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Praxus was a city of rules, and rules were important for the functioning of a proper society, or so they said. Not all of the rules might make sense in a way that he accepted, but he had been told many times that the proof is in how perfectly functional a city was, how well everyone worked together, the harmony of the city singing through the air. Everything had a place, everyone had a role, and everyone should be in their place. Praxus was the epitome of ’everything in its place.’
And yet Praxus was a discordant melody of discontent. A sound he could hear even as he pushed himself out of the forced stasis, listening to the clanking of the cuffs locking him to the table. His visor flickered with static, then fuzzy shapes and colors before it ran a defrag and reboot. Then bam, everything in perfect pristine color.
He was staring at his cuffed hands, could feel the hard unyielding metal of the chair beneath him, could see the impeccably shiny but still scuffed top of the table he was chained to.
Unfortunately, he remembered exactly what happened to lead him to this position. No lucky stasis memory lapse for him.
“You finally awake? Oh, that’s good. We can talk before he gets here.”
Jazz looked up and could see…a blue and white mech, accents of grey and black, standing at attention. Like he was used to the strict protocol or was trying to look firmer than he sounded. Something about him felt…off. Familiar in a ‘like meets like’ way and yet not like at all. Behind him a few feet away was the shut door with a red light glaring over it and standing besides said closed door was another…mech? Nah. Not a mech. Something else. Ain’t no mech feel as dead as that one did. It just looked like one.
Like someone just designed a frame to look in the most stereotypically Praxian way someone could think of, from the sharp pointy chevron, to the very ample bumper and the large doorwings. If a random person who had never really been to Praxus was asked to describe what a Praxian looked like – as if there weren't just as much variety in frame and function in Praxus as there way anywhere else – they’d have described a mech who looked just like this.
Except the lack of a face, really.
Oh, right. The drones. He’d heard the reports that Praxus had been deploying drone enforcers for a few stellar cycles now, but Jazz hadn’t ever seen one to know what they looked like.
He leaned back in his seat as much as the cuffs would allow. “Talk? I think I talked myself into enough trouble, don’t you?”
The mech stepped forward, arms still crossed behind his back. “You sure did,” he said, “especially considering all the crimes you committed. Praxus doesn’t take well to law-breakers…especially when it’s Cityspeakers. Kind of a touchy subject, but you sure did make a statement with…all of that.”
“Ah-hmmm…” Jazz hummed a bit, tunelessly. “I maybe heard something about y’all being sticklers for policy. Can’t say I thought seeing the sights of your fair city would be breaking a law…”
“Speeding, being in restricted zones after curfew, public performances without a permit, illegal driving maneuvers on public streets, evading checkpoints, lack of a tourist permit…” the mech rattled off, and even without the badge, he could tell this mech definitely used to be an enforcer. It may as well have been written all over him. “Oh, and the big one...mishandling of government property without appropriate security clearance.”
Jazz was a bit blown away by all of the charges, to be honest, but that last one… “Wait a minute, I don’t recall mishandling any property that wasn’t my own.”
The mech raised an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have touched the drone.”
“Ah, that’ll do it,” Jazz laughed softly, leaning his head back so he could look up at the ceiling. “So what brings ya here to talk to me, then? If’n my rights are still mostly intact, and I’m sure in a city as fine as Praxus they still are, I’d say I haven’t been properly sworn in for an interrogation, so…”
The mech isn’t smiling, and his optics flicker for a moment, almost as if to look back behind him at the door. “I didn’t say this would be an interrogation,” he pointed out. “I just said I wanted to talk. Get to know you. Cityspeaker to Cityspeaker. Cityspeaker-in-Standing, I mean.”
“In Standing?” Jazz repeated.
“There hasn’t been a forged Cityspeaker in Praxus in a few generations, and I’m sure you know that,” he said.
“Yeah, but I didn’t realize you had any other kind of Cityspeakers around,” Jazz said.
“It’s pretty new,” the mech smiled, standing up straighter. “First off the line, you could say. Praxus deserves the best and no Cityspeaker is just unacceptable. Titans need their Cityspeakers. I was honored to be offered the position, but…”
His words trailed away and his optics flickered to the side again. Jazz knew exactly what that was now. To Speak, a Cityspeaker must first know how to listen. And maybe this young mech hadn’t quite learned how to tune his City out when he wanted to be heard. Jazz leaned back in and tapped his fingers against the table for a brief moment, a thoughtful rhythm.
