Part 6
Experiment while he couldn't even move? Jazz almost reminded Soundwave that he was locked up. Almost. But maybe Spec-Ops Mission 98 started out like this, and part of the scenario was how Jazz escaped. He hadn't read any of them, but hadn't Ironhide read something out loud about chains being welded? Damn. Should've let the old mech read out just a little bit more.
He needed to think, and fast. Soundwave wrote trashy novels with Jazz the super spy. And had hoped that Jazz would read it. And apparently Jazz had missed out on the manual on how to convert one of the Decepticon's top officers because...
No, that was wasting time. He needed to focus on what was important right now.
Soundwave had him prisoner, Soundwave expected him to somehow free himself, and Soundwave-outwardly Megatron's most faithful soldier-wanted Jazz to convince him to join the Autobots.
The real important question right now was how did Jazz, master spy of Spec Ops Mission 98, react to that?
"You're the one in control here," Jazz said, giving a token pull on the chain between his wrists. "Not exactly fair, y'know?"
"Jazz, too dangerous to allow freedom," Soundwave argued.
"Not what I meant," Jazz said, and he glanced away, swallowing his rising embarrassment. "Your faceplate...you've still got it..."
Soundwave examined his face as if he could read his expression, searching for any trace of deceit, and he forced Jazz to meet his gaze again. This must not have been part of the story, and Soundwave probably removed that faceplate less often than he removed the visor. If his optics gave away so much, then how much more would his mouth reveal?
"Faceplate...never removed before," Soundwave said.
"You're kidding me," Jazz blurted, forgetting to be coy. "How do you refuel?"
"Never removed around others," Soundwave clarified, glancing aside.
But you're dying to take it off, Jazz thought. Millenia of being strong, disciplined, cold even, masking himself completely. Had anyone ever seen his full face? Maybe taking off his visor was the most vulnerability he'd ever allowed himself.
"You can see mine." Jazz turned slightly, trying to see Soundwave's face his chains rattling just enough to remind Soundwave that he couldn't move. "Let me see yours?"
Soundwave didn't move, but after a moment, the lock on his faceplate clicked and the line of steel retracted back into his helm.
Jazz's optics widened slightly. Like any autobot, he had a natural aversion to all things Decepticon, but he wasn't blind. Some mechs were simply shiny and well framed. Soundwave was a cold sparked mech on the battlefield and he'd blackmail his own side without qualm, but damned if he didn't have a face that would make younger sparks flutter.
"It's a shame you're evil," Jazz murmured.
Did that bring them back on script? Soundwave relaxed enough to adjust his grip, gently setting Jazz on the floor.
"Assertion false," Soundwave said. "Decepticons not evil."
"It's right there in your name," Jazz said. "Deception. Con."
"Decepticon designation, metaphoric. Cybertron's Primes, corrupt but professing the best for all mechs. Primes, Autobots, called Megatron's rebellion a lie. Thus, freedom is deception."
"Cute," Jazz said. "But that snazzy wordplay got lost when you went from freedom fighter to would-be dictators."
"Megatron, not a dictator," Soundwave argued, but his optics flinched and the deep golden light dimmed. He even nervously bit one lip, then realized he was doing it and schooled his face to show no expression. "Megatron, best leader for Cybertron and all mechs."
As if to punctuate that, Soundwave braced himself with one hand by Jazz's head, then slid his other hand down his hood, along his abdomen-and then dove into his pelvic joint. Stroking his fingertips along the soft cables there, he tilted his hand just enough to ease between the fluid lines and underneath, stroking a steel plate that would normally never feel touch.
Jazz bent away as far as he could, his hip pressing against Soundwave's knee. He couldn't go further, and he writhed as Soundwave fingered sensitive cables, pressing them gently when they both knew he could tear them apart without effort.
"Autobot, poorly armored," Soundwave said, his hollow voice a whisper. "Vulnerable."
"Flexible," Jazz hissed, jerking as Soundwave gathered a handful of cables and tugged just enough to pull their connectors taut. "Adaptable."
"Easy to interrogate."
"As if," Jazz said, arching his back, turning every fan on full vent. "You ain't even asking questions. Worst interrogation ever."
"Autobot seems to enjoy this interrogation," Soundwave said.
His optics burned brighter, and he leaned close enough that Jazz could see the lenses and miniscule displays probably telling the Decepticon that he was overheating. Freeing his hand from Jazz's cables, Soundwave drew his fingers along the inner rim of the joint, feeling the smooth steel casing and lightly circling a hex connector on one of the cables.
"I ain't giving in, Decepticon," Jazz said, jolted as Soundwave gave that connector a strong tap. "If you're all about freedom, how come you're still fighting?"
"Primes were Autobots, thus Autobots still a threat."
"Optimus ain't-"
Jazz groaned as Soundwave switched to the other side of his pelvis, driving his sensors equally frenzied. His pedes scraped the floor uselessly as his hands scrabbled at the chain, feeling for the welded sections.
"Optimus ain't bad-" Jazz's voice went up in pitch as Soundwave manhandled each cable one by one, and the Decepticon's chuckle made him fight his voice processors back into submission.
"You know we'd open negotiations if you'd just stop shooting," he rushed out before his voice betrayed him again. "If you're after freedom, why's Megatron still fighting?"
The golden optics dimmed again, and Soundwave's nervous lip bite returned. The hand stroking Jazz's cables paused, moving slower when it returned to work.
If he wasn't being molested, Jazz would have smiled. Oh, Soundwave knew. No, more than that. He'd been thinking this to himself, thinking these exact arguments. Soundwave wasn't stupid, just stupidly loyal. No one ever saw him without his visor or mask, and he had no one to air these thoughts to. Jazz just had to make the argument that Soundwave simply couldn't admit.
Did Soundwave even realize he was signalling all of his doubt? His hands were steady, his body as unyielding as ever, but his optics rotated lenses too quickly, struggling to read Jazz as a threat to ease his nervous sensors.
"Optimus ain't like the other Primes," Jazz said. "You know it. He's got the Matrix-"
"Matrix, lost once before," Soundwave demanded. "No guarantee that the next Prime will be good."
"Then you admit Optimus is good?" Jazz asked.
Soundwave stared at him, mouth pressing into a harsh line. Too quickly, he pulled clear of Jazz's pelvis, jolting him with an accidental electric surge on a connector, and he reached up and grabbed one of Jazz's audio horns.
Static feedback overloaded the sensitive equipment for a splitsecond before automatic safeguards cut the reception, but the horn itself was made of sensors over filters, shielded only by the thinnest webwork of polycarbonate. Soundwave tightened his hand over it, compressing the web until it strained not to break.
Likewise tensing up, Jazz held still, one optic squeezed shut in anticipation. He'd suffered crushed audios before, and even slamming his pain receptors closed couldn't cut off the trauma completely.
Seconds passed. When the expected crumpling didn't happen, Jazz chanced looking up. Soundwave's scowl hadn't changed, but his optics-Jazz could have read them like a datapad. There was a battle raging inside Soundwave, and his optics showed his loyalty warring with the sheer fact that he knew Jazz was right.
That was the problem with carrier models, nigh absolute loyalty. Protecting his cassettes was hard coding that urged Soundwave to likewise seek out a stronger mech to follow and obey. Blaster showed the same programming, sheltering his cassettes while likewise treating Optimus as a kind of surrogate carrier. Jazz knew Blaster felt no conflict about following Optimus, but what happened if a carrier mech began to question his loyalties?
Should Jazz push harder? Pretend he liked the brutal handling? Beg for mercy? Soundwave's hand shifted slightly and Jazz whimpered, turning his head to follow.
"Megatron, demands loyalty," Soundwave said finally. "Optimus Prime, asks. Query, reason for Autobot's loyalty."
"You obey Megatron," Jazz whispered, pushing himself up on his knees and shoulders as Soundwave angled his grip. "But we follow Prime."
"Clarify," Soundwave said, pressing his thumb into the soft filter between the webwork, stretching it and threatening to tear it open. "Quickly."
"Prime never hit anyone," Jazz said. He was almost completely arched trying to relieve the pressure on his audio. "Not like Megatron. He's trying to save us from becoming Megatron's slaves. Optimus gives a damn about us. I'd follow him into the Pit if he said so."
Soundwave held his grip a moment, examining Jazz as if he could spot him telling a lie. When Jazz whimpered again, and that whimper was cut off as his thumb prodded the filter just a little more...Soundwave relented, letting go and letting his prisoner sink back to the floor with a relieved flurry of fans.
Jazz took a moment longer than he needed, spinning his fans noisily for the handful of seconds it took to work at the welded chain. He already had a good grip on the flattened bit of steel and, masking his efforts under any loud noise, he prodded it with his fingertips, forcing it to bend ever so slightly. Not the best escape plan ever, but it was all he had.
As his fans slowed, so did his hands. The room was quiet. Instead of asking another question, Soundwave had sat down on the floor beside him, one leg outstretched and the other bent, leaning on his raised knee and staring into the distance. His optics occasionally darted one way or the other, and he mouthed quiet words to himself, not noticing Jazz watching and reading his lips.
Though there wasn't much to read, it confirmed what Jazz thought. Several no's and but's, and a single 'not enough data'.
"It's been a long time since you were 'following' Megatron," Jazz said, "isn't it?"
Soundwave glared sideways at him.
"That flush of rebellion," Jazz continued. "Knowing you were fighting the good fight against the Senate."
He didn't have to describe it. Both of them remembered the fighting, vicious house to house combat between Enforcers and Decepticons, Autobots as a faction torn apart by the Senate's supporters and the 'usurper' Optimus, whole city states destroyed by the old Prime and desperate fighting under the light of radioactive fire. There had been certainty then, born out of political chaos. Both Decepticons and upstart Autobots against the Senate, and then the scrabble for who would rule Cybertron. The acid rain and the squabbling over dwindling energon. The almost constant streak of starships escaping the planet, heading to unknown colonies and leaving the two factions to their war.
"We know what'll happen if Megatron wins," Jazz said. "He grabs Cybertron and never lets go."
Soundwave didn't argue.
"And if Optimus Prime wins?"
Jazz smiled at the thought. "Every mech's equal. And rebuilding Cybertron's probably a whole lot more fun than blowing it up was."
"Then Optimus Prime becomes ruler of Cybertron," Soundwave said, facing Jazz as if he had caught him in a lie. "How is he any different from past Primes? Optimus Prime rules."
"Leads," Jazz corrected him. "All the difference."
Soundwave scoffed. If Jazz hadn't had a sore audio and the ghost of invasive hands in his cables, and if Soundwave hadn't been an evil slag, Jazz would have found the rolling optics amusing. No one with exposed optics ever did that. There were etiquette routines to prevent it, also known as survival routines around officers. For a mech used to wearing a visor, those routines were only nuisances, wastes of drive space. It reeked of a sparkling's habit.
"Optimus Prime, leave if opposed?" Soundwave said. "Primes, always solidify their power."
"I dunno," Jazz said casually. "You mean like when Optimus had all of us leave 'cause the humans said so?"
The nervous lip bite returned, and Soundwave sat back again, watching. Jazz squirmed a little under that look. Visor or no, that staring habit was creepy.
When the kliks passed without anything else spoken, Jazz relaxed as much as he could for lying on his pedes and hands, drawing in a long vent to steel himself for what he was about to do. He'd done worse to escape in the past, and all was fair in war. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned his head a little, lowering his half-lidded optics.
With a tiny sigh for effect, he pushed his shoulders back, arching up so that his hood thrust out, then sank again. Brought his pelvis up, giving a twist to his hips that spread out his knees.
"Soundwave," he asked, almost breathed. "Take them off, please?"
TBC...