I can't wait for you to catch up with me,
And I can't live in the past–
And drown myself in memories
–Shinedown, In Memory
Attitude, as a good doctor once noted, is 10 percent what happens to us– the other 90 percent is how we react to it. By the same token, it might be true that we are not the sum of our experiences– rather, we are 10 percent what happens to us, and likewise, the other 90 percent is what we decide to do about it. How we go about justifying our actions has everything to do with what we believe is right and wrong.
One being might choose one path, which leads to another, and another down the spiral of madness– to oblivion, for honor and glory.
Another might choose differently.
What'm I doin' this for, again? Jazz wondered for the hundredth time as he passed yet another car like it was standing still. Catching a flash of red changing lanes up ahead, he sighed inwardly, and accelerated.
"Friendship." he said aloud, even though no one could hear him. That and making sure that the lamborgini brother didn't get into too much trouble on his own.
Sideswipe could, and would find his own way back home– eventually. There really was no need for Jazz to follow, and certainly no reason for him to be trying to catch up. And yet here he was, weaving through traffic, hot on the Lamborghini's tail.
"You don't have to follow me." the voice on his radio echoed his thoughts.
"Yeah man, I know I don't have ta, but I'm goin' ta." he replied, swerving to avoid a slow moving minivan. "I can't letcha be the only one with a speedin' ticket today."
"I don't get why they make their vehicles to go so fast, and they don't let 'em do it." Sideswipe grumbled, using the breakdown lane to pass. "The roads were made for goin' fast–"
"Guess they build 'em that way for the same reason we're goin' this fast," Jazz said, cutting in between a couple of vehicles, then switching lanes again to catch up to Sideswipe. "Because it can be done." He could hear the growl of the Lamborghini's engine– close to redlining, he noted. "That is why we're doin' this, right?"
No reply.
"Look. I know it looks bad right now, but it'll be fine– Sunstreaker might jus' kick both of our afts for leavin' without him."
Still no reply.
Jazz sighed to himself, and changed lanes– a sideways jump through a line of cars– to pass Sideswipe. The red Autobot had cranked up the volume on his internal speakers, and Jazz could distinctly make out the heavy throb of a familiar rock song.
Traffic started thickening abruptly, and Jazz was hard pressed to stop before he hit one of the more fragile vehicles on the road– even if it was an SUV. Unfortunately he managed to clip the concrete divider, with a nasty sounding clang.
Transforming, Jazz noted that Sideswipe had already done so– and he was staring down the highway with a look of disgust on his face. As he turned, one hand checking out the dent from the divider, he realized that the sea of vehicles was being broken up– the humans were fleeing, and...
Insecticons were everywhere. Consuming the vehicles even before the humans fled. Jazz could hear the faint echoes of the bugs talking about the metallic composition, even while they tore apart yet another car.
"Time to squash some bugs." commented Sideswipe, taking a running leap past Jazz and over the fallen SUV, breaking out his rifle. He began firing quick shots at one of the closest clones.
To say that the Shrapnel clone didn't even see it coming would've been an understatement, the original muttered angry curses from the shadow underneath an overturned bus. Bombshell had been so certain that the Autobots wouldn't really notice a quick snack run.
And where was Bombshell anyhow? Probably hiding somewhere too. If he was as smart as he claimed to be. Then again– only two Autobots?
Shrapnel started to come out from behind the wheel, ignoring the shattered remains of a clone of Kickback to look. The first Autobot in– Sideswipe– he recognized, making the note to stay out of his way. Let the clones swarm him, let them take the shots while he got away.
If the one could be taken down–
Shrapnel transformed, and took aim at the back of the red warrior's helmet. One clean shot, and he might get the chance to take a bite before the swarm was forced to flee.
Shrapnel pulled the trigger, and was immediately hit by a wall of burning light.
He'd forgotten about Jazz.
A burst of light and a high pitched squeal to his left momentarily distracted Sideswipe from the insecticon he was currently smashing into tiny pieces. Turning to look, it seemed as though one of the clones had been hit– in the process of shooting– however, since all of the Shrapnel-like creatures had suddenly stopped in mid motion– eating, swarming, fighting– it must have been the real thing.
