Starcrossed 42: Training
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A knock on the door to their quarters entirely too early in the morning for Jazz pulled both mechs from their enjoyment of each other three orns after Ratchet had deemed them free of the medbay, so long as they recharged and fueled enough. Jazz groaned, slumped, face pressed against Prowl's neck for a moment before he kissed there and pulled out of him, retracting his spike with a shudder before he settled his plating and his field.
He answered it to find Whiplash leaning against the wall outside, and a moment later, Prowl was against his back, also looking out at the matte black mech.
"Really, 'Lash?" Jazz asked, rubbing back against his lover, then grinned. "Here ta join in?"
The matte black visor flashed and a grin etched itself across the small mech's features. "Only if you're offering."
Jazz's visor brightened with interest, genuine surprise, and he flickered a question through his field to his mate. "No work before play lecture?" he teased. "You must be desperate."
"If you want his spike, I don't mind," Prowl murmured with a kiss to his mate's neck. His own field, slightly flat and devoid of the arousal that had filled it so recently, was a clear statement of his intent not to join them.
"Less desperate and more knowing how good you are," Whiplash grinned shamelessly at the lovers.
"Mm," Jazz smirked. "You should see some of the tricks I picked up in Kaon. Later? I've been missing your namesake," he grinned, then turned his head to nuzzle his mate. "Three isn't a good number for us."
Comprehension and regret flashed across Whiplash's field and to them both. "Later then, when your mate is otherwise occupied. It's time for orientation." He waved for them to follow as he turned on heel with the smooth grace of that same namesake.
"But-" Jazz said, unresolved arousal and frustration in his field, starting to follow and then stopping again. "Our orders are for starting with the next training group in seven orns."
Whiplash gave him a cruel grin. "One: I said orientation. Two: you know full well leave is a suggestion at most for Ops. Three: you didn't have to turn down the overload."
"He has you on all three," Prowl said deadpan from behind his lover even as his field danced with mirth.
"I can't change my mind?" Jazz asked with a sulk in his voice as he followed.
"I suppose you could," Whiplash chuckled and turned to look at them as he leaned against the wall. "Are you going to?"
"Gimme 'n Prowler five kliks ta talk it over?" Jazz asked, flashing Whiplash his best grin.
"If talk is all you do, and no touching is involved," Whiplash grinned back.
"Is that a challenge?" Prowl purred with distinct interest.
"Or a threat," Whiplash winked his visor. "However you care to take it."
Jazz muttered a low curse. "You're evil," he growled, looked at his mate, grabbed his hand and tugging him into their quarters, locking Whiplash out. A completely symbolic gesture, since no lock in Iacon would hold to Whiplash any better than it would hold to Jazz or Prowl.
"So, since I have little desire to find out what punishment he invents, how do you want to burn off this charge?" Prowl rumbled softly, already queuing up as much seductive dirty talk as he had.
"You think hardline counts as touching?" Jazz purred as he sat on the berth, leaving enough room for Prowl to sit with space between them.
"If half of what I know if true is, yes, it counts," Prowl said firmly. "So is touching yourself."
"Frag me," Jazz groaned, leaning back, settling his hands carefully on either side of him, spike extending as soon as he released the cover. "I'm going to pound you so hard later."
"Good," Prowl rumbled, looking hungrily at his mate. "But for now, what do you want me to do to you?"
Jazz x-vented, harsh and hot, then managed a grin. "Talk ta me, lover," he purred, field licking eagerly against his mate's.
Prowl shivered at the intensity there and leaned forward, bracing himself with a hand on either side of his lover's helm, close enough their x-vents swirled together and caressed their plating. "What about, lover? What I'm going to do to you when I can get my hands on you next?" Prowl asked with a deep thrust of his field into Jazz's frame. "What I'm going to plead for you to do? Or what about what you want Whiplash to do when I'm elsewhere?" he asked with a throaty rumble and another deep thrust.
Jazz's hands gripped the berth as he arched up, frame still burning and desperate for its lover, but stopped before he rubbed up against Prowl. "Yes!" he moaned. "Yes, that one!"
"You're going to have him tie you up like a common criminal," Prowl growled with a hard drive of his field. "He'll stalk around you, judging you, before you hear the snap of his whip. The first strike down your back, a caressing line of liquid fire." He slammed his field deep into his lover, the pulsing in time with Jazz's spark. "He'll demand you submit, but you don't. You both know the game, know what it takes to sate your needs and he'll indulge you in strike after strike, marking your plating until you're so hot your panels open, exposing yourself, slick and hard, for his entertainment."
Jazz squirmed and whined under the mixed assault of field and voice, pressing his own back, hot and flush and rippling with arousal as it synced up to Prowl's rhythm. "Three kliks left," he gasped. "Prowler, lover, love, baby," he arched up again, so close the heat from their frames shimmered between them, field slamming back just as hungrily in the next moment.
"The lash curls around your hip on the inside, just barely missing the platelets," Prowl rumbled, still pulsing his field as he moved one hand between his lover's legs. The magnets in his hand turned on, pulling, then pushing against the sensitive equipment. "You're crying out by then, hot, dripping with need for him to touch you. He keeps playing though, building your charge with the teasing pain so when he finally does snap the whip across your valve your scream for him."
