Polyhex 4 was dark in the off-cycle, lit from beneath. Jazz had access to the tracker system, so he knew exactly where Branchbinder was. He sped down the street, racing to catch up to the assassin before Branchbinder caught up to Lithium.
He caught a glimpse of the mech ahead of him and slowed down, swerving into an alleyway and transforming, since the other mech was in root mode as well. He needed to sneak up on Branchbinder, or find a good place to ambush him.
He glanced around the corner again and his quarry was gone.
Frowning, Jazz started walking down the narrow alley where he'd last seen Branchbinder. If he went for a few breems and didn't see anything, he'd check the tracker again.
He'd made it halfway down the narrow alley when something hit him from behind. He almost fell, but caught himself and spun to look back the way he'd come. Pain blossomed from the back of his shoulder, and at end of the alleyway, two glowing optics stared at him.
Another knife came flying at him and he dodged and turned to run, but he was right in the middle of the alley, and the other mech closed the distance before he made it out.
He tried again to fend Branchbinder off. He could feel energon flowing down his back from where the first knife had hit him. Branchbinder shoved him into the wall and he gasped as the impact drove the knife further into his shoulder.
"Well," he said. "Fancy meeting you out here. What the pit do you think you're doing?"
"I'm… I'm trying ta help ya." Jazz lied. "I noticed Resin escaped and I thought ya might want some company when ya went ta recapture them."
"Huh," Branchbinder said. "Guess what?" He pushed Jazz against the wall even harder.
"What?" Jazz said through gritted denta.
"I don't believe you. Raise your visor and look me in the optics and say it again."
Jazz took in a deep vent. "I swear, Branch…"
Branchbinder pulled out another, longer blade out of subspace. Jazz tried to push away, but the other mech rammed it through his arm and into the wall behind him, pinning him there.
"I said," Branchbinder leaned in close. "Raise that visor. Go on."
Jazz shook his helm, shaking with the effort of not crying out. Every tiny motion sent a spike of agony up his arm.
"I'll kill you," Branchbinder said, backing up a little and pulling out yet another knife. "No one will ever even know. You'll just be another disappearance. Hegemony will be so upset that his favorite little lacky ran off."
He leaned forward again, setting the tip of his blade on Jazz's visor. "Now, raise the visor or I'll break it."
Jazz raised his visor so Branchbinder could see that he'd cut his tracker out.
Branchbinder smirked. "Ha. So it was you, wasn't it?"
Jazz smirked back at him. "Yep. Ya caught me. Probably better drag me back ta Hegemony so they can question me."
"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Branchbinder slammed Jazz back into the wall. "You're not leaving this alley."
Jazz cried out and kicked him away.
Branchbinder stumbled, but stayed on his pedes. "At least, not until you're dead."
Jazz reached up and tried to yank the knife out of the wall. The hilt was slick with energon, and it was wedged deep into the metal surface.
Well, frag that then.
Branchbinder came at him again, and Jazz tore himself free, screaming as the knife ripped through the mesh of his arm. Branchbinder's blow missed his spark chamber, but the knife still took him in the side. He pulled out a few knives of his own, and stabbed one into his attacker's arm.
They broke apart and backed away from each other. Jazz tore the knife from his side, feeling dizzy. This was not going well at all.
"Pathetic," Branchbinder said, and attacked again. Jazz made the mistake of blocking with his weak arm and he ended up on the ground with Branchbinder on top of him. But he shoved the other mech off and got up before Branchbinder managed to do any more damage.
Branchbinder charged and this time Jazz deflected, and then knocked a knife out of one of his attacker's hands. Every movement in the upper half of Jazz's frame was agony, and sent warnings to his processor about damaged systems, but he ignored that, trying to focus on the fight, on blocking and dodging and striking.
After half a breem, Branchbinder stopped and backed away to study him coldly. Jazz felt weak—the knife in his side must have pierced some important energon lines because it was practically gushing fluids. He shouldn't have pulled it out—all the other mech had to do now was wait for him to collapse.
