Hello everybody! I have returned with another chapter! I'm ... actually rather excited for you to read this one. It was one of my favorite's to write over April just because of the characters that star in it.
Review Response: Dear HeartsGuardianSol, hi! Yeah, I'm being kinda mean to him. I feel bad about that, I really do, but the plot kinda requires this (shrugs). Here's another chapter, hope you like it!
Dear igeegeei, hello there! Glad to see I was missed (chuckles shyly). Oh! I read your new story One to 3 and I would just like to say, good job! It is very interesting and I already like the characters. Just a tip if you don't mind the constructive criticism? You might want to work on your punctuation a little bit, commas before dialogue, periods at the ends of sentences and starting a new paragraph every time someone speaks. Just little stuff like that. Your story has a really good plot and idea, but I found it hard to concentrate sometimes because of the lack of punctuation in certain areas. Just a thought.
Anyway, hey! Come back with those two! I need them for the plot! Hey! (sighs) never mind, I'll get them back eventually and they need the cuddles anyway. (Winks) hope you like the new chapter!
Dear KHGiggle, greetings! Congrats and thanks for giving NaNo a try! As for doing it right, as long as you got any new words written down, it counts as being correct. NaNo isn't really big on 'conformism' from what I've experienced, as long as you got some writing done and maybe had a little bit of fun, it counts as a win! Anyhow, I actually forgot that he was the Prime's successor in the G1 series (sheepish grin) hopefully me story won't ever need him in that kind of roll. No offense to Hot Shot but I like Optimus too much to replace him with a rookie like that. Dinobot? (Cue signature evasive response) Maybe, maybe not, you'll see eventually... Oh good, I was going for scary Shockwave! Yes, Shockwave did something very despicable to Breakdown and I was actually planning on continuing my Breakdown one-shot in Harmonies in order to explain what happened, but now I'm leaning towards revealing it here in the main story. Either way, Breakdown has a more complicated, and more tragic, backstory than previously shown. Thank you! Glad to be back!
Dear Moonlightdeer, hello! You're beat-down reservation has been noted, please take a place in line behind the Starwish Protection Brigade, Breakdown, and Jazz. (Grins) Joking aside, a rescue is in the works, it'll just take a bit to set it up. As for where I'd gone ... (glances sidelong at overly innocent looking muses) let's just say that one should never trust their muses when they say "I know a shortcut through Writer's Block Woods! Follow me!" Yeah ... short cut (mutters darkly about rabid plot bunnies and other shenanigans). At any rate, I hope you like the new chapter!
Dear SunnySides, hi there! I'm back! In one piece! Without plot bunny bite marks! Oh wait, scratch that last part, that last one must have gotten closer than I thought. I read yah, Shockwave is not a fun character to write into a story, major role or not. Don't underestimate Soundwave, she might just do that ... never get between a communications specialist and her objective. Just look at what happened to Airachnid and Wheeljack. She wasn't even angry at Wheeljack that time, either! They're on their way, but plotting how to go behind Soundwave's back and live takes time. Lots of time. Stealth helps too. (Little english soldier muse runs up, salutes, "Update delivered as ordered, sah! Hope you enjoy it, wot-wot!")
Dear raven-saber, greetings! Don't faint! There's a new chapter to read and everything! I'm glad you like this story's plot so far. As for Harmonies, I'm hoping to update it today. Maybe. But just a warning, the newest one-shot I have in the wings doesn't really fall under the "cute" category. Have fun!
Dear xVentressx, hi there! Yeah, it's not a nice feeling. They're working on a rescue! You really ... what? Sorry, I think your review got cut short again. Oh well, here's a new chapter for you!
Dear emzydatffan, hello! That's a secret for now, but know that if completely lives up to Shockwave's reputation of being sparkless. Thank you! I tried my best!
Dear Kashagal and Natures Ruler, greetings! Uh ... I get the distinct impression that you are not a fan of Shockwave or his experiments... that's good I suppose. Shockwave will get his comeuppance, or at least part of it, eventually, don't worry.
Dear StormRaven333, hi again! I'm back! At least until real life finds my hiding place again (looks around nervously). You're featuring Shockwave too? Ouch. Good luck with him, maybe he'll be a little more talkative to you than me. Just a random fact, Cybertronian genetics is called CNA, I think. That's their equivalent of DNA anyway. Not sure if that helps you at all, but I thought you might like to know. Thank you, hopefully you'll like this chapter as well.
