Here's another chapter for you all to enjoy! I don't have much else to say, so… um, yep, more Jazz and Prowl craziness. ^_^
Major thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: Kai-Chan94, CNightJoy, Jinx, LionLover190, Nightblooming Orchid, renegadewriter8, Peacewish, MandaMelon, Daklog73, Anon, femme4prime, BoredTech, FoghornLeghorn83, Bluebird Soaring, Optimus Bob, Gatekat, A Lurker, Darkeyes17, Faecat, Xenophobic Doll, phoebe turner, Juzu, AriRashKae, Gilded Orchid, abarai-san, smoking caramels, SwedishDragon, mdnytryder, Pruhana, Sideslip, DitzyMusicLover, xdragonslayerx, Midnight Marquis, JenEvan, chaitea16, 1bloodtempest, ChaosGarden, UsagiLovesDuochan, Got Buttermilk, Chloo, and Guardian Moon Dragon. You guys are the absolute best, you know that? You all deserve hugs, but since I can't personally deliver a hug, you'll have to settle for a new chapter. =P
Read, Review, and Enjoy~!
Chapter 20
A knock came at the door, startling Prowl from the distraction of his thoughts. He looked up, discovering his office door open and the Special Ops commander standing there. Quickly, Prowl jerked up and tried to hide the evidence of his consideration. It was Jazz's old visor, the one he had managed to shatter during their first secret training session. He should have thrown it out when he had the chance, but he'd kept it as some sort of twisted trophy. Blackhawk's even gaze lingered on the cracked visor before it was stashed from sight. The two commanders met each others gazes; Prowl schooled his features into a mask, while Blackhawk stared blandly with no indication of his thoughts.
There was silence for a very long time. Prowl refused to offer greetings and Blackhawk did not intone apologies for his interruption. They revved at the same time. Finally, one of them blinked. Blackhawk was the first to say something.
"First Aid's back with the recon team," announced the Special Ops commander.
Prowl arched an optic ridge. "You came all this way to tell me that?" He hid the annoyance from his tone, but he felt the irritation nonetheless. There was no tactical advantage in knowing such a thing, though he supposed he should be relieved to know that the group of Autobots were safely back home. If that was all Blackhawk had come to tell him, then he could have shared the message through a transmission rather then expend the energy to come to his office.
"I thought you might like to hear what Hound had to say when he got in," said the saboteur.
"What might that be?" Prowl asked, straightening subtly. He assumed that the information would be sensitive tactical information much needed to formulate a proper rescue mission to extract Bluestreak. Something of that nature made much more sense in bringing Blackhawk to his office.
Strangely, the mech offered a half-smile. "Jazz was at the Neutral camp."
Prowl's reaction was too immediate to hide. He jerked straighter, frame tensing. A moment later, he realized his mistake and tried to settle himself back into his original state. Regardless of his attempts, it was too late to hide what had already been seen. Blackhawk had witnessed the reaction as much as he had seen Prowl contemplating Jazz's visor; he was too polite, or else too shrewd, to say anything of the matter.
"And this is important because…?" Prowl prompted, forcing his tone to remain bland.
Blackhawk tilted his shoulders up slowly. "I thought it was quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
"Depending on what you define as a coincidence," Prowl replied tightly. "Where Jazz is or isn't is no longer the concern of the Autobots. That being said, is there any particular significance in knowing his location?"
Blackhawk's optic ridges slowly rose so that his faceplate expressed cool surprise. "I would think this information is significant, yes."
"Do enlighten me," Prowl intoned.
The cool surprise on the saboteur's faceplate turned into something else that Prowl did not have a name for. "Jazz apparently informed Hound that he would rescue Bluestreak on his own."
Prowl stared, then blinked very slowly. "Are you sure?"
"Hound was quite adamant of the fact," Blackhawk confirmed. "I thought he might have been delirious, but First Aid assures me that Hound is in his right mind."
Prowl sat back and processed the information. Jazz had volunteered of his own volition to aid them, even after he expressed his desire to cut ties with them. That was… extremely unexpected of him. Albeit, Jazz had the uncanny talent of always doing what was least expected. Strange as it was to admit, it was a relief to know where Jazz had gone off to. It was also a relief to know that Bluestreak's chances of survival had just gone up a great deal.
Prowl found his gaze wandering back to Blackhawk, who offered another half-smile, this one uncommonly warm.
"I just thought that you might like to know," he said before turning into the hall and disappearing.
Prowl revved quietly, left alone to his own thoughts once again. Jazz… was still helping them. A smidgeon of concern drifted through him. Jazz was good, yes, but there was the possibility that he could use assistance. From his subspace pocket, Prowl withdrew the tracer Jazz had given him and considered it.
What the Autobots had first supposed to be a small interloping camp on the borderlands between Iacon and Axiom Nexus turned out to be a much larger affair. It was an established miniature base, complete with an enforced outer perimeter wall and multiple watchful cameras and sensors dotting the area. The Decepticons had been especially shrewd in constructing this endeavour, having managed to keep it from the Autobots for so long. A lot of the major work was already finished on the compound, with only outlying buildings left to be completed. It was a damn disconcerted sight to have something so incredibly dangerous lying so innocuously between two Autobot territories.
To be in the borderlands was both a precarious spot to be located, caught between two Autobot territories, and a valuable vantage place from which the Autobots could be spied on closely. The geography of the land was to the Decepticons' advantage, seeing as the territories of Cybertron were separated from each other by intentional gorges incorporated into the landscape from centuries of building layer atop of layer of buildings. The gorges were deep enough that an aerial would have trouble seeing clearly to the bottom. The depth made it wholly dangerous for a recon team to go all the way down to assess the bottom.
Jazz was neither impressed with the construction of the offending base nor in the mood to play nicely with anyone who happened to get in his way. Indeed, he was in a rather foul mood. His defection from Iacon base and his continued indecision concerning the conditions of his life exacerbated his need for violence. Lots and lost of violence; physical or psychological, it didn't matter. An outlet for his frustration was sorely needed.
Much to his satisfaction, being with the Autobots so long had not diminished his talents in the least. He was able to get into the base with relative ease. The small size of the compound worked in his favour. The population of the base was small, meaning less of a chance of stray optics catching sight of Jazz. Plus, it was easier to hack a small mainframe than it was to hack an immense compound database like the ones that supported the main Decepticon strongholds.
He encountered resistance on only two counts during his initial break in, appearing in the form of two low-ranking Decepticon warriors. Both were ignorant of Jazz's identity, signing their death warrants the moment they attacked. His fight with them was brief and unsatisfying, neither presenting any kind of significant challenge. The engagement resulted in the violent death of one combatant when Jazz ripped open his chest and tore his sparkcase out. The panic that followed in the other Decepticon required Jazz to chase after him, struggling briefly before decapitating the bot so that his screams did not draw any unwanted attention.
He felt no remorse in their murders.
Lingering over the oozing frames, Jazz felt a giddy kind of freedom he'd thought he had lost. He could feel the wonderful rush of insanity was it whirled back into his consciousness, presenting him with a thousand possibilities now laying at his fingertips. He didn't have to be there for Bluestreak. Bluestreak was just one lowly Autobot who meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. There were countless things for Jazz to do now. He could kill everyone, hack the base, blow it up, do whatever he wanted. No more stupid Autobot rules. He could kill as he pleased and not have to answer to anyone. Just staring down at the energon congealing on his hands, he felt better than he had in a long time. The world suddenly made sense again. This was what he was supposed to be doing, not pretending to be something he wasn't.
Primus, he hadn't realized how far from himself he'd strayed until he finally came back.
A sharp laugh burst from him, a sound that would send shivers down any Cybertronian's back.
Jazz also recognized that two dead frames were an awful waste of perfectly good parts. He sparred a moment to steal some useful things off them- their weapons, their optics, small sections of their armour or innards that could fit into his subspace pocket. After that, he drained their processors of useful information. It was too sloppy of him to leave their dismembered frames lying about where they could be found so easily, so Jazz stashed them away where they would not be found. The information they'd surrendered to Jazz was not as useful as he would have liked; they were new to the base and apparently did not know where Bluestreak was being kept. That did not deter Jazz, happy to seek out the command center and cause some much needed havoc.
With their memories, he found his way to the small command center where a single mech was on duty. The room itself was cramped, barely big enough to fit a group of five; the walls were crowded with monitors of all kinds, the floor space consumed by consoles. The nameless mech went rigid as he felt the ice of a blade press into his neck between two slates of armour. Jazz let his dampening field drop so that the full impact of who he was became apparent. This bot was from Straxis, had skirted around Jazz in the halls of that base, and now started to cry when he realized his death was imminent.
