Author's Notes: Thanks lots to Whirlwind, Tiamat1972, Tahalii, and Mariashadow for the reviews! Glad you all liked the first chap. :) I hadn't written the Cons before that so it was a bit different for me. I'm sure the twins will kick Megs and Screamer for this too. Oh and Whirlwind, I wouldn't be so sure…The Bots might not be able to this time. ;) Thanks again to everyone! I live off of reviews. Oh and no, I don't own Transformers and all that slag. I just wish I did…
Alone Chapter 2Slowly each of his systems reactivated. His audios were the first to reactivate, or at least he thought they were. But he didn't actually hear a thing. His scans said that's what activated first… But then why was it so slagging quiet? No Lambo twins creating mischief, no Prowl yelling at him to tell him he was late, no radio…No radio? Jazz quickly scanned the local channels and to his relief, he was able to pick up stations. Yet, his commlink was dead.
But that didn't seem nearly as important as the radio.
For as long as Jazz remembered, he always had some type of music wherever he went. Even back on Cybertron, although then music wasn't as easy to come by back then. Most Cybertronian culture had been destroyed as a result of the war. Thankfully however, Earth offered various different types of music to keep the Porsche occupied.
For if it was one thing Jazz hated more than anything else in the world, it was solitude. Not as to say he hated sitting around with nothing to do. On the contrary, he loved nothing more than to indulge himself with his music or just sit and talk to a friend. It was the being alone part he hated. That and the silence.
Jazz was not at all like Prowl and Mirage in that aspect. Those two, Jazz knew, would prefer to sit alone in peace and quiet.
But not Jazz.
Music, dancing, people moving around, loud crowded bars… that was what Jazz preferred. So as one can imagine, finding yourself in the quiet was not something he was very used to. After all, he lived in a military base and it was certainty never quiet there.
Drops of water suddenly oozed down the side of his face, startling him out of his thoughts. Immediately, he brought his optics on line but only received complete darkness, as if he hadn't opened his optics at all.
What was going on here? The special operations agent reached for his face to rub his optics, but that too didn't happen. His entire body was like a dead weight. Cautiously, he tried to move each of his limbs.
1 of 4 worked. Only his right hand. Wonderful.
A deep sigh emanated from the mech as his one hand reached his face, brushing off the wetness he found there. Another surprise! His visor was gone. That explained the lack of vision.
Quickly, Jazz's mind went to work, trying to remember what had happened. He was on patrol…no. He was on a mission in Nevada…Los Vegas…the Decepticons in a hanger…near a wash…Thundercracker, Skywarp…I got on the head? Gingerly, the Porsche lifted his good hand to rub the back of his head.
Yep, he got a conk on the head all right. Then…where was he anyway?
Jazz's black hand traced the area around him finding it to be wet. And sand? He was in a hole, a really deep hole by the sound of it. He couldn't feel a lid above him and he didn't feel cramped. At least the 'Cons were descent enough in that respect.
How the slag would he get himself outta this? Stuck, in a hole, nearly paralyzed, no commlink and no homing beacon. In the middle of nowhere. Nothing to eat…no one to find him…
And all Jazz had was a radio.
His cry rattled the walls but could not be heard beyond the steel seal.
Hound.
Trailbreaker.
Cliffjumper…
The Twins? That's impressive.
Prowl sat at his desk, data pads in hand and stacked all over the desk in organized piles. Daily reports were something the tactician had always insisted on and although they created more work for Prowl, it did at least enforce some type of order with the crew. That was a problem Prowl had from the get go with this crew. Organization.
With a rare smile on his faceplates, Prowl crossed off two more names. Getting the twins to heed any of his requests was a miracle from Primus. Now, with those two names gone that left…Jazz?
That didn't make sense. Prowl had talked to the saboteur only a few hours ago and Jazz always filled out a report as soon as he returned from a mission. One of the few rules Prowl had made that Jazz actually followed. He should have been back by now…it was midnight after all.
Prowl shook himself. Had he been at his desk for five hours straight? Then that meant Prowl last talked to Jazz about nine hours ago and although the Porsche sometimes visited nightclubs on his way home from a mission, he should have been back hours ago.
The tactician spun around in his chair to face his computer, his hands becoming a blur as he searched for Jazz's homing beacon. The information entered, Prowl waited for a response, but no blips appeared.
Jazz was gone.
Prowl then typed in Jazz's commlink. That only received dead air.
Frowning, Prowl brought up Prime's private commlink.
"Yes Prowl?" The commander's deep baritone voice questioned.
"Sir, I believe we have a problem."
Optimus Prime's voice suddenly sounded alarmed, something fell to the floor with a clatter in the background. "What is it?"
"It's Jazz, Sir. I think he's in trouble."