Czerwona Rozpacz - Chapter 2

JazzXSideswipe fanfic
Warnings so far: Murder mystery, stalking

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Waiting outside a large set of doors, Jazz leaned against a nearby wall as he waited to meet with the CEO of Pulchritudo INC. Sunstreaker was sitting nearby upon a soft chair, with little Glyