Urgh, this chapter was such a killer. Mostly because only normal, boring stuff happens. All the good stuff is in the chapters to come. You have no clue how excited I am to show how truly disgustingly twisted Shockwave is. What he's doing to his victims right now... Well, let's just say that even those who have read As We Come Together and are familiar with the atrocities Shockwave is capable of, even you may be surprised by the projects he's currently working on... And on that cheerful note, enjoy this steaming pile of normal chapter while you stew and seethe over the horrors that will soon come! 8D
And as a side note, the chapter that was supposed to be 32 (this one) has now been divided into two chapters because it was getting upwards of over twenty pages. Frankly, that's too long. So much Prowl and Jazz packed into such a long chapter is liable to makes some heads explode. As pleasant as that sounds, it's not good for business. So, you get two chapters featuring all the antics of Tyger Pax base- almost for the price of one, but not quite!
As a further aside, who thinks there should be a Putter-Poof fan club? 8D
My thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter. You continue to inspire and encourage me to keep at this beast of a story no matter how busy my life gets. I am loving everyone's speculations on Hunter's true allegiances. Thank you so much to the readers who take the time to show their appreciation for this story. Thank you to the kind people who spare maybe five minutes of their day to offer some kind words. Thank you a thousand times over to the people who leave any review at all; they're basically the fuel to this story, because I sure as hell am not getting paid for this. XD Anyways, thank you to VyxenSkye, Fianna9, sparklespepper, CNightJoy, femme4jack, White Aster, Darkeyes17,evilbunny777, camfield, Psyche102, renegadewriter8, Daklog73, Katea-Nui,Jessie07, DemonSurfer, phoebeturner, Jinx, OptimusBob, luinrina, ChaosGarden, Peacewish, TransformersLover95, KidaBridger, MidnightMarquis, StarscreamII, Wind of the Dawn, bRambleGirl, smoking caramels, Wise Crack Idiots, Got Buttermilk, RainingInk, ABundleofDaydreams, JenEvan, and Faecat. Once again, thank you so kindly for all the love and support you've all shown thus far~
Chapter 32
Tyger Pax was nothing like Jazz remembered it.
It was a barren wasteland of browns, blacks, and rusts. Empty and foreboding. Dead and desolate and full of more ghosts than just the ones Jazz had left behind when he had escaped into the world. The whole world passed below him and he was able to watch it pass by with no more love for it than he might harbour for a corpse. He sat in the co-pilot seat, letting Prowl fly for a time. He leaned against the side of the cockpit and stared out the window at the dead world around him, comforted and satisfied with the mural of rust and debris and silence. Not many could find comfort in such destruction, but Jazz could. It was like the whole territory had received its comeuppance for the horrors that one of its citizens put him through. He felt like Tyger Pax deserved to hurt a little more than any other territory on the planet.
He stared down at it now and knew that it didn't just hurt. It writhed in agony, the kind that didn't even stop after death.
In the distance, the dark shape of the capitol column rose out of the wastelands like a giant. One massive entity like a god in its own right; so great that it nearly touched the sky and beyond. It was just before dawn and the grey pre-light of almost-morning back lit the monolith with a haunting caress. Grey mist and cloud shrouded the massive circular column, creating a veil that beckoned travellers to pass within. At one time, there would have been neon lights that swirled and stretched from one side to the other, from the bottom to the top. Murals would have covered the massive land formation; hundreds of them. Thousands. A bizarre, garish, nightmarish monster that was both beautiful and terrifying. The capitol column was dark now, full of greys and rusts. The colour of forgotten corpses. Down its sides stretched jagged ruins of thick pipes and the claws of metal supports. Like thousands of angry fingers and talons scratching at the sky.
At its massive zenith was the Paxian stronghold for the Autobots.
Jazz wondered if Tyger Pax was still a nocturnal territory, or if the Autobots who lived here now had switched to a diurnal cycle.
"They switched to diurnal when the base was instated," Prowl suddenly said. Jazz realized that he had asked his question out loud.
"Oh," he replied.
Prowl flicked his cool gaze in Jazz's direction. There were many things reflected in those pale optics. "Are you alright?"
"Ah'm fine," Jazz sighed.
"You don't find it strange to be back?" the tactician wondered lightly. He had the tone of someone who had meant to ask another kind of question, perhaps a dozen different questions, but had settled on least conspicuous one.
"Why should it be strange?" Jazz replied. "Ah've been back before this. Can't live as long as Ah have without coming back once or twice."
