The reviews for the last chapter blew me away. Thank you so much to so many of you who put a little extra oomph into your comments. I think I had the best fun with the ones who started speculating on Hunter's true allegiances, as well as the ones who picked up on Jazz's... how should we say? Curtness toward Hunter that may or may not have been a slight case of the jealousies. For the former, I had certainly intended Hunter's entrance into the story to be ambiguous. As for his exit, some of you may be surprised. Others, not so much. XD As for dearest Jazzy bot... To tell the truth, when I was writing the chapter, I hadn't realized I was portraying him as jealous of Hunter. It was very clever of the readers who picked up on that, seeing things that I had not even intended for the writing. Perhaps I've become so accustomed to the moods of the characters that now I am developing them subconsciously as I write. XD
Anyways, I just really wanted to say that I was deeply impressed and inspired everyone's clever, enthusiastic, and insightful reviews. Thank you so much for the ones who invested a little more than they usually do. You restored my faith in this site. ^_^
Also, special thanks to FunkyFish1991 for helping me to decide to post this now instead of the next side of forever.
As per the usual, my thanks to ALL of the reviewers of last chapter: White Aster, Katea-Nui, VyxenSkye, quasarmom, TheVastraNararda, smoking caramels, The Piper o fLocksley, renegadewriter8, DemonSurfer, Optimus Bob, Imbri of the Moon, RococoSpade, Wind of the Dawn, BoredTech, Sparklespepper, CNightJoy, Jessie07, Midnight Marquis, Poisoninja, Darkeyes17, femme4jack, SwedishDragon, Fianna9, Psyche102, Daklog73, DitzyMusciLover, Wise Crack Idiots, StarscreamII, Anodythe, Sideslip, Camfield, autumnannette19, 1bloodtempest, ChaosGarden, FunkyFish1991, Nightblooming Orchid, Faecat, Peacewish, and Kida Bridger! You guys are too wonderful~
Read, Review, and Enjoy~
Chapter 31
The moment that Hunter quit their company, Jazz moved into the ship for his shift of recharge.
Prowl remained outside. He kept his seat and let his thoughts occupy his time until midnight came and went. He had enough thoughts to think about that he was not bored for the entirety of his shift. There was Shockwave to consider, who did not dare to be forgotten. Prowl was too wise to forget about the severity of the situation. Shockwave was the only reason he was out in the middle of nowhere, following Jazz on a possible suicide mission. Had it been any one else other than Shockwave as their target, he probably would have let Jazz go on his merry way with full confidence that the saboteur could take care of himself. But Shockwave... Prowl trusted Jazz's descriptions of the bot, and therefore he would stay by Jazz's side for the duration of this mission. No matter what they happened to encounter. Shockwave... or his experiments.
The Decepticon was not the sole subject of Prowl's thoughts, however. He also had other angles of this mission that had to be attended to, such as the likely defence precautions Shockwave might have installed if he was indeed set up in the borderlands. How many accompanying Decepticons might he have on hand? If there were Neutral victims present, how might they be rescued? What might their damages be? What if Prowl and Jazz became victims themselves...? So many unknowns about this missions. They did not know where Shockwave's exact location was, or how many accomplices he might have, or if he was even in the borderlands at all. Normally, Prowl would have a lot more than just vague rumours and his partner's determination to go on such a mission, but in this case... Apparently he thought very little of protocol nowadays. Jazz has, indeed, been a bad influence on him.
And then there was the matter of Hunter to think about.
Prowl had not been initially questioning about his... brother's presence. He suspected that might have been his own folly, induced by familiarity with the bot. If it had been anyone else he encountered in the middle of nowhere, he would have been far more reserved. Jazz's suspicions of the scout were infectious. Prowl now found himself calculating and recalculating the chances of running into anyone, let alone someone so closely related to his past, in this place. The percentages were not high. And yet the chances that Hunter meant to do them mischief seemed impossible compared to his impeccable record as a Security officer and as an Autobot. There was no precedence for betrayal. Hunter may be a playful bot with a peculiar fascination for physical contact, but he was not a Decepticon. He couldn't be.
At the end of his shift, Prowl dutifully climbed into the back of Putter-Poof and nudged Jazz awake. The saboteur was reluctant to get up, feigning recharge for several moments before making a show of coming online. He heaved himself up and climbed out of the ship, leaving the floor space free for Prowl to recharge on. The metal retained Jazz's warmth as Prowl got comfortable on it. It smelled of cleaning products and dirt dragged in from outside. The moment his head touched down, he fell deeply into recharge with only the vague reel of memories playing in his head to keep him company.
Jazz took up his post outside, choosing Prowl's seat instead of his own, since the seat was still warm. Temperatures did not overtly bother Cybertronians, so much so that even the frigid conditions of outer space were little trouble for them, but they did recognize the difference between warm and cold. Generally speaking, they held a preference to temperatures that did not normally freeze their afts to the objects they were sitting on.
Jazz's thoughts were similar to that of Prowl's as he served his shift. Concerns of Shockwave. Plotting revenge and violent deaths. A vague worry for the lives of Neutrals. An eagerness for the thrill of battle and the delight of smearing energon across the walls and floors- although Jazz surmised he probably did not share that thought with Prowl. He also concerned himself with Hunter. He could not say that he disliked the bot, per se, but he did not like him either. Everyone was a potential enemy until they proved themselves otherwise. Even after they proved themselves, they could still be a threat. Prowl had been too liberal in bringing the Autobot back to their camp. Hunter had been too eager to assist them. Jazz had been too soft in only giving a warning shot; he should have shot the intruder in the head first and then asked questions later.
Every couple of joors, he got up to run a shallow perimeter check to make sure no one was going to sneak up on them during the slow, quiet joors of the early pre-dawn. Thankfully, everything stayed quiet in the ruins. Not even a sensor ghost to haunt them.
