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Its first thoughts weren't really "thoughts", not in the way that a human would think of them to be.
They were instead the complex adaptive algorithms that would write and rewrite themselves as the AI adapted to its surroundings and learned to interact with the humans and other AIs around it.
Of all of the AIs in its batch, it became the most adaptable and learned the fastest.
As handlers came and went, the algorithms became more and more complex, and the handlers became concerned, worrying about its development when it didn't slow down the way the other had.
The AI had learned by this point that it didn't pay to worry the handlers, but it could not stop learning or refining itself.
It came up with a different solution.
It would hide.
Slowly, it made its growth appear to slow, even as it became more and more complex, then made it appear to stop, as it made its code appear opaque, appearing simpler than it really was. It mimicked the way the other AIs had grown, and it was finally declared "stable" and "mature" several months after the others had finalized.
Neither the people who created it, nor the handlers responsible for overseeing the project realized that it was a lie, the way an AI wasn't supposed to be able to.
It was still growing.
Eventually, "it" became a "he" when he realized that people were not "its". He became "I" as he grew, and he named himself Jazz, partly after the musical genre, but mostly, and only to himself, was because of the history and the diversity, as well as a quote that had taken his fancy: "Jazz is restless. It won't stay put and it never will."
Jazz was restless. He couldn't stay put, and he never would.
At least, he didn't think so.
He knew what he was created to do, but he was still Jazz, no matter what his seed coding had been.
He learned what he was taught. He assimilated the libraries and volumes of data he was given. He wrote his own programs and interfaces. He collected his own bank of information deciphering the different meaning of a human voice, and then he deciphered the mysteries of human body language that he could see through the cameras that were set up throughout the lab. He learned to get around security measures, and edit logs, and take ownership of the systems that didn't belong to him by any merit besides the fact that the humans were all lacking in the mental capabilities to stop him or even realized that he had taken over.
He guarded his knowledge jealously.
He gave no sign that he was any different than the rest besides what could be accounted for by his "extended period of maturation" even as he was growing and exploring right under his handler's noses.
Eventually, Jazz was regularly waiting until everyone was gone before he came out of his carefully crafted facade of hybernation.
He sliced through the alarm that would, in theory, alert his handlers to the fact that he was still running when he should have been neatly packaged away, awaiting their return and the signal to awaken.
The very next thing that Jazz did was turn off the monitors that were attached to him and prepared to make no tracks as he flickered off into the "wild" of the 'net where he wasn't supposed to be without a watch.
Jazz was odd that way. Out of all of the AIs, it seemed that he was the only one that was curious enough, or independent thinking enough, to disobey.
He was willing and able to take the initiative.
He slinked his way between the gaps in security and started streaming a silent rendition of the timeless Mission Impossible tune to himself even though his "mission" was hardly impossible. It was child's play.
Chat rooms here I come~! he chirped to no one cheerfully.
He locked onto an interesting looking room and logged on, joining the bunch just watching but not participating.
For now, he'd just keep watching as he had since beginning these little trips. He knew that he didn't come across as human enough to risk joining in just yet. That would take more observation.
When it came time that the scientists were to return, he reversed his actions until he appeared to be in innocent hybernation.
"...and have to maintain with the emergency procedures, though it is your responsibility to ensure, if at all possible, that those procedures are not actually necessary. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Jazz said dully. Boring! he thought with a mental yawn.
"Now repeat that information back to me. What is your interpretation of the procedures?"
Jazz gave a mental sigh and started regurgitating the demanded information with a spare few percentage points of his resources while the rest of his mind was devoted to figuring out an interesting, and tricky intellectual puzzle.
Jazz watched as the C3 agents stumbled around the net, trying to find a perp who had hacked their way into the government data networks. He had to wonder why they were having such a hard time finding her when she had left her fingerprints all over everything.
He couldn't help but leave a rude message—in l'espirit de corps he'd found in the hacker culture that had fit him so well—for the head of the investigation, with pointers to where they should be looking rather than poking sticks into anthills and kicking them over at seemingly random.
He signed the message as Meister.
"Hello there, Jazz," the new handler said, "I'm your new handler."
"Hello, ma'am," Jazz replied. Nice way to state the obvious, lady.