"That's true, to an extent." Prowl continued to watch the saboteur out of the corner of his optic. Something about his unwavering gaze gave the impression that he did not fully believe Jazz's nonchalance about the matter.
Jazz frowned, tucking himself deeper into his seat. "It's not like this place was mah home."
Tyger Pax had never been Jazz's home. But it had been closest thing to a home he had ever had.
"I just thought... never mind," Prowl sighed. Without thinking, he reached across the very small space between them and patted Jazz's knee. It was like a comforting gesturing, but Prowl was unaccustomed to comforting, and Jazz was not sure he wanted or needed to be comforted. They silently decided that it was an amiable gesture of thoughtfulness co-mingled with thoughtlessness and left it at that.
Jazz shifted his knee away.
Prowl took his hand back and placed it on the controls.
The engines of their tired ship guttered as it was urged to meet the rising wall of the capitol column. Putter-Poof was nearly spent, having worked harder than it ever had in the last few orns. It was beaten and dirty. It's engine rattled. Its exhaust boomed and hissed at intervals. With confirmed news of Shockwave's presence in the south, Prowl and Jazz had been bent on reaching their target. Putter-Poof could only do as they bid, chugging along at an increasingly beleaguered pace. After some effort, some coaxing, one well-placed kick from Jazz to the dashboard, and then some wild apologies when Putter-Poof cut out completely in retaliation, they all managed to safely crest the capitol column and were on their way to the stronghold located at the very center.
"Never do that again," Prowl chided lowly, as if speaking too loudly might offend Putter-Poof.
"Ah won't," Jazz replied, his feet safely tucked beneath his seat.
They glided low over the ruins, giving Jazz the best view of everything. Buildings he once knew. Signs that had once been legible, advertising all manner of things from good energon to the company of a good pleasure bot. He remembered the buzz of activity that the nights brought. It was a madness on its own that he had often taken solace in and absorbed into his being as a way to cope. Dancing and drinking and as many drugs as there were stars in the sky. Maybe that's when his habit of creating nameless, faceless smudges of memory out of living bots happened; he used them up and forgot them by the morning like they were worthless, because they had always been worthless to him.
He also remembered what the orns were like in Tyger Pax. The city itself went into recharge; it became quiet and sedate, unextraordinary in every way, or so it would seem. No drinking or dancing or drugs while the sun shone down. For most Paxians, the orns were reasonable, rational, and boring. For Jazz, he wished the orns had been reasonable, rational and boring. Whenever the sun was in the sky, he trained with Xerxia. Always from dawn until dusk. The light brought lessons and pain and a special kind of madness that seemed to bend the very edges of reality until they broke, shattered, and ceased to be, cascading over into a wild storm of things better left unsaid.
Maybe that's why Jazz liked the darkness so much; it had been the lesser of two evils, as far as he was concerned.
He wondered why he was only thinking of this now.
It was another three joors before they managed to cross the immense landscape of the capitol column to the central region. As it turned out, their ship had decided that nothing faster than a delightful glide was going to do in order to admire the passing scenery of death, destruction, and desolation. In the distance, the foreboding shape of the Autobot base slowly formed from the rubble of fallen skyscrapers and toppled spires. The entire compound had been built the exact opposite of Tyger Pax's stereotypical architecture; there was no colour or lights or parties. It was a military installation of squat, heavy-set buildings whose walls were scarred and the dark windows stared out in all directions as unblinking, unfathomable optics. A massive reinforced wall surrounded the compound, similar to the wall that protected Iacon. Large guns were mounted on articulated turrets at measured increments along the top of the wall.
Jazz glanced over at Prowl. "Have ya ever been ta this base before?"
"No," replied Prowl. "I have never had the opportunity, but I have worked with a few tacticians from here. Tyger Pax is no worse than any other, I suppose. The warriors here are renown for their prowess in battle, so I've heard."
"Heard something similar," Jazz shrugged. "Tyger Pax still is the place where circuit-su was invented. It'd be a bit insulting if everyone here sucked at it."
A ghost of a smile appeared at the edges of Prowl's mouthplates. "I can imagine how that might be insulting."
Jazz leaned back in his seat, keeping his optics on the massive shape of the base growing closer. "Ya think there might be someone here who could best meh?"
To this, Prowl canted his head and gave it some sincere thought. On the one hand, it was statistically possible that there could be at least one member of the Cybertronian species who was physically capable of besting Jazz. To think otherwise would be illogical. However, there was a secondary part of himself who did not wish to see Jazz beaten at all, regardless of statistical probabilities.