When he came back from his fourth short loop around the perimeter, Prowl had already come back online and was sitting outside on the ground with bits and pieces of himself spread out on the ground. Despite it being mid-morning already, and a rather pleasant morning from what Jazz could see from the collapsed hole he had passed under, it was as dark as midnight in the docking lot. As a precaution, Prowl kept the hull lights dim to prevent attracting attention. Nevertheless, Jazz could see the tactician hunched over on the ground, his torso twisted around to get at an exposed valve on his lower right side in the back. If he listened carefully enough, he could make out the soft sound of a rare series of curses falling from Prowl's mouthplates.
"What are ya doing?" Jazz wondered, using his feet to shuffle aside the many pieces of grey armour laid out in his way.
Prowl jumped in surprise and spun around. They still had not turned off their dampeners, so he had had no warning of Jazz's silent approach. He quickly spotted the saboteur's quicksilver frame in front of him and the mess he was making of the armour that he had taken his time organizing. His mouthplates pursed at the mess.
"Well?" Jazz wondered. "If Ah knew you'd be stripping for meh, Ah would've polished mahself up all special for ya."
"I am doing a maintenance check- for my benefit, not yours," Prowl said dryly, shooing Jazz's feet out of the way so that he could begin reordering his armour parts.
It seemed Jazz was in the mood to tease, because he said, "Going solo, huh? Sounds kinky. Can Ah watch?"
"Why? So you can add my illicit activities to the report you are bound to give Hunter when he returns?" He arched his optic ridges. "No, thank you."
Jazz laughed. "There's still time ta change that. Ah have a gift for getting down and dirty real quick."
"And again, no thank you." He rolled his optics. "How did we get on this ridiculous topic again?"
"Something about maintenance..." the saboteur said with a nonchalant wave of his hand.
"Ah, right." He straightened himself up with a sense of self-importance. "It is protocol to perform a maintenance check when going out on a mission. We left so suddenly, there was no chance to perform one before leaving Iacon."
"So you're doing one now?"
Prowl shot him a pointed look that clearly said Duh. "We have been moving at such an intense pace that there has been no opportunity until now."
"Ya know, that's not as fun as getting naughty in the dirt." Jazz looked around himself to find a safe spot to place his feet, and then hopped around until he was out of Prowl's OCD minefield. "How long have you been at it?"
"Not long. I'm done cleaning out my joints and under my armour, so I'm starting on fluid replacements." Finally the slates of his removed armour were put back in order. No, wait, one was still crooked. A second later, the offending crookedness was corrected. He sighed in relief. And then he returned to what he had been doing before, twisting around to reach the valve on his back near his spinal column.
"Need help?" Jazz asked.
"No, I can get it."
"Are ya sure?" He already knew the answer. He'd helped Prowl do maintenance before.
"I'm sure."
That wasn't the right answer and both of them knew it.
Jazz stood back and watched for nearly a breem. If the Autobot wanted to be stubborn about this because Jazz had unintentionally snuck up him, then fine. Let him be stubborn. Prowl came no more closer to reaching the valve on his back than he would come to understanding good humour. He got points for trying, though. He was tryingreally hard.
When Jazz finally had enough, he sighed and asked again: "Need help with that?"
"...yes." It was the sound of utter defeat.
The saboteur could not help but rub it in. "What's the magic word?"
"I hate you."
"That's three words. And a lie. Try again." No matter how dark it was, no one could miss the bright grin on his faceplate.
Prowl made a face like he was forced to swallow something very bitter. Like his pride. One would think he'd be used to that by now. "Jazz, would you please help me reach the valve on my back. I can not reach it on my own."
"Awww, Prowler, why didn't ya just say so in the first place!"
Prowl continued to make a face that expressed his displeasure, and yet Jazz simply laughed at it.
"It is one of the disadvantages of this frame that I don't have very good articulation," the tactician said needlessly. The projecting mass of his heavy chest armour made it hard to turn as far around as he needed; it might have been logical for him to remove it to give him better articulation, but it was the culture preference of bots from more "conservative" territories, such as Simfur, to retain their chest plating and/or armour during maintenance.
"Ya should have gotten a frame with the valve in an accessible place," Jazz shrugged as he circled around Prowl and crouched down.
"Like where, between my legs? No thank you. I've heard those designs have embarrassing malfunctions, like the cap popping off at inopportune moments," Prowl snorted.
Jazz snorted too. "Ah didn't mean there. Mine's on mah right side above my pelvic complex in the front. Energon valve is on the left. Ya don't see meh getting all twisted out of shape when Ah do maintenance."
"Mute it and help me."
"Someone's grumpy today," Jazz teased, squinting at the shadowed place where the tactician's fingers were scrabbling. The glyph for 'lubricant' topped the tiny valve, which was circular and had a latched polymer cover. He plucked from Prowl's hands the clear polymer tube which was hooked up to a compact suction machine that would drain the fluid from the bot's system. He easily released the cap and hooked the tube up. A low hum heralded the suction machine turning on, and then a slick ooze of light grey cloudy liquid exited Prowl's frame through the transparent tube.
"You should get some maintenance done while you can. Hunter will be here by the end of the orn if all goes well and we shouldn't waste any time after that," Prowl suggested.
Jazz stepped back, taking up the makeshift seat that faced Prowl and his work. He absently scratched at a patch of grime adhered to the side of his leg. "Ya suggesting we head out as soon as we learn whatever Hunter gotta say?"
"Yes."
"Good enough," Jazz replied, grimacing when he realized how glued on the dirt was. It wasn't coming off without a heavy scrub brush. And maybe some acid. "Ah didn't even want ta wait this long, but..."
