Sorry for the long wait. Had a lot of problems with my computer. My laptop no longer likes my internet and my home computer (just got wiped) no longer has microsoft word. But I've finally got this chapter done. I hope you enjoy it. This chapter doesn't have anything bad in it, but I think it helps build the story and its characters.
Warnings: None for this chapter :D At least I don't think so...
Also: I don't own transformers. I wish I did but I don't.
"Cliffjumper, wait!" What now?
"I was wondering if I could talk with you for a few nanoclicks. It'll be real quick if it's ok with yah." No.
"Sure, Jazz," I have to fake that stupid smile again. Hopefully this will be quick; I know how you hate waiting for me, Sunny.
"Cool," don't wave me over like I'm some kind of dog, you idiot. Just because I'm a minibot doesn't give everyone rights to act superior to me. Bots can get hurt for pissing me off by acting all high-and-mighty. A specific bot. "This way then. To my office." For now I'll play obedient and trot along at your heels, Jazz. I'll remind you another time that I can bite. Hard.
Primus, he can be annoying. I can hear his speakers humming some dull earth tune as his fingers snap to some make-believe beat. Calls it remixing. I call it nothing but a load of slagging scrap.
Still, he can't ruin my day. I've got big plans for tonight while everyone else is recharging. Big plans that involve you and me, Sunstreaker. I wish your bother didn't crush his optics because I would love to have him watch what I'll do to you tonight. Shivers of excitement are running up my spinal structure. Fun.
"Have a seat, Cliffy," I hate the stupid nickname. Why do bots feel like they have rights to changing or shortening my name? My name is Cliffjumper. If they have such a hard time saying it maybe they shouldn't be talking to me. At all.
"Alright," the stupid seat is made to company larger bots, such as Ultra Magnus or Optimus. Not for someone my size. Nothing is made to fit a minibot's size because we're only half the worth of a real full sized bot. Slag them. Slag them all.
Jazz is just standing by the edge of his desk watching me. I can tell he's trying to read me. Look inside me without giving any clue of what exactly he is seeing. Special Ops tricks and such. Bumblebee has told me, in a whispering friendly banter, about how Jazz operates. How he decipher bots.
I'm not worried. He can't read me because he really doesn't know me. No one truly knows me. Which works great for me since that means no one knows my real potential on and off the battlefield. What I'm capable of.
If they saw you, Sunstreaker, they might start to understand. But they'll never see you again, so I'll settle with never being understood fully for what or who I am. I can live with that. For now.
"It's come to my attention that you've been disappearing for long periods of time," Slag. I was being careful. Showing up for my work rotations on time and even making appearances in the rec. room on occasions. There shouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary to notice. No one should have been noticing me disappearing for a few earth hours. Not like anyone else don't spend time by themselves here.
"What do you mean?" Best play dumb. Jazz might see through but one should never admit to something or give away any information before knowing the other's first. Blurting out details before knowing the situation can get a mech in trouble.
"Your roommate, Bumblebee, told me that you haven't been sleeping in your room on most recharge cycles and that you've been more scarce around the Ark lately," don't look at me like you already know what I'm doing. If you did we both know I would be here at this moment. Standing or talking. With Autobots law I would be put away for, who knows how many, orns, but with you, dear Jazz, if you found out before anyone else, even an inkling of a feeling of what I was doing, I would be alive. You'd have taken me out and I would be laying dead here in your office, most likely. Oh, the credits I would pay to see your face when you would see the twins. See their faces and their pain.
Outside I show nothing but inside I can't stop the warm feelings rushing my body. Heating my spark with positive energy. And here I thought they said revenge was best served cold.
"Care to tell me where you have been," that doesn't sound very much like a question, Jazz. Authority and the power of giving orders are making you step over boundaries that you shouldn't go near.
"Just out and about," I'm telling you anything, but maybe I can play along with a different tune. One good thing about having a frame similar to Bumblebee's is that it's easier to pull off that I'm an innocent little mech with hurt robopup eyes.
"Listen," hook, line and sinker. "If you're out there," a giant wave of his arms, "looking for the twins, I can understand." Oh please. "You and they didn't get along too well," understatement of the century, "but they were comrades. Allies. We've all been together so long we've become this diverse family," I hate my family then, "and it can be scary and painful when we lose a family member." Is this how you are feeling, Jazz? Afraid that maybe Prowl or someone else close to you will disappear next? Leaning so casually against your own desk and trying to play it cool while you cuddle tightly to Prowl at night afraid of the dark. "I know that Optimus and Prowl have both issued the order to stop the search for Sunny and Sides, and, as Third in Command, it's also my responsibility to reinforce their decisions," Really? When did that start? "But," I knew that was coming, "I won't make you stop. As long as there is hope in finding them I won't make anyone willing to continue to search stop. I promise," such a brave smile falling like lead off your lips. But sure whatever you say, Jazz. I won't tell you otherwise.
I have to lower my head and avoid eye contact, the small smile on my lips and the happiness radiating from my optics would give me away. Pretending I'm embarrassed or abashed for being caught.
"That all?" I hope so. I've got plans for tonight that are being pushed further and further back because of this little talk.
"Yeah," heaving hands are patting me like I'm some dog on the head. Is that supposed to be comforting? "That's all. Sorry if I interrupted anything, Cliffjumper."
Without looking back, not a flicker of optics in his direction, I stand up and move for the exit. The longer I'm in this room the more I hating interlopers. Especially black, white and come with a blue visor. Don't know when to stay away.
"Hey, Cliffy?" The next mech who uses that nickname I'm going to take out their knee joints just to put them on eye level before I knock their CPU out of its casing.
"Yeah?" I pause at the door, the threshold to my freedom. Tilting my head slightly back I catch him in the corner of my optics.
"Be careful," his voice sounds so sad and pathetic, almost a lost whisper in the room. Next to Bumblebee, Jazz can do the hurt look the best. Maybe if he hadn't annoyed me so much this cycle I would feel a tug on my spark. Nope. No tug this time. "We don't need to be losing anymore mechs here."
"Don't worry, Jazz. I'll be careful," because I'm the hunter. I'm the master.
Before anymore words can be said I'm out the door. First the rec. room for some extra energon, then to my favorite room in the entirety of the Ark. No more distractions. No more interferences. Its time for me to relieve some well built up stress and have some of my own version of fun.
I can hear my foot falls echo in the halls around me. They sound as though there is a double beat to their melody. A hollow melody that is about to befall a broken beauty and a shattered soul.
TBC...
Please leave a review. It helps me know how I'm doing and helps feed my creative monster. It feeds off of reviews. :D
Next chapter might be back to its original warnings. Watch out Sunny, Cliffjumper is on way to you!
