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The laws on Cybertron are simple. Do what you’re made for or else. At least, that’s what they boil down to, they’re all kibbled up like the ones who make sure those laws get enforced (by someone else, of course. They wouldn’t want to get their servos dirty!)
Thing is, that’s kind of hard for some folks.
Not that many, percentage-wise but in total numbers? Yikes.
There’s many reasons for that, some folks just aren’t made with everything they’d need for their assigned jobs, or they lost some things along the way, or their programming isn’t compatible or they just didn’t fit in or what they were made for is something that isn’t something you get assigned to.
Either way, they fall through the cracks.
And sooner or later they all end up…
Well, there isn’t really a name for this. It’s not a place, or even a society, more of a loose net of connections one gets tangled up in to find some way to get by.
Jazz is one of its major nodes.
Information Broker by trade, he has his optics and audials on the entire city of Iacon. He often knows that he’s going to get visited by a specific bot and what their request will be even before they themselves do.
So when he gets visited by a young mech that he didn’t know even existed, he takes note.
He’s a small thing, barely out of sparklinghood, far from full-framed. But he still carries himself with comfort and confidence in his frame, no sign of the awkwardness usually found in young bots. His gaze as well is of interest. Knowing, sharp, yet softened to hide the first tow characteristics.
Hard to read, is what he is.
But not necessarily threatening.
A neutral approach then.
“What can I do for you?”
“I need a job, I heard you’re the right address for something like that.”
Laconic, as if he wasn’t talking to one of the most-connected individuals this side of the law.
“I usually charge a referral fee for ‘something like that’. Are you able to pay?”
“I will once I have a job.”
Cheeky. Jazz finds himself amused.
“I made it a point not to give out any information before I get paid so… you will have to convince me.”
He lets a challenging smile graze his dermas.
One the young bot mirrors after a beat.
“How much do you know about me? I bet not much. And if you won’t help me out, I will walk out of here and you will never learn more.”
Interesting approach. He could have pointed out that he could easily start his own knowledge broking business with the information-gathering skills and stealth he showed by finding Jazz without tipping him off, even with his optics-catching yellow paint.
But he appealed to his curiosity instead. If this was intentional, it meant that he would not only prefer to cooperate but also that he really does understand that Jazz, a virtual stranger, really is more interested in satisfying this curiosity than in all the riches and control in play here.
And from the look the small bot was giving him, it really was intentional.
Jazz grins.
“I know someone who always has some odd jobs open, grab one and report everything you learn about that operation afterwards and you can consider your fee paid. Deal?”
The mechling grins too.
“Deal.”
It’s a few deca-cycles later that the young mech comes back to report.
And it’s a really nice report. Jazz is already very familiar with the people he sent the younger bot to so he didn’t really expect to gain any new info except recent changes. It was just supposed to be an excuse to get the kid back here and to see how thorough he could be. So when he finds some details in there that he didn’t already know… Yes, he’s impressed.
And by the smug look on the mechling’s faceplate, he knows it too.
“Nice work. Do you intend to go back for other jobs?”
Jazz doubts it.
“Eh, it’s a good fallback. But you have something more interesting for me, don’t you? With the same deal as lat time?”
Jazz is really starting to like the kid.
“With a bonus, actually. You did very well on the last one… Bee.”
The blue optics that have been roaming Jazz’ office snap back toward him.
“That’s what they called you at the well facility, isn’t it? It’s short for B-127.”
Bee exvents with a huff.
“That was fast.”
“Not really, you were popular there and practically vanished from the place, it caused quite a stir among the younger sparklings.”
Bee doesn’t say a word, obviously uncomfortable even without any visible tells.
Sadly, Jazz can’t promise to let the topic be. He makes it a point to not lie. And the mechling is just too tempting of a puzzle.
But he can change the topic for now.
“So, still interested in that new job?”
A long look.
“Yeah, sure.”
Over time, Bee loses some of the defensiveness around Jazz.
