Chapter Text
The mission had been a resounding success.
This, of course, meant that good ole Murphy’s Law was about to kick in, despite Jazz not even being in the same solar system as Earth.
Because anything that could go wrong did go wrong that day.
So much for that party Blaster was planning to host in the wake of this mission’s completion. Survival instantly took precedence to celebration the instant the Quints and their engineered lackeys swarmed the building.
And Jazz had just gotten to the chorus of a song he was blasting from rigged speakers while pointedly singing to as loudly as he could. What a mood killer, especially when it came in the form of blaring alarms all around as enemies began to appear from all directions.
“Looks like we got company, ‘Hide!” Jazz shouted to the leader of their mission team. “How you wanna do this?”
“Get to the portal.” Was the quick response, the mech’s tone indicating he expected no argument.
That was fine by Jazz; he didn’t have much more fuel to spare. There were also some concerning indications that poor Bebop had taken damage to the lower legs and feet earlier while approaching this facility on uneven terrain.
And the damage had only piled on when scouts were taken out on the way into the facility.
Jazz swung his mecha around to one side as he braced both feet, digitigrade legs bent as to slow the momentum when a large Quint barreled into him. Had Jazz been facing the other way, it would have driven him backward to the floor. The position would have left Jazz vulnerable within Bebop’s chest, directly in line with claws that would eventually reach the pilot.
A ping of warning brought Jazz back to the Quint that he was grappling with. The ping was informing him that the claws had merely caused superficial damage to Bebop’s armor, but thankfully hadn’t skewered through. Having an emergency in an enemy base where Jazz had to get out of the pilot’s seat and out of his mecha entirely wouldn’t be pretty. Jazz wasn’t keen on finding out what kind of air the Quintessons found acceptable for organics, though based off some bodies Jazz saw earlier in a lab of this facility…
It was a sobering reminder to just how far spread the enemy had brought people from other worlds that were universes away from here.
Jazz unsheathed the blade in his free arm and drove it into the large head in front of him, forcing the Quint off of him, the claws releasing. Jazz’s mood soured from the imagines in his mind from minutes before rose up. A distraction in the form of fighting was helpful in pushing those images back. Because hey, fighting the Quints and their fodder is what Jazz was here for. And Jazz would use the tools he had available to him to destroy as many of the enemy as possible. In a way, Jazz supposed that it was decent of the enemy to wait so long before coming to check what happened.
The Quints could do could do fuck all about the sabotage done to the facility here, meaning the deranged experimenting and such was at an end, at least in this place.
A sick feeling settled in the pit of Jazz’s stomach. His current attacker was not much of a hindrance after being stabbed, so his mind wasn’t as occupied as he’d have liked. It was still on the implications of what he and the others had found. Jazz had a very bad feeling about the discoveries as a whole. He was not looking forward to the debrief where Jazz would have to confirm that some of the corpses seen were human like him.
Jazz pulled the blade back from another go and stabbed with a vicious punch into the fleshy skin. When Jazz had pulled the blade free with a twist, the Quint toppled over limply to the floor.
Dead.
Shaking Bebop’s arm to remove most of the blood, Jazz retracted the weapon. There were a few Quints and mutated monstrosities in view, but they were all currently being driven backward by blaster shots.
::Retreat back to the portal:: Ironhide ordered via comm, the rest of the team backing away in the direction of the corridor that would lead a winding path to the room with the portal. ::Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, do not engage unless they’re on top of us::
Jazz didn’t hear the comm response, which meant the twins likely sent a private comm to harass Ironhide about not taking out more of the enemy along the way as they retreated.
::Jazz::
The pilot’s head lifted, Bebop’s visor glowing brighter at the familiar sound of Prowl’s voice, even if the tone indicated the carefully collected tactician was not so collected in this situation.
::I’m movin’, Prowler. Dont worry ‘bout me::
That Prowl didn’t respond meant the mech was likely calculating all the odds of this ambush and its possible outcomes.
Jazz was going to have to get the Praxian to take a breather after the inevitably long debrief.