Jazz shuddered with a harsh cry, very nearly pushing himself right into Prowl's hand when he shook with overload, pushing his charge up, out, forward into his mate. "Prowl!" he shouted, and the deep joy at being able to scream that designation out was still consuming in his field.
Prowl reveled in it, in the pleasure and joy there. He continued to work his field and magnets until his mate gave a final shudder and collapsed back on the berth. "Feeling better, love?"
"So much better," Jazz purred, still squirming a little and resettling his plating. After another few moments he crooked a finger under Prowl's chin, still not touching, and Prowl followed as flawlessly as if he had been. A sharp nip in the air before his lower lip and a flashing grin, barely microns separating them. "Oh, you are so gettin' loved on later."
"As will you, my Jazz," Prowl purred deeply before reluctantly drawing away to stand. He offered a cloth without a word, but with a smile for the gleaming line of transfluid splattering Jazz's abdominal plates.
Jazz hummed, shimmied himself more upright, and cleaned himself up enough to be presentable before resettling his frame once more and standing. "Ready ta meet the terror that is your new boss?" he asked, a little louder than necessary as they walked out to rejoin Whiplash, his arm going around his mate's waist the moment they were out of the room.
"Of course," Prowl said smoothly, giving no hint that he'd just overloaded his mate without touching him, or that he had a fairly high charge still dancing through his systems.
"Glad you've sorted that out," Whiplash gave an even more impressed look at Prowl. "He always has paid better attention when he doesn't need to get off."
Jazz nuzzled his mate, as proud as Whiplash was impressed. "Just because that one time," he said, grinning at his boss. "Orientation, then, is it?"
"Yes," Whiplash nodded and lead them halfway across the base, then down into newly constructed tunnels, through security systems that were entirely too familiar to Jazz, and into a complex that was far too old and well-used to have been created after the assault.
"The Prime let you open all this back up, huh?" Jazz asked, looking around. "Was he surprised you didn't destroy it?"
"Sentinel didn't know about it, and Optimus barely does," Whiplash chuckled. "He knew I had a base, and I gave him a base. But he never got the core of the complex."
"To destroy this facility would cave in everything above it," Prowl said quietly. "The Palace of the Prime, what remains of the Senatorial complex, half the merchant district."
"You have a remarkable sense of spatial relations," Whiplash considered his prize thoughtfully as they rode a lift down six more levels. "You are also correct. I could have had quite the revenge if I'd wanted to, but this complex is worth more than that."
Jazz hummed. "Got a pretty good revenge on the Senators that cared more about their careers than Iacon's structural integrity, all the same," he remarked. He brushed his field affectionately against his commander's. "I did miss you."
"What's your take on the new Prime?" Whiplash asked, all business except for the welcoming and pleased brush of his field in reply.
Jazz glanced at his mate. "I think he is too willing to forgive. It worked in our favor this time, but I have to wonder what he would do if he came for amnesty."
"It would make our lives much easier," Whiplash purred with a deadly grin.
"What better way to make a mecha disappear in a training accident than to have him in Ops?" Prowl chuckled.
Jazz grinned. "True enough. How much do his officers actually run everything? He a puppet like all the others?"
"That's the weird part," Whiplash said. "He's no puppet. He's reasonably practical and not the least bit disturbed by trusting others to do their functions and teach him, guide him, but when he makes a choice, it sticks. Right now we control a lot and do a great deal, but I'm already watching him take back duties and authority as he learns how to handle them. It's somewhat unsettling, especially after what I experienced in the merge, but overall he's a good mech like very few I've met."
"...What did you experience?" Jazz asked, voice low.
Whiplash regarded his agent steadily as they entered another hallway and continued walking. "A being powerful enough to be Primus. He wasn't displeased with me despite the number of sparks I've sent back to him early."
Prowl drew in a deep, vent of air and steadied himself.
"Hater or unbeliever?" Whiplash asked calmly.
"Unbeliever. Now ... less sure," Prowl admitted.
Jazz resettled his armor uneasily. "Doesn't seem to matter what a mecha thinks, anyway, there isn't anything we can do about it."
"But there is a lot we can do with it," Whiplash reminded his interrogator. "The way you handle a true believer is very different from an agnostic or atheist or cultist or casual believer. Where do you stand these orns?"
"I know how to handle different beliefs," Jazz said, his tone a little offended. "Knowing what someone else thinks is far more important than what I think. And I don't know," he admitted, engine growling a little in frustration as he spoke, and the next words came as a low hiss. "I know if he does exist then I hate him."
Prowl put a steadying hand on his mate's side and drew him close. "Love, he's asking to use it against us."
"He'll learn anyway," Jazz murmured, almost fondly. "He's good at that."
"You're better," Whiplash gave a fond smile for the mech that had been well worth all the exasperation of training and humoring him. "Though I should warn you, I need interrogators far less than I used to. Pretty much everyone who's survived is an all purpose agent."
"So Jazz has some training to go through yet, and I have a great deal," Prowl summarized.
"Yes. You'll have a specialty, everyone does, but you'll be trained for and expected to do anything needed," Whiplash was serious. "I'll be fast-tracking both of you, Jazz to command and you to tactical, and I won't lie, there's a lot of unpleasantness involved. Jazz has gone through the worst of it as far as training, but not the field work he'll be seeing a lot more of. There is risk of death, capture, torture, and I usually don't recommend anyone mated, much less a pair, into this line for that exact reason. This is your last chance out into an easier part of service-science, medicine, development, tactical, even infantry. No one will judge you. But you've got two of the best processors I've worked with, and I also won't lie about this: we're not doing well, and we need mecha good at the work. If you still agree, you're in for good."