"Well?" Jazz pressed.
"It is hard to say," Prowl admitted on a sigh.
Silver arms crossed over a broad chest. "You're supposed ta say that no one can beat meh."
Prowl rolled his optics. "I was not aware that I had to lie to feed your ego now."
"Ya don't have ta, but it helps."
Prowl shook his head with a very quiet laugh.
The dash of their ship chirped with the alert of an incoming call. As it did so, two dark shapes arose from the base and flew to intercept them.
Jazz opened the channel, activating a small screen in the console. There was fuzz for a moment, and then a defined shape solidified. It was a minibot of no distinct features. Average blue paint and a generalized design, with a faceplate that exempted most facial features for a very minimalist figuration. He stared at them, and Prowl and Jazz stared right back.
"Unidentified Autobot vessel, please identify yourselves and confirm Autobot identification codes."
"This is I-COM 7 from Iacon base. I am Autobot Head Tactical Adviser Prowl," said Prowl, and then listed his identification code.
The communications officer did not look particularly phased with this information, even if it was an unusual circumstance to have any commander visiting other bases without particular cause. The expression remained impressively neutral, even bored. He diligently input the ship's designation and Prowl's codes for confirmation. A moment of silence followed, and then the bot nodded.
"Adviser Prowl," the Autobot acknowledge, and then turned his gaze to Jazz. "Codes?"
"Eh..." Jazz drew back unsurely. He did not have his own Autobot codes, given that he was not, technically speaking, an Autobot. The only codes he did have were his old Decepticon ones, which would probably get both himself and Prowl shot right out of the sky if he used them. There was always the option of using another Autobot's codes, since he had stolen more than few while unsuspecting Autobots had recharged, but for some reason he was reluctant to falsify himself in this matter.
Prowl came to the rescue a moment later, having realized their setback roughly the same time Jazz did.
"This is Neutral Jazz," he, laying a steady hand to Jazz's shoulder. "Resident Autobot associate of Iacon base. He is here under my authority."
Jazz snorted.
Prowl revved in return. "He is my partner," he amended.
"Identification codes?" the minibot insisted, one optic ridge arching severely.
"You will have to excuse his lack of identification codes," Prowl replied. "It is an oversight of Iacon base. I... we have become so accustomed to his presence that any necessary codes seemed superfluous."
The communications officer did not look impressed. He showed no evidence of recognizing Jazz as the saboteur who had defected from the Decepticons. Not that he did not recognize the designation Jazz or what it meant in association to the designation Prowl, but the officer was a rather well-trained Autobot who did not fluster easy. With a designation like 'Stonewall' one would assume he did not fluster at all. The only thing that was outwardly obvious was the fact that he clearly thought forgetting to give any personnel identification codes was severely reproachable. This was especially the case given Prowl's own high rank, indicating that he should have known better.
"See that upon your return to Iacon, a set of codes are generated for Neutral Jazz," said the minibot. "We are not in the habit of allowing unidentified personnel wander in and out of bases. We have security precautions in place for a reason."
"Acknowledged," Prowl replied tightly. He did not enjoy being spoken to like he was an idiot. "I believe Autobot Scout Hunter contacted you several orns ago to alert Tyger Pax base to our arrival?"
There was the quick clicking of keys while the officer dug through recent communiques. "Correct. An Autobot Scout Hunter of Centaurie Tetrax outpost Giga-14 contacted this base approximately six and a half orns ago, alerting us to the future arrival of one small stealth ship. Crew consisting of two unidentified individuals- one Autobot and one..." there was a pause as the minibot reread the message. He revved in disapproval, and then said, "Two unidentified individuals, one Autobot and one idiot."
Jazz turned to Prowl. "Your brother is gonna die."
Prowl rubbed the bridge between his optics. "That was extremely unprofessional of him."
The blue minibot sighed, clicking his keyboard once more. "Identities Autobot Prowl and Neutral Jazz have been confirmed. I-COM 7, you will be escorted over base. Please use hanger 2 for docking procedures." The screen fuzzed over, and then went blank once more.
Jazz kept staring at Prowl. "Hunter is-."
"Yes, I can imagine exactly what you have to say about him," Prowl said, cutting his partner off. "Save it for later."
Jazz, surprisingly, pursed his mouthplates and said nothing. That did not stop him from imaging exactly what he was going to do to the little glitch when he got his claws on him.