"That's right, ya know what's gonna happen," Jazz purred into his audio. With one hand, he stroked the side of the mech's head, perversely gentle just to make the situation so much worse. He savoured the increased panic radiating from his victim.
"J-Jazz… you… you…"
"Didn't think ya'd ever see meh again, did ya?"
The poor bot started wheezing, his frame wracked with silent, violent sobs. One hand rose to the controls, trying to alert the base to the intruder. Jazz was quicker. His blade shot out and pierced the mech's hand, pinning it to the console. He clamped his free hand over the mech's mouthplates to muffle the scream.
"Shouldn't have tried that," Jazz admonished, continuing to purr. This felt so good. So right. This was the way things were supposed to be. He was always in control. He trailed his claws down the side of the nameless mech's faceplate. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Easy way- ya tell meh where Bluestreak is and then Ah kill ya. Hard way is Ah kill ya now and rip the information from your dead frame. Your choice."
Unable to contain his sobbing anymore, an awful noise burst from the bot. "Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me! I don't want to die!"
Jazz spun the mech around on his swivelling chair so they could look into each others' optics. There was undisguised fear in the bot's optics- weak, useless, pathetic fear. And all the Decepticon could see in Jazz through the white visor was nothingness. White death staring down at him with unblinking opitcs. Jazz's mouthplates curled into a perverse smile, madness flirting at the edges.
"That wasn't one of the options."
"Please-! Please, don't-!"
The mech was dead before he even realized a second blade had been drawn, slashing through his neck. Pressurized energon sprayed out in a hot stream, coating the console, screens, floor, and Jazz. Light faded to dark in the dead mech's optics. Jazz turned the limp head one way, then the other, still attached as it was by wires to the rest of the frame. He took what was useful of the frame- again with the weapons and optics, and drained the processor. Tossing the useless frame aside, Jazz dove into the mainframe of the base and gathered what he could. Briefly, he considered the tactical advantage his newly liberated information would be worth to the Autobots.
Then he growled and shoved the thought aside.
Instead, he poured as many viruses as he could into every virtual nook and cranny of the place, hoping that the mainframe was connected to other Decepticon bases. If he could infect the whole lot, it would make his orn so much better.
His trip to the brig was quick and only delayed by one Decepticon. Once in the holding pen, he spared no time in disposing of the guard. A single slash to the neck and a stab to the chest, through the spark. Energy arced from his chest, energon spraying from his neck in a sickly warm tide. There was no time to linger over the frame, not when the whole corridor of the brig was ringing with the sound of hysterical screaming and sobbing. Normally, Jazz would have enjoyed such noise. Had he been the cause of it, his pleasure of it would have been tenfold. He would have been plotting a thousand ways to make that screaming louder. However, in hearing the screaming now, it sent ice through him. Suddenly his mind was no longer spinning, but screeching to a skidding halt, the world coming back into stark focus.
A hand shot out to the wall to steady him, finding himself momentarily dizzy.
He knew who was screaming.
"Bluestreak!" he shouted automatically. "Blue, it's meh!"
Primus, he was shocked by how chilling the sniper's screams were. An endless tide of ebbing and flowing noise, wailing and screaming and sobbing all mixed into one. Jazz did not enjoy this noise at all. He did not enjoy the terror. It made his chest ache.
"Blue, can ya hear meh? Ah'm here ta get ya out!"
There came no acknowledgement. Bluestreak's howling did not diminish.
It was a small brig, featuring only four small cells. There were bars on the cages instead of energy force fields. At the sound of Jazz's voice, several bots appeared at the bars of the other cages, their expressions desperate and wild.
"Get us out of here!" begged a green femme, her expression desperate. "Please, get us out!"
The others in the cages begged for their lives and freedom.
Jazz stared. This wasn't in the plan. He never signed on to save anyone beyond Bluestreak. Without looking at any of the others, he ran down the aisle to the last cage, grasping the bars and shaking them. Bluestreak was on the dirty floor, grasping his head as he rolled and convulsed violently. Dread passed through Jazz's spark as a terrible thought struck him. It was a memory loop, forcing Bluestreak to relive the worst moments of his life over and over. He knew of a few bots who could do this, and he did not wish to encounter any of them at the moment.
"Blue! Can ya hear meh! Bluestreak, say something!"
"He can't!" said the green femme who'd spoken to him first. "There's a mech here with a single yellow optic! He did something to that Autobot when he was first brought in."
Yellow optic.
Shockwave.
