is set in that universe I have spun into existence for what I suppose now is becoming a series. If you are new to my adventures I'll go ahead put here, you do not have to read WOWL to read this story since all of it happens before that one, but it might not be a bad idea.

But anyway, here we have the start of Jazz's story. I hope you enjoy.


Prologue: Dark Starts

Polyhex in the Third Age under the rein of Sentinel Prime would have been a comical comparison to what the once great city had been if anybot left living in it still felt like laughing. True, the spiral city near the northern arch of the world had never been as grand as Iacon with its limitless grace, as awe-inspiring as Praxus and its musical crystals, or as useful as Kaon with his seemingly endless mineshafts, but once long ago this silver city near the top of the world had been something worth value.

Music, art, and imagination had flowed through its elevated streets cut through mountain sides and down into the a deep valley bluffs. Laughter was common, fuel was easy to find, and work was to be had. They were no War Academy of Iacon, but the music and art Academies of the city were large and well-funded. Hard work there would give a bot a chance at a bright future of their choosing.

Taking the gifts of talent that seemed to be somehow coded into so many of this city and encouraged for the beauty they brought to the metal world of grey around them.

Masquerade was old enough to remember the last age. In which the degree logged away in now seemingly forgotten archives blinking beside his name still meant something. In which he had still been able to make a living based on the skills of his voice, not the curve of his frame. In which Polyhex was still looked on like it and those that hailed from it were worth more than berth ornaments.

All of that seemed a life time ago though.

There was no place in Sentinel Prime's Cybertron from the things that made Polyhex proud. So, there was no place for Polyhex.

It had started out slow.

Subtle enough that no bot noticed until it was too late to stop it.

First, positions for what so many of this city were could no longer be found outside the valley. There was apparently on more need for music teachers, artist, or songwriters. It was all a waste of time, with no real substance to the work. There were more noble talents to be pursuing.

Then the changing of city senators, and a voice among the Grand Council for the common bots of Polyhex was wiped out. Next came the fuel shortages, the layoffs, and the lose of outside funding from the wealth of Iacon that had once provided the Polyhex Academies with life was cut off.

And their valley became a tomb.

Half an age, seven hundred vorns Masquerade had done what so many others had done. Ignored, hoped, and watched. Waiting for somebot else to fix the problems that were steadily growing around them, but no bot ever did and now here they all stood in the aftermath.

A once wonderful city collecting rust and disease as the shadows closed in around them all.

If Masquerade had been smart he'd have done what those wise enough to see what was happening coming had done and left. If he'd been paying enough attention instead of clinging to false hope he'd have taken what measly positions he owned with him and headed somewhere else. He might not have been able to go on doing what he wanted to do with his life, but at least he might have stood a chance.

Instead, he had waited and hoped things would simmer down. That life would go back to normal, because it couldn't be possible could it?

One mech—be he Prime or not—couldn't just decide Cybertron had no use for the likes of his city anymore. One mech couldn't just wave a hand and their entire way of life be over forever.

Masquerade should have taken a look at what Sentinel did to the Tribes his first four hundred vorns as Prime and had his answer there. He should never had underestimated the lengths that damn royal coded bastard would go to get what he wanted.

If he hadn't, maybe he wouldn't be standing where he was now. Leaning against a busted window watching the acid rain pound down outside turning a city of now dim lights, rusting buildings, and hungry frames into something more pathetic then it already was.

Maybe he wouldn't be in this mess.

And yet, somehow, as he stood here now with this warm bond in his chest he wasn't sure if he could actually say he regretted the life he had come to find himself in now.

He might hate what he did now.

He might hate that now instead of selling his voice he sold his interface equipment, but life was what it was and now, there was the small silver thing resting quietly on a pillow just across the room because of it.

He wasn't sure if he could truthfully say he regretted anything that had to do with him.

Not even this, this last desperate attempt.

Chances are, it would fail and the two of them would die, but there was a slim chance that it might not. If the information he had slowly gathered over the last few vorns was correct then it shouldn't be that hard. All he had to do was wait a few more breams for a break in the rain and then he would make his move.

The mountains were dangerous places at night but he wouldn't be going through the mountains. At least, he wouldn't be going over them. The underground world of Cybertron was just as deadly as the surface, but at least there bots had honor.

Sure, it was a twisted kind of a honor, the honor that belonged to animals bent on killing each other, but it was honor all the same. It was honor that meant if he played his cards right he could walk himself out of Polyhex and find a life somewhere else for himself and the just turned youngling laying on the pillow behind him.

It was because of that secret behind him he'd been keeping for fifteen vorns that he was daring to do this now. Because he had refused to do what he probably should have done fifteen vorns ago when that damn high class client of his got him sparked.

Everybot he knew had warned him to get rid of it. Had told him what he already knew. That Senators didn't take kindly to blemishes on their name such as bastard sparklings from berth warmers. If they found out about them they not only killed the kindle, but the carrier as well.

If Masquerade had had a lick of sense he'd have done as his friends told him and snuffed the kindle when it was still just a cluster of energy floating around his spark. He'd have saved himself a whole lot of a lot of pain if he did. Between now trying to afford to feed and care for a sparkling after the pain that had came with all the complications of his birth he was at the end of his rope.

Masquerade had nearly died trying to bring that small silver thing behind him into the word. He didn't regret it, but it had made his life a thousand times harder. Scrambling to pay for the assistance he needed come his due date meant there had been nothing left to the dark mech's name to pay for the surgery he needed afterward with the problems the birth had caused him.

Small his little youngling might have turned out to be, but as unhealthy and underfed as Masquerade had been come his birth meant he had sustained quite a bit of damage to his internals trying to bring that little thing into this world. Which meant his job as a frag toy had gotten even more painful after all was said and done. Because he couldn't afford to fix his equipment.

He had gone on though.

He gone on because when he held that sticky little bundle of silver protoform in his hands for the first time he'd known he'd never be able to do anything other than want to give him whatever he could.

So he did, and now here he was.

Watching the rain fall while he tapped nervously at the window frame.

He'd never been very good at waiting. It wasn't in his nature.

The sound of a heavy knock on the poor excuse of a door across the room, had the slim built gold and silver mech twisting from the window. Soft blue optics glowing brighter than normal in the dim room. Those bright orbs narrowing at the sound, he stood there for a long moment waiting as no other sound followed the knock.

He had reason to be wary, with a secret like the one he carried now, but those that were sent to kill him for the lie he had told and for the life he hid behind him would not bother with knocking.

In fact, he only knew one bot this side of the tran tracks that bothered with knocking.

Pushing himself away from his leaning place clawed peds padded toward the door in near silence. His slight frame and vorns lately of getting good at staying hidden meant he had become very good at silence.