"You really thought you could fight me? You thought you'd come out here and stop me from chasing Lithium down. Mechling, I taught you everything you know."
Jazz threw himself at his attacker, growling. If he didn't win this fight, he was going to die. Branchbinder dodged out of the way, or tried to, but Jazz anticipated him and followed, pushing his opponent back. The older mech went on the defensive and Jazz didn't let up. He was running out of time. The longer he fought the more energon he lost.
He surrendered to the fight, to the back and forth, to the sound of metal on metal and desperation, letting his instincts take over. The pain didn't matter, the things Branchbinder had done to him in the past didn't matter. What mattered was that Jazz won, that he survived this. Branchbinder had been fighting for decavorns, but Jazz didn't needed to be better than him, just good enough to get in a lucky hit.
Bullies weren't used to fighting losing battles.
Branchbinder tried to disengage, but Jazz pressed forward. The older mech danced out of his way and tried to slam him into the alley wall. Jazz anticipated it, but let the mech grab him, then jumped and kicked off of the wall, sending both of them to the ground.
Jazz landed on top and buried a knife in Branchbinder's chest, up to the hilt.
Branchbinder stared at him with wide, shocked optics.
"Sorry, mech," Jazz said with a sad smile. "But ya did teach me everything I know." He pulled out another knife and tried to stab it into Branchbinder's spark chamber, but the mech caught his hand and pushed. The broken, sharp-edged bits in Jazz's shoulder ground together as he was forced to push down harder.
He could barely use his other hand, but he pulled his last knife from subspace. Branchbinder moved one of his hands to catch Jazz's other one, then shoved Jazz off of him. Jazz tried to get up, but Branchbinder pinned him down, kneeling on his bad arm.
Jazz shuttered his optics and gripped his knife in his good hand. He only had one more chance.
He felt Branchbinder shift and knew the mech was going to stab him. He waited until the last moment, then twisted so the other mech's knife wouldn't go into his spark chamber, and brought up his last blade to stab Branchbinder in the side of the helm. Branchbinder screamed and Jazz shoved him off and dragged himself to his pedes.
He picked up a knife from the ground, then waited as Branchbinder thrashed on the ground, until he went limp. Then Jazz stabbed it into his spark chamber.
He heard something down at the other end of the alley, and light flooded the narrow space.
"Polyhex enforcement!" a voice boomed. "Stop where you are."
Pit.
Jazz ran and transformed as soon as he was out of the alley. The transformation did not feel good, but fortunately it worked, and Jazz sped off into the darkness. They'd gotten a good look at him, unfortunately.
He drove back toward headquarters, but his processor started to shut down so he stopped in a silent alleyway and transformed back into root mode. He gave himself ten astroseconds to rest, knowing that every moment was precious. Then he pulled a cube of energon out of subspace and forced himself to drink it. His self-repair systems had completely shut down his damaged arm, but his side was still leaking, so he spent a few breems trying to tie off some of the severed energon lines.
Once he'd done what he could for himelf, he'd go to Lilac and ask her to patch him up. He should probably stop by his room first to get his tracker.
Explaining how he'd ended up half dead without leaving his room might be a challenge. But if Lilac did a good enough job, no one would ever know.
He finished with his side wound and dragged himself to his pedes. He felt a little more stable now that he'd replenished his energon.
Transforming had hurt, and his arm was barely attached to his frame anymore, so he didn't want to risk switching to vehicle mode again. Instead he walked across the dark city. A few mecha saw him. Some shot frightened looks in his direction, and one or two came and asked if he needed help. He insisted he was fine.
He stopped just outside of Quantum territory.
His tracker was in his room. No one would even be looking for him until next on-cycle.
He didn't have to go back.
He could team up with Blackangle and help his former friend overthrow Hegemony.
He could make good on his promise to Lithium.
But Lithium didn't own him, nor did Jazz owe the older mech anything.
And Blackangle…
Blackangle wasn't his friend anymore.
He could bring down Quantum—destroy it.
Or maybe if he went back, Hegemony would figure everything out and have him killed.
Did it matter?
Maybe Lithium had been right earlier, when he'd told Jazz to leave.
