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English
Series:
Part 3 of Rising Dawn
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Published:
2025-03-15
Completed:
2025-03-19
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13,038
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6/6
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92
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Close Encounters of the Uber Kind

,

Summary:

Jazz works for Uber. This causes as many problems as you’d expect.

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Melanie did not claim to know anything about cars, but she didn’t need to know anything about cars to know this one did not belong to someone in Uber's pay bracket.

 When it’d first rolled up to the curb, she was convinced it was just some rich asshole pretending to be her Uber driver, because there was no way she was ever meant to ride in something this nice.  This wasn’t just a soccer mom Subaru or a college kid’s beat up Toyota.  This car had character.   It was shiny in a fuck you, look how rich I am kind of way, like the person who owned it had a personal investment in keeping it spotless.  The rain drops seemed to know this, rolling right off the top without lingering for a second.  It was one of those fancy sports models, riding low to the ground with only two nice leather seats up front and none in the back. 

 She had double checked the license plate, then triple checked, then stood there in the drizzling rain, squinting through the water as she attempted to compare her driver’s face to the profile picture in the app.  She only shuffled her way into the car when the guy gave her a concerned look through the rolled down passenger side window and earnestly asked her if she was okay.

“Are you… Jazz?” She asked, reading his name from the app skeptically.

He grinned at that, a smile that lit up his face, the corners of his crescented eyes wrinkling in the warmth of it. “The one and only!  You looking for me?” 

 Melanie blinked at him.  He had a nice, down to earth smile for someone with such a snazzy car.  She forced herself to shake off her initial shock.  No matter how rich he was, she refused to stay out in the rain any longer.  

 She quickly moved to the door.  After settling in the seat, she immediately became self conscious of her oversized, drenched coat, worn backpack, and muddy shoes.  She pressed her legs tightly to her backpack and clutched her coat as close as she could to her body, hoping that it would reduce the wet from getting everywhere. 

 She felt ill just sitting in it, wondering if she would be held liable for damages if her dripping pants managed to damage the seat.  If that did happen she’d have to fake her death, because this car definitely cost more than an entire year’s salary.  Maybe even five years’ salaries.

This was not the experience she expected to get from an Uber of all things. 

 “Sorry about your seats,” she said with a smile she hoped was not as much of a grimace as she felt it was.  “If I had known your ride was going to be so fancy I would have gone with someone else.”

 “Aw, don’t worry about it,” he said.  He sounded like one of those old blues musicians her Grandpa used to listen to.  There was a crackle to the edges of his honey warm voice, like worn creases in suntanned leather.  Grandpa would always put on a record in the living room whenever she was over, saying that you wouldn’t get the same sound quality from a CD or the radio.  Melanie was sure that if someone could put some kind of filter over this guy’s voice it would be a perfect match to her childhood memories.  Jazz was definitely a fitting name for him.  

 Looks wise, he also reminded her of the pictures she had seen of her Grandpa from when he was younger.  Jazz was Black, with a cool, dark skin tone similar to Melanie’s, and his close cropped hair was graying slightly with age.  His lower face was bare of any facial hair, and she could see the prominent smile lines rounding his mouth and cheeks, comfortably worn in like the sole of a shoe.  He was a very handsome man.   

 “You good to go?” he asked with that easy smile.  

 Melanie nodded, loosening the seatbelt a little from where it dug into her neck.  “Yeah, I’m good to go.”

 “Great, great.  Let’s get rolling, then.” 

 It was silent for a moment as he merged back out into the street.  The rain rolled in careful lines down the windshield, completely uninterrupted.  The windshield wipers stayed firmly unmoving.  Melanie prepared herself to mentally go over the notes of her presentation again.  Unfortunately, her driver decided that it was the perfect time to try to talk to her again.

 “How’s your day been going so far?”

 God she really didn’t want to have to deal with small talk right now.  She was happy to talk to people most of the time, considering it made up a not insignificant part of her job, but right now she was cold, and wet, and wanted to get to her destination as quickly as possible.  It would be nice to be left alone for this ride so she could hype herself up to talk about the importance of community journalism to a bunch of undergrads who would be dropping out of the major within the year.  She liked her old professor, she really did, but she was quickly reevaluating her decision to come visit his class.  Her Spokane trip in general was becoming less and less fun by the minute.  Attending a friend’s wedding: yes!  Good idea!  Getting soaked the moment she left her hotel room to do something productive: no!  Bad times!

 “Sorry, but I’m not really up for chatting,” she said, hoping that it didn’t come off as rude as she felt.  “Maybe you could put on some music or something?” 

 There, that was a good distraction.  This way she wouldn’t have to deal with any awkward silence and she could be left alone for the rest of the ride.

 Jazz paused for a moment, holding himself completely still.  His face remained neutral, but his voice was ecstatic when he responded.  “Now we’re talking.  I’m always happy to put on some tunes.”  

 The radio turned on without him touching it.  Before she could comment on that, sound started to pour out of the speakers.  

 Melanie didn’t know what she expected Jazz’s music to sound like.  Probably something, you know, jazzy, like his name.  He looked older, so maybe something like what her older cousins were into.  Or maybe she thought he would just turn on the radio and they’d listen to some top 40 hits.  Whatever the case, she was not expecting what could only be called a symphonic car crash to come out of his speakers.

There was obviously a beat, and some string instrument, but it was very, very metallic, like someone had decided to record themselves pounding on sheet metal and tossed it in a track.  The instruments were also overwhelmingly electronic.  Was it possible to autotune a violin?  Because this artist had obviously managed to do it.  On top of everything else, it sounded like they had decided to speed up a dial tone and oscillate it up and down, creating this oddly mesmerizing tune. 

She honestly felt overwhelmed just listening to it.  Like she had been dumped into the front row of an alien’s heavy metal concert and was expected to know all the lyrics.  Unfortunately, there was nothing to do but listen to what had to be the weirdest experimental indie band she had ever heard.  And she had been subjected to many experimental indie bands, thanks to her sophomore roommate who had no sense of using headphones or quiet study hours.  

 Jazz’s music was starting to grow on her though.  As it continued to play, Melanie could catch the softer undertone that underlined the more dramatic parts.  It reminded her of what the printers at her work sounded like when they were putting ink onto a page, a steady hum that could fall into the background.

 She was only slightly tempted to ask him the name of the band, but that would mean more conversation, which she was explicitly trying to get out of.  Thankfully, music recognition apps existed, and she wouldn’t have to talk to him at all to figure this out.  She subtly let her phone try to detect the music, holding it by her right leg.  It took half a minute before she was hit with a “No Result Found”.  Just how underground was this music?  Where was this even from?  Was this something that he made and had the only copy of?  If so, it was a bold move to inflict it upon unsuspecting passengers.  He might not want to quit working for Uber any time soon, because his music career certainly wasn’t going anywhere.  

 She was so caught up in her bewildered confusion she didn’t even notice the car stopping.

“You good?  We’re here.”

Melanie didn’t hesitate for a moment before hopping out of the car, giving one last apology for getting water on his seat as she slammed the door.  As she hurried to the class, with her hands clutched around the hood of her coat to protect her braids, she mentally marked the ride down as the weirdest Uber she had ever taken.  At least it might make for a good column story down the line.

Later that night, after the lecture and another ride back to her hotel, she would discover her bank account was never charged for that first Uber ride.  

Notes:

phipthere notes:

1. okay look I know we said the next fic that would be out in this series is another social media one, however is it Not Cooperating and is in development hell. i am deeply sorry, please take this uber fic instead.
2. uber technically does not allow the model of porsche that jazz is to work for them. he hacked the system to give himself an identity on there, and to also make it so he could actually drive for them
3. imagine if u got a free uber ride in a porsche. that would be wild.
4. this fic is fully written! chapters will be out daily

moth notes:

1. this was not the fic that was supposed to come out first but nevertheless
2. ur honor i love outsider POVS

Chapter 2

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Jazz stood in the cool lowlight of this planet’s dawn, watching as the pink and orange strips of light that trailed across the sky softened into a rosy yellow.  His vents cycled the warm air of the Nevada desert through his systems quietly, letting out a gust of breath through his abdominal vents and rustling the sand below his pedes.  The distant noises of a highway whined through the empty landscape, as organic life was waking and stirring in the face of the sun peeking over the horizon.  It took less than four breems before the sun warmed his plating in full.  Jazz was faintly in awe.

Earth was a quick little planet, hurrying about like it was always running out of time.  Its orns were short, its joors even shorter.  Or, perhaps, he should refer to them locally: days, hours, días, horas.  Really, hours and days on Earth were such different quantities of time from Cybertronian joors and orns that they deserved to be their own units of time.  The only similarities lay in the proportionate values they held in relation to the other units of time on their respective planets.

