Title: Due Warning

Rating: T

Continuity: G1

Characters: Jazz, Soundwave, Megatron, Starscream, Decepticon Ensemble

Disclaimer: Don't own

Prompt: 5. "Don't say I didn't warn you..."

Jazz's visor glimmered an eerie purple in the shadowy darkness of the Nemesis's bridge. His incessant, insane giggling filled the otherwise silent air. His once black and white paint glimmered a flayed, dull silver.

Red optics watched him warily from the edges of the room. None would cross him. Not after what they had already seen him do. After what he had done.

Capturing Jazz had seemed quite the accomplishment. The saboteur rarely allowed himself to be caught, so this had seemed like a boon from Primus. The Autobots' greatest saboteur, here, in their grasp, theirs for the torturing, theirs for the eventual, slow, lingering killing.

Then things had gone, to use a human phrase, south. Way south.

Megatron had ordered the saboteur to be brought to him, and ordered the entire Decepticon army to the throne room. There, he had brought out his favored electrowhip and proceeded to flay every inch of the Autobot's plating, tearing off the black and white paint, leaving him the burnished, dull silver of the living metal they were made of.

Then he had ordered Soundwave to search the broken mech's mind.

Those were the words he used.

"Soundwave," he boomed, voice loud and proud and arrogant. "Search the... broken mech's processor. I am sure there are some precious Autobot secrets still accessible."

Jazz didn't like being called broken.

The blue host had stepped forward and placed one hand on the now silver saboteur's helm.

Two minutes later, the telepath was reeling backward, visor more white than red, vents whirring at full blast, vocalizer hissing static.

That was when Jazz started giggling.

"Don' say Ah didn' warn ya," he said, mouth twisting into a sadistic grin. "'Cause Ah did when ya first brought meh in. Ah tol'ja, ya wouldn' like what'd happ'n when ya did what ya were thinkin' a' doin'."

Starscream stepped up next, turning up his nose at the Communications Specialist, who had collapsed in a heap of overheated metal on the floor. "Fool," he sneered.

Then he was within reach of Jazz, who wasted no time in leaping up, clinging to the Seeker's shoulders with one hand, both legs wrapped around his waist. His free hand plunged through the cockpit on the Decepticon Second in Command's chest, through the thick shielding metal underneath it, and into the glittering spark chamber. A flare of light radiated from the deep gash, and Starscream gasped, his optics flickering brightly for a moment before going dark. Slowly, he toppled backward. Jazz leapt lightly from the Seeker as he fell, silently landing on his feet, claws extended fully, visor tinting a violent purple, vocalizer still emitting those haunting giggles.

"Who's next?" he snickered, and his visor flickered once.

Megatron was staring, horrified.

He was also the closest to Jazz.

"Ah warned ya," the saboteur said. "Ah really, truly, did. Ya jus' didn' listen. Mm. Too bad."

And he lunged. Megatron fought; he punched and kicked and lashed out with everything he had, as strongly as he could, snarling and growling and howling as claws dug into the cracks between his armor and wires and lines were ripped to shreds.

But Jazz was strong. Jazz was angry. And Jazz was a slight bit insane. Unbalanced. Every Autobot knew it. Without Prowl, Jazz was a loose cannon, wild and uncontrollable. Only the Second in Command could keep the Third tethered.

And Prowl wasn't there. Jazz had no leash. Nothing to hold him back. And he didn't hold back one iota.

It did not take long for Megatron's steely gray to fade to the dull, lifeless gray of death.

It was on top of the warlord's lifeless frame that Jazz perched, crouched like some alien monster, every flayed edge of his armor glittering in the half-light, once blue visor glowing a menacing purple, claws extended to full length, vents hissing gently with each cycle, still giggling like a maniac, as though this were the most fun game in the world.

The rest of the Decepticons were cowering into the darkened corners of the throne room. This mech, despite being beaten half to deactivation, had just taken out Soundwave, Starscream, and Megatron in less time than it took to make a call to Cybertron.

It was intimidating, to say the least. And that wasn't even taking into account the thin, almost childlike laughter that had filled the room while he did it.

To put it very simply, the Decepticons were scared out of their plating. It occurred to some of them that they might be able to stop the Autobot if they all charged, all attacked at the same time, but the chances that they would all get out alive were slim.

So they cowered, hoping to be overlooked, to be categorized as nonthreatening.

Jazz was having none of it. His gaze, shielded though it was, darted from 'Con to 'Con. His grin twitched.

"Ah warned ya," he said suddenly, grin widening beyond what most mechs watching thought to be possible. "Ah really did."

With that, he pulled something out of his subspace. The Decepticons instinctively leaned forward slightly, trying to see what it was.

"See, Ah while back, Megsy here shot at Prowler. Mah Prowler didn' make it."

They all flinched as they recalled that last battle. The scream of anguish that had echoed across the battlefield after the sharp blast of Megatron's fusion cannon had been one not easily forgotten.

"So, see, Ah have no more reason fer livin'. Prowler ain't here no more. Ah had t' take care o' th' mechs respons'ble fer that. An' Ah figured, why not take 'em all out?"

With a swift movement, Jazz tossed the object in his hands toward one cluster of cowering Decepticons.

A moment later, they were so much ash and scorched metal. The grenade had exploded as it hit them, igniting the energon in their lines, burning them up from the inside.

Jazz cackled, visor brightening, grin stretching into a horrid grimace. More grenades appeared in his hands, and he tossed them through the room. Screams began to echo through the bangs around him, his psychotic cackling ringing above everything else.

The last trick, he thought to himself. Always knew I'd go out with a bang.

A set of protocols he had written long ago engaged. A little timer flicked down on his HUD.

A few kliks later, he was naught but a writhing mass of flames and shrapnel, matching exactly the Decepticon forces around him.