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Stray bits and pieces of debris were still soaring through the sky like unrestrained birds, raining down on the lifeless battlefield below and littering the soil with compact shards. The resounding explosion could still be heard even beyond the deafening cries and threatening gunshots. It was almost overwhelming, the mere sight of it all, an inferno blazing past the exceeding horizon. It lit up the mourning gray skies with flashes of amber and crimson, painting the entire landscape like an artist would a portrait.
Death in of itself had a simple yet fascinating sense of beauty.
The sounds were blurred, the not-silence eradicated by the sound of a mech trudging through the aftermath, stopping once or twice to bend over an unmoving mess of scrap before proceeding onward. The remaining old crows that hadn’t yet flown away from the devastation looked on from dying oak trees half pulled out of the ground by their roots, almost creating a sense of loneliness. The mech couldn’t have cared less, not even acknowledging their presence; He had been assigned a task, and was expected to complete it with utmost efficiency, no distractions were allowed.
The explosion had claimed many casualties, and without a doubt distracted a majority from the violent scuffle as they fruitlessly tried to save their comrades’ burning corpses from being fried inside out. It was a waste of their time, only the mechs patrolling a certain distance from the bomb would have made it out alive, and that’s not saying they would be completely intact either. Soundwave had been called forth to search for any survivors or future prisoners, but he heavily disagreed with being caught out here while his soldiers and cassettes tried to hold off the never ending forces of the Autobots. There would have been no soldiers of their own far enough to have outlasted the detonation. Regardless, here he was, held captive under skies that threatened to cry with loss at any given second.
After what felt like cycles of treading through heavy mud and sticks, Soundwave was about to report back with the losses and body count until his optics caught wind of something from behind their protective plate. Astray on the muddied battlefield was the unmoving form of a clearly unconscious Autobot, but not just a common grunt, no, that shade of paint could only mean one thing. Without a second to ponder the consequences or danger, Soundwave found himself creeping forward like a mouse, nearly in disbelief.
The plating was dented and scratched, discoloured even. Lashes and skid marks that could only have been achieved by a blunt meeting with pure energy were present all over his chassis. It was no doubt the mech had powered down to avoid suffering a slow and painful deactivation. Luckily for him, that would never come. The dried mud inside the cracks of Soundwave’s plating made crouching down to his level such a chore, but he overlooked the brief discomfort to give his full undivided attention to the emissary below him.
It was no small surprise to know that the elusive Soundwave would find himself with a competitor or opponent of some kind as he diligently progressed in his work. Though he had met questionable and captivating equivalents, none could hold a candle to the mysterious, saturated Autobot that was never seen without some kind of grin plastered on his faceplates. Jazz. A quick, efficient designation, almost similar to how a blade would sound as it cut through the air. Accurate, elegant, controlled, the unravelling list could continue on without even a brief moment of stopping.
To say Soundwave was outright fascinated with Jazz would be quite an understatement. In fact, it was probably too vast to be put properly into words. Ever since he had come in contact with Jazz, the counterpart had been kept on close surveillance, both by the security footage and the cold optics of Soundwave. Never before had the Communications Officer found himself so intrigued by an opponent, and for good reason, attachment was a danger. In all of his past experiences, he had managed to break free of the curious hold a certain experiment would have had over his processor, but similar to a dull ache in the joints, Jazz simply refused to leave, always haunting the inner processes and making Soundwave’s work slightly more complicated than it needed to be.
Even back at the base and away from the cause of the problem, this desire refused to fade, and with Jazz also happening to be the renegade criminal that would commonly infiltrate their headquarters every now and again, it only got worse. It was at those times that Soundwave found his strange fascination awaken, and he could catch himself viewing security cameras as he tracked the saboteur throughout the base. It was a vague game of cat and mouse, goaded on by Soundwave locking or unlocking doors and provoking Jazz forth with puzzles or tempting codes to investigate. He never let any information too dangerous slip through the cracks, but just enough to have the Autobot coming back for more.
It was a guilty pleasure, but oh so satisfying. In his spare time he researched, trying to put together the pieces. The information was vague, but he stored it away anyways. He didn’t know what to think of Jazz anymore, all he knew was that he wanted the Autobot. Maybe he was overthinking all of it, but he felt something else there, something worth keeping. Jazz was a unique one, and the layers to him deserved to be explored. Maybe if he pushed his buttons just right, something could come of it. Megatron certainly wouldn’t mind- being able to make something of such a high ranked officer would be respectable, and was a challenge Soundwave tasked himself with one day endeavouring.
However, there was never a right time to lay his claim on Jazz. The war was never sleeping, never managing so much as a hiccup, and on the several missions Soundwave did manage to incapacitate Jazz on the property, some wretched rescue was always instigated the moment as much as a single bot felt unease crawling through their plating. Many considered capturing the saboteur to be a waste of time and supplies, as it always lead to some brainless rescue attempt, and Jazz outright refused to speak during interrogations of any kind, shutting off his vocalizer and even deleting and wiping parts of his processor to remain silent under the pressure. No matter what virus he spawned or coded, Jazz fought through without a moment’s hesitation, and the paranoia of his companions meant the hidden malware was never given a chance to activate and cause actual harm. His chances of ever supervising control over him were found to be in vain and he had even considered giving up.