Frag! That was just Jazz's luck to stumble upon Shockwave's latest den of horrors. Shockwave wasn't a well known mech. Megatron liked to keep him as his personal sick secret. Jazz was aware of the so-called scientist through all the reports he'd hacked from Megatron's personal files. The things that mech did in the name of 'science'… They were sick, twisted, wrong things. A much as he hated to admit it, Jazz looked like a cuddly fluff-ball compared to Shockwave.
"Please, that mech will be back any breem! Get us out of here!" begged the green femme.
Jazz ignored her, now intent on getting his aft out of there as quickly as possible. He shot out the lock on Bluestreak's cage, throwing open the door and attempting to drag the sniper out. The extra movement and noise only exacerbated Bluestreak's condition. His frame bowed backwards, screaming at a glass-shattering pitch. In this state, Bluestreak would be no use to anyone. Jazz would not be able to fight his way out if he was dragging dead weight behind him.
"Ah don't have time for this," Jazz snarled. Wrenching out into the aisle, Jazz raised his gun and shot the locks out on the other three cells. There were seven bots in total who spilled out of the cells. They all huddled together, shaking out of fear. Their wide wite optics looked upon Jazz with the utmost terror shining in them. Not a single one of them had a signal modulator. Neutrals, the whole useless lot of them. Jazz's luck just kept getting worse and worse.
"If ya wanna get out of here alive, then you're gonna have ta carry him out," Jazz ordered, jerking his head in Bluestreak's direction.
They stared at him blankly.
"Damn it, move!" Jazz roared.
Most of them jumped and screamed, while some of them started to cry. The only one to react reasonably was the green femme; she grabbed two mechs and shoved them towards Bluestreak's cell. "Listen to the bot! Carry him!" Her gaze swung to Jazz. "Got anything if we have to fight?"
Jazz withdrew the weapons he confiscated and tossed them into any set of hands that looked steady enough to hold them. "Think ya can handle those?"
The green femme considered her blaster, then nodded determinedly. "Yeah, this'll be no problem. I'm Moonracer, by the way."
Jazz jerked his head in a curt nod. Since he wasn't about to share his real designation, he said the first one that popped into his mind: "Prowl."
Moonracer wrinkled her olfactory sensor. The designation didn't quite fit the minibot who'd said it. Given the situation, she didn't linger on it. "Thanks for getting us out, Prowl."
"We're not out yet," Jazz warned. Bluestreak's screaming and thrashing only got worse as he was held between the two Neutral mechs. Jazz levelled a hard look on the bot. "Sorry, Blue- Ah gotta do this." He raised his hand to the back of the sniper's neck and released a powerful magnetic burst. It overpowered the bot's neural net, causing him to first arch and spasm, then he went limp and silent. Still conscious, but paralyzed. "Alright, now we gotta get out of here. Stay close."
One of the Decepticons must have realized that something was amiss. An alarm blared to life. Jazz ran at the head of his small group, ready for anything to come around any corner. When a bot came running at them from the end of the hall, it was a short fight before Jazz dispatched of the bot. Quick but brutal, shooting the bot straight through his spark, causing the Neutrals behind him to scream and whimper. Violence was obviously not their forte. Another Decepticon bellowed and came charging down an intersecting hall. Jazz spun to meet the threat, but Moonracer raised her blaster and shot the mech in the chest. She then shot the supports of the hallway, causing it to collapse. Unlike her fellows, she barely blinked when shooting out the supports… though she cringed when the Decepticon was crushed to death.
Jazz raised both optic ridges at the Neutral.
"I used to be a miner," she said shakily. "Demolitions."
Jazz smirked, impressed. He summoned the group to keep moving. As they got closer to the exit, the Decepticons flocking to them grew more vicious. One of the Neutrals got grabbed. It was a poor little thing, mircobot. Jazz's first instinct was to forget the bot and get the rest of them out, but he saw Moonracer wheeling around and knew she'd try to fight.
"Get out of here!" Jazz roared, shoving the femme away. "Ah'll get the bot!" He launched himself at the Decepticon who held the microbot. In self-preservation, the 'Con tried to use his hostage as a shield. Jazz grabbed the Neutral by an ankle and yanked him away, dislocating the bot's shoulders in the process. The Decepticon went down with a gunshot to the head, execution style. With that done, Jazz grabbed the sobbing microbot and threw him over his shoulder, bolting for the gapping doors.
"Over here!" Moonracer screamed, running backwards as she covered her group as they ran for the gates.
