Grasping a Chance 4: The Darkness in the City
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Wing watched his charge as they got their morning energon and settled down. He did his best to catch any subtle underlying clues he could teek, but there just wasn't anything to pick up. Except after last night, he knew there should be.
"Did you enjoy going out?" Wing asked as an opening.
There was a subtle brightening in Jazz's field as he sipped on his energon. "Yeah, a lot. Thanks."
Jazz's social had improved a little, the mech now offering words of thanks where appropriate, and even more important, meaning them when he spoke them.
Wing smiled in reply, warm and full of how pleased he was. "I don't know about going out even night, but I'm sure we can manage most nights, if you'd like."
"That'd be good." For everyone involved, as far as Jazz was concerned. "Liked the second place better than the first." He added.
"I'll keep that in mind when selecting," Wing chuckled, then turned serious. "But if you want any more freedom than I gave you last night, we will have to come to an understanding about your inclination towards violent reactions."
Just as quickly the ease in Jazz's field was gone. "I turned him down nice." He growled. "You said yourself he had no right to push like he did."
Jazz could still taste the other mech on his lips, could still feel the disgust rising in his systems. The memory alone was enough for the aggression to start rising again, even if there was no target for it in the common room of the Citadel of Light.
"That does not make violence the correct response," Wing tried to be gentle about it. "To shove him away, or even punch him once, that may have gotten you a lecture, but little else. But what you had in mind… Tell me you didn't intend to break every strut he had and make me believe it."
"It was a possibility." Jazz admitted. Anything that would have left the other mech begging for mercy until he was in stasis would have satisfied Jazz. "He wouldn't have done it again."
"No, I don't expect he would have," Wing sighed. "Such a reaction would also keep you from seeing the outside of the jail for at least a century. It's not worth it."
Jazz shrugged again. "Would have been worth it." He replied, answer almost too casual. There was no repentance in his voice, and not a bit of worry in his field at the possible consequences.
Wing could only stare at him and wonder if this was what a glitch felt like. The words literally would not compute. He knew what each meant, what the string of them meant, but put together in context he couldn't do more than stare at his charge and wonder what had gone so wrong with the mech that he could think that.
Jazz finished off the cube of energon, watching Wing gape at him in silence. He was saying nothing but the truth. He wasn't afraid of anything that they might do to him. Compared to the war, there was nothing here that could be that bad as a punishment.
"Jazz, why is it worth it?" Wing finally managed to get his linguistic center to create a sentence for what he was feeling.
"I'd feel better. He'd probably think twice before pulling something like that again. And from what you've said, the worse thing that would happen if they locked me up here is that I would deactivate from boredom." Cool gaze studied Wing. "Or do you have interesting punishments for your criminals?"
"Reparations can be, but the interesting punishments are mostly reserved for Knights, not civilians," Wing managed to answer. "Give up a century or more of freedom, just to hurt someone that kissed you?"
"What's freedom?" Jazz demanded, leaning closer to Wing. "No one is really free. Freedom is an illusion. So what does it matter if I spend it wandering around, or locked up somewhere? I'd have nothing to lose, and at least I'd have the satisfaction of beating the slag out of him."
Wing couldn't help the disturbed waver of his field before he dropped his optics a bit. "It matters to me. I want you to be happy, and I know you wouldn't be happy locked in a cell for a long time."
It was Jazz's turn to pause, to stare in confusion. "Why do you care?" he finally asked.
No one had cared for him in a very long time. So long in fact that he often wondered if anyone had ever really cared about him. All anyone cared about when it came to him was what he could for them and what they could get from him. If he gave them what they wanted, he got what he needed to survive. Even now.
Golden optics cycled in surprise. "What kind of ... I don't suppose that anyone's cared about you in a long time," he murmured sadly. "It's not like that here, Jazz. It really isn't. I care because it's the right thing to do. Because it makes me feel good to know I helped someone do more than just survive." His optics flicked up to meet Jazz's, bright and earnest. "I may not have seen Cybertron, but my creators are old. Dai Atlas served under Vector Prime. Axe isn't that much younger. They taught me that a society is no better than how it treats those most in need. So I care about what happens to you because citizen or not, you are living in this city and you matter."