Oh, he’s still holding his cards close but so does everyone else in their little city-wide net.
What changes is that they stop dancing around each other, their little i-know-you-know back-and-forth ceasing almost altogether, replaced by frank conversations. It’s so gradual, Jazz can only really see it in hindsight.
That might be helped by the fact that Jazz doesn’t really find out anything new about Bee.
Well, he does figure out how the young bot managed to find his way to Jazz but that is much more a closing of holes in his network than anything else and it doesn’t give him any new information about Bee.
He still doesn’t know why Bee chose to avoid lawful society without even giving it a chance to burn him first like everyone else did.
Jazz learns that Bee is completely insane in the reckless category after a few stellar cycles of knowing the bot.
He’s just minding his won business, waking down a narrow alley when he suddenly hears the sound of metal hitting metal. Repeatedly, in rapid and increasing succession, from somewhere above him.
He looks up.
Only to be met with the sight of a yellow mech, smaller than average, bouncing down between the walls of the buildings encasing the alley.
Jazz has a moment to wonder if that is – no it can’t be – before having to accept that it indeed is Bee who just descended at least a dozen stories by deliberately hitting the walls as often as he could before landing on the ground and taking off without missing a beat.
What
The
Frag?
No, honestly, what was that?!
Jazz just stands there, reeling for a few moments before the thought that maybe someone was after Bee and that they would soon end up down here registers in his processor.
He forces himself to act calm while walking away.
Yeah, act like you didn’t see… that so nobody gets the bright idea that you might be someone who knows where he went to.
—
Jazz intends to confront Bee the next time they meet, he really does.
But the nonchalance with which Bee greets him makes Jazz stop and wonder if he just… mistook whoever that was for Bee. Surely such a stunt would warrant at least some acknowledgment, right?
He carries this arrested momentum through their entire conversation, earning him an odd look from Bee that he honestly can neither blame him for nor appreciatively react to.
It’s only once Bee is long gone that a possibility presents itself to Jazz that he immediately dearly wishes he never got.
What if the reason Bee didn’t mention it was because this is a perfectly normal thing for him to do?
After all, that jumping must have been practiced, or Bee would be a heap of scrap in that alley now.
…
Primus! That kid!
Jazz nudges his other contacts to keep an optic out for Bee and the things he gets up to.
He regrets it almost immediately.
“What do you mean, on fire?!”
Cliffjumper just shrugs, continuing to drink his high-grade.
“Dunno what to tell you, that’s just what I saw.”
Jazz lets his helm thunk on the bar.
—
For stellar cycles, Jazz never bring it up to Bee.
“JAZZ!”
Jazz snaps his helm towards the person who jelled his name in alarm. Nobody has jelled his name in ages, and never in such panic.
The mech that did (Blurr, Jazz’ processor offers) must have used the absolute most of his already considerable speed to find him because he actually needs a moment to vent to deliver his message.
“It’sBee,they’retryingtotakehim!”
“What? Who?!”
“Cops.”
Frag!
How did Bee even get into this situation?! He doesn’t do any of the actually morally bankrupt jobs, Jazz is at least sure of that much.
No, that isn’t relevant right now. He needs to figure out how to help Bee! Whatever scraps between the different fractions of the underground the kid has gotten himself out of in the past doesn’t matter, not even the biggest mercenary bands can compare to what the Law can bring to a chase.
He turns to the other two people he was talking with, Whirl and Moonracer. He doesn’t even have to ask for their help before they nod and turn to Blurr for directions.
Zero convincing necessary.
Which is good, because Jazz has no idea why he feels this much urgency for someone he has nothing more than a work relationship with.
—
Even thought Jazz can’t remember ever racing this fast, he still feels his frustration mounting at how slow they are going. Every klik they waste could mean capture for Bee and the longer they take, the more likely it gets that the fight travels somewhere they will have to search for.
As soon as they near the place Blurr last saw Bee, Jazz knows his fears to have been legitimate.
There are almost a dozen police officers swarming the area, the only saving grace being them all seeming to be in search mode themselves.
Scrap.
“Any idea where he might have fled?”
It takes Jazz a moment to register that Whirl’s question is addressed to him.
The thing is, he does have one.
And he doesn’t know why this leaves him this unbalanced.
“Storm drain, it’s spacious and sparsely frequented, even by maintenance, because of the fumes from the acid rain.”
Nobody questions why Bee sees no problem with going down there.
They know him too well for that.
The next few kliks are spent searching for an entry to the drainage system Bee might have used while simultaneously avoiding being spotted by the police.
It occurs to Jazz, and it must to the others as well, that maybe Bee got away on his own and doesn’t need their help.
It also occurs to Jazz that he doesn’t want to risk it.
It’s Moonracer that finds the entry eventually.
Whirl is the most eager.
“Let’s go everyone!”
“AhsorryIknowthisisreallyimportantbut-”
Jazz, having predicted Blurr’s hesitance, manages to interrupt him mid-sentence instead of after several paragraphs.
“You don’t need to come, I know you still have a legitimate job and you already helped by getting us.”
For a moment they are treated to the very rare sight of Blurr reining in his flood of words before he changes verbal lanes.
“ThankyouIwillseeyoutomorrow.”
And then he is off.
“Weird guy.”
Jazz agrees but is too focused on identifying any obstacles on their way to verbalize it.
Luckily, the closest thing to a problem Jazz can see is a duo of officers a few streets down that don’t seem to be interested in looking their direction.
“Alright, we need to be quick and silent to avoid drawing attention from those cops but it shouldn’t be too hard. You two still in?”
“Yup!”
“Course!”
They make their way to the opening undetected and drop down without much fuss. As soon as they do, the noise from aboveground gets noticeably muffled.
Hopefully this means that they won’t be heard from down here either.
It hasn’t really rained recently so the drain is dry, which is very good for their health, as long as they don’t vent in too much of the dust.
No, they have a different problem.
“Any idea which direction he went?”
Jazz crouches down, turning on his headlights to look for any kind of trail. When he does find one, he’s glad they decided to follow.
“Those are too big to be Bee’s.”
Bee might not be a youngling any more but he’s still light-framed and small, built for speed and agility. Those pedeprints belong to someone taller, heavier.
They follow the trail.
Now and then they come to a intersection (or merger? – Jazz is not an expert in that, ok?) with pedeprints going into several directions.
Jazz sees a few smaller pedeprints in all directions at those intersections, much more noticeable than in the tunnels, and wonders if Bee deliberately planted them to confuse his pursuer.
Jazz, Moonracer and Whirl manage to not lose too much time on them because they can simply follow the paths that only have the big pedeprints going away from there.
They they know they’re definitely on the right way when they hear a shout of “HALT!”, followed a shot.
They book it towards the noise.
What they see once they turn the last corner is… well, the back of a cop, with some of Bee’s yellow plating being able to be glimpsed further down the path. Which is blocked by some debris.
Oh great, Bee’s cornered. At least the cop doesn’t seem to be able to call for backup.
Jazz turns down his headlights in order not to give their little group away. His companions follow his lead.
They don’t really have a plan ready and not much chance to discuss one. So they just have to rely on knowing each other well enough to improvise.
Jazz himself is not a fighter. He can defend himself in a pinch but relies heavily on his reputation and words. Depending on how this plays out, he might not be of much use.
Moonracer isn’t a close-combat fighter either, but a miracle with a rifle. Which she doesn’t have on her right now. Jazz silently hands her his sidearm, it’s in far better servos that way.
Now, Whirl pretty good at close-combat but more the showy kind. Which suits them just fine, since they don’t actually want to harm the cop (and consequently bring down the entire Iacon police force on their helms), just get Bee away from them.
Actually, this could work.