Jazz took off after them, shooting with his free arm. The towering, heavy gates were locked when they got to them, but there was a gatehouse they could get through. The bot inside was easy to take care of. Jazz had the honour of shooting in the faceplate. One Neutral was shot in the process, the plasma blast easily burning away the plating on his shoulder and arm. It was a desperate squeeze to get the whole group through the small, narrow passage. In a wild cascade, they were free. Gunfire chased after them, crashing through the gatehouse and soaring over the compound's walls. Jazz took cover behind the walls, twisting into the entrance of the gatehouse to shoot through it, taking down every Decepticon he could get a lock on.
And then a curious thing happened. Jazz prepared to return fire once more, only to catch sight of the Decepticons. They'd stopped shooting, now turning their backs to the fight and running. As much as Jazz would have liked the thought of them running because of him, he knew it wasn't true. A cold, bitter wave of dread filled him. There was one mech who could have them all running scared.
Beside him, he heard Moonracer gasp. "Prowl," she whispered, her small hand grabbing him in a vice grip. "Prowl, it's the mech with the yellow optic."
Jazz steeled himself, turning slowly to face the towering Decepticon standing just beyond the gatehouse. He was several times larger than Jazz, a towering monstrosity. There was no faceplate, just a single yellow optic blazing from the center of his head; it adjusted and readjusted as it focused on Jazz. Jazz slid the microbot on his shoulder into Moonracer's arms, moving to the very front of his ragtag group. He tensed, readying his gun in one hand and his blade in the other.
"Shockwave."
"That material is my property," said Shockwave in that monotone voice of his. It was similar to Soundwave's, but somehow much worse. There was no spark behind the words being spoken. "You will relinquish all of it back into my custody immediately."
Material. As if they weren't even Cybertronian.
"Ya really wanna risk a fight with meh? Ah could rip ya apart," Jazz snarled, backing up a step to make sure he had his group covered. As much as he hated to admit it, he was not as confident as he sounded. Shockwave was one of the few bots in the universe who made him uncomfortable. There were so many unknowns that it was no guarantee that Jazz would win if they fought. Shockwave was truly all kinds of nasty.
For several long moments, Shockwave sized up his competition. A thousand calculations were probably running through his mind- logistics and statistics. Every form of mathematical calculation, comparing himself to Jazz in order to determine who was better, who was worth more. It was too much like Prowl. Jazz found himself recoiling from the thought. Prowl was nothing like this fragger.
"There is no reason for your actions here. You have no connection to these bots. You should not be protecting them," Shockwave pointed out in that disturbing monotone of his. "You are an anomaly. Leave immediately."
"They're mine, Shockwave. Ah'll take ya apart before Ah let ya have them."
Shockwave was unfazed by the announcement. He was not easily deterred from his own plans, even with the risk of death thrown in his faceplate. He took a step forward, prepared to fight Jazz. He may have been one sick and twisted scientist, but he'd ripped into enough minds to have stolen their fighting skills. He was confident that he could engage Jazz and win.
Moonracer levelled her shaking blaster in Shockwave's direction. The two other Neutrals wielding guns did the same.
"Come any closer and we'll blow your head off!" Moonracer yelled.
Shockwave paused, forced to reassess the situation. It was not just one bot he was fighting now, but four. The odds were not in his favour. He could not risk substantial injury when there was still much he had to do. Giving up eight material sources would be a small price to pay for his life. It would not such a great loss; he had much more material stored away elsewhere.
That single yellow optic focused on Jazz. "Megatron will hear of this."
"Yeah, tell him Ah'll come for him one of these orns," Jazz snarled. "When Ah do, Ah'll rip his spark out."
Shockwave inclined his head, then he transformed into a jet and took off. He winged out of the gorge and was gone from sight. In his wake, there was uneasy silence. Hesitant relief started to flood in. Several bots heaved terrified sobs, collapsing on the ground in shivering heaps.
"Are you alright?" Moonracer asked softly, touching Jazz's tense shoulder.
"Fine," Jazz growled, shrugging away from her touch.
"He seemed to know you," Moonracer observed. "Who was he?"
"No one you'd want ta know," Jazz replied darkly. "C'mon, we gotta keep moving."