Wing waited quietly for Jazz to process all of that, the reactive mech unusually quiet, his field pulled in close but every line of the bright frame screaming of tension and distrust.
Jazz didn't understand. He couldn't bring himself to believe what Wing was saying. Not yet. So he shrugged, dismissing the words on the surface with his actions, but not forgetting them by any means.
"What did you want to hear?" Wing asked when it became apparent that Jazz wasn't going to speak.
Almost spitefully Jazz shrugged, sulking like a sparkling.
"Then what were you expecting to hear?" Wing cocked his helm as he studied his charge.
"The truth." Jazz finally snapped. "That I am just another thing, to be used and discarded."
Wing considered his charge for a long time before he responded. "All right. Say that is true. You saw the amount of damage you took, what you looked like when I found you. What do we have to gain by repairing you? I would think it's obvious we don't need the warm frames."
"I don't know." Jazz finally admitted, clearly frustrated.
Wing extended his hand across the table, palm up. "I don't know how to prove my intentions to you, or make you believe what this city is, but I'm going to keep trying to show you that I told you the truth. I want you to succeed here. I want you to be happy and contribute to society. What do you want to see?"
"The darkness. There's darkness everywhere. I just haven't been able to find it here yet." Jazz replied, his voice soft enough to be a whisper. He watched Wing shiver, something that drew attention to the white Knight from all over the room. Comm lines buzzed and Jazz ruthlessly hacked the barely encrypted transmissions, half surprised to realize that Wing was initiating most of them.
::Darkness in the city, among us, that I can show him?:: Wing's transmission went to at least dozen recipients, all of them designations that Jazz recognized as Knights.
::The jail,:: Thorn replied from somewhere.
::Penance rooms,:: Marwir suggested. ::Sovereign can tell you when one's going to be used.::
::Rehab center,:: Axe prompted. ::If he's as military as we think, the hospice tower.::
Other replies were some variation on those four, and there was a lull before Dai Atlas responded.
::In two orns Shattercoil faces a penance for fighting.:: His tone was grave. ::She did a great deal of damage to Steelspark and has agreed to allow your charge to witness.::
None of it made much sense to Jazz, so he waited, still as a statue, for Wing to tell him what was going on. Wing made another series of comm calls, this time to the locations mentioned and arranged to visit.
"We can visit the city jail now, and the hospice tower this afternoon," Wing shifted uneasily, uncomfortable with the destinations. "The substance abuse rehabilitation center agreed to tomorrow, and the orn after that there is a penance. A fairly bad one, that she's agreed you can witness."
Jazz nodded in understanding. "Okay." He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to see, but he had nothing to lose by going to look, and once he knew where they were, he could check back unannounced to see what they were really like.
Wing drew in a deep vent and let it out, settling his systems before he stood and offered Jazz a hand. "Fly, drive, public transport or walk?"
"You didn't drop me last time, so I trust you won't this time." Jazz said with a touch of humor as he took the offered hand and got to his feet. He received a warm, bright smile and pleased lap of Wing's field for it as the Knight led them to the balcony and made sure Jazz had a good grip around his neck and his own arms were securely around Jazz's waist before taking off.
Once more the city flashed below them, Wing seeming to have a reflex for flying high near the ceiling to make any kind of distance.
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Dai Atlas and Axe walked the training hall containing several simulators to train Knights in skills that could not be replicated in the real world, or at least not on this world. To no surprise, Thorn was waiting outside one of the doors, a room that contained a large battle sim.
"Thank you for your time," Thorn inclined his helm. "I wished to have you experience what my charge is capable of. I know of no other way to explain him."
The Knight leader inclined his helm. "I will admit to being the slightest bit curious about it myself. This is certain to be an interesting experience."
"I look forward to seeing it," Axe added, shifting his Great Sword slightly on his back before following Thorn inside. Prowl was already seated, cables connecting him to the mainframe and his frame the locked stillness of one immersed in a system. One screen showed his vital signs and processor use, which listed a seemingly normal forty percent. Another listed the systems and files he was accessing, which scrolled by too fast to read easily.