Maybe it was time to stop playing the game.
Jazz recharged for the rest of that off-cycle in a little alley in Polyhex 8, a sector of the city far enough from Quantum headquarters that he wasn't worried about them finding him.
He woke—joors later, according to his chronometer—to debilitating pain all over. He didn't even try to sit up for several breems. He remembered what had happened the off-cycle before, remembered leaving his tracker in his room so he could go stop Branchbinder from catching up with Lithium, remembered the fight, remembered choosing to leave Quantum for good.
He needed a medic.
He forced himself to a sitting position and reached into subspace for a cube of energon and a vial of one of his favorite painkillers.
He had to be careful. You could get in trouble for having drugs like this out in the real world. But he'd be fine. He needed to find a medic who wouldn't ask questions anyway.
When he was feeling a little better, he emptied his subspace to take stock of what he had. Enough energon for four orns—or probably just three, in his condition—and a decent collection of weapons and gadgets. He didn't have much credit, and what he did have would need to be transferred to a new account quickly before someone in Quantum thought to empty it.
Or maybe he could just sell his datapad. It was a nice, expensive one, and he wasn't going to need it anymore.
He still wouldn't be able to survive for more than a couple of decaorns without another source of credit.
He hadn't thought this through very well.
He'd gotten pretty good at making fake identification. He could get himself a job, probably. He'd want to move around a lot for the first little while, in case they caught up with him. Hegemony would definitely be looking for him.
But at least they couldn't send Branchbinder after him.
Jazz packed everything up and got to his pedes. He'd make himself some fake IDs, then try to trade his datapad for some medical attention.
He'd take it to that point, and then figure things out from there.
By the next on-cycle, he was repaired and feeling much better.
But he had no idea what to do with himself. He wandered the streets for a while as the sun moved in its wide arc across the sky, following the exact path it did each orn, until it sank behind the horizon again.
Starved for company and feeling oddly cold in the shadows that he was usually comfortable in, Jazz sought the light and noise and Cybertronian company of an energon bar. There he found quick friends and cheap high grade and he didn't feel quite so alone.
And for the third time in a row, he spent the off-cycle in an alley.
The next orn, he left the sector. He could mostly avoid places where Quantum had influence or spies, but it was inevitable that someone would see him eventually and he knew they'd be looking for him. He knew far too much. They'd send every assassin they had after him.
The orn after that, he left Polyhex and went to the nearby city-state of Tagan Heights. It was crowded and dirty and gloomy. It wasn't quite as far north as Polyhex, so the sun rose a little higher, above the horizon, but the smog in the atmosphere made it even darker.
The bars were the same, though. They were pretty much the same everywhere.
Jazz got a tiny apartment and a job in a factory, but he quit after less than a decaorn, and got kicked out of the apartment after failing to make his second payment.
Quantum caught up to him, and he offlined all the mecha they had sent after him and disappeared again, moving to an outer sector of Iacon. Again, he found himself a roof and a job, though he had to steal credit to make the initial payment for the apartment.
That job lasted an even shorter time than the first one, and he had a hard time getting to know his neighbors. They seemed like decent mecha, but they were wary of him. They probably didn't want to associate with a mech who never showed his optics, and who came home late almost every off-cycle, overenergized.
He didn't blame them.
But he did disappear again within four decaorns.
And that was how it happened for a while, before he completely gave up on trying to keep a job. He had no problem doing the work, but it was just so pointless.
What had he accomplished? He had nothing to show for all that he'd done, nothing to justify the energon on his hands. The only thing he could do about it was keep distracting himself, and menial, manual labor was not distracting enough.
He tried for a few jobs that fit his skill set a little better but it was hard because reputable organizations did extensive background checks, and mecha who didn't care about your background weren't the sort of mecha he wanted to work for.
He could probably fake his way in somewhere, but it was hard to build up the motivation.
After he ran out of credit, he either had to steal or beg, and he was only good at one of the two. He stayed in larger cities and roamed the dark streets. He made a sick sort of game of hunting down muggers and drug dealers and robbing them—sometimes killing them if they fought back. He hunted the hunters, but it wasn't even vigilante justice because he kept the spoils for himself.
