Starcrossed 37: A Taste of Vengeance
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Being called in to work earlier than expected never left Jazz in a good mood, being called in earlier than expected and cutting short time he'd been planning to spend with his mates put him in an awful one.

So he walked into Whiplash's local office and just held his hand out, waiting for his assignment, intent on finishing it as soon as possible and seeing if he couldn't get back above ground before too long.

Whiplash cocked his head at him. "I got you a bonding present," he said, holding the docket up.

"My bonding was two centuries ago," Jazz said. "You're a little late."

"I think you'll find it was worth the wait," Whiplash's grin was utterly vicious, something close to what Jazz looked like when he was manic. "I've cleared Pantera to be here, if you'd like his other victim to witness."

Jazz's optics flickered in a surprised blink, then he strode forward and took the datapad, opening the file's contents with a quick flick of his fingers.

When he saw the designation, shock came first, then a glee that was as vicious and deep as Whiplash's. "What did he do to get here?" he purred, looking up, engines humming dangerously.

"His last playroom subject was an undercover agent," Whiplash didn't conceal his growl or how angry he was. "We must know if he knew what he had, if the agent let anything slip and who else was there."

Jazz snarled. "Little creep," he said. "Definitely gets off on pain, did you have a programmer work on him already, or should I get creative?"

"I had his masochism protocols locked into a switch we control," Whiplash said evenly. "You may turn them back on if you wish; I do approve of when you get creative. I want this one to hurt, Jazz. Once you get what I need from him, he is all yours, and your mate's. Just make sure he never leaves this facility, however long you decide to keep him."

"He'll hurt, 'Lash," Jazz rumbled, a terrible promise behind those words. "This one has much to pay for." His grin became savage as he looked at the file and the picture of a face that had haunted him and his mate, and his voice slipped down into a deep, sultry purr. "Hello, Lockpick."

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There was no hiding the eager quivering in Jazz's frame as he looked at the screen showing the wiry grounder, strung up by his wrists in the middle of the room beyond. There was no fear in his field-Lockpick had never touched him, not once-only a deep, burning desire to take this piece of revenge.

The creature hanging before them was less than mech to him, it was a thing to be slowly, slowly taken apart.

"If you're going to watch, I hope you know I plan to draw this out," Jazz purred to his boss.

"I have no doubt," Whiplash rumbled. "I have to see to my work, but I'm going to enjoy as much of this as I can. I have no doubts that you'll do a masterful job of making him pay for everything."

"No doubt," Prowl's deeper, resonant purr added to the conversation from behind them. "It's not him, but he was a common visitor to the parties."

"If it was realistic, I'd devote an orn for every nanoklik of pain he caused you," Jazz hummed. "But an orn for every joor will suffice. For the agent, as well," his voice deepened into a growl. "Who knows how many more beyond that. In or out?" he asked Whiplash.

"Out," Whiplash shook his helm. "I know when to cede to my betters in skill."

Jazz tilted his head, smirking a little, unable to hide his pleasure at the compliment in those words. "I'll make him hurt, 'Lash, I'll make him scream and beg to gutter and then slap on some repairs and do it all over again." His grin was ravenous. "We'll go through plenty of spikes. Kiss, Prowler," he purred, gesturing his mate over. Prowl willingly complied and drew his mate against him, ravaging his mouth before surrendering to reply.

"It will be good to see one of them pay," Prowl rumbled, all sense of normal morals stripped from him by the short message he'd received.

"And I'll give you such a show," Jazz promised, took one last kiss, tossed a grin at Whiplash, and headed in.

Lockpick looked up as soon as Jazz entered and hissed at him, rattling his armor in a threat display.

"Bad tempered," Jazz remarked, and stood in front of him, weight to one side and doorwings relaxed, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Know why you're here?"

"Dunno where here is," Lockpick muttered sullenly, looking around the room. "S'impolite."

Jazz chuckled. "Maybe so. Have a guess?"

Lockpick squirmed, scowling at the Praxian. "Don't hurt no one loved, not safe, take apart the unloved pretties, make them loved, love every bit."

Jazz had to force down a faint shudder of his armor. "You did take apart someone loved, and I need to hear about it. Your last toy, he looked like this," he pulled a datapad and held it out with the lost agent's picture.

Lockpick trilled immediately. "He was so good," he sing-songed, "So pretty in pieces and he never cried he was so good to me, didn't call me names like some."

"How did you get him?"