The two older mechs regarded Prowl for a moment before moving to take their places. Dai Atlas flipped one wing to get it out of the way as he sat down, reaching for the cables. His mate settled next to him, also beginning the process of hooking into the system. Once the last cables were connected, two pairs of optics went dark as the pair turned their attention to the sim world.
They were presented with a request whether they wished to be the offensive or defensive side of a major assault and a small text from Prowl stating that he had no preference as to which they ran first.
After some discussion between them, Dai Atlas and Axe replied that they would be defending for the first round. Axe sent a message back to Prowl, asking if the younger mech had any preferences as to setup before they got started.
Thorn set up all basic parameters. Prowl texted back. Defender selects their stronghold. I plan to defend Iacon.
After a bit more discussion, the older pair chose an isolated fortress as their stronghold. Not the original Citadel on Cybertron, but a true fortress built to withstand invading forces. The defenders were the Knights, accurate in abilities and weapons, swords, polearms, and the rare projectile weapons. Once they were settled, they were allowed to watch Prowl's selection processes, something he had not gotten to do to their setting up.
They watched in fascination and careful consideration as Prowl phrased what he was allowed of his target, then informed that he would have one hundred and seventy eight mecha, no more than one gestalt and no more than fifty-three airframes in all. The gestalt was selected first, and it wasn't any of the combat-heavy teams on the roster. Though Stavitel would be scary enough, it was a gestalt after all, it was a ground-based construction team.
~Definitely a clever one,~ Axe noted to his mate, watching with critical processors as Prowl made his preparations.
~Indeed. It will be most interesting to see how this plays out.~ Dai Atlas was watching with processors even more critical than Axe's, making careful note of everything Prowl did as the preparations were finalized. Prowl's forces seemed unusually balanced for a strike force, and heavy on engineers and scouts. Both former Generals knew he had a plan for taking the fortress, and it wasn't a frontal assault.
~Interesting that Thorn has handicapped him to such an extent,~ Axe murmured with the first hint of uneasiness as they each settled into their controls. ~A third of our forces, and barely over a fifth of our airframes. This will either be the easiest battle we've fought, or one pit of a surprise.~
~I'm angling for the second,~ Dai Atlas rumbled. ~Where are his forces?~
~We are most definitely going to have to be on our guard,~ Axe murmured as the final preparations ended and all three participants received a notice that that simulation was about to begin. ~Prowl may be even sneakier than his designation implies.~
There was a pause. ~Are we going to play honorable, or to win?~
~He's planning to play sneaky, so why not return the favor. We play to win, love,~ Axe replied. Affection brushed his mate's thoughts before the black Knight turned his attention to the simulation.
They smoothly ordered their Knights to battle readiness, putting three times as many sentries on duty as usual and increasing the rolling patrols within the fortress as well as air patrols outside it. Yet as the first orn turned to night, their opponent had not made an appearance, not even a scout was spotted. They knew he was there, but where on the board was a question they had yet to answer.
Despite the lack of enemy activity, neither was fooled in the least. They had seen such lulls in activity during their time as Generals, when the races they were exterminating had attempted to lull them into a false sense of security. Both waited, coordinating everything between them, prepared as best they could for whatever surprises Prowl was preparing.
Three orns of game-time passed and then the pit exploded around them. Explosions detonated on the fortress walls, under it, inside it. Over all the yells and chatter of the Knights moving to put out fires and secure the breaches, one glyph repeated with rising terror.
Gestalt
~Definitely a sneaky glitch!~ Axe commented as he moved toward where the gestalt was in the center of their fortress. There were no combiners among the Knights, and only the black Knight and his mate had any actual experience with gestalt teams.
~Agreed,~ Dai Atlas grunted in response, moving to coordinate the fire teams and keep watch out for other enemies. It wasn't hard. Now that Prowl had moved, he committed everything he had to the strike. The only mech of note that they couldn't catch sight of was Prowl himself, but his comm chatter was loud and clear.
Prowl might not have been a front line commander, but he was heavily involved. Despite the chaos of the battle both Knights did keep tabs on Prowl's processor usage, which was now down at 2.3% despite the activity he was obviously coordinating. Later, when they had a moment, the Knights would also realize that Prowl wasn't giving micromanaging orders. He was active and the dataflow he coordinated was massive, but he trusted his soldiers to take his orders and use common sense with them.
A profanity that would have made any of their Knights stare at the two giants in shock floated through their bond, though it was up for debate which of the two actually uttered it. Prowl was proving even sneakier than they'd anticipated, and a shrewd tactical planner. Despite themselves, the pair were impressed. They would be even more so when they had the chance to really dissect the younger mech's tactics from his logs.
As soon as Dai Atlas's distinctive frame came in clear view, a flurry of commands went out targeting him and reminded the old mech of Prowl's first reaction to him; outright fear. It was hard to tell if that fear was the reason though, since targeting such a powerful war-frame and known leader were also sound tactics.
Dai Atlas took a step and felt the ground under him give way in a huge explosion. Only moments after he entered freefall, the gap he'd fallen through closed to blackness. Jagged metal clawed at him as he tried to ignite his thrusters, but it was easier said than done as he tumbled.
This time the heated profanity definitely came from Dai Atlas; it was a choice phrase he'd picked up from his own mentor and in a language that definitely wasn't Cybertronian. It took the old mech several dozen long nanokilks to even get his bearing, scanners sweeping for the attack he knew was coming. He flared as much wing as he dared, knowing the sensitive appendages would be a target for anyone who knew fliers, and in a hole like this there was real danger of getting one snagged. A snagged wing was something he could ill afford in a fight.
His sensors pinged the platform he was rushing towards and he almost had enough time to orient himself to land well before something big and heavy lunged from the darkness just above him and knocked him into another spin that ended with him crashing hard on his back with a very large beast-former tearing into him.
Many levels above him Axe wasn't having much better luck. He had numbers and skill on his side, but his opponent seemed to be ready for every move he made. The moment he gave an order, shifts were made in the enemy ranks, then Prowl's voice began giving additional ones.
A bright red flashing marker in his game HUD informed Axe that his spark-bond had been broken.
That caused a slight hitch in the black mech's actions. Neither of them had ever expected that might happen. This mech Prowl was even more of a shrewd tactical processor than either of them had ever anticipated.
That hitch was all the gestalt needed to smash him into the ground, then step on him, crushing armor by sheer mass on top of it. As Axe went off line, he joined his mate in watching as the computer did its best to continue fighting on their behalf. It made good use of the Knights, and in the end Prowl's forces had taken terrible losses, but he had won.
~Very impressive,~ Dai Atlas commented, still reeling from the shock of having lost a battle simulation for the first time in only Primus knew how long.
~I am very glad this mech was not coordinating the attacks on the Citadel before we left Cybertron,~ Axe replied feelingly. ~We might never have made it off the planet if he had been.~
His older mate hummed agreement. ~We'll pull out all the stops in the next round, love.~
~Agreed,~ Axe rumbled, watching as Prowl selected the forces he wish to defend Iacon with. He had a dozen specialized teams organized when he pinged them to please select their forces, so the system would determine what he had to work with.
This round, rather than Knights, Axe and Dai Atlas chose forces more like the armies they had once commanded. Forces specialized for taking cities. Having a better idea this time of what Prowl was capable of, they were taking no chances. The system denied none of their requests, including for three full war-frame gestalts.
The moment they set their numbers and ranks, Prowl received an abbreviated and only mostly accurate rendition of it and his final limits. Once more the Knights noted how much smaller a force he was permitted. It was a particular disadvantage given Prowl was now trying to defend a largely civilian and spread out city. Prowl took longer in setting up this time, and the Knights were allowed to watch every single move he made as if they had a spy in his highest ranks. The basics were good. There was no denying it. A solid, defendable border, martial law, curfew ... as the list became longer of the elements Prowl took control over they watched the percentage of his processor being used slowly creep up into the high twenties before leveling out with every single dataline in the city routed directly through him.
~This mech would have been creepy-scary in the military,~ Axe observed. ~Depending on which General he served under. I can think of a lot of uses for a processor like that, not all of them honorable.~
~We are going to have a fight on our hands this time, too,~ his mate replied after a moment.
~What I'm more concerned about is the fact that he apparently did run the war effort for one side, and they were still losing,~ Dai Atlas commented before he and Axe both focused on the scenario where they were the aggressors.
The black and gold mech paused to consider that. ~Makes me wonder what was going wrong. Not curious enough to get really into it, but still curious.~
~Makes me wonder just what kind of tactical genius he was up against, or the idiot that he was giving tactics too,~ Dai Atlas grumbled as he began the opening gambit, sending his air forces to bomb the city while the gestalts assaulted the walls. ~He knows how to run a battlefield, that's obvious enough.~
They knew Prowl had two gestalts among his forces, but they didn't appear. In fact, nothing appeared but civilians scattering from the unexpected assault.
~He's got another sneaky surprise in for us, I can feel it in my struts,~ Axe grumbled, moving to support his mate and advancing the forces under his command.
~That's a given,~ Dai Atlas agreed, wary but unwilling to pull back without more proof, or at least a solid idea where the surprise was going to come from. Their forces swept into an industrial section, facing the same lack of resistance. With no warning one of the gestalts commed a distress. The machinery, unsparked, without apparent controllers, was attacking. Loaders and heavy transports capable of moving a gestalt crushed soldiers under wheels or treads, grabbed them and tossed them entire blocks. Welding machines cut armor like it was nothing. Factory runners grabbed mecha and rushed off to toss them in a smelter. The equipment that built mecha was now working to take it apart.
Axe made a surprised sound, pulling his forces out of that area and giving orders to target the weak points of the equipment, or their control units if possible.
~There's one tactic we never considered,~ the black Knight grunted.
~This one takes lateral processing to a new level,~ Dai Atlas growled in the mixture of admiration and frustration a good opponent created in him. He growled again when he realized he was once more a central target, though at least this time the gestalts seemed to share his top billing.
::Gestalts incoming!:: someone commed in an open broadcast along with the vector just in time for Axe and Dai Atlas to each dodge the blaster fire aimed at them from the pair. Overhead Prowl's air forces made their appearance, diving in mass from well above the ceiling their opponents had maintained and shredding wings across the sky before they switched to laying down fire on the ground forces before sweeping upwards again.
City defensive batteries, things that no sane commander would dare fire inside a city swiveled inward from their normal positions and open up on the attacking forces.
~I have to admit I'm glad we never had to face him in a real battle,~ Axe observed. ~He could be a great asset on the off chance that our city is ever found.~ A snarl escaped as a shot went through his wing, though not badly enough to ground him.
~Or our greatest nightmare if he's set on getting out,~ Dai Atlas growled and dodged a missile. The explosion seared some paint off, but nothing more. He didn't even register the blast from the gestalt rifle that vaporized the bulk of his frame.
Another shot hit Axe's wing, taking it off at the base. The black Knight yelped, falling out of control. This time he couldn't dodge the volley that was fired against him. Grumbling, he settled into observer status to watch the rest of the battle. While it wasn't the slaughter that the first battle had been, it was a mess the likes of which neither had been responsible for in a very, very long time.
~You know, if his side had broadcast sims like these, it'd make great propaganda,~ Dai Atlas mused as he watched the city itself inflict much of the damage. ~And all that at barely twenty eight percent full capacity. We don't even have a world complicated enough to keep him entertained.~
~I certainly hope he can be convinced to remain here and use that processor power for the good of New Crystal City,~ Axe murmured. ~If he does want to leave, we might not be able to hold him. I highly doubt we would be able to stop him, if he can turn the city itself against us.~
They were both mulling that over when they felt Thorn ping for them to disconnect and were surprised when he motioned them to follow him out of the room without a sound.
Dai Atlas gave Prowl a long look for a moment, then followed Thorn out without a word. Axe followed right behind his mate, ruffling and resettling his armor. As the door closed behind them, both sets of optics fixed on the smaller black Knight.
"All the other issues I just brought up aside, my primary purpose with this is to prove that keeping him separate from his pilot is unlikely to change the odds of either of them escaping if they put their processors to it," Thorn explained. "We all just witnessed proof that Prowl is here because he has agreed to remain. While I don't have the same proof with Jazz, Wing and I agree that he's still here for much the same reason."
"We were concerned about them plotting with each other in order to escape," Dai Atlas rumbled.
"But I believe what we've seen proves that Prowl doesn't need any help to plot," Axe commented. "Which begs the question of whether or not there's any point to keeping them apart."
"There's one very good reason to lift the ban," Thorn said quietly. "Jazz can get more out of Prowl than even I can, when it comes to socializing. Prowl's a good way to help burn off some of Jazz's energy too. That mech takes to settled about as well as Wing does."
"A good reason indeed," Dai Atlas agreed after a moment. The big mech frowned thoughtfully as he turned the matter over in his processor, Axe offering his own thoughts and opinions through their bond, then flicked his wings. "The ban is lifted. There is no real point to keeping them apart."
"Thank you," Thorn's gold and black wings relaxed a fraction. "I'll see about convincing him to get back in his frame," he said with both serious and humorous harmonics as he turned to enter the room.
Both of the larger mechs inclined their helms slightly, watching Thorn reenter the sim room. After a moment Dai Atlas twitched his wings and huffed softly. He hadn't lost that badly at a combat sim since his early vorns as a young officer-in-training.
Axe just chuckled and patted his mate on the shoulder before steering him towards their quarters. "I doubt you ever faced off against a dedicated tactician of his level."
"His level?" Dai Atlas glanced at Axe. "His level didn't exist before him."
"True enough," the black mech acknowledged. "Just be glad we never had to face him on a real battlefield and leave it at that. No need to get bent out of shape about it. I highly doubt he's the type to brag about having kicked your aft in a sim."
"Between you and Wing, I'm sure it'll get around," he huffed even as he relaxed into the contact. "Kicked your aft pretty good too. Haven't see tactics like that in a long time. I have to wonder where he gets the ideas."
"He's got the most creative tactical processor I've ever come across," Axe admitted freely. "Maybe if you ask, he'll tell you."
"Maybe," Dai Atlas consented, his focus already drifting forward to a nice cube of quartz energon and evening with his mate.
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Jazz walked quietly beside Wing, not asking where they were going. He knew these halls far better than many of the Knights would be comfortable with.
Instead his processor was focused on the last two orns, and everything that he had seen. The jail ... it was place a punishment, with no luxuries and only the basic essentials, but it was still a far cry from what Jazz knew as a prison. It was clean, well maintained, the mecha there given basic medical care and energon and not tortured or tormented by their captors. It was truly a place meant to keep those who would commit crimes against civilians separate from them and it didn't seem to be much more than that.
The hospice tower, a place that had invoked extreme discomfort in Wing, was different from the prison. Meant to give the few mecha currently housed there the most peaceful passing possible, even Jazz had been respectful and quiet, more than a little in awe of the resources being spent on mecha that in the world Jazz had known would likely have been left on the side of road to fade and be stripped, if they weren't thrown in a smelter still functioning.
Rehab had been another awakening, and had led Jazz to one question for Wing. "I know you produce highgrade from regular energon. But if you don't have any contact with the outside world, where do they get their stimulants and such?"
Wing gave him a startled look and actually missed a step, his short, thin wings flaring and flapping frantically to regain his balance as his processor flagged the question as one he should know the answer too. He found his stride and gave a slightly helpless shrug of his pinions. "I'm not even sure who to ask to find that out."
"Might be something that you should look into." Jazz suggested mildly, then let the subject drop. He didn't care so much about the fact that it existed as the how it was addressed. How all of it was addressed.
Because here in the city, from what he had seen, they addressed their darkness. The low and helpless of society were cared for. Criminals were punished for their actions, but not abused or tormented. The old were not left to die alone, and the sick were not left to fade into darkness. If these were cared for ... he would almost believe that Wing was telling him the truth, and that there were those who might actually care about him.
Wing nodded, processors still scrambling for who to ask for answers. "I'm sure the peacekeepers know," he said uncertainly. "Or Dai Atlas. I'll ask."
They fell into silence again, each mulling over their own issues until Wing walked up a short, wide set of stairs and palmed a door with much higher security than usual. "This is the counsel chamber, where the Knights meet to discuss issues, meet new Initiates and Knights, hold the few ceremonies we have and have trials."
"So what I am doing here? I do something wrong?" Jazz asked, stepping inside and looking around. It was not the first time that he had been here, but there was no reason for Wing to know that.
"Passing through," Wing said with unusual seriousness, his field flattening and hardening with the state he had to hold himself to here and in anticipation for what they were going to witness.
At an unseen signal, the floor slid open in front of the largest seat, the one that was behind the extra markings and no doubt for the Sovereign. Jazz could see stairs leading down to a dimly lit space.
Any humor in Jazz's field disappeared with Wing's discomfort, and he tilted his helm to study the other mech out of the corner of his vision as followed Wing into the dim space.
Unease rose in Jazz at the tight confinement and the unknown. While the passage was large enough to allow mecha of Dai Atlas and Axe's size to pass without hindrance, it was the feel of place pressing down on you that made it feel so confining. The first door on the right was open and contained a simple washrack for one. Beyond it were five more doors; two on the right and three on the left. The heavy doors and feel of the place, thick with cleaner and the scent of pain, spoiled system energon and other fluids assaulted Jazz's awareness.
"These are the penance rooms, where Knights pay for more serious crimes," Wing said, his frame momentarily still. "Most of the time it is in the form of a binding. When we inflict serious harm on another ... that is what you will witness this orn."
"You'll attack your own?" Jazz asked, quiet and serious.
"We are still mecha, Jazz. We have emotions, fears, problems. It is the work of a very long functioning to master them completely, and few manage." Dim golden optics focused on him. "We are not perfect, we can only do our best and given penance when we fail to uphold the Code of Light. You will hear what happened and why at the beginning of her penance."
Wing drew in a deep breath. "Come. We need to be in place before she arrives."
Disturbed and more curious now than ever Jazz followed Wing into the last door on the left. It was a simple square with few adornments, nowhere to lay or sit, but Jazz's gaze was instantly drawn to the hooks and chains in several places to handle mecha of most sizes. His optics swept over the cabinet built into the wall and rested on a large Seeker of an old design, light on armor and much more elegant than the war-frames he associated with the term. The Seeker dipped yellow striped white wings to them but did not say a thing.
::Steelspark. He is the injured party,:: Wing shifted to the comm. ::Please do not speak inside this room.::
Jazz nodded once in understanding, allowing Wing to guide him to where he needed to be, back in a corner where they could watch but would not be part of the scene. ::I will not.:: He promised quietly.
::Thank you,:: Wing murmured. His field was uncomfortable, determined, but held nothing of the tremors that marked a mech who disagreed with what he expected.
They'd only just settled when the door opened and a small, light combat Aerial of opalescent black walked in, stiff and set. She wasn't looking forward to this, no one in the room seemed to be, but her wingset spoke clearly of a mecha who was not afraid to face what was coming.
Behind her was Dai Atlas, who absolutely loomed over her small frame, even though she was taller than Wing. Not a sound was made by anyone in the room as Shattercoil positioned herself below a set of hanging chains that would hold her upright, but little else.
Jazz had witnessed interrogations, tortures, executions where the point was to drag it out. He'd never witnessed a victim so complacent or a torturer so grim. Whatever he might take from this, whatever he was going to see, none of the Knights liked it but they all believed that it should happen. At least that was the impression they were all giving, and Jazz had no doubt that for Wing it was true. He'd spent too much time in the young jet's company to doubt his teek or read on him.
Shattercoil allowed herself to be chained up, the posture uncomfortable with her arms rotated back and bound above her, but with her thruster-pedes firmly on the floor it wouldn't have hurt, much less caused damage.
"Do you know why you are here?" Dai Atlas' voice had the cadence and harmonics of ritual.
"Yes, Sovereign," Shattercoil responded, meeting his optics without fear or defiance. "I injured another without need."
"Why?"
"While sparring, Steelspark struck my wing at the joint. I do not remember much past that," she responded softly. "I understand I did significant damage before I was subdued."
"Do you know the penance for your crime against the Order?" Dai Atlas' voice and frame held steady.
"Yes, Sovereign," she responded. "A binding in black to understand, replication of what I caused on my frame and reparations for the repair of both."
Jazz tensed, processing that. She was being punished for...reacting? But then, he had seen the Knights spar. He had watched Wing spar. There was little chance for them to actually harm another, unless they intended to. She had reacted, and lost the control that they strove for, and had hurt someone else. Seriously.
Still, he was having a hard time processing that she was willing submitting to suffering the same damage that she had inflicted on another. Yet he looked around the room. This was the Knights. Their order. Their rules. From what he'd gathered, they all entered training as adults, at least aware of the basics of what they were in for. Wing had made it very clear more than once that a penance was reserved for a Knight. That everyone else faced civilian law, even if the Knights carried it out. Compared to some things that he had seen, this was discipline that at least sounded reasonable, justifiable.
Dai Atlas nodded. "Do you wish to hear the list of injuries you inflicted?"
"No, Sovereign," she murmured, relaxing her frame and presenting it.
Another nod and Wing went tense. He definitely did not want to be here. He wasn't uncomfortable like he'd been in the hospice tower, that had a distinct flavor of personal connection and distress he had not yet conquered. This was just ... general distress. It wasn't something Wing objected to, but wasn't happy it was happening.
Dai Atlas went to the cabinet and opened it, giving Jazz a glimpse at tools he was entirely too familiar with. Yes, there were some that made sense given her description, blades and bars, but there were also a nasty looking whip, a shock baton, spools of cord that didn't look strong enough to hold anyone and a smattering of other implements that had no place outside a torture chamber.
He picked up what looked to be a practice sword, something tiny in his hands, and walked up to her. Without a blink of hesitation he struck her left wing, crumpling the metal inward as it was sheered through by the dull blade. Despite the agony it must have cause, Shattercoil didn't do more than grimace.
It was a struggle for Jazz not to flinch, even though he had been expecting it. He knew that he was in no danger, but the sheer power was enough to drive fear into the spark of any mecha. He continued to watch, and struggle not to flinch, as blow after precise blow was landed. Her wings were tatters by the end, the floor a pool of processed energon and other fluids, her armor dented, broken, gouged and shattered.
And she was screaming. Somewhere near the end of her second wing her ability to stoically cope with the pain had reached its limit.
Through it all Jazz watched and leaned, and gradually realized that Dai Atlas was making incredibly tight calculations on how much strength to use. The same weapon that tore a line through her wing left little more than a dent in another place. He really was duplicating damage from memory.
Also through it all he carefully teeked the victim, Steelspark. The mech was neither sympathetic nor pleased as far as Jazz could work out. He witnessed because it was expected of him. Yet it seemed he bore her no ill will, nor did he want revenge. It was simply how things worked among them. It was a lesson, meant to teach and to benefit the one receiving it, no matter how it appeared on the surface. Even as he began to understand, he knew that it would a long time, if ever, that he really understood something so foreign.
It was also an admission of the darkness that he been seeking. The truth that Wing had spoken- that they were still normal mecha in that they were not perfect. But here, once more, the darkness, the imperfection, was confronted and corrected, not ignored or condoned or rewarded. Though he hadn't been told explicitly, Jazz was suddenly sure that once she was repaired and the fine paid, this event would not be held against her. She'd paid her debt, but unlike the society he knew, they actually meant it here.
Jazz was at least as grateful as Wing when the medics had taken Shattercoil's battered frame away so they could escape. As he stepped outside, Jazz gave a last look back to see the Sovereign of Light, the most powerful mecha in the Order and possibly in the city, get out rags to clean up the gory mess he'd created. That sunk deep into his processor as well, that even here the most powerful being in the city took responsibility for cleaning up after his actions. He had a lot to think about, an exercise he did not often take part in, but one that he had the feeling he would be spending a lot of time on over the next few orns.