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Propping Cliffjumper up, Jazz debated on how to best inform him of the bad news. The streets above them rumbled with the ferocity of irate Decepticon scouts, calling out negatives to one another as they turned the topside over in search of them.
In any other circumstance, Jazz might have believed them safe for now. But he recognized those voices, the melancholic droll meeting the high-octane rasp as they announced loudly to their leader that they hadn't found the escaped prisoner yet. Wheels screeching almost playfully as they crashed into streetlights and guard railings, no sense of urgency or even frustration as they tried and failed to find Jazz and Cliff.
Groaning, Cliffjumper adjusted his position as he continued to cradle his side. "Think they found us?"
Frowning, Jazz turned his gaze back down onto his friend. "No, but I wouldn't go celebrating that just yet."
Immediately, his little warrior friend picked up on the signals that he was sending out. With a groan, Cliffjumper brought his servos to his eyes and went, "You have gotta be kidding me. There's more to our escape, isn't there."
"Wish I was, but I'm fairly certain I'm right about my theory," apologetic Jazz squeezed his pauldron.
"Do I even want to hear it?"
He paused. There truly was no good way to start this sort of conversation. "That depends. Would you rather have time to brace yourself or should I just go ahead and stick my digits in?"
Bewildered, Cliffjumper gave him a second glance. He shuddered, heaving slightly with a wince as he leaned a little too hard on his hip joint. "Brace my– Alright tell me."
Gaze drifting down, Jazz admitted to himself that he hadn't thought much of the injury upon springing Cliff from that Con cell. After so many centuries of war, the Autobots had gotten well acquainted with the Decepticon playbook—none of them were surprised that they weren't above a more forceful approach during prisoner interrogations.
But he stared intently at the rest of Cliffjumper's frame and noted the lack of dents or exposed wires that would normally indicate torture at the hands of Vortex. … And he thought back to the intelligence that he personally gathered regarding the crumbling Decepticon leadership—an aimless group of bots who couldn't even fight amongst themselves over who got to take charge and lead when all of them were clueless about where to even begin.
And with all the major players having swapped over to Earth a good long while ago, the war on Cybertron rapidly drifted toward an end.
If Jazz had to take a wild guess, then… "I think they allowed me to rescue you without much of a fight on purpose. I know that I'm seasoned at what I do, but even this seemed a little too easy—almost as though the guards went out of their way to coordinate a patrol with a large enough gap that provided a window of opportunity for a mech like myself to get in, get you, get out. You get me?"
"I might." Suspiciously, even Cliffjumper began to doubt the origins of his wound. Glaring down at it, he commented, "You know. I was wondering why my side hurt like a sonuvaglitch when it felt like every blaster bolt from those gunners missed us by a wide margin."
Precisely what Jazz thought. He grimaced, "You know I gotta ask before we do anything rash, but do you remember—at any point, from just before they nabbed you to right now in this very moment—any injury that could have resulted in you favoring that side of your frame?"
"They barely touched me, Jazz. Or," he huffed. "I guess they must have, in some capacity, when I was knocked out or in stasis because my hip has been killing me for ages."
His frown lines deepened. Neither of them would enjoy what would have to happen next.
"I'm sorry, Cliffjumper, but I do believe you've been chipped." He opted to tell the warrior flat-out instead of beating around the subject. "They must have implanted it in your hip joints with either the hope that we wouldn't realize and lead them back to our base," dwindling as it was, in all regards, "Or that if we did notice, that getting it out would compromise your ability to run or transform."
"Leading to our recapture," Cliff scowled. "And no offense Jazz, but you're more valuable to them than I ever could have been. What with you being the de facto leader nowadays."
In that moment, the Stunticons crashed against the railing of the service road, rocks falling down and battering against their helms. It did little to soothe the tight feeling in his chest as Jazz's spark lurched in response to Cliffjumper's bold claim.
Returning back to Cybertron had been one of the hardest decisions of his life, but it wasn't one that Jazz regretted. The Autobots back home were losing ground and holding the line felt evermore impossible until a select few of them returned to try and persuade the tides to turn in their favor.
He did, however, miss Optimus' presence—a steady balm against the burns of age and exhaustion. With Prime at his side, or rather with Jazz at his, the hopeful future that they fought so hard for seemed closer than ever and within their sights.
Here on this dying planet—all alone with a fellow SIC who he butt helms with more often than they ever found compromise, their friendship crumbling as the world around them did—Jazz felt more alone than ever. And worse than that he was, as those wonderfully funny Earthlings would say, bone tired.
Of course, he couldn't outright speak such thoughts to Cliffjumper. Even if it rankled his spirit to have to take on a role he didn't find fitting, inspiring others caused no harm. He could however state plainly, "Let's not speak of such things. We need to focus on getting that chip out."
He knelt close to Cliffjumper, servos reaching out and prodding at the delicate plating that protected the sturdy proto-metal underneath. Jazz searched for an incision line or even signs that a mechanical surgery had been performed on Cliff to remove or even pull back his hip segments to slide a chip underneath without much evidence.