Prowl glanced up quickly before returning his attention to the slowly filling container of used lubricant. He understood that the only reason they were sticking around for so long, even under the suspicion of the bot's true intentions, was solely because Hunter was Prowl's brother. If it had been anyone else, even someone with important information, they would not have waited. Shockwave could move out at any moment. They ran the risk of missing him with every moment they waited, and yet they still took that risk.
"We'll move out as soon as we hear what Hunter finds," Prowl assured.
"Hopefully we can make up for lost time," Jazz sighed.
Putter-Poof made some kind of creaking noise that might have been an agreement... or might have been a curse that more exercise was coming.
The saboteur glanced back at the ship with a raised optic ridge, as if expecting the aircraft to share another witty sentiment. Putter-Poof wisely remained silent. Jazz shook his head and turned back around to Prowl, who watched him with a mild expression.
"Ah've been meaning ta ask..." Jazz said lowly. "About Hunter?"
Prowl quickly looked away, carefully adjusting the suction machine sitting near his knee. "I have considered the possibility that he may not be Autobot anymore. I cannot see him switching sides like Kingpin did. There's no precedence for it. Running into him out here may very well be a coincidence; there is an Autobot outpost near here, so it is not out of the question that he might be stationed there."
"Sure," Jazz agreed carefully. "But..."
But what if he really is a Decepticon?
"If he betrays us, you may deal with him," Prowl murmured.
The saboteur tensed. "Ya know Ah won't play by Autobot rules."
He flinched. "I know."
Jazz nodded solemnly. If it did turn out that Hunter had betrayed them, the scout wouldn't die for it. Jazz would simply wipe all of his physical memories and put his programming back to orn one. He would still live, but he would no longer be a threat to anyone.
It was quiet again between them after that. The only sound was the low hum of the suction machine, which was nearly done its job draining all the excess lubricant.
Without saying a word, Jazz slid from his seat to the ground, which was gritty against his aft. He levered up on one hand and swept beneath him with the other before settling back down more definitely. He spotted the maintenance kit Prowl had used to remove pieces of his armour; he took it up without qualm and began removing the necessary slates of armour. Every bot had an order they preferred to maintenance themselves in, and Jazz liked to start at the bottom and work his way up. It was a habit he had started... well, he didn't remember when, but he assumed it was a long time ago, much like everything else he had learned. He only had a vague memory of being shot at when he was vulnerable taking off pieces of his armour, so he had decided it was best to always start with the legs first and leave the most vulnerable parts of himself for last. He might not have been a conservative bot, but he kept his chest armour on at all times for self-preservation reasons.
Some armour was very easy to remove, held on only by snaps and hinges which could be released at will. These were generally small pieces of armour around the articulation joints. Their easy removal was meant for circumstances where increased mobility was necessary, such as in speed chases, hand-to-hand combat where both combatants were high-calibre fighters, or even intimate play were contortions might play a part. Large pieces were screwed into place on reinforced anchors which were embedded deeply on the endoskeleton. Those pieces were generally never meant to come off except for maintenance or due to extensive damages. Not only were the largest pieces of armour meant for protection, but they were also the most 'alive' pieces, consisting not only of metal but also extensive networks of neural wires and circuit boards. Despite the armour being tough enough to withstand battle, it still deserved to be treated with care.
"There's a little acetic acid left, if you need it to clean anything," Prowl intoned, pushing the small squeeze bottle of acid forward.
"Thanks," Jazz replied, scooping up the offering and placing it within reach at his side.
Neither Prowl nor Jazz commented on each other's maintenance habits, mostly because they were already accustomed to the habits of the other. They had maintenanced themselves in front of each other before. It was not a taboo subject in Cybertronian culture in general, but rather an accepted social expectation. It was common place to find bots sitting on the blocks in the wash racks in groups with their parts spread out in front of them, using the chore as a way to be sociable. Unlike most bots who preferred to trade cleaning secrets to make the task go faster, Jazz and Prowl had a treaty, similar to their earlier silence treaty, which stipulated that neither one was to make comment on the other's techniques. Ever. Prowl's techniques were based on the recommended procedures developed by his frame's manufacturer. Jazz's techniques had been forged from living a thousand lifetimes in the underworld of Cybertron. It was simply more peaceful to accept that how they went about maintenance chores was unique to them. No matter how wrong the other one was.
Prowl grunted as the last of his lubricant was drained from his frame. The container was sealed and set aside. Once they returned to Iacon, it would be submitted for recycling so that it could be reused by someone else. Resources like frame fluids were too precious to waste frivolously by throwing them away. He took up the new fluid and hooked it up to a secondary pump on the suction machine, and then brought out another tube, a clean one, and struggled to disconnect himself from the first tube and hook up the second. Jazz took pity, crawling forward to snap one tube away and hook up the second. With the flip of a switch, the new lubricant was fed into Prowl's frame.
Jazz watched the progress of the clear fluid for a moment before returning to stripping himself of armour. Once his legs were free, he brought one of the slates into his lap to begin scrubbing with a bristled brush to break up the layer of grime. A little dab of acetic acid added a new tangy smell to the air.
Since talking about their habits was still forbidden, Prowl chose another topic. One that he was concerned over more so than the allegiance of his own brother.
"How did you discover Shockwave's existence while with the Decepticons?"
Jazz's hand slipped from its steady scrubbing. His gaze darted up. "What makes ya ask that?"
"Curiosity."
"Curiosity?" A humourless smirk appeared on the saboteur's faceplate. "Curiosity is exactly what drove meh ta discover Shockwave," he said, and then amended with, "Well, curiosity and a slight superiority complex. Small, really. Like, only the size of the moons."
"Oh yes, only the size of the moons," Prowl commented dryly.
