PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically.
Author's note: This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on.
Warnings: Story contains slash.
Disclaimer: Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way.
Jazz slowly came to. He dizzily shook his head to clear it, wondering how long he had been off-line. He hadn't off-lined voluntarily; it had been an automatic reaction when his self-repair system had started to work in full. Not that the system couldn't work while a mech was online, but since the process was rather costly energy-wise, automatic shutdown often happened when energon levels were low.
At least the pain was mostly gone now, although several parts of him were still a bit sore and tender.
The energon cube that Ratchet – he remembered the Autobot's medic's name now – had left was still lying around on the floor an arm's length away from him. He grabbed the cube and drank its contents greedily, relaxing as the cool liquid spread into his system. It was the best feeling he had had so far since his capture. Well, it was the only good feeling he had had.
He labouriously pulled himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the wall for support. Why had they even bothered repairing him in the first place? To make sure he wouldn't go into stasis-lock when Prowl came back to continue his interrogation from where they had left off? Only this time, he doubted that even providing the requested information would be enough to save himself. The tactician probably had a few things planned for him in reprisal for Jazz's failed little stunt.
Primus, how could he have been so stupid, digging his own grave like that? As if he wasn't in enough trouble already, being a prisoner of an enemy who wanted information he didn't even have.
He shuddered at the distressing thoughts. Trying as best as he could to stave them off, at long last he managed to doze off where he was sitting, going halfway into recharge.
And he was woken up by the sound of a visitor entering his cell. Jazz on-lined his optics to see who the 'Bot was.
Prowl.
Oh slag. He was really in for it now.
Survival instincts kicking in, Jazz scooted away from him, backing into a corner. He'd be lucky if the tactician didn't just kill him on the spot.
Prowl didn't move any closer. As much as he hated to admit it, the all-too evident fear on Jazz's face was quite disturbing. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever seen a mech so afraid of him.
No wonder, though. Attacking one's captor wasn't normally the best way to go around staying alive and healthy.
He sighed. He had to talk to Jazz, to see if he could get anything useful out of him. But it wasn't going to happen as long as the 'Con kept looking at him like he was a creature that had just stepped out of his worst nightmare. He would have to convince the other of his honest intentions in order to calm him down enough to talk to him.
"Jazz." The Decepticon seemed to shrink further into the corner as he heard his name spoken out loud. "I will make one thing clear here. As Autobots, we do not condone torture, regardless of what I might have implied before. There are still things I want to ask you, but I will be asking them under civilized forms." He made a short pause. "I will warn you, though – try something similar to your previous stunt again, and I will have you chained to the wall. Have I made myself clear?"
Jazz simply nodded, not really trusting his voice. Was the Autobot being honest, or was this just another interrogation tactic? Well, all he could do was wait and see and hope for the best. At least there was no obvious anger or resentment on Prowl's face, despite what had transpired last time between them. Instead, the tactician sported a neutral, albeit rather stiff look, and Jazz allowed himself to relax a little. Perhaps the other mech was actually being sincere.
"Well then," Prowl acknowledged. While he could see that Jazz was still wary of him – and who could blame him – at least the panic-stricken expression was gone now. Then we can get started.
"So," Prowl said rather nonchalantly as if he were talking to someone he had just met in a bar and not a prisoner in a holding cell. "I suppose you didn't expect yourself to get captured when you were sent on this mission, did you?"
Jazz hesitated. It was a rather odd question to start an interrogation with – the answer was already quite obvious, and there was nothing important that the Autobot could gleam from his answer, as far as he could see. But he had nothing to lose by answer it truthfully, strange as the question may be. Perhaps Prowl just wanted to rub it in that Jazz had messed up, if not out of sheer glee than at least with the purpose of lowering his captive's confidence and whatever psychological defenses he had left.
"No... I didn't," he finally admitted, reluctantly. It did sting having to acknowledge his failure in front of an Autobot.
Prowl walked up and leaned against the bars of the cell, striking a somewhat arrogant pose. "But you ended up inside of the Ark anyway, even if it wasn't in quite the same way you had expected. Regardless though, I very much doubt that you would have made it past our security system should we not have not caught you earlier. As you might have noticed when we brought you in, there is a beta-wave vibration sensor rigged to the floor in the main room. You would have set that one off the moment you stepped inside."