"Came home with me," Lockpick said, excited just by the memory of it. "Coaxed him right in with promises he wanted younglings but I didn't have any just had a place for us just for us," he purred. "Lotsa want youngsters there. Magnet traps and then tied up, chains," his intakes rattled, "Put them in chains."

"I'd like to hear more," Jazz purred. "Every detail."

Lockpick went lax with overwhelmed giddy joy as he recounted every gruesome detail of what he'd done to the agent, every scream he'd heard, the pitch and length, how the different metals from his frame had tasted, how the hole carved into his throat had gone right into his intake and how he'd choked when Lockpick shoved his spike in. The retelling took almost a joor with the level of detail being put into it, in the voice of someone remembering the gentle caress of a lover.

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As he watched one of his best interrogators and likely successor in action Whiplash kept his field tuned to the larger mech next to him. At times he was amazed at how little Prowl looked like himself despite having similar colors and frame to his original. Even the way he carried himself was similar. A mech of authority, but not of political status. Even without his markings and Enforcer upgrades there was no doubting that this mech was one who was entitled to authority. Yet no one who did not know that Pantera was Prowl suspected, even when they were sure that Pantera was not the mech's real designation.

It made Whiplash want the Praxian as an agent all the more. Between the three of them he was sure there was nothing they could not accomplish quickly and efficiently. Jazz had no morals he was not given, a social chameleon nature and intense loyalty. Prowl was frighteningly efficient at whatever he put his processors to, had a love of order and records that few outside the independent news mecha came close to and the ability to make and accept incredibly difficult choices. Radiance had an optic for puzzles and making connections and was far better connected to the outside world than either of his mates would ever be.

Acting as a single entity and if given the authority that Jazz would one orn earn, the three of them could put the empire to rights. Whiplash simply had to convince the most stubborn of them of that fact.

As they watched Jazz work, it was strange to teek and watch his mate begin to rumble with approval. Arousal tickled across Prowl's field, but Whiplash knew well the teek of a trained response. Prowl had been conditioned by find this arousing, and Whiplash soon couldn't help himself. "How long did it take to become numb to the abuse?" he asked, his voice low, as if speaking normally would reach those in the room beyond and disturb them.

"Five decaorns, perhaps a metacycle," Prowl answered without hesitation or care. "Much of that vorn's files are corrupted."

"Understandably," Whiplash nodded. Vortex would have been an exceptional interrogator and trainer of them, but Whiplash would not betray his existing prize by recruiting the rotor. That and he had no doubt that the rotor was loyal to none but himself. It wasn't a good trait when given so little oversight and so few laws to actually obey. "Are you still happy as a patrol officer? You know you could be so much more."

"I know," Prowl's smile was faint, the trace in his field that of amusement. "It is simply not in my nature to desire more. Radiance said I could rule the empire if I set my sights on it."

"With the three of you, I expect he's right," Whiplash nodded, amazed and a touch disturbed by the truth behind what he was hearing. To have so much ability and no desire to claim as much as possible just wasn't natural. Useful, but unnatural. "You have a great deal going for your triad, loyalty most of all."

"Jazz and I were bred and trained for it," Prowl shrugged. "Radiance comes by it more naturally. Though I agree it is a source of strength for us." Prowl turned his helm to look at what was arguably one of the more powerful mecha in the empire. Whiplash wasn't at the top, but he was close enough to act with impunity to a great extent. "What does it take to have an oligarch like him brought down here?"

Whiplash hid how startled he was at being asked anything, much less such a pointed question. Unfortunately the answer was as simple as it was difficult to make happen. "He'd have to anger the Prime, a royal, ranking noble or a powerful Senator enough that all his credits and connections can't buy his way out."

Prowl gave a thoughtful hum than turned into a plotting smile filling the silence.

Whiplash let him be.

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It took many orns, orns that Prowl couldn't stay all the way through to see everything without having to attend to his duties above ground, but Jazz forced Lockpick to recount the entire story over and over, each time applying a different, and gradually worsening kind of pain. For this stage, the working stage, he'd turned off Lockpick's masochism protocols entirely, and it took a thrillingly small amount of pain stimuli to make him thrash.

"Tol' you," Lockpick hiccupped through a wrecked-sounding sob with exhausted, rattling vents. "Not lying!" When Jazz lifted a hand at him, he squealed and shrank back as much as he could, pitiful and trembling.