More so then most beings made of metal were capable of.

Reaching his door, he tapped the key lock with the tip of a claw signaling for the rusty slab of metal that might have once been painted black yet now was an off shade of ugly orange because of the rust eating through it to slide away. When in its place there was suddenly a tall, but slim grey mech with unnerving purple optics Masquerade couldn't help the annoyed snort and roll of his optics.

Shaking his helm, he turned away.

"Come now," The tall mech grumbled, behind him, the sound of his steps following as well as the door shutting behind him was expected, but that didn't mean Masquerade had to like it. "Is that any way to be treatin' an old friend."

"Friend?" The two tone mech stopped mid-way across the room, twisting back around to glare at the bot behind him. "Is that what ya want to call us now?"

Something Masquerade didn't want to bother with deciphering flashed through those unnerving purple optics as Custom pressed his lips into a thin line. "Don't ya be get snippy with meh, Masq."

"Oh?" Soft blue optics narrowing even more the two tone mech crossed the short distance between them until he was glaring up into the height difference between them. Neither of them were very bulky mechs, never had been, and fuel shortages made that an even more obvious fact. Custom had always been taller then the two tone though. The long sweeping sensors panels hanging from his back might be a mockery of wings in the fact that they would never offer him flight, but that didn't mean they didn't give him the height of some fliers. He'd never have the towering frame of a true airborne mech, but he was still a good bit taller than the slim racer frame.

Masquerade didn't care.

He never had.

After so long in the berths of big mechs, the instinctual weariness of them went away. One mech was as same as any other to Masquerade. He knew all too well small ones could hurt you just as bad as big ones could.

Monsters were not born of might.

Monsters were born of prospective.

"Don't get snippy?" The silver and gold mech went on in a low hiss. Mindful of the recharging youngling laid up in a mound of pillows in the corner that served as the mockery of his berth. "Ah don't have a right to be getting' snippy with ya? How is ya figurin' that one, Custom? Huh? Ah'd really like to know what could possibly be the reasonin' in that screwed up helm of ya's that would make ya think Ah don't have a right to be snippy with ya?"

He was answered by the tightening of a sharp jaw and silence.

He snorted.

Figured.

His line of works didn't make for very good friends. He and Custom had been standing the same corner for long enough that they begrudgingly watched each other's back from time to time, but things changed when the big grey mech caught sight of the swell in Masquerade's abdomen plating fifteen vorns ago.

It was a danger for anybot to be around the two tone now, and he knew it. He didn't fault his once sort of friends for making themselves scarce more often than not for him. For they were just as likely to be killed for the crime he was commenting as he was if it could be proven they knew.

If anything, Masquerade knew he owed Custom quite a lot. For he had had hung around through the hunger pains, the hard labor, and the messy cover up of afterward. He was still hear now, sneaking fuel rations to the two tone that he didn't dare ask where he got. It was Custom that got him in contact with the mechs under the surface in the first place.

He had helped Masquerade more than he ever had any obligation too.

But he wouldn't leave this slaggin' pit hole with him. He wouldn't make a run for it even if they both knew life was not going to be something that could be found here for much longer.

He was staying here, and Masq was loosing what he would have a few orns ago called his friend.

Now, he would not say such a thing. Even if that was admitting to how much it hurt him.

Shaking his helm the silver and gold mech looked away. Soft blue gaze drilling into the floor as he tried to settle down the ruffle his plating had worked itself into. Custom stood there the whole time watching him. Those eerie purple optics Masquerade had never truly gotten use to set on him before the shorter mech let out a tired breath.

"Never mind." He drawled, turning away from the other and heading back to the window to watch the rain. "It don't matter none."

"They're talkin' about ya." Custom said softly, as if the both of them already didn't know that fact.

"They been talkin' about meh for a long time. Ain't normal for a corner mech be turning down credits like that. They been talkin' about how crazy Ah is for vorns. Ain't nothin' knew."

"It is when they sayin' stuff about sparklin's."

Masquerade tensed up a little, gaze darting over to the slowly rising and falling pile of ragged blankets over in the corner of this damn cheap hole in the wall room. He watched his sparkling breathe for a few moments, chewing on his bottom lips before twisting back around to stare into those unnatural optics again.

"Ya knows Ah's leaving in a few breams." He hissed out quietly, wary of the words even in the so called safety of his own home. "Why did ya come to tell meh that? Did ya change ya mind about comin'?"

Shaking his helm, Custom looked away for a moment as if he was torn before he walked closer to the other again in order to keep both their voices down. He knew just as well as Masquerade did that the walls and shadows of this world had audios now. There was no safe place for a mech keeping secrets like Masq was.

Just as there was no safe places for those that kept it with him.

Custom knew that the slightly smaller mech, even after these last handful of vorns, still wondered why it was the grey mech helped him. Why he had helped through the carrying cycle, why he helped after the labor, why he still helped now that that little silver runt ran around and made noise.

And truthfully, Custom didn't have a good answer for him. That was why he never bothered with trying to give one.

Logically, the grey mech knew he shouldn't care. He knew he should have distance himself from the smaller one the moment those vorns ago when he'd notice what no bot else had. The weight the two tone was carrying that he had no right too.

He never would have told, those that were still around that came out of the south district of Polyhex would never dare snitch on each other. They might not be what they once were, but to each other they still saw what they had been. None of them would willingly send one of their own to death like that, but that didn't mean any of the rest were stupid enough to stick around a mech with such an obvious death wish.

Yet, here stood Custom.

If he could have come up with a decent reason, even to himself, he might have bothered to tell Masq at least once in the last fifteen vorns. He didn't though, so he didn't bother.

He just kept coming around. Handing half his energon ration to a mechling that was still too young to drink most of it, just because he liked the way those big blue optics glimmered at him when the young thing smiled.

Custom had turned into the thing Sentinel claimed there city was all along because now he had no choice, but he would never be a mech that would look down at a sparkling and wonder if it should be breathing. Just as he would never be a factor that would help lead to its death.

No matter how much risk that put him under.

There wasn't much left of Polyhex. Soon, if the damn Prime had his way, not only the coding line of their city's breed, but the city itself would be gone. Custom doubted it would ever even be a page in a history book after a few more hundred vorns.

After all, look what had been done to the Tribes.

If something didn't fit the way the Prime saw fit, he removed it from his sight. He had decided Polyhex was one of those things, so pretty soon there would be nothing left of any of them.

But that little mechling recharging over there on moldy pillows and rags for blankets was Polyhex by code. Inside him he carried the future for all of them. A chance that maybe some of it would not be for nothing. Maybe in him their breed would have hope of being remembered.

That was enough for Custom.

"Ya don't have time to wait that long." Those purple optics snapped back to blue as they both shifted their gazes away from the sparkling. "Ya must go now, if ya is gonna go at all."

Something akin to fear flashed through Masquerade's optics as they snapped back to his youngling for a moment before returning to the taller mech.

"Why does ya say that?"

"Because ya glitched code donator has sicked hounds on ya."

Now that look in those soft blue pools was easily read as fear, but neither had much time to dwell on it. Instead, Masquerade force a calming breath through his vents and went for the berth in the corner while he called over his shoulder.

"And is ya here to help?"

"Well Ah didn't come to gloat." Custom snapped back, turning away and heading for the meager pile of rations he knew the smaller mech had been stashing in the broken panel of one of the walls. "Just gather up that little bit, Ah'll help ya get as far as the lower district, after that ya is on ya own."

Masquerade didn't thank him, and Custom didn't expect it.

After all, that wasn't what this was about.

While the long, lean mech busied himself with gathering supplies across the room Masquerade went to the pile of old ratty pillows and rags of blankets. Kneeling down beside them with a soft smile on his lips that seemed odd in comparison to what was going on around them. The two tone mech couldn't help it though. There was a part of him that had never stopped smiling since his sparkling had first been put in his hands. No matter the pain and fear that had come since then because of it.

He didn't care.

That tiny smile and those big blue optics were worth it.

Reaching out with careful claws he shifted through the pile of blankets searching for a newly turned youngling as of twelve vorns old that always seemed to be burrowing under something. His carrier had never truly gotten that urge, but he did have to admit it was kind of, a little bit, extremely cute.

Just a tad.

Digging around through the blankets he soon found the still soft form of a just turned youngling. Humming quietly in the way the little mech liked him to as he flipped the blankets away to reveal big, bright blue optics blinking up at him from a small yawning face.

"Carrier." That sweet young voice chirped at him, smile rapidly spreading across his still round with youth cheeks. The simple sight of him and his warm voice enough to make the two tone mech grin like a fool. For a few moments forgetting just how much trouble he had found himself in because of this little thing.

It was an easy thing to do, believe it or not, when the creation bond in his chest started pouring out that love and admiration all sparklings seemed to have for their creators. His own spark, old, tired, and scared as it was quivered with joy at the feeling. Unable to dwell on just how bad things were likely to get before they ever had a hope of getting better.

He didn't care.

That tiny, tired smile was worth whatever pain came next.

He had managed to do something right with his life. No matter how useless the rest of Cybertron had deemed his existence. Here was one thing Masquerade had managed to get right.

Here was something he would never let himself regret.

"Hello, my little Jazz." He purred quietly down to the little bundle of silver that was trying to push himself up from his swarm of blankets. Between the rations Masquerade had been giving him the majority of alongside what the mech stole, and what Custom brought by they had managed to keep the little mech at a sort of decent weight. He went without a lot of needed supplements these first few vorns of his life, but Masquerade hoped he would be able to remedy that soon.

Once they got out of Polyhex it would be less suspicious for him to find supplies for his sparkling. Here, he had no right to have one, but out in the real world, if he could hide what he really was as well as where he was from he would seem no different than any other carrier out there.

It wouldn't damn him along with his mechling.

They would deserve a life. Outside of Polyhex the Senator that had left a kindle in Masquerade's chest didn't have a right to kill him and his sparkling for hiding the truth. Because apparently it was Masquerade's fault he had been bought and paid for over and over again by the same sick rich mech mated to somebot else and yet came to shareware to get his kicks. It was somehow Masquerade's fault that one of those many times the Senator left something behind.

It was the way of such things that Masquerade had been meant to get rid of it. To save himself his life and the Senator the embarrassment of a bastard sparkling by a frag toy.

Masquerade had broken that law though.

He had kept the sparkling, and now he had but one chance to save it.

The happy little bubble of sound that left the small youngling startled Masquerade pulling from his thoughts. Left again looking down at the small mechling wiggling his way out of his blankets to climb up into his carrier's arms.

Grinning brightly, his intelligent optics glittering in the dim light of the run down hotel room, he wiggled until he was perched in Masquerade's lap. Staring up into the silver faceplate streaked down his optics and along his cheeks with lines of painted gold of the only mech he had ever known to constantly be there. That burned warm in his chest with love and devotion.

"Well, well," A familiar voice called from across the room snapping Jazz's optics over his carrier's shoulder to find the long, lean grey shape and purple optics of Custom. "Has the sparkin' decided to join the real world?"

Jazz might only be considered a youngling now by three vorns, but he was older then twelve vorns thank you very much and he did not like being called a sparkling.

He was not still a sparkling.

He was fifteen vorns old now.

He was a youngling.

Not a sparkling.

Scrunching up his little face he pouted over his carrier's shoulder as Masquerade stood. Twisting around in the hands that were holding him to a warm, strong chest so that he could stick his tongue out at the chuckling bot walking up to them.

"Not a sparklin'!" He would deny his voice squeaked, but considering he was still learning the ins and outs of grown speech he figured he was allowed a little bit of squeak.

The sound or maybe the face he made seemed to amuse both the mechs around him. Custom chuckling deeply while Masquerade shook his helm fondly.

"Of course not, Jazz." His carrier purred to him, lightly stroking his stubby audio horns. "Ya're meh big, mechlin', aren't ya?"

Jazz preened under the attention, curling up close to his carrier's chest to take in the vibrating purr rumbling through him.

"Ah'll never get what ya named him Jazzmeister for if ya never gonna call him that." Custom let out an amused snort as he slipped a few supplies into Masquerade's subspace. The smaller mech overriding blocks and protocols to let him do it as he went about starting the transformation sequence to let his now fore arm length youngling back into place he got stuffed in far too much.

The truth of both their frames was that Jazz was now too old to be stuffed in Masquerade's spark vault. The squishy section of protoform forming a sort of box to the right of his spark chamber was where all sparklings spent a majority of their first twelve vorns with their carriers. With a direct length to the carrier's spark as well as the tubing assess point for the special sparking fuel carriers produced within themselves for their sparklings for their first twelve vorns was found there.

However, it was a forever safe haven.

Sparklings grew up, it was a fact of life, and that meant most no longer knew the safety and contentment of a spark vault after their twelfth vorn. They simply grew too fast, they no longer fit.

This was not always the case, some younglings were just smaller, but for Jazz it was.

When he hit twelve vorns he hit a growth spurt like he was supposed to and because of it he could no longer comfortably wiggle his way into Masquerade's vault. It was a fact that had made the two tone mech's life far more difficult over the last three vorns.

It had been easier to hide Jazz's existence when he spent the majority of his time hidden away in his carrier's chest. Masquerade knew it was only for that reason that he had been able to keep Jazz a secret as long as he had.