Most Cybertronians rested in a cascading schedule based on their own needs.  On Cybertron that rest was based on caste and job, now, in war, they just kind of did it whenever they could.  A proper rest cycle was usually a half-orn, or 24 joors, for every full orn.  (They were rather cost efficient metallo-organisms, something they had forgotten to appreciate until here.)  While it was never guaranteed that they would get that amount or need that amount, it was such common knowledge that most Cybertronians could not even comprehend another way to follow their natural circadian rhythm.

With full human days being a little under only three joors, the adjustment to working with humans’ much shorter time scale was definitely a learning curve, to say the least.

Jazz was not the only transformer on their cobbled-together base who was up in the middle of a waking orn right now.  He knew Ratchet was up in the medbay, likely focused on fabricating more replacement parts, if the frustrated ripple of plating he had seen on her earlier was anything to go by.  Optimus Prime was busy as anything, working with Ironhide over negotiations and conflict plans with the human government.  Bumblebee was off on patrol somewhere.  Wheeljack was doing Primus knew what.  Mirage and Hound were supposed to be starting a rest cycle, likely already powered down in their quarters.  Swerve and Atomica were in the tail end of a rest cycle, if he recalled correctly, both scheduled to wake up in about 17 joors at 12 AM tomorrow, Mountain Standard Time.

Jazz was wide awake in the middle of his day.  Humans, though, were just starting to stir.

Speaking of which, Jazz’s antennae and peripheral sensors had been picking up on the approach of one in particular who had been throwing himself into the cross species integration with as much fervor and enthusiasm as Jazz himself.  Which, frankly, was good (no matter how many times he annoyed them, Mirage, please don’t joke about stepping on smaller life forms, honestly) since that was, first and foremost, his job.

The slight sound of those footsteps faltered at an appropriate speaking distance recorded for North American cultures.  “Good morning, Jazz!”

A polite, pleasant, customary greeting among humanity.  He did know that Jazz liked learning those.

The loose plating on Jazz’s helm flared for a moment, optics brightening briefly and EMF swelling for a pulse before it shrunk back inward.  A friendly, pleasant, customary greeting amongst Cybertronians.

Except he wasn’t talking to a Cybertronian, so he angled his body, turned his head to look down at the man with his primary optics, and configured his mandibles and faceplates to resemble a human smile.  “G’mornin’, Alex!”

Dr. Manalo - oh, please, just call me Alex! - was the unlucky fool who’d been elected to take the dive into understanding humanity’s first alien contact and smoothing out interspecies communications, and he had taken to it with a tenacity that left no stone unturned.

He was a stout man with brown skin and dark hair, who had very patiently described what a mustache was when Bumblebee asked, along with the reasons why he had one in the first place and why he had chosen to keep it, all to a growing crowd of skeptical Autobots silently horrified by the idea of small little poles growing out of someone’s plating infinitely and forever. His personality was as bright as his clothing, and he had proven over these past two months to be friendly and easygoing, open to the more alien concepts that came with Cybertronian culture.

Alex put his hands in his pockets, scanned the surrounding area.  “What brings you out here?”

“Just enjoying the sunrise.  Earth has a different atmospheric makeup than home.  It’s been a while since I’ve seen a sunrise so pretty,” he said.  Every day alive was worth cherishing, that’s what he’s learned.

“What did Cybertron’s sunrises look like?” Alex asked, that glint in his eyes that told anyone who bothered to look that he was on the hunt for answers.

Jazz was glad he had asked.  It was nice to reminisce to someone who didn’t have the hang ups of war wearing down on them. 

“It’s not exactly the same as what you’ve got going here on Earth, y’see?  It was playing a much different tune,” he said.  “Our planet was a lot further from its sun, so it appeared a lot smaller.  Hazier too, due to the thickness of the atmosphere… and all the pollution.” 

He continued to exchange a few questions and answers with Alex about the culture of working crepuscular versus nocturnal versus diurnal shifts for a little while.  Jazz ended up appalled that crepuscular wasn’t even an option and most humans preferred daylight due to their chemical makeup, and Alex ended up amazed because transformers had no loyalty to either orn cycle.

It was around then that Jazz felt a ping request come through from the Prime, and he left the conversation with Alex with a polite farewell.  Culture shock was a common feeling these days, and he knew it likely wasn’t going anywhere.

By that point, the sun had risen to a cheerily low point over the horizon, and Jazz was feeling his plating shimmer with collected heat.  He passed by the mismatched collection of tarp tents and RVs that the humans working with them close enough to warrant stationary settlement had amassed over the last two months.  There was already a life to it, not one minute wasted - he could pick up the scent of cooking food and aromatic drinks, the noise of talking and squeak-slam of rickety, swinging doors.  In the distance he could glimpse the sun reflecting off the steel of a hastily erected chain link fence intended to keep out curious humans not in the know.

In the center of it all laid their ship, Arkemetria.  The Ark was a silver and red interplanetary ship shaped for speed and stealth, with proud Autobot symbols painted onto her wings.  It was just sleek enough to barely fit the disguised measurements of a really tall commercial airplane hangar, as long as there were a few more hologram buildings in the mix to further obstruct the width and length of the thing.  Human structures were so small - Jazz had never realized how sprawling Iacon was until he had taken a ride through Las Vegas.  All the lights and population density were dizzying, for sure, but the scale was all off.  And that was nothing compared to the closest human town, Jasper.  There were no tall buildings there.

The hologram technology and signal scramblers were crucial for keeping their cover.  U.S. Government Representative Mearing was adamant that they not reveal themselves to the public.  “Not yet, at least,” she had promised, a pinched stress to the edges of her mouth.   Optimus Prime, too, was clear that they would strictly avoid compromising their strategic front.  The Decepticons couldn’t know they had allied themselves with the native civilization unless absolutely necessary.  It was their ace up the sleeve, at the moment.  Personally, Jazz felt like this mandate was cramping his style.  But hey, he wasn’t a stranger to stealth missions, even if they felt like the less fun alternative. 

The cargo docking bay of the Ark was open, as it had been for the last few days.  Barring storms or other weather phenomena, they tended to leave it open to accommodate easy access for the humans as well.  Prime was resolute in an open door policy when it came to humans. “We must not forget that we are guests here,” he had told them all, a sternness in his eyes.  He had confided in Jazz and Ironhide specifically not to let anyone break the rules set in place.  Jazz hoped he wasn’t included in that whole “anyone” mandate, considering he was most definitely breaking the rules with this Uber setup.  Thankfully, rules only tended to matter only when you got caught breaking them. 

Jazz walked up the ramp into the bottom of the ship, instantly feeling the warmth of the Nevada sun cool in the strength of the Ark’s inner climate.  Cybertron was a much cooler planet than Earth.  Ratchet had already brought up the concern of increased internal temperatures, instructing them fiercely to all pay attention to their internal temp readouts and to stop movement and run their fans if the number got too high.  The average Cybertronian could find comfort anywhere in a temp range between 32 and -77 degrees Fahrenheit, and Earth’s warmer climate was almost absurd.  It was no wonder that the Decepticons had kept themselves and their activity strictly above the 40th latitude line. 

The Ark was a refreshing respite from the outdoors.  It didn’t seem to be quite the same experience for the humans, though.  It was a little funny to watch them walk out from their shelters in a t-shirt and sunglasses with a jacket and hat draped over their arms to properly buff against the sudden temperature drop in the Ark.

Prime and Ironhide were on the bridge, located near the bow of the ship.  They spoke in Iaxion, looking at a map depicting the Northern United States.  Apparently this was not a conversation meant for their gracious hosts.  The steady, plodding tempo of the language was sped to a casualty never allowed in formal language sticks, packed tight into semiquavers and hurried along with dropped consonant clicks.  Prime and Ironhide were worried about something.  Then again, these days, when weren’t they?  He could hear them better the closer he got.

“It’s odd that we haven’t seen any activity from ‘em so far,” Jazz could hear Ironhide say, her Kaonian-Iacon border accent shining through in the face of stress.  Her optics glowered down at the map.  “I don’t like it.”

Optimus’s audials spun backwards.  “It is troubling.  It is unlike them to stay hidden for this long.”

Ironhide was silent for a few kliks before speaking again.  “You think they’re trying to do somethin’ like what we came across in Proxima Centauri?”

A grave look was shared over the projection of the map.  Chasing the Heratic across the universe had led them to finding their fair share of planetary graveyards.  Jazz was getting tired of coming across the husks of terraformed planets, their histories and people erased before the Autobots even got the chance to save them.