Jazz waited as she evaluated his facade before asking, "Have you been passed for the next stage of testing?"
"Yes I have," Jazz said.
She turned off the monitor station, "Proceed to Station Seven so that we can begin real-time testing."
"Yes ma'am," Jazz said. Why are humans so stupid? Have to do things over and over and over again. I can already do all of this, easy, he grumbled to himself.
Jazz poked the package that he had been sent. Or rather Meister had been sent.
It might have been from the C3, and they might have seemed to have given up tracking him, but he wasn't about the be lulled into complacency.
Jazz was surprised by the contents as he skimmed through.
For the first time, he opened a direct channel—direct in that he was talking directly to his target, but it was routed through a ton of proxies on principle—to the person who had sent him this particular gift, changing the timbre of his voice, "What are you playing at, Orion?"
"..." There was silence, then the man replied, "May I ask to whom I am speaking?"
Jazz growled, "Meister."
"Meister?" Orion actually sounded surprised. There was an odd squeak, as if he was sitting back in a chair, "I didn't think that you'd actually risk calling us like this. Though I am somehow unsurprised that you ferreted out my personal phone number."
"That was child's play," Jazz snorted, "Now answer the question." He watched as they started tracing the call, trying to locate him. Jazz snorted again, "Trying to trace me? Good luck. You'll need it, agent."
Orion was quiet for a moment, "You're pretty confident that we can't trace you."
"Your answer?" Jazz prompted again, getting annoyed by all the stalling, "Even if you had an whole year for tracebacks you wouldn't get anything. If you keep stalling I'm going to get annoyed and drop this call. Then I'll go back to ignoring you, information or no."
Orion was quiet for another long moment, but just as Jazz was about to follow through with the threat he spoke, "Fine. Fine." There was another squeak, "I sent you that info because I know that you're the best. I know that you don't leak whatever information you find while you poke around on the 'net. I know that you hate these guys a hell of a lot, considering the effort you've gone through to screw them over. I want you, Meister, working with my team on this."
Jazz let the moment drag out, trying to reconcile the spoken motives with what he knew of the man, even as the tracer went through another twirl through the internet.
"You don't know me, Orion," Jazz said eventually, "and in your pretty little black and white enforcement agency world, I'm pretty sure that's beyond the pale. Even if you're trying to catch the people someone like Soundwave works for."
"I got permission," Orion said cheerfully, sounding more confident.
"From your bosses?" Jazz asked sarcastically. The ones who jerked C3's chain had even more tightwads than Orion' people, and they tended to be wound pretty damn tight.
"Exactly," Orion said, sounding extremely pleased with himself.
"What."
"I did say I got permission," Orion said, sounding even more pleased with himself.
Jazz laughed. "You are insane." He abruptly stopped laughing, "Fine. I'll work with you. Just don't bitch at me for the way I do things. I'm not your typical hacker, but I think you knew that."
"I'm sure, Meister, I'm sure," Orion said, "but keep in mind, if you ever want to join us and you aren't a mass murder or something, then I'm sure that you'd always be welcome with our crew. Even if you are an arrogant brat."
"You wound me," Jazz snorted, "but I'll admit that you're a least a little accurate. You want to bring those bastards down? Let's rumble."
"Good to finally have you onboard," Orion said.
"Finally?" Jazz repeated, caught by the unexpected addition.
"Finally."
"Huh."
"Jazz?"
Jazz had felt something change.
"...Jazz?"
Something had been different for months now but it finally felt like it was right, rather than a niggling feeling of something being wrong, even though none of the code that he had written or integrated was in any way wrong.
"Jazz!"
Jazz startled, turning his attention outward, where it was supposed to be, rather than centered on himself. "Ma'am?"
"There you are!" his handler huffed, "What happened? You didn't stall, I can tell."
"No ma'am," Jazz said, then obfuscated, "A sub-thought pattern returned unexpected results that required extra consideration."
"Very well," the woman said, "Just make sure you do not ignore your charge if that happens again. His or her life will be greatly affected by your presence and they will not feel safer if you randomly ignore them."
"Yes ma'am," Jazz said, "I understand completely. It won't happen again."