The two aerials that had lifted off from the base were now flying alongside Putter-Poof. With their guidance, Prowl and Jazz flew over the main courtyards of the base until they were in the section for ships. Several large aircrafts were lined up outside, work crews moving in and out of their insides with various parts and tools for repairs. Prowl steered toward the hanger with large painted glyph for the number TWO above it. The hangar master waved them to the right place to set down in; docking arms snagged them, locking them into place. Prowl shut down the engines. The ship, of course, had to make a few 'Putter-poof! Putter-poof!' noises as it relaxed onto its landing struts. Little puffs of white smoke fluffed out of its exhaust.
Jazz stood up and stretched. "Might as well go face the world."
"Right," replied Prowl, following on Jazz's heels to the hatch of the ship. "It'll just be for the orn and night. We will be gone by tomorrow morning."
"Yeah." Jazz glanced back, his hand on the panel next to the hatch. "About those codes..."
"What about them?" Prowl wondered.
The saboteur's optics grazed the red insignia blazing on Prowl's shoulders, and then he looked away. "Nothing. It'll just be useful ta have them. Never really thought about it until now."
Prowl blinked, and then nodded. "Well, no one really thought of it until now. You are already such a part of Iacon that it seemed redundant to give you codes."
"Ah guess you're right."
The hatch opened and the short ramp unfurled. The hangar master was waiting for them on the floor. He was a jovial-looking mech, not too tall, but happened to make up for his lack of height in the width of his thick frame. Like a wall on legs. His paint was a simple slate grey which blended into the colour of the metal floors and walls around him. He wore a heavy-duty visor that covered most of his faceplate. All that could be seen from beneath it was a flat, broad olfactory sensor and a square jaw.
"Ah, so you be da mysterious bots comin' in!" exclaimed the mech, ushering Prowl and Jazz to the ground with hearty slaps to their backs which sent both of them careening forward. "Ain't it nice ta be meetin' ya, yeah? Been wonderin' who was gonna be coming in from da cold. Poor ship o' yours, though. Poor ship. Looks like its seen better orns."
"Yes, well, it is not a ship meant for extended long-distance travel," Prowl intoned quickly, still a little off-balance from being greeted so forcefully.
"Nah, don't look like it, does it? Eh, just an itty bitty thing. Just like you. Itty bitty things." The hangar master braced his hands on his sides and thrust his gargantuan chest out. "Lucky ya made it here at all."
"We held up well enough," Jazz said, twitching every time the other mech opened his too-wide mouthplates. The accent was terrible. The kind of accent that reminded Jazz of having a sandblaster against his audios. It had to be a Polyhex accent. He hated Polyhex accents.
"Eh? What ya say, eh? Held up? I'll be the judge of that," said the slate-grey mech. He waved over a couple of drones, headed by a tall, slender bot with a classic engineering femme frame. "Live-wire, hey! Hey Live-wire, ya best be lookin' at their ship now. Lookin' like it's gonna fall apart, it does. Heard they gotta have it ready fer tomorrow morning. Ya being busy an' all, ya best be getting ta it now rather than leave it fer later."
"Oh? Well then, it would be best I did get on that now," said the bot called Live-wire, who thankfully did not have a Polyhex accent. Her frame still retained nuances that marked her as an Epilite, from Epsilon. She regarded Prowl and Jazz with a curious tilt of her head, and then back to the hanger master. "Are they the ones we've been waiting for?"
"Looks like it, it does. Them be the ones." Prowl was unfortunately close enough to the hangar master to be amicably slapped on the back a second time. The slate-grey mech did not seem to notice any discomfort as Prowl nearly face-planted into the floor. "They seems like quiet bots, ya know? Barely says anything ta meh since getting off their itty bitty ship."
"I'm sure you haven't given them the chance to say anything, Granite," replied Live-wire with a tinkle-bell laugh. She extended her slender hand to them. "I'm Live-wire, one of the engineers here. I'll happy to inspect your ship before you leave tomorrow. Is there anything in particular you need me to look at?"
Prowl took her hand first, touching his palm to hers as well as bobbing a shallow but polite bow. "I am Prowl, and yes, if you could take a close look at the engines, and the hull, and the flight systems, energy distributors, and..." He trailed off, suddenly aware that he needed to list off nearly everything about the ship.
Live-wire smiled as if she could read his mind. Or, rather, she had a very good set of optics and could clearly see the condition of the ship that had just come in. "Look at everything, I take it?"
