Introduction: I probably would have included this scene in chapter 29 of Revolution, but I didn't feel like writing it at the time, so here it is two weeks later. It starts right at the end of the scene where Jazz finds the mecha who blew up some buildings during the battle.

The door opened and a large mech stood blocking the entrance. He glared at Jazz in a way that was somewhat less than friendly.

"Hey, mech," Jazz grinned.

"Can I help you?" He had a fairly strong Tarnian accent. Interesting. The mech Jazz had followed here had definitely been from Kaon.

The house had gone very quiet—the sound of mecha who were shady enough to be wary of anyone who showed up at their door, but not skilled enough to divert any suspicion by pretending they weren't wary.

"Yeah," Jazz said. "I need ta talk ta whoever's in charge here."

"What?" The mech at the door narrowed his optics and leaned forward. He towered over Jazz, and the smaller mech had to tilt his helm back almost painfully far to meet his optics.

"Ya heard me," Jazz crossed his arms.

"Who are you?" the big mech demanded. "And what makes you think the boss wants to talk to you?"

The boss, huh? That sent up some warning flags.

"I guess it depends," Jazz said. "I'm from the Autobots and it seems like ya mecha were trying ta help us so I thought I'd come introduce myself, ya know, welcome ya ta the neighborhood."

And call enforcement on them if they wouldn't cooperate. But he didn't want to mention that. You didn't threaten mecha when they outnumbered you, nor was it smart to threaten potential allies.

The mech blocking the door didn't seem amused. "I don't know what the frag you're talking about," he said. "Get lost, little two-wheeler."

Jazz watched as the door started to close, frowning slightly. He wasn't that small.

"Wait," a deep voice spoke from within. "Rotostorm."

The door stopped closing, but didn't open back up again and Jazz heard what sounded like a muttered conversation from inside.

Then it opened. "All right," the unfriendly mech, Rotostorm, said. "Come in."

This was where it could get dicey. He wasn't going to pass up the opportunity, though, and if it ended in a fight, well…

He hadn't had any close calls lately, and life was a little boring. Escaping from a room full of armed, heavily armored mecha could be a nice break from the monotony.

Jazz counted as he entered the room, free to look around without seeming nervous so long as he didn't turn his helm.

Ten—twelve—fifteen. Frag, how did they fit so many huge mecha into this little apartment? Did they all recharge on the floor? Or were they not all staying here?

Some of them bore the unmistakably stylized frames of southern gladiators, but others had plainer frames, like laborers of some sort.

Jazz felt himself subtly herded toward the table, and mecha moved their chairs so he could stand across from a black and gold mech sitting there. He was one of the plainer-looking ones, though Jazz could tell his armor was warrior grade.

When he spoke, Jazz recognized him as the mech who'd suggested letting him in.

"You say you're from Autobot." The mech crossed his arms.

Jazz was surrounded now, but fortunately, not all of them seemed so unfriendly. A few looked more curious, or even excited.

"Yeah," Jazz said. "I am."

"And what is it you want from us? Don't try my patience by playing with your words. Whatever your business is here, we won't harm you."

He didn't sound like he was very happy about that last part, which made the promise significantly less encouraging. If it weren't for the tired, bluntly annoyed look on the mech's faceplate, Jazz might not have believed him.

"Okay," Jazz said. "Here it is: I wanna recruit ya."

There were a few derisive outcries from around him, but the mech in charge's faceplate was stony.

"You want to recruit us?" one of the others said. "You and your little idealist Prime."

"Hold on," the mech in charge said, and the room fell quiet again. "What if we don't want to be recruited?"

"Also," someone else put in. "How do we know he is who he says he is?"

"I guess ya can't know that," Jazz said. "But I can introduce ya ta Optimus. It's a lot harder ta impersonate him."

The mech in charge glanced to the side.

"I could verify if it's really Optimus," the green gladiator sitting next to him said.

"I know that," the mech in charge looked at Jazz again. "You still haven't told me exactly who you are."

"Jazz. Head of special operations for the Autobot army," Jazz held out a hand.

The other mech reached across the table for a very firm handshake. "Impactor," he said.

"Good ta meet ya," Jazz pulled his hand away and flexed his fingers, wincing as a few joints popped back into place.

"Whether or not you're who you claim to be," Impactor said. "I still want to know what happens if we don't want to be recruited."

Jazz sighed. "Well, since ya asked me ta be honest… look, we're real grateful for what ya did, but it was still out of line. We're happy ta take all the allies we can get, but we can't have mecha randomly interfering with our battles, no matter which side they're helping. Ya don't need ta follow the same rules our regular soldiers follow, but if ya won't work with us, then we can't pardon ya for destruction of property or anything else ya do while ya're fighting the Decepticons."

"Well," the green mech said. "That's only fair, Impactor."

"In other words," Jazz continued. "If ya don't wanna join us, then I'll have ta comm. enforcement once we're done talking."

"We could probably handle a few enforcers," someone muttered from behind him.

"I know," Jazz said quickly. "It's not a threat, mech, but it means ya might have ta relocate or something, and I bet that'd be annoying. Also, I'm sure ya could handle a few enforcers, but it ain't normally wise ta attack them—tends ta get ya in a lot of trouble."

He turned his attention back to Impactor, who just scowled at him.

"I completely understand if ya wanna stay out of this," Jazz said. "I'm not really one for rules or following orders myself. But let me introduce ya ta Optimus. If I didn't know for certain what kinda mech he was, I wouldn't have pledged my loyalty ta him. But he's too good for this world and this war, and he needs mecha like us in his army."

"Mecha who can do his dirty work for him?" Impactor deadpanned.

"The Prime ain't scared of putting himself in danger," Jazz said. "But he doesn't see the world the way I do, or the way I think you do. Come talk ta him, at the very least. If ya don't wanna join up after that, he'll probably let ya leave."

Impactor hesitated.

"The other option is me bringing enforcement here ta try and arrest ya," Jazz said. "Come on, mech."

Jazz heard a gun power up behind him. He tried not to look tense.

"Put that away!" Impactor barked. Then he sighed. "All right. We'll go meet with your Prime."