Inspired by Random Cockroach and Keferon, all credit where credit is due! (Their stuff is all awesome)
Jazz held his visor in his servos with a reluctant sort of reverence. The piece had been blue, was supposed to be- but no, now it was black. Now it was supposed to be black. It did hide his expressions a little better than the blue did, but his distaste was more with the meaning behind the color than the color itself. Blue was a very Autobot color- very few Decepticons wore it.
Blue, that blue visor- it was Jazz’s signature look. It was his thing. Except it wasn’t. Not anymore. No. Now Jazz’s thing wasn’t blue. Now it was black. Black and red, plus a single splash of Decepticon purple in the brand on his shoulder. Jazz cycled his vents a little longer, then turned the visor in his servos to go back over his eyes. Jazz put the visor back on, it clicked into place, and connected to his systems. Now Jazz wasn’t Jazz anymore. And his thing wasn’t blue.
There was a small (not commotion, it was too tucked away to be called that) disturbance in the quadrangle Prowl’s position oversaw. Prowl observed the scene, then sent a low-priority alert and query to Soundwave. Prowl continued to watch the group of distant mechs, but none of them were displaying any particular combat skill or intelligence. They were simply battering the smaller mech that was curled into a ball and whimpering senselessly. Prowl did not know what the mech had done to earn their aggression, and nor did he care. They were Decepticons, and there was no room in their ranks for weakness. The mech would learn how to fight, or they would die. That was the way of things.
A notification chimed in Prowl’s internals, and he turned his datapad back on to check on the message from Soundwave. The mechs Prowl had identified were all new recruits, to be trained and assigned in the sector surrounding this base. Base DF- the base of Dread Fell, an overly ornate name but highly beneficial outpost in the war against the Autobots. They had been processed prior to arrival and would be assigned their handlers within the joor. Prowl scrolled briefly through each of their profiles. Internally, he sighed.
The recruit being targeted, designation Tracer, had a flighted alt mode (which they were not using to utilize their inherent air-superiority to fight or get away. The small handful of mechs surrounding him were medium-large frame types, none of which were capable of flight. They were also, by appearance and reputation, blundering mechs with slow processors and violent tendencies. Perfect attributes for military grunts, but not smart or skilled enough for what Prowl was looking for. Prowl flicked a doorwing in irritation, started to leave, then noticed something new.
There was another mech on the scene, watching the brawl from a distance. The mech spotted Prowl, gave a brisk salute and partial (theatrical) bow- then went back to watching the fight. Prowl checked his files- yes, it was another new recruit, designation Meister, a medium-small frametype built for stealth. In all likelihood, the mech would simply slink off- they purportedly had the ability to do so with ease, and beyond such had no reason to intervene. Still, Prowl flagged the profile. A stealth frame could be useful, especially if the mech was competent.
Prowl shut off his datapad, and almost subspaced it, when the stealth mech began striding towards the group of mechs. Prowl frowned, switching his datapad back on, accessing the mic closest to the fight and running its audio from the datapad to his internal comms.
There was no sound of the mech’s pedefalls, no sound of the mech at all, until they were directly behind the 3 heavy frames and spoke.
“What’s the party for?” the mech chirped, frightening the much larger mechs, who jumped to turn and face the small stealth mech. Prowl’s prospects for the mech soured- it was foolish, to an absurd degree, for the mech to pointlessly aggravate that many mechs of such size and disposition.
“None of your business,” the ugly red-and-purple mech- Bruiser- snarled.
“Frag off glitch,” the medium purple (of a much less optic-offending shade) mech- Slagshot- hissed.
“Hrrg,” said the large green frame ‘intelligently.’ BB, short for Boulder Brain, was aptly named.
The newcomer snickered in response. “Wow, you’re a bunch of dumbafts.”
The mechs turned all the way around, earlier prey forgotten.
“What did you call us?” Bruiser growled.
“Fraggers looking for a beating!” Slagshot screeched.
“Rrrg!” Boulder Brain challenged.
The stealth mech yawned, and Prowl could see him begin to stretch. “I mean, come on, what if that guy were a medic? Or becomes one later on? You really want the one saving your aft to have a grudge? Also, wow, it really takes 3 of you to beat up something half your size? You’re dumb and weak!”
Bruiser pounded a fist into his hand.
“You just sealed your fate slagger,” said Slagshot.
“Grrg,” BB growled.
The newcomer laughed. Prowl could not see the stealth mech’s face from this angle, but he could hear the grin in his voice.
“Let’s dance.”
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