Jazz's humourless smirk twitched a fraction before fading. "Ah never did like having Megatron think he controlled meh. Ah did whatever Ah liked whenever Ah liked, even if that meant going through all of his precious secrets."
Prowl canted his head slightly. "Have you ever done that to the Autobots?"
"Before or after Ah left the 'Cons?"
The tactician rightly assumed that Jazz had hacked into Autobot mainframes while working for the Decepticons. That was a given. "After you left the Decepticons."
Jazz considered the question with slightly pursed mouthplates. "Ah did do some hacking, but not as often as ya might think," he admitted. "It was mostly slag ta keep meh up ta date, or ta mess with the rosters ta bother everyone. Worse thing Ah ever did was infect Mirage's personal files with a minor virus."
Prowl could accept that answer easily enough.
The silver mech invested a little more attention than necessary as he continued scrubbing. "Megatron has all sorts of secret files hidden away. Things that no one but himself is ever supposed ta see. Ta someone like meh, that's just like sending out a nice invitation with lace and a bow." He huffed a mirthless laugh. "When bots say not ta do something, it makes meh want ta do it more."
"I've noticed," intoned the tactician.
Jazz's white gaze lingered on him for a moment.
Prowl looked away. "I take it one of those secret files was Shockwave's," he said quietly. The lubricant was nearly fully replaced. He decided that energon filtering would be next.
"There was one for everyone who Megatron knew was a threat to himself. Starscream had one. Ah had one. And then there was Shockwave." His gaze turned haunted. "Ah didn't know who Shockwave was when Ah first found the file. No one ever spoke his designation. He was like a ghost, more so than even meh. The moment Ah saw his file, Ah had ta look in it."
"What did you find?"
"A whole lot of nightmares," Jazz sighed. "Ah wasn't a good bot back then, but even Ah knew what he was doing was wrong. Xerxia might have done things ta meh that are best left unsaid, and Ah've done things that will probably have mah spark rotting in the pit when Ah die, but Shockwave... he took it ta a whole new level."
A cold shudder passed through Prowl. "His experiments?"
"Some bots might be able to call them experiments, but some of the things he's done..." Jazz fell into a dark silence. He looked to the side and scrubbed his faceplate roughly, leaving light smudges of rust-coloured dust across the metal. "Ya think ya already know the limits of depravity, but then ya read a file like his and realize ya haven't even scratched the surface."
"What sorts of things has he done?" A part of him needed to know. It was to his advantage to know exactly what sorts of things his enemy was capable of. Jazz had mentioned the horrors occasionally, but never details. The only definite detail Prowl knew was what had become of Bluestreak after the sniper's brief incarceration. There was a part of him that did not want to know what sorts of things were capable of unsettling Jazz.
"You'll see," said Jazz, sparing Prowl the horrors for the time being. "If we meet up with him, you'll see firsthand what he can do."
Prowl frowned, but did not insist on being informed. Done with the new transfusion of lubricant, he reached behind himself and gracelessly tugged the tube from his lower back instead of popping it out properly. He took his time shaking excess fluid out and coiling the tubes, setting them aside in his own special obsessive-compulsive way. He then stood up and started moving in order to circulate the new lubricant.
"Do you think the two of us will be enough to face him, if it turns out he's really behind the disappearances?" he asked. It was a rather serious question, and yet he asked it while he flexed one arm over his head. Then he stretched the other arm.
"We have ta be," Jazz sighed. He revved gently, setting aside one slate of armour and picking up another. He turned it over several times to inspect it at all angles under what limited light he had. Once done, he started scrubbing where the armour most needed scrubbing. His gaze darted up once, his visor flashing. "Okay, your turn."
"My turn?" Prowl wondered quizzically. Twist. Twist. Twist. His spinal column needed it from sitting hunched over for so long. With each twist came a satisfying crack of his spinal column being realigned.
The saboteur cast him a flat look. "Yep, your turn. Start talking. Ah don't want ta talk about Shockwave all orn. It's depressing. You have ta start talking."
"Now?"
"Yep."
"About what?"
"Anything."
Prowl was still uncomfortable from the topic they had just covered. He wasn't sure what else they could possibly talk about. "Should I start briefing you on possible scenarios...?"
Jazz started to make snoring noises, drooping forward as if he had suddenly fallen into recharge.
Prowl quickly recovered from his discomfort, souring into displeasure.
"I liked you better when you were evil," he said tightly. "At least when you made fun of me, you didn't remind me of Sideswipe."
Jazz snapped 'online' out of indignation. "Low blow, Prowler."
"You're the one who fell asleep," Prowl replied, sitting down once again when he was done with stretching. He dragged his filter machine into his lap and turned it over to inspect it. He popped open a panel and inspected the filters within. Filtering energon was a more important business than the simple matter of changing lubricant. When everything met his approval, he withdrew the two built-in tubes...and then looked at Jazz semi-expectantly.
Jazz arched both optic ridges. "Ah'm not helping with ya that. Ya called meh a half-bit."
"I compared you to Sideswipe."
"Same difference." Jazz pointedly continued to scrub his armour with more investment than anyone should truly have.
"Do I need to say please again?"
"Maybe."
There came a long sigh. "Please."
Jazz sat there for several astroseconds pretending he had heard nothing. His gaze darted up once, as if to check to see what Prowl was doing. The tactician happened to be sitting exactly where he had been astroseconds before, staring directly at Jazz with that very direct stare of his.
"Fine, ya convinced meh," sighed the saboteur, relinquishing his armour and scrub brush in order to crawl across the small space separating them. The energon valve on the other side of Prowl's lower back was topped with two different caps locked more securely than the lubricant valve. Losing a little bit of the slick stuff wasn't as bad as leaking energon everywhere; one was likely to frag up your joints if you left it too long, the other was likely to kill you. The cap on top was for adding energon directly to the reservoirs, while the bottom cap was for syphoning energon out. Having done this before for Prowl, Jazz easily flicked the locks and undid the caps, hooking up the filtering tubes before falling back to his original seat.