Trouble had only really started to breath down his neck over the last few vorns. When he had started having a harder time hiding Jazz. It wasn't practical to hide a sparkling in a rusty hotel room by himself for joors on end, but Masquerade had had little choice.

If anybot saw him with the youngling it wouldn't be long before they started to figure it out. He knew that was what in the end lead him to where he was now. One couldn't blame a youngling that had never known anything but trailing through shadows after his carrier and sitting alone in a dark room waiting for him to come back for trying to explore the world around him just once.

Masquerade wished it hadn't ended like it had, but now, all he could do was try and find a way to fix it.

"He's mine." The two tone mech, shrugged to the other. "Ah'll call him what Ah like."

Custom snorted again but said no more. Simply nodding as he lifted a hand to wiggle his fingers playfully in front of Jazz's optics. The silver youngling batted back at him. Giggling happily at the attention before he registered the thick panels of plating over his carrier's spark sliding away. Attention snapping down to the familiar sight of the safe, warm place just to the side of the stronger chamber of his carrier's spark.

Confused, those bright blue optics lifted to find the deeper shade of his carrier's. Audio horn tipped helm tilting in question. He didn't understand, wasn't he too big to go back in the vault?

"Carrier?" He asked.

"Won't be for long, meh mechlin'." Masquerade told him. "We is gonna go on a trip and then we is gonna live somewhere else. Somewhere ya don't have to hide. Sound like a plan, meh lil' Jazz?"

"Can go outside?" Jazz perked up happily. Optics flashing with excitement at the idea of it.

It both made Masquerade happy and sad all in the same nano. Swallowing it down he went about getting the mechling tucked away in a vault now too small for him. It wasn't comfortable for the either of them but after a few moments he was able to slide the panels of his chest shut leaving him staring up at the grey mech before him.

"Runnin' out of time." Custom said quietly.

Oh, how Masquerade knew.

He knew all too well.


The acid rain pelted the world outside in metal melting streams was nothing to play at. For a full grown bot it was not deadly unless they were exposed too it without shelter for long periods of time. Almost all creatures of Cybertron had evolved over the billions of vorns to be able to handle the climate of the world around them. It was mostly the young of their world that were at risk.

Deep inside Masquerade's vault Jazz was safe from the rain, but that didn't mean his carrier was pleased with the stinging slag pounding down around him as he hurried through the back allies of what once was his beautiful home.

For a fully grown mech decked out in hard plating and armor meant that the rain was more annoyance then pain for short periods of time that the two mechs where slipping out of shadows and through the downpour. Prickly, and itchy, and stinging when it dripped down to protoform hidden underneath, but harmless in short bursts.

Masquerade wasn't afraid of the rain as he and Custom slipped stealthily through the shadows like only creatures that knew them well could do. He was afraid of what was lurking out there in it.

Custom wouldn't have come to find him, to say the things he did, if things hadn't gotten bad over the last three orns the two tone mech had hidden himself away with his mechling waiting for the right time. He did not doubt the tall mech walking quietly along beside him. Bright purple optics searching through dark overhangs and allies as they went along. Waiting for what they both hoped they wouldn't meet, but both knew sooner or later was likely to find them.

If Masquerade could make it to the lower district without getting spotted it would be a miracle. That was another reason he was grateful of the larger shape at his side. Neither of them were fighters, but far too many bots underestimated the lengths a carrier would go to protect their sparkling. Custom didn't have the instinct or the drive that Masquerade was running on currently, but if he wasn't willing to at least throw a punch he wouldn't have come along.

He wouldn't be following the carrier for much longer though. It wasn't his gamble to take to the degree it was Masquerade's. Even if the silver and gold mech never really had figured out why that was.

Custom was smart enough to see the signs.

He was aware of what was coming, but he wouldn't leave.

The answer was simple to the grey mech though. Polyhex was his home. He was born here, and he would die here. It was just the way he was.

He knew death was the only thing left from here, but he had excepted it. His pride would be the death of him, but at least he would be one the Prime hadn't driven from this once wonderful place. Even if it had become nothing but a tomb.

Ped steps light for their size the two mechs carefully wound their way down through the soggy streets. Winding their way deeper and deeper through the darkness. Being built on the sides of two mountains dipping low into the valley between Polyhex had once been made up of three distinct districts that were then subsection into townships. The High District as it had once been known as the height of their city's society, standing tall on the side of the mountains. Then there had been the Middle District where the majority of the population and common bots had lived, worked, and thrived. The Lower District hadn't been very different from the Middle, the only real changes between them being more of the youth had taken to the lower levels of the city for the mischief that could be found in the bars, clubs, and such. Polyhex had been a city built on the imagination and drive of all those inside of it, it was in this breed's nature to seek out what others called trouble and cultivate it into something beautiful.

However, all that was gone now.

Only the High District, now ruled by the Senators and their guards sent in by the Prime was lit anymore. The rest of Polyhex had long gone dark by the time the sun set, the only life to be found here now carved out in hard ways. The playful mischief once found here now turned into a deadly game of appeasing those that wanted them all gone for as long as they could.

Bright blue optics gleamed through the darkness as Masquerade worked his way through the back allies, mindful of the noise leaking from clusters of bots found milling about the still somewhat working establishments of the city. Nothing good awaited him there.

Not now.

The bots he was looking for were even further down, and far more dangerous, but oddly enough, worth the risks.

Another alley, another pause by a wall, and then another hurried dash through the pounding rain until they reached the next overhang of shadow, and then, shaking off the droplets from his armor Masquerade turned his optics up to find those purple ones. Already knowing the look to be found there he simply nodded, dipped his helm, and turned away.

"Thanks, Custom." He said quietly, unsure he would get a reply but content in a way he hadn't expected when he got one.

"Take care of ya self, Masquerade."

"Back atcha." The smaller mech called in reply before he vanished into the shadows.

The two would never see each other again after that, not that either of them knew that in that moment, but time had a funny way of connecting some dots in different ways most wouldn't expect as it went on. Those bright blue optics that belonged to both carrier and sparkling vanishing now in the darkness that one would never emerge from again and the other would not learn how to leave for a very long time after that, it would not be the last time Custom saw that shade of blue in his life though.

However, that would not be for quite a long time.

The grey mech stood there in the shadow of a crumbling building watching the place where the other had vanished for a lot time after that. Not caring about the rain pelting down around him as he stood there. He felt uneasy in a way he wasn't use too, but there was nothing to be done about any of that now.

Masquerade had made his choice vorns ago, and there was nothing anybot but him could do about it now.

"Good luck, meh friend." He muttered to the growing darkness around him while he turned and headed back the way he had come. "Ya is gonna need it."