One time he almost got arrested. A couple of enforcers in Nova Cronum cornered him. They probably weren't arresting him for anything more than loitering and looking suspicious but he couldn't let them take him and find out who he really was.
So he killed them.
A while later, he ran into one of the mecha he'd helped escape. She was still at the first job she'd found, and she was happy to welcome him into her home for the evening.
As they chatted, Jazz was torn between feeling happy and guilty. She told him about how much better her life was now, and thanked him again and again. He made up some lies about what he'd been up to lately, and that was rough, but it was still the best conversation he'd had for quartexes.
Possibly because of that he didn't feel like going to an energon bar that off-cycle after he left. He wandered instead, thinking. Maybe he had accomplished something. He surely hadn't done as much good as he had bad, but maybe some mecha had benefited what he'd been doing in Quantum.
He went looking for them, determined to track them all down and check on them.
It wasn't too long before he discovered that that femme he'd run into was the exception, not the rule. A few of them were happy, living well, and better off. But the large majority of them were homeless, unemployed, in jail, part of other gangs, or offline. And there were some he couldn't even find.
So overall, he really hadn't done much to help anyone. And what was he doing now? Still on the run, still killing, still stealing.
Maybe it would have been better if he'd stayed in Quantum.
Maybe it would be better if he'd never been sparked.
Jazz walked into the room full of warmth and talking and laughing. There'd been clouds outside—there would probably be some acid rain, so he would want to be inside for the next several joors.
He got some high-grade and found a friendly-looking group of mecha to join.
He made new friends almost every orn and then never saw them again. He had thousands of designations in his processor and there were thousands more he was sure he'd forgotten—high grade would do that.
But it was better than being alone. Anything was better than being alone.
The first joor or so, he chatted and joked and felt like something other than a monster.
And then something across the room caught his attention. He stopped mid-sentence to stare for a moment, then shuttered his optics and finished what he'd been saying.
"What is it?" the mech he'd been talking to asked.
"I just… sorry, mech, I gotta go talk to an old friend. Good ta meet ya, though."
"You too," the mech said.
Jazz got some more high-grade and wandered over to a table where a mech was chatting animatedly with a couple of femmes.
"Hey, mechs," Jazz said lightly once he reached their table. "This seat taken?"
They hesitated for a moment, but then the mech shrugged. "Nope. Go ahead.'
They continued their conversation, and Jazz quickly inserted himself into it, forcing himself to be casual and friendly.
Soon all four of them were talking and laughing together. The other mech had as much of a talent for conversation as Jazz did and he attracted another femme in the next few breems. As the off-cycle wore on, though, Jazz noticed him looking over his shoulder more and more frequently.
Eventually, he got up. "Well, it's been fun," he said. "I should get going, though."
"Before your sparkmate turns up looking for you?" one of the femmes said with a smirk.
The mech laughed and shook his helm. "She thinks I'll be at work until about now," he said. "She wouldn't come here anyway. Well, see you all."
He got up and left the table.
Jazz watched him go. Two of the femmes got up and left when the mech did, and the other one followed within half a breem, probably realizing Jazz didn't want to talk to her.
He needed more high grade. But before he had a chance to get up, the mech came back and sat across from him with a sigh.
"Raining like pit out there," he said.
Jazz nodded, spark pulsing heavily, unsure how to feel.
"What'd you say your designation was, mech?"
He almost told him. But… "Shadow,"
The mech nodded. "You from Polyhex 17?"
"Yeah."
"Thought so, given the accent."
"Ya been there before?"
"Yeah," the mech said. "Lived there on and off for a few vorns. I'm Volks."
"That femme mentioned ya have a sparkmate."
"Yep," the mech said, then scowled. "She's a glitch sometimes, though."
"Ya... lived anywhere else besides Polyhex?"
"All over the place," Volks said. "I can't seem to stick around for more than a few vorns anywhere. Not my fault—I'm just a restless spark."
