Part 3
The inner workings of the Ark were deep, filled with cavernous warehousing, narrow corridors between various supply depots and engineering sectors. Most mechs needed to download the ship's mapping hud before they would set foot in some of the deeper levels, although that had less to do with their embarrassment at getting lost and more because of the rumor of a ghostly Decepticon wandering through the dangling cables and cramped walkways, howling in phantom pain as it searched for tender young Autobots.
In fact, the only thing that could prompt any mech down here was an angry Spec Ops commander already thinking about stripping his mechs down for spare parts. Mirage and Bumblebee followed several steps behind him, optics and sensors on highest sensitivity for the first hint of Jazz's displeasure or a ghostly moan. Neither would admit it, but the ghost would have been more welcome.
"Slingshot swears he saw it down here," Bumblebee said.
"That's a ridiculous rumor," Mirage whispered. "While he was boasting, did he also fight it and tell it to slag off the Ark?"
"Maybe," Bumblebee said, looking over his shoulder. "If you aren't scared, how come you're all hunched up against me, huh?"
"You can't tell," Mirage said with a haughty sniff, "but these ceilings are low."
"Uh-huh," Bumblebee muttered. "You know if you turn invisible, ghosts can still see you, right?"
"There are no ghosts down here," Mirage snapped.
"'Cause a ghost can see your spark, not your frame-"
"No, they can't!" Mirage said, chucking Bumblebee not so lightly on the head.
Ahead of them, Jazz stopped walking and pivoted, his visor's thin sliver of light barely giving him a silhouette in the dark. Mirage grabbed Bumblebee, using him as a shield, while the smaller mech squeaked and pushed back against his larger frame.
"If you two don't clam up," Jazz hissed, "and at least pretend I taught you anything, there's gonna be two real ghosts down here."
"You aren't scared of ghosts?" Bumblebee whispered. "Is it 'cause-"
Was it because of all the mechs that Jazz had killed over the vorns, the sheer torrent of death and destruction innuring their leader to the horrors that lay beyond the grave? They all knew Jazz had done some terrible things during the war. None of them had seen his official file, but they knew, just the same as they knew there were ghosts in the Ark.
With a long suffering vent, Jazz tapped an audio horn once. Did they even remember their damn internal communications system?
Dumb 'bots, Jazz grumbled at them both. Put you to work in your home base and you lose all your training.
The Decepticons don't have ghosts on their side, Bumblebee said.
Ain't no ghosts down here, Jazz sighed, turning and leading them through the supply units again. I made that rumor up myself.
I told you so! Mirage said, bopping Bumblebee's head again.
But why'd you make up something like that? Bumblebee asked.
Jazz shrugged. Wanted to give myself a place I could drag mechs I didn't want found.
Both Bumblebee and Mirage came to a halt, standing ramrod straight. A moment later Jazz realized they weren't following him and chuckled to himself, waving one hand reassuringly.
Relax, you two. I kid. I just wanted a spot I could stow some less savory equipment the others wouldn't like, that's all. Prime doesn't need to know every part of my job.
Mirage shared a look with Bumblebee. Both of them knew exactly what Jazz meant. So this was where their commander kept some of their master copies of cortex force downloaders and internal servo disruptors. Some tools still had Decepticon insignias on them, not acceptable for ethical Autobots but too useful to be discarded by more practical bots. Jazz might be scary, but anyone in Special Operations had seen and done things the rest of the Autobots would never know about.
Come on, come on, Jazz said, still walking and turning a corner to vanish in the gloom. Keep up or you'll get left behind with the spoo~ky Decepticon ghost. Legend has it he especially likes snacking on little grounders.
Hardy har, Bumblebee grumbled. You could've told us this was your personal storage depot. It was just a matter of time before you stumbled on us anyway.
Should've known that Scooby Doo routine wouldn't work forever, their commander said. But I didn't expect y'all to turn this into your little erotic clubhouse.
It's not- Mirage started.
Jazz sent a silence command through their array, bringing communication to a halt as he leaned around the corner. A small space had been cleared with a single lamp on the floor and several steel crates positioned in a circle, with empty energon cubes tossed haphazardly around the room. It was clearly an impromptu meeting place, and lounging around the lamp was Sideswipe, a datapad in one hand, a cube in the other. On the floor was Sunstreaker, venting in long regular bursts that made Jazz think it wasn't just energon in those cubes.
To his relief, his bots demonstrated that they could still act like agents, moving to block the other exit with Mirage backing up Bumblebee. Jazz waited a moment to make sure that he hadn't missed anything, and to his surprise a small clatter from the shelves drew his attention to Blaster's cassettes dangling their legs off the side.
Now that is some strange company to be keeping, Jazz wondered. The twins, Eject and Rewind...both of whom seemed quite relaxed with their own smaller energon supply.
"'Jazz held the gun to Soundwave's head'," Sideswipe read, "'but even as the chains fell away, he found he couldn't pull the trigger. Those golden optics-"
"Enough already," Sunstreaker mumbled, turning his gaze away from the lamp. "I don't wanna hear any more of those stupid things."
"You liked 'Fireflight Hooked to a Killer Sharkticon'," Sideswipe argued.
"The adventure ones are cool," Sunstreaker said, and he put his arm over his optics. "The plug 'n play ones are so stupid, though."
"You're still angry about the 'Twins Do the Ark'," Eject said. "You should've known you guys would be popular."
"Well yeah," Sunstreaker said with a grin, one hand running down his own finish. "Sweetest paint job this side of the galaxy. But c'mon...Gears? Seriously, did it have to have Gears in there?"
Taking another sip of doctored energon, Sideswipe scrolled to the next page.
"Hey, check this out," he said. "Wheeljack's Medbay Burst of Lust."
"Is it as bad as 'Engineering Overloads'?" Rewind asked. "If it is, don't bother."
"Yeah," Eject snickered. "Rewind only reads the best Wheeljack ones."
"I do not-"
"'Oh, Ratchet'," Sideswipe interrupted, reading over Rewind's protest with theatrical flair. "'Wheeljack moaned in more than pain as he lay on the medical berth, his outer plating obscenely pulled open and his inner processes revealed, touched by the cool air. 'Please don't,' he cried, jerking futilely on the restraints lashing him down.
"'Ratchet loomed over him, one finger tracing the prone engineer's soft cables, caressing the smooth shell of his spark case. Then his hand turned cruel as he twisted one sensitive screw, drawing a cry from the helpless mech. 'No mercy,' Ratchet said, brushing Wheeljack's faceplate gently and then seizing him when he tried to look away. 'And you, of all 'bots, should appreciate the modifications I'm about to give you.'"
Sideswipe looked up at Rewind, who was about to lean completely off the shelf. "Should I keep going?" he asked with a grin, chuckling when Rewind nodded vigorously.
Before Rewind could say anything, Jazz lifted his head and stepped to the very edge of the dim light. On the other side of the room, Bumblebee and Mirage appeared to surround their prey.
"By all means, keep going," Jazz said with a smile that didn't reach his visor. "How deep you planning on digging your own grave?"
All of them froze. None of them tried to run. The only one Jazz had expected any trouble from merely reached over and grabbed the rest of the energon, disposing of it in one swift go.
"Warned ya this would happen," Sunstreaker grumbled, his engine rumbling with the sudden influx of minerals and coolant.
"Quit getting rid of the evidence," Jazz snapped.
"You're just pissed I'm not leaving it for you," Sunstreaker said, settling back again and already beginning to slur his words. "But I ain't going to the brig sober."
There were serious drawbacks, Jazz thought once again, to being a damn officer.
TBC...