Dear Giddy, hello there! I don't know, Breakdown might get some retribution in a round-about way at least. Thank you and you're welcome, hinting at stuff is sometimes way more important than simply blurting it out. Besides, it's fun to read everybody's guesses and reactions! Thank you! I had a great time! Anyway, on to the new chapter!
Author's Note: Not much to say here except many introductions. Namely, more Wreckers! Let's hear it for, Whirl (G1), Springer (G1), Twintwist (Prime), Topspin (Prime), Broadside (G1 I think?), Roadbuster (Prime), Pyro (Prime. Didn't I already introduce him previously?), Rack'n'Ruin (G1), Rotorstorm (Prime), Seaspray (Prime), Backstop (Wings G1) and Kup (G1). Also included even though he's not traditionally a Wrecker is Medix (Rescue Bots) because every good suicide team needs a patient medic to put them back to together again. Some of them have already been introduced in my one-shot Breaking Down the Moments and earlier in this story, but I feel the need to be thorough. There, I think that covers all of the Wreckers shown here. One other thing, I intend to put up another One-Shot in Harmonies of a Second Chance. Hopefully sometime today but if not, it should be up next week. It's called Sound of Fate and if anyone is interested in my version of Soundwave, you might want to pop in and take a look once it's posted.
Copyright Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, cybertronian terms, or any references made in this story. The only things I own are my OCs who have currently run away with the plot ( I used to own that too).
Chapter Thirty-Five: Preparations
Springer growled low in his engine as the persistent chiming of his comlink dragged him out of a peaceful recharge. He cursed dully, the surface of his berth muffling the sound as he not-so-politely protested being disturbed from a well deserved rest. What now? Rolling over and sitting up in one, all-too-practiced movement, he activated his comlink and snarled, ::What? I swear Whirl, if that's you and you got stuck in the hangar rafters again, then I am going to tell everyone to just fragging leave you there this time!::
A lazy drawl that was definitely not Whirl answered his outburst with a tone that told of the owner's smile, ::Good to hear, Boss. I'll pass that on for when Whirl does get stuck in the rafters again.::
Springer stared blankly at the wall of his small berth room, trying to decide whether to be angry, embarrassed, or just go back to recharging. Deciding that anger would get him nowhere, embarrassment would get him laughed at, and trying to go back to recharging would be futile, he sighed, ::What is it Wheeljack?::
Springer could almost see Wheeljack leaning back languidly in the nearest chair as he answered, ::Got a message from Iacon. They got a job for us.::
Springer, now fully online, stood up with a frown and swiftly made for the door to his quarters, ::Iacon? Message us? What's the job?::
::Yeah, Iacon. It was even a high ranking officer. He wouldn't write what the job was, guess it was 'to risky to tell over the com' or some such scrap. Just want's us to rendezvous with him for the mission.:: Springer mulled over that information for a few breems as he left his room and strode down the halls of one of the many Wrecker bases scattered across Cybertron.
Carefully sidestepping the three mech jumble that appeared to be the completely drunk forms of Twintwist, Topspin, and Broadside, Springer commed, ::Rendezvous where?::
Wheeljack sounded vaguely irked at the question, ::Why don't you come down here and see for yourself instead of making me list off the numbers?::
Springer glanced over his shoulder at the drunken mechs recharging peacefully in the hallway and smirked tiredly, ::Message interrupt your raid on Medix's high-grade stash?::
Wheeljack sounded unabashed in his answer, ::Yep. You know how long it took me to crack that lock code? Fragger had Perceptor program it with a five-klik time limit to finish inputting the code before it resets and changes the password. Now I have to start all over again.::
Springer gave a soft bark of laughter as he turned another corner and arrived at the door to the base command center. Like all of the doors in the Wrecker base, it could be identified by the pattern of scorch marks, energon stains and long knife-made scratches on its surface. Being the door everyone liked the least to be in the vicinity of, it had the fewest scorch marks. Springer noted with faint unease that the newest dent in the door looked suspiciously like a faceplate as he keyed the door to open.
Stepping inside, Springer winced at the unhealthy, yet stereotypical of late, grinding noise the door gave as it slid open, "We really need to repair the doors around here."