"Ya get bonded in all of those places?" Jazz asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Volks blinked, then narrowed his optics suspiciously.
"Sorry," Jazz said quickly. "Not ta accuse ya of anything, or assume… it's just ya seemed pretty friendly with those femmes a couple of breems ago. No judgment…"
Volks sighed and leaned back. "Honestly… yeah, I've been bonded a few times. You?"
"Never," Jazz said. "But… I have moved around a lot."
"Yeah?" the mech said. "A fellow wanderer, then. I'm not surprised, you seem like it. It's kind of a lonely life, but things get so boring after a while and everymech expects too much of you. And then you know it's time to move on and find someplace else and someone else."
Jazz shuttered his optics.
"I mean, sure I think about settling down sometimes, but first I'd have to find a femme who's more than just a pretty faceplate hiding a bad attitude. Honestly, femmes. They like you until you're bonded and then after that they don't do anything but complain. Take my advice and don't ever get bonded." the mech said. "I mean, it's really nice, but it comes with a lot of scrap. So you said you move around a lot?"
"All over the place," Jazz said, glad for the change of subject. He shouldn't have asked—he'd held on to the hope, though, that there was some good reason. "Mostly northern hemisphere, though."
"I'm thinking of moving soon," Volks said. "I've only been here half a vorn, but it's getting really old. You been anywhere interesting lately?"
Jazz shrugged. "Define interesting."
"Different," the mech said. "Though crowds and a good nightlife are nice, always."
"Mech…"
"Yeah?"
"Don't ya ever feel like the scum of Cybertron, though?"
The mech looked at him curiously.
"Cuz ya leave everyone behind again and again?"
"No," the mech said. "It's not my fault I'm the way I am. It's not my fault if they don't understand me. I have to do what I have to do for my sanity, you know. If they have a problem with it, then that's their problem."
If they were in a dark alleyway instead of this crowded energon bar...
"And it's not like I'm a bad mech. I've never killed anyone, never done anything really bad. I don't have anything to regret… you ok, Shadow?"
"Yeah," Jazz said.
Silence fell for an astrosecond.
He couldn't do this anymore. He got up. "I gotta go." He pushed away from the table and turned to walk away.
"It's raining out there," the mech said. Jazz hesitated, then kept walking, hoping the mech didn't follow him.
He stepped outside into the rain. It wasn't just raining, it was really raining. The acid poured down through the air and hissed against the streets, sending up clouds of steam and making it hard to see anything. Jazz gave up walking after a few astroseconds and ran for the nearest stairway down to the lower levels as the torrent seared his paint off and stung his mesh. He made it down to the second level of the city, venting hard and drenched in steaming liquid. He welcomed the pain.
He should go back there and stand in the rain until it ate through him and made him one with the gutters.
"Are you ok?" someone asked. Jazz looked up to see a small group of mecha staring at him.
He smiled. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"You're covered in acid. You should probably go to a hospital."
"Yeah," Jazz said. "I'll do that, thanks mech." He tried to brush some of the acid off of himself, but it took a lot of paint with it and he winced.
"Oh, Primus," the mech said. "Are you sure you're all right? We can comm. a medic, or enforcement or something."
"I'm fine," Jazz said, walking past them. They looked really concerned, but he didn't feel that bad.
Just in case they did comm enforcement, he left the area and found his way to a dark, deserted alley on the third level of the city. He sat against the wall and wrapped his stinging arms around his legs, listening to the dripping sound of the rain trickling through cracks in the upper levels.
He'd always known, on some level. For vorns, a tiny part of him had always hoped that Volks had had a good reason for leaving, that something important had pulled him away, that he'd missed them, that he'd been sorry.
But that mech had never really cared—he'd really just left. Vibes had been just another pretty faceplate in a long string of affairs, and Jazz was just a byproduct, something to be forgotten and cast off when things stagnated and it was time to move on.
It shouldn't hurt this much. It shouldn't hurt more than the acid rain, not after all this time, but it did. And what hurt even more was that Jazz was just like him. Always running away, leaving everyone and everything behind again and again. Except that Jazz was worse. He left families broken too, but he did it by killing and stealing.
