Flashback - For Your Consideration - Closed

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The Nemesis was huge.

Jazz had heard about it, of course. What might have been a rumor of activity, a hint of purpose to the rest of Cybertron had filtered down to Jazz through reliable sources. Jazz didn't expect it to be a secret for much longer, though. Cybertron was coming apart at the seams, and that was shaking everything loose. Hierarchies, information, mechs. Settling everything and everyone into the haves and have-nots even more than usual. The impression forming in Jazz's cortex was of a loose fist slowly clenching: those that made up the fist, the inner circle, were closing ranks, drawing in, while those on the outside were shaken off to fend for themselves.

It wasn't, for the most part, personal. Simply cruel reality. Resources were becoming limited, energon shortages were a way of life, and the war was picking up. Jazz was more than smart enough to read the writing on the wall. Lean times were coming, and the Decepticons and the Autobots were consolidating in preparation. Anyone not in with one of them would be on their own. Though the Neutrals were going to be hit hardest, those low in the faction were going to feel it, too.

Jazz wasn't exactly low. He'd just never seen the point in trying to scrape and scratch for rank. The fact that he did what he was told, did it right the first time, and didn't cause (much...irreversible...) trouble hadn't gone unnoticed, though, and he'd been steadily given more responsibility, more intel, more delicate and dangerous and demanding assignments.

Now, though.... Change was thick in the atmosphere, embodied in the furtive tension on the streets, the brisk business done at ridiculous prices...and the warship before him.

Jazz was used to change. One couldn't be complacent in Kaon. He was used to listening for the signs, watching for the change in the wind as the seekers said. Now...now was the time to double down.

He had called in every favor he could, sending the word up the chain of command that he was a mech to watch. Many who he'd talked to had looked at him in surprise. Backdraft had outright laughed, saying she'd never taken him for the ambitious type. Jazz had smiled and said that just because he didn't play didn't mean he didn't know the rules of the game.

Jazz gave a flash of ident to the guards on the edge of the dock. It was the third checkpoint he'd run into on his way here, and that was just since he'd gotten off the shuttle. Security was tight, as it should be. Each checkpoint had scanned him and the pass chip he'd displayed, optics on him but servos waving him through.

He was expected.

Jazz pulled away from the checkpoint, heading exactly along the path the guards had uploaded to him. The last thing he wanted to do was anything suspicious. The plate-itching sense of sheer watchfulness combined with the clang of metal and the ground-shaking rumble of construction mechs all around was intimidating and nothing he wanted to frag with.

Jazz transformed as he reached the edge of a cargo ramp leading up into the Nemesis' vast hold, standing out of the way and eyeing the activity for the escort he'd been told to wait for.

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Said escort lumbered down the ramp moments later with all the subtlety his heavy frame was capable of, having been watching for the small mech for several minutes. Broadside was not a loquacious mech. Neither was he inquisitive, unpredictable, particularly intelligent or easily distracted. The blue miner was, however, loyal to a fault, built like an anvil, possessing of good optics and a watchful nature. Escort duty often fell to him, and he was pleased to carry out the duty of bringing mecha into Megatron's inner-sanctum.

He set his bulk in front of the slight mech, red optics scanning over the ident as it was offered. "You Jazz?" A nod which Broadside mirrored gravely. "Okay. You got your pass chip, but you still gotsta do what I say coming on board, alright? You walk next to me. You wander off, I smash you. You pick a fight, I smash you. When you see Megatron, if you do something he don't like, maybe he smash you. Nemesis is gonna be the flagship of the Decepticons, so you treat it with respect. You do that, I don't smash you. Maybe like you."

The terms delivered, Broadside tipped his head to make sure Jazz understood and would abide. "We okay?"

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Jazz had to tilt his head up--WAY up--to look at his escort as the big mech spoke. The miner's voice was like standing next to an avalanche. Jazz's plates clamped minutely in self-defense, but he was a Decepticon. He was used to interacting with the occasional heavy-class mech. Usually by staying out of their way and saying "yes, sir" a lot.

Jazz nodded, keeping his expression serious but with a touch of friendly. "Totally okay. No worries, I'll behave myself. Lead on."

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Broadside nodded with a flicker of a smile, though his wide shoulders remained tight with force. He turned in a half circle, watched for Jazz to come into step on his right, and finally led them up the cargo ramp and into the lower decks of the Nemesis.

