JAZZED To Meet Ya (:]

How I think Jazz could get involved-

Jazz doesn't have a map, just a list of instructions from Ratchet. He’s been here once before, so it’s not too hard to find- s’just been a while. Such and such forest, such and such grove, such and such secret path, such and such tree, such and such- such. Such. Doesn’t sound like a word anymore. Such. Weird. Such. Sounds kinda gross now. Such. Ew.

Jazz finds the red vines, passes the patch that smells of sulfur, finds and follows the left path back into the forest. It takes him a few tries to find the right tree, but he finds it, and the hidden entrance Ratchet told him about.

Ratchet didn't say when the last time he visited this hideaway was, but Jazz has got a problem- there's signs of recent travel along the path, too recent to be Ratchet or his fox friend. The hideaway itself shows signs of life- there's a room with a bed that's been recently used, within the last couple days, Jazz guesses, and Jazz keeps finding tiny splotches of black, uh something, he thought it was tar at first but it's the wrong consistency and, well, wrong. It smells of rot and decay and is sticky and slippery and wrong. There are also a couple feathers (broken and mangled), so whoever’s annexed Drift’s underground bunker has probably got wings.

Jazz keeps going, silently exploring the depths of the hideout. There's boxes of med supplies that have seen some obvious use, and a table piled with books and scrolls and times. Something about demon summoning? Demonic rituals and spells and slag Jazz doesn't really understand. He slips a few important looking notes and papers under his plating. Prowl and the senator can probably make some sense of it. The hideout keeps going. Jazz forgot how deep it is. Who’s here, and where are they? Jazz can’t hear a single fragging person.

Jazz considers grabbing the stuff Ratch wanted and leaving before whoever’s here comes back, he wants to know what’s up, but doesn’t want a tangle and he’s kind of in a rush right now. Then Jazz smells blood, and he goes on high alert. He’s hoping for an injured fellow monster or cursed mech, someone he won’t have to fight- though if it’s a senate flunkie that’ll be nice and simple- just kill ‘em, grab the slag and ditch.

There’s a door- no door, just a doorway with red vines hung over it like a curtain, aight- Jazz peeks through. There’s a bright blue mech, kinda familiar, laying on a bed of the same red vines. The blue mech is where the blood smell’s coming from- mech doesn’t budge or shift as Jazz enters the room. Is he dead? No, Jazz can hear faint breathing and rattling, mech’s in rough shape, he’s- that’s Blurr. He’s a famous knight. Fastest mech alive. Jazz has met him. He’s covered in weird squiggly burn marks, has puncture wounds and torn plating. Yeesh. Looks like either some reeaally rough travel or straight up torture- maybe both- Jazz reaches out to wake him up, ask what the frag he’s doing here, what the frag happened to him, why he didn’t patch himself before falling asleep, how the fastest knight got this beat up- and the bed of red vines comes to life, attacking Jazz, wraps around him- Jazz struggles, tries to grab a knife to hack the vines but the vines grab an ankle and sweep him off his feet, and his helm knocks against the ground as the crazy fast vines swarm and disable him. Slag. What the slag what the slag what the slag is up with these vines??? They’re the same as the ones outside and those ones didn’t move at all. What the slag??

“Please introduce yourself,” a smooth voice (with an old city/senate accent) says from fragging nowhere, “so I know what to put on your gravestone.”

Slagspit.

“Ha! You gonna- uh-” The frag? His voice is Blurr- the mystery mech’s most loved person is the one who looks like he just got tortured and stashed in danger vines to trap him and uh- crazy aft fan or something? Huh. Fame really does kill. “You gonna give me my own headstone?”

Jazz wriggles towards the voice in time to see the mystery mech step out from a fragging wall- illusion, cool, aight, skilled magic user, clearly, yup yup yup, Prowl’s gonna kill Jazz if he dies without notice-

Then the mech’s form registers- Jazz has his third spark attack in the last breem. Mystery mech’s built like Shockwave- the Shockwave, like a little statue come to life. He’s even got that gem piece (bright red crystal) attached to his forehelm. A shiny statue with missing fingers, a patched right optic, damaged wings and- well Jazz has seen lots of art and slag of the old senator, and none of them have made him look like that. Not just damaged, but, uh, mystery mech looks like he’s calmly assessing how to best tear Jazz apart, like he’s a mildly annoying equation to dissect- which is waayyy different from the kind benevolent face Jazz is so used to seeing carved in stone.

“No,” mysteriously Shockwave-look-alike says dismissively. “I’ll leave that to your employer- assuming he even bothers to find your body.”

Mystery mech said he- doesn’t know who Jazz’s boss is, that’s good, Elita would smelt him if he slipped that to some (senate?) rando. Mech might think Pax is his boss, that would also be a problem- I’ll be quick, just a little supply run Prowler, no problem, you keep workin’ on your master plan and I’ll be back before you know it- yeah, Prowl’s gonna kill him. Jazz squirms into a more upright position, knife hand on the side where Blurr’s menacing admirer can’t see it. Jazz can’t really move his arms or legs- doesn’t have the range of motion to reach any vines with the dagger just yet. Fine. Pitslag. If he’s reduced to headbutting and biting, so be it- Prowl’s expecting him. Jazz ain’t going down without a fight.

“I am surprised Sentinel sent another mimic-” off-putting Shockwave-esque mech muses. “Did he really think I would be that easy to fool?”

Wait what? Jazz forgets about the vines for a klick.

“I suppose he has always been more impatient than clever,” confusing (not senate?) mech continues.

“I, uh, don’t work for Sentinel?” Jazz tries, helm tilted.

Confusing mech has a great poker face. “Then who do you serve?”