Suddenly angry, Jazz pulled a knife out of subspace and threw it at the wall across the alley. He threw another and another until they stuck out from the wall like a tiny sideways army.
Frustration spent, he pulled out his last knife and studied it.
Why should he keep doing this?
He could end everything right now.
He'd had these thoughts before, but there was always the prospect of finding something interesting to do next orn, meeting more mecha, discovering new mountains to climb.
If he killed himself, no one would care. No one would even know. Someone would find his sparkless husk in a few orns and comm. the enforcers, who would probably be able to identify him. They'd certainly be glad he was dead. One less criminal on the streets.
Most of the mecha who might care wouldn't ever find out.
And then he could stop doing this. He could stop wandering around and making a new set of fake friends every orn. He could stop running from everything he'd done and go to the Pits of the Inferno where he belonged—where he couldn't hurt anyone else.
He took a deep vent and gripped the knife harder.
He knew how to kill. Killing was easy. He'd done it more than a hundred times. He could do it once more.
He'd finally escape Quantum and Enforcement and everything else. He'd leave it all behind.
He was running away again.
Jazz un-shuttered his optics, stood, and threw the knife so hard it stuck into the wall all the way down to the hilt.
He couldn't run away again. He didn't deserve to run away again. He'd been doing it his entire life—hiding from his problems, telling himself that it wasn't his fault he was acting out, blaming it on his mech creator or his situations, picking bad friends so there was no pressure to be good, no one to tell him no, no reason to try.
He shouldn't kill himself. He deserved to die, but he didn't deserve to be the one to do it.
He had to stop hiding.
That thought terrified him. He didn't want to face himself, didn't want anyone to know who he was or what he'd done. He wasn't strong enough for that. He took a deep, shaky vent, trembling, fighting the panic.
He couldn't stop running. He couldn't stop hiding.
The knives were still there.
But…
"Come on, mech," he said. "Ya can't do this. If ya do this ya can't go back. If ya do this, ya can't put anything right. If ya do this, ya'll be just like him. If ya don't wanna be like him, ya can't keep running away."
That mech never changed, and Jazz was so much like him in so many ways.
If he wanted to be different, he had to choose to be different.
He looked at the knives sticking out of the wall for a moment, and reached for one, just to take it with him, just because you didn't ever want to wander around without some sort of weapon.
He grabbed the hilt, but then let go of it again and stepped back.
No.
"No more killing," he said out loud. "No more running, no more hiding, no more killing. Ever. Again. I ain't gonna need these. I ain't gonna need these."
He turned and walked away, leaving them in the wall.
He walked for as long as he could. His whole frame still felt like it was on fire because of the rain. But that was a good thing, because he was also barely holding off panic, and the pain and fear almost cancelled each other out.
He made it halfway across the city before he couldn't take it anymore, and then he found an alleyway to spend the off-cycle in. Next orn was going to be the end, but he wasn't going to let himself back out. He knew what he needed to do.
When the sun came up, he went to Iacon. He drove, even though it took nearly all orn—in part because it took nearly all orn. He got there just half a joor before dusk, exhausted and low on fuel. But the more he thought about using any of his stolen credit, the less he wanted to.
He drove in through an outer sector of the city, and to a place in a middle-ring sector. It was a respectable little neighborhood—the kind of place he generally avoided because conscientious neighbors would comm. enforcement if they saw suspicious characters like him lurking around.
Of course, if he put some effort into it, he was good at pretending not to be a suspicious character.
He didn't particularly care right now. If Enforcement caught him, he'd go quietly. That was part of his decision.
He broke into a small apartment on the third floor of a nice apartment building. He'd known about this place for a long time, but he hadn't come here because he knew he wouldn't be welcome.
He waited, sitting at the table, telling himself over and over again that he couldn't leave, that he had to do this, that he had to apologize, that he had to come back and face the mecha he'd hurt.
He ought to find everyone he'd hurt and apologize to them all, but that would lead to too much temptation. He'd break and slip back into wandering and stealing and drinking and hiding.
