Title: Everything You Never Wanted ﾖ Part 6
Author: AotA
Rating: K
Warnings: None
Characters: Blacklist OC, Jazz, Soundwave, Prowl
Setting: Bayverse, Cybertron
Summary: Jazz forces Blacklist to do his bidding and he finally comes face to face with his sparkmate and learn his designation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers.
Notes: Obviously, this fic has a lot more to go. Iﾒm going to make a stab and say itﾒll reach fifteen parts. I have a plot, but Iﾒm just going to write it until Iﾒm done. My estimate on the number of parts is not final in the slightest.
Extras: I was searching around YouTube when I found a video that will probably help give you a mental image of the kind of parade going on in the first part, and kind of what the Enforcers look like. (Please just ignore the accompanying musicﾅ *facepalm* Or donﾒt. Iﾒm sure thereﾒs some kind of irony to be found in the selection.) If you follow the link, imagine that the guys wearing white are mechs, and have absolutely zero variation in movement. Those would be our Enforcers in full on Public mode. Then you can imagine that the various tanks and other heavy ordinance vehicles are also mechs and they would be the military mechs. Add in more helicopters, planes and jets, and you have your rotaries, aerials, and Seekers. You can just ignore the ships for the most part. Link to video
More good news: I just turned up a hard copy of a 50 page fic that I thought was lost in the Great Computer Debacle of last year that I can now continue working on. ﾅI still have no final title for it and that bugs me. This fic is not related to anything I have posted before though; no Shards, no Shatterpoint, and no Voices of Cybertron, unfortunately.

Blacklist just stared at him but eventually shrugged and picked up his data pad, quickly filling out forms, ﾓIf youﾒre that sure, what is his designation?ﾔ Stylus poised over the data pad he looked up when he didnﾒt receive an immediate reply. ﾓWhatﾒs the matter? Did he not give you a designation? I know that sometimes these mechs donﾒt even bother giving themselves a personal designation. He give you his commission code instead?ﾔ

Jazz shrugged, ﾓNeither.ﾔ

Blacklist growled, ﾓThen how the frag to you expect me to write this up? Donﾒt play with me. I donﾒt appreciate it.ﾔ He jabbed his finger at Jazz like a weapon.

ﾓIﾒd know him if I saw him, but I donﾒt have a designation to give you,ﾔ Jazz said.

The Commandant looked at him as though he couldnﾒt believe his audials but when Jazzﾒs expression didnﾒt changed, he began laughing. ﾓYou truly think you can tell which mech you are looking for by sight?ﾔ At Jazzﾒs nod, he began laughing uproariously, as if it was the best joke he had ever heard, ﾓYou are a riot, mech. Iﾒve worked with these mechs for a long, long time, and I still canﾒt tell the slaggers apart by sight. All the same frame. All the same plain white color. Theyﾒre Enforcers. Youﾒre not supposed to be able to tell them apart.ﾔ

After a long laugh Blacklist finally began to calm slightly, though he was still chuckling when he began scribbling away at his data pad, ﾓIﾒll tell you what. Why donﾒt I give you Glimmer? Heﾒs still rather young for a preprogrammed mech and heﾒd be easier to reprogram or reformat for whatever you want him for. Less experience backing up his programming to give you trouble. Even though youﾒll still have to cover the cost of altering his nanite coloring, youﾒll definitely get your moneyﾒs worth from him, I assure you.ﾔ

Jazz stopped him dead with a firm, coldly uttered, ﾓI donﾒt think so, mech.ﾔ

The stylus froze.

Jazz walked even closer to the desk the Commandant was sitting at so that he could wrap the claws of one hand around the top of the data pad and force Blacklist to lower it. ﾓIf Glimmer is the mech Iﾒm looking for, I have no problem with buying his contract, but Iﾒm not about to let you give me less that that one particular mech. Understand?ﾔ

Blacklistﾒs expression was blank. He snorted. ﾓFine. Weﾒll go ﾑlookﾒ for your mech,ﾔ he said skeptically with rather ill grace, obviously doubting that Jazz would be able to do what he said. He was annoyed that this would be taking up his precious time. ﾓWe have five hundred Enforcers stationed here right now. The rest are out doing their duties or on loan to other precincts. If heﾒs here, I wish you ﾑgood luckﾒ finding him.ﾔ He subspaced the data pad right out of Jazzﾒs claws and stood up.