The ship was sleek right down to the support struts that ribbed the sinuous corridors, the very decking radiating power and the peak of technology. It was busy as well, red-opticed mechs and femmes traversing the long corridors with confident purpose. Broadside passed through the crew like an icebreaker, the smaller mech at his side riding in his wake. It was only when they reached an empty corridor nine levels up that the massive mech came to a stop, one hand moving out to guide Jazz's back to the wall as he did his own.

Seconds later, the sharp strike of a Seeker's pedes became a sound as opposed to a faint vibration in the deckplates. Broadside, aware of the vast difference between caste and rank, which Megatron had not deposed, dipped his head. "Commander Starscream."

The Seeker shot him a sidelong look, optics narrow but wildly bright, his long fingers flexing at his sides as he noted the new mech. Nothing was said, and the Seeker soon vanished around the curve of the corridor.

Broadside stepped back out from the wall and nodded to the door Starscream had appeared from. Megatron's office. "Sorry, but you're right on time. You go on in now. Megatron'll comm. for me if he wants you to be walked back out."

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Jazz bowed his own head respectfully, too, his optics following Starscream from behind his visor. There, Jazz was fairly sure, was a mech he wouldn't be able to impress. There was also, Jazz was DEFINITELY sure, a mech to watch. Word was in the Decepticon ranks that Starscream could be a help or a hindrance, depending on your skills, his needs, whether you had wings or not, and...his mood, mostly.

Jazz didn't miss the phrasing: "if" he wants you walked out. Not "when". Jazz wondered if it was on purpose, if Megatron really was half-likely to deactivate random mechs in his office. He somehow doubted it. It'd be messy to clean up, and the office was new....

Jazz nodded to Broadside. "Thanks for the escort, Broadside. I appreciate it." He did. The big mech had made it a Pit of a lot easier to get where he needed to be.

He turned to the indicated door, force-settling his plating and his processor. Stay cool, Jazzman. Nice an' easy.

He pinged out his ident to request entrance.

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Deactivating the star map that had previously consumed most of one wall, Megatron transmitted a short-wave to the locking mechanisms to open the door. When the small mech had stepped through, the re-engaged with a short, sharp whine.

Critical optics swept over Jazz's frame, familiarising himself with the form behind the name and the reports. Extremely competent, reliably self-sufficient, and up until now functioning quietly on the outer edge of the Decepticon faction, accomplishing more and more 'tasks' that ought not to be traced back to the former gladiator.

Accomodating the mech's smaller stature, Megatron moved to sit behind the littered desk and rested one gauntlet and fist on its surface. His field was one of intrigue, confidently interested. "Jazz. You're a difficult mech to ignore when you want to be noticed." A single optical ridge twitched upwards in query. "All of a sudden."

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Jazz hadn't, in his defense, expected his little whispers to reach all the way to Megatron. He'd hoped to reach, perhaps, the audios of Nightwing or Phantom or at most, maybe, Soundwave. To have Megatron himself interested in him was...a bit more than Jazz had expected.

Nothing he couldn't handle, of course. (After all, what was the worst that Megatron could say? "No, stay in Kaon and rust"? Jazz was used to that.) The opportunity to finally meet the Decepticon leader in person was not something to be wasted.

Still, though. Jazz didn't want to be seen as a shameless ladder-climber. No doubt Megatron was being inundated by those. Jazz had obviously miscalculated the amount of favor-calling-in required if he'd been that obvious.

Jazz vented a slightly abashed cough. "I hope that my friends weren't too obnoxious, sir."

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Megatron's mouth twitched in a smile somewhere between reassuring and amused. The channels carrying information to his audios had been less direct than Jazz's insinuation, of course, but he'd been a recurring name for more than a few of his officers. That thinned the lithe mech out from the herd. "No, I have an interest in mecha with initiative and the skills to back it up. If I were not, you would not be here."

There was no 'guest chair' in front of the Decepticon Commander's desk - he rarely used his, prefering to work standing or on the move, and expecting the same of his crew. He gestured as if there were one, however, affording Jazz with a typical 'front and centre' placement to his optics.

A fluid gesture of the newly-fitting talons on his hand, handing over the floor. Clear in posture, pitch and field, Jazz had his full attention. "Present your case."

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There were times, Jazz knew, that making the truth sound good was harder than telling any lie. Like now. He didn't want to sound like he was BOASTING, after all. Surely Megatron had hundreds of mechs trying to get his attention now.

Surely. And here Jazz was, summoned. INVITED.

He's already interested. You're halfway there. Just don't sound like a glitchwit.

Right. One non-glitchwit resume, coming right up.