Tilting his head, and unable to ascertain whether or not Bebop’s legs were compromised, took a careful few steps forward. Jazz let the pings of the damage come in while he kept an eye on the direction the enemy had temporarily retreated toward. The pilot let out a relieved sigh as Bebop’s digitigrade legs held the mecha’s weight despite the staggering bodyslam it had been hit with. Risking further damage, as a readout and a growing headache indicated, Jazz swiftly turned and loped along the corridor to catch up with the others.
Music echoed along in Bebop’s wake.
May as well annoy the enemy during a retreat now that stealth was no longer an option.
A mech with a familiar pair of doorwings and a frown was waiting for Jazz at the end of the corridor.
Prowl was a welcome sight, a small smile tugging at the human’s lips as Bebop’s helm fins perked up. The Praxian had ignored the call for a retreat in order to make sure that Jazz was not left behind. He did that often, and Jazz wondered if Prowl was aware of this.
Jazz was never left behind by Prowl; not even back in the relative safety of Iacon.
Whenever Jazz was going to eat, Prowl would find and join him as the Praxian fueled. Prowl would even wait on the human to enter his office before proceeding to pour through a near-endless amount of datapads containing reports (Jazz always delighted in being able to gently pet the doorwings that were usually held stiffly; Prowl seemed to incrementally relax when he carefully ran Bebop’s fingers over the sensor covered wings). Recharge and sleeping would only happen when one or both of them ended up running out of energy, or until one of the medics harassed them into resting.
Prowl always made a fantastically toasty heater when Jazz had the right air conditions to crawl out of Bebop, where he’d happily curl up near Prowl’s wired neck behind one of the collar farings. Maybe that could happen later tonight, once Prowl was released from the confines of a debrief.
“Thanks for waitin’ on me, boo.” Jazz cheerily greeted as he fell into step with Prowl, trotting alongside him when the Cybertronian about faced to briskly walk along the corridor after their comrades. “Not gonna send a parting shot?” Unfortunately, Jazz didn’t receive whatever dry response Prowl would have given him, as the sound of close range fighting came from up ahead.
Dammit.
There was another way into the facility that no one had known about.
When Prowl spoke, it was in the manner of a tactician making a status report.
“Three of our teammates have been prevented from entering the corridor that leads to the portal.” Prowl stated without being asked, rather calmly taking a rifle out of his subspace.
Jazz was never not going to be jealous of that; it was like having an inventory in a video game that you had access to all of the time.
“They’re cornered.” Prowl must have received a comm as his optics narrowed. “Theres a 47% chance the ambush will result in major injuries at such close range.” Prowl’s door wings flared out, his derma flattening into a thin line. “We are being boxed in from all available halls leading up to the room containing the portal.”
“Then we better crash our way on through and ruin some Quints’ day.” Jazz rocketed forward with a kick of his feet, digitigrade legs able to propel him along faster than Prowl, who shouted something before hastening to catch up.
“I don’t worry, Prowler, I got ‘em!” Jazz shouted from Bebop’s speakers, music briefly cutting out before thumping beats began anew. Blades sprung free from Bebop’s arm sheathes as Jazz leapt blindly through a large doorway. He went sailing over Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, both pilots dragging Bluestreak backward by either arm, one of the Praxian’s wings held at an awkward, painful angle.
A ping of a comm from Prowl went unheard.
Sideswipe whooped in encouragement as he caught sight Jazz as he rammed into a Quint. Since it hadn’t moved out of the way, Jazz ended up making it fall backward with the momentum. With a few quick slices, the Quint hit the floor dead. Bebop rode the body down and used it as a platform, bracing spread feet and bending legs to sharply bring an arm around. The blade stabbed through an opponent trying to bite a shoulder.
Another ping, another denial of a comm from Prowl. A different tone of ping followed, indicating that Bebop was taking more damage despite Jazz evading potential attackers. A throbbing headache had already settled into Jazz’s head, and the pilot knew it was there to stay for the foreseeable future. He couldn’t rid himself of it. Jazz knew it wouldn’t be gone even if he detached himself from the neural network he had established with Bebop. Not a good idea right now.
Prowl continued to bombard him with comm requests. Something must have happened, but what else could have possibly gone wrong?