He heard the front door open and braced himself as he listened to the approaching footsteps. He didn't look up as they stopped and he heard something drop to the floor.
The sound hadn't finished echoing before she spoke. "Ya got two breems ta get out before I comm. enforcement."
Jazz shuttered his optics. "That's ok," he mumbled. "Ya can comm. enfrorcement in two breems."
Silence.
"I'm sorry for comin' here," he said. "An' for breaking in. I just wanted ta tell ya…"
He heard her approach and then she sat down across from him and he finally looked up. As he'd feared, he could see the anger and disappointment and fear on her faceplate. She was afraid of him.
This was why he hadn't wanted to come.
"Well," she said. "Whatever the pit you want to say, you'd better say it quickly."
Jazz took a deep vent. "I'm sorry for all of it. For everything I put ya through when I was in school. I… it wasn't your fault, none of it. Ya taught me better. I was just too wrapped up in myself and trying ta make excuses… ya deserved better. That's why I'm here. I just wanted ta apologize, cuz ya did everything ya could for me and I disregarded it. I want ya ta know that I know that everything I did was my own fault. And I didn't want ya ta… ta not know what happened ta me. The least I can do is come here and let ya know."
Silence again.
"Look at me," she said, and her voice was softer. Jazz looked up.
"Sparklin' I need ta know ya're looking at me."
He hesitated, then retracted his visor, and held her optics for an astrosecond. It felt like she was staring right into him.
"Ya know," she said. "I really did believe in ya, Jazz. I thought ya'd do good things with your life. I worried so much, but I held onta that."
Jazz looked down at his hands.
"And ya've got some nerve coming here after all ya've done."
Jazz shuttered his optics, trembling.
After a few astroseconds, Vibes got up and dragged her chair around the table until it was right next to his. Then she sat again and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Sparklin' ya're hurt," she said. "Were ya out in the rain?"
He sobbed.
"Jazz?"
He tried to calm down so he could tell her he was going to stop, that he was going to change if he got a chance, that he didn't want her to feel like she'd failed, that he wanted her to be happy, but he couldn't say anything.
She put an arm around his shoulders and leaned in close. "Jazz, sparklin' I'm sorry…"
"Stop," he sobbed. "Ya can't… Ya're supposed ta hate me."
"Oh, sparklin' I don't hate ya." She pulled him closer and he gave in. They held each other until they'd both stopped crying.
Then she let go of him and sat back. "So," she said. "What are ya gonna do now?"
Jazz smiled slightly. "Well, I can't take back all I did. There ain't no going back. It's too late ta turn around and say I'm just gonna be different. I shouldn't even be here, cuz I'm putting ya in danger."
"So…"
"I'm done hiding," Jazz said. "And I'm done running. I'm gonna turn myself in." He glanced up. She was staring at him, looking shocked.
"And I should go." He got up and his visor came down to cover his optics again.
Vibes stood as well. "I don't think so," she said.
"I gotta," Jazz said. "I can't… there ain't nowhere else for me ta go. I don't want ta be the mech I've been for the past vorn, and if I go back out there…"
"From the sound of it, they've got enough on ya they could kill ya."
"I know," Jazz said. "They've got enough ta give me fifty death sentences. But Vibes, there's a reason for that."
She sighed.
He tried to walk past her, but she grabbed his arm. "Stay here," she said. "It's late and ya're probably tired. Ya can turn yourself in next orn after ya've had some recharge."
He hesitated.
"Ya were out in the rain somewhere, and it don't look like ya washed off. Ya ain't leaving yet."
"Ok," Jazz said.
"There's some showers in the basement of the building," Vibes said. "Ya can wash of there and then come back ok?"
Jazz nodded and left.
A good portion of his paint came off with the acid residue, and it hurt like pit. He wished he'd found a public wash rack somewhere and cleaned off the orn before. He went back to Vibes' apartment. She was sitting at the table, sipping energon from a glowing square container. There was a cube for him as well. She set hers down as he walked over.
"Ya fool," she said. "I didn't realize it was that bad. Sit."