As Custom retreated for home he failed to notice the shapes looming out of the blackness of the building. He never saw the gleam of rain on the Guard insignias of polished armor, or the leers to be found in a dozen sets of blue optics.

He wouldn't know what happened to his friend who would never call him friend, not until it was already too late to help him.


Masquerade hardly made it another seven blocks after he parted ways with Custom before he heard them.

Laughter echoing off the wet stone and metal structures surrounding him. A sound that stilled his spark in his chest, making him spin on his heels half way down a deserted street just a few hundred or so measly yards from the place he was looking for. Audios heightening as much as he could crank them the two tone mech darted his gaze around the wet darkness surrounding him. Trying to track the echoing sounds of many mechs' dark chuckles.

It seemed to be coming from everywhere.

The eerie echo bouncing back at him from all around. Amplified by stone and dark, leaving his breath short in his vents and his spark sinking in his chest.

He was so close.

So damn close!

His jaw tightened as he felt the too cramped weight in his chest shift uneasily beside his spark. A short flash of fear passed through him via his sparkbond with Jazz. The youngling's confusion and fear at his carrier's emotions making him wiggle and twist. Scared suddenly even in the safest place he had ever known.

The silver and gold mech's resolve hardening in his chest.

No.

No, he hadn't worked this hard for this long to come up short now.

Spinning away he took off as fast as his peds would carry him. He couldn't transform with a youngling as big as Jazz in his vault, but in the rain and tight allies this deep into the valley there wasn't enough room anyway. If he was damn lucky, he might not have to.

So, he did the only thing he could do.

He ran.

As fast as his peds would carry him he slid and skidded through the night. Peds slapping hard against the cold pavement under them. His systems red lining on low fuel and lack of recharge but he ran all the same.

Trying to ignore the spikes of fear flashing through his youngling as he threw every thing he had into reaching the meeting point he had paid every credit to his name to have some big mech he knew he couldn't trust met him at so that he could be allowed down into the underground network of tunnels that ran throughout Cybertron. The place where the hidden dark world of Cybertron thrived on even under the Prime's rule.

Because monsters were hard to catch, let alone cage. Always had been, that was on law of the universe that not even the Prime could make bend to his will.

He knew the sound of his running would have spurred the ones behind him on, and he was in no way surprised when he heard curses leading to the sound of big, bulky frames running but their employer had failed to take one thing into consideration when he hired them it seemed.

Masquerade was a racing build, and even on his peds and running on low fuel he could outpace them with ease.

Running despite the struggling of his vents, he tossed himself around one less corner, skidding to a stop on the other side of a dead-end street. What he found there made his spark slide to a painful stop, his optics widening, and his processor locking up in denial for a long few nanos. Blinking in confusion he let himself look this way and that. Desperately searching for something he already realized wasn't there.

Because he'd given his last hope in faith of an animalistic honor that might just save him and his son.

Standing there now alone on a dead-end street in the pelting acid rain as death closed in behind him he realized how foolish that had been, but the last-ditch efforts were very rarely planned out well.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to breathe.

To think.

He'd been had, that much was obvious now, and he was about to pay with it for his life, but that didn't mean Jazz had to.

Not if he could help it.

Gaze darting around him, he almost passed over it only to flick his optics back.

A scrap bin.

Not big, but that might be a good thing. It was big enough to hide Jazz but small enough that it might go unnoticed.

It was a shot in the dark, and Masquerade knew it all too well, but now it was the only chance he had.

Darting forward as the sound of heavy ped steps got closer and closer behind him. Masquerade scrambled with the lid of the bin. Pulling it off and dropping it to the side all while the keyed up the command code in his processor to crack his chest plating and open his vault. With enough fear coursing through not only his spark but what was coming off his scared youngling as well he had to override the damn failsafe's protocols six times before it would let him complete the command.

Wasted time that would cost him, but he didn't had time to worry about that. He probably never would now. Instead, he reached into his vault with shaking hands, wrapping tight claws around Jazz to pull him out quickly.

The wiggling mass of silver and big blue optics was still pulsing confusion and fear at him. Something that only got worse when Masquerade didn't bring him to his chest like all the other times the young mech had ever felt fear before. Instead, he was forced to drop the little mech into the piles of scrap piled in the dirty bin.

"Carrier?" Jazz squeaked in fear, optics wide as he found himself dropped into the scrap. His little spark hammering away in his chest, as he tried to move in the shifting piles of broke metal and various other things he didn't really want to know what were. He kept sliding back down in the piles, but with sharp claws he still tried to wiggle his way back to the top of the bin. All his trying was for not though when his carrier's hand came down atop his helm. The large palm shoving him carefully but forcibly deeper into the piles of trash despite his squeaks of protest. "Carrier!"

"Hush, Jazz!" Masquerade hissed, voice breaking with the emotions swirling inside him.

Jazz ignored the command. Fighting as hard as young muscle cabling could against the shoving so that he could get back up to his carrier. Because something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He wasn't sure what but his carrier was afraid and that was making Jazz afraid.

He didn't want to be afraid.

He didn't want to be doing this anymore.

Outside wasn't worth the fear in the bond linking him to his carrier. They could just go back home. He would stay in the room and be good if it meant his carrier would stop being afraid now.

"Jazzmeister!" The whispered hiss froze the small silver mechling in his scramble. His gaze darting up to find the same shade reflected back at him in his carrier's optics. Because his carrier never called him by his full name. Not unless he had done something very wrong.

He stilled out of instinct.

Unsure, and fearful, but still all the same. Just laying there in a pile of scrap looking up at his carrier for some kind of answer to what was happening to them because he didn't understand.

Masquerade stood bent over the bin, his hands propping him up on the side of it, as he tried to breathe through the lump in his throat. Standing there staring down at the wide, scared optics of his youngling he forced himself to suck in a deep breath. Freeing one shaking hand from the side of the bin he reached down. Cupping the side of a smoothly angled silver cheek, he ran his thumb lightly over a small noseplate and under a bright optic.

Taking in every detail he knew by spark one more time, for as the sounds grew louder behind him he knew it would be the last time. Forcing the emotions swirling through his spark back so they wouldn't filter through their bond he tried to keep his voice level with what he spoke next.

"Listen to meh very carefully, mechlin'." He started, optics searching the young ones shining back at him. Trying to make a processor far too young to have to understand this do what it shouldn't have to. "Ah need ya ta stay here. Ya ain't gonna make a sound. No matter what ya here, ya understand me? Ya is gonna stay here and ya is gonna stay quiet until ya don't hear nothin' else at all. And then, when ya don't hear nothin' else, Ah want ya to climb out and Ah want ya to run. Don't ya look back. Ya just run. Do ya understand meh, meh mechlin'? Tell me ya understand."