Jazz shrugged. "Yes, but considering the way you had it rigged, it wouldn't have been awfully difficult to circumvent the connection with a phi phaser." He felt a bit braver and more confident now that the conversation had turned to something that he was an expert on.
And it was a well-known fact that phi phasers could easily disrupt beta-wave sensors, if you knew how to handle them, so it wasn't as if he was telling the Autobots anything they couldn't have already known. All security devices and detectors had their weaknesses. And he didn't want Prowl to think that he wouldn't have been able to beat theirs, had he been given the chance to.
Prowl smiled inwardly. The beta-wave vibration sensor that they were talking about had actually been replaced by a different sensor altogether a few months ago. And yet Jazz referred to it like he had actually seen it. It confirmed the suspicions that Prowl had had for quite some time: Jazz had been inside the Ark before. Of course, while being led into the base as a prisoner, Jazz obviously must have had other things on his mind than how the security system was set up, so it was hardly going out on a limb betting that he hadn't noticed that the sensor in question had been replaced.
Prowl felt his inward grin grow a little wider. This was almost as easy as stealing energon from a deactivated drone. Contrary to what Prowl had thought at first, it was becoming pretty evident that Megatron hadn't given his soldiers any training on how to resist the more refined types of interrogation techniques. But considering the ways in which Decepticons would interrogate their own prisoners, Megatron was perhaps not even aware that there were more cunning ways to get the information you wanted, if you only had a bit of patience. By carefully steering the conversation in the right direction and framing his questions in the right way, he might even get more information out of Jazz than he could using more straightforward techniques.
Prowl studied the Decepticon. Playing this game might even be an interesting challenge, in some way. "Is that so? Well, if you're so sure about that, then I would figure that... "
Jazz was feeling in a somewhat better mood than before. The conversation Prowl had had with him had indeed been a long one, but he had never resorted to any violence or even threats of violence. It was better than he had expected. A lot better.
It had not even felt much like an interrogation, even if Prowl had asked him questions about subjects that Jazz would rather not talk about at all in the presence of an Autobot for fear of accidentally giving away important information. But even when he had tried to avoid the subject at hand, Prowl had often not really pressed on, merely leading the conversation on in a somewhat different direction.
Somehow, Jazz still had the feeling that Prowl had gotten more out of their conversation than he had shown. He couldn't really put his finger on it though. As he sifted through the answers he had given to the Autobot, they seemed innocent and non-specific enough. Surely they couldn't have conveyed anything of importance? It wasn't like he had been sitting there giving away coordinates or talked about Megatron's plans – what little he knew about them – or anything like that.
But the more pressing concern on Jazz's mind as of now was what was going to eventually happen to him. While he was relieved that Prowl didn't seem about to subject him to any of the horrors that Decepticon propaganda had pictured, what would become of him once the Second in Command decided that holding any further conversations like this wasn't leading anywhere? Would they permanently off-line him? Or just keep him here alone in his cell for the rest of his life?
He shuddered. Both alternatives absolutely terrified him. As much as he wanted to remain alive and functional, he was a very social mech and he didn't take well to being alone for long periods of time. And being left here in an Autobot prison cell without the company of even one of his Decepticon comrades – and slag it, without even a fragging Autobot to talk to – would probably have him go insane eventually.
Even though he certainly missed his fellow Decepticons, it wasn't as if he had really had many friends among them. Friends were something that was considered Autobot-ish, the implication being that you were dependent and weak if you needed others to lean on instead of managing by yourself. Comrades was what Decepticons preferred to call each other, a word which was considered to properly stress the military bond shared by those who served in the same army. And that was all the necessary bonding that was needed, anything more than that would tap into emotions that Decepticons were not supposed to have, emotions that were reserved for the much weaker Autobots.
That was the official line at least. And his comrades generally agreed with it, even though there might be a few mechs that did develop what probably could be called friendship – or even more than friendship – among themselves, but it was not something that was admitted to or shown openly.
As for Jazz, his closest comrade – or friend – was Thundercracker. He had always considered the Seeker to be a quite interesting character and had been drawn to him from the very start. Perhaps it was because the other didn't exhibit many of the less desirable traits that were found in most Decepticons – such as excessive pride and the unavoidable bragging that came with it, an unquenchable lust for fighting, and hunger for power.
The Seeker had always come across to Jazz as a very brooding mech, like his processor was frequently occupied with things that none of his comrades would ever consider worthy of notice.
And it was true, Jazz reminisced, Thundercracker had indeed turned out to be thinking about things that none of the other Decepticons were, at least not to his knowledge. It was something that he had only gradually become aware of, during the years that they had spent together – Thundercracker wasn't fully convinced of the righteousness of the Decepticon cause.
Of course, giving voice to a sentiment like that would invariably result in permanent deactivation. So Thundercracker had never said these things out loud, not even to Jazz, but it was still evident from the look in his optics he would get when receiving certain orders from Megatron. Or from the borderline sarcastic comments he would sometimes utter when they were in private. Or from his lack of open enthusiasm when attacking the enemy – all small things in themselves, but together they painted a pretty clear picture of the Seeker.
And sometimes Jazz wondered if Thundercracker didn't actually have a point. But such thoughts were dangerous, so most of the times they had resurfaced he had resolutely showed them back down again. Only a few times had he allowed himself the luxury of indulging in them, dissecting and examining the doubts that refused to go away.
His thoughts drifted back to the day when he had decided to join the Decepticons. It had been before the war had broken out. He had been standing in an audience listening to a speech delivered by Megatron during a time when he was just starting to make a name for himself, before he had become known as the fearsome Decepticon leader everyone knew him as today.
It had been a captivating experience. Megatron had talked about the need to embrace a new future, to leave the everyday drudgery behind and rise to greatness. His followers, the Decepticons, would lead the way into a new, glorious world in which victory would be ascertained. And there was something about the way he had been speaking, something about his manners and self-assuredness that had struck a cord in his audience. The cheering and the applauds and the yells of appreciation had echoed through the streets, while Megatron painted his grandiose picture of what was to come.
Granted, things had not turned out quite the way Megatron had envisaged in that speech or the ones to come. But it was at least a glorious vision, was it not? Something that was worth fighting for, even dying for?
He had certainly been convinced of it, but after all the long years of fighting a seemingly endless war, he wasn't so sure anymore. And sometimes he wondered if the reason for his loyalty didn't have more to do with fear of Megatron than anything else. He tried to take some small comfort in the fact that at least the Decepticon cause didn't promote weakness and mediocrity, like the Autobots did. He always had that sentiment to hold on to, if nothing else.
Then all of a sudden, amidst his wandering thoughts, the light in his cell went out and he found himself sitting in almost total darkness. At first he was confused, not really understanding what was going on, but then things started to dawn on him.
Power failure. That had to be the explanation. And if there was a power failure inside of the Ark, then could it possibly mean... ?
He quickly walked up to the bars and bent down to where they touched the ground. The bars were normally held firmly in place by a strong electromagnetic field, but with the electricity cut out, it might be possible for him to lift the bars and crawl out. He grabbed a couple of them and yanked upwards. To his delight, they retracted a few inches, now that nothing but gravity was holding them in place anymore. They were heavy, but it should be possible to clear enough space under them to slide through. He made another couple of yanks and pushes, and the bars slowly and unevenly moved upwards.
He had to hurry. The power failure was probably not limited to the holding cell area, which meant that the Autobots would have discovered it by now and had already taken to working on getting the power back. This was a one in a million chance to escape, and he had to take it; there was no way that an opportunity like this would ever present itself again. He had to get out before the power came back and the bars would go down again, trapping him on the wrong side, or worse, coming down on him when he was inching his way out under them, effectively crushing him.
The bars creaked as he worked on them and for a moment he was worried that they were stuck, but after some violent and desperate pushing they reluctantly inched upwards again. Once they were high enough above the floor, his leverage got better and his efforts were made easier. Just a little bit more...