Jazz sat down and took the cube she'd set out for him while she got up and went to rummage through some cupboards.
"Don't drink that yet." Jazz waited and she brought over a little capsule and dropped it into his energon. Jazz watched as it dissolved. It was probably some sort of painkiller. He was pretty sure it wouldn't help. Most legal drugs weren't strong enough do much for him anymore.
He sipped the energon anyway, grimacing at the taste, and then drained it all.
"Ya need some paint. Don't ya dare leave while I'm gone."
She left and Jazz sat. The pain did actually back off a little, and he almost felt good.
Of course, he was still terrified because he was going to turn himself in. But that was almost a relief too. He was going to relinquish control of what happened to him. He was going to end up where he belonged—either in prison or offline.
And Vibes knew and she didn't hate him. She might not have forgiven him, but he really couldn't expect that from her.
So he was still there when she came back.
"Here," she said. "Come sit on the ground."
He did so and she sat behind him. "Ya can't turn yourself in like this."
"Nope," Jazz said. "Gotta look presentable."
She let out a little huff of laughter. "Any chance ya'll stay a few orns? Cuz it'd be better if we let your systems fix ya up a little before we paint ya. We can't take ya to a medic, can we?"
"Nah," Jazz said. "And I gotta go next orn. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"Ok. This probably ain't gonna feel good, but I'll try ta be quick."
Jazz flinched when he felt cold, wet paint on the back of his shoulder.
"Ya ok?"
"Yeah," he said. "Just startled. It don't hurt that bad."
They sat in silence for almost a breem as she painted, but neither of them were quiet mecha and before long, they were chatting and joking, which was nice because it felt good and also helped him ignore the pain.
She asked him after a while about Quantum, and he told her some of it. It wasn't exactly a pleasant topic, but it was good to tell someone the truth. He left some things out of course, but by the end she knew more than he'd shared with anyone else.
When she was done she put away the paint she'd bought. "Well, it ain't professional, but it'll do. Now, we should probably give it a joor ta dry, and then ya can get some recharge."
"I really… should go."
She shook her helm.
"If ya must know, I'm scared I'll wake up and decide not ta do it."
"Just stay until the paint dries then," she said.
Jazz nodded.
But she'd gotten the better of him. He'd been driving all orn, and he was exhausted. He slipped into recharge within a joor.
Everything was dark when he came online again. He sat up quickly, reaching into subspace for a knife that wasn't there, before remembering where he was.
He sighed and got up. There was a cube of energon and a datapad on the table. Jazz tapped the datapad and it lit up with a note.
[Sparkling I don't expect you to be here when I get up. Neither of us are real good at goodbyes, so maybe it's better that way. I understand why you gotta do what you're gonna do. It must have been real hard to come back decide to turn yourself in. I want you to know that I'll remember this off-cycle , and that I'm so proud of you. I hope we meet again.
Love,
Vibes]
He took a deep vent and looked at the energon. He could definitely use it, but he was too nervous to drink it, so he just took it and put it back in the cupboard before he left.
He drove through the city to the nearest enforcement station, and walked in the front doors. A femme approached him.
"Excuse me," she said. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah," Jazz said. "My designation is Jazz. I'm an ex-member of a gang in Polyhex called Quantum. I think I'm wanted in a few city-states, probably this one too. I'm here ta turn myself in."
It was a very long orn, full of small rooms and questions and stasis cuffs and wondering how long the rest of his life was going to be. He cooperated, though and answered all of their questions, forcing himself to be truthful, even when it incriminated him further.
Overall, the nervousness was the worst thing. Stasis cuffs weren't comfortable, but they didn't really hurt. This was a thousand times better than turning himself in to Quantum would have been.
He spent that off-cycle alone in a prison cell, and the next orn they moved him to what he figured out was a high security prison. He was told that they still needed time to decide what they were going to do with him and that it might be a while before he'd know if he was going to get the death sentence.
And then they locked him up in a cell he wasn't sure he could get out of, even if he'd wanted to.
And they left him there to his own thoughts.