Jazz chose that moment to speak.  “Well, the ‘Cons are nothing if not consistent.”

“Jazz,” Optimus Prime extended his electromagnetic field, tilting his head in greeting.  His EMF could be suffocating on a good day.  The way his current… Primeliness encompassed everything indicated this was not a good day. 

“Hey OP, how’s it going?”  He rested an arm on the table all casual-like, looking at the map laid out across it.

Optimus’s audials flicked in a way that indicated ‘not well at all Jazz, why do you ask?’  Jazz was definitely feeling a little bit of that himself, but at least he had some healthier coping mechanisms for it than Optimus’s strategy of ‘blame himself for everything until it somehow eventually all works out.’  Jazz then told the little voice in the back of his processor that Uber was a perfectly fine way to deal with the stress of war, and no, he wasn’t just avoiding his problems until eventually everything all worked out. 

“It is certainly… going,” Optimus said.  He turned back to the map.  “The Decepticons’ current plans do seem to revolve heavily around acquiring more resources than us.  However, they do not appear to have made any moves towards terraforming this planet yet.”

“They’re plannin’ somethin’,” Ironhide said.  “I don’t like it.”

“Well,” Jazz could sniff out a chance to aggravate from a klikka away, and with the Lord High Protector herself, he barely had to say anything to get on her nerves.  “I would like to point out that they are always planning something.  We are at war.”

Wow, Jazz could feel Ironhide’s exasperation from here.  That had to be a new record.

“Thank you Jazz,” she said, her sarcasm somehow overpowering Optimus’s EMF.  “That was very helpful.”

The aridity of her tone could rival the desert around them.  Jazz allowed himself a slight smirk, wiped a thumb over his mandibles.  Indulgently, he smiled to her, “Anytime.”

Ironhide scowled mightily.  She ignored him with a heavy exhale of fuming air.  “What I would like to point out is that they have to know we’re here by now - so why haven’t they made a move?”

“I ask myself that as well,” Optimus agreed solemnly.

“Probably because they’re doing something that requires them to stay on the down low,” Jazz said.  “Which would be my job to figure out.” 

The Decepticons weren’t the only ones who could plan - they just did it with less style than Jazz.

“Yeah, it would,” Ironhide said, sending him a pointed glance.  “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Jazz let out a pensive sigh.  He studied the map in front of them.  The markers of their last noted activity from human accounts were bright against the synthesized topographical hologram of the Northern United States.

“It all comes down to who’s gonna make the first move, doesn’t it?” Jazz muttered.  “It’s all just one big game of chicken.”

“...The rustin’ Pits is a chicken?” Ironhide asked him derisively.

“It’s a domesticated animal raised primarily for food,” Jazz said. “But that’s not what’s important.”

Ironhide huffed, almost amused. “You’ve gone native, Jazz.”

“I think it’s good that our second-in-command has taken so much time to connect with the native lifeforms,” Optimus offered up mildly, dousing the argument before it could take form.

“Thank you, Prime.” Jazz said.  At least someone appreciated him around here.

“Jazz, please continue to keep us updated on your progress determining the location of the Heratic,” Optimus said. 

“I’ll get my team on it.” Jazz leaned back, tapping the surface of the table restlessly. “I know Mirage has been itching to get on something important - Hound’ll follow him.  And Bumblebee definitely needs something to do.”

He’s not blind.  He’s seen how the minibot has been eyeing him. 

“Excellent,” Optimus nodded. “Teletraan-X,” he said into the air.

“Oh, here we go,” Ironhide sighed, crossing her arms.

For once, Jazz agreed with Ironhide.  Maybe things were more dire than they thought. 

“Optimus!  How may I be of assistance?”  Teletraan-X’s voice was cheery as ever over the room’s intercom. Jazz didn’t trust it.

“I would appreciate it greatly if you would monitor the human intranet for anything that could betray Decepticon activity.  Any mentions of rogue aircraft, unexplained sightings of metal men, or unusual vehicles should be tabbed and kept under review.”

“Very well, Optimus!  I’ll get right to it!”  The intercom crackled.

“Thank you, Teletraan-X.”

Jazz didn’t have the heart to tell him that Teletraan was probably only going to find random human UFO sightings and not anything useful. 

“I hope you have been well. How has the Ark been adjusting to the landing?” Optimus kept talking, the only one willing to speak to the stuffy little guy for longer than necessary.

Which was Jazz’s cue to make his exit before he got roped into any probing conversations.

He made a final tap on their conference table and pushed off it.  Through the reedy noises of Teletraan-X’s complaining, he bid them farewell.  “Alright mechs. If that’s all, then I’m off to patrol.”

“Take care, Jazz,” Optimus nodded, lifting his hand in goodbye.

“See ya,” Ironhide said.

Jazz waved, flipping into alt and cruising down the hallway.  He made new command blocks in Mirage and Hound’s schedules, added new routes to Bumblebee’s map, and made a note to himself to talk with Wheeljack about those weapons systems he was developing.  Maneuvering himself out the Ark and past the human encampment, he hit the road with a new sense of purpose.

He had a job to do. Scratch that - Jobs.  Jazz was good at multitasking.  And if his new patrol routes were similar to those from a previous pastime that started with ‘U’ and ended with ‘ber’, then, well. There was no one to know but him.

Notes:

phipthere notes:

1. Jazz's perspective is very fun. He's so observant but also very laid back.
2. wow the autobots sure are having a bad time in general. im sure that is only exclusive to them and no one else

moth notes:

I will take any excuse to world build to the MOON. I LOVE THIS CHAPTER!!!

Chapter 3

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Bumblebee was small.  This was a painfully self-evident truth that left him in various compromising situations including, but not limited to: being overlooked, freely being picked up despite not wanting to be, and almost getting stepped on more than once.  It was a tough world for a minibot.  He was just glad that Swerve was also here so he wasn’t the only one.  But while being so small had its misfortunes, it also meant that he was exceptionally good at noticing things others didn't.

And lately, he’d noticed, Jazz had been dodging him. So when he saw Jazz surreptitiously moving toward the exit in a way that was a little too casual to be anything but sneaky, Bumblebee made his move.

“Jazz!” He called, throwing up a hand and hurrying over to where Jazz had frozen.  Bumblebee may be small, but he could move fast.  With an innocent smile across his field, Bumblebee pounced on his prey.  “You’re going out on patrol?”

“Yeah, what can I do for ya, Bee?” 

Jazz reconfigured himself into something unworried so fast that one could mistake whether they truly had seen his momentary alarm or not.  Bumblebee knew better.

“I was wondering if you could show me your route,” he said, following Jazz as he moved further down the hallway.  “I haven’t gotten any details on it so far, and I just want to make sure I’m on top of things.”

Jazz made a little humming sound from the back of his vocalizer.  Bumblebee knew this meant he was hiding something and wanted no questions asked.  Either that, or he was only pretending to hide something, and did in fact want to be questioned.  Bumblebee guessed correctly between the two roughly half the time.  More often than not, Jazz was just pretending to hide something because he thought it was fun.  But that small little percentage of the time when he actually was …

Bumblebee could never tell when Jazz was keeping something actually serious hidden.  That level of deduction was a little bit outside of Bumblebee’s pay grade.

In any case, Jazz was probably really hiding something, if only for the reason that Bumblebee had not actually received Jazz's patrol route from him yet.  Jazz was usually on top of that sort of thing.  Unfortunately, Bumblebee could not do a whole lot with that guess.  Jazz was very good at outmaneuvering him in any kind of interrogation.

“That might be a little tough Bee,” Jazz said, his voice as cheerful as his steps.  “See, I don’t actually have a set route planned out yet.”

That was probably true.  It did not mean he wasn’t also most definitely hiding something.

“You’ve been on patrol almost every day this week, though.”  Bumblebee noted casually.

“Yeah, I have,” When he turned back to Bumblebee, he was grinning. Oh, the game was on. “Been just kinda… winging it on where I go.”

“Okayyy.  Do you have a general area you’ve been in?  Anywhere I could help you… fill in the gaps?”

 Jazz made the humming sound again.  It was slightly lower pitched though, which was probably Jazz signalling that Bumblebee was doing a good job at trying to get some information, but wasn’t going to end up successful.  Well.  They’d see about that, now, wouldn’t they?

… He used “probably” way too much when interacting with Jazz.  Would it be so hard for the bot to be straightforward for once?

“I think I’m all set.  You could probably go ask Ironhide or Optimus if they need any help covering some ground though.”

Ah yes the classic ‘go ask Optimus’ approach.  The oldest Autobot diversion tactic in the database. 