"Yes, please," replied Prowl. "Perhaps with special attention to the exhaust? The ship insists on making such unusual noises. It is unbecoming of a stealth ship."
"Unusual noises?" the engineer wondered.
"Putter-poof..." sighed the ship.
"Like that," Prowl intoned flatly.
"Ah, that is unusual," said Live-wire, tapping her chin lightly. "I'll see if anything can be done." She dispatched a couple of drones to begin a preliminary inspection.
Prowl cleared his vents quietly. "And if it would not be too much trouble to restock it? We're running low on supplies..."
"Yes, of course," Live-wire replied kindly. "Do you have any idea how much you might need, energon-wise? We're a little tight as it is."
Prowl glanced at Jazz, a slight frown on his faceplate. He had no idea how long they might be gone in the poles. How much might they need? It had to be balanced against how much Tyger Pax had in reserve.
"Give us as much as ya can spare," Jazz said.
"I will see what I can do," Live-wire replied, dutifully making note of it. She extended her hand to Jazz. "If he was Prowl, then you must be Jazz, yes? The one who has been helping Iacon all this time?"
Jazz eyed the offered hand carefully. "That depends on who's asking."
"Ah," said Granite, laying a heavy hand to Jazz's shoulder. "Now, ya mind your manners, ya do. Live-wire be going out o' her ways ta be lookin' after ya ship. Least ya could do fer her is be nice. Gotta be here a whole night, hey? Better be makin' friends than enemies."
Jazz, who had never been so openly and honestly chastised before, was first surprised to be spoken to in such a manner by someone other than Prowl, and then suddenly realized that he was being rude to Live-wire. There was no getting around the fact that he was going to be around for the whole orn and night. It did not make sense for him to make things difficult for himself and Prowl during their stay. He found himself touching his hand to the femme's. He didn't bow like Prowl did, although he did incline his head in some kind of acknowledgement.
"Ah suppose Ah'm Jazz," he said.
Prowl stared at him as if he had suddenly grown another head. It was not every orn that he found his partner being openly forthcoming with others. He was not sure if he should consider this progress or a sign of the apocalypse.
"You suppose you're Jazz? I guess that's better than supposing you're someone else." Live-wire gave another tinkle-bell laugh, using her free hand to pat the back of Jazz's hand. "I didn't think you would be so handsome, especially for someone who is supposed to be so... um, versatile. What a lovely frame you have. The engineer you hired to build it must have been an artist." She leaned in, both of her hands holding one of Jazz's. "I've also heard you're a terrible scamp. I would hope you don't plan on giving us any mischief tonight."
There was no fear in her voice as she spoke, just as there appeared to be no fear in Granite. And it wasn't even the kind of fearlessness that came from overcoming an initial unease. Jazz could look straight into the femme's optics and see nothing but a calm cheerfulness. He knew that they must know who he was, they knew he had once been a terrible Decepticon, and yet Live-wire and Granite lived as if he was no threat at all. Maybe they thought he was entirely tame now, safe and contained? Or maybe they were both really, really stupid.
A sharp storm-grey elbow in his side reminded him that he was staring and not saying anything.
"No mischief," he said to Live-wire, and then offered his most rakish grin. "Not any that Ah have planned, anyways." This was followed by his visor flicking up for a mere astrosecond, long enough to wink at her.
Live-wire tilted her head back and laughed with a combination of humour and giddiness.
"Thinks he's a clever bot, he does," Granite chuckled deeply with a humoured look cast in Prowl's direction. He noticed that the tactician did not look too amused with Jazz's charm. Quickly, the subject was changed. "I be imaging ya tired after such a long flight. Ya want real berths ta recharge in, eh?" He tapped the side of his head as he received a new notice. "Seems Rook will be down soon ta be showin' ya ta your quarters."
"Rook?" Jazz wondered, untangling his hands from Live-wire. He took several steps away from her.
"He is the second in command of tactical here," Prowl intoned. "We've spoken a few times in the past."
As if on cue, the doors at the far end of the hangar swished open and a microbot in alt mode zipped in. It paused for a quick look around, and then made a beeline for the small quartet. Once close enough, he snapped into bipedal mode, revealing that he was not a very tall microbot. Not very short, either. He was of average height for the frame type, sporting off-red paint, and was moderately handsome though not overly so.