And finally, amazingly, there was enough space for a mech of his size to slide under. He bent down and edged under the bars, slowly. It wasn't an easy task; he still had to awkwardly hold the heavy bars up with his arms to prevent them from coming down and crushing him as he inched himself across. For a frightful moment he was certain that his grip was slipping, but he somehow managed to make it out to the other side unscathed, except for a few scratches from the underside of the metal bars scraping against his chassis.
The bars landed with a dull thud, and for a couple of seconds, Jazz just lay there on the floor panting, trying to steady himself. He'd made it!
Well, perhaps made it was a bit of an overstatement; after all, he was still trapped inside of the Ark and had to find his way out one way or the other. But at least he was out of his cell, something that had seemed like an impossible feat just a short moment ago. He had to get going though; seconds were precious and he had no time to waste.
At any moment, someone might be coming to check on the Decepticon prisoner, to make sure that all was as it should be and that he was still safely locked inside his cell. But if he was lucky, the Autobots wouldn't think about that for some time yet. He was certain that despite the power failure, the more critical parts of the spaceship would be connected to some emergency power supply and still function normally, so it wasn't as if the whole Ark would be out of power. However, nobody had considered the holding cell area to be a critical section that needed to be hooked up to that emergency power as well. It was no wonder, though, considering that there had been no Decepticon prisoners here at all after the Ark had crashed on Earth. Jazz was the first and only one.
But it was only a matter of time before the thought would cross someone's mind, before someone would remember that the bars to the cell that held the prisoner would only function properly as long as there was electricity flowing through them. And by that time, he'd better be far away from the holding cell section, and if possible, out of the Ark altogether.
He had no idea what time of the day it was, but if luck was on his side it would be night so that most of the 'Bots would be in recharge, and the only ones up and around would be those working on getting the power back online. If so, he might have a decent chance to get out undetected. If he was not so lucky, it would be in the middle of the day when the Ark would be teeming with Autobots, and then his chances were a lot slimmer. He fervently hoped for the first option.
Since the holding cell section had been left in almost total darkness, he didn't have much of an idea in which direction he should be heading. Well, he did know from which direction he had originally been led in here, but other than that he couldn't remember the exact route they had taken, and now that he could hardly see a thing he doubted he would have been able to follow that way out even if he had remembered it.
In any case, there was nothing to do but keep going. Lingering in here would result in nothing but his recapture. He took a left turn, gingerly taking small steps forward, one hand held out in front of him to prevent himself from walking into any hidden obstacles, the other hand trailing the wall as he walked on.
He didn't know how long he'd been walking around, and occasionally he feared that he was walking around in circles, not having any landmarks to guide him. It was all like a big labyrinth where he could barely see a thing, not to mention actually orientate himself. It frustrated him that he didn't seem to get anywhere, one corridor just led into another, which in turn forked into two. He didn't remember having walked through that many twists and turns as he had been led down here on the day of his capture. Sure there had been a few, but nothing close to this. And the longer he dallied, the smaller his prospects of a successful escape would be.
Another thing that added to his nervousness was the thought of motion detectors and similar installments. As it would appear, everything had been disabled in this section of the Ark when the power was cut, but there might still be a detector around the section exit that was indeed hooked up to the emergency supply and would go off as soon as he stepped past it.
And even if there wasn't one, the power would get switched back on eventually, and then all the Ark's detectors would be working again. If he could just find his way out of this Primus-damned section of the ship, he might be relatively safe. It was sure to be full of various detectors of all sorts, whereas most of the other sections of the Ark were used on a daily basis by the Autobots, and hence would only have their detectors switched on when the 'Bots were out of the base.
Again, he wished that he had had with him the tools that Prowl had relieved him of. Then he could have shown those slagging Autobots. He could have disabled any devices they threw his way. It wasn't as if anything they could make came close to matching the ingenuity of Soundwave's creations that Jazz had practiced on so many times. If only he had had his tools with him. Or at the very least, he wished, if only Prowl had missed just a single one of them during his scan. But such was not his luck.
He turned another corner, continuing down some other passageway, having half given up hope that it would lead anywhere.
There was suddenly a quiet hum, and a moment later the corridor was flooding with light.
Slag.