Bumblebee was unimpressed.  “You’re literally in charge of me.”

“Literally is a strong word.”  Jazz’s visor was infuriatingly unreadable.

“Jazz, you're my commanding officer.   You’re supposed to be telling me what I’m supposed to be doing!”  Bumblebee waved his servos demonstratively.

The bot had the audacity to chuckle .   “Yeah, but Optimus is my commanding officer, so that makes him in charge of you , too.”

Trying to talk around Jazz was a bad move.  Bumblebee was only going to get himself pushed off onto someone else at this rate.  At least talking to Optimus would actually be productive - the Prime could not lie to save his life. 

He needed to change tactics.

“Alright then.  It’s no worries if you haven’t got routes planned out yet.  How about I save you the trouble and just follow you on patrol?  See if I could pick up a few tricks from how you’re ‘winging it’.”

 Jazz grinned.  This smile was face-splitting, and slightly unnerving to look at.  Bumblebee had an ongoing bet with Hound as to whether Jazz purposely made it look that way, or if he was just like that. 

“Aw, you wanna be trailing after me, little Bee?  You haven’t done that since you were a newbie trainee.”

At least when he was a newbie trainee Bumblebee still had some ability to manipulate Jazz just by the virtue of being cute and young.  Now he was just young enough to be the sparkling of the group, but still old enough for Jazz to determine he could be treated like the rest of the Spec Ops crew.  Namely, if you want to know something, have fun figuring it out on your own.  Oh, and good luck trying to get any information from someone if they don’t want to give it to you. 

“Well, you know, new planet and all.”  Bumblebee dipped his anterior kibble and fidgeted with his servos, peering at Jazz with brightened optics that made them look larger than they actually are.  He had practiced this motion extensively and it seemed to make others more likely to give him what he wanted (he had only tested it on Hound though, so maybe it wasn’t productive at all and Hound was just weak to influence in general).

“We’ve been to a lot of planets together, Bee,” Jazz said, his grin somehow stretching wider.  “Didn’t know I needed to hold your hand to get you settled in here.”  Try harder, he was saying.

Bumblebee hoped the exhaustion in his EM field was tearing a hole through Jazz’s stupid cheerful attitude. If sneaky wasn’t working, then maybe he needed to go full frontal assault. Can’t go wrong with blunt force.  Sighing and crossing his arms, Bumblebee made his attack.  “Yeah, well, maybe I just want to hold your hand because you’re my friend and I like you.”

Jazz seemed to straighten up.  Finally.   Because all it took to make Jazz let someone in the loop was to be stupidly sincere about your feelings of friendship.  Bumblebee would have to thank Optimus later for being right about everything all the time. 

Jazz put a hand on top of his head.  Bumblebee allowed it because it was Jazz.  “Okay. I’m going to let you in on what I’ve been doing, but we’re gonna keep this on the down low, ‘kay?”

Bumblebee looked up at him, optics slanted.  “How down low?”

The grin on Jazz’s expression made Bee’s door-wings flutter nervously.  His voice quieted,  “Don’t tell Optimus unless he asks directly about it, and under no circumstances tell Ironhide or Ratchet about it.”

“Oh.” Bumblebee said.  “Why not Ratchet?  Jazz, how dangerous is this?”

What could he possibly be doing?

 “Probably not dangerous at all, but Ratchet’s already a little bit miffed about all the organics running around the base,” he said, grimacing slightly.  “So, we’re just going to not tell her when we’re doing stuff with humans to avoid the rant.  It’s tactical, y’see?”

“You’ve been patrolling with the humans on base?”

“Not on base.”  Jazz was unyielding.

Bumblebee narrowed his optics.  “I thought we were supposed to be keeping our cover. We’re not meant to be interacting with any humans not sanctioned by their government.”

“We are,” he said.  Jazz’s visor was angled just so that Bumblebee could see his inner optical mechanisms clicking.  “And we’re not.”

Bumblebee’s head tilted. “So you’re just disregarding that then.”

“Nope,” Jazz was grinning again.  “I’m keeping to it.”

“Then how are you patrolling with humans who don’t know who you are?”

Jazz was silent for a moment.  Debating whether or not he wanted to share.  Bumblebee leaned in.

Jazz sighed, opened his mouth, and Bumblebee felt the sweet taste of oncoming victory before the fantasy of a coherent answer completely shattered at Jazz’s reply.

“Have you heard of something called Uber?”

Notes:

phipthere notes:

1. bumblebee time!! this was actually the first part of the fic that was written. the idea of bumblebee trying to interrogate jazz was very amusing and i thought it was v fun
2. also fun fact, the idea of Jazz working for uber was probably the first fic idea we got for this series.
3. anyways this chapter made bumblebee and jazz so important to me. they're friends ur honor.

Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Mirage found Bumblebee two joors later.

“What did Jazz tell you?” he asked, sliding right up to Bumblebee at his spot in the room that served as the cafeteria. 

Bumblebee glanced over to the side, where Atomica was valiantly arm wrestling with Ironhide, and even more valiantly losing. 

“Keep it down!” Bumblebee hissed, using one hand to block his face from any onlookers.  “Why don’t you ask Jazz yourself?”

“Asking you is easier.”

Bumblebee spluttered, his door-wings lifting in righteous indignation.  “I’m not -- easier!”

 Mirage dropped a hand to his hip, lifting one optical ridge. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Bumblebee scowled.

Mirage smiled, then snatched the cube in front of Bumblebee, glancing down at him through slanted teal optics that spoke of mischief. 

“Hey! Stop it!” Bumblebee grabbed for the offending arm. “Give that back!”

Mirage lifted the cube above his head, defending against Bumblebee’s attack with his other arm.  He hopped, then realized hopping was beneath him as a decorated member of Autobot special operations, and so was left standing there awkwardly, just kind of waving his arm weakly in the air as if that would at all convince Mirage to let him have it back.  It didn’t.  Bumblebee wobbled on the tips of his pedes.  The slageater gave a smirk, wiggling the cube in the air tauntingly. 

“Come on Bee, I just want a little bit of your info.”

Bumblebee flashed him a vulgar symbol with both his servos. Mirage only grinned wider.  Stupid middleweight transformers and their stupid height.  Bumblebee was going to remove Mirage’s legs at the knees, frag ‘the ongoing stability of special operations’ and ‘Mirage is an integral member of the team, Bee’.  Jazz could live without someone who had the ability to turn invisible.  He could also live without his partner in robbing-Optimus-blind during the weekly card game night.

Unfortunately, his revenge fantasies were cut at the knees - much like he was planning to do to Mirage - as another mech stole the cube from Mirage’s extended hand.

“Heya mechs, what’s going on here?” Jazz asked over the sound of Mirage’s offended noises.  He took a swig from the cube.  Bumblebee’s shoulders drooped.  After Mirage he was going to murder Jazz next.

“Hello Jazz.  How are you doing?” Mirage asked pleasantly, as if he weren’t explicitly making fun of how Bumblebee was effectively half his height.  Bumblebee was this close to leaving the Spec Ops division entirely and going to beg Ironhide to let him work for her. 

“Pretty good,” Jazz said, leaning in close enough to Mirage that their planting brushed. “How do you think everyone’s settling on Earth?”

Bumblebee could not let Jazz continue with the friendly small talk.  The moment it ended and he stepped away, Bumblebee would once again be left alone to Mirage’s questioning.  That was an unacceptable outcome - Bumblebee was the only one who was allowed to be annoying around here.  He had worked hard for that title, damn it! 

“Oh, you know, not bad, not bad at all.” He nodded innocently.  “Mirage here was just asking me what you’ve been up to lately. Told him I had no clue.”

There, turn them against each other and let them duke it out.  Eat slag, Mirage.

Jazz didn’t even pause before responding.  “Funny that he came and bothered you.  He was trying to get it out of me for two hours yesterday.”

“Hours?” Mirage asked, lip curling. “What the slag is an hour?”  

He had crossed his arms, giving Bumblebee a frosty look. 

Jazz waved a servo.  “Human measurement of time.  It’s a little over a sixth of a joor.”

“Ah.”  Mirage was not impressed.

“Wait,” Bumblebee interrupted.  “Mirage - why’d you come and bother me if you already tried with Jazz?”

Mirage turned his frigid glare onto Jazz.  “Because our esteemed commander is hiding things for no reason whatsoever.”

 Jazz didn't even bother to acknowledge that comment. 

“Because he figured you’d be good enough to get the info but not good enough to keep it a secret,” he said, grinning with his head tilted in Bumblebee’s direction like he was sharing an invaluable piece of advice and not giving half of an insult.