Jazz was certainly willing to believe him at this point, and let his hand fall. ::I think he really doesn't know anything, 'Lash. Thing's too much of a creep to be working with others on something as intricate as luring and trapping an agent, too self-centered and too stupid to have done it on his own. I think it was just awful, awful chance.::

::All right. He's all yours then. I'll let Prowl know it's play time.::

::Thank you,:: Jazz purred. ::Come by and watch when you can.::

Whiplash sent an excited rumble of intent to do just that, and the line cut.

"We're going to take a break," Jazz said, stretching his arms up over his head. "And get back to this later."

"But I told you!" Lockpick whined.

"I know," Jazz said. "We're done with that. Here," he flicked the masochism protocols back on and set them to a rotating cycle. The change in the mech hanging before him was immediate. The pained, rattling vents became clear and steady, engines gave a surprised purr, and Jazz watched as he went lax with bliss, spike extending immediately, pushing into the air.

"Touch," Lockpick whimpered pitifully, hips thrusting into nothing. "Pretty one touches it?"

Jazz snorted. "No. Someone will be joining us, I'll be back. Until then..." The klik cycle passed and the protocols flipped off, to the howling displeasure of his victim.

"Bring it back!" Lockpick screeched at him.

"It'll be back," Jazz said, and grinned viciously. "Every klik."

Lockpick stared at him in pained confusion.

"You're going to be here for a while," Jazz said. "This will be our routine every time I leave. Always something to look forward to. Enjoy," he purred, and walked out of the room to the enraged shriek behind.

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Prowl had to finish his shift, so Jazz had three and a half joors to kill before his mate was escorted to his office. One glance around at the displayed courting mementos and the Praxian purred. "You left it all up."

"Of course I did," Jazz said, pulling Prowl into his lap and leaning in to nip at his neck, arms around his waist and bringing him snug. "'Lash made me take down the stuff I had displayed on the door, but I like seeing it all when I come in here. Helps when I haven't seen you two in a while."

"I'm sure it does," Prowl murmured, purring as they kissed and he happily sank into his mate's pleased field to twine his with it. His legs settled to either side, straddling Jazz's lap with anticipatory heat. "I'm glad he allows us to visit on occasion. Especially today. Is five orns enough?"

"I can fit a lot into five orns," Jazz purred, nudging his hips up suggestively. "He's happily waiting right now, want to give him another joor before I start in?"

"A joor, or however long it takes you to scramble my processors," Prowl rumbled hotly as he valve cover slid open and he pressed a kiss to Jazz's lips, nipping lightly. "But before I leave here, I want to hardline with you as you spike his spark when it gutters."

"Absolutely," Jazz said, not hiding how eager he was to experience that thrill with his mate again. Hips lifted, spike sliding out smoothly with the motion and sinking into his lover with a deep, relieved groan. "Just tell me how long you want him to suffer and I'll do it, we can leave him rusting for longer than that if you want to come back for it."

Prowl shivered in the pleasure and the promise. "An orn for every joor," he purred into Jazz's audial and cycled his valve. His possition allowed very little movement, but he rocked his hips and worked his internals around the spike his interface system had been designed for. "That was your original call. I like it, so long as he does not know that he only has so long."

"Glitch might still think he's getting out alive," Jazz moaned, arms around Prowl's waist and rocking into the perfect heat, orns of hurting leaving him wound up and struggling not to overload just from this. "Gonna tell him who we are, can't wait to see the look on his face." A savage, wild grin as he pushed and pulled from the perfectly tight space. "I can even ask for an update on my own, beloved bonded."

"Yes," Prowl moaned. "They were often together. He must have some idea what he is up to. How hard he's looking."

Jazz nodded against Prowl's neck. "And then the little-glitch-will pay," he gasped, and shuddered. "For everything he did to you, every-ah-ahh!" he cried and bucked, shooting crackling transfluid into his lover in burst after burst, holding him flush as he shook.

Prowl moaned, shaking at the intensity of the charge, so close he was keening by the time he'd worked that exquisite spike with his valve enough to cry out with his mate in an intense overload.

Jazz drove up until he felt the rippling in the valve relax and then subside, reduced to faint quivers, and then slowed and stilled, panting, grinning against Prowl's neck. "Everyone who ever hurt you under his watch, as many as I can find, they'll pay," he vowed.

"Thank you, my love," Prowl murmured, honored that his mate wished to avenge him. "I look forward to this first step, this first kill, in evening the score."