"Sorry I'm a little late. I hope you weren't waiting long," said Rook, bobbing a bow to both Prowl and Jazz. "I was only told of your arrival just a breem ago." He hopped forward on tiny feet, stretching his arm up to offer his hand. "Prowl, it's nice to finally meet you faceplate-to-faceplate. You're taller than I thought you would be."
"Likewise, though you are as short as I expected," Prowl replied, kneeling to greet the little bot. He then gestured to Jazz. "This is my partner, Jazz. I've mentioned him a few times to you and your commander."
"Yes, of course. Jazz, it's nice to meet you." Rook was not as exuberant offering his hand to Jazz. It was almost a relief to the saboteur to know he still inspired wariness in some bots. Nevertheless, he knelt to the microbot and they touched hands briefly. Once that formality was done, Rook took several steps back so that he could look up at everyone comfortably. Jazz, likewise, took several steps back, but it was mostly to put distance between himself and everyone else, since he was feeling uncomfortable.
"Be gettin' them ta their quarters, will ya, Rookie? They look exhausted," Granite said, making ushering motions with his hands. "Live-wire be lookin' after the ship here, same as me 'til the end of my shift. All's well."
"Right, sure." Rook waved to the bots he had been assigned to show around. "Come on, the barracks are practically on the other side of base. Might as well drive there. It takes too long to walk, and I'd just be stuck running after you anyways."
"You may drive, we'll walk. I believe we both-," Prowl gestured between himself and Jazz, "need a moment of stretch our legs. It's been a very long flight for us."
"Sure, anything you want," said the microbot. He folded back into his alt mode and led the way into the hall, able to keep pace with the much longer strides of the taller bots by putting on an extra burst of speed once in a while.
"You're lucky that Chester heard that it was you who came in; he's got a good things going with Stonewall, the officer who probably busted your ball bearings about your identification codes. Stonewall lets him know if anyone or anything unusual is coming into the base. Chester sent me as soon as he heard about you," said Rook as they made their way through the halls. Tyger Pax's interior was not that different from Iacon's. The metal was of similar colour and quality, the architecture fairly uniform. The only obvious differences between the two bases was the layout and the identities of the personnel populating the halls.
Jazz glanced over at Prowl and gave him a subtle nudge with his elbow. They opened a private channel between them. "Chester?"
"My counter part here," Prowl replied. "The Paxian tactical adviser."
"But 'Chester'? What kind of designation is that?" In Jazz's opinion, the designation 'Chester' by all accounts was the dumbest designation he had ever heard of. Chester. It sounded like what a damned organic might be named.
"I've never asked about it," said Prowl, and then spoke to Rook out loud so the microbot did not become wise to their private conversation."News travels fast here," he commented. "We only arrived a few breems ago."
"What can I say? If we worked as fast as the rumour mill did, the war would be won by now." The microbot snorted. "You know, when the call first came in a couple of orns ago, we thought you were going to be the regular sorts who come and go- Special Ops agents, the occasional spy, some scouts. Blurr was going to come down and show you around. The moment you mentioned you were a commander, well, that changes things." Commanders deserved a certain level of respect and treatment.
"I hope this did not inconvenience you," Prowl intoned.
"Me? No, not really. I was just working on some scheduling issues. I can do that later. Chester would have come, but he's shoulders-deep in work right now." He revved a bit of laughter. "You should consider yourselves lucky. If you were anyone else, you would have been stuck with Blurr."
"I thought you said Blurr was the one who regularly meets incoming bots?" Prowl wondered.
"He is, but it's more like a joke we like to play on everyone." If Rook had been in bipedal mode, he would have shrugged. "Blurr got shot in the head a couple vorns back and it tweaked his vocal processor. Now he's permanently on fast forward. Medics have been trying to fix it, but so far no luck."
"That's very unfortunate," Prowl said with the expected amount of sympathy.
"It is, but you already know that war's not exactly fair," Rook sighed. "He's still a great bot and all, so long as you don't get him talking. It's so quick, sometimes you can't even understand him. Suits him, in a way. He's the fastest thing on wheels I've ever seen, so now he's just fast everywhere else, too."
"I see." Prowl was now mildly appreciative of the special treatment commanding officers received. He did not feel like putting up with the unusual quirks of others. He also felt that Jazz was not up for similar efforts.
"Rook," Jazz suddenly intoned, causing the small tactician to jump.
"Yes?"
"Can we detour ta the med bay?"
"You feeling sick?"