Wheeljack, in the middle of trying to tilt his chair back as far as possible without falling over, grunted noncommittally, "Why? We can always make a new one when it shorts out."
Springer tried not to sigh again. He was beginning to see why Impactor had always looked like he had a massive processor ache, it was a pain being the only mech on base with a functional common-sense circuit. Instead of arguing against the logic, or lack thereof, of blowing a hole in the wall should a new door be needed, he simply steered the topic in a less explosive direction, "Whatever, just show me this message Iacon sent."
Wheeljack righted his chair and pressed the necessary button with a sarcastic flourish. As a rule, Wheeljack didn't care much for normal Autobot officers. Mostly because they had little things called "rules" that got in the way of his fun. The screen flared to life with the message and Springer leaned over the seated Wheeljack to get a closer look at the text. It had no video or audio, but it was heavily encrypted with a special, officers only, security code. Whoever had sent it wanted the Wreckers and only the Wreckers to see it's contents.
Springer frowned at the short text, aside from the rendezvous coordinates, it only contained a brief message saying that all of the battle-ready Wreckers were supposed to meet there within the next three cycles. His optics skimmed over the coordinates and his optic ridges raised in surprise, "That's halfway across the planet from here! He want's us to meet there in three cycles? Seriously? It will take us a couple metacycles at least to drive all that way!"
Wheeljack hummed, "Could always fly…"
Springer skewered Wheeljack with a dark look, "No way. We are not taking those junk heaps you and Seaspray have been tinkering with."
Wheeljack scowled, "They are not junk heaps! 'Sides, me and Spray got them all fixed up now. They'll run smooth as high-grade energon and get us to the coordinates well within three cycles!"
Springer shook his helm firmly, "No way in pit! Whoever sent this message can deal with whatever 'mission' he has himself! Might do the fragger good to finally get out of his office."
Springer turned dismissively away from the message, thoughts already turning toward reclaiming his lost recharge, when Wheeljack called smugly, "You didn't check the priority code."
Springer glanced over his shoulder strut wordlessly, daring Wheeljack to try something stupid just so he could fly his new toy currently sitting in the hangar. Wheeljack motioned easily to the message on the screen, "Look at the top. Right after the encryption sequence."
Reluctantly, fighting off the vague impression that turning around would be an offlining sentence, Springer turned and zoomed in his optics to focus on the indicated area of the message. His lip plates curled and he cursed darkly at the words written there while Wheeljack smiled triumphantly. Of course it would be Priority Prime! Of course it would! It couldn't possibly be Priority Delta or Priority Magnus or anything we could ignore! Of course this would be the one time the Prime himself actually wants us around!
His curses trailed off weakly as Springer's processor began focusing more on how to answer the call rather than bemoaning its existence. He'd learned over the past few vorns that cursing only worked for about three breems, then a leader had to return to focusing the task at servo. Halfway across Cybertron … No way we'd be able to drive that in time. Especially not with Rack'n'Ruin being so slow…
Grinding his denta, Springer glanced up from the floor. Wheeljack was watching him think with an anticipating gleam in his optics, the only way to get there in time would be … Wheeljack wiggled his optic ridges, "Well?"
Springer heaved a sigh, "Just … don't get us killed. Okay?"
Wheeljack whooped loudly and leaped out of the chair, "I'll start prepping the Jackhammer!" Wheeljack ran out of the room, barely allowing the groaning door enough time to open halfway before charging out, roaring to all within audio range, "Seaspray! Prep the WindShear! We're taking them out for a flight! Yeah!"
Springer followed Wheeljack out into the hall, listening to him whoop and shout as he ran down the halls, eliciting muffled curses and hastily taken blaster shots from disgruntled fellow Wreckers just jerked mercilessly out of recharge. Well, there goes the last of Wheeljack's sanity. Might as well finish off mine. ::Springer to Wreckers, everybody up and off your afts. We've got a mission to prepare for.::
Roadbuster sounded dangerously close to test firing his cannons on the nearest object as he commed, ::What mission and why is Wheeljack running around like a Decepticon with Whirl on his tailpipe?::
Springer chuckled at the comparison as he headed toward his quarters, ::Wheeljack and Seaspray are getting an opportunity to try out those old junk heaps they've been fixing up. As for the mission, we'll find out the details when we get to the rendezvous. For now though, all I can tell you is who sent for us.::
Pyro stormed out of his quarters as Springer passed, "Who? I wanna know who to shoot first chance I get for waking me up at such an unreasonable joor! There isn't even anything to blow up yet!"