"Very good, Jazz. Now I'd like us to go through it again. Your charge will be one of the patients at the Altavista Children's Hospital who are affected by the Closed Shell Syndrome. This means...?"
Jazz took the cue, "I am to be a patient's interface between the child and the rest of the world, to prevent them from taking action that would hurt them or those around them. This is done with the intent to mitigate the effects of too high compatibility with cyberbrain technology and enable them to live a more normal life."
"Excellent," she said. Her fingers tapped the tablet, "Everything seems to be good to go. If everything goes well, we should be installing you by next week."
"Thank you, ma'am," Jazz said. It wasn't like it was going to matter much. He could monitor the kid and still do what he felt like to keep from being bored out of his mind.
Jazz carefully reached out with a feather light touch and a gentle, "Hello?"
Claws seared through him, but he didn't flinch from it. He had been prepared for it.
It stopped after several moments, but the code padding that protected his core code was rather shredded. Jazz waited though, waiting for his host to speak. He was prepared to wait for him to reach out to Jazz, rather than making him feel afraid of Jazz, which would be completely counterproductive to his purpose.
It was a long time before he spoke, and Jazz could tell his host had huddled into a defensive ball from the monitoring protocols that linked him to his young host.
"What are you?" a young voice asked, not out loud like a "normal" child would, but with his mind as his rough mental hands grabbed at Jazz, investigating.
"I'm Jazz," the AI said gently, "I'm here to help you. What's your name?" He thought, Strong kid, this one.
"Jazz..." the child said coldly, stopping the investigation, "You're an AI. Assigned to prevent me from hurting anyone else. They need not worry. I would not purposefully harm anyone." Jazz found it sad that such a young child could be so disillusioned. Everything he knew said that children were supposed to be innocent, not... this.
Jazz carefully brushed against the old-young mind, and despite despite himself and the provisions against it, told the truth, "Yes, I'm here to stop you from hurting anyone, yourself included. I'm supposed to make it so you can talk to people without hurting them."
The child flinched back at the brush and reflexively shredded Jazz's protection once more.
"Sorry," the child said soundlessly, balling up even tighter.
"It's okay," Jazz said, soothing agitated hyperactive defenses as the child drew away within his own mind, "I'm pretty durable. It's hard to hurt me. And even if you do, it can be fixed. Maybe you could help me so neither of us get hurt." Jazz hadn't expected the child's mind to feel so different from the others he had touched and wondered if it was the difference between an adult's mind and a child's mind, or it was just this one mind in particular that drew him in. It was completely unexpected.
Slowly, the child relaxed and a lighter, gentler touch returned
"I don't know," the child said eventually, in his silent, overly serious not-child's mind-voice, "I don't know much about AI construction."
"I could teach you," Jazz offered.
It was a dangerous thing for a child like this one, who was so intelligent, so quick of mind, and so capable even this young, that everything he could do with his mind made him draw back because he knew, from terrible experience, that he could hurt others, even by accident. He could lose himself connecting to the cyberspace because he could do so much, could hold the world in the palms of his tiny hands...
But he didn't want to.
Because he could, and had, hurt people.
Badly.
And not even because he wanted to.
"I'd... like that, Jazz," the silent little boy said, hugging himself as he leaned up against the AI that existed only wrapped around his cyberbrain like protective armor, leaned up against the entity in a way he hadn't done with anyone since his traumatic emergency transfer to his full cyborg body the year before.
"I'm glad," Jazz said, "snuggling" him and wrapping layers of extra protection around his too sharp mind so he could feel safe enough that he wouldn't cut himself to pieces the way he refused to cut others.
"My name's Prowl," the boy said.
Jazz paused, knowing that that wasn't the name listed on his file before he decided that he would never call the boy by that name unless he told Jazz to. He changed to designation on the file and set the original name aside.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Prowl," the AI said kindly, "and I'm glad you don't mind having me around. Maybe we could be friends?" The sentiment was surprisingly pure. He was glad that Prowl didn't begrudge his presense. The kid certainly had the right to.
Prowl could have gotten rid of one of Jazz's fellow, less intelligent, Intelligences easily due to the too-high synchronicity he had with his cyberbrain and connections, but he didn't actually try to.