Jazz purred, just as honored to have that gift received. His spike slipped away and the cover closed back up and he tilted his head back. "Shall we? He's been waiting so patiently, it would be rude to keep him."

"Yes," Prowl purred, reluctant and eager to move all at once. His valve cover slid closed, holding much of what Jazz had pumped into him inside before he slid back, off Jazz's lap and onto his pedes. "We will have plenty of time to indulge in his frame and in each other," Prowl purred a promise that had once meant that he would be the entertainment and now would become a bright moment in his memories. He offered his hand to his mate. "I will enjoy this so much more knowing how much he enjoyed my frame."

Jazz accepted the hand and rose, not bothering to clean off the slickness on his thighs before leading his mate out into the maze of tunnels. "We will potentially have more than a few observing at times," he warned. "Everyone enjoys seeing an agent killer suffering."

"Which will indulge your love of being on display," Prowl purred, every glyph resonating that he liked the trait that was normal for a noble second creation. "I have no doubt of the quality of a performance you will give them, and the recordings."

"From every angle," Jazz confirmed as they entered the lift to take them down to the deeper level Lockpick was being held on. He pushed his mate against the wall, kissing him hungrily, running hands along his flanks until they were both gasping by the time the door opened again, just a short walk from the room their once-tormentor was being held in. Both mechs were running hot by the time they entered the room that Prowl had spent so much time in lately. Jazz was hot at the prospect of what was coming, Prowl at the prospect of what it did to his mate and no small amount of satisfaction from the vengeance.

Two mecha were already waiting inside, watching the video screen and snickering. One had all the provocative, painted up markings of a pleasurebot turned buymech, the other was a Praxian that Prowl never would have looked twice at passing on the street, he was so absolutely average in appearance.

"Saxo," they greeted in unison, grinning at him.

"This is really pretty entertaining," the pleasurebot said, gesturing at the viewscreen, where Lockpick was hanging limply. "Just switched a quarter klik ago, watch."

From what Prowl could tell, Lockpick seemed to be panting in relief, looking dazed, before there was a sudden shift after another quarter klik and he started squirming, whining, and muttering to himself, getting more and more upset as another half klik went by until he was all but sobbing, and then there was a screech and the entire frame went rigid.

"Masochism protocols switching on and off on a klik rotation," Jazz purred, obviously enjoying the effect. "That processor can't adjust to the pain in one klik, and he spends the entire pleasure klik counting down to the switch."

"That's mean," Prowl purred with absolute approval. "It'll almost be a pity to permanently end the show."

"I'd be happy to leave him like this for a vorn, but I think he would be too insane by the end of it to realize what he was paying for," Jazz said, cocking his head at the screen, then grinning. "Don't worry, we can keep playing with this, and just think how nice to take little bits of him apart like he did."

"Yes," Prowl's full engine rumble of anticipation made both of the watching agents give him another look. He pressed against Jazz's back and nuzzled him. "As enjoyable as this is, I want to watch you play with him."

"I want to get my hands in his wiring," Jazz said, shivering, nodding to both agents, who nodded back with eager glints in their optics as the pair went into the room.

The protocols switched back on just as they entered, to the relieved sob of Lockpick followed by an enraged screech as soon as he saw Jazz.

"You! You left me like this turn it off turn it off!" he howled, thrashing.

Jazz smirked, shrugged, and waved his hand, turning the protocols off with a thought, making his victim shake and shriek.

"Not like that!"

"Demanding little thing, isn't he," Jazz commented, Prowl flush against his back, hand up and finger under his mate's chin. "Kind of reminds me of an old friend of yours, Lockpick, you remember a rotor who liked to hold parties?"

There was a confused flicker. "Vortex? I can tell you all about Vortex! Anything you want!"

"Anything," Jazz hummed, and pretended to think. "You remember he had a noble bonded and a toy for a while, Praxian without his wings?"

Lockpick's face fell. "Oh," he mumbled. "Dun know where they are, didn't take 'em I swear!" He moaned. "Pleeeease give it back!"

"I don't want to know where the are, I want to know what he did after they left," Jazz said.

Lockpick shuddered and shifted in his chains. "Obsessed with finding them," he muttered. "Didn't hold no parties no more, 's all he does."

Prowl made a displeased sound, but otherwise held his peace to give Jazz the control this room entitled him to.

Jazz nuzzled his mate. "You remember playing with the Praxian, though?"

That roused a more interested perk out of the dangling grounder. "Took little bits," he said, the memories apparently enough to counteract even the pain he was in. "Over and over little bits. Screamed so pretty spike in him while he screamed good."