Fully trusting of their saviour, the seven Neutrals got to their feet and set off in the direction Jazz pointed. Bluestreak was still propped between two mechs, his limp head lolling. His optics flashed bright and dim, rolling around in their sockets; he was till trapped in his own mind. As soon as they found shelter, Jazz would have to get into his mind and see how bad the loop was. If Shockwave was the one to put it in place, then the sooner the loop was severed, the better.
It was difficult travelling in such an awkward group. Jazz was used to moving quickly, usually on his own. On the few occasions he'd worked with Autobots Special Ops, they'd been nearly as quick and efficient as he at moving about. The newly liberated Neutrals had no such talent in their repertoire. They were slow, held back by their inherent lack of grace in such uneven surroundings. Bluestreak's presence further hindered them. Jazz was forced to move at a fraction of his regular speed, constantly backtracking in order to cover their trail and make sure they weren't being followed.
What the Neutrals lacked in grace, they made up for in gratitude. With the littlest provocation, they spilled their secrets to Jazz. It was a novel new experience for Jazz to have any kind of Cybertronian, let alone a whole group of them, so openly trusting of him. The feeling left him disconcerted, distinctly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he gathered what he could from them. Aside from the seven Jazz had released, it was revealed that there had been an additional four to their number. Collectively, they had all been captives for several orns, some more than others. Shockwave had come to them every couple of orns, selecting one bot to be taken away. That bot was never seen again, though when the nights grew silent some of the caged Neutrals swore they heard screaming.
Their stories confirmed that Shockwave was doing experiments again.
Even the darkest side of Jazz shuddered at the thought.
He also learned that they assumed him to be some kind of mercenary, paid for by the Autobots to rescue Bluestreak. They came to the conclusion that Jazz was little threat to them, despite his fearsome skills on the battlefield. Because his optics were white and he had no faction modulator, he was as Neutral as they were. After their torment and terror at the hands of the Decepticons, the whole lot of them were all too willing to believe the best of the bot who had rescued them. He had become their hero.
Because it suited Jazz to have the Neutrals believe he was no threat, he let them continue with their faulty assumptions. He never let himself forget that he was no one's hero.
Moonracer walked beside Jazz as often as possible, perfectly at ease to be with him even after she'd seen him kill so brutally. She was honest as she spoke with him, expressing her relief that the Autobots had sent a Neutral rather than one of their own. She'd heard many things about the Autobot warriors that made her wary. Although she believed in Optimus Prime's ideals, it was warriors like Ironhide or the Twins that made her extremely nervous. Ironhide was rumoured to be a titanic brute with guns all over his frame. The twins were worse, supposedly mindless berserker monsters who killed everything they touched and had to be locked away in cages when they weren't on the battlefield. Worst of all was the fact that the Autobots now had Jazz working for them, whom she believed to be one of the most terrifying creatures on the planet. There were many stories around the Neutral camps of what he had done for the Decepticons, and now how he worked for the Autobots. Most of the stories were terribly exaggerated, none of them flattering.
Jazz said nothing of the matter. He maintained an air that he was keeping a lookout for anything unusual. In truth, he was simply confused about the situation he found himself in. Getting Bluestreak he could understand, sort of. What was he supposed to do with everyone else? Who was he supposed to be in a situation like this?
It took several joors, but they eventually found a place to hide. It was several levels up from the bottom of the gorge, hidden from sight by a mess of abandoned buildings. There was only dim ambient light filtering in from the cracks in the ground of the level above. Their shelter was not much more than a reinforced warehouse that stank of rust and rot.
Two dead frames were found lying quietly nearby. Jazz knew the Neutrals needed energy, so he dragged the frames off where no one could see and drained them of their energon; most of it was congealed, but some was still good. The good thing about Cybertronians was the fluids that supported their frames were universal and constantly able to be recycled. When he returned, he did not tell anyone where he got the energon. The Neutrals were too grateful to ask about it.
Moonracer got to work on the injured microbot, attempting to reset his arms into their shoulder sockets.
"Ah thought ya were in demolitions," Jazz said, watching her progress. She looked like she knew what she was doing.
"I was," Moonracer replied without looking up. "I was also the medic. It was a small mining company."
Jazz nodded, glancing in Bluestreak's direction. "Is there anything ya can do for him?"
Moonracer sighed, her expression turning weary. "No, sorry. I was only programmed to work on physical injuries. Damages to the processor are beyond me…"
"Alright, then Ah'll have ta take a look," Jazz said, much to the femme's surprise. She watched as Jazz approached Bluestreak's twitching frame. In the joors that had passed, he had gained back some movement, now able to twitch and whimper. One Neutral mech sat with him, stroking his head in hopes to offer comfort. When Jazz crouched down, the Neutral looked up.