Jazz kicked off of the corpse and spun on his heels to face the incoming enemies while Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were out of sight with Bluestreak. They must have gotten through to yet another corridor on the way to the room with the portal. They needed more time to get the injured Cybertronian to the portal.
“Jazz! We need to retreat!” Prowl, having not appreciated his comms being ignored, opted to raise his voice instead. “There are too many incoming Quintesson forces to handle on your own, even with my assistance.”
Jazz heard Prowl, sure, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was going to listen.
“I’ve got this!” Defending a retreat against Quint forces was something that Jazz’s mecha was built for. He could handle taking down enemies and stalling them for a little while longer, in order to ensure that everyone escaped. Jazz clumsily raised a hand to aim a blaster he’d picked up from where another mech had dropped it. That had been a delight in the moment between then and now. With a little finessing, Jazz was able to handle the blaster with only three fingers and a thumb.
The first shot was satisfying as he managed to get it directly through an eye.
The second shot hit another in its torso-ish area, bringing that Quint to a halt.
A third shot that wasn’t Jazz’s ended up sniping a Quint that had lunged for him directly in the middle of its brain (if it had one there). It must have had enough importance, whatever was struck, as the Quint dropped down, unmoving, just short of Bebops’s already gore-splattered feet.
“Nice shot, babe!” Jazz spun on one foot to chop a smaller enemy in half, right before he shoved a blaster into another one’s mouth. The blaster fired, splattering organic chunks.
It stunk.
Jazz bemoaned his malfunctioning filters and hoped that he didn’t have a bigger leak in Bebop, lest the atmosphere change from this facility, through a portal, and into an outpost on Cybertron kill him.
“You are aggravatingly stubborn.” Prowl commented from close by.
A quick glance with Bebop’s sensors (and a mirror) put the Praxian at the side of an open doorway, presumably to use as cover as Prowl lifted his rifle again.
“I believe we are due for another discussion about respecting the chain of command, regardless of you not being the same species.” Prowl growled, a sure sign of stress, as was the way his tone slipped into something more emotional than he intended to allow. “You are taking on a lot of damage, and although you cannot feel the physical pain, you doubtlessly are experiencing the pain connected to your neural network.”
Prowl not talking about their chances of survival was more concerning to Jazz than possibly making his brain a puddle of fleshy goop if he pushed himself too far.
“Jazz.” Another rifle shot went directly into a larger incoming Quint. “The medics will not be pleased if you break your brain in a way they are unable to fix, along with whatever state your mecha is in after this. They will have harsher words for you than I.”
Jazz’s music was still playing loudly enough that he was going to pretend that Prowl hadn’t just told him that in addition to being scolded for taking damage for the team, he’d also be scolded if he turned his brain to mush. But if he could hold out here, and be able to get into a low power state for Bebop to wait for repairs, then Jazz wouldn’t be taking up space in the medbay when others would actually need to be repaired for their health.
Prowl held perfectly still, likely putting as much processing power as he dared to finding a way out of this alive, trusting Jazz to shield him from their enemies until he moved again after about thirty seconds.
But that was thirty seconds more time for Ironhide and the rest of the team to continue on to the portal unhindered.
For now.
Prowl didn’t go in that direction; he moved toward Jazz instead.
“You stayin’ behind to join in on this dance with me Prowler? I’m flattered.” Jazz actually danced Bebop rather gracefully out of range of an enemy on digigrade legs. The pilot pivoted to put his back to Prowl’s, mindful to not bump into the doorwings. Jazz reached down to retrieve a vibroblade that was magnetized to one of his legs. The human half-turned to proffer the blade to the Praxian with a flourish.
Prowl accepted the vibroblade without any fanfare.
Wearing a giddy grin, Bebop’s blue visor brightened as Jazz forewent the defensive back to back. The human even dared to turn his attention away from the enemy to offer his partner a half bow, one clawed metal hand invitingly held out. “May I have this dance?”
“You are ridiculous.” Prowl stated in resigned, if fond, manner.
“Gimme a number, boo, you know I love hearin’ you put percentages to our chances of gettin’ out alive.” Jazz wiggled his fingers, beaming unseen when as Prowl gripped the vibroblade tightly while reaching out with his free servo to take Jazz’s.