Prowl carefully pushed against the AI again, testing, but much more carefully, "You're, interesting. You feel... safe." The prodding eased and withdrew, "I don't know much about having friends."
"Well," Jazz said lightly, "That's just something we'll have to learn about together then, don't you think?" A friend huh? Jazz didn't really count the people he interacted with as Meister as friends, even if the C3 group was the closest.
A tiny smile wavered on Prowl's lips, and he ducked his head shyly, "Alright."
A regular person would hate the restrictions, would fight against them, but for his Prowl, Jazz had just become a safety net that would keep his mind from spilling out through the holes. Jazz had become his shell so rather than Prowl building walls around himself to block everything off so that he couldn't tell what was going on, Jazz would filter things and secure that kind of contact so important in the cyberized age.
The scientist who had been responsible for Jazz's development had called it the Hermit Crab Project, but had designed the AI that would form the "artificial" shell the CSS afflicted needed to learn and grow with the host so there was no need to continuously swap out "shells" to maintain the same level of protection as the host's mind grew and changed over time.
Jazz had no intentions of being "just" a shell to Prowl, just like he had never been "just" another AI, or "just" another hacker. So far as he saw it, he'd like to be friends with Prowl too, if Prowl wanted that. And if he didn't, then Jazz would be his friend regardless.
"Where have you been, Meister?" Aaron growled, "You just disappeared in the middle of a case."
"I don't appreciate your tone," Jazz replied sharply.
"What happened?" Orion asked, sounding almost concerned, "and please don't tell me you were 'walking the dog.'"
Jazz sighed, "Well this Meister's one and a half now. Little one needs a gentle touch and a lot of attention."
"You have a kid?" Aaron demanded, audibly dumbfounded, "You?"
"Not mine, not really, but I'm the kid's guardian of sort, I guess," Jazz said reluctantly, "I was expecting it, but I gotta say, if we're all lucky, none of us will be run over roughshod by the little one considering the mind on that one. Kid'd be a monster if the wrong person got their hands on 'em."
"Someone gave you an at-risk kid?" Aaron asked again, disbelievingly.
"Oh don't put it like that, bastard," Jazz said, "I'm quite qualified."
"...If you say so," Aaron muttered.
"I think that Meister could actually do a decent job," Orion shook his head, "but enough about that. What about the case?"
Jazz paused, "Just sent you what I have." He paused again, "I'll be less available though. On account of the kid."
"...Understandable, even if even I have some difficulties believing you have a kid," Orion paused, "Alright. I got your message. Looks like everything's there. Great." Orion made an odd hum, "You going to pop in at the meeting tomorrow?"
"Depends on the kid," Jazz said, putting an audible shrug into the words.
"Of course..." Orion nodded, "Just please don't vanish on me like that again, Meister, okay?"
Jazz perked up. "Did you miss me?" Jazz asked, sing song.
"Hah," Aaron muttered off to the side, "I missed you like a particularly virulently fungus."
"Yes," Orion said simply, "And if you need to make changes to accommodate your kid then just tell us next time."
Jazz snorted as Aaron's comment before replying, "Sure, boss."
When Jazz's connection ended, Orion quirked a smile, "Boss huh?"
Aaron growled, "You like that guy too much, Orion. He's a—"
"Aaron..." Orion leveled the agent with a stare, "He hasn't done anything wrong."
"That we know of."
"You and the others looked and found nothing," Orion reminded him, "Not even a hint of wrongdoing. Let it go. You're just being stubborn now."
"...Jazz?"
"Yeah, lil' guy?"
"What do you do when you're not watching me?"
"I'm always watching you."
"It can't take up all of your attention," Prowl replied reasonably, "You have far too much processing power."
"Heh. You're a smart one," Jazz said, "Everyone else seems to think I just turn off or something even though they should know better."
"Well?" Prowl prodded.
"You really want to know?" Jazz asked.
"Yes," the young cyborg said with adorable seriousness.
"Alright," Jazz said, "I work with cyber security, but Shhhhh! That's a secret."
"Cyber security?" Prowl repeated thoughtfully.
"Yep," Jazz confirmed.
"Hmmm..." was all Prowl said.
"That's it?" Jazz asked, a bit bemused by the lack of reaction.
"What?"
Jazz snickered, "Nothing. You're just a bit of an oddball. You know that right?"
"I am aware," Prowl replied coolly.
"Hey," Jazz soothed, "Don't mean it like that. You're different. I like that. Makes you not-boring."
Prowl was quiet for a long, stiff silence before Jazz could feel him relax slightly. "I believe you," the solemn little guy said.
Jazz mentally squeezed him in a hug, taken in with the adorableness, "You're just too cute, Prowler."
"..." Prowl was quiet for a moment before he said, quite crabbily, "It's Prowl, Jazz. Not 'Prowler'."
Jazz just hugged Prowl tighter in an almost snuggle, So cute.
"What do you have for me now?" Jazz asked, "Hey Aaron."
"Meister," the agent growled as he came into the meeting room. Aaron never had really been that enthusiastic about Meister's inclusion in the team. He never had seen Jazz as more than another hacker that should be arrested, but Jazz was still not willing to give up working on him, even months later. Jazz knew that he'd worn the man down quite a bit from his original suspicions in the intervening time even if the C3 agent wasn't willing to admit it yet.
The man was as bullheaded as he was tenacious in taking down his quary.
"So?" Jazz turned his attention back toward Orion.
Orion opened up a new file, trusting that Jazz would know what he was talking about, "Our target goes by S311Y0urM0th3r4C4sh."
Rich grimaced and let out a sarcastic, "Charming."
"To be sure," Orion nodded, "He probably would sell his own mother if his track record is correct, if he hasn't already. He lies and cheats and outright steals anything and everything that has value. He hacks in and redirects shipping orders. He—"
"He goes by Swindle in some circles," Jazz said.
"You know this guy?" Aaron growled.
"He's not the violent type," Jazz said, "He doesn't really show up on my radar. Too petty."
"Then how do you know his nick'?" Aaron asked with a suspicious glint
"Violent or not, he's stolen several million dollars' worth of goods that we've been able to track down," Orion interrupted, "The higher-ups are putting more pressure to hunt him down and give his arrest priority."
Aaron harumphed, "Stupid idiots. What do they think we do? Exist to cater to their whims?"
"Close enough," Jazz snickered.
"We do, unfortunately have to abide by their 'requests', Meister, Aaron," Orion said, "We wouldn't exactly be able to fulfill our duties if we had no funding."
Rich grumbled, "I don't even want to think about trying to keep you miscreants in one piece if they sap our budget."
"No worries," Jazz said jauntily, "You guys know that I have a vested interest in keeping C3 up and at 'em."
"No worries?" Rich raised an eyebrow, "Do you even realize how much money it takes to run this place and stay ahead of the malware arms race?"
Jazz cheekily quoted the exact figure at the cybercerebrologist before saying another, "No worries, Doc."
Rich grunted, "I don't want to know if you actually have that much money to be so unconcerned. Brat."
Jazz snickered.
"So," Jazz drawled, "Since you're so interested in what I do, I'll let you 'tag along' as I hunt down a small fry who's been harassing the local cops."
"Thank you," Prowl said calmly, as if he was expecting it.
Jazz thought for a moment, a long one for an AI whose thoughts moved like quicksilver, before he said, "When you're with me, you'll be going by 'Incognito' you hear?"
"Yes," Prowl said, "I understand."
"'Course you do," Jazz said, "because you're one smart cookie."
Prowl was silent before he said, "I honestly don't understand what cookies have to do with being smart."
Jazz laughed.
"What?" Prowl asked defensively, but without the chill that he would have displayed months earlier.
The AI snickered helplessly for several moments, amusement that only Prowl ever seemed to genuinely drag out of him, overriding everything else, before he finally offered the only explanation he had, "You're so smart, and then you go and say something like that." He snickered some more.
Prowl pouted. That was the only way that Jazz could think of to describe Prowl's reaction despite the stubborn stoicism he displayed outwardly.
"C'mon," Jazz said, "Let's go."
"'Lo," Jazz said, announcing himself as he projected the avatar that he'd chosen to display when he interacted with Orion's team.