ﾅAnnoyingly, he loomed over Jazz like most other mechs.

With a jerky chop of his hand, Blacklist gestured, heading toward the door, ﾓThis way.ﾔ

An unexpected comm from Soundwave let him listen in on the Commandantﾒs orders as they were sent out over the encrypted Enforcerﾒs band. Orders to assemble. Orders of presentation. Orders, orders, orders. Even though Jazz could hear a variety of mechs responding to them, not once did any of them reply in negative. Not once did they request a change in orders. Not once did they complain or contradict the Commandant. Even when he gave an order that was blatantly idiotic. It was all ﾓYes, Commandant Blacklist.ﾔ and ﾓYes, sir.ﾔ and ﾓHow high should we jump, sir?ﾔ

It was sickening on the preprogrammed mechsﾒ behalves. Blacklist never even asked them anything. He simply demanded resultsﾅ and because the ones under him were preprogrammed, they simply did as he commanded. Dronesﾅ Jazz thought. They are hardly drones. Drones wouldnﾒt seem almostﾅ pathetically eager to please.

The staging areaﾅ Jazz tried to imagine what was going to happen when they actually got there. Consciously, Jazz kept his hands from creeping up to rub against his chest plating. He braced himself as they passed through the doors to the staging area.

This time, Jazz received a completely different impression. This time, he was walking under his own power, not riding upon Soundwaveﾒs back. This time, all the Enforcers were arrayed in rows that were strict, neat, and drone-like precise instead of relaxing and relatively open. This time, instead of looking in on something secret andﾅ dare he say it, precious, he was faced with an intimidating sense of sameness.

Arrayed as they were, the simple, identical and but pristinely white coloring of their armor gleamed under the lights of the staging area in a dizzying pattern of glints of light and bluish shadow. Jazzﾒs intakes nearly stopped working.

It wasﾅ almost frighteningly alien to him. Dazzling to the optic, but alien all the same.

Blacklist stood out like a dark blot against the gleaming white rows. He spread his arms, as though saying ﾓhere they areﾔ and ﾓthey are mineﾔ in the same moment. ﾓThe Enforcers,ﾔ he said, with something bordering on pride in his voice. In the same instant, every single Enforcer saluted, their movements exactly in time with one another, causing a sharp burst of sound that made Jazz want to flinch back from both.

As one being, they roared, ﾓCommandant Blacklist, sir!ﾔ

The Commandant smiled fiercely, and he seemed to revel in his power over these mechs. He looked toward Jazz, ﾓYou may inspect the contingent.ﾔ

Jazz waited for a moment for the mech to allow them to stand at parade rest, or even at attentionﾅ but Blacklist did no such thing. ﾓOf course,ﾔ Jazz said tightly. Jazz approached the lines, optics searching through the crowd, but his attention was focused more on his spark than the identical lines of identical faces and frames. About halfway through the lines, Jazz felt his spark seem to flutter in its casing. He felt relief and trepidation merged into one. His sparkmate was still here. He hadnﾒt gone anywhere.

Continuing forward, Jazz homed in on a general area, narrowing it down further with each step, walking until he stood directly in front of his quarry. His spark was practically danced in its casing and he was hard pressed hiding it. He wasnﾒt about to show any weakness in front of a mech like Blacklist.

His sparkmate towered over him, like all the other Enforcers. His sparkmate was still standing, saluting the Commandant, optics not straying from their forward position. He didnﾒt even glance down at Jazz. A fierce possessiveness stirred in him. No one made his mate abase himself like this. Because that was what this was. It wasnﾒt a display of respect at all, but a display of control.

There was no sign that his sparkmate felt what he did, but Jazz knew that this was his mech. ﾓWhat is your designation, Enforcer?ﾔ Jazz asked sternly, but the question of his spark was much more gentle, What is your name, sparkmate of mine?

Without moving anything besides his mouth, the mech replied stoically, with exacting precision, ﾓProwl, sir.ﾔ