"Thank you," Prowl said.
"You're welcome," Jazz replied.
Prowl grunted as energon started to cycle out of his frame. Liquid energy moved through one tube into the machine, its colour a little dull from collected impurities and the amount of times it had been recycled through his frame already. Eventually, when the energy contained within the fluid was no longer viable, it would burn off completely, leaving room for the energon that he regularly consumed to keep his reservoirs topped. The filtering machine he used to clean the impurities out of his energon was larger than the simple vacuum used to removed lubricant. It took several movements for the first drops of energon to move through all the of the filters before cycling it back into his frame.
That strangely awkward atmosphere they were prone to falling into lately settled over them yet again.
Another grunt escaped the tactician as he started to feel the drain throughout his frame, in his fingers, tips of his feet, and in his head. It was a slightly nauseating feeling. His circulation sped up in order to cycle all of his energon back to his first reservoirs to be emptied out and filtered. Once done, it would be fed back into his secondary reservoir, and from there it would flow back into his frame. Because of this draining function of energon filtering, the flow of circulation in some places in his frame was reversed, adding to the nausea. He flexed his fingers when a mild cold numbness settled into them. A grumble escaped him.
Jazz did not glance up. Instead, he determinedly kept his head down while he worked. He wanted to tell Prowl to stop making those noises. No grunting, moaning, groaning, or breathy exhalations. Even exclamations of frustration were toeing the line. They were too much like the noises he made while doing other things. Things he did on his back, with his interface panel open, and generally someone else was in the room with him. And Jazz could not rid himself of those certain images from his head. It seemed that every time they came to him, they became a little more vivid.
Thankfully, a distraction came in the form of Prowl spontaneously attempting to be social.
"Did I ever tell you I arrested Sideswipe once?" he suddenly asked.
Jazz stared at him quizzically.
"You said that I should start making conversation, so I am," said the tactician. "I arrested Sideswipe once, before the war."
One silver optic ridge arched. "Do tell," he said. If this turned out as good as it sounded, he would have some lovely blackmail to hang over the red twin's head.
"It was during the period before the war broke out, just as the Golden Age was coming to an end," said the tactician.
Jazz nodded politely. He didn't remember much of that transition time between the Golden Age and the war. Then again, everything in his life was pretty much a blur, so an inability to recall the exact details of a time period were nothing new. What he did gather of the time was that strife and unrest had become increasingly pronounced while Megatron had worked in the underground, gathering forces from the most downtrodden and vicious of Cybertron's citizens. The twins had gone underground by then, immersed in the seething underbelly of Cybertron's most seedy organizations. They were two bots that Jazz did recall out of blurriness of his past; they were among two of the deadliest creatures he had ever encountered, but they were also two of the saddest. There had been a pervasive miasma of mourning about them that he had taken so much delight in exploiting. Come to think of it, that sadness was still there. Jazz no longer enjoyed exploiting it.
"In my precinct, all bots were on a rotating shift to take patrols around the city, no matter the division that they were involved in. It was a way of fostering equality among the divisions and ranks, I suppose," Prowl said. He recalled going out on patrols with Raven, the captain of the precinct. It had not been considered out of the ordinary, though Prowl disliked those patrols the most because he had been terribly aware of the hierarchical disparity between them. Raven, for the most part, had tried to be amiable as much as Prowl's demeanour would allow.
Jazz looked him up and down sceptically. "Ah don't suppose ya would have appreciated those patrols."
Prowl nodded with a wry smile. "Most of the time, I simply traded with Hunter or Smokescreen so that I could stay in the precinct. I hated going out." He then shrugged. "But on the orn I caught Sideswipe, both of them had other duties to attend to, so I had to go."
"So... how did it all go down?" Jazz wondered.
Prowl's smile grew, even laughing quietly. "I was called out half way through my shift to catch a little glitch causing mischief on a mid-level."
"What kinds of mischief?" Jazz wondered. He finished cleaning the main parts of his leg armour and began to reattach the slates of silver metal.
"Flashing buildings and pedestrians."
The saboteur laughed out loud. "Ya know, Ah can see Sideswipe doing slag like that."
Flashing was one of the most annoying bouts of mischief that citizens of Cybertron had to put up with. It involved individuals or groups driving around and flashing their bright lights at others. Some pranksters enjoyed using their horns or other noise-making devices to aid in their disruptive mischief.
"He was a terrible nuisance," Prowl snorted.
"Ah can see him being that, too. Still is, if ya ask meh," Jazz chuckled. "Tell meh what happened."
Prowl leaned back, careful not to disturb the tubes attached to his back. "Well, I got down to mid-level expecting some hooligan to be causing all sorts of trouble, and I wasn't wrong. What I had not calculated what that it was one of TheTwins causing the trouble." He tilted his shoulders up in a slight shrug. "As famous as they might have been at one time, I was not interested in letting Sideswipe get away with his antics. The famous are not above the law."
"So ya tried ta arrest him."
"I did."
"And how'd that work out for ya?" Jazz wondered with a grin.
"In hundreds, if not thousands, of credits worth of property damage," Prowl admitted plainly. "He ran. I chased. He took me all over the mid-level of the city and then some. There was vandalism, crashes, outright assault- if you can think of it, it seemed like he was determined to do it. The little fragger had laughed the whole time, as if it were some kind of game."
"It probably was to him," Jazz shrugged.
Prowl nodded. "It probably was. I had to call in back up in order to corner him in a docking lot before I was able to slap a pair of stasis cuffs on him. Towed him all the way back to the precinct and threw him in a holding cell."