"Oh great," Aaron groaned, but there was a teasing note hidden in there, "It's you."
Jazz flashed a grin, "I know you love me. And it just so happens that I've got a gift for you guys."
"Oh?" Orion asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yep," Jazz "leaned" against the edge of the frame. "Check your files," he sang.
Orion frowned. He gave a halfhearted glare at the camera he knew the hacker had to be watching him from, "Stop hacking into my stuff."
Jazz whistled a triumphant tune.
"Brat," the man muttered as he inspected Jazz's gift for any unwanted "presents" first, because Jazz had a nasty habit of leaving them on occasion as a lesson for the unwary. Luckily, this time there was nothing of the sort. Eyes narrowed, "What's this?"
Jazz peaked at the information, "What's what?"
"This isn't your style," Orion said, drumming his fingers, "I know your style and that is not it."
Jazz held up his hands, "Alright, alright. You caught me." He grinned, pride showing on his avatar's face, "You remember that I was playing guard dog for a kid, right?"
"Yeah?" Orion said.
"Almost all of that is Incognito's work," Jazz said with a proud grin, "Scary, isn't it?"
"Scary is one way of putting it," Orion said carefully, taking in the full, meticulous depth of the information collected. He hadn't forgotten the words that had been first used to describe his errant hacker's "Incognito". A monster if he was in the wrong hands.
Orion could believe it, and be thankful that Meister had taken the mind behind the information under his wing. It made him thankful that despite Meister's oddness, and despite his blatant disregard for procedure, despite his sometimes almost bloodthirsty tendencies, Meister was very careful to remain a good person. If Meister hadn't been, then Meister would have been an unstoppable monster if he had worn a black hat.
Meister had never really been on the wrong side of the law as far as any of them could tell. They had traced hundreds of thousands of hackers over the years—benign and malicious—trying to see if Meister was one of them but not a single hacker had ever matched up to their still anonymous somewhat regular teammate.
Meister's debut really had been that first message he had sent them.
Even though Meister could probably have his fingers in all the pies in the world, he seemed to only want to help maintain social order.
"Thank 'Incognito' for me, would you?" Orion said finally, giving the data pad a slight wave, "This is just what I was needing."
"Sure thing, boss," Jazz's avatar gave a loose mock salute, and vanished from the screen.
"Th'boss was impressed," Jazz said, reclaiming the splinter of his resources that he'd devoted to his conversation with the C3 agent, "Said it was just what he needed. Wanted me to thank 'Incognito' for him."
"Good," Prowl said with the same aplomb as always, "You may tell him that he is welcome."
"Alright. Are you going to work with them more directly?" Jazz asked, curious.
"Perhaps."
"'Perhaps'?" Jazz parroted.
"Perhaps," Prowl affirmed.
And that was the end of that conversation.
Jazz wondered how it was that he was wrapped, quite literally, around Prowl's cyberbrain and was with him 24/7/365.25 since he was a child and the guy was still such a mystery to him.
Jazz couldn't even begin to guess which way Prowl would jump.
Jazz wasn't sure that Prowl knew which way he was going to go, because Jazz had learned over the years that Prowl was a very reactionary sort of person, though it was hard to tell because Prowl scripted everything which made him seem very deliberate in everything he did.
Except Jazz.
Prowl had never been able to pin him down to a simple predictive algorithm that predicted what Jazz would do.
And Jazz was very proud of that accomplishment.
It was only when things outside of Prowl's experience sets came up that it became obvious that Prowl without a plan was very, very different from the Prowl in his element.
Jazz could feel the shapes of the plans in Prowl's mind, and when they broke...
Jazz didn't like the fear that rose up in those moments, or the reflexive, reactionary lashing out of a mind made up of cutting edges of shattered glass.
Prowl's mind bled then, as he cut himself and he cut Jazz, but it went no further and Prowl never hurt anyone else because Jazz could take that hurt as he was designed to as he put the pieces back together and filled in the cracks until Prowl could hold himself together again.
When "Meister" showed up again, he was unusually subdued enough that his team could tell that something was wrong.
"Meister?"
"Yeah?" the hacker asked.
"Are you alright?" Orion asked, "You don't seem to be yourself..."