Prowl simply nodded. "You know what we've been doing since Praxus fell. This is what we're good at. We aren't exactly socialized to deal with a normal chain of command anymore."
Whiplash nodded with grim pleasure. "Then we'll begin now."
They looked around the room they'd found themselves in, cavernous and empty.
"What, exactly, does 'orientation' entail?" Jazz asked with a bit of a suddenly uncertain flicker through his field.
Whiplash's grin as he backed away to the door was almost feral. "Baseline readings. Find an exit, try not to die, and do try to enjoy yourselves."
He disappeared, the door locked behind him, and Prowl and Jazz had a few nanokliks to look at each other before the entire room transformed around them, walls shooting up from the floor and nearly separating them before Jazz leaped over a growing gap in the floor, grabbing onto Prowl. The floor shook for another klik, and when it steadied, they were looking down a long, empty corridor that branched off at the end.
"Find an exit, try not to die, have fun doing it," Jazz said dryly, already pulling weapons from his subspace.
"Sensors high, move with more caution than speed, be ready to bolt," Prowl laid out his initial plan, his own weapons ready as he turned them around the direction they'd come in.
"Right," Jazz said, back against his mate's. "An' let me know if y'see any nice looking dark corners."
"If only we get that lucky," Prowl murmured as they worked towards the door they'd come in.
"He said have fun," Jazz grinned, each step measured and in perfect sync with his mate. "I think we flunk if we don't."
"I'll frag you in the last dark corner we find if need be," Prowl teased, every sense alert as they worked down the hall.
Jazz smirked to himself, scanning with both visor and doorwings. A low, rumbling sound became audible and they both froze, able to feel the tiny but growing tremors in the floor. "...Why do I have a bad feeling about this," Jazz deadpanned, turning to face the same way as Prowl as soon as the direction of the tremors became discernable. Nothing they could see, but the noise was getting louder. "I'm thinkin' run," he said, starting to back away from it, then turned and started sprinting. Prowl was right on his heelplates, guard and guarded all at once. While their optics watched for trouble from the front, the bulk of their sensors watched behind them.
Well above, in the control room, Whiplash watched with keen interest. He'd never had agents quite like these two, and while they had vulnerabilities that made him uneasy, what they offered was exceptional. It wasn't just Jazz's skill and adaptability or Prowl's incredible processor that made them so priced by the SpecOps commander. It was what they had accomplished since losing their home. With no assets, no support, no training to speak of and no contacts, the pair had not only survived eleven hundred vorns in the core of Decepticon territory, but thrived and made a Prime-grade nuisance of themselves.
They'd survived.
He still marveled at that fact just a bit.
It took them nearly an orn, and by the end of it they were battered, dented, torn, and leaking, but they were alive as they stumbled through the open archway at the end of the maze, fleeing from the drones, each of them taking a few last shots over their shoulders before the wall slammed shut behind them.
Still battle primed and alert, and not quite realizing that it was over, the very first reaction was weapons up, targeting systems online, scanning every micron of the small room, only finding a simple table and chairs with two cubes of energon and a camera in the corner. Prowl focused on the energon and had it in a free hand the moment his sensors did not register an immediate threat.
He had it finished and his weapon back up to take on any threat when Jazz lowered his blaster and claimed his cube under his mate's guard.
Their plating slowly relaxed from its tight grip around their protoforms just enough to start venting heat when they'd finished and nothing fired at them, but the single door did not make either very comfortable.
::You're safe in there,:: came Whiplash's voice over their comms. ::When you're ready, go out the same way. The sim will be shut down and a medic will be waiting.::
"Trust him now?" Prowl looked at his mate, who nodded. Weapons were powered down and tucked away, armor extended further and Prowl stepped into his mate's personal space. "I seem to remember promising to frag you in the last dark corner we found. It's not dark, but there's a good solid wall and I'm revved up enough to make you scream."
Almost obligingly, the lights dimmed themselves, leaving the space lit by their visors alone. Jazz grinned. "Meddlesome little thing," he said before pulling Prowl against himself, grinding their pelvises together and moving back against a wall. "Revved up enough to not be gentle," he purred, bringing Prowl's hands onto the dents in his frame, moaning just from the teek of his mate's charged-up field, thick with the lust of fight and chase.
Prowl simply rumbled and slammed his mate into the wall with a biting kiss and strong hands that made no effort to be gentle as they pinned and lifted Jazz into position for Prowl's tapered, textured spike.
The valve was bared and ready for him to sink into, driving up and back with a low grunt when Jazz groaned and shuddered around him, squeezing the hard, aching length. Jazz bit back into the kiss and claws snapped out to catch and tug at his mate's armor, their frames working and pounding against each other as the heat and energy from the chase all came flooding out into their fields.
As revved up as Jazz got with torture, Prowl got that way from the chase and it had been a long, long time since either had made any effort at denying their lust when roused. Prowl growled and thrust, deep, hard and without the least bit of care that they were being watched, recorded and judged on many levels. Pleasure roared through him, across already heated circuits to pool around his spark and spike.
"Love you," Prowl moaned as his driving thrusts became a bit more jerky. "Jazz!"