Jazz smiled, the picture of confidence, holding the Decepticon leader's optics. "Sir. I'm sure you checked up on me, so I won't bore you with my credentials. My record speaks for itself as to the level of my skills. I can rig a supply line, wrangle an intel network, and if someone on the streets of Kaon knows it, I can find it out. I write a mean virus and can scrape intel from a system before slagging it. I can spy and sneak and steal and blow up whatever needs blown up. As for everything else, I'm dedicated, I'm loyal, and I'm trustworthy. I get along with just about everyone, and I can teamplay or work solo. I do what I'm told and do it right the first time, but I can improvise when things go bearings up. I can do what needs to be done, and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty." He straightened, chin tilting up. "I can be whatever you need me to be. And I just...want to be where I can do the most good, sir."

Argh, you fell apart at the end there! Fraggit.

Weak line or not, Jazz made himself stop. Before he started babbling like a glitchwit.

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Exactly the impression he'd received from the reports and evaluations, and Megatron had no interest in them at this point. His focus had been Jazz's presentation of what he already knew, the steadiness of his stance and the nuances of his field. In the Arena he'd become adept at reading a mech and knowing how savage he'd be, how much of a showman, what style of killing he favoured and whether he was apathetic for death or desperate to win in the short time it took for him to enter the arena and take position in the center circle. He could do it with opponents, and he'd gotten even better at doing it with allies.

Resting the tips of his talons in a loose spray on the desktop, Megatron hummed a low note before speaking. "I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that the situation on Cybertron had been escalating these past vorns, and is fast approaching an apex now. It is no longer a question of gaining momentum for the cause, nor of overwhelming the Council with a majority ruling that will surpass even their corruption and deceit. The rise of the 'Autobots' and the bestowing of the Matrix upon Orion Pax for the sake of creating a pet Prime has turned this conflict into something else. This has gone beyond a rebellion or a revolution. A war has begun, and to win it quickly and decisively, I need mecha with intelligence, initiative and courage at my side."

Megatron stood, rising with lethal grace to his pedes and coming around the desk to stand directly in front of Jazz. He appeared to take another measure of the mech with steady optics, simmering the mountain of his field against the other's and taking satisfaction in the strength there. More siginificant was the lack of a flinch, cool optics holding his gaze in turn from their low vantage point.

He motioned with one hand, extending his forearm with an outwards tilt as he went on. "I believe that you possess these qualities Jazz, but you need to convince me that you are not going to be biting off more than you can chew. That you have the presence and stamina to not be a cog any longer, even in a machine in pursuit of casteless freedom, but a driving force."

The message was implicit. If you are such a mech, then take my wrist in a warrior's grip and allign yourself to me completely.

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Jazz kept a ruthless lid on his relief as Megatron spoke, shunting aside the remains of his nervousness in favor of listening. Nothing that Megatron said was new, really, but hearing Megatron say it in person hardened Jazz's resolve. This was a mech with a processor and a plan and the bearings to see it through. Not some Councillor who'd never had soot on his pedes. Not an archivist malleable enough to listen to the Council's empty promises. Not part of the slagging PROBLEM.

Like all of them, Jazz had been angered and frustrated by the Council's responses. More of the same. More distraction. More figureheads. More WORDS, while the Enforcers picked up, tortured, and killed more "dissidents" every cycle. This was not a government that was looking for peace. This was not a government open to negotiation.

This was a government that needed REPLACED. And Megatron's glyphs, his words, his very field sliding along Jazz's sparked with action: incipient, focused aggression in support of change. In support of a VISION.

Jazz's field flared in complicated eagerness/excitement/mind-spark-frame-lust in response to the revolution incarnate of Megatron's own before being reined in.

He reached out, hand grasping Megatron's wrist unhesitatingly. His fingers could not reach around the strength of strut and hydraulics and plating under his fingers.

Jazz looked up into Megatron's burning optics, proud and unflinching. "I will do whatever it takes, sir. Let me convince you."

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Proximity, and the strong intermingling of their fields from the extended offer and now physical contact, meant that Megatron would have been hard pressed to miss that hot flicker through the other mech's systems.

Interesting... And not at all unappealing.

Idly, he flicked his thumb across Jazz's forearm, considering. This was far from the first time such an 'interest' had presented itself, though the former-gladiator usually made a point not to indulge with mecha not already within his circle, or those outside of it intending to make their way in. Sharing a charge was not the way to get into the higher ranks of the Decepticons, and Megatron did not wish to feed any rumours to the contrary.

However, Jazz's background was impeccable, his skills of importance and his place already assured. So it wouldn't truly be an act of coercion. Just indulgence.