Whirl draws their attention, Jazz explains why letting Bee go would be a great idea, and Moonracer covers their retreat.
Now, how to convey that plan…
Well, Whirl’s part is simple, just look at him and not towards the standoff, he knows what he’s good at.
Moonracer does an unsure motion to follow as Whirl charges until Jazz indicates a soft stop. She catches on swiftly and finds a position to keep the cop in her scope and her allies out of her line of fire as much as possible.
Once that’s settled, it’s Jazz’ time to shine.
“Hello there, good… Sir? Mam? Forgive me, I do not want to assume.”
The cop turns to Jazz, now sans weapon courtesy of Whirl, fury evident in their (his?) faceplate.
Jazz steps around him towards Bee as if this isn’t a standoff but a pleasant conversation instead.
He gets his first good look at the young mech... Who actually doesn’t look quite as young any more. Must have gone through an upgrade since he’s seen him last because he is a bit taller now and- Oh, it all makes sense now.
“This is official police business, do not interfere.”
The threat would be much more intimidating if backed by a weapon.
“Sorry, sorry. We will no longer keep you from giving tickets.”
He reaches Bee, who is still awkwardly standing in a fighting pose, and puts one of his arms on his shoulder.
“We’re just picking up a friend who seems to have gotten lost.”
He maneuvers a faintly amused Bee around the seething cop, steering out of Moonracer’s line of fire.
“We will be on our way now. Goodbye.”
“I’m here to arrest this-”
Moonracer makes a sound, drawing the cop’s attention to her and her borrowed gun, making him(?) freeze.
“No, you are not. Have a nice circle.”
Moonracer never lets the cop our of her scope until they walk around a bend in the tunnels. The cop only glares the entire time.
—
Once they’re out of the drainage tunnels and reasonably safe from being followed by the police and before Bee can escape from where he’s been huddled between them, Jazz decides to address the predacon in the facility. Namely, what Bee’s newest upgrade has made very obvious.
“Nice blades.”
“Thanks.”
“Any idea why their cache is so much more obvious now?”
“Nope.”
“You should test them out with us. I only really know where to find firing ranges but Whirl might know some places?”
Moonracer’s nonchalance, in contrast to Jazz’ and Bee’s is not artificial as she absentmindedly gives back Jazz’ gun.
Likely she doesn’t know the implications.
“Oh yeah, I do. I’ll let Jazz know when one’s free?”
Whirl doesn’t know either.
“Let me know too! I’m curious.”
“You… want to help me train?”
It’s the first time all circle Jazz has heard Bee speak. He sounds surprised, confused.
“Why wouldn’t we? You’re fun to be around. And it’s a good bonding activity.”
Moonracer taps Bee’s shoulder.
“We might not be as close to you as Jazz is but friendship has to start somewhere.”
Jazz nods as if the fact that he considers Bee a friend is something he has known and accepted long ago and isn’t something that was revealed to him by Moonracer’s words just now.
It does explain the urgency he felt for saving Bee.
Luckily for Jazz’ pride, Whirl and Moonracer are looking at Bee, who is reeling a bit himself so it doesn’t really matter how good his act is.
“I… thanks?”
A silence stretches between them. Jazz claps his servos together before it can get too awkward.
“Alright, it’s been an exciting cycle and we all need to get cleaned up. Whirl, Moonracer, you two know where to find me. Bee, I’d like to talk a bit with you if that’s ok.”
And offer to let Bee use his washing facilities because despite his best efforts, he hasn’t found out where Bee lives and he really doesn’t put it past the young bot to just flat-out not bothering to find a home.
He’s feral like that.
Whirl and Moonracer not before departing, Bee cringes but accepts the invitation.
In theory, the laws of Cybertron apply to everyone equally In practice, how strictly they are enforced depends entirely on your frametype.
And for none it is more apparent than for those built with some kind of weapon.
There are different names for frames like that. Warframe, battleframe, combatframe, it all means the same. They are dangerous and need to be closely controlled.
In the sense that all the political power in the world won’t protect you from a bioweapon to the faceplate.
(Is Jazz jaded by the current political system? Maybe. Doesn’t mean he’s wrong.)
There are a few positions you can get put in, depending on your built, weapon and how… malleable you are in the mind department.
Big enough to shield more crunchable politicians and stupid enough not to get the bright idea to use that strength to make said crunchable politicians do what you want? Congrats, you are hereby a bodyguard!
Weapons systems good for subduing, frame within the average size, and willing to enforce The Rules? Cop.
Flying type? You get sent far off to patrol for whatever may or may not want to attack the population.
Flashy weapons and either a big, strong frame or somehow else well-readable at a bit of a distance? To the arena with you!
Now Bee… Bee doesn’t fit into any of those categories. He’s a small and dexterous grounder, undoubtedly clever, only slightly more armor than average, his weapons made to give small but significant damage through small openings in his opponent’s plating. And despite how optic-catching his coloring should be, it makes his movements surprisingly hard to read, even as close as Jazz and Moonracer are watching in the small training hall Bee is sparring with Whirl in.
And those blades are actually pretty well-hidden once sheathed, the purpose of their caches only really noticeable if you know beforehand or what to look for.
There is the possibility that he is unique in his specs but Bee has confessed a more chilling possibility: What he is good at is getting somewhere unnoticed and, from close range, delivering wounds that are far more dire than immediately recognizable.
In other words, assassination.
As far as Jazz could find, there is nobody registered as such, even in prisons, but that doesn’t prove anything. In contrast, there have been some… mysterious disappearances in the past, and while there are enough mercenaries to get rid of someone who you disagree with, this level of subtlety is beyond what should be possible for the frametypes of the ones who typically end up in that line of work.
Now, despite Jazz’ extensive information network, the mercenary groups are largely separate from it so there is no telling if there is someone like this among them but… that’s pretty much the point.
For someone built like Bee, they really don’t have many options. The law will see them as criminals, either for doing what they are built for, or for refusing to do what they were built for.
So there is either lifelong imprisonment, becoming a dagger for someone else (be it someone influential or one of the mercenary bands), establish yourself as an independent assassin, or do like Bee and hide what you are.
Any way, it is a life of isolation.
Be it physical, enforced by one’s handler, by the paranoid nature of mercenaries, one’s own self preservation, or be it emotional.
And Bee. He is such a social bot.
Jazz calling him popular among the sparklings was no hyperbole and even now his own network of social contacts rivals that of Jazz. And it’s Jazz’ job to be in touch with people.
It is also apparent in the way Bee is so much more loose around them after his secret was revealed, casually talking about things he would have avoided to make sure he didn’t slip.
It’s a big sign of trust and as pragmatic as one has to be in their little world… none of them have any inclination to break it.
The spar comes to a natural halt once Whirl and Bee are satisfied with the later’s progress and they wander over to their spectators.
“How is it, getting to use those blades?”
Jazz is genuinely curious. He doesn’t have any extra features like this.
Bee takes a moment to think it over.
“It’s… weirdly natural? I thought it would be more awkward or… I don’t know, that I should feel some kind of relief but… it’s more like my processor just pulled up the relevant protocols without ceremony.”
“Kid’s a natural. Soon he’ll need better sparring partners than me. Then he’s gonna be an absolute menace.”
“I’m still curious about why their caches are so much more noticeable now, I could hardly tell they were there before. Maybe they have some new functions? Are there any new protocols?”
Bee has told Jazz that he did everything he could to hide them from the moment he noticed they were there. That the reason he fled the well facilities was because it was the only way to dodge his medical checkup after that particular frame update. So this really is his first opportunity to really get a feel for them.
He considers the question and his blades before taking a few steps back.
“There is something… Let me just-”
Suddenly, his blades were wrapped in a bright, energon-coloured light, causing everyone to start in shock, including Bee himself.
Yeah, that’s an upgrade alright!
There is a moment of silence, before Whirl jumps up.
“Hold a klik, we need to test those.”
Bee, Jazz and Moonracer do, a bit awkwardly, until Whirl comes back with a box of… scrap metal?
“Let’s see how well those beauties can cut!”
Turns out, pretty darn well.
The more durable materials in the box only suffered surface level scratches (and discoloration from the heat in some cases) but the softer metals get cut through like oil and even the ones that would give normal blades a very hard time suffer some serious damage.
So no miracle weapons but definitely something you don’t want to have in your faceplate.
“Well, I’m certainly not gonna spar you with those on so I guess we’re done here for the cycle?”
Jazz agrees and so does Moonracer, both of them getting ready to go home, but Bee frowns.
“Bee?”
“I think there are two ways to… deactivate those?”
With that, everyone’s attention is on him again.
“Well… You got two of them so…”
Bee nods and, not taking his optics from it, turns off the glow from one of his blades.
Or maybe re-absorbs the energy, from the way he seems to slightly shake out that arm afterwards?
Their attention turns to Bee’s other blade, which he holds away from himself and his spectators.
Good thing too, because the energy suddenly launches away from the blade in the direction it was pointed towards.
…
A low whistle, courtesy of Whirl, breaks their stunned silence.
Moonracer laughs.
“Seems like we’re going to the firing range after all!”
Despite Moonracer’s enthusiasm, Bee’s training at the firing range a few circles later turns out a bit disappointing, if very informative.
The Kid’s aim is good but the range of the energy blasts he can get is rather small, the energy spreading and thinning out over a relatively small distance, the damage going from almost as cutting as a direct hit with the blades to a small knock-down effect.
A bit of experimenting reveals that Bee can focus the blast into a thinner area with some concentration, resulting in more effective range, and that he can make them stronger by pushing more energy into them.
This, however, just highlights another weakness.
“You know, I think I need you to pay me back for those later at this point.”
Bee just downs the third energon cube Jazz has given him since the start of the training, not interacting with the half-joke until he’s finished.
“… If you take information, I can pay you back now.”
There is an edge of seriousness to Bee’s answer that Jazz knows from when they first started to work with each other, the implication of a business-like deal clinging to it.
He’s sad to hear it again.
“Stop teasing me with those promises when you know I’m joking.”
Bee laughs.
Mission accomplished.
“You still want to hear?”
“Do scraplets eat bots?”
Bee chuckles.
“Yeah, dumb question. Now or later?”
“Back at my place.”
Jazz isn’t going to let Bee crash unsupervised after literally powering himself out that much.
Bee rolls his optics.
“Yes, sire.”
Jazz snorts, ignoring the little warm spark the word ignites in him, no matter how sarcastic.
“So, what’s the big news?”
Jazz doubts that it’s actually news, technically speaking, Bee is far more proactive in selling those to Jazz. But the younger bot has a knack for finding out things that could turn into news.
Which are actually extremely valuable for someone in Jazz’ line of work.
“There’s a new revolution brewing. And this one has potential.”
“Oh?”
As far as Jazz knows, there have been revolutions emerging (and being stomped out) as long as the current system has been in place. Most of them never got far, with the one exception being the one slowly gaining traction within the arena, which Jazz has heard rumors from nearly as long as Bee has been online.
It’s also the one many agree would be the worst option for pretty much everyone.
Blasters in faceplates and all that.
“What makes this one stand out?”
“There are bots from a lot of different classes involved. Some of them very high up.”
That… actually has potential.
Most wannabe-revolutions died ignoble deaths because there were either not enough people involved or because those people simply couldn’t affect anything significant enough.
But if this movement manages to mobilize a vast array of social classes including some who had a significant degree of power…
“Who’s behind it?”
Knowing who started a revolution isn’t always relevant, since ideals often get drowned out under the masses of bots involved, it does often help to give you a bit of a framework.
Bee gives him a deadpan look.
“An archivist.”
Jazz… needs a moment to compute that.
Archivists are high rank. Not politician-level but they have a lot of power regarding the information that gets distributed as well as archived in the first place.
What the frag could this one get from starting a revolution?!
“Some think he’s after Primehood but honestly, from what I know of him… I think he’s genuine.”
“You’re sure he’s not after that?”
Bee locks optics with him, his tone of voice pitched to convey that he is 100% serious, not matter how unlikely it may sound.
“Listen. I have never met someone who loves their job as much as this guy. He once explained the pros and cons of different filing systems to me. Unprompted. For two groons. You’d have to force the matrix of leadership itself into him for him to accept the title of Prime.”
Jazz is taken aback.
“You know him well.”
“Yeah. I’ve been going to that archive since I came to the city.”
Jazz should be used to not knowing very basic things about Bee (like if the kid actually has a home. Bee might have reassured him that he does but Jazz is still skeptical.) but things like this still trip him up.
“Why?”
Jazz does not deserve that side-optic.
“You might have noticed that getting the usual schooling for bots my age is a teeny-tiny bit difficult for me. So I make do.”
Ok, maybe the side-optic is somewhat justified.
“So what else makes you think he’s genuine?”
Yeah, smooth change of topic, Jazz.
“… He showed me this… poetry. Said it was his favorite. It’s from a worker bot who has to hide his passion, his talent, because he wasn’t deemed worthy of producing something like that. He said it made him wonder what we as a society could make and become if we weren’t limited in our options. And how many are suffering because they are ‘shackled by the limitations placed upon them for but their frames’.”
“Is that a quote? Did he actually say that?”
“He really likes to use big words.”
Jazz laughs.
Bee doesn’t come to the next training session alone and it’s throwing them all for a loop.
“Um… Hello?”
“Alright, everyone, enough staring. This is Orion, he’s here to talk to Jazz. Whirl, Moonracer, you’re with me. Jazz, Orion, don’t make me regret setting this up. Ok, later.”
With that, Bee takes one of the lower arms of his trainers each and steers them towards a walled-off section of the facility, leaving Jazz with Orion, whoever he is.
Jazz turns to the new bot, who looks… well, like he’d been dumped with a stranger without fanfare.
“Ya wanted to talk to me?”
The bot, Orion, startles slightly but composes himself quickly.
“Yes. Apologies for claiming your time unannounced. If I may introduce myself, I am called Orion Pax. In one of our conversations, B-127 has mentioned that you are acquainted with several individuals which feel limited in their prospects by the expectations and legal regulations placed on them due to their types of frame. It was my hope to learn more of their perspectives and their wishes and ideas for a more equitable societal structure.”
Wow, did that guy download the whole vocabulary database? Wait, is that the archivist Bee was talking about? Oh, and kudos to Bee for spinning Jazz’ whole deal in a way that makes it sound like he isn’t an integral part of the criminal underworld.
“You’re the guy who’s trying to start a revolution.”
If this guy wants Jazz to incriminate himself, you can bet he’s gonna show that he has dirt on him too.
“I…” a deep vent. “Things need to change. I would prefer those changes come about peacefully, for everyone’s sake, but this sadly is not the most realistic outcome.”
Jazz studies the bot in front of him. There is a certain resolve to his stance, his voice, and gaze. Not hard, but still unyielding.
‘I will not force you’ but also ‘I will not let you stop me’
It’s intriguing.
Does Jazz want this revolution? It’s clear Bee does, enough to facilitate this meeting but...
He thinks of his life, long ago, when he still did the work he was ‘made’ for. Thinks of the carefully maintained position he has made himself here, of the sidearm he’s had to use more times than he’s comfortable with.
And he finds himself on a border, an edge between desires.
“Alright. If you want me to be part of this, you have my audials until Bee comes back.”
He grins at Orion.
“Convince me.”