Sideswipe turned again, swinging his rifle around to bat at a Kickback who was trying to sneak up on him and take a bite.
Jazz grinned and gave him a thumbs up from near the first messily munched vehicle. In the distance he could see a flash of yellow screaming down the highway. Backup. This wouldn't take much longer.
That was when things suddenly went horribly, irrevocably wrong.
As Sideswipe watched, Jazz's grin disappeared suddenly, replaced by a look of shock, as Jazz slowly raised the photon pistol, as though to shoot at Sideswipe, then confusion as he turned the weapon towards–
"NO!" Sideswipe tried to run, to stop what was happening– just a moment too late. In a flash of light the photon pistol discharged.
"Jazz! Jazz!" The voice needled at him through a hazy painful darkness with its familiar g-sharp whine. He waited for it to go away, and let him sleep off this hangover. Last night had been one heck of a party at the trade house. Though right now he wasn't so sure it'd been such a good idea. He was still hearing echoes in his audials.
Jazz! ... get off of.....
Unwillingly he unshuttered golden optics, and peered bleerily out at the face a few inches (inches?) from his own.
"Go 'way, Mad Dash." he heard himself grumble. That didn't seem right. The messenger had been dead for... longer than he really cared to remember. But he was right there....
"Jazz, you've got to get down to the conference room. The minister is asking for you–"
... don't move him you moron
But you're dead— he wanted to protest– you're all–
...dead if I don't....
"Yeah, gimme a microsecond," again, without voluntary effort. Just like he had—
But Mad Dash is dead!
...dead? What happe-
Struggling to his feet, the darkness faded again. Jazz wanted nothing more than to just lie back down, and figure out just what had happened, and why—
He passed a hand over his face, expecting to touch something– a visor, something to cover his optics. The thought was dismissed as Mad Dash interrupted again.
"Come on, Jazz. They'll be waiting –"
...wait... he'll fall off if you try and carry him like that...
– just moved, maybe– JAZZ!...
Mad Dash's impatient face refocused to his left again, as the echoes faded away again.
"You'll be late–" he accused, "You know they hate it when you run in at the last minute like that."
Jazz heard someone laugh, realizing that it was him. Watched as one of his hands reached over to give the little messenger a pat on the head.
"I heard ya," he said, "But if they're sendin' ya to get me, I'm already late. . ." The darkness started to creep back in, making the hallway that he didn't remember entering swim. Jazz fought it off, trying to focus– he'd been here before. The trade tower in Protihex– before the Decepticons had– Decepticons... he shook his head trying to clear the buzzing echoes again.
The trade tower negotiated, and mediated deals on Cybertron. It was an essential function– without neutral negotiation, there would be war, there would be no ambassadorial presence on any of the out-worlds that had been discovered... No one would ever dare to destroy it.
Mad Dash continued to chatter, as he led the way through familiar surroundings, not noticing the hesitation behind him. And why would he, since Jazz was still moving.
"Dash, ya got any idea what's goin' down that they need me for?" Jazz interrupted, finding his voice.
"The Southron negotiation has been moved up. You're needed for the debriefing, and probably some translation, since the documents arrived this morning."
"Ahh." Jazz remembered. Southron wastelands. They were once a thriving community of– Wasteland? They weren't a wasteland– they would be if the territorial negotiations broke down with the Decepticons. Unbidden he started to review all the knowledge that he had on the culture of those Cybertronians who chose to live in isolated Southron. There was something significant about today, he just knew it. His circuts were... still muddled though, dealing with the overload of last night. He'd figure it out eventually.
Somehow Jazz knew that it was already too late.
The hallway closed in, the world turned black once again.
... Ratchet? Wheeljack? ... emergency here–
The faint echoes pierced the darkness, with an associated flash of color. Red. Like– Side.... The name escaped him in the return of the mind crushing agony. He could feel himself lying on a flat surface, trying vainly to move, to–
... moving again– don't know if that's a good sign, or....
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.
Jazz. The name came to him. His name was Jazz, and the voices were fading again.
Jazz stood in the chamber used for briefing the administrator and his staff.
Minister Tacheon studied him for a moment, poker faced– then grinned, an echo of Jazz's own. He'd just finished telling the mech everything he could about the rather dull Southron territory.