Nevertheless, presently Jazz was alone, and no one knew where he was. Most would assume he would have been knocked offline from the explosion, and wouldn’t bother looking for him- or as they would assume, the body. It was perfect, and better yet, no witnesses needed to be removed from the premises. Soundwave couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. All his patience was finally about to pay off, and suddenly, all that irritation didn’t matter anymore.
His digits wove around the damaged plating carefully, supporting the necessary limbs in order to keep him balanced. With a heave, the saboteur was hoisted up and into Soundwave’s embrace, cradled carefully so that he wouldn’t feel major discomfort. It was the same frame the Decepticon grappled with in battles or watched over security footage, but something about it felt different, and would possibly feel different for the remaining solar cycles Jazz was online. There was no urgency, no aggression, just serenity accompanied with the soft rumbling from Jazz’s vital systems, the only processes still active at the time. Soundwave let a sigh-like vent escape from him before turning his back to the menacing flames consuming the forest behind him and heading towards the sterile landscape where the Decepticons would retreat to after their defeat. There was no way they would emerge victorious after this battle, which was a disappointment, but nothing would sour Soundwave’s mood, even if the energon rations would be lessened once again.
As he incautiously turned his back to the flames, Jazz safely tucked against his chassis, a unexpected sharp bullet-like object lodged itself in his shoulder, gradually eating away the plating under it. He expected shards of stray debris, maybe another insignificant Autobot to dispose of to be the cause of the damage, but nothing prepared him to turn around and meet the crystal clear optics of the only Autobot in existence that got under Soundwave’s plating on a daily basis other than the infamous Blaster.
Prowl.
Now he had come across Prowl multiple times along the muddied trenches or depressing stone cold walls of their respective headquarters, but he could safely say he had never seen those threatening and inflamed optics look so carnivorous, and oh so determined to commit murder. Had he not lived as a Decepticon for a majority of his activation, he could have possibly been quivering in his soft-spoken armor, intimidated by the clear show of force, but he held his ground, clutching the unconscious mass close to him and ignoring the growl that sounded when he did so.
The tactician was stalking forward, predatory optics promising bodily harm if his opponent didn’t drop his comrade and run like slag. In response, Soundwave flexed his plating, taunting- no, daring the Autobot to act on his impulses. He had finally managed to seize Jazz after what felt like centuries of waiting, and wouldn’t be giving him up without a bloody fight. Soundwave could almost touch the waves of displeasure emitting from the bulky white frame, observing the normally dormant doorwings twitching in unrestrained fury.
Autobots were quite predictable, so when Prowl shifted his balance to his right leg, preparing to rush forward, Soundwave was able to move out of the way with ease, dropping Jazz as lightly as possible to open up his arms. However, the moment of distraction was enough for Prowl to barrel him over and land a clean blow to his helm, momentarily stunning him.
From his position on the ground, he could catch sight of Prowl swinging his chassis to land yet another punch, and attempted to push himself backwards and twist his frame to dodge the blow. But the sloppy terrain was far too difficult to find purchase on, and he found his servos slipping, flopping him on his side uncharismatically and instead taking the pummel at full momentum. From there on the fight only got worse, Prowl simply being too fast to avoid and the lasting impact slowly causing Soundwave to deteriorate until the pain was too overbearing to ignore anymore.
He finally landed a successful kick to Prowl’s midsection, and scrambled to his pedes as Prowl gasped in aching discomfort. Without his cassettes or some kind of assistance, this brawl would end with his deactivation, which he couldn’t have, not while the war still raged on. The only sensible solution would be to flee, but Prowl would make chase as long as he held Jazz. It was a tough decision to make, but Soundwave wasn’t known for being a quitter.
He crushed the still-recovering Prowl under his weight for good measure, not bothering to gloat as he flung the feeble Jazz over his shoulder and fled as promptly as his frame allowed. Warnings flashed across his HUD and every part of him creaked in protest, making him want nothing more than to just frag it all and collapse where he stood. He fought through it as best he could, the only thing pushing him forward being the energy coursing through his systems by the chase. Each step became a victory as he pushed his limits, digits unintentionally gripping Jazz hard enough to dent the delicate and discoloured plating.
Unfortunately, it would be too much to ask for to have been able to escape that easily. Just a few seconds into the chase and the sound of snapped twigs and gooey soil could be heard, which was all that Soundwave heard before his optics were met with ground once more. Jazz broke the worst of the blow, and in selfish desperation, he tensed his limbs and clutched him tighter. Inevitably, unless Ravage and Lazerbeak just so happened to answer, he would be a pile of scrap by the end of this encounter.
“Get the slag off him.” The furious growl barked, but Soundwave disregarded it, shuttering his crimson optics halfway and waiting for the opportunity when Prowl would slip up and move into a position where a well placed kick would successfully distract him. It never came. Instead, Prowl unexpectedly jammed the edge of his blaster into the delicate wires of Soundwave’s right shoulder. The Decepticon spy almost shrieked out in unanticipated pain, but kept primarily silent, only harbouring a grunt or two as Prowl effectively began working on his frame.