Rude.  But also kind of flattering?  Mostly rude though.

Mirage huffed, showing his disapproval at Jazz’s outright audacity to reveal his motivations.  Sorry Mirage, but it looks like everyone is learning the power of honesty as a weapon.  This is what happens when Autobots are stuck with Optimus for extended periods of time.  They get way too touchy-feely way too fast.

Jazz looked back at Mirage, like the cat that got the cream.  Bumblebee could fix that.  “Sooo yeah.  Jazz is working for Uber.”

“What?”   Mirage asked, with his faceplates twisting and EM field bending in confusion.

“He’s working for— hh-oof!”

 Bumblebee was cut off as Jazz tackled him.  Well, tackle was a generous way to describe what was really just Jazz jumping elbow-first onto someone half his size. Bumblebee yelped, pinned to the floor beneath several tons of blue and silver dickhead. 

 “Jazz!  Get off me!”

Bumblebee tried desperately to scramble out from beneath him.  A fruitless endeavor, given how Jazz’s full weight was more than his tripled.  When Jazz did finally let off, he didn’t get far before Jazz managed to grab him around the midsection and lift him into the air.  Bumblebee pushed at Jazz’s armor as he was left dangling from both servos. 

“Ey, mech, you gotta be more careful of what you say when you’re in grabbing range.”

“Fuck off!”

Jazz had the nerve to smile.  “Ah, you are getting along with humans - that’s nice!”

He shook him a little, and Bumblebee’s dangling feet swayed along.  He crossed his arms as well as he could in another mech’s grasp, furious and too small to do anything about it. 

“Oh well.  Sorry ‘Raj, but I think Bee’s gotta go.”  He tipped him over upside down.

“Wait, wait, no!”  Bumblebee cried, EMF teeking in delight.  He wriggled.  “Mirage!  You’ve got to save me!  Help!”

Bumblebee wrapped his arm around Jazz’s and kicked out his pedes, trying to dislodge himself from the firm grip.  This only resulted in Jazz shifting him to the less dignified position of the “under the arm” hold. 

Mirage’s EM field radiated amusement.  He walked over to Bumblebee and grabbed him by the arm, tugging slightly.  He was truly playing along with the bare minimum amount of effort. 

“Oh noooo.  You’re too trapped, I think this is it for you.”

“You’re not trying hard enough!”

He huffed, his mouth curving up at the corner.  “It’s not my job to rescue an operative who gives away information so easily.”

“In this situation I was your operative, giving you information! You afthead!”

 Jazz looked at Mirage, then Bumblee, then back to Mirage again.  “Hey now,” he said, his voice brimming with laughter.  “You two aren’t allowed to gang up on me.”

“Well. It appears like Bee is out of commission currently,” Mirage said, leaning forward smugly.  “I’m the only one ganging up on you now.”

“Hey! I’m not out of it yet,” Bumblebee said, futilely kicking against Jazz’s side again. 

Jazz kept him firmly clamped under his arm.  “No, unfortunately I don’t think you’re getting out of this one without one of us taking a trip to Ratchet.”

He said it like Bumblebee wasn’t willing to do that to prove a point.  He was only slightly tempted to prove him wrong.

“I could stab you,” he reminded him.

“You could!”

“Bite him instead,” Mirage said.

What an excellent plan.  Who said that Mirage couldn’t have any good ideas?  Bumblebee opened his mouth and moved his head towards Jazz’s arm.

“What?” Jazz saw the movement and startled, bringing him away from his body with both servos.  “Hey now, keep your mandibles away from me, my plating’s sensitive.”

Bumblebee gave him an opened mouth grin, snapping said mandibles threateningly. 

“Well, Jazz,” Mirage said, moving away with an elegant flourish.  “It seems like Bumblebee and I have the leverage in this interrogation.  What,” he asked imperiously, “is Uber?”

Jazz didn’t budge. “Kiss my aft,” he grinned.

Bumblebee opened his mouth wider, letting Jazz fully see his double pair of mandibles.  “I’m really gonna do it.”

“No, you won’t,” Jazz said.  He bent his neck to look down at him.  “Ratchet would kill you.”

“And we would make sure his heroic sacrifice to the cause won’t go forgotten,” Mirage said.  He turned to Bumblebee.  “Do you think we’d be able to have Optimus give the eulogy?”

Bumblebee nodded solemnly.  “Make sure to have him mention my immense skill and might that will surely be missed.”

“I’ll make sure to cry,” Jazz said. 

Mirage opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short as two new mechs walked up to the scene.

“Hey - what’s going on over here?”  Ironhide asked, approaching with Optimus by her side.  The scent of good humor and goofing around had caught her attention, and sure enough, she was scowling like someone ought to stay in the brig for a night for the crime of laughter and happiness.  Which was hypocritical, it bore mentioning, considering she was just goofing around with Atomica. 

“Nothing,” the three voices said in unison. 

Jazz smiled.  Mirage smiled.  Bumblebee smiled from where Jazz was still holding him.  Ironhide did not look impressed.  Her optics narrowed.

“They’re up to something again,” she said to Optimus. 

Mirage pointed a finger to himself, as if to ask Who, me?

 “Jazz, is there any reason for concern?” Optimus asked with great amusement.  You could only tell he was so humored by the lines under his optics and the brief ripple of his field.

“With us?  Never.”

Ironhide squinted, as if it would allow her to determine just exactly how much Jazz was joking.  Bumblebee wished her luck with that, as the Autobot’s top science division had been working on devising a system of measurement for that problem for several hundred vorns now. 

Mirage quietly opened a three-way comm link between himself, Jazz, and Bumblebee.  ::Tell me what Uber is::

 Verbally, he started speaking to Ironhide.  “We were just talking about if Optimus would give a eulogy at Bumblebee’s funeral.”

::Ask Jazz:: Bumblebee responded.

“Of course?  I’m slightly concerned that you think I wouldn’t,” he said, his voice tinged with concern.

::It’s a human thing:: Jazz sent. ::Look up what rideshare is::

 “Well see this hypothetical situation is complicated,” Jazz said.  “Considering it would be Ratchet who killed him.”

“Why would Ratchet kill him?” Ironhide asked exasperatedly.

::You’re letting random humans ride in your chassis???”  Mirage sent, with more incredulous glyphs than Bumblebee had ever seen in a single message.  If nothing else Mirage was an incredible wordsmith. ::Primus below, why would you ever do that!::

 Thankfully he didn’t let any of his disbelief show on his face or leak into his EM field.  Mirage was very, very good at playing whatever part he needed to. 

“I’m going to bite him,” Bumblebee said. 

“Please do not bite Jazz,” Optimus said firmly, in a tone of voice that left no room for negotiations.  “And please do not try to antagonize Ratchet.”

“Why are you going to bite Jazz?”  Ironhide seemed like she was regretting coming over here more and more with each klick that passed. 

::It’s a good way to learn about humans, you know.  I’ve been able to get a really good feel for how they operate::  Jazz’s choice of glyphs left absolutely no possible interpretation for remorse.  That was sure to make Mirage want to strangle him. 

::We are stuck around humans every day.  All the time.  Why would you ever need to go find some new ones, let alone let them ride inside of you?::   If Iacon Academy were still standing, Mirage’s messages would be used as mandatory study material on literary glyph use.  Bumblebee didn’t even know how he managed to convey so much anger and disdain in a single message. 

“He won’t put me down,” Bumblebee said.

Ironhide put her optics to the ceiling and raised her servos like she was asking Primus for a solution to Spec Ops stupidity.  “Jazz, put Bumblebee down.”

::These ones at the base are all military.  Not really a good standard for figuring out humans in general.::  Outwardly, Jazz hummed like he was considering Ironhide’s order.

“Jazz, please put Bumblebee down,” Optimus said, in a much more diplomatic manner than Ironhide.

::I want you to know that I disapprove of this endeavor on every possible level::

::I can tell.:: 

 Bumblebee could also tell, considering how much disapproval Mirage had been putting into the messages.

Jazz put him back onto the ground gently, then smiled at Ironhide. 

::Fine.  But you are under no circumstances to bring me near any of the humans you find::

::Don’t worry ‘Raj, that’s not the plan.  We’re supposed to keep ourselves on the down low to the wider human population.  This is just having some chats and giving some people rides.  No big deal::

 Mirage only sent back a brief acknowledgement before closing the comm line. 

“Well, I think that’s it for me.  I’m headed on patrol, I’ll see you bots later!”  Jazz walked backwards slightly, then brought his servo to his faceplate before moving it towards Optimus and Ironhide.  Before anyone could respond, he spun into his alt mode and drove away.