"Nnn-Prowl, Prowl!" came Jazz's deep, joyful moan, hips bucking erratically back against Prowl's. "Frag I love you-" One hand dragged down around front, claws scraping, centering over the hidden chamber beneath, the other dug into Prowl's shoulder for leverage. "-Love ya, Prowler, babe, yes," Jazz arched up, hard, before slamming down, impaling himself again and again as he overloaded, screaming, "Radiance!"
"Yesss," Prowl keened, his thrusts matching his mate's while motions, each jerking thrust pumping another shot of scalding, crackling transfluid deep into his mate. "Radiance," he moaned, a loving designation-glyph for their missing third as they slowed to a stop, Prowl's mass pinging him against the wall the only thing that kept Jazz up. "Love you both," he whispered as his frame relaxed.
Jazz squirmed and shivered around him, in his arms, against him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, grip slowly loosening. He pressed his mouth to Prowl's neck with a heavy x-vent, kissing as he ran now gentle fingers over his chest, tracing both grooves from his claws and damage from the sim. "Always," he murmured, then grinned against him. "That was hot, Prowler."
"It was," Prowl smiled and nuzzled his love, his legal bonded as granted by the Prime. "This was a good choice, I think."
"Mhmm," Jazz hummed, not in the least bit inclined to move, but the slapdash first aid they'd done in the field was not going to hold up forever and the prospect of being fully refueled was starting to grow more and more tempting. "'M glad we decided ta try."
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For possibly the first time in his adult life, interfacing was not the first thing on Jazz's mind as he finally-finally-reached his shared quarters with Prowl, and he hadn't seen his mate for more than a passing kiss when they were in the same part of the compound for more than a dozen orns. He was exhausted and aching from the constant battery of skills placement testing, but it was over, and their real training would start now.
But, tomorrow. For now, a much-longed-for break.
Of course, the sight of Prowl stretched out on their double berth quickly chased away any thought of collapsing right into recharge and he immediately snuggled up to his mate, nipping at his neck.
"Hello, love, my Jazz," Prowl purred and drew him closer, intensely enamored of saying his mate's real designation now that they openly could. "So what do you think of their testing?"
"I think they can go frag themselves with it," Jazz grinned, drawing Prowl into a kiss. "Been a long time since I've been this sore from anything. Mm, but they won't stop talking about you, apparently you did well or something."
"They're pretty excited about their new saboteur too," Prowl chuckled when the kiss finally ended, his hands working along his mate's frame to check for damage. "Even Whiplash seemed surprised at how many skills we picked up on our own. It was rather entertaining to flummox them and their testing."
Jazz all too happily moved and shifted to give Prowl the best access that he could. "Didja do that one, the stealth test? Took 'em seven joors ta find me." His hands found Prowl's waist, and then his hips, and then stayed there, teasing into the joints. "Coulda done that when I was a mechling hiding from my carrier."
Prowl laughed between gradually heating kisses and touches. "Oh yes. But you couldn't have hidden from these mecha for so long back then any better than you could hide from me. It was rather fun. I haven't gotten that much recharge in a while, and several agents that I dropped into stasis are still asking me how I can be so quiet."
"You," Jazz said, "Had that full estate security system and that's cheating. Mmm," he hummed when a warm hand ran over his flank, "I didn't recharge, followed 'em around and tagged 'em with tracers. Every, last, one." He punctured his words with small nipping kisses against Prowl's lower lip, one leg sliding up along his.
"Tracers that are still active?" Prowl purred as his spike panel slid open.
"Why?" Jazz purred back, nudging with his hips and pushing Prowl's shoulders, rolling him easily to his back and swinging up into a familiar straddle, legs spreading open around his pelvis. "Wanna go track down a couple?"
"Not at the moment," Prowl groaned and rocked his hips up against the inviting heat. It didn't take long for his spike to pressurize fully and begin rubbing ardently against the platelets.
Jazz ground back, moving his hips in a slow, steady rocking, touching, teasing, caressing his lover's length, never letting him sink into the tight slickness. "'Lash made me take 'em off, anyway," he gasped, shivering from the thousands upon thousands of tiny charged pulses that the ridged textures sliding through his platelets was causing. "Bet I could get 'em back on."
"It'd only tick Whiplash off," Prowl moaned, his fingers clutching reflexively on Jazz's hips, wanting without demanding. "Rather spend spare time with you."
"Not gonna be a whole lot of that," Jazz said, voice strained. "Jus' hafta frag you senseless every chance I get." He groaned, having trouble keeping his own slow pace. "Tell me what your favorite was, what made your processor feel good."
"Tactical sim," Prowl shuddered with the achingly slow buildup of pleasure. "It felt amazing to be hooked into a system again, to push myself that far. I didn't want it to end."
"Kinda like this," Jazz said with a gasping laugh as he leaned back, arms going out behind him to the berth to support his weight as he swirled and rocked his hips. His valve was quivering around the emptiness, craving that well-loved spike, but he bit his lip and kept rubbing their frames together. "Want that sweet spike of yours, babe," he moaned. "Want it in me, want it piercing me and stretching me, is that what you want?"
"Yes!" Prowl keened and bucked his hips. "Please, babe. I need your heat, the pleasure in your field."
Jazz panted and grinned, helm tossed back, claws digging into the berth. "Tell me what you want, one more time," he managed. "Wanna hear it before I take you."