Springer suppressed the smile that threatened to break out as he looked at the crowd already gathering in front of his room, who needs a conference room when we have the hallway in front of the commander's quarters? Out loud, he declared in a completely serious tone, "You might want to save that shot for someone else, Pyro. I doubt the Autobot army would take kindly to you shooting our Prime."
The change in atmosphere was palpable, the mood of every Wrecker changing from angry and sullen to shocked and even a touch humbled. Backstop shifted nervously from pede to pede, his energy field flaring slightly in instinctive preparation to use his specialty shield, "The Prime? He sent for us? Why? I mean, he's got the entire army at his disposal. Why would he call in us?"
A gruff voice broke over the rising murmur, quelling the barrage of questions before it could begin, "Obviously because he's got an assignment for us that no one else can do! So what are you all standing around here for? You've no time to hang around like lost cyber-ducklings! Get your gear together, emergency marching protocols! Move it! Go, go, go! Or I'll have you on salvage duty till the Sea of Rust shines like silver!"
Ingrained training took over as the Wreckers instantly scattered in obedience to the gruff bellows, their questions forgotten as they rushed to gather their gear, emergency rations, and anything else they might need for the coming mission. Springer threw Kup a grateful look, "Thank's Kup."
Kup just shrugged, "Someone's gotta kick 'em in the tailpipe for you. They might take offense if you did it yourself. Now," he slid a well-honed glare Springer's way, "aren't you supposed to be doing something?"
Springer held up his servos in surrender, "Gearing up, I got it. Do me a favor and tell Medix to make three doses his special wake-up brew, will you? Twintwist got Topspin and Broadside drunk in the hallway again and Medix isn't answering his coms."
Kup grunted an affirmative and strode away with a wicked grin only Drill-Masters could master so perfectly. He enjoys watching others drink Medix's wake-up brew far too much. Springer shook his helm indulgently as he stepped into his quarters and began the brief operation of "gearing up". Moving around the small room, he subspaced his additional ammo clips and weapons, taking a moment to cradle his favorite rifle before putting it in subspace with the others. His own private stash of energon went next, Springer pausing to scan each cube to make sure Whirl hadn't spiked them with high-grade again. It wouldn't do to get drunk on the battlefield.
His gathering efforts paused when his optic fell on the holocube sitting innocently by his berth. Briefly forgetting his previous task, Springer gingerly picked up the cube and rolled it over in his servos. It was battered and scratched from many vorns of travel and use. It had been with him since the beginning after all, it was bound to pick up some war scars of its own. But, despite its scuffed appearance, it still functioned as well as it had the first cycle he'd held it.
He knew without even looking what was contained inside the cube. Memories, images of times he didn't ever want to forget. No matter how bittersweet those memories had become. Logic told him to leave it, save the room it would take up in his subspace for something else. But long ingrained habits and the superstition all the Wrecker's held about their bases' low survivability rate made him carefully place it within his subspace as well.
Who knows? He thought as he strode out of his quarters and started making his way to the hangar, I might need something to remind me of the good times before this is over. His comlink pinged with the unique dual frequency of Rack'n'Ruin, ::Hey Boss?::
Springer broke into a jog as he rapidly approached the hangar, it was an advantage to all the Wreckers' that their bases were so small. Made it easier to get to places, ::What is it Rack?::
The voice was irritated as he responded, ::It's Ruin and we were just wondering what your order for every Wrecker to get ready to leave meant.::
Springer's jog slowed back to a walk, huh? ::I meant what I said. Every Wrecker is to prep and assemble in the hangar for a mission from Prime.:: There was a long silence from Rack'n'Ruin's end and Springer felt his helm-ache start to increase in strength as he worked up the courage to ask, ::Why do you ask?::
The hangar door groaned open for him and Springer stepped inside to the sight of Rack'n'Ruin, Backstop, Pyro, and Rotorstorm all standing around waiting for Wheeljack and Seaspray to finish prepping their newly repaired ships. Perceptor was rushing back and forth between the two ships, calling frantic instructions and admonishing either one for an incorrect technique of some kind. Springer noted that the four waiting Wreckers weren't watching Perceptor, instead they were staring at something high up in the rafters. Rack'n'Ruin turned around and one of them pointed upward, "Does that mean we have to get him down now? 'Cause Wheeljack said that your newest orders were to leave him up there."