"Good work, Jazz." he said, glancing towards where Jazz knew the negotiations would take place. "Boring people, aren't they?"
"I've seen more interestin'." the reply wasn't long in coming, "Decepticons for example."
"So, you would rather live with the Decepticons?"
Jazz had to think about that for a moment.
"Nah. I'd rather stay outta the whole thing– but the Southrons ain't gettin' a good deal by lettin' that patch o' planet go, even if the Decepticons give 'em a megaton of energy."
Tacheon nodded in agreement.
"That's the primary reason why I've decided to hold the negotiations early. There is no point in dragging the whole affair out. They don't want to give the territory up, and the Decepticons have to accept that."
Do they? Wondered Jazz, not voicing a suspicion that was growing in the back of his mind. The Decepticons were embroiled in a struggle to be dominant. What would stop them from turning Southron's cities into the wastelands that had started haunting his mind's eye again. Was it merely his imagination?
"Yes, sir." he heard himself saying, even as he noticed an odd bump on the edge of the table. Someone must have dented it again. It was prone to happen when someone got overly excited. "I'll go an' finish gettin' things ready."
Turning, he left the chamber, stepping into darkness again.
...Bombshell ... been hiding ... vehicle... hadn't even hit the ground before the bug was on him.
The echoes were back– and there was another familiar voice swimming in the distant detached darkness. Jazz attempted to listen, to force himself towards the voices, only to be rebuffed by a wall of what felt like the inside of a smelting furnace.
... losing him– Sunstreaker, hold him still, while I— slag.
...what?
... missing. Slaggit all– ... without it...
Sunstreaker, we're going to go....
...something stupid.
Jazz wanted to tell them to shut up, and take the wall away. To let him nurse the hangover in peace– except he wasn't so sure it was a hangover anymore.
As the voices faded back into the dark, faintly he heard someone:
...don't give up, Jazz...
The negotiations were going better than he could have ever expected.
Jazz found himself standing in the shadows just behind Tacheon, watching the Decepticon leader, Megatron, at the table. On the surface, the Decepticon was taking the rejection of his offers to the Southrons with an incredible amount of patience and grace.
On the surface, Megatron had been listening, and smiling with a practiced air, as though he were used to being denied.
Jazz had a bad feeling about it.
From all the information he had received, Megatron was not used to rejection. There had been a glimmer of suppressed rage as he had entered. As though coming into the room were a task he did not want to be bothered with. Jazz would have to speak with the minister later– and see if he noticed it.
Megatron had turned his burning stare onto Jazz now, optics flaring briefly as he considered the shadowy figure. And smiled.
And then it hit him.
Megatron had known before he even entered the chamber that his offers were going to be denied. He was fully aware that he was about to be rejected in no uncertain terms. The possibility of a bug had crossed his mind before, but no one had ever...
Discretely, Jazz tapped the frequency they used for security, when a party wasn't behaving during negotiation, fighting the sickening feeling that there was something else going on here. Something that he should have known about.
No response. No acknowledgment.
Jazz could feel his optics widening in concern, as he started to step forwards, and alert Tacheon Something was definitely wrong– even in the way Megatron was staring at him with a speculative gleam in his optics.
"Tell me," Megatron said, interrupting the minister's preparations to close the negotiation channel with Southron. "Do you really think that you can 'stay out of the whole thing' for much longer?"
Tacheon stared blankly at Megatron, not realizing the implications of those words.
"I–" Jazz's reply was cut off by an abrupt shift in the tower's structure. "Security ain't respondin', Tacheon." He told the minister shortly, "Somethin's up–"
"Indeed." Megatron rose, "You have a choice. You can either join us, or ... " The floor tilted another few degrees, spilling the stylus off the table. "Die here, with your master."
A subspace ripple turned into a long cylindrical barrel on Megatron's right arm. Subspace access, weapons access should have been blocked. None of the tower's residents were armed, save security, and security— images of bodies torn to shreds filled Jazz's mind, as though he'd seen what happened, as though he knew what was about to happen next–
Megatron fired, even as Jazz moved to push Tacheon out of the way.
A spinning darkness overwhelmed his senses as the shot connected, dimming his optical sensors.
Slaggit, Wheeljack– I need a hand here....
... try to hold him down while you...