“So you’re here to speak for Praxus?” Jazz asked, casually moving his arms and tapping little beats on his cuffs. “Because if so, I’d like to extend my apology for the clear misunderstanding we were having earlier.”
“An apology is a good place to start–”
“But only if he gives me one first.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah,” Jazz nodded, lips quirked up at the corner. “Right rude of him to lead me on like that, when I was only trying to introduce myself. He could have spoken up at any time and let me know he wasn’t feelin’ the beat the way I was.”
“Praxus was clearly trying to apprehend you himself for all of your various crimes,” the mech said, sounding just a bit offended. “He isn’t the kind of Titan who sits back and does nothing for his citizens. He’s very involved where he can be.”
“Sure, but had he told me I was breaking the law, I would have comported myself in a different manner,” Jazz replied. “Your Titan may like his rules, but if he wanted us to meet in a more private and secure setting, all he had to do was ask. He didn’t have to trick me to get me alone.”
“Trick you?” he leaned down to roughly smack a hand against the table. Just enough to make a thunk. “How was he tricking you when you clearly wanted all of the attention? You wanted him to find you there.”
“Oh, I mean here, right now,” Jazz said. “If he wanted me all to himself in one of these rooms, he could have just asked instead of stalking me around the city. I didn’t know all the rules yet, so how could I know your highway’s speed limits weren’t just suggestions?”
“Ignorance of the laws does not equal exemption from adhering to them.” The now familiar, static-y voice said and Jazz smiled in victory as he looked around the mech in front of him, to the drone standing by the door. Its visor flickered on, turning purple then blue, obviously having been active the entire time.
“Still being a Prowler, huh,” Jazz said. “Pushing your Cityspeaker to talk just so you can listen in on the whole conversation.”
“Don’t speak to him like that,” the mech intentionally put himself in Jazz’s line of sight. “If he wishes to speak with you, then you’ll answer anything I have to say, as is his right–”
“Stakeout.”
The mech – Stakeout, Cityspeaker-in-Standing – snapped his mouth shut and pulled back, uneasy. The drone did not move from its position, but the voice echoed from it in a static tinny, still easy to hear, but discordant with the sounds around it.
“Apologies, Praxus sir…”
“There’s no time. That wasn’t our purpose.”
Stakeout’s optics widened. “Oh right,” he then looked back to Jazz.
“So there was another purpose for cuffing me up and getting me right where you want me, huh?” Jazz shouldn’t be as amused as he was, but he was letting this play out as best he could. Sure, getting arrested wasn’t in his original plans, but he knew it was always a possibility. A lot of Cityspeakers got real possessive about their Titans, and those without Cityspeakers tended to have governments that didn’t enjoy the intrusions of outsiders.
Case in point.
“Stop–Just stop talking to him like that,” Stakeout said and the look on his face was one of mild discomfort.
“Why?” Jazz asked. “Afraid I’ll sizzle his circuits too much and he won’t know what to do about it?”
Stakeout winced then, turning away to look at the drone, but before he could speak that voice echoed out again.
“Cease intentionally making my Cityspeaker-in-Standing uncomfortable.”
Jazz shrugged and knocked both of his wrists against the table a little harder than he had before, and there was a buzzing click as the cuffs deactivated and popped off landing with a clink-clunk onto the table. Stakeout spun back around, optics confused, then wide at the sight of Jazz no longer being cuffed in place, but Jazz was already moving.
He flipped over the table and spun around Stakeout who reached out to grab him and–
–slotted himself right up against that drone. It was sturdy, he’d give it that. With sensory panel doorwings perfect for amassing high-qualities of data. He propped his elbow against its shoulder, leaning up a bit because of the slight height difference.
“Ya know, the kind of tech in those doorwings might make a mech feel a bit outdated,” Jazz said.
The drone turned its head, the blank face and visor reminding him that it wasn’t a typical mech. There wasn’t even a battlemask where the nose and mouth should have been. Just smooth, blank steel with an augmented visor over where the optics could have been. His own doorwings flickered back and forth in response. His were a lot smaller and more specialized, only accessing data in terms of sound waves around him. Made for great rhythm and movement, always keeping him in perfect sync with his dance partners, but he could feel the way this drone was just absorbing data. Good thing they weren’t real mechs or they’d fry a circuit from all that input.