Springer looked up in growing dread, spotted what everyone else was staring at, and groaned aloud, "Really Whirl? Really?"
From his stuck position in the highest rafters, where he had somehow gotten wedged in the triangle of three beams set too close together to conceivably fly through, Whirl grunted and swiveled his helm to stare down at Springer, "Really what? I almost had it that time!" Whirl's rotors twitched against the rafter they were pressed against as his legs kicked wildly in an attempt to magically pop free, "Uh … Spring-Spring? I think I'm stuck."
Springer ground his denta together, "One, my name is not 'Spring-Spring'. Two, I can see that you're stuck, you glitch! Anyone can see that! Frag, most of us would have learned that you would get stuck after the first twenty times you tried to fly through those rafters!"
Turning away with a low snarl, Springer hissed, "Pyro, get him down. Rotorstorm, Backstop, help him out."
Pyro eyed Whirl with an almost predatory gaze, "Any preferences on how we get him down, Boss?"
Springer glanced up at the still wiggling Whirl before responding, "As long as you don't break him and don't bring the hangar down on our helms, I don't care."
Pyro clapped his servos together gleefully, "Shoot him down it is then! Yo, Backstop, think you can shield the rafters around Whirl so that we don't give Springer a worse helm-ache?"
Backstop shrugged, "Sure."
Springer turned down the sensitivity of his audios, he just didn't want to hear how Pyro intended to get Whirl down. Or the chaos that would probably follow when they freed the glitchy helicopter. I think I might be safer in Wheeljack's "ship". Why did I ever take this job?
A large "whump" sound that was more felt than heard and the faint sounds of shrieking curses and laughter made Springer hang his helm and huff through his vents, right, because I was the only one dumb enough to, that's why.
Jazz carefully tested the sharp edge of his daggers, checking each and every one for any conceivable flaw before storing them away in subspace. His acid blaster, flash grenades, and several other tools that only Special Ops were allowed to carry were quickly inspected and also placed in subspace. His enhanced sensors registered a presence outside of his room even before the figure knocked quietly on the door.
Jazz didn't respond to the knock, he just kept checking his gear. To any outside observer, he was the picture of methodical calm. Even a medic would have registered nothing amiss with his life-signs. However, his calm was an illusion, maintained only by the rigorous vorns of training and experience in the art of lying with both body and voice. It was an illusion that he was attempting to use to fool even himself.
The knock sounded again and, after a pause, it was exchanged for the owner's voice, "Jazz. Open the door." Jazz's servos paused in their work and his helm tilted in the direction of the door silently. He considered pretending to ignore the person on the other side, but quickly dismissed the notion. If he attempted to ignore his visitor, his visitor would only stay and pester him through the door.
Wirelessly triggering the locking mechanism, Jazz allowed the door to slide open and his guest to step inside. The moment the neutrally-held doorwings passed over the threshold, the door hissed shut and locked once more. Jazz didn't look up from his work as he said softly, "Anything you need, Prowl?"
Prowl barely glanced at the illegal tech arrayed on Jazz's berth room floor as he carefully moved a small packet of EMP grenades out of his way and sat down on the berth, "I came to ask the same of you, Jazz."
Jazz's gaze briefly slid upward to look at Prowl before returning to his work, "I'm fine."
Prowl's voice was soft, lacking the cold edge it normally possessed, "Your accent is slipping Jazz. It does not take a battle computer to calculate that you are upset."
Jazz stiffened, trying to stem the crack that threatened to break through his facade of calm, "The Autobot's have lost an important base, there were heavy casualties just making sure that the Decepticons didn't win the lost base and a femling and a rookie got captured on Megatron's express orders. Everyone's upset, Prowl."
Prowl sounded as close to coaxing as Jazz had ever heard him, "Upset enough to have a collection of illegal Viral Daggers arrayed in plain view of an ex-enforcer?"
Jazz went still, his only motion being the tightening of his jaw gears, "You going to pull me off the mission for them?"
Jazz could hear the soft motion of Prowl shaking his helm, "No. No I am not. I just want to know that you will not do anything that you will regret later."