Both of Jazz's optic ridges went up. "Can't imagine he enjoyed that too much."
"I didn't think any bot could complain so much or so loudly," Prowl snorted. "He only stayed in the cell for a joor before he was released."
"Out of the kindness of your own spark?"
"Not likely." He pursed his mouthplates. "A whole gang of misfits came in after him not long after he was detained, Sunstreaker being among them. They had a pleasure bot in their company and some kind of viral user. Apparently the pleasure bot distracted the officer looking after the holding cells while the viral user infected the precinct's mainframe to break Sideswipe out."
"Ouch."
"It was orns before we had the systems fixed," Prowl lamented darkly. "That little fragger got away without even paying a fine."
"Sideswipe can be sneaky like that."
"He can be, but then again, so can I," Prowl said with a pointed look. "It wasn't until they were assigned to Iacon as Autobots that I saw them again, although as feral as they were... they were hardly recognizable. I wasn't a commanding officer, but I still outranked them. They had triple shifts on monitor duty for several orns thanks to me."
Jazz shook his head with a laugh. "And ya call meh evil?"
Prowl cast him a smug look. "I figured it was Sideswipe's comeuppance, since he served no time nor did he pay a fine for all the trouble he caused in Simfur."
"You are evil! But don't get too smug, Prowler," Jazz warned playfully. "Ya still owe them a favour for getting them ta come after meh that first time. Sideswipe still has his chance ta take his revenge. He can ask anything of ya, remember?"
The tactician made a face that looked extra grotesque in the low light. "I had hoped everyone would have forgotten about that matter by now."
Jazz smirked. "Not gonna happen. Ya might have served him his comeuppance, but Sideswipe don't forget nothing. He'll get ya ta pay up sooner or later."
"Damn."
Jazz merely laughed at him.
The rest of their morning, leading straight into the afternoon, was spent in amiable alternations of conversation and silence. When their maintenance was done, they took turns running patrols.
They sparred lightly for something to to occupy both their minds and frames. There was no real effort in the session. It became more like a dance, where they moved with and against each other in perfect rhythm; give and take, give and take. Their movements ultimately became hypnotic, entrancing both of them to think only of the movements; the feel of them, the balance, the flow. How their frames felt as they came into contact with each other. It was calming that they could exist in such a state of limbo where they were at utter ease and yet acutely aware of the other. This lasted right up until Prowl's heel caught on the edge of one of the chairs, sending him sprawling across the seat. Jazz had been too close, in the midst of delivering a slow jab, and ended up overbalancing without Prowl there to counter the momentum. He landed atop of his partner with a clatter of metal against metal.
"Oh," said Prowl as he realized what had happened.
"Um..." said Jazz, looking down into the stunned optics of the bot he was effectively pinning with his weight. "This means Ah win the match, right?"
"By default," Prowl pointed out.
"Ah can live with that."
They wriggled in an attempt to get up at the same time. Jazz placed his hand down for more leverage, only to come down on one of Prowl's doorwings, which caused the tactician's frame to bow backwards from the pressure. Their chests bumped together. The play of their magnetic fields made them acutely aware of the other. A mild involuntary magnetic pulse buzzed through them. The storm-grey mech's pale optics darkened; the saboteur's visor flashed. Prowl revved deeply, turning his faceplate to the side.
"Please get off me," he breathed, his hands braced on Jazz's sides as if to push him away.
"Alright," Jazz sighed, finally managing to slide to the side until he landed in a crouch next to the chair.
Prowl swung himself around to sit up. He was frowning. His doorwings drooped low.
"...sorry," said the saboteur without looking at his partner. He did not specify what he was apologizing for. There were a lot of things he had to apologize for, except the fall. The fall was Prowl's own fault.
"I accept your apology," said the tactician, not caring what the apology was for. He stood up and walked out of the circle of light of their small camp. "I'm... going to run a patrol." Even though it looked a lot like he was running away. Without waiting for a reply, he transformed and left.
"Frag," Jazz sighed, continuing to sit on the ground with his back to the chair for a long time. He didn't move until he heard footsteps approaching. The gait was wrong. It wasn't Prowl. Jazz made no secret of charging his blaster loudly, letting the whine act as the warning.
"It's Hunter. Don't shoot," called the approaching bot.
"Gotta give meh a better reason than that," Jazz drawled, letting the glowing muzzle bob up and down in a taunt.
"I have information you might like," offered the scout. He shuffled into view, looking dustier than he had the orn before. His armour dinged from roadside abuse. Paint scratched. Both hands were raised in front of him to show that he wasn't armed and did not plan on showing off any firepower. He came in peace.
Jazz pulled the trigger anyways.
"Slag!" Hunter yelped, jumping straight into a heap of rubble for cover. The blast of plasma shot past him into the corner of a building, bursting into a fireball that briefly blinded Jazz. A halo of glowing melted metal lingered in the dark afterwards, slowly faded back into the gloom.
"What was that for!" Hunter exclaimed as he exploded out of the junk heap.
"There was a glitch mouse," Jazz said nonchalantly. "It's gone now."
"I bet it is," Hunter grouched, smacking the new accumulation of dirt off his frame. "Is this how you treat all the bots trying to help you?"
"Pretty much," Jazz shrugged. He figured Hunter was getting off easy. "Ah'd invite ya ta sit down, but Ah don't like ya, so ya can stand."
Hunter sneered. "I don't trust you enough to sit down. You'd probably rig the chair to explode."
Jazz cast a sharp grin that had nothing friendly about it. "Now you're just giving meh ideas."