“The Automated Law Enforcement Command Units are the latest innovation.”
“That why you borrowed one to talk to little ol’ me?” Jazz asked. “Gotta say it’s got a lot more shape to it than the aviary drone.”
“I am here to monitor a session between Cityspeaker Jazz of Staniz-by-Polyhex and Cityspeaker-in-Standing Stakeout of Praxus-Central.”
Jazz blinked behind his visor, staring at the drone, then back to Stakeout. “So you weren’t pulling my leg there?”
Stakeout’s face tinged a bit of blue before he straightened up, back to the more formal position with his hands behind his back.
“Titan Praxus believed it would be…beneficial if we had a chance to converse, and thus close any potential gaps in my knowledge as a Cityspeaker-in-Standing.”
Jazz looked between him and the drone-highjacked-by-Praxus. The confusion turned to amusement, and a soft kind of fuzzy feeling. Oh yeah. That felt familiar.
“Ya could have just asked me for a play date,” he said.
Stakeout’s face did that thing again, and Jazz kind of wished he had doorwings like a lot of others – and the drones – did, if only because he’s sure they would have been talking all over the place, saying all the things this mech kept telling himself not to.
“I think, based on your various infractions and less than respectable behavior so far, that perhaps we were mistaken to consider you for such an important task,” Stakeout said.
“Aw, mech,” Jazz crooned. “Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings. But don’t worry, I won’t hold it against ya, since I can see you’re not used to making friends the easy way.”
“I happen to have plenty of friends,” Stakeout said. “I don’t need another friend, I need another Cityspeaker with experience and knowledge.”
“Assistance in Cityspeaker-in-Standing Stakeout’s education could be seen as a mitigating factor in terms of adjudicating your list of crimes.”
“Oh, I see how it is now,” Jazz laughed. “Help ya mech here, and you’ll give me a lighter sentence? Shouldn’t a real Enforcer be here to broker this kind of plea deal? Shouldn’t I get a chance to plead my own case? Kind of skirting your own procedures here, Prowler.”
“Praxus.”
“Pretty sure those basically mean the same thing,” Jazz said.
“Look, if you are refusing to help, then we will leave and your fate will be left to the system,” Stakeout told him. “We have very strict rules here for a reason, and that is why Praxus has managed to maintain his–its safe streets and productive citizenry. Praxus made this decision as a courtesy to myself – and to you, despite Cityspeakers not being welcome in this city for a reason.”
“Not until you, huh,” Jazz said.
“I am Cityspeaker-in-Standing,” Stakeout replied.
A distinction without a difference, in Jazz’s mind, but for some reason this mattered to Stakeout.
“Now, as I said, I think this was a misstep of choices and we will be rescinding this plea offer–”
“No. Accept the offer, Cityspeaker Jazz.”
“Sure, Prowler,” Jazz agreed.
“Praxus.”
Stakeout’s face did that thing again. Adorable, really. He patted the drone on the shoulder, spun himself around and easily bumped Stakeout with his hip before hopping onto the table and sitting on it. “Now that’s all settled,” he said, tip-tapping his fingers on the table’s clean surface, “why don’t you tell me what you think you need help with?”
Stakeout’s stiff and formal pose curled just a bit inward, optics looking first to the drone and then back to Jazz. “Ah, well…” Stakeout started. “I have read all available materials for how a Cityspeaker should function, but Praxus says there is something ah..lacking in the materials that cannot be formally expressed. Something intrinsic that another Cityspeaker would be able to explain in terms of how to best complete the bonding process, but Senator–”
Suddenly the drone’s position returned to the eerie stillness of when he first came on line just as its visor went dark. There was a loud blaring of an alarm as the light over the door to the interrogation room turned from red to green and the door swung open. A large mech walked into the room with two badged enforcers following behind, one of them smaller, mostly silver with accents of red and extended audials from his helm, and the other larger and silver and blue and still no stereotypical doorwings. Both were still dwarfed by the size of the red, blue, and gold mech walking in front of them, with his sharp edges, pointy helm, and everything oozing money, power, and the worst vibes Jazz had ever felt.
“And here you are,” the mech said, “interfering with a current investigation, Cityspeaker-in-Standing Stakeout?”
Stakeout straightened up, arms right back to that waiting position behind him. “Of course not, Senator Proteus, I only thought to see if I could better understand his motives, considering the special circumstances…”
“Said circumstances is exactly why you should have kept your distance,” Proteus swept through the room, a sharp hand patting Stakeout on the shoulder without even bothering to look at him. His optics were firmly on Jazz. “And it is against protocol for a suspect to be out of their cuffs during an interrogation, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t–”
“Come now, Cityspeaker-in-Standing,” Proteus interrupted him again. “Protocol is important and must be followed, even with unique…suspects. Barricade.”
The silver and blue enforcer stepped forward, baton at the ready but not yet deployed. Jazz knew it had to be one of those fancy ones with the built-in taser but he had no interest in finding out up close and personal. He lightly slid off the table and kept his hands in the air.
Barricade grabbed him by the arm roughly and pulled him back around the desk, forcing him with tight servos to sit down in the chair before re-cuffing him. Jazz didn’t bother to point out how useless that was. Best not to, ya know.
Proteus was still staring at him.
“I knew something curious was going on when there was static in the security cameras, despite how they seemed to be operating properly. It’s disappointing to think that you took such measures, when you could have spoken to me to act as your mediator.”
Stakeout only seemed more distressed by the fact Proteus was speaking to him without directly looking at him than anything.
“Apologies, Senator Proteus,” Stakeout said, “but I do think that this could work in our favor, if you would listen to my proposal–”
“A proposal you broke protocol to enact on your own?”
Stakeout hesitated for only a moment, but then continued on. “Yes, sir, but considering the current…delay, we’ve been confronting, I did think a professional with more exposure and experience would have insight I could use for a breakthrough.”
Proteus did look at him then, and then back to Jazz, who tried to appear as harmless and innocent as possible. Few people hadn’t heard the name of Senator Proteus of Praxus, a mech who seemed to have the ear of the Prime himself, and more than knew how to throw his power around. Jazz hadn’t thought the Senator himself would be making calls about someone breaking traffic laws, but then again…Praxus had laws against Cityspeakers for a reason, didn’t it.
Proteus being that reason.
“And you think this…very shoddy excuse for a drifting Cityspeaker could be the answer?”
“Yes, sir,” Stakeout insisted, a plea in his tone. “I think with his help I–we could finally have the answer we’re been working towards. And I know this is something that would be of great help to Praxus–”
“Oh, Stakeout,” Proteus sighed, and his demeanor shifted from stern and disappointed to…fondly exasperated? Jazz felt a bit of whiplash from the change. He faced the mech and walked over, his touch much gentler than it had been before. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I know all you wish for is to do the best for Praxus. I’m sure he’s grateful for your efforts.”
“I…I hope so, Senator, sir,” Stakeout said.
“And if you believe so, then I will allow this,” Proteus said. “But if he commits any further crimes against the city-state of Praxus, know the injustice against Praxus himself will be on your head. Protocol exists for a reason, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, yes of course it does,” Stakeout agreed. “Protocol ensures that Praxus may prosper and endure.”
Well, if that didn’t sound like something repeated more times than would ever be healthy.
“Very well, then,” Proteus nodded, smiling. “Streetwise, why don’t you take the suspect–I mean, Cityspeaker Jazz here” – and how did they all know his name, that was more than just a little creepy – “and have him fill out all the proper forms for probationary release. I have more to speak with our Cityspeaker-in-Standing about and then he’ll take over. Barricade, remain with us, please.”
“Of course, Senator,” the smaller silver and red mech stepped forward, unhooking the cuffs from the chains on the table, and motioning for Jazz to follow him. “You’re lucky day, isn’t it, mech?”
“Yeah, I think I just got all the luck in the world, right about now,” Jazz said, smiling in what he hoped was a very flattering and not at all disturbed and uncomfortable way. Not like they had let him speak before now to say anything on his behalf so maybe being silent in the moment was for the best.
He shot a quick glance to Stakeout as he was led away, but Stakeout didn’t return the gesture, his full attention on Senator Proteus who settled both hands on the mech’s shoulders just as the door to the interrogation room closed behind them. The light over the door from the outside wasn’t red or green, but a warning of yellow.
Why had he gotten himself into?