Sorry about this and futuredelays, but real life is getting in the way again

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Deck blundered his way out of the cave and into the pre-dawn gloom. This was not how it was supposed to happen! He'd planned out everything so perfectly, from the insanity act back on Cybertron to taunting and daring his opponent into taking that final step that would show him that 'Jazz' was just a façade donned to make himself feel good. A skin-tight forcefield designed specifically to repel high velocity attacks would have protected him from the projectile fire, and then, when 'Jazz' was finally dead and Hardline had been reclaimed, there would have been two new recruits for Megatron's army.

But then Jazz had wised up and thrown all his careful machinations into disarray.

Perhaps, however, there was still a way to succeed. Whether he liked it or not, Jazz had temporarily allowed Hardline to resurface. With enough prodding, perhaps he would take over again.

0o0o0

Jazz cautiously emerged from the cave, a small knife concealed in his right hand while he held a small pistol in his left.

Deck was out here somewhere. He was desperate, and thus even more dangerous than before. He had to be taken down, and quickly. Jazz slunk along the edge of an old lava flow, senses at the highest possible sensitivity. He paused for a moment beside a dead tree, listening. His instincts flared a warning and the Special Ops pivoted on one foot and snapped his right arm down to fling the dagger.

The knife made a fluttering sound as it vanished into the darkness, followed by a solid sounding thunk and a cry of pain. "Gotcha." Jazz grinned, flicking back the pistol's safety and laying down a spread of laser fire in the general area the knife went into. There was a grunt and Deck stumbled out of hiding.

"Last chance Deck. Turn y'self in." Jazz ordered, slowly advancing towards the mech with his pistol sights lined up on Deck's head. Deck glanced around, backing up a slight slope behind him. Jazz cautiously followed him until both mechs were on a small flat area at the top.
"Somehow I doubt you'll pull that trigger." Deck sneered. "I'm unarmed, and Jazz isn't a killer, but Hardline is. He had what it took to go far in this gig, but you don't. You never did, and that's why you wanted out, isn't it?"
"I got out 'cause I didn't wanna lose myself t' the war." Jazz corrected.
"How noble." Deck snorted.
"I'm guessin' that if I told ya t' put y' hands behind y' head and lie on th' ground, y' wouldn't?" Jazz asked.
"Not a chance."
"Okay then."

In a blur of motion, Jazz darted forward, seized Deck's arm with his free hand and hooked his leg behind Deck's. One pull was all it took to send the larger mech sprawling, the Porsche planting one large foot on Deck's chest and carefully lining up his gun sights on his head. "Now do y' wanna surrender? Or do I have t' knock y' inta stasis first?"

Deck narrowed his optics. Time for one last ploy. "What do you think all your little friends will say once they find out the truth?" He taunted. "What will they say once they know what you really are- a murder, just like me? Do you seriously think that they'll trust you?" The mech snorted. "I doubt it."
Jazz clenched his jaw. Already his imagination was running wild with the possible scenarios, just as Deck had planned. "You don't know them. I do." He shot back defensively.
"Ah, but I do know them." Deck grinned. "I know that for all that value you put on trust and knowing your team, you left out a rather large section of your personal history. And I know that when they find out, they'll never trust you again." He lifted his chin. "Do it Jazz." Deck ordered. "Pull the trigger. You're a cold-sparked killer, we both know that. Now prove it."

Jazz's face was unreadable. A long moment passed, then he subspaced his gun "No." He replied. "I'm not that mech anymore."

He turned and started limping down the hillside, back to the Ark. Behind him, Deck was seething. Despite everything, Jazz had simply refused to crack. There was only one option now. Deck scrambled to his feet and coiled. "Then DIE!" He roared, lunging with his arms spread wide and slamming into the smaller 'bot's back.

0o0o0

Optimus had had enough. He stalked to the row of screens and swept his optics across them. A faint glow was staining the sky to the east, the precursor to the actual dawn, but there was no sign of his officer. "Any sign of Jazz?" The Prime asked of Red Alert. The Security Director shook his head.
"The scanners have picked up no trace of him since the transmission he made two hours ago."

Prime turned to where Ironhide was leaning against a wall, arms crossed and glowering at life in general. "Ironhide, would you classify that as sunrise?" He asked.
Ironhide flicked his gaze over the screens. "Looks like one t' me." He replied, immediately catching onto Optimus' subtle hint.
The Autobots within earshot started to perk up, weapons appearing out of subspace as they caught onto what their leader was doing. Prime walked over to the door and entered his command code to unlock it. "Prowl, best deployment options?" He asked.
"Air units out first, scouting in a standard grid pattern, followed by ground units in squads of four, minimum two warriors per squad. Medical units hanging back at the base and prepared for rapid deployment." Prowl quickly answered.
"Then let's roll!" Prime ordered.