“We have a 15% survival rate if we do not successfully reach the portal.” Prowl’s servo clenched around Jazz’s as he suddenly swung Prowl around in an approximation of a dance, avoiding a splash of acid. “62% survival with some injuries if we get through the portal and no Quintessons follow through after us.”
“There’s a big difference in percentages there, Prowler.” Jazz said as he tugged the other mech close, chest to chassis, to punch a quint.
“Give me more data than us being surrounded by enemies and currently cut off from our escape.” Prowl returned as he backstepped to jam the vibroknife into his would-be attacker’s face, tearing it back out when the Quint reeled back.
“Ain’t cornered if we don’t let them take us out.” Jazz pivoted and stooped, Bebop’s longer legs bending at an awkward angle. “We can take ‘em out and catch up with the others.” Jazz spun them about again, both mecha and mech lashing out, right before Jazz tipped Prowl backward, allowing the Praxian to evade a retaliatory strike from a blinded quint. Jazz drove his own longer arm blade into it and jerked the weapon to the side, ripping it out. Then, retracting the blade up out of the way, Jazz righted Prowl on his pedes. Once balanced, with a flustered if faintly irked expression on the other’s facial features, Jazz merely tugged on Prowl’s servo before letting go. “C’mon, let’s open up a path.”
“24%.” Prowl sighed, as if put upon by Jazz’s actions.
“Love ya too, Prowler.” Jazz teasingly called over his mecha’s shoulder as he crouched to retrieve the blaster from where he dropped it.
A rifle round flew over Bebop’s head with unerring accuracy.
“I’m sending the schematics of the floor plan. Follow the path I’ve set on it.” Prowl stepped forward, vibroblade out of sight (in subspace?) as he held his rifle at the ready.
“Gotcha.” Jazz was unsurprised to see that the map and the coordinates were perfectly in order when he pulled it up. There was a logical path set out to get to a room three very long corridors away. “Off we go!” Jazz cranked up the volume of his music (some of the gathered enemies didn’t appear to appreciate it) as he made for the first fork in the large room he’d entered.
Prowl, following after Jazz and allowing for plenty of space for the human pilot’s more chaotic fighting style. The tactician covered Jazz’s back with calculated shots. In the middle of another corridor, Prowl spoke. “We have approximately two minutes and twenty-seven seconds to reach the portal before further reinforcements arrive, based off what I have gathered from this facilities’ data.”
“Hear ya loud and clear Prowler.” Jazz noticed, despite pushing Bebop’s systems to the limit, that the Praxian was using his doorwings. Jazz thinks that Prowl’s trying to pick up on any Quints that may be getting to close to their position. But Jazz couldn’t quite make out the subtle way those doorwings moved but man, would Jazz love to have sensors like that on Bebop. It would be very convenient to more accurately pinpoint enemy locations.
“One minute, thirty seven seconds.” Prowl said, sounding grim as he moved closer to Bebop.
Jazz continued to lead the way, turning down to go through the second to last corridor, this one covered a gore splattered, slippery tacky mess. The twins must have used up most of their fuel reserves in here, based off the damage that was visible on what was left of pieces of Quint scattered about.
An alarming series of beeps suddenly hit Jazz all at once.
Well, shit.
His shielding from the outside world was beginning to fail.
So much for not having to go to the medbay to make sure Bebop didn’t fall apart on him.
Jazz was going to have to go to the outpost’s medbay anyway, seeing as those were one of the few places on Cybertron where the atmosphere was prepared for Jazz’s human body to be exposed.
“Jazz? What’s wrong?” Prowl apparently heard Jazz curse out loud, as the speakers had failed about three minutes ago, according to the readout the human could find.
“I’m fine.” Jazz lied through his teeth, a splitting headache threatening to make him more nauseous than he’d been in a long time. “I just need to get through the portal without it possibly breaking Bebop into scrap metal while I’m inside of it.”
Prowl’s doorwings shot up in an alarmed ‘V’.