"When he was first dragged in, he fought so hard," said the mech. "He saw us in the cages and he wanted to get us out. I've never seen anyone fight so hard." He sighed. "They had to call in that bot in with the yellow optic."
"He's lucky Shockwave didn't kill him," Jazz said quietly, flicking open Bluestreak's interface panel. "If ya can hear meh, Blue, Ah'm gonna try ta help ya."
Bluestreak did not hear him.
He entered into the sniper's mind and was immediately made aware of the chaos whirling within. Bluestreak was in no condition to resist unwanted visitors in his mind; his every faculty was laid out freely for Jazz to peruse. At the forefront was the vision of a massacre set to play on a loop. It was the orn that the capitol of Crystal City had been demolished. Jazz saw it through Bluestreak's optics; he had been the first to see the oncoming attack, but had been too scared the raise the alarm. As the Decepticons descended on the city, helpless bots were wiped out. Megatron had decided to hit Cybertron where it would truly hurt, taking out the most beautiful and peaceful of all the territory capitols. He demonstrated his might that orn in destroying the entire population. Bluestreak had been forced to witness the death of all he held dear, and he was forced to live with the knowledge that he was the only survivor. Little bots crushed beneath the sharp feet of Seekers. Others run over by tank treads in the streets. Smoke and flame backlighting running bots, their screams intermingled with the ringing sound of shattering crystal. Bomb blasts exploded in every direction. Chaos and panic choked their air. The loop played over and over, becoming more emotionally charged with each play.
This was the kind of thing Jazz used to do all the time to Autobots who were captured and brought to him. Putting a loop in their minds made them easy prey, breaking down their resistance with brutal efficiency. Prowl had never allowed him to get so deep into his mind, but Bluestreak would have presented no challenge to someone like Shockwave. Now faced with the results of one such loop, Jazz could only feel disturbed. Not for his own past actions, but for the present. Bluestreak may have been an annoying half-bit, but he did not deserve something like this.
Ending a memory loop was not a pretty thing. It was never a clean cut endeavour. While Jazz had plenty of experience creating them, he had little experience ending the agony. Finding the main stream of data supplying the loop, Jazz sawed through it like taking a saw blade to a thick rope. His consciousness warred with Bluestreak's weaker one. Data frayed. The loop weakened. Finally, the tension snapped and the loop shattered with one last lingering scream. Memories and data files scattered everywhere in Bluestreak's head. His frame tensed, a pitiful sound falling from between him mouthplates, and then he sighed and fell into unconsciousness.
Jazz backed out of the sniper's mind, rocking back on his heels. There was a lot of damage left behind. It would take Ratchet a long time to sort out Bluestreak's mind, and even then there'd be a chance that Blue would never be the same again. Jazz had only had an astrosecond to glance at the dampening programs that had been put in place the first time around so that Bluestreak could keep on functioning with his memories intact without going insane. This time around… there was no telling if Blue's mind would simply give up and implode on itself.
"He'll be okay now?" wondered the Neutral mech.
"Probably not," Jazz sighed, not bothering to lie.
There was a commotion at the entrance of their hideaway that drew Jazz's attention. One of the bots standing guard suddenly became hysterical. Wary of what was happening, Jazz drew his weapons, exhausted but still ready to fight. He pushed his way outside, backing the Neutrals into the semi-safe confines of the warehouse. Moonracer peeked out the door, her blaster charged.
Through the gloom came a flash of red. Following close on its heels was a brief flitting of unmistakable gold. Blue optics. Autobot signatures. The pair came into sight quickly enough, looking the same as they ever had. Strange and unaffected. Sideswipe was mildly intrigued by the settings he found himself in, staring around with a vague smirk on his faceplate. Sunstreaker stared straight ahead, his handsome faceplate unsmiling as always. They were smeared in ash and fresh energon.
Jazz relaxed. He was surprisingly relieved to see such familiar faceplates. It was a shock to see them at all, but Jazz found that he did not want to turn them away.
Moonracer tensed. "The Twins," she hissed, raising her blaster.
Jazz held a hand out to stay her. "They're cool." He focused his gaze on the pair of approaching Autobots. "You're late for the party."
"I think our invitations got lost in the mail," Sideswipe replied, laughing. His dancing gaze slid to Moonracer, widening in surprise. "Looks like you made new friends."
"She's collateral," Jazz informed curtly.
"I'm also a really good shot," Moonracer warned, her finger itching around the trigger.
Sideswipe raised his hands in surrender, impressed that any Neutral would dare raise a blaster to him. Most of them ran away crying when they realized the twins were coming.
"Where's Bluestreak?" Sunstreaker asked sharply. For a very brief moment, there was something in his optics other than ice. It was gone as soon as it came.
"Inside," Jazz replied. "He had a number done ta his mind. Ah did what Ah could but there's a lot of damage left behind. It's stuff Ah can't fix on mah own."
Sunstreaker showed little reaction beyond a tightening around his mouthplates. He made a move to go inside the warehouse, but Moonracer raised her blaster. She was terrified, but not about to let a monster get anywhere near her friends. Sunstreaker stared at the blaster trained on him, a low growl vibrating from him.
"It's alright, Moonracer," Jazz assured. "Just don't piss him off and he won't hurt anyone. He's here to help."
Moonracer stayed reluctant for several moments, then dropped her blaster. She stepped aside to let Sunstreaker into the warehouse. Her gaze lingered on Jazz, flickering worriedly to Sideswipe. "Are you sure you're going to be okay out here with him?"
"Ah could kick his aft any orn," Jazz replied truthfully. Sideswipe laughed.
"Just be careful, Prowl," Moonrace said, following on Sunstreaker's heels. She raised her blaster again, just in case. Within the warehouse, several gasps and wimpers came from the Neutrals when they realized one of the twins was among them. Jazz rolled his optics, regretting the moment he'd let the Neutrals out of their cages. They were damn embarrassing. He stuck his head inside the doorway to inform the lot that Sunstreaker meant no harm, but it was probably for the best that no one make optic contact or get within arm's reach of him. When Jazz pulled his head back out and turned to Sideswipe, the mech's optic ridges had shot so far up that it looked like they would fly off his forehead.
"Who are you and what have you done with Jazz?" were the first words out of Sideswipe's mouthplates.
"If ya don't get that look off your faceplate, Ah'll smack your faceplate off your head," Jazz snapped.
Sideswipe liked the way he looked, so he schooled his features... sort of. Mostly, he just looked to the side so only his profile could be seen. He watched Jazz from the corner of his optic. "So...?"
"So?" Jazz repeated, glaring.
"Prowl, huh?" drawled the red mech.
"Ah couldn't very well tell them mah real designation, now could Ah?" Jazz shot back acidly.
"The real Prowl is going to get a kick out of this," Sideswipe snickered.
"Not if he never hears about it," Jazz growled, all but threatening to rip into the red mech's mind and wipe him of every memory he possessed.
"Fine, fine, he'll never hear of it. I'll just laugh about it privately," Sideswipe sighed. He would laugh about it. A lot. He laced his fingers behind his back and rocked on his heels. "So, you know, I didn't think this was your kind of scene." Okay, maybe the whole bit where the saboteur was covered in energone and bits of gore was typical, but everything else? Him being the leader of a pack of defenceless, wimpy Neutrals? It was like suddenly falling into an alternate universe.
Knowing exactly what Sideswipe was refering to, Jazz scowled. "The green one's useful."
"And the rest of them...?"
There was no answer, because Jazz didn't have one.
Sideswipe canted his head but said nothing. This was one of those moment where he knew better than to press his luck, because it would probably get him gutted.
"Come on, we have other things ta talk about," Jazz growled, jerking his head in the direction he wanted Sideswipe to walk. He didn't want anyone overhearing something they weren't supposed to. They walked a short distance, far enough not to be overheard but close enough to keep the place in sight.
"Ya got ta the base, huh?" Jazz enquired, gesturing to Sideswipe's less-than-pristine appearance.
Sideswipe's good humour faded into a more serious expression. He brushed his hands down his armour, scraping away the layer of energon and ash clinging to him. "Yeah, we were there. Not for long, though. You did quite the number to it- by the time me and Sunny got there, most bots had vacated. We thought it best to kill the ones who were still there and alive. Blew the place up before we left, just to be sure of a job well done."
"Good," Jazz replied. He levelled a suspicious stare on the red mech. "And how did ya find meh?"
"That was the easy part," Sideswipe said, smirking. "We had a little help." From subspace, he withdrew something and set it into Jazz's palm.
To his surprise, Jazz realized it was a tracer. The very tracer he'd given Prowl.