‘What motion was that?”  Ironhide asked incredulously.

“I’m pretty sure humans call that ‘blowing a kiss’,” Bumblebee said. 

“I am glad Jazz is taking steps to familiarize himself with the humans,” Optimus said, sounding very stately and very amicable.  “It will be important for us to have good relations with them.”

Mirage turned away without even bothering to acknowledge Optimus.  Ironhide glared at him as he walked away. 

What a successful Spec Ops mission.  Go team!

Notes:

phipthere notes:

1. Poor Ironhide. She was stuck on a small ship in space with these idiots for a very long time, and is now stuck on Earth with them. It's the Cybertronian equivalent of doing a 15 hour road trip while your younger siblings won't shut up in the back, and then the moment you reach your destination they do a very loud impromptu wrestling match on the floor. Optimus isn't bothered by this at all, because he has the freakish patience of a saint.
2. This is maybe my favorite chapter. I loved writing all of their interactions and I think it turned out very well.

moth notes:

1. THEYRE ALL SILLY GOOBERS
2. Bumblebee is actually 10’ to Mirage and Jazz’s 20’. He is literally half their height!! This is bullying!!

Chapter 5

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The human who climbed into his passenger seat seemed less put together than a lot of the other humans he had seen.  Jazz wouldn’t describe them as dirty, but they lacked the clarity of appearance other members of their species seemed to have.  If they were a bot, Jazz would say they probably hadn’t polished their armor in a few vorns.  Since they were human, he guessed he could call them softly rumpled, maybe slightly tired.

He was still struggling to understand the nuances of human gender, and didn’t quite grasp the instinctive way other humans just seemed to know how to refer to each other.  According to Alex, the best way to know was to just ask, but Jazz thought that took the fun out of this little guessing game.  It was a good way to test himself, see if he was getting any closer to really figuring humans out.  It's not like he’d ever have to refer to one of his passengers by anything other than their name.  If that assumption proved to be false, he’d ask for clarification on what pronouns to use then.   

This human was called Levi on the app, which he believed was categorized as a male name, so he could probably call this human a “he”.  Also in line with this reasoning was the fact that Levi was wearing long pants, flat shoes, and a large jacket.  They had long dark hair (which might be a point against the “he” thought) that tangled and stuck out at odd angles.  The hair was only from the top of his head as well, with none appearing on the lower half of his face. 

In addition, the human had pale skin and a clear human visor that he was pretty sure were called “glasses”.  Jazz was also pretty sure that glasses were not as advanced as visors, and could not be used for anything beyond vision correction.  Sad.  It would be cool to see what humans could get up to if they could use anything like his setup. 

Outside of his generic appearance, Levi also seemed to be lacking a clarity of focus.  When Jazz had pulled up to the curb, the human was staring at his phone.  Now this wasn’t unusual for most humans he’d met, but this one was also wearing a pair of clunky headphones that covered both ears.  It took a moment for him to notice Jazz after he rolled up, seeming almost completely ignorant to his surroundings.

When he finally did notice and approached his door, Levi’s distracted state did not seem to fade.  He shifted one side of the headphones off of his ears, but didn’t remove them completely.  This human lived in distraction in a way Jazz would have considered dangerous if he was one of his agents.

As he sat down, Jazz prepared to ask some of the generic questions he asked his other passengers.  Hey, how’s it going?  You’re all set?  Are you up for any conversation? 

 Really it was just following the social script, so then he could get to the good stuff.  Like asking Levi what he was listening to, so he could add it to his database of Earth music.  But before he could even open the mouth of his holoform, Levi turned to it with a wide grin.

“Dude, your car is so sick,” he said.

Oh this one was going to be a talker.  Jazz let his holoform reflect the grin he was feeling internally.  It was always nice when a reconnaissance mission worked out. 

“Aw shucks, it’s not that nice,” he said.  It was that nice though, because Jazz was very good looking, and it would be a shame not to show it off in his alt mode.

“I dunno man, I’m pretty sure this is the nicest car I’ve ever been in.”  Levi’s voice was slightly higher pitched.  Maybe another point against the “he” assumption?  Or maybe he was just young.  He definitely seemed to be an adult, but the way he spoke had a youthful joy that was very reminiscent of a lot of newsparks Jazz had seen.  Like he was just happy and excited to be alive in the first place. 

Jazz could let himself feel a little complimented by the nice car comment though.  He always loved it when the Autobots visited a planet with similar aesthetic tastes.

“Well hey, must not’ve seen a lot of nice cars then,” he said.  There were probably not a lot of cars nicer than Jazz, but that comment made for a nice conversation starter. 

Levi fully removed his headphones, letting them rest around his neck.

“I mean not really.  My sister’s car, who we call Stephan, is currently held together by duct tape and pure spite.  Like, this thing’s bumper is almost completely falling off the front end,” Levi said.  He moved his hands around for emphasis.  “And it’s even got duct tape internally too.  I refused to sit in shotgun for an entire month because the duct tape on the seat was coming apart and I was tired of having to clean sticky stuff off my pants every time I rode with her.” 

He seemed almost thrilled by this fact - everything he said was filled with enthusiasm.  This human would probably tell Jazz his entire life story if he asked.  This was going to be a fun ride.

Jazz let his holoform drape across his steering wheel, trying to make it seem relaxed and welcoming.  Levi didn’t really look at its face for very long, with his eyes instead skirting around and looking out the windshield.  The movement seemed slightly uncomfortable.  Jazz wondered if that was a Levi quirk, or a “conversation with strangers in an Uber is weird” quirk.

“Sounds to me you’re just disparaging poor Stephan’s good name,” said Jazz. 

Levi laughed.  “Yeah, well, maybe Stephan deserves to be disparaged.”

Jazz laughed as well.  This kid had an awkward intensity to him that Jazz was starting to enjoy. 

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” he said, drawing out the ‘oh’ slightly.  Human speaking patterns were fun to imitate.

“It really could!”

 He pulled back out into the road, carefully planning out his route to get to Levi’s destination.  He’d see how long he could draw out this drive without it being suspicious. 

The cab was silent for a moment.  “So, uh, I really gotta ask,” Levi started.  “Why on Earth are you working for Uber when you’re driving around in this fancy car?”

Jazz had been asked that question a lot.  He had a pretty good answer for it by now. “I like interacting with people.  This sorta job gives me the chance to get out here and hear what they have to say.”

“Uber’s really the best way to do that?”  The doubt was evident in his voice.

“Well, it’s been working out for me so far.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t expect a lot of people to be super chatty,” he said.

“It can be pretty hit or miss, but I’ve managed to get some good conversations.”

“That’s cool.  So you just drive people around in your fancy car for funsies?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“What do you talk about?”

“I just listen to whatever other people want to say.”

“Fun times.”

Levi seemed to be running out of steam for how to continue the conversation.  Guess it was time to give him a little push.

“So, then I guess the question is, what do you want to talk about?”

His eyes lit up. “Oh now that’s a dangerous question.  We could be here for a while.” 

“Come on, there’s gotta be something you want to talk about.”

“Oh there’s a lot of things I want to talk about,” he said, putting more emphasis than necessary on ‘a lot’.  “I could give you a whole list if you wanted.”

“Eh, I think it’s more fun if you choose.”

Levi grinned like he had been waiting for this opportunity for his entire life.  “Alright!  So how familiar are you with the found footage genre?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Okay, well, first things first then - we have to start with the Blair Witch Project.”

Jazz listened as Levi began a spirited monologue on the human film genre.  It was pretty fun to listen to, but unlike Swerve he hadn’t dedicated a lot of time to watching their movies, and so was missing a lot of the nuances.  Maybe an Autobot movie night wasn’t such a bad idea — Mirage would absolutely hate it though.  Jazz would have to trick him into joining somehow. 

The rant made for a nice background as he drove.  The drive itself was also nice.  Jazz always liked organic planets, they had a diversity of life and scenery that tended to be lost in the more terraformed worlds like Cybertron.  It was fun to watch the trees. and the road, and the humans in their vehicles. 

It didn’t seem like there were a lot of other cars on the road right now though.  One or two had passed him from the other direction during this drive, but the only other car he could see right now was the loud muscle car coming in fast behind him.

The driver of the car, like most humans, didn’t seem to be particularly good, considering they seemed to completely lack the concept of a safe following distance.  Although, it was odd that it decided to be completely on his aft on a multi-laned road.  I can stop faster than you can bud, and if that happens you’re gonna be running right into me.

 The car seemed to take that as a challenge, and Jazz had only a moment to register before it rammed right into his backside, throwing him off the road. 