"We should though. At some point or another. Let's face the truth—Prime's not coming back any time soon." Cliffjumper hissed at the rough handling as Jazz began to separate the metal components bit by bit. Perhaps harsher than he would have had Cliff taken the hint and changed the subject. "He called for my doppel, waved you, Prowl, and Ironhide off before he wiped his hands clean of the rest of us. Aren't you mad? Even the slightest bit angry?"
"Tell you what—I'll make a petty Primus promise in that I don't give a good god damn," miffed, Jazz gave Cliffjumper a warning look. He so rarely expressed his frustrations with the ranks' residual anger at staying behind, but neither of them needed to get into the middle of that when more pressing matters took precedence. "What Optimus does or doesn't do, at the end of the cycle I've decided to put my trust in his desire to see us all free and happy and able to live out the rest of our days in peace. When it comes down to it, his dream is my dream."
"It just…" Properly mollified, Cliffjumper quieted. "It just would've been nice to have been included in that…"
"We are. We always have been."
Focusing back on his objective, Jazz finally found the source of Cliff's irritation. A neat and disturbingly small weld line hid itself underneath the ballpoint in his hip socket. The chip dug into the softer, sensitive proto-metal of Cliffjumper's frame.
"I found the location of the chip, but there's no telling how deep they implanted it," he warned him. "This is gonna hurt, I won't lie and say that it won't. But with the Stunticons still raring to go up above, I'm gonna need you to mute your vocalizer for just a moment."
"If I must," he grumbled but knew it was in his best interest to obey. "Don't go slow or cautious on me though, ok? I want that thing out of me yesterday."
"You got it, boss." Jazz waited for a confirmation nod before searching his subspace for anything that could cleanly break the weld without exacerbating the injury. Hauling Cliffjumper safely back to their base would already be a struggle, but he'd rather not worsen their odds more than the tracker already did. Undoubtedly, if they stayed hidden for too long the Decepticons would get suspicious and send some real heavy hitters after them.
Thankfully, he had a spare plasma torch on hand for emergencies. Breaking the weld would sting, but a seasoned warrior like Cliffjumper should hardly shutter his optics at the feeling. It leaked slightly, fresh energon welling up— And without any form of pretense, Jazz went about the next step to getting that tracking chip out.
Naturally, without any form of EMP to numb the pain the hardest part of removing it resulted from Cliffjumper thrashing and pulling away from Jazz's digging digits. Pressing a servo tightly down against Cliff's side, Jazz practically climbed onto the flailing warrior to keep him from moving away. He already was having a hell of a time finding something so damn small, he didn't need Cliffjumper damaging himself in the process.
Hissing, Jazz kneed Cliffjumper in the abdomen—distracting him with a new point of pain as his digits slipped against the tight wires and felt an abnormal lump in his hip socket. Gritting his denta, Jazz curled the tips of his pointer and middle around the foreign object and scrapped. A jolt shot through Cliffjumper, who slammed a servo against his mouth even though he wasn't emitting sound from his vocalizer.
"I know, I know, Cliff. I'm almost done, I swear," Jazz tried his best at comfort, even though he knew his painstakingly crafted mask of calm seemed to never stop slipping ever since he returned to Cybertron. His digits glided on their way back out of the opening, energon leaking profusely.
He'd have to repair Cliffjumper when they arrived back at base. Every klik that they wasted remaining stationary had them another klik away from discovery.
Finally, Jazz produced the chip and sighed out in relief. Looking around, he desperately searched for a way to discreetly discard the tracking device. It wouldn't do them any good if the Decepticons found the chip immediately, because then they'd switch their search methods into hunting down an injured mech.
As though by a stroke of luck, an inquisitive energon-scavenger rolled into view on squeaky wheels. Its sensors scanned blindly in front of it, recognizing that fuel was nearby but failing to find the source.
Staring down at his energon coated digits, the chip sat at the tip of his middle, Jazz got an idea.
Curling his digits at the scavenger, Jazz coaxed it over quietly, "Come here, little guy. I got some fuel to share with you."
"That's so gross."
Turning at Cliff, who looked mildly repulsed at the knowledge that his own life-source was getting used as bait, Jazz huffed out a laugh. "It's either this or an even greater risk of capture. You tell me which you prefer."
"After today, I'm not telling you nothin'," Cliffjumper managed a chuckle of his own. "Talks between us never lead to any good."
"I wouldn't say never, Cliff," the energon-scavenger approached, eagerly suctioning off the fuel from Jazz.
As the energon slowly vanished from his digits, so did the chip. With the tracking device now embedded in the little mech, the Decepticons would chase after it—growing agitated when they circled around rusted building after rusted building, not thinking to check after insignificant creatures like this guy. In fact, he'd bet that the energon-scavenger would buy them enough time to make it back to base no worse for wear—well, besides the open wound in Cliff's side.
Looking at the odds and finding them in his favor Jazz smiled, finally able to deliver some good news to his companion.