Jazz didn't understand.

Not really, but his carrier looked so afraid and felt like he so badly wanted Jazz to get it.

So, he nodded.

Slowly, with his optics still full of confusion, but he nodded all the same.

"Okay, Carrier." He whispered. "Okay. But where ya gonna be?"

Pain flashed though Masquerade's optics and for a moment he didn't answer. Then, taking a deep breath he patted Jazz's cheek one last time before pulling away.

"Ah loves ya, ya lil' mech. Ah loves ya like I ain't never loved nothin' else. Don't ya ever forget that. Ya hear me? Never."

Then he was moving away, picking up the scrap bin lip and setting it on top of the bin. He didn't push it down to lock it though. Instead, just balancing it there atop the bin so that it could be easily pushed aside from the inside by little arms.

"Carrier?" Jazz asked, fear clouding his voice as darkness enclosed him.

"Not a sound, mechlin'. Not a sound."

Then, Masquerade moved away, snapping his chest panels back closed. Heading back to the mouth of the alley just in time to watch a dozen large shapes loom out of the darkness.

For a moment, none of them did anything.

The huge grounder frames Masquerade found himself flicking his gaze over were heaving deep vents that any other time he would have made fun of. Slaggin' slick plated fools. So spoiled in their high class lives they can't even run to keep up with a half starved racer.

This is what the Prime had done to their world, and now Masquerade would die for it.

Something in him resented that fact more then he figured it should. Angry and hurt about how one mech could destroy so many lives. How he would keep on doing this and so much worse because no bot with any power seemed to care.

What were the common to them?

They had credits, and power, and everything they could ever need. No matter that it was all built on the backs of starving, underpaid miners in Kaon. No matter if they had wiped the deserts clean of the tribes and every ounce of their culture because they hadn't liked it. No matter that they were in the process of slowly destroying an entire city and the breed of bot that called it home simply because they thought they were all little better then shareware in the first place.

And no bot cared.

They looked the other way, they pretended not to know, and hundreds of thousands were now gone because of it.

Gone and no bot would bother to remember them.

Masquerade was about to become one of them too, but he'd be damned if he went down without a fight.

Pulling up the best smirk he owned, the two tone racer tipped his helm back so that he could stare into the optics looking down at him from all angles. There was no where left to run, so he didn't bother trying. Instead, he just grinned.

"Evenin' there, mechs." He drawled, claws flexing at his side as he barred his few fangs in a mockery of a smile. He had no chance. He knew that, but that wasn't going to stop him. "Whatcha doin' round this side a town?"

The biggest one among them, some high bred looking bastard with glittering blue optics, obnoxious yellow paint, and the build of a truck stepped forward from the line of frames blocking the two town mech in the dead-end alley. It took everything inside Masquerade not to back away from the predator like approach of the dangerously sneering mech as that huge gate carried him closer.

Wait for it. He told himself, claws clenching at his side. Just wait for it.

"You know why we're here you gutter talking, piece of scrap." He was so very obviously the self-appointed leader of this hit team Masquerade forced himself not to roll his optics.

High bred fool.

He'd never know what hit him.

"Ya ain't mocking meh accent now is ya, mech?" The two tone drawled right back, watching each swaying step as it brought the mech closer, and closer, and closer. The other mechs were closing in behind him. Dark chuckles and leering looks more then enough to tell Masquerade what he already knew.

His words earned a laugh that apparently meant what he said or how he said it was funny. Masquerade didn't care. The mocking of the way Polyhex born bots talked was where it all began to start with.

They weren't refined.

They weren't dignified.

They weren't civilized.

They sounded too much like the Tribes of the Desert once had and because of it they were all sentenced to death. Maybe not in the way of full out war like the Tribes had fallen, but at least those bots had had the honor of going down fighting. Polyhex was being poisoned from the inside until there was nothing left of any of them.

There was no honor in that.

Masquerade had grown use it over the last hundred or so vorns, it no longer made him flinch or bite his tongue in shame. That didn't mean he hadn't been harboring the desire to do what he planned next for a very long time though.

"Gutter scrap." The huge mech attempted to drawl the words like Masquerade did natural in an attempt to go right on mocking him. He sounded downright ridiculous though and the two tone mech was forced to hold back a chuckle as the towering mech finally brought himself within striking range.

Big, and bulky, he didn't have a fear in the world that Masquerade might do something besides stand there and weight for his death to be given to them.

And that was the last mistake he would ever make.

"You know why we're here." The big mech sneered down at him. "You should have gotten rid of it before the Senator found out, because now you're both going to die."

Rage boiled up from the bottom of Masquerade's spark. Curling his lips and tightening his claws as finally the mech was close enough.

"He's not a it!"

He lunged.

Throwing his weight forward in a leap of claws springing off of pavement he crashed into the huge mech who never saw it coming. On his own, Masquerade would have never weighed enough to bring a mech of this sized to his knees, but with the element of surprise on his side and intricate knowledge of just what made a frame tick he did.

Crashing into his chest was enough to send the huge yellow mech off balance. His ped claws digging deeply into the mech's hips, slipping down between plating to pierce the protoform and delicate wiring underneath, was enough to tear a pained cry from him and knock him into a hard fall to his knees. All Masquerade had to do after that was pitch his weight upward, and dig his claws deep into the mech's throat. One good, hard yank and energon went flying.

Gushing out over the top of Masquerade's helm in a river of boiling blue as the short scream the mech had been able to make at the first feel of pain was cut off when his vocal processor, his jugular, and his main strut relay came away all in one yank. His life ended in one simple tear and a splatter of energon.

For a short nano Masquerade relished in that small victory, but it was all of one he had.

Large, strong, hard hands closed in on him from every angle then. Tearing him away from the rapidly greying frame as it pitched sideways to crash lifelessly to the ground. Masquerade didn't take his optics off of it, not until he could no longer keep his optics open.

It wasn't much, it made him a murderer in his last few moments of life, but it did fill him with a sick sort of satisfaction that at least he had taken one of these glitches with him.

What happened next was truly horrifying.

Standing in the mouth of the alley a young Guard mech, hardly old enough to be wearing the insignia on his shoulder, stood trembling on his thin legs as he watched the happenings through wide optics.

He hadn't actually known what their mission tonight would be. No one bothered to tell rookies such things. He was to keep his mouth shut and do as he told. If he managed to pull that off and not get himself killed in the progress he would be just fine.

That was what he had been told in his first mission debriefing at least.

Now . . . now he wasn't so sure.

Because he hadn't signed up for this.