Jazz regarded him silently for a moment along with his mate, then stepped forward. "I'd like to show you something," he said, cable in hand.

Lockpick just glared at him.

"I'll turn the protocols on if you open," Jazz offered, and the dataport was open almost before the words were out. Jazz smirked, turned them on, and plugged in before reaching down to caress the extended spike as he offered his memories.

Lockpick gave a shuddering moan when Jazz sank his claws into the thin, sensitized metal, hips bucking against it, and then realized what he was seeing and choked with shock. "Y-you!" he stammered, overbright optics shooting to Prowl next. "You!"

"Us," Jazz purred deeply, seductively, turned the protocols off, and reveled in the agonized scream that surrounded him, went through him, caressed his plating as he clawed deeper into the spike. His own hard against Lockpick's frame, he dug in and twisted a piece off and then shoved it into his victim's mouth. "Little bits, Lockpick," he said. "We're going to take you apart bit by little bit."

"And we have no time limit," Prowl added with a low rumble as he stepped around and picked out a bit of unmarked plating and dug his claw in, leaving a long, shallow gash.

Lockpick whimpered pitifully, engines squealing with panic, looking between the pair. "P-please, give you anything!"

"Good," Jazz whispered in his audial, claws going back down to his spike and stroking along it, to the thrashing cries of his prisoner. "We want your pain."

A shattering howl filled the room as the spike was pierced, twisted, and left hanging there, mangled and useless, but still sending sensory data to its owner.

"Do you remember everything you did to me during those parties?" Prowl rumbled next to Lockpick's audial. "Because I do. And I will recreate them all on you while my love, my Jazz, does as pleases him."

A hiccupping sob of staggered vents greeted that, the faintest flicker of hope-Lockpick had never deactivated Prowl, after all, and he was always repaired afterward-that was quickly drowned out by Jazz's next pinch and tear as the two brutally and efficiently began peeling away the outer plating, piece by piece, tossing them on the floor.

::Tell me you're watching this,:: Jazz commed over to Whiplash after a while, letting the sounds of Lockpick's wails come through, ::Even if you can't be here, think you'll like this next part.::

::Patching in now.:: Whiplash purred eagerly. ::You have four agents in the observation room as well.::

::Excellent,:: Jazz said, and left the line open so Whiplash could get the best experience possible of the torture of the creature that had taken, hurt, and killed one of his own pack.

"You remember what you and Flatline liked to do?" Jazz murmured against Lockpick's audial, not even sure the mech could hear him anymore, but he got a flicker of the optics as the focus moved over to him with difficulty. "When you filled my love with chemicals that made him overload from it all?"

Lockpick whimpered and nodded.

"Let's do an experiment," Jazz said, and reached down, ripping away the valve cover and sinking the claws of one hand into the almost completely unused equipment, easily slicing right through delicate, sensitive platelets, while the other gripped the spike, making Lockpick scream, optics flaring white hot with agony. Jazz snarled and twisted both hands, then turned the protocols back on, to the joyful shriek of the mech in his hands, and the frame began to seize in overload.

The moment he felt transfluid spurting out from the torn systems of the spike in his hands, Jazz flipped the protocols off, and the overload fizzled out, unfinished, to a staggering blast of pain and anguish coming from Lockpick's field. He shrieked and sobbed and screamed vile curses through his glitching vocalizer, while Jazz held on and smirked.

When the mech finished and was hanging limply, shaking, incoherent as he babbled, the smirk widened into a vicious grin. "Let's do that again."

"I liked that," Prowl rumbled with a grin every bit as sadistic as his mate's. Enforcer protocols were shut down, the morals they brought with them gone. Now only Jazz existed, and what pleased Jazz pleased Prowl.

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Almost five orns, eight life-saving medic visits, and more than a dozen spikes later, Jazz was leaning against the wall, downing a cube of energon with Prowl on his knees before him, sucking his spike, to the purring rumbles of his mate's engines. Jazz had an absolute authority and confidence in these rooms, in this realm, that Prowl found intoxicating. The sounds of Lockpick whimpering and cycling through protocol settings from the middle of the room made them both hot, and there was an eager anticipation to this act.

Cube finished, Jazz rested his hands on Prowl's helm and tilted his own back against the wall, giving a low, pleasured moan. "You realize what you're warming me up for?" he asked.

Prowl shivered with a spike of excitement coursing through him. His field reeled in anticipation and fresh understanding that it was time. It was a singular act that took the least work on Prowl's part to revel in, because the pleasure was so very real. His hand trembled as he unspooled an interface cable and reached it up, silently pleading with his mouth and field for Jazz to plug it in and hand his down. To allow Prowl to feel the unique sensation of a spark guttering around a spike. As much as Prowl was hooked on it, it was Jazz's act. Prowl only ever asked to be allowed to feel it through Jazz.

Jazz clicked the jack into his port and passed his to Prowl, both of them moaning with the surge of energy and sensation going across the lines.

~Please, I want to see and feel you take his spark,~ Prowl trembled, working his glossa into every fold of Jazz's spike. ~It feels so good.~

~Yesss,~ Jazz moaned, hips moving forward, hands tight around Prowl's helm. "Lockpick," he said out loud, catching the whining mech's attention. He grinned, head still back against the wall. "We're almost done with you, mech."

"A-almost?" Lockpick asked, coherent in the middle of a pleasure cycle, almost daring to hope that Jazz truly meant that.

"Almost," Jazz purred, and lifted himself up, stopping Prowl's movements with just a light brush of his fingers over his love's forehelm. Prowl came easily up to his pedes and moved with Jazz over to their toy, looking down at the simpering, revolting creature who was chattering mindless pleas that grew more and more desperate as the end of the pleasure cycle neared. Jazz looked down at him with clear disdain in his field, not moving.

The pain cycle hit and Lockpick screamed. "Please!" he sobbed. "So sorry for it please, please kind, pretty Jazz you were so pretty I never meant to!"

Jazz's denta bared with a low growl. "You loved every moment of hurting him, you tormented him, horrified him, took glee in his suffering, you sick, disgusting little glitch." He grabbed Lockpick's chin in powerful, clawed hands and yanked his head up and leaned in close, voice low and sultry. "So I'm here to tell you, that last cycle just now of the protocols being on? That was the last time they were ever going to be on, you sickening Pit-vomited abomination."

"Until you're done?" Lockpick simpered.

"In your life," Jazz snarled, slicing through protoform as he squeezed.

Lockpick stared at him, shock thundering through his field, before the implications of that fully set in and he began screeching awfully, thrashing and gnashing his denta together in a desperate, enraged, futile plea for his life.

Jazz let him have his moment before grabbing the chains and lowering the creature before them to the proper height and tore apart the weakened chest, revealing a pale green spark, dim and shuddering in its crystal.

Lockpick moaned, low and anguished, terror lacing its way through his field and working the enraged predator above him into the excited killing frenzy, desperate for a feel of the spark that had once hurt his mate guttering around him. "We'll send our mutual friend along soon," he promised in a low growl, cracked open the crystal within, and pushed in.

Prowl was the first to moan as the sensation of pure energy enveloped Jazz's spike, a touch like no other. His spike snapped out and pressurized without thinking about it as he rubbed against his mate's back. "Just a few more," Prowl shuddered, moaning at the glorious sensation. "Feels so good."

"I know, babe," Jazz gasped, holding there, hips flush to the ruined chest he held in his claws. There was a steady screeching in the background, the panicked shrieks of a creature falling into its last, agonized moments of life, surrounded by the ecstasy of his killers. "Frag, love doin' this with you," he moaned, and rocked his hips once, twice, the spark flaring and swirling around him, desperately attacking the invading force, and on the third push, Jazz crushed the crystal in his claws and overloaded into the center of the spark.

The sparking light swirled down into a rapid gutter that ended in the wash of energy, lifeforce, exploding out around them, consuming them together, making them scream in unison.

A few paces away in the observation room seven agents were in various states of shock and arousal.

"Did he..."

"…Yep. Never seen snuff like that."

"Wow. I mean, wow. And his mate. Why isn't that Enforcer one of us?"

"Maybe he is."

"It's personal, this one. That mess of scrap hurt Pantera bad. But what a show."

"How many more are they after?"

"Four they know designations of, at least two others they don't. Onslaught, Brawl, Flatline and a mech that is only referred to as 'him.' Pretty sure it's Vortex given who all is involved."

"Yeah, with the other four it's got to be Vortex."

"Sick fragger."

"I doubt we know the half of it. You know teachers are almost always worse than their students."

A quiet fell over the group at that thought, knowing what they did of Jazz and what that had to mean of Vortex, and what they had just witnessed suddenly became that much more horrific.