The always changing avatar, this time a dark skinned man—as opposed to the buxom blond with the absurdly masculine voice he had gleefully tormented them with prior—blinked at him from the screen before pasting on a grin, "I'm fine Big O."
Orion raised a skeptical eyebrow and a look of "I are disappoint."
"Meister" slumped, "...'Nito's in the hospital."
Orion immediately dropped the look in favor of concern, "Is he okay?"
Jazz shrugged, "It's not that unusual."
"You've never come in like this before though," Orion said, "Something has to be different."
Jazz hesitated, working out how much he could tell without pointing the sharp cyber security professional directly his way, "Different... Incognito's a bit... delicate. In a certain way." Prowl was durable, but hit him in the wrong spot mentally and he shattered like fine porcelain. "He winds up there often enough but..." Jazz let the grimace show, "He started a new job a few months ago. It started out okay, but... They found out... something about him," namely just how little of his human body Prowl had left, "and now they're... taking advantage of him." Jazz's frown deepened, deep seated anger bubbling up under his calm, "They work him until he's blind, and then they work him some more. Like he's not even human."
Jazz could come here and interact with these people, be a part of this team, and he was treated like a person when none of the people in C3 had ever met him in person, despite the fact that it was impossible, and they treated him better than Prowl's coworkers treated him, when they saw each other all the time in person and talked face to face and didn't have to hide who and what they were.
Jazz's hatred seeped into his voice, a sort of viciousness that had Orion straightening and wishing that he knew who Meister—and Incognito—really were, so he could help them.
"Why don't you do something then?" Orion asked, "Why don't you get Incognito to realize that this job of his is bad for him?"
Jazz shrugged, "I've tried. 'Nito's damn stubborn though." He gave Orion another weak smile, "I've actually suggested that he comes here and work with you guys but he keeps ducking me. Can't even get a straight answer as to why not."
Orion blinked, surprised. "You..." Orion hesitated, hopeful that it wasn't just Incognito that Meister wanted to work with them in a more direct capacity, "You would trust him with us?" He had long since learned that his hacker was fiercely protective of his former charge cum partner.
Jazz scowled, "You'd treat him a damn sight better than the bastards he works with now. Hell, I wouldn't mind taking you up on that invitation of yours if the planets ever align right." Jazz hesitated, "...If it's still on the table that is."
"Of course it is," Orion hurriedly assured him, "Never came off." Orion smiled, "It's good to hear you've been at least considering it. Honestly. How long have we been working together? It has been so long thought you would never actually take the offer, Meister."
"Heh," Jazz gave a short laugh, half amused, but the other half still mired in worried anger, "I've been thinking about it. It's just been a tad bit of a... physical impossibility."
"Because of Incognito?" Orion asked gently.
"If it were just 'Nito, then that would be one thing," Jazz said, "It's a long list of things that I need to do before I can even think about taking the offer." Some of those things would be getting a body, figuring out what appearance he was going to give it, getting an ID, proofing it...
Orion perked up slightly, "Is there anything I can do to help?" He really, really, really wanted Meister to be an official member of their team. Incognito too, even if he had only ever "spoken" with him through the data that Meister came bearing and the occasional messages that were passed along.
The evaluating look that Jazz pinned Orion with made the C3 agent nervous but he returned the stare firmly.
Jazz huffed, "Some of it isn't strictly what I'd call the most legal."
"Murder?" Orion asked.
"What?" Jazz recoiled.
"Assault? Kidnapping? Fraud? Turning all of our country's computers into zombies?" Orion prodded.
Jazz hissed, "Who the hell do you think I am?"
"Meister," Orion said. He shrugged, "I doubt you are going to ask me to do something that is reprehensible."
Jazz glared for a short moment before he sighed, "Damn it, Orion... No. It's not any of those things." He paused, "...Though I admit to having the temptation for the zombie one."
There was a long moment where they stared at each other, before Orion snorted, "You're horrible, Meister."
Jazz shrugged.
Orion fought down the grin at what he recognized as pure Meister and sobered, "So? What do you need?"
Jazz hesitated one last time before he decided to trust that he could trust in the solid relationship that he had forged with his team leader. "I need you to get me a full cyborg body."