His field pulsing warm assent, Megatron kept his tone flat though his mouth did pull into a thin, challenging smile. "Go ahead."

[Deleted]

Jazz's processor slipped a thread or three as the Decepticon leader's pulse washed over him. Had Megatron just...

He had. Well. Again with the getting further than he'd expected.

Jazz hesitated for a nanoklik. He didn't want to seem like a charge-hungry pleasurebot. Not that he couldn't be that, but he was MORE than that, and he reran the whole conversation through his buffer to make sure that he'd not managed to somehow give Megatron that impression. Or that Megatron had invited him here with that impression.

No. No, there'd been a flick of surprise in Megatron's field when they touched, THEN this flick to...slag and fire he felt good...everything else. He'd caught Jazz's interest and reacted. That was all.

I can be whatever you need me to be.

And that, Jazz decided, was JUST FINE. His only concern was that Megatron knew his skills. If Megatron knew his skills and was also interested in something a little more personal, well...Jazz's only concern should then be which of the 291 fantasy versions of this meeting he'd dreamed up over the vorn he'd like to actually attempt.

Megatron's thumb moving along Jazz's arm sparked a lash of pleasure that Jazz didn't even try to hide. The curl of Megatron's fingers along...slag, the ENTIRETY OF HIS FOREARM gave Jazz dangerous ideas, but he knew that battle mods such as those deadly claws would be insensitive. As nice as sucking on them sounded to Jazz, it wouldn't do much for Megatron.

Instead, Jazz's plating flared slightly in invitation as he stepped forward, hand coming to rest on Megatron's other arm. Slim, charged fingers slid up and over plating seams, pressing a pulse of his own EMF into every neural cluster he passed, hard enough that it would get through the heavy armor. Hard enough to get through Megatron's own EMF, which Jazz was now, this close, practically STANDING IN.

Still, there was one important question. "How much time I got?" Jazz asked softly, thinking of all the possibilities and hoping they came through in his smile as he tilted his head up to hold Megatron's optics.

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Megatron's engined rumbled a low purr of amusement, underscored with pleasure. Jazz's knowingness of the degree of strength required to get at his neurals through his armour, and then his skill at doing so with perfect precision, spoke more about his personal competence and ability than many of the reports. The former gladiator knew better than most how much more could be learnt about another mecha through direct experience.

Gaze steady on Jazz's, and sliding his thumb across the smaller mech's forearm just to get that reaction again, Megatron smiled fractionally in turn. "Eighty-seven kliks." Then, to the astro-klik, Soundwave would be standing sentry outside the door, waiting to be admitted.

More enjoying Jazz's delight in size difference than the fact of it, Megatron withdrew his hand from the mech's forearm to slide his talons around his torso. It wasn't a hold, but rather a means to stimulate most of the sensors in Jazz's side and at once. "Make the most of it."

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Jazz loosed his hold on his field, letting Megatron feel just how much he liked the touch of that big hand...which was A LOT. The warmth and the sheer contained power in the touch as Megatron cupped a hand around most of his torso made Jazz's field shiver in something that wasn't fear. Not at all.

Jazz laughed, delighted. He'd expected maybe fifteen kliks or so, but EIGHTY-SEVEN? He'd reduced mechs to puddles of sated metal in less. Not that he expected Megatron to be that easy, and wasn't THAT half the fun of it?

Jazz grinned, stepping closer, until he could hear Megatron's power plant purring under thick plating. Their sizes were such that his head only came to Megatron's torso. Kinda fun, but really, he needed to set a PRECEDENT here, and he wanted to SEE....

Tilting his head back, Jazz ran his hands up Megatron's chestplates. He hooked fingers around the top of Megatron's chest armor and PULLED himself up, EM following his body in a long, hard stroke (and oh Megatron's field sliding against his own was delightful, but Jazz didn't let himself get distracted). Jazz's feet found armored thigh plates to brace against, his weight balanced between feet and hands, as close to Megatron's center of gravity as he could get.

He barely believed this was happening, but if there was one thing to be said for Jazz, it was that he knew an opportunity for a good time when he saw it presented to him on a gilded platter. And Megatron telling him to make the most of their time? Was an opportunity for a SERIOUSLY good time.

Jazz leaned in to nuzzle the join of helm and neck. "Yes, sir," he murmured, pressing the words into the heady wash of Megatron's field, along with more complicated glyphs than he'd never used with any other lover.

Awed desire...hopeful determination...

...Fealty.

<<OOC: Aaand these two will be moving the rest of this scene off-board. We'll be sure to share the link on the Sandbox Library when it's done! >>