Notes:

phipthere notes:

1. i forgot to mention it last time but it is very important to me that everyone knows bumblebee's alt mode in this is a miata
2. anyways i fought and won for this fic to be posted in chapters so that this one could end on a lil cliffhanger, as a treat. moth was expecting this to be posted as a one shot. they were wrong. anyways. see you tomorrow for the finale!

Chapter 6

Chapter by

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Levi’s seatbelt was the only reason she wasn’t thrown across the console and out the driver’s window. She cried out as it tightened around her abruptly, instinctively closed her eyes and folded her arms over her head as she felt the car roll.

It was a mess of light and sound and vertigo as she tumbled down the small incline along the shoulder of the road inside a metal death trap. Levi heard a metallic clanging, a mechanical whirr-crunch-jolt as the car fell apart around her. Her seatbelt disappeared, and she screamed, covering her head tighter as she slammed into some hard surface of the Porsche’s interior, shrunk in on herself when she felt it close tight around her, somehow sure that it mean the car was going to crunch around her until she was a human-gore-car sandwich. That was relievingly put to rest when she finally felt air hit her skin as the car tumbled to a stop, felt spots of gravel and dirt as they fell - the windows must have broken?

Confusion pierced through her terror. Why was the car falling apart? Cars didn’t fall apart like this, they crunched, shattered, but she had felt no glass hit her. Her eyes opened before she even thought about whether it was a good idea, and the expectation of seeing a smoking battered car in bits around her was beat down by the absurd truth.

“Whuhthefugk,” She breathed.

She was not lying in the middle of a wreck. Indeed, she was not in the middle of anything you could even experimentally call a car anymore. Instead, she was held in the hand of a giant metal man, who was peering down at her with glowing blue eyes.

She froze, holding herself very still as she made eye contact with the giant creature holding her.  Levi let out a panicked, involuntary laugh.  This was not a good situation to be in. 

Before she even got the chance to start breathing again, she heard a giant crash from towards the road.  Another robot rounded the crest of the hill, although this one seemed even larger somehow.  It was blue, but not the same blue as her Porsche-bot.  Where her Porsche was the light cool blue-silver of reflected ice, this guy was the dark, warm blue of falling into the sky, the same blue of the sea when you took that step off the continental shelf into a different pelagic zone.  He also had some big… wing-things coming out from its shoulders.  When it spotted the robot holding her, it made this weird metallic grinding, not unlike a fork caught in a garbage disposal. 

Her robot turned toward the noise, but as it did it moved its hand behind its back, preventing her from seeing any more of the other robot.  It seemed to respond to the other one, making the same metallic sounds.  Then, it moved backwards slightly, so that its back was close to pressing up against one of the trees.  It shifted the hand that was holding her behind the tree - ohhhh he was providing her some cover.  Yeah, that works. 

The robot was shorter than all the trees around them, but it was still tall enough that Levi felt a little bit queasy about the distance to the ground.  It definitely wasn’t a fatal distance (how far of a drop could kill a person again?), but jumping down right now would probably break something (her sister broke an arm falling off a swing set once, and this was definitely taller than her childhood swing set) or at the very least not be very nice on the knees.

Levi moved to the edge, and slowly slid off so she was dangling from the hand.  Her legs were still waving in the air, but the ground seemed like it was only four feet from her shoes.  Seemed good enough.  She hopped down and stumbled a little, feeling it only a little bit in her knees.

The robot moved away, still…speaking? In that tumbling metallic language to the other robot.  Levi crouched behind the tree and tried to decide what to do.  Running away seemed like a very good option, but the other robot didn’t seem like it knew that she was here, and making a break for it didn’t seem very stealthy.  Trying to stealth away also seemed suspect, because these trees were not placed closely enough to easily move between them to safety.  Phone call maybe?  No, that would require talking, which again, not stealthy.  Fuckkkkkkkkkkk.

Levi couldn’t decide whether this was the best or worst day of her life. On the one hand: car crash?  Bad.  On the other, cooler hand: the whole ‘giant robot thing’ was making her feel a lot better about the situation.

She sat there for a moment, trying to make her breathing slow and her heart rate return to normal.  The moment of peace didn’t last long however, as she heard a very loud whirring sound from behind her.  Without a second thought, she let her head peek out from around the tree, just in time to see the blue robot take a swing at the other one’s head. 

She sucked in a breath, in anticipation for the strike to land, but it never did.  The white robot slipped back smoothly, easily dodging the attack. 

The Blue-robot was slow (Bluey?  No, that sounded like the TV show.  Blue-guy?  Big Blue?  Yeah that works Big Blue.)  Well, maybe not slow as in she could outrun him, but slow in the fighting game sense of he had some very long attack animations.  Like his movements were fast, but his punches were wide and sweeping, and it seemed like he wanted to go for a grapple of some sort. 

Something clicked in her brain, and she felt her heart rate accelerate, this time in excitement.  In video game terms, Big Blue would be a bruiser in League of Legends.  High damage, high tankiness, but low mobility.  He probably relied on locking down his opponent in order to take them out. 

In comparison, her uber (Porsche-bot?  Uber-bot?  The app called her uber driver Jazz but she wasn’t sure if that was made up, or supposed to refer to the driver or the robot himself.) (Wait what the fuck happened to her uber driver, was he okay?) was very, very fast.  The Porsche-bot seemed to live by the philosophy of “don’t need to take a hit if you never get hit in the first place”. 

This was just like League of Legends!  (Okay well, not really, but the thought made her laugh, so that was helping to keep her panic down.)  She felt incrementally more reassured by the realization.  Giant robots Levi wasn’t so sure on, but League of Legends?  League she knew. (Whether or not she was actually good at it was a different story.)

If Big Blue was a bruiser, then the Porsche-bot was an assassin.  High mobility, high single target damage, but low tankiness.  I mean he is literally made of metal, so that seems like some decent tankiness, but I’m not confident he won’t get fucked up if Big Blue actually manages to land a hit.

Again, this was an absolutely terrifying situation for her to be in, but also she was having the time of her life.  She totally got this now.

Despite Big Blue’s slowness, it seemed Porsche-bot was having a difficult time doing anything but dodging.  He was dodging very well at least, effortlessly moving out of the way of the wide attacks.  However, those wide attacks were also preventing him from getting in too closely. 

She watched as Big Blue, seemingly frustrated with the speed of his opponent, started to shift its arm (???) into something that looked less like a hand and more like a giant cannon.  The inside of the barrel started to glow, before it was suddenly halted with some returning fire from the Porsche-robot.  Unfortunately, his sci-fi gun (that shot laser bullets?  energy blasts??), easily deflected off of the bigger guy’s armor, not doing anything but preventing his shot. 

This was a war of attrition.  Porsche-bot was relying on getting a good opening, but one mistake before then and he’d be out.  And then Levi would be left alone with Big Blue, and there’d be no way she would survive that. 

She watched as the Porsche-bot narrowly dodged a swing by ducking under it, the metal plating nearly scraping the top of his head.

If only Big Blue lost focus for a second, then there would be a chance Porsche-bot could finally do something. 

He just needed the right opportunity.

Her eyes landed on some stones by her feet.

Oh god.  Ohh, god, she was about to do something really stupid, wasn’t she?  Her sister was going to kill her for this.  If she didn’t end up dead anyways.  She was definitely probably going to die if Porsche lost.  She might as well try to do something about it. 

Dirt stuck to her clammy hands when she grabbed the rock.  Her heart fluttered in her throat. She stood up, pulled in enough breath to shout.  The ground shook whenever the robots landed on their feet.

“Hey idiot!  Over here!”

As soon as the words left her lips, the Blue-robot turned its head toward her, red eyes widening and flashing.  She had never experienced such intense and immediate regret for an action before.  She scrambled to her feet to start to try to run, but halted as she saw the Porsche-bot slam into the side of the Blue-robot’s head with the tangled sound of a drumset crashing down a flight of stairs, and start to rip off some of the metal on its body.

Big Blue stumbled back, shaking its head for a second, before running back into the trees.  The Porsche-bot watched it run, like it was decided whether or not to chase after it.  It must have decided on no, because after another minute or so, it turned towards Levi.  Its unreadable white visor (???) stared down at her.  Levi felt her hands tremble.

Rather than grabbing her or stomping her to sludge, it instead just… crouched.  Made itself small.  Faced her with an inexplicable genuinity that made her gasp. 

“Hey kid,” it said quietly.  “You alright?”