"I want your slick, tight valve around me, rubbing and sliding as the pleasure builds until we can't stand it," Prowl gasped, his own optics locked on the vision of his mate. "I want to feel how good it is to be filled, stretched by me. I want to feel your spike deep inside me after that, to feel you rub inside me, fill me. Want your pleasure. Want your cries. Please, my Jazz. Let me inside you."
"Such a good pet for me," Jazz groaned with an eager shudder, and in one unbroken motion, shifted his hips up, down, and then back, sheathing his mate in a single slide, taking him in completely. Their frames slammed together with their dual cries and Jazz began to ride his lover, hard and fast and unforgiving, driving their hips together. "Spill in me, come on babe," he keened. "Know you're close and your Lord wants it, legs spread so wide for you, know you wanna shoot in me, make it so good!"
Prowl keened and thrashed his helm at the building sensations assaulting him. His hands grabbed Jazz's hips blindly and he thrust, deep and hard, matching his mate's motions. "Ohhh, my Lord!" Prowl howled with a last thrust and pumped a crackling load of thick transfluid deep inside Jazz, setting of a maelstrom inside his mate.
Jazz's scream joined his as he shook, bucking with each crack of charge through their frames, energy enough to arch away into the air. "Yes!" he cried out, tearing into the berth as he grasped for leverage through the pounding waves.
The first hint of the overload fading and Jazz was pulling off, swiftly and smoothly leaning forward over Prowl, claiming a hard kiss, grinding against him. "Spread for me," he growled, already hard between them. Prowl's legs were spread immediately even as he kiss back and rolled his hips in offering.
"Please, my Lord, my wonderful Lord Jazz. Please fill me, use me, claim me in every way you desire," Prowl moaned, panting and desperate for what was being promised.
Jazz's frame gave a hard, rolling shudder as he gave a few more short, dry thrusts against his love's plating before shifting back and slamming forward. His hands went to either side of Prowl's head, holding there instead of a pin, and his hips drove relentlessly, taking and claiming and losing himself in that frame and field. His face pressed to Prowl's neck and he moaned, hunching up over him, burning and panting with effort. "Yes, yes," he gasped. "So good, everything I want, Prowl, mine!"
"Yours, always yours," Prowl keened, shaking with the hard jolts of pleasure rocked his frame. He stretched his arms above his helm and surrendered his frame completely to the will of his lover. "Fill me, please. Fill me with your transfluid. Fill me with you."
"Your reward, pet," Jazz managed, and with a short, harsh cry and a quick double thrust of his hips, he shot into his mate, burning hot, crackling with energy, rushing through him. "Prowl!"
Prowl howled and locked his legs around his mate as the overload took him, flashing over his armor and whiting out his processors with bliss until he sank down, sagging in the afterglow of two intense overloads. "My Lord is most generous."
"My pet is most obedient," Jazz purred in deep contentment, then gave another short roll of his hips before pressing a demanding kiss. "And nowhere near finished pleasing me."
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Whiplash stood in their most advanced tactical training room, a room he honestly doubted could fully tax the new recruit but would at least put him through his paces, and watched his lead tactician lean casually against the wall. Not that the brightly painted Praxian was fooling him. Smokescreen was uneasy at best and downright twitchy, for him. Mech had the best game face on base at the table, but not always the best one when he cared.
Not against a senior Ops agent at any rate. He's probably pass with anyone else.
"Afraid he'll have your post?" Whiplash took a stab at the reason.
"No," Smokescreen shook his helm, his doorwings twitching.
"Bad history there?" Whiplash took another guess.
Smokescreen cocked his helm at his boss, then chuckled. "No history, it's just going to be weird teaching my carrier. By all accounts he was many times my better despite what he did."
"Going to be a problem?" Whiplash focused on what mattered.
"Nah," Smokescreen shook his helm. "No problem for me."
"Good," was the succinct reply before Whiplash glanced back at him. "You know I tracked you down because of who your carrier is."
That earned a very real scowl from the Praxian. "That's not a compliment."
Whiplash's almost amused grin made his doorwings twitch again.
"No history, many times your better, and yet that's not a compliment?" the matte black mech mused aloud. "Sounds like history to me, just don't let it become an issue."
"No history because we've never met," Smokescreen rumbled in explanation. "He's still a traitor and I had to grow up being reminded of that every orn, and when I wasn't being reminded of that, it was that I wasn't as good as he was."
"Traitor," Whiplash repeated, actually somewhat surprised to hear that word used to describe Prowl until he put it within the context of the noble servant class. He hummed thoughtfully, head tilted back. "You might ask him for that story from his side some orn."
Smokescreen huffed. "I'm sure he'll try."
Whiplash's armor rippled in a shrug as the door opened, on time to the nanoklik.
"Prowl," the Ops Commander greeted him. "This will be your tactical instructor from here on out, designation Smokescreen. He's our lead tactician."
Prowl paused as the door closed, surprise lifting his doorwings as his optics locked onto the brightly painted Praxian. "Smokescreen?"
"Yes, that Smokescreen," the Praxian hissed. "I've heard plenty about you."
"He tells me you've never met," Whiplash said, nodding.
"Not to my knowledge," Prowl agreed, stepping into proper teeking range, careful to keep his field accepting and largely neutral. He actually leaned back slightly at the anger that flashed across his only surviving creation's field. "I apologize for the hurt I caused you for..."