“There’s still some integrity so that shouldn’t happen, but that means I can’t chance gettin’ hit again.” Jazz admitted as his mecha’s long legs moved him at a rapid clip that had Prowl stomping along heavily in a jog to keep up.
”That is not reassuring.” The Praxian said simply, optics roving over Bebop in a way that suggested he expected to see Jazz jettisoned out of the mecha in some way.
It was a funny mental image, even if the consequences in an uncertain atmosphere was not.
Jazz didn’t dare tell Prowl of all the incoming failures and warnings that Bebop was currently pinging Jazz with one after another. Jazz grimaced over each, knowing that he was the closest he’s ever come to in years of being a mecha pilot of having Bebop fall to pieces on him. The sheer amount of damage that his mecha had taken…
No.
Jazz couldn’t focus on this.
Not on the damage.
Not on the concerning numbness he felt in his body from being connected to Bebop for much longer than he ought to have been.
It would be fine.
Jazz was fine.
It wasn’t, but he was going to pretend that he was perfectly fine, so as to not worry Prowl.
Another alert pinged the pilot.
Shit.
Jazz's vision, his human vision, wavered for a split second before he was back to looking out of Bebop’s visor.
That.
Oh boy, that was not good.
At all.
Of course the integrity of the drift was rearing its head now, and there was nothing Jazz could do to remedy it until he was somewhere safe.
Disconnecting from his mecha was the only way to prevent hurting his human body and ruining the comparability with Bebop as a whole. Not only that, but if Jazz were to disconnect from his mecha now, Bebop would collapse. The pilot seat would keep Jazz from falling out of it and being tossed around, but it wouldn’t help Jazz while he endured a painful tearing of his mind from where it had been linked up to the mecha’s. There was no telling how much damage that would do to Jazz himself, but he wouldn’t really be able to worry about that, seeing as he’d also be stuck within the pilot seat. The failsafes that would go off the moment Bebop reached critical damage and no fuel would see to that.
Stupid failsafes made for the preservation of the mecha and its useful material, with absolutely no safety for the pilot in mind. Corporate assholes, making this situation much more dangerous than it had any right to be (though they likely hadn’t expected one of their mecha pilots to end up among alien allies when fighting the Kaijus…the quints, somewhere far away from Earth).
“Reinforcements inbound.” Prowl commented grimly, cutting into Jazz’s self-assessment of his mecha, along with his aching human body and mind.
“Damn, they’re quick today.” Jazz hesitated, then decided to hell with it. He had to let Prowl know the state he was in after all, since Prowl was the only one nearby to possibly help if things went wrong. “And I hate to say it, Prowler, but Bebop’s close to shutting down on me like a Cybertronian would enter stasis after taking too much damage.”
“You-“ Prowl was suddenly much closer to Jazz, those brilliant blue optics roving over the damage Bebop had accumulated. A serious expression became a pinched one as the implications settled in. “How much longer do you anticipate being able to move on your own.”
“Prowl, the moment Bebop drops to the floor, I won’t be able to do anything to get back up. Not only that, I’m gonna be stuck in the chest…erm, the chassis.” Jazz slowed down instead of speeding up.
One more corridor.
Then, they’d reach the doorway that led to the portal.
“And, one last thing.” Jazz had to be more careful with the way he stepped, lest he trip and fall, which would make Prowl try and attempt to drag Bebop’s deadweight while their enemies converged on them. “If I take much more damage, I’ll have to rely on the oxygen from my mask. There’s a limited amount of time before I’ll have no more air to breathe if that happens.”
“You did not mention that before.” Prowl scrutinized Jazz’s mecha, frown deeper (worried?) than before as door wings twitched.
”Didn’t think I’d need to worry ‘bout it ‘till now.” Jazz’s helm fins pinned back, as if to reflect exactly how much he didn’t like the idea either. Bebop actually shuddered in response to the pressure being put on Jazz’s mind. He was running out of time to not be a mental wreck once he disconnected from Bebop.
“Ironhide has informed me that the room containing the portal is free of our enemies, for the time being.” Prowl noticed Jazz’s discomfort, because of course he did. “We had best get there before that changes.”
Jazz, as proof of his waning cheer and general state of being, could only flick his helm fins in agreement.