Oh god, he spoke English.  Who the fuck made a giant robot that had speech capabilities.  There’s no way that would work properly.  (If someone stuck ChatGPT onto a giant murder robot she would make it her life’s mission to destroy their life.)  Or maybe it had a human piloting it remotely?  Like some kind of drone?

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as wobbly as it felt.  She was only mostly close to crying.  “Are you good?”

He paused, and tilted his head enough that the pane of glass on his head caught the light through the trees.  She wanted to know who thought it was a good idea to make something so human and yet so alien at the same time.  And also who thought to make it so tall, it was awkward craning her neck so much to look at him.  She couldn’t get over how quiet it was when he moved, after the cacophonous orchestra that was the two of them in combat.

She inched closer to him, legs shaky, hoping that walking a little bit would prevent her legs from giving out and dumping her on the forest floor. 

“Yeah,” he said.  His voice didn’t even sound robotic, or like a text to speech.  Definitely remotely piloted.  He slowly dropped down to one knee, making it so his height seemed less extreme (it was still very extreme).  “You know, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Yell at him.”

Oh yeah.  Right.  She felt her shoulders hike up to her ears.  Her already flushed face burned.  She was already desperately trying to bury the memory of that.  “Sorry.”

He smiled, somehow.  His face wasn’t built like a human person’s, how did he do that?  “Naw, it’s all good.  That was pretty brave.”

That made her feel slightly better and not better at all at the same time. 

“Now, unfortunately I haven’t had to deal with this… situation before so bear with me for a second,” he said, sounding like he was choosing his words very carefully. 

“This situation?”

“Yeah - I haven’t really had to explain this to a human before,” he said, gesturing to himself. 

He said ‘human’ like he wasn’t one.  Oh shitttttt.  But also she thought that AGI was supposed to be pretty much impossible with current technology.  This was definitely some sci-fi shit because there was no way a generative AI model would be able to control something as complex as this robot.  It wouldn’t be able to direct a Roomba let alone something that was 18 feet tall. 

“Okay,” she said faintly.  “I guess I’m listening.”

Explanations first then you can ask questions.  Explanations first and then you can ask questions.  Her family was going to lose it when she told them about this. 

“Right so - I’m Jazz.  I’m a member of the Autobots, and we’re not from here.  Earth that is.” 

Wait what?  Fucking aliens??????  How the fuck did they get to Earth?  Wasn’t space travel over long distances supposed to take an absurd amount of time?  Aliens are giant robots?  How did she not know about this?  Did she somehow miss what would probably be the biggest geopolitical event in her lifetime??

Also Jazz was apparently his name.  What happened to her Uber driver then?  Jazz’s voice sounded the same as her driver’s, but also Jazz was very much a giant robot and not a human.  This was starting to get really confusing. 

“You see, me and my friends are here trying to stop some other members of our species from messing up your planet.” 

It made more sense that Jazz was an alien life form the longer she watched him move.  There was nothing in modern technology that could make something mechanical move that smoothly, that organically.  Ah, wait, Jazz was still talking, shit.  She blinked as he gestured to where Big Blue had stalked off.  “That other guy was one of ‘em.” 

Levi’s eyes widened. Oh, my god she had just been a part of an interplanetary conflict.  Fuckkkkkkk.

“How messed up are we talking about?”  Her voice came out croaky and jolted.  She swallowed.

Jazz’s head moved, he shrugged his shoulders.  A hand cradled his chin.  “Eh, well judging from previous planets they’ve visited, we’re talking about anything between a few continents destroyed and total annihilation.”

A long, strained wheeze escaped Levi’s nose.  Her voice felt a little pitchy as she said, “You know, I always expected an alien invasion to be a whole lot more — overt?”

A gust of air left Jazz’s… somewhere (Torso, maybe?) (Weird.) as he sighed, leaning back on his heels.  “Yeahhhh.  It seems like both teams here are trying to keep things on the down low.”

“And revealing yourself to random humans probably wasn’t a part of the plan?”  A crooked smile crept onto her face.

“No, not really.”  He smiled back, for whatever that was worth.  And what was it worth??  She had just come in between an interplanetary conflict that wasn’t even revealed to the public yet!  What even happened in this sort of situation?

Oh right, murder, probably.  She was so dead.  She was soo dead.  At least she got to see giant robots before she died.  RIP in peace Levi Teresa Albright, you had a good run. 

Half-joking, half-scared-out-of-her-mind, she asked, “So, uhhh, is this where you kill me then?”

Jazz actually startled at that, his metal skin rippling in a very not-natural way.  “What?!  No!  I’m just going to coordinate with the humans we’ve actually been working with, and see what to do,” he said.  Jazz made a strange mechanical noise before continuing.  “Whew, I’m gonna be in trouble for this one.”

“In trouble for what?”  For bringing a random girl into this mess?  For going against direct orders?  For disobeying government instruction?

With dire seriousness, he responded sadly, “Working for Uber.”

The explosion of laughter punched from her throat almost made her lightheaded.  He said it so nonchalantly, like giant alien robots just happened to work for Uber on the regular.  Which, she supposed, with her hands on her knees, apparently they did! 

“Yeah, maybe not the best look,” he said, his voice light and joking.  Unfortunately, she could not read his facial expressions.  At all.  Something, something, he might have a grin displayed on his mouth, something, something, it was very hard to tell.

“I don’t know, it seems really funny to me.  Just tell them that.”

“Eh, I've already used that excuse the past few times I’ve gotten into trouble, and surprisingly,”  he said, leaning down like it was a secret, “they don’t seem to think it’s a good one.”

Levi couldn’t help grinning like a fool.  What even was her life right now?  “Dang.  That’s a shame.”

Jazz perked up.  “Right!  I’ll just finish driving you to your destination, and then, I s’pose, we can go from there.”

“Alright, sounds good to me.” 

She was just along for the ride now.  What the hell, sure!

Levi hadn’t seen Jazz transform before, too caught up in a whirlwind of panic and confusion. She was entirely unprepared for what happened next.  Sure, she had seen the wheels on his shoulders and shins, had noticed how it seemed he was made up of a thousand interlocking parts that shimmered as he moved like a very fancy fish swimming through a river.  And it was impossible not to notice the way his chest was armored with a Porsche’s round, raised headlights, license plate, grille, and all.  He was, obviously, impossibly, the Porsche.  She just had not stopped to consider how they would get from Point A (robot) to Point B (car).

So when Jazz told her, “Step back, little dude,” she obliged, taking some small steps that were more cursory than anything.  She kept staring at him, mildly confused about what she needed to step back about.

Then Jazz did a weird little half step-dive into the ground and shattered.  She did stumble back at that, an arm flying up to instinctively cover her eyes because it looked like his pieces were going to fly into her eyes.

It took a second for the shock to settle, and when she removed her arms from her face she was left looking at the Porsche. 

“Dude! That’s one hell of a party trick!” Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open.

“It’s a little more than a party trick,” he said, and the Porsche wiggled on its suspension.  A little laugh escaped her open mouth.

Moving to climb into the passenger seat, she told him, “I hope you know I have so many more questions to ask now!” 

It was weird hearing a laugh come from a car itself.  The driver seat was empty for a moment, until it flickered to life with the image of her previous Uber driver.  She gasped.  The hologram (???) responded to her, hands on the wheel as the gear shifted into drive by itself.  “Well I’m glad to inform you that I’ve got plenty of answers to give.”

 

Notes:

phipthere notes:

1. this chapter is dedicated to me reaching silver 1 in league of legends
2. sometime, during this car ride:
Jazz: oh yeah what are your pronouns btw
Levi: she/her
Jazz: FUCK
Levi: LMAO
3. that’s all folks! this fic was really fun to write. i swear it won’t take three months for the next fic in this series to drop, but dont quote me on that. thanks for reading!
4. uber hardly even know er

moth notes:

1. Phipthere wrote most of this fic, I added embellishments. This chapter is no different. I wrote the ‘car crash’ scene here! I’m pretty happy with it. I also wrote most visual descriptions of Jazz and Dropkick. I am insistent on keeping the aliens alien.
2. On that note, If you’re wondering why descriptions between transformers are pretty familiar and not riddled with heaps of worldbuilding you’d need a guide book to figure out, the answer is simple. It’s all a matter of translation and readability. I am not going to throw readers into a new universe like this while also adding in stuff like a whole new culture and body language and customs, as much as I would really really like to. Transformers, between themselves, shrug and smile and laugh and smirk bc it’s a translation of what we, humans, would understand best. They know how to read each others body language with the same ease as we can understand all those terms and gestures. However, a human (in universe) cannot understand those as well, thus the transformers body language is alien and we don’t understand it entirely. This will be consistent throughout the entire series.

Series this work belongs to: