This chapter is posted in its complete state at (archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1030934)
The part posted here is only the first 25%
Nov 16, 2012 - major edits happened to ch 3. Important edits to the world, Jazz, Prowl and story canon.
New warnings: Torture, Snuff
Vaevade on LJ has been a wonderful help/co-author of much of the graphic violence. It wouldn't be nearly this intense without her help.
Question to Readers: does the explanation of why they can't just wipe Prowl's memory make sense?
#Dark Dreamer 4: Indulging Jazz#
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His pet clean and polished, not to mention relaxed, warm and still humming softly from the overload, and himself clean and polished, Jazz quietly let Prowl from his quarters and into the hallway outside. Compliant and subordinate, Prowl padded along after him, optics bright and taking in everything without paying extra attention to anything. A piece of wall got the same attention as a moving, talking mecha. Not even the beauty incarnate in the form of Jazz's top pleasurebot agent got any extra notice, much to Starspark's irritation.
"Relax," Jazz laughed brightly. "He doesn't understand a glyph of common."
"Really?" the elegant creation of white and red with golden highlights and brilliant azure optics regarded Prowl with a little more interest. "Does he understand any language?"
"Yes," Jazz gave a grin and started walking again, Prowl following compliantly along. He had no doubt that his pet was paying attention, but he knew from that trip down memory lane that his pet only barely recognized what was being said as communication. It was no more important to him than a mecha-animal's sounds were to the average mecha.
"Which you are not going to share," Starspark hummed, gave Prowl another long look and continued on his way.
Prowl gave him the attention due not-Master and followed Master to the medical bay. His gaze swept across the space, noting the sub-healer tending to a mecha but gave it no more mind. Master was headed for a door towards the back and Prowl followed.
The door opened smoothly for the pair, allowing them into the private room that was both for intensive care and less serious but higher security issues. Temperance was already there and motioned Prowl to the berth. A glance at Jazz, who nodded, and he complied without a sound.
Jazz relaxed in the corner, watching in silent study as Temperance had the Praxian move joints, tested his strength, reaction time, and finally plugged into him for a processor scan. It was only when she plugged in that Jazz saw a reaction. His pet actually growled, though judging from Temperance, he wasn't growling at her so much as the intrusion in general.
Her sharp blue optics lifted to pin Jazz. "I told you no interfacing." She growled darkly in common, leaving the Praxian out of the conversation.
"He needed to feel that it could be a good thing," Jazz countered sharply. "I didn't do much, and I know you saw that. It's a small miracle he's not more damaged than he is."
"I know," she settled with a sad glance at the mech watching them with no apparent care that he didn't understand a glyph of the conversation. "Shockwave did a real number on his design. I can't even begin to understand it. It's not like Sideshot has those kinks."
"She doesn't, but I know a mech who did," Jazz huffed. "Mandate."
She paused, then shuddered. "I think I'm glad he angered the wrong people. He would have never lost a custom slave to raiders."
"No, he wouldn't have," Jazz agreed, leaning back against the wall and regarded his pet. "Why can't we just wipe him clean and start over? There's nothing in there worth keeping."
Temperance grumbled and unplugged from Prowl. "His memory core is exceptional. Absolutely perfect, 100% recording. Better than the Praxian Enforcers use. To wipe him means that has to be removed. It's hardwired to prevent changes."
"That's way too valuable to scrap just to avoid a few memories," Jazz regarded his pet. "I still can't 'face him?"
"Not for the rest of the decaorn," she said firmly. "No energy intensive activities at all."
"So he can watch me work, but not participate."
"He can watch, but no more than four joors at a time," she specified. "He needs to recharge a lot to remain healthy. At least 50% of his time should be in recharge."
Jazz huffed. "I remember. It's going to be a long century."
"Worth it though," Temperance gave a knowing look to her boss. "You saw what he's capable of, how little it affects him. He's worth the work."
"Yes, he is," Jazz agreed and walked up to the berth, cupping Prowl's cheek and drawing him into a kiss that was returned, though it did nothing to rev Prowl's systems. Even so, Prowl leaned into the contact as an approving one, something desirable.
"Jazz," Temperance rumbled in warning.
"It doesn't rev him up, but he likes the approval," Jazz pointed out as he lightly guided Prowl from the berth.
Temperance huffed as they headed for the door. "Just remember to be sure he recharges enough."
"I will," Jazz looked over his shoulder at her. "I take care of my mecha."
"Yes, you do," she murmured, keeping a few opinions on that count to herself. Some arguments were not worth having again, at least not in this setting.
So Prowl followed Jazz as the silver minibot walked deeper into the labyrinth that was the shadow's palace, a place that knew only two kinds of mecha; those that served Jazz, and those who served to entertain him with their deaths. To be fair to Jazz, it had been this way long before he'd been kindled and raised here. The rules and ways weren't strictly his invention, though he'd molded them all to suit himself once he had gained enough power to do so.
Prowl did not yet fully understand the importance of being seen walking compliantly in Jazz's wake, that this walk and many more like it served to imprint on the residents that Prowl was one of them now, not a target that had snuck in. After all, it was a rare thing that a full frame mecha was brought into their number. Adults simply did not adapt to this world, and sparked mecha ... well, there were better uses for them where questions wouldn't be asked about where a given spark had gone.
No one would question Jazz's right to do so however, if he believed it was the best choice for the health of their empire within an empire.
Six levels down and they stepped into an area lit so there was not a shadow to be found in the meticulously clean hallways or on the doors that were designated only with numbers, except for the first one on the left, a small washrack meant for no more than one or two mecha at a time. It was a short hallway with five doors on the right, four on the left, and one at the far end. Prowl took it all in as he did everything else, paying more attention to Master than he did to his surroundings.
"It's time you experienced what we exist to do. We preserve the power of the empire by preserving the power of the Prime, but also by controlling Him, the Senate and other Lords by any means necessary," Jazz began talking as he walked to the third door on the left. It slid open after a longer pause than most. "This pathetic miscreant was plotting against the Prime," he motioned to the non-descript mech without a physical mark on him, but his helm was lolling to one side and his features were blank.
The dark blue mech sitting by the shell-shocked prisoner rose, standing well above the height of both Jazz and Prowl. His dark orange visor flared briefly and locked onto Jazz and is spoke in the highly structured dialect of common most hosts used. "Lord Jazz. Prisoner: stripped of useful intel. Report: will be on Jazz's desk by dawn."
"Good," Jazz smiled brightly at his best interrogator, and his favorite as Soundwave left prisoner's frames completely untouched. "Is there any reason to show mercy?"
"Negative. Prisoner: willful and knowing traitor. Unrepentant."
"Excellent," Jazz rumbled, allowing the darkest of his coding, learned and innate, free of the tight constraints he held it under to function in society. He felt more than saw his master interrogator flinch as the coding coiled upward, enveloping Jazz's consciousness, and how readily Jazz welcomed it. "You may go, Soundwave. Good work."
"Lord Jazz: thank you," Soundwave said before making his exit look less hurried than it was.
SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS
Prowl watched the large blue mech, Master's truth-finder, leave the room. He wasn't sure what it was about the big mech he didn't like, but he Did Not Like him. Master did, however, and that was to be kept in careful consideration. While he hadn't understood the exchange, he recognized the tones easily enough. Master was very pleased. Master's truth-finder was less so, but seemed satisfied.
"Stormcloud," Master demanded his full attention and received it without hesitation. This master was a kind, generous one. A master to be encouraged in his desire to keep him. "The energon dispenser is in the corner. Draw what you need. Recharge when you need to. I wish you to watch my greatest pleasure," he purred, his field flaring slightly to caress the prisoner's as the mech began to come back to awareness of the physical world. "Baring something needing my attention, I draw this out for an orn or more. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," Prowl canted his winds and helm in respectful acceptance of the orders and the information. So Master's greatest pleasure was a long, drawn out kill. It brought new importance to pleasing Master. If Master was angered, he wouldn't pass Prowl on to another. One did not send a gift from the Prime to another. So Master would likely take his pleasure with Prowl's final moments. Prowl already had a reasonable grasp of the amount of pain and suffering that could be inflicted in an orn, and he had no doubt that he was about to have that limit expanded significantly.
His optics never leaving his master, Prowl settled as close as he dared where he could watch Master and keep newly enhanced wing sensors trained on the door. He watched. He listened. He strained his senses to pick up the fields, wanting to feel and teek what he could.
The arousal in Master's field was intoxicating, drawing Prowl to lean forward and open his vents to drawn in every bit of signal the silver mech was emitting. His spark pulsed sharply, calling him towards that enticing teek.
SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS
To read the remaining 75% of this chapter, go to (archiveofourown dot org/works/562319/chapters/1030934)