He hadn't signed up to be sicked like a hound on a carrier for not getting rid of a bastard sparkling. He hadn't signed up to chase a mech through the rain in the middle of the night to corner him in an alley. He hadn't signed up to interrogate him on the whereabouts of his secret sparkling and then start ripping him to pieces when he wouldn't give the desired answer.

He hadn't signed up to rape bots.

Squeezing his optics shut the young mech turned away from the chaos going on at the end of the alley. Trying to ignore the horrible sounds that were echoing around the darkness and the falling rain. None of the other Guards had seemed to realize he wasn't joining in.

He was grateful for that even as he stood there trying not to purge up everything inside his tanks at the sounds, smells, and sights. Forcing himself to turn so that he was staring at one of the alley walls and not the end of it he told himself that he had to stand there. If he ran away he would likely be whipped for insubordination when the others were . . . finished.

So, he stood there.

Desperately trying to ignore what was happening behind him because he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was while he was doing that that he saw the scrap bin sitting almost unnoticeable in the shadows of the wall he was looking at wiggle.

For a klick, he stared at it.

Confusion making him blink stupidly at it because . . . he hadn't just seen a scrap bin wiggle had he?

No.

No, he couldn't have.

His processor was making things up trying to deal with the stress he was under. That was what it was, yeah. That was it.

Then the damn thing wiggled again and he about fell on his aft in shock.

He then proceeded to stare at it for longer then was probably needed before he realized what he was looking at.

Oh. He whispered to himself. That's where it is.

Tanks twisting at the realization he darted his gaze over to the debauchery happening at the end of the alley before turning away and darting forward. There was no point in trying to hide what he was doing. The others were too busy to notice.

Scrambling over to the bin he pulled the lid away. Tossing it behind him while he found himself staring down at the tear streaked faceplate of what couldn't be much older than a sparkling. The little thing was big enough to be a youngling, but that mattered little in the few short nanos in which the two stared at each other.

Another horrible sound echoed from down the alley and the young guard made his choice. Quick as a snake he reached down into the bin, yanked out the youngling and tossed him down the cold, wet, dark alley.

The little thing landed in a bundle of limbs hard on the pavement. Skidding across the ground a few long feet until he managed to find his peds again. The Guard went after him, trying to block the view of what was happening at the mouth of the alley. There was little he could do though. So instead he swiped at the little mech as he hurriedly tried to get his peds under him.

"Go!" The Guard hissed, leaving Jazz standing there with wide optics. Tears streaking down his faceplate as the pulsing ball of life in his chest proceeded to crack in half. He was a tad too young to understand everything he was seeing and hearing, Masquerade had done well to shelter him as best he could down here in this city going to pit, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel the agony flaring through his carrier's spark. His carrier who was dying.

Carrier!

His spark was screaming inside his chest but nothing he sent the other's way was being received.

And then, the tall, lanky, green mech he'd never seen before was swiping at him with dull fingers. Sending him scrambling backward even as the mech glanced over his shoulder, desperately almost before fixing Jazz in a wide blue scare again.

"Go! Get out of here! Run, if you know what is good for you, and don't you dare look back! Run!"

That was what his carrier had told him to do. That was what every instinct inside of him was screaming at him to do.

And so, at fifteen vorns old with his spark cracking in half in his chest, Jazz turned his back on the only bot he had ever known to care as he felt that bot's life slowly slip out of existence and ran for his life.


Thunder crashed and lightening lit the dark night around him an electric kind of purple as one tiny silver mechling huddled in on himself behind a pile of scrap around the back of a bar. Rain still pelted down as it seemed to always do during the Fire Storms leaving a youngling still covered in nothing but protoform aching, burning, and itching.

Jazz had managed to find himself a tucked away hideaway over the last few orns. At least here, buried under all these tossed aside hunks of metal he could stay out of most of the rain. For a little while at least.

The problem with the hastily scrambled together plan was that Jazz had to leave his makeshift shelter to find something to eat, and the rain, well that wasn't going to let up for another two decacycles at least. This far north the storms didn't last as long as they did in other places, but they still stretched on for a long while.

Long enough that the shivering youngling, currently picking at the thick lines of burns from the rain running down his left arm would starve if he didn't venture out into them to find something to eat.

Going home hadn't proven a smart idea.

When he had felt the last of his creator's bond with him shatter three nights ago he had been stumbling his way through the dark streets trying to stay out of the pouring rain. The all-encompassing agony that had come after that had left him unconscious in a doorway for the rest of the night. He'd been awoken by a stiff kick to the gut that sent him sprawling and then fleeing from the angry shouts of whoever it was that had owned that doorway.

As he'd run he'd become aware of not only the pain blooming to life in his side from the kick, but also the deep aching burns the acid rain had left in his protoform. His entire left side from his shoulder down to his thigh was badly burned. Thin lines cut through his silver hide by the rain that had run down it while he lay dead to the world. Stinging with every movement he made now. He was pretty sure most of his rib struts in his right side were broken as well.

Breathing now hurt more then it helped, and left him staggering over to catch his breath more often than not.

He hadn't been able to run much further then he ended up now. Hidden away behind his pile of scrap he nursed his wounds like a beaten turbo pup.

His tears had not lasted more than an orn. For it hadn't taken the young mech long to figure out crying wasn't going to save him. No bot was coming to help him and the noise of his cries only brought unwanted attention.

No bot had any use for a skinny, injured, gutter rat of a sparkling. He found that out very quick from the insults they hissed at him as he fled them. They all had their own problems, they didn't have any time to waste on him.

So when Jazz finally found a place mostly out of the rain and out of sight he tucked himself away to wait for his self-repair systems to try and do their job. At such a young age he didn't have much to work with, but it was at least enough that if he held very still for an orn or so his repair nanites might be able to patch up his broken ribs before splitters of them damaged something else.

By the fourth orn after his carrier died he was able to stand up again, but he was running so low of fuel that wasn't a fact that would remain that way for very much longer.

The little mech was smarter than most gave him credit for though it seemed. He knew better then to blindly rush back out into the rain in search of something to eat. That would only hurt him worse in the long run.

So he waited.

Tanks gnawing on themselves in hunger, helm aching from it, and protoform still sticking from his burns he waited and he listened for the moment he dared peak his helm out. It took another joor in coming but arrive it did and like the lash of lightening across the darkened skies over Polyhex Jazz moved.

Running quickly, but carefully—mindful of both his wounds and what might be watching—the young mech stuck close to the edges of buildings. Avoiding as many puddles and still falling drops as he could. Lull in the storm there might be but that did not mean it stopped and there was no telling when it would pick up again.

He would have to be quick because it was unlikely he would find himself with another chance.

From his place hidden away in the scrap he had been watching bots come and go or a few orns now. He knew there was a bar just down the way. It was big, and crowded, and likely to get him into trouble, but it was the only shot he had.

Besides, it wasn't like Jazz was going to be stupid enough to go in the front door.

Peaking around the slick stone wall of the back of the bar Jazz watched through dimmed optics as a large grey mech tossed a cluster of broken cubes from the back door of the loud, crowded bar. It was one of the only places left around here that was still open, making it one of the only places left to get in out of the rain.

There would be no shelter to be found inside for Jazz, but he wasn't interested in the shelter it had to offer.

What he was interested in was the pile of broken glass laying in a heap just outside the doorway.

Biting back the hunger driving him forward Jazz waited another handful of klicks after the door swung shut behind the mech before he dared step out from his hiding place. Carefully, he edged around the building, optics fixed on the door that had closed behind the mech.

Then in a flash he moved.

Hurrying down the short little alley until he fell to his knees in the pile of glass. Small hands with sharp claws shifting through the broken cluster searching for what he hoped would be there.

"Yea'!" The quiet cheer left him as he snagged a more or less still together cube with a swirling purple liquid inside. Lifting it to him Jazz gave it a careful sniff before pulling away with a hiss.

Gah!

"Highgrade." He muttered, sinking down a little in sadness only for his tanks to give a loud growl. Informing him that they didn't much care if it was fuel too rich for him to actually drink. He had to have something, or he wasn't going to have to worry about finding anything else later.

Noseplate scrunching up in distaste he forced himself to set his lips to the side of the broken cube that wasn't jagged and take a hesitant sip.

As he figured the nasty stuff burned the whole way down and made his tanks clench in on themselves when they got there, but after a few moments of trying not to gag it all right back up his internal fuel gage picked up slightly.

Huh.

He supposed desperation was good for something.

Greedily he went to chugging down the rest. Going so far as to lick the inside as best could. Once that one was licked clean he dropped it. Not caring about letting it shatter while he went to digging through the rest of them.

He came up with about five cubs. Each of different levels of fuel still inside of them, each one tasting nastier then the next, but he hadn't purged yet so he was counting that as a win. Focused as he was on drinking as much as he could as fast as he could the small silver youngling balanced on the balls of his clawed peds there in the drizzle, failed to notice the back door of the club swinging open again.

"Hey! Whatcha think ya is doin' ya little rat!?"

Jazz didn't see the first kick coming.

One nano he was sitting there licking at the edge of a thrown away cube and next he was slamming into the ground beside the broken pile of glass.

His breath rushed out of him in a whoosh. A pathetic squeak following it, even as he rolled on impact. Scrambling back to his peds while he threw his gaze up just in time to get slapped in the faceplate.

This hit sent him reeling as well. Tipping over his own weight and landing hard into a puddle that sent a whole other kind of fire like agony across him. This time a cry was torn from him. One that he tried to suck in and couldn't. Optics squeezing shut with it for a nano or two until his processor kicked back in and oh so politely informed him he needed to get his tiny little aft out of the damn puddle and run!

Bright blue optics snapping open again he rolled once more. Just missing the hard stomp of a ped that had been aiming for his helm.

"Ah don't feed strays! Ya don't pay ya don't eat!" The big green mech was raging. Chasing after Jazz even as the mechling rapidly found his peds again. Trying to dart around the swinging arms and stomping peds only to get hit in the side again and sent crashing into the pile of glass.

Several pieces buried deep tearing another grasped cry from the youngling. His hands clenching around shards of broken glass. Trying to ignore the pain, he rolled again, coming up to his peds again, throwing his gaze up watching as the big green mech bore down on him. Optics distorted and hazy the way only CN made bots look.

He was high.

And he was pissed.

Pit!

Tossing himself to the side he just managed to avoid the next grab. Trying to make a break around the mech's thick legs only to find himself collared and swung up off the ground.

At the time, Jazz didn't know how he pulled it off. Some hundreds of vorns later, when he lived by a different name as a different thing, he'd brag around how he planned it. But the truth of the matter was that it had been an accident.

One moment he was being pulled close to a snarling faceplate and the next he was landing on his aft, staring at the sight of a huge frame falling to his knees in front of him. The huge hands that had just been clutched around the back of his neck now grasping weakly at the mech's on throat. A throat that had been sliced open in a thick, jagged, ugly line. Energon now gushing down over neck cabling and plating as the mech's life rushed out of him with a wave of boiling blue in a matter of breaths.

Jazz watched, though shock widened optics as the huge mech gurgled and gasped for a few nanos more before the light faded out of his optics and the big frame keeled over. Landing with a loud bang into a puddle of acid rain.

Shaking slightly Jazz just sat there for a long kick staring at the dead frame. Spark a cold ball of fear and shock in his chest until slowly the young mechling managed to glance down to find the still dripping energon shard of glass clutched tightly in his hand.

He felt slightly sick, but he'd gone to too much trouble to purge it all back up now. So he forced himself to swallow back the bile rising on the back of his tongue as he shakily got to his peds. Stumbling more then he thought might be normal he slowly backed away from the dead mech until he heard the crunch of glass behind him. Spinning around fearfully, he glanced every direction until down registered in his mind. Letting his optics fall he saw he was standing in the pile of broken cube again, and that there was another one still with a little energon left in it.

He blinked.

Spark cold in his chest, but processor gifting him with a blunt kind of logic.

Bending down, he plucked up the last cube with his free hand, and then with his glass shard knife still held tight in his other the young mech stumbled away to return to his shelter. Melting back into the shadows that would become his home for vorns and vorns to come.

That was the first night Jazz spilled energon, the first time he killed. At the ripe young age of fifteen vorns the mechling his carrier had named Jazzmeister and called Jazz became something else. Something that soon forgot anything but shadows until he became something and some bot very different from the scared youngling that had huddled in fear of the rain.

And all that was a long, long time ago.


And so the tale begins.

Well, what did you think? I always look forward to what you all have to say. Tiny Jazz was cute wasn't he? Polyhex was also a fun place to play with. As is this time period in this series' universe. We're going to cover a lot of ground with this story and a lot of bots. You will be seeing much more then just Jazz as we go along I assure you. WOWL (as some of you probably know) is about what happens after the end of the war, this story is about how it started and all the things it caused before it was finished. You'll be seeing quite a few origin stories so to speak as this one goes along. Both Decepticon and Autobot alike.

So if you liked it and you are excited for more please let me know! I'm planning to try and update this one just like I do GG and WOWL. So check in on Sundays to see if I've got anything done because that's when the updates will show up.

Thank you for reading and hopefully reviewing! I'll see you all next chapter!

-Jaycee

P.S. Until I figured out something different I will be using WOWL's tumblr blog to post update links, fun things, and to let you guys play with the character's if you like. The link to it is on my profile if any of you new readers are interested in checking it out.