"It's a bit late for that," Smokescreen cut him off. "Let's start."
Prowl simply nodded, put on his most professional air, and followed his creation to the tactical station.
"Your pretesting indicated that you are weakest when it comes to the tactics involving large groups, army size," Smokescreen began, all business, gesturing for Prowl to sit at a workstation with one large screen in the middle, direct hardline hookups, and a handful of smaller monitors and screens on either side and in the wall behind. "So we're going to start with that, increasing the difficulty in small steps. You also show a need for improvement when it comes to personal tactics-that is, judging and properly reacting to the emotions driving an opponent. That will slowly be worked into your lessons as well. I will monitor and critique, but never guide. You will find your expected schedule as the first available download once you log in, and then please access and execute the first sim."
Prowl did as told, easily settling into the order of his current rank and plugged into the hardline ports. He downloaded and integrated the schedule into his personal one, then accessed the first sim. It was, as expected, a small battle with approximately four hundred mecha in all. He had full data on his troops and limited, occasionally conflicting data on the opponent. His goal, however, was clear and concise: defend the outpost. Do not allow it to fall into enemy hands at all costs.
He double checked the definition of 'at all costs' and went to work.
"Got any questions?" Smokescreen asked, watching the wall display and plugging into his own station to monitor.
"Am I giving orders to any real mecha?" Prowl asked calmly as the sim ran. He was outnumbered at least 2 to 1, but the facility defenses were solid. It was not a good situation, but he calculated a 73.3% probability of success.
Beyond them, Whiplash chuckled in open amusement.
"Pff," Smokescreen scoffed while he flicked an annoyed wing at his commander. "Not yet, newbie. But you should still run it like you are. Additional assignment: given the reported background, speculate on the emotional state of the opposing commander, to be reported when the sim is concluded."
Prowl hid his scowl, though his wings gave a tiny twitch as he was forced to divert some of his attention from the battle to trying to do better than guessing what the mech might be feeling. That assignment quickly took up more and more of his processor until Prowl was forced to sideline it in favor of winning.
He immediately felt a ping requesting his attention through the hardlined system but from outside the sim, ID'd it, and accepted.
~Your performance just increased dramatically,~ Smokescreen said. ~What did you do?~
~Abandoned the real-time emotional analysis to focus fully on the primary mission,~ Prowl explained.
Smokescreen mulled that over for a moment, then nodded silently behind Prowl. He couldn't fault the prioritizing. ~You will still be responsible for the post-sim report.~
~Understood,~ Prowl responded as he turned his attention to the question. He personally doubted he would get much further than he was right now, which amounted to 'following orders' and nothing useful.
SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS
When Whiplash wanted to disappear, he disappeared. The matte finish that covered his entire frame allowed him to slip into shadows and move without reflecting light, an internal temperature sensing system allowed him to match to the environment to avoid IR sensors if he was still, and his internal systems could run at less than a whisper while still giving him full maneuverability. It cost strength and speed, but stealth was quite often more important than either.
Especially when hunting something that was trying to be as stealthy as he was.
This mech was good, a nearly silent intruder, but he didn't have the same IR detection-avoidance systems and Whiplash had picked him up almost by chance, creeping into one of the lower levels of the base with codes that had to be stolen from an agent.
He had several out in deep cover right now, not due at checkpoints for metacycles yet, and no way to find out which one the mech had gotten to without taking him, which was exactly what Whiplash planned on doing.
A mid-sized grounder, unremarkable, nothing about him to suggest the skill needed to break into this compound and move through it with this level of assurance. He was being careful, and wary, but he was also comfortable.
Whiplash grinned. He was going to break that comfort.
He might even give his protégé a gift when he got back, if Jazz performed his mission well. They hadn't had a mech they could kill for a few vorns and he knew Jazz missed it.
Up a level, still moving carefully but with greater confidence, the intruder gave no hint that he was aware of his shadow or what was coming for him.
A quiet corridor with enough room for Whiplash to maneuver and take advantage of his agility and training, since just a glance told him that the mech was bigger and stronger, though the route he was taking was starting to look like it was heading towards energon storage, so he was possibly also not at full strength. Whiplash still wasn't going to take the risk that it was just chance, since he found it unlikely that a mech with this skill level would break in and head for energon instead of something more valuable. Energon could be stolen from easier places than this one; he had more valuable secrets to guard.
He knew the moment the mech heard him by the tensing in the frame, but Whiplash was on him faster than he could react, tumbling them both down as he twisted the arms up and back, pushing forward. To his shock, one of the hands slipped free with no effort, using the single weakness in this attack hold, and an arm swung back, elbow striking him right in the side hard enough to dent and shove him to the side.
The intruder was on his pedes in an instant and lunged, but out of stealth mode Whiplash was faster and he rolled out of the way. On his pedes once more and lacking the element of surprise, the matte black mech began to circle his target, looking for the weakness that was there. Worst case, he only needed to keep the intruder busy for a few kliks so backup could arrive.
The mech didn't move for a moment, just stared at him, then Whiplash heard the telltale sound of an engine that was about to run for it. He had a blaster out and live in an instant, and when the turn and step came, he lunged, weapon going to the back of the neck as he pushed the mech's head forward with a clawed hand, slipping the narrow muzzle into the gap that opened between the armor plating, pointing right at the processor. "Don't move," he growled, digging his claws in warning.