Jazz felt his lip plates curve against his will into a feral smile, "Who says I'll regret it?"
Prowl's voice became stern, "You will, for one. Starwish will, for another."
Jazz felt like his spark chamber had abruptly shrunk in size and was squeezing his spark, "You mean if she's still able to speak. If those … if the 'Cons haven't already broken her into a thousand pieces. Destroyed her processor, her spark, her frame, all for their own twisted-" He muted his vocalizer hastily when he realized that he was letting his emotions effect his processor and seep into his voice.
Jazz felt a weight rest lightly on his right shoulder plate, "A wise mech once told me that hope was hard to hold onto, but very rewarding if kept close to the spark." Jazz stared silently at the hacking cable in his servos, refusing to speak. Prowl continued, "I am afraid that I cannot offer much more in the way of comfort, Jazz. You know that … I am inexperienced with offering wise words of aid or comfort. Despite my lack, however, I will say this; I do not believe that Starwish or Hardwire will come to irreparable harm."
Jazz turned to face Prowl finally, his optics searching Prowl's faceplates for any sign of falsehood or doubt in his own words. He saw nothing but quiet, stoic understanding of Jazz's conflict and the silent confidence in his own words. Venting shakily, Jazz whispered, "How can you so sure?"
Prowl shook his helm, "It is not something I can rationally explain and perhaps it was wrong to voice my thoughts. However, there is … something that tells me that it is not their time to join the Well."
Jazz felt a humorless smile curl across his face, "Are you saying … that you're listening to your instincts? Without scientific proof of its validity?"
Prowl's doorwings flicked up and down in a Praxian shrug, "Certain mechs are beginning to effect my behavioral patterns."
Jazz managed a weak chuckle, "Well that's just great, Prowler. That's just great. Have these 'certain mechs' effected your behavioral patterns enough to ignore the legality of my gear?"
Prowl slid off of the berth to carefully sit cross-legged next to Jazz on the floor, "Just this once, because of the circumstances, I believe my behavioral patterns have been altered enough to tolerate … helping you in the checking of your gear. Despite its … questionable legal status."
Jazz's laugh was slightly more real this time as he accepted Prowl's clumsy offer of comfort, "Just make sure not ta press tha red buttons, Prowler." The two settled to working in silence, swiftly checking and categorizing Jazz's gear by relevancy and which he would most likely need on the coming mission to rescue Starwish. But even as Jazz engaged in occasional playful banter with his tactically-minded friend, the tightness in his spark would not go away, nor would his processor stop replaying all of the horrid things he had seen Decepticons do to their prisoners, replacing the images of the original victims with Starwish or Hardwire.
Jazz briefly fingered one of his Viral Daggers, examining his reflection in the blade as he mentally swore that he would repay any and every injury the Decepticons inflicted upon Starwish and her brother with a thousand of their own to nurse. Prowl's servo rested on his shoulder again, "Have you been informed yet? Prime has sent out the call to the Wreckers. They will meet you at your suggested rendezvous point for the mission."
Jazz subspaced the Viral Dagger, purposely ignoring the message hidden in Prowl's tone that warned him about entertaining such savage thoughts, "Good. We'll need their brand o' crazy ta get inta Kaon. By tha time we get there, Buffer will have re-infiltrated and figured out where they're holding Star an' Wire." And if they're still alive or whether there will be Pit to pay. His engine revved softly, No one's gonna hurt Star and get away with it. No one.
Jazz stood up, the necessary gear stored in his subspace, "Thank's for tha help, Prowler. But Ah'd better get rolling."
Prowl stood up and nodded, following Jazz out the door with an unreadable expression, "I would tell you to be careful, but as that would be a futile exercise, I shall instead ask you to bring back Starwish and Hardwire safely."
Jazz flashed Prowl a broad grin, his facade of cheerful calm fully in place once more, "Course, Ah will Prowler. Can't disappoint ya, now can Ah?" Leaving Prowl to return to the tactical center, Jazz started jogging down to the hangar where a dropship would be waiting to take him and the rest of the rescue party to the rendezvous point, ::This is Jazz. Prep complete, Ah'm on mah way.::
Cliffjumper's normally cheerful voice commed back grimly, ::Understood, Jazz. The rest of us are ready to roll.::
Jazz's grin regained its feral quality, ::Then let's go show tha 'cons why they don't take our friends away.::