The voices echoed in his head again, not really making any sense. Megatron had just shot him, and his sensory information must be skewed– he didn't know a Wheeljack.. are getting worse... can't take much more of....
Jazz vaguely felt a hand on his shoulder, through the fog of mind killing pain.
...hope those two get back here soon one way or another....
...hanging on–
"– Jazz!" the familiar voice was right next to him, as the fog lifted. He'd been shot– he'd never been shot before. Tacheon's familiar face loomed over him frantically trying to get him to respond.
A short barking laugh preceded another burst of energy, sending Tacheon flying, as Jazz forced himself to stand. He was shaking, he realized– from lack of energon, or pain, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was just fear.
"It is time to decide," Megatron's voice came from behind as he stared at the graying form of the minister.
"De-decide wh-what?" he stuttered, systems screaming in protest– telling him that he needed to sit down– lie down.
A hand gripped the back of his head, lifting him, and swinging him around towards the room's polarized window. Blurrily out of the corner of his vision, he saw a massive foot kick the switch to change the tempered glass window to transparent, revealing the spectacular view of–
A city burning.
The entire tower had shifted just enough so that he could see the remains of the security enclave through his own reflection– smoke billowing from the building's ventilation shaft, windows, and door.
Megatron must have seen the horror in the reflection, because he started to laugh again, pressing Jazz's face against the glass, so there was no way for him to not look at the destruction.
"This is what will become of all those who stand in my way." Jazz couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't speak. "I ask again, will you join the Decepticons– be repaired, and serve?" Megatron's voice was cold as space, "Or will you join your comrades. Think deeply– in your knowledge of the Decepticon empire, you will know that I do not make this offer lightly. One of your talent could go far..."
The choice seemed so easy. Jazz could live, he could live among the Decepticons, learning more and more nuances of the culture, being useful. He could adapt to the life of being yet another Decepticon, learning more about whatever Megatron would allow. Or—
On the promenade below the window, Jazz spotted the familiar figure of Mad Dash. His head– There wasn't much left of it. He had been... had been...
"No..." Jazz breathed, finding his voice. Memories of the messenger flooded his circuits– Mad Dash singing, showing him the way to music celebrations, showing him something that he'd asked for–
"What was that?" Megatron asked, his grip growing painfully tighter.
"No." Jazz said, a little louder, finding a strength to realize that joining with Megatron was not the right thing. Not after this.
"A pity..."
Megatron pulled Jazz away from the glass, pausing for a moment then slammed the hapless mech through the glass, releasing him.
An eternity of breaking glass, the sound of brittle shards hitting one another and Megatron's laughter accompanied him as bounced off of a catwalk. Jazz watched the ground glow closer, as the laughter faded. And then the burst of darkness took him into his own private pit.
...not looking good, Prime.... got the blasted shell out, but without... severe damage...
A shrill noise pierced the air, reverberating in his body, in his head. The burning wall returned, reminding him that something... happened. Something...
SLAGGIT... Wheeljack get the .... NOW!
Comin' right up–
... help, tell Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to get the lead out... chances aren't good....
...shock–
Slaggit...respond– come on! Come on!
The voices faded as the burning redoubled itself, dragging him back into the darkness.
"Come on, you slaggin' slacker."
Voices penetrated Jazz's consciousness, bringing him back to awareness. He was on the ground, and Megatron had stopped laughing. He should somehow know these voices, and yet...
"You should talk. Prime wanted us to see if we could find any survivors, Swipe, not take a slaggin' tour." A pair of yellow legs stumbled into Jazz's vision. "Hey! Do that again, and I'll—"
"You'll what? C'mon, bro. Only way to be sure is to go through it all."
Jazz tried to move, tried to see the other voice, but... nothing was responding. And the attempt itself caused feedback in the shattered remains of his left leg. Even if he'd had a choice, he couldn't have stifled the gasp of pain.
... hang on just a little longer.
"Hang on, Sunny, I heard somethin' over there." A pair of black and red feet stopped next to Jazz's head.
He'd never heard Megatron called 'Prime' before– that was the name of---his systems protested, suddenly, telling him that he'd probably not live through the cycle. Jazz wanted to take the chance– if they weren't Decepticons, they might be able to help him. If they were... either way, he'd be better off.