Jazz shook his head. "No, just want ta talk ta the CMO here about some supplies. By the sounds of things, Hunter was a little too vague about what we needed. Ah wanna make sure ya got the supplies before we waste our time."
"Okay, supplies, right. Med bay's closer than the barracks, anyways. Just in the next building, actually." Rook zipped off down the nearest adjoining hall, clearly expecting his company to keep pace.
Prowl and Jazz were left alone long enough for the tactician to lay his hand to the saboteur's wrist, stalling them both at the very edge of the hall. He leaned in close so that no one else might overhear.
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
Jazz raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Ah'm fine."
"You don't seem yourself." He had wondered the same thing before, as they flew over the capitol, but now he was more earnest in his enquiry. There was something bothering his partner, but he could not figure out what. His demeanour had shifted in the hangar, and Prowl did not think it was entirely because the hangar master and engineer were so friendly with him.
Jazz flicked his gaze through the hall as he considered what he might say. He ended up leaning toward Prowl so that they were unusually close for two bots who happened to be partners standing in a hall together. Those who passed them cast arched looks in their direction, and then quietly walked away to attend to their own business.
"Ah got a strange feeling about this place," the silver bot murmured. "Just... strange."
"Could it be because the bots here are nearly as relaxed around you as the ones in Iacon?" Prowl offered, daring a ghost of a half-smile. "I know how much you hate it when others realize you're not as terrible as you make yourself out to be."
"That's just annoying," Jazz replied flatly. "It's something else, Ah think."
"Then maybe being back in Tyger Pax's capitol bothers you more than you care to admit," Prowl said. His free hand came up and brushed the side of Jazz's faceplate. "If it makes you happy, you may keep an optic open for anything unusual."
Still not assuaged by Prowl's words, Jazz nonetheless quietly acquiesced to keep pace to the med bay. Rook did not ask why they had fallen behind. Either he wasn't curious, or he already had an idea why. The way he looked back and forth between the two taller mechs when they arrived at the doors of the med bay, his expression containing something akin to a disturbed realization, he certainly had his own theories that would haunt him for many nights to come.
"What's the CMO here called?" Jazz asked, peering into the small crystalline window that offered a slightly distorted view into the main area of the med bay.
"Grimm."
"...that's not a very cheerful designation."
"She's not a very cheerful femme." Rook took a couple steps back. "If you don't mind, I'll stay out here. Chester and Grimm are on the outs with each other and I don't want to get caught between them."
Jazz and Prowl passed into the med bay on their own, feeling a cold breeze of dread suddenly rush down their backs. The med bay hosted an ominous atmosphere, the kind one might find in a haunted location. The type of haunted location where, if one were to look up its past in an archive, would discover a history of bizarre occult factions worshipping the Fallen and ritual sacrifices, followed by an even more recent bizarre history of mysterious murders where the survivors never knew what the pit happened even though the murder happened in the room right next to theirs. With its dim lights and dreary decor, the med bay did not look like the first place anyone wanted to rush to if they were dying. Conversely, it would be a great place to be if they were already dead. At first glance, it appeared that there was no one on duty. And then a shadow moved at the far end of the room, materializing into the shape of a small femme with paint in a similar shade to Prowl's, if not a shade or two darker. She had weary optics and frowning faceplate, wearing the same worn-down expression every medic gets when they realize that what they do is practically useless in the face of the horrors of war.
"Grimm, I presume?" Prowl wondered.
"Yes," she confirmed in a voice that nearly made both Prowl and Jazz jump out of their armour. They had been expecting a typical femme voice, which was higher in pitch to a mech or minibot's, though not as high as microbots'. What happened to come out of the medic's mouthplates was something akin to the deep, ground-shaking bass of an avalanche tearing down a mountainside while innocent victims screamed in agony as they were buried underneath.
"...holy frag," Jazz muttered, low enough for only his partner to hear.
Prowl swatted him gently, not taking his optics off of Grimm. "Ah, Grimm, alright, well- I do not know if you have been made aware of this yet, but-."
"Prowl and Jazz," she stated in that same deep, croaking voice. She pointed to each of them correctly as she called their designations. "You just arrived. You're looking for something, or else you wouldn't be here." She blinked slowly, as if the effort to do so was taxing. "No one comes here unless they need something."
The tactician nodded. He wasn't sure how to reply to something like that.
Jazz opened his mouthplates to ask if Grimm's voice was the voice he would hear the orn he died and pit-hounds came to drag his spark into the pit. It honestly sounded like that kind of voice.