A frustrated growl. "'Lash!" the mech hissed back in a voice that was too familiar. "For frag's sake, you could teek that I was less than a quarter century but you can't teek that it's me?"
"What the?" the matte black mech froze for a nanoklik, then pushed his field in deep, ruthlessly delving into systems until he ran into the empty space where a spark should have been, from the strong spark energy in the rest of the frame. "That is not the disguise you went out in."
"It went bad, I made a few adjustments," Jazz said. He didn't move otherwise, except to nudge one shoulder back towards the arm holding the blaster and squirm uncomfortably.
Whiplash scrutinized the kneeling mech before stepping back, his blaster still out. "Okay, why not come in the entrance and explain that? You'd hardly be the first agent to come back looking different."
Jazz turned around, glancing between weapon and himself and back at the hall for a moment. "This was more interesting," he grinned.
"Right," Whiplash glared at him. "Come on then," he motioned down the hall with his weapon. "Time to meet the medic and make sure nothing else got scrambled."
Jazz groaned but followed dutifully. "It should be Ratchet or Wheeljack," he said after a little ways.
"Why?" Whiplash prodded, now positive that something bigger than a cosmetic edit was going on.
"Wouldja believe I like Ratchet's charming personality?" Jazz asked with a rueful grin.
"Not even remotely," Whiplash snorted through his vents and directed Jazz towards the more used levels where the medbays were. "Real reason."
Jazz sighed. "Once we're in medbay and I'm fueled. I've only got ... 35% right now."
"You burned through a lot of energy," Whiplash hummed. "How much damage have you sustained?"
"None," Jazz said, teeking completely truthful.
That raised an optic ridge when they entered the lift. He pinged Wheeljack for the physical and Mindguard to ensure that Jazz hadn't been compromised. "Then Wheeljack can check over your frame and get you looking like yourself. Mindguard will still do the psych."
Jazz made a face. "What if I can give you an explanation that explains all of this with no doubts, and then I don't have to go see that piece of work."
"If you can manage that, you can skip her," Whiplash's curiosity overcame his common sense. It was just too enticing a bet not to make.
"Good," Jazz grumbled, not sounding terribly pleased himself.
The lift stopped and they made their way down towards the main medbay where Wheeljack was waiting for them, humming to himself. He looked up when the door opened, helm fins lighting up.
"Who's this now?" he asked cheerfully.
"Hey, 'Jack," Jazz greeted.
The inventor cocked his head, then the fins turned a happily surprised bright blue. "That's not what you looked like when you left," he said, patting the berth. Jazz hopped on and Wheeljack started scanning. "You look fine, something go wrong?"
"I'm fine, I'm just-"
"Scrap me, why didn't you say you were so low!" Wheeljack swatted Jazz around the helm and pulled out a cube. "Drink."
Jazz obeyed, downing the energon hungrily, then the two cubes after that.
"35% is not that low," Whiplash grumbled at the inventor-medic. "Why does he insist on you, anyway?"
"'Cause I'm pretty," Wheeljack said merrily, watching his scanner. "There. You gonna stay and watch me reconstruct him, or what?" he asked Whiplash.
"He's gonna stay and watch, 'Jack," Jazz said, hopping off the berth.
Wheeljack gave a startled flicker, looking between the two. "Well all right, then. And 35% is low because once he finishes, he's going to be at about that same level again. So if he tried this while at 35%, he'd knock himself into stasis." He looked back at Jazz and his scanner. "The frag were you thinking? You changed everything!"
"Had to," Jazz grumbled. "They got a full-frame scan of me, that's why I dropped that low."
"This is going to be an interesting report." Whiplash crossed his arms and glared at the pair. He'd have his explanation, or they'd both be getting a visit from Mindguard tonight.
Jazz winced a little, grimacing. "Yeah, it is," he said. "Right, well..."
Whiplash looked between his agent's expression and Wheeljack's, complete opposites, the former about as unexcited as he could be and the latter practically brimming with anticipation, scowled, and was about to demand that they let him in on whatever the joke was, when Jazz's entire frame moved. Plating crumpled and he swore he could see internal systems, and then there was a strange stretching and rearranging motion, something that didn't even look possible, and after a klik, he was staring at ... Jazz. At Praxian Jazz, looking like he'd never even been in disguise in the first place.
He cycled his optics several times and ran all his sensors over it before stepping close to push his field into the mech standing before him. As the shock faded, his processor began to get a giddy tingling from too many ideas and far too much hope. He focused on Wheeljack. "That blocker isn't the only unusual piece of equipment you installed in him, is it?"
"Installed in him!" Wheeljack said. "Pit, I built this mech!"
"My protoform was fine," Jazz said, protesting that point a little.
"Yeah all right, but I built the rest, me an' Mucit did. It was my idea," he said proudly. "He helped me work out all the kinks and technicalities, and this," he spread his arms out at Jazz, "Was the glowingly successful test run. Him and Prowl!"
"Wheeljack!"
"That was my next question anyway," Whiplash was twitching with excitement, his processors ready to burst with all he could do with such tech. "So this is how you managed to go undetected for so long. So long as you could get enough energon, you could become anything you wanted. Anyone you wanted..."