"Yeah right– you just want to distract me from the beating you're going to get –"
"Shut up. It was right over here–"
"How any of these scraps could possibly be still functioning is stretching even my imagination." Through the legs of the red one, Jazz could see the yellow feet starting to walk
away. "Let's keep going. Probably rubble shifting, or a turborat."
Ain't a turborat, Jazz tried to tell them, but all that came out was a groan.
Yellow stopped, and came back.
"See? I toldja I heard something." A face appeared within range, as red bent down to look at the Mech at his feet. "This one's alive, Sunny."
"Yeah, even you can be right once in a while, Sideswipe." Another face joined the first. "I'll call Prime and Ratchet, so we can get– what's your name?"
Sideswipe, sit down before you fall down.... goes for you too Sunstreaker...
The echoes were faint, easy to ignore in the threatening darkness.
"Ja- Jazz."
"Right. So we can get Jazz here out, before this rubble scratches my finish any more than it already has."
"Do you remember what happened?" Red knelt beside Jazz, staying just within sight, as yellow stepped away.
"... threw me through the window..." Jazz stopped trying to move, and found it easier to speak. "Megatron..."
Sideswipe looked upwards, probably noting the broken catwalks that Jazz remembered hitting on the way down.
"Long drop–" commented Sunstreaker, stepping back. "Pretty surprising he's even still–"
...functioning – he's still slipping. ... stay out of the way.
"Prime and Ratchet are on the way– "
"Great, bro." Sideswipe's face started to blurr, "Hey... stay with us, Jazz. Can't go anywhere yet– talk to me here."
"C-can't..." Jazz managed to say before surrendering to the blackness again.
Am I dead? He wondered, floating in the dark weightless place. Jazz could no longer feel– anything.
He'll be all right now, thanks to you two–
Ratchet's voice. If he could just turn, he would see the medic standing nearby.
It will just take a while for his systems to fully recover. Real touch and go for a while there.
It was like watching a movie with his back to the screen– The voices were clearer than they had been before.
When will he wake up?
Sideswipe was somewhere close by. He'd been asking Jazz to talk a moment ago– No. That was a long time ago.
From the readings I was getting, he's been semi-conscious the whole time. Tougher than he looks.
Yeah.
Sunstreaker– further away.
A hand on his shoulder brought with it the weight of the world– life. Suddenly Jazz realized he was so... tired.
Let him get some rest, while you and Sunstreaker get seen to, Sideswipe.
Ratchet wasn't grumbling about it. That was the oddest thing. Jazz tried to ask what was going on– but couldn't do much more than twitch.
Yeah... The hand was removed. Just relax now, Jazz. Everythin's gonna be okay. Bombshell will think twice about tryin' that stunt again.
The voices faded as Jazz drifted off, unable to fight off the need for rest.
"C'mon, Jazz, wake up and talk to us." The voice was insistent. "Slaggit, you gotta wake up."
Something had happened. Jazz could remember leaving the Ark, just behind Sideswipe, following him down the highway, and then–
"Ratchet said he'd come out of it when he was ready."
"Yeah? Well ...." Sideswipe stopped, "I didn't think it would take this long."
"Didn't think. And didn't think what's gonna happen if Ratchet finds you here?"
"Us– "
"Okay, us. Ought to kick you in the skidplate for leaving me behind."
Insecticons. Shooting at Shrapnell.
"Yeah..."
Obviously Sunstreaker didn't expect that response, because he was quiet.
"Maybe things wouldn't have happened like that, if we'd waited for you." Sideswipe continued, "And maybe you would've seen Bombshell."
And nothing but a jumble.
"Yeah, an' maybe if frogs had wings, they wouldn't bump their afts when they hop." The words came out a whole lot harder than he'd expected.
"Jazz!"
"Not s'loud.... m'head feels like it's gonna fall off." Focus returned slowly, showing him the brothers giving each other a look. "Don't matter– I shoulda been lookin' a little harder myself."
"Ratchet's coming!" Sunstreaker said from the doorway. "We better scram."
"G'wan.... Ya can tell me all 'bout things later." Jazz smiled, watching the pair sneak out with more stealth than anyone usually gave them credit for. "Everythin'll be just fine."