Grimm narrowed her gaze on him as if she could read his mind. "Well?"
"EM shielding," Jazz found himself saying. "Ya got any?"
"I might," Grimm said with spark-deep sigh similar to the sound volcanoes made just before they spewed forth nature's fury and killed everyone in its path. "What do you need it for?"
"We need it ta complete our mission," the saboteur said.
Grimm continued to stare at him. "You're probably going south, aren't you? No one needs EM shielding unless they're going to the poles. They're terrible places to live. The electromagnetic fields down there are enough to drive someone crazy." As an afterthought, she said, "I used to live there."
Neither Jazz nor Prowl were surprised.
Grimm frowned deeper, dismissing them with a wave. "Go. I'll find your EM shielding."
"Thank you," Prowl said, offering a shallow bow.
Jazz continued to wonder if Grimm's voice was the auditory manifestation of Death. Or Unicron.
"You're welcome." Grimm continued to frown. "Can't say the shielding will help much. You're just as likely to go into comas and die from exposure." She watched them make their way to the exit. "Have a nice orn."
Rook was still waiting for them in the hall when they walked out.
"Quite a femme, ain't she?" said the microbot with a tilt of his head to the med bay.
"That voice..." Prowl intoned uneasily.
"Like death warmed over, I know," Rook replied, folding down into his alt mode in order to lead the way to the barracks. "I don't think anyone's ever been brave enough to ask her where she got it from."
"She's probably hoarse from sucking the sparks out of living victims and devouring them," Jazz said in a rather nonchalant manner.
"I always suspected something like that," Rook replied lightly.
From the med bay, which was located in a building moderately closer to the barracks, it was a moderate walk to their rooms. Long enough for both mechs to stretch their legs and no longer feel so cooped up. Short enough that they did not feel the need to transform and drive their way through base. The rooms assigned to them were not anything special, consisting of one berth in the corner, a desk and chair pushed against one wall, and a single subspace drawer built into the wall for any occupant who might want to store some personal possessions for the night. There was a massively heavy-duty lock on the drawer, since the occupants who tended to use these specific rooms tended to be nomadic scouts, spies, and Special Ops agents, who generally carried sensitive information that needed to be protected, or they were just too paranoid to leave anything of theirs unprotected. Usually, it was both.
"Since we didn't know a commander was coming in until the very last moment, you get the regular sort of quarters," Rook said apologetically.
Jazz peered into the room that he claimed as his. "It'll do. We're only here for the night."
Prowl nodded. "Yes, we don't need anything fancy."
"In that case, I hope your stay is comfortable," said Rook. "If you need anything, just give me a buzz. Feel free to look around or use the facilities." He eyed Jazz carefully, as if he did not want to extend that particular invitation to the saboteur. There was nothing he could do about the silver bot's questionable presence, so he merely trusted Prowl to keep his company under control, and with that Rook bid them a good orn.
Jazz leaned against the doorway of his room and looked across at Prowl. "What are your plans for the orn?"
"Meditation, mostly," he replied. "I will start with some of the techniques I learned with Yokétron. It has been a while since I've properly meditated."
"Huh," said Jazz, a little surprised by the answer. "Will ya be continuing with your- uh, training?"
"I... think so," Prowl replied, almost at a mumble. He shifted his weight uneasily. "I think I will try later in the orn, when I am better settled. I will work with milder memories first and work my way up to more intense ones."
It was the first time either of them had even vaguely referenced what had happened between them over a fortnight ago. Those memories of Evasia and what they had triggered inside Prowl. Now the tactician kept his gaze on the floor. Jazz found his optics slowly wandering away from his partner. It was funny how everything else in the hall suddenly seemed more interesting than looking at each other.
"I think our mistake last time was the memory you selected," the tactician murmured. "We... I wasn't ready for it."
"Yeah," sighed Jazz.
Prowl shifted his weight again, his gaze flickering up and down the hall to confirm that they were still alone. "Perhaps next time..." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "Perhaps next time, we will be better prepared."
Jazz nodded.
The door behind Prowl shushed open and he backed his way inside, lingering in the entryway. "What do you plan to do with the rest of your orn?"
"Look around, Ah guess," Jazz said nonchalantly. "Ah'll find something ta do."
"Don't get into too much trouble," Prowl said with an almost fondness about the words. He'd given the warning so many times, it was nearly a phrase of endearment.
"Ha," said Jazz, his mouthplates curving in his customary devilish grin. "Meh? Trouble? Never."