Yeah Jazz ain’t answering that. “Who do you serve?” he retorts.

Hopefully it offends the royally refined (very damaged) mech to saying his own name. It’s always nice when people get overconfident and spill slag they shouldn’t.

Off-putting mech doesn’t show a glimmer of anger or reaction. “I serve myself,” he says simply, “and my knight.” One-eyed magic mech draws a pretty (frightening) bright red glyph in the air, and the vines restraining Jazz begin to glow. The vines begin to warm, and Jazz is pretty sure he’s solved the mystery of the weird squiggle burns on tortured-unconscious-trapped Blurr.

“So I will ask you once,” scary magic mech looms over Jazz, “where is Blurr?”

.

..

…

Jazz blinks dumbly, glances at Blurr, still asleep, still bleeding, still burnt. He tries (mostly failing) to gesture towards the bright blue bundle of damaged mech. “Uh, him?”

(Confused?) scary mech makes a disparaging (aristocratic) sound. “Not Sentinel’s fake, where did he take Blurr?”

The vines grow hot.

Jazz tilts his helm- the other direction- his helm was already tilted. He’ll burn eventually, but he’s pretty used to the heat. One perk of working for a dragon.

“Fake? And what’s Sentinel want with Blurr? He’s a knight, not a monster, mech ain’t even cursed- fraggin pit mech, who are you? Who do you think I am?”

“Who do you claim to be?”

“Not whoever you think I am. Look, you need help finding your mech? You want to hurt Sentinel? We’re on the same side, I can help.”

“You would turn against your master?” The vines stop getting hotter, but don’t cool down.

“First off, smelt Sentinel, he’s a lousy self-absorbed aft-headed glitch and I’d gladly help him kick the bucket, secondly, I already told you I don’t work for him.”

“If you are not working for Sentinel, then how did you find this place?”

“I’m friends with the guy who made it, glitch!”

“And what is his name?”

Jazz opens his mouth- shuts it again, restarts.

“Okay so I’m friends with a friend of the guy who made it, I don’t remember the guy’s name but he’s a beast-shifter and his friend stashes medical stuff here and sent me to pick some up.” Jazz doesn’t know that mystery mech doesn’t know Drift or Ratchet, but he also doesn’t know that he does. He shrugs. “Sorry.”

“If you were here for medical supplies, then why did you not collect the supplies and leave? Why did you continue downward, why come here?”

“Saw signs of entry, some creepy demon ritual slag, smelled blood. Followed the blood scent and found a beat up mech.”

Poker-face mech considers him coldly. He nods once, draws a few more glyphs, sprinkles (fake?) Blurr’s vents and intake with something then retreats to his fake wall, disappearing into the illusion. The frag?

A groan sounds from the blue (now waking) mech and Jazz freezes. That sounded like.

“Whe- who- what? Who are you?” definitely NOT Blurr mumbles, because not Blurr is just waking up and instinctively went for the voice of the closest mech and Jazz knows what that feels like because he’s done it and this fragger is definitely a fake and a mimic because this fragger sounds exactly like Prowl.

Smelterfragger. Smelterfragger. Jazz wants to yell it, but doesn’t want the mimic recognizing his voice- doesn’t want a fragging (senate lackey?) to know what he is. Smelterfragger.

Jazz panics a little maybe but he frelling well doesn’t show it. (Hopefully)

The mimic scrutinizes Jazz blearily, then snorts. “Were you supposed to be my backup? Good job glitch.”

Fragger. He ain’t helping Jazz’s case and he doesn’t deserve to use Prowl’s beautiful voice, to desecrate it like that. Smelting fragger. Jazz glares daggers. The vines wrapped around Jazz cool down and fall slack, and, without a second thought, Jazz pounces Not-Blurr, blade whipping towards vitals- Not-Blurr yelps, trying to twist away, but Jazz is faster, pins Not-Blurr to the ground, changes his grip last second to knock him out instead of killing him. Jazz doesn’t actually know for sure he’s a senate lackey yet. Frag. Should’ve asked him before knocking him out. Ugh. Prowl’s gonna call Jazz an idiot, probably. Or just give him a look that says the same thing. Or both. Probably both.

Magic (unsettling) mech reappears from his frell wall, looking thoughtful.

“Kay, the frag was that about?” Jazz asks, alert and defensive.

(Probably? Maybe?) not lying mech gives Jazz a politician’s easy smile. Yeah Jazz instantly does not trust this frell mech. You know, extra, more than before.

“You know Prowl,” maybe for real a senate slagger says.

Jazz shrugs nonchalantly. “Senator aide, useful mech to know.”

“You love a golem.” The (??!!!) mech says casually, like it’s vaguely fascinating.

Jazz feels like he’s been hit in the helm, hard and out of the blue, like a spark-flash explosion in front of open optics. Accompanied by a folding chair to the back of his head.

Who?!? Who the frag!??

“Who are you?!” Jazz chokes out.

“I helped make Prowl,” (?!) mech (!?) explains. “You know he is made to mimic the emotions of real people?”

“He’s as real as anyone else,” Jazz snarls, “who the frag are you?!” Shockwave helped make Prowl. Shockwave was put on trial. He was turned into a demon. This, this can’t- what-

Shockwave-look-alike looks at Jazz like he’s an interesting spell component. His smile twitches, an ironic, artistically familiar, (not quite benevolent), (kind?) smirk, Shockwave-smug and Shockwave-clever.

Shockwave-eerily-look-alike flares his (damaged- somehow still majestic?) wings with a regal air, and a proper (old) aristocratic, polite, confident knight salute, fist to spark.

“I am Shockwave. Demon Knight.”

?!??!!???!?!

“I am going to save Blurr and destroy the council. And you are going to help me.”