Chapter Text
Jazz hated snipers, truly. Not as people, Bluestreak was great, so was Perceptor. But damn if Prowl hadn't turned what was supposed to be just a fun game of paintball for friends night out into Predacons and Prey: Open Season Edition. Mechs were getting picked off left right and center, and slowly but surely, it looked like Team Prowl would be the winners.
After grueling hours or work, Jazz was one of the stunningly few players still left in the game now, crouching behind cover and taking potshots whenever one of Prowl’s crew of vicious pneuma lions broke cover. The list of casualties was long, and Jazz's patience was only barely holding. He was totally forcing all his friends and their boo(s) into more training camps hang outs to buff their skills.
So what they were all mostly various data caste mechs!? Mirage was a noble who did things like sport hunting, and Perceptor was a scientist who entered recreational marksmanship contests! That was still pretty stacked!
AND YET!
Despite Jazz using every sneaky, dirty, underhanded trick in the manual, his team was on the back pede and one wrong move away from a loss. Prowl and his team consisting of Bluestreak the savant of marksmanship, and various other security caste mechs was winning handily.
Thoom.
Crack.
There was an inarticulate cry, followed by the sound of Perceptor shouting, "FUCK!"
Thoom.
Crack.
Bumblebee crying out, "Aww! C'moooon!"
Shit. That meant Jazz was the last one left. Well, he'd go out in a blaze of glo–
Cl–Click.
Jazz slowly turned his head back to see Prowl right behind him.
The savage grin on his smug face should not have been that hot. Damnit.
"Bang."
Prowl tapped the muzzle of his paint gun to Jazz's chest, "Will you surrender?"
There definitely wasn't an embarrassing moment where Jazz spit static trying to get his vocalizer to work.
"Yeah mech, don't think there's any point tryin'a fight back now." said Jazz, dropping his paint gun and slowly raising his hands in surrender.
"Hmm, knowing when to quit is an excellent trait to have."
Prowl abruptly turned and took a few steps away, Jazz felt like his strings were cut. Prowl stopped, pivoted again and…
Thoom.
Crack.
…Ow.
"However, it's good practice to make sure you're opponents are down and out for certain."
Charge snapped tauntingly under Jazz's plating.
He was so screwed.