"We can't mimic," Jazz said. "Not that precisely. We can copy anything we've been before if the specs are still saved, and we can sorcel into any frame type we have the mass and specs for, but the facial plates seem sort of random."
"Not random!" Wheeljack said excitedly, looking like he was about to burst something. "The base software came with a couple thousand scans of facial plates from different frame types and it takes a random sampling and combines them whenever you're using new specs. It saves anything old. So I guess theoretically you could have them sorcel over and over until they looked like someone-chances are it's bound to happen eventually, though to be honest it might take vorns or more, and-"
"We can't copy," Jazz said, cutting him off.
"What about frame-specific traits, like flight or aquatic, or six wheels?" Whiplash let it go for now. He knew that tone in his agent. Jazz would never accept replacing someone, but it was a software thing. It could be changed with the next install. "Or special equipment. If you took a scan of me, you'd get my whip. Would that turn up if you used the scan?"
"They could do a Seeker or similarly sized Aerial," Wheeljack nodded. "With flight. Six wheels, no, they don't have enough wheel mass set aside, though they could have it installed. Look kinda small for a six-wheeler, though, given their maximum mass. And they definitely couldn't be something like a shuttle, neither has enough subspace mass for that. And-I don't know if the whip would turn up, actually, or even your features, we didn't really get to test, just kind of set them loose. Did you ever use the frame scanning option?"
Jazz frowned at him. "No," he finally admitted. "We downloaded all of our specs. It was safer that way. By the time we hit Kaon again Prowl knew enough to mix and match or modify them if we needed more. We had a lot of time to build up the collection in Praxus."
Whiplash nodded his acceptance. "Do you still have your original frame specs? The noble."
"I have what was left of that frame after a vorn of it being ripped apart and slapped back together," Jazz said dryly. "But the original..." He sighed. "No. Just external images of that one. Prowl doesn't have his original either, but what he has now is a pretty good approximation."
Whiplash cocked his helm. "Any good frame artist could take those pictures and build specs from them," he suggested with a small smile. "All right, you've convinced me you don't need to see Mindguard tonight. I want a full report, no editing this time, on my desk by noon. Is there anything you that should get in the system now?"
"Mm, nothing that can't wait until noon," Jazz said, stretching out his arms and doorwings. "Need ta talk to Prowler so he knows why you're going to give him that stalking cybercat look you've got on right now the next time you see him."
Whiplash grinned with a purring engine and deep chuckle. "It does make it much more important to ensure he's well-trained for field work. Much as I love having a tactician of his caliber around, that's an impressive trick. Go on, enjoy your mate. Wheeljack and I have some talking to do."
Wheeljack looked happily surprised, and Jazz hid a smile as he left, almost wanting to stay in order to watch Whiplash be subjected to the inventor-medic's excited ramblings on his creations, but he wanted to go find Prowl more.
He made his way up to their quarters, distracted as he tried to think how to explain that Whiplash now knew about their sorcelling tech, and he didn't ping before entering, all but skipping in and hoping Prowl was there. The lights were off, but before he could react there was a brush against his field. Tense, then relieved then angry.
"Dammit Jazz, I almost shot you!" Prowl snapped as the lights came up, but his field and frame as he grabbed his mate were only relieved and welcoming.
Jazz held him just as tightly, hands going over his mate's frame a little anxiously, teeking the lingering tension there and feeling it in the cables of his neck and back. "Are you okay, what happened?"
Prowl rested his forehelm against his mate's, their chevrons perfectly aliened. "Whiplash tries to time the training that will leave me like this to when you're away. You weren't expected back so soon. I'm fine, love. Interrogation resistance always leaves me defensive for a few orns."
Jazz winced a little. "Sorry, wasn't thinking-forgot he was doing that." He huffed a small laugh. "Just excited to see you."
"I know, and I like that you are," Prowl gave a faint smile and drew Jazz to the berth. "You aren't damaged, did the mission go that well?"
Jazz groaned faintly. "No. Report's due by noon and I'm actually going to need most'a that time. Went bad, I got scanned, had to sorcel to get past the security. And," he grimaced slightly, "Tried to sneak back in and 'Lash caught me."
Prowl paused, processing all that. "So he knows we can sorcel," he said cautiously.
"Wasn't much getting around it when he saw how many changes I'd made, 'Jack got excited and told him about you," Jazz said, apology in his field. "So don't be worried by the way he's gonna start looking at you. You know that look where you kind of worry you're about ta get eaten."
Prowl couldn't help but chuckle softly. "I am quite familiar with it. Just so long as he doesn't switch me out of tactical, I should be fine. So long as you are all right, we will deal with it."
"He might try ta work you in two specialties, or pull you when it's needed," Jazz said, settling comfortably on his back with Prowl leaning over him. He reached up and brushed his thumb over the center of his mate's chevron and the newly-etched tattoo there. "Never get tired of seeing that," he murmured, tracing the design of their designations, their real designations, entwined with Radiance's. It was a design they'd sketched for themselves in Praxus, not polished like the one they'd worn there, but something they'd created with Radiance to have with them.
"Neither do I," Prowl smiled warmly and kissed the matching tattoo on his love's chevron center. "It feels good to wear it. Let no one forget what he was to us, and always will be."
Jazz pulled him down for a warm, sweet kiss. "Ours," he whispered.
"Ours," Prowl agreed, melting into the contact as he returned it.