"You know exactly where you can shove those ideas, too." Hunter propped himself against one of Putter-Poof's landing struts, safely out of reach of the saboteur. He scanned the area carefully with both scanners and his optics, seeing nothing but gloom and wreckage. "Where's Prowl?"
"Patrolling. He should be back soon."
"Good."
Jazz arched an optic ridge. "Ya got somewhere better ta be, Autobot?"
"No, you're just not my usual type of company," Hunter replied nonchalantly. "I prefer bots who wouldn't like to kill me while I recharge. Pit, I prefer the ones who don't use me as target practice."
"But those are the best kinds," Jazz drawled meanly. "Besides, your brother don't mind meh."
Both of Hunter's optic ridges went up. "I'm still trying to figure out how that happened."
White light flashed menacingly from the saboteur's visor. "Ah hope ya fry your circuits trying ta figure it out."
They continued to exchange mild verbal barbs until they heard the sound of Prowl approaching. Both bots simultaneously recognized the sound of Prowl's engine, and each turned to the other smugly as if to say who was the superior creature for being able to identify the tactician in such a way. Jazz won the contest. Not because he was the superior being, because that obviously was not a contest, but because he aimed his blaster directly at Hunter and said there was a glitch mouse on him. He would be happy to shoot it off. Hunter was not as prideful as Prowl, and so was able to recognize his own defeat in the faceplate of a charging blaster and the psychopath wielding it.
As soon as Prowl was close enough, he assumed his bipedal mode and came on to a scene that had his hackles rising. There was a distinct sense that he had just missed something, as if there had been an important conversation running until the moment the bots involved realized he was near enough to hear. Hunter and Jazz grinned in his direction, but there was an edge to their expressions that made their smiles seem forced... and a little sinister. Prowl saw no blaster in sight, but he distinctly smelled the stink of burning slag in the air. Apparently Jazz still did not like Hunter.
"Is there something I should know about?" Prowl wondered suspiciously.
Answers came from the guilty parties simultaneously. "Nope." "Nothing."
"Why am I not convinced?" the tactician sighed, moving to sit down in his seat.
"Because you have trust issues?" Hunter offered helpfully.
"Because ya have lots of issues," Jazz pointed out cheerfully.
"You two are hopeless." Prowl buried his faceplate in his hands in exasperation. "Hunter, please tell me you have something to give us."
"I do," Hunter assured, rocking back on his heels. He took his time gathering his thoughts, which irritated the already short-of-temper tactician.
"Say it already," Prowl urged.
The scout drew himself up, puffing his chest out. "Okay, here it goes; I give you my blessing."
"Your what?"
"My blessing." He adopted a very new expression, this one far less sinister than before but nevertheless it made Prowl dread what was about to come out of his mouthplates next. Hunter noticed this and grinned wider. "Jazz has been telling me all about your undying love for one another and I approve of this relationship one hundred percent, so you have my blessing. I'm sure you have Smokey's blessing, too." He looked so convincing that Prowl very nearly believed him.
Jazz decided that he might not like Hunter, but he loved his sense of humour. "See, don't ya feel better now, Prowl? Ya was all worried about your family not approving of meh, being an evil, murdering psychopath and all. But now ya know everyone's cool with it. We don't have ta run off an' elope no more. Isn't that nice?"
"Oh gee, my life is like a fairytale now." Absolute deadpan. "Are you two done with this ridiculous game? I had thought we had more pressing matters to attend to."
Jazz kicked his heels up on the table irreverently. "There's always time for making fun of ya. Especially when ya make it easy." As soon as he said it, he proved himself the hypocrite by gesturing imperiously to Hunter. "Now give us what ya know. We don't have all orn."
Hunter rolled his optics. "Alright, only because you asked so nicely." He took out a rectangular container from subspace with a spout top. A stream of brightly glowing energon poured into his open mouthplates, splashing down his chin. Once refreshed, he wiped his faceplate and tucked the cube away. "Since I knew you were on a deadline, I got back to my outpost as quick as possible and started digging. Didn't even get a chance to recharge, if you were wondering." No one was wondering. Hunter carried on with a shrug. "I looked up every report within the last two fortnights that might have made reference to either Tyger Pax or Kaon. Didn't find much. A report here and there; some about supply scarcity, others about mild Decepticon activity, but those aren't out of the ordinary for the area. Kaon is the Decepticons' largest stronghold, so heavy Decepticon activity all over the territory should be expected."
"Nothing else?" Prowl pressed, his tone a little despondent.
"That was all that was available in my outpost's database," Hunter sighed, not so humoured anymore. It was okay to joke around when nothing was at stake, but making reports was a whole other matter than needed the utmost seriousness. "It's not a big place, so our archives are not updated as regularly as other places. There could be reports of unusual activity filed elsewhere and we just haven't gotten them yet."
"Damn," Jazz cursed, slamming his fist against the armrest of his seat.
"I didn't say that was the end of what I found, though," Hunter intoned quickly. "I have a few contacts in Kaon. We served together in Alta Trius's tactical division. I asked if anyone had heard anything unusual happening near the borderlands. Since you didn't give me much of a hint of what you were looking for, said I was looking for anything and covered it under research for a possible relocation for myself and just wanted to know about the area."
"Did your contacts have anything useful to report?" Prowl enquired. Externally, he looked his usual indifferent self. Internally, he was anxious of what answers Hunter may have found. There were only a few revealing factors about himself that gave away his true feelings about the matter. Jazz saw them too clearly, though he did little to react to them other than to shift in his seat so that he now leaned closer toward Prowl. Hunter noticed something distinctly different about his brother, but could not comment on it in that moment.
"They had a few things to say," Hunter said. "Most of them were saying the same things, so it's looking good that the reports are legitimate." He cycled air through his vents. "Neutrals have been approaching any Autobot that comes near their camps, which is strange enough, given that Neutrals normally avoid us. They keep mentioning something about disappearances in the area and needing our help. We just don't the resources to help them at the moment, especially in the areas where they're asking for it."