The tactician didn’t pause or stop for anything, continuing even when Soundwave was beginning to writher and scream. Only once the shoulder was completely disassembled did Prowl fiercely tear away Soundwave’s remaining arm to get to Jazz, keeping a pede on Soundwave’s own to prevent him from moving. Not that Soundwave could of, he was too focused on not shutting down to save vital energon from the massive shoulder wound.
Prowl looked just about ready to finish what he had started until a pained groan sounded to his left, faint, but still distinguishable even under the harsh venting of the two locked in an inner conflict. The red chevron had disappeared from Soundwave’s failing view as Prowl looked down, almost in desperation, and caught sight of Jazz’s systems frantically trying to boot and make sense of his surroundings. Soundwave found himself disposed on the foliage and swampy terrain as the Autobot made haste to pacify his friend.
The vocalizer spat nothing but static, but Prowl didn’t seem to mind, optics that once held spite were now softened and subdued. Gently, the second in command had collected him in his arms and began checking over for any major wounds other than the expected cuts and dents from the eruption. Soundwave was completely forgotten about through the panic, and he used the time to check his warnings for any obvious dangers that needed to be patched other than his shoulder, while calling out over his communications for a cassette or any Decepticon in particular to come to his rescue. The envious troops may have wanted to leave him behind, but no one other than Starscream would be brave enough to stand up to their leader and confirm they just left Soundwave to deactivate. Someone would come, eventually. He had to have hope.
“Shh. Don’t fret Jazz, we’ll have you out of here and in Ratchet’s servos before long, just please don’t try to move, you’re damaged enough as it is.” Jazz didn’t answer, just let out a faint moan, optics shuttered. Prowl calmly observed for a few seconds more, embracing the eerily quiet situation before turning to meet Soundwave.
“You see this,” he gestured towards the unmoving Jazz, “This is mine. I don’t know what the slag you were about to do with him but it’s not going to happen again. Next time I see you or your blind little minions anywhere near Jazz, I won’t hesitate to separate your helm from your chassis,” Soundwave let out a low rumble, trying once again to get in contact with his cassettes, which were likely still occupied in the dying battle. Prowl must have mistook it for a growl of aggression, and delivered another swift kick to Soundwave’s chassis, sounds of metal bending and splitting crying out into the barren battlefield.
As Soundwave’s vision swam in and out of focus, he could barely make out the massive white smudge moving away from his abused form, and alternatively heading away in the opposite direction, sparing him. It was a blessing, one he didn’t expect to receive. It could have very well been because Jazz needed urgent medical attention, or perhaps because Autobots condemned killing or beating a mech that was down. If anything though, Prowl was leaving him to suffer a slow and painful deactivation if help didn’t come soon. The worst kind of torture.
As Prowl and the unconscious Jazz departed, the tactician abruptly stopped one more time, glancing back at the worn-down Decepticon.
“For the record, I’m not as blind as you think I am. My only mistake was not taking care of you sooner,” Prowl vented hastily, “But the question is, did I really have to in the end. Both you and me know Jazz wouldn’t want anything to do with a monster like yourself.” Jazz almost seemed to bounce in his comrade's hold, showing off the wounds he had collected, clearly to re-emphasize his point. It also doubled as a taunt, almost tempting Soundwave to try once again and find out what dauntless consequences would come of his endmost effort to sway Jazz to his side.
The last thing Soundwave caught sight of was those elegant doorwings arching just the slightly bit in satisfaction.
When he finally managed to reboot his processor, Soundwave promptly found that he had been strapped to the cold slate of a medical berth, extensive repairs already being completed on his diminished and detached limbs. He didn’t know how he got there or who had managed to find him in the end, but the deafening silence of the medical bay gave him a lot of precious time to think over what had happened at that fateful battle, and what he had managed to witness. It was obvious the drone-like Prowl held some possessive instinct over Jazz, a miscalculation on Soundwave’s part as he wasn’t aware of them being any closer than acquaintances. Conceivably, Prowl could appropriately have the notorious Praxian coding that demanded he display possessive dominance to an opponent trying to take a close companion away from him. In the end, it didn’t matter, none of it did. He vowed to never to let something like this happen again.
His mind absently wandered to the prison still housing that hidden desire and curiosity. It was compelling while it lasted, but there was a reason why his past affiliations were savagely deleted and never looked back on. Problems like this could not be afforded in times so dire. If he hadn’t been so affixed on his own egotistical schemes, maybe he could have managed to overpower and outsmart the tactician. It had never been such a chore before! Sure, he could argue that the coding may have given Prowl a boost of capability, but in the end, it all traced back to Soundwave, wether he liked it or not.
Without a second thought, he hurried to delete everything, all footage and personal information gathered on Jazz over the duration of him knowing the Autobot. Never again would he look at Jazz and see what he had seen before. It would all be a blank slate.
He had been assigned a task, and was expected to complete it with utmost efficiency.
No distractions were allowed.