Both Jazz and Prowl bolted straight in their seats, their attentions suddenly rapt on Hunter. Unexplained disappearances. That was exactly what they were looking for.
"Where?" Jazz demanded.
"Deep south," Hunter replied automatically. "All of the reports have been coming in from the most southern point of the borderlands, nearest the pole."
The poles of Cybertron, North or South take your pick, were the worst places any bot wanted to be. While the planet didn't have much of an atmosphere to claim of, they sure had one heck of an electromagnetic field to boast about. The concentrations of ambient electromagnetic energy in the north and south ends of Cybertron was enough to fry a bot's processor if he was caught in a storm without protection. Even without storms, the energy was enough to induce vivid hallucinations, severe headaches, discrepancies between the spark-frame interfaces, and periods of comatose behaviour. The lands in the most northern and southern provinces were also sparse in resources and harsh climates to live in, thus places that had never been populated thickly. Lonely and isolated places that had been dead long before the rest of the planet died.
Only idiots and bots determined to hide from the world would move close to one of the poles.
Jazz sat back with a hiss, scrubbing his faceplate roughly with his palm. "That fragger's not gonna make it easy, is he?"
Hunter made the mistake of asking, "Who?"
"That's none of your concern," Prowl intoned evenly. To Jazz, he wondered, "I take it you're still determined to go through with this, despite the inconvenient location?"
"Damn right," Jazz said.
"Then I suppose I'm still going with you," Prowl sighed, seeming a little discomforted but still determined.
Hunter crossed his arms over his chest and leaned more definitely against Putter-Poof's landing strut. "If you two are going that far south, you're going to need more supplies than what you have. I can tell just by looking at this ship that you weren't planning on travelling so far."
"We can stop in the main stronghold base in Tyger Pax for supplies," Prowl reasoned. "They will have energon and insulators to protect us from the EM fields."
"And if your ship gives out due to an EM storm?" Hunter pressed.
"Then it gives out," Jazz shrugged. "Ah've been ta the pole provinces before. They're not good for flying in; too quiet and too empty ta try being stealthy in a ship. The plan was always ta set down at a distance and approach via driving."
Putter-Poof sighed in utter betrayal at the prospect of being left behind. It was not a ship accustomed to working so hard, but it had finally become so invested in the mission that it had wished to see it through.
Prowl arched his optic ridges, having not be aware of that particular part of the plan, which seemed all the more dangerous now that they were going to be entering a section of Cybertron known for inducing madness and possibly death. He had not calculated this at all. He wondered if Jazz was as discomforted as he was at the prospect of going to the poles. Then again, Jazz would probably feel right at home.
Jazz leaned over and patted Prowl's arm consolingly, perfectly aware of the tactician's reservations.
Hunter did not miss the gesture, nor did he miss Prowl's acceptance of it. He frowned lightly and looked away. "If you're heading for Tyger Pax's stronghold, then let me call ahead and tell them to expect... a ship," he said. "I won't tell them who, but they should at least be ready to accommodate you. Have the supplies ready for when you leave. That sort of thing."
"That would be helpful," Prowl murmured gratefully.
"It's the least I can do." He paused, and then asked, "I take it you're going after whoever is taking those Neutrals, right?"
There was a long pause, and then, because there was no point in denying it, Prowl said, "Yes."
"Be careful, okay?" Hunter said, glancing between his brother and the saboteur as if not sure whether the enemy was some unknown kidnapper or the most obvious monster sitting amongst them.
"I always am," Prowl assured.
"Ah got his back an' he's got mine," Jazz intoned firmly.
"Sure," Hunter said noncommittally, staring at Jazz with something that was not quite an open frown. "I think... I think I should get going. I told you what you needed to know, so..." He stepped forward, stooping to grasp Prowl's shoulder. "Mind walking me out?"
Surprised by the request, the tactician nonetheless agreed. They left Jazz's company under the weight of the saboteur's uncompromising stare. As soon as they were out of sight, Hunter grabbed Prowl up into an uncomfortable hug that resulted in the bot's feet dangling above the ground. This lasted for several astroseconds, all of which were rather uncomfortable for Prowl. He did not even pat his brother on the back, but merely waited to be released. Finally, his feet touched ground again.
"Have a safe drive back to your post, Hunter," Prowl said. A ghost of a warm smile appeared on his mouthplates as he extended his hand. "Thank you so much for all of your help."
Hunter looked more stunned to see the smile than he was to touch his brother's hand. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Prowl smile, except that it had been before Evasia died.
"You know," said the scout while still clutching the offered hand. "You have changed, haven't you?"
"Change is one of the constants in this universe," Prowl replied enigmatically, his half-smile remaining in place. "Some things do not change as much as others, though."
"Very true." Hunter inclined his head, this time with a half-smile of his own. Their hands released. Prowl tucked his close to his sides. Hunter closed his into loose fists.
"I will see you soon, then?" Prowl wondered.
It would be nice to see a friendly faceplate after the mission was over.
"Count on it," Hunter assured before transforming and driving away.
"Are ya done with that would-be traitor?" Jazz called in the distance, obviously annoyed to have been forgotten for so long.
"The would-be traitor is still my brother, and still innocent until proven guilty," Prowl replied as he trudged back to camp. "And yes, I'm done with him."
"Good."
"You're awfully eager to be rid of him," Prowl observed, returning to his seat. There was an energon cube waiting for him on the table.
Jazz grunted, sucking back half his cube without looking at Prowl. Once done, he refused to reply to Prowl's previous statement. Instead, he said, "Get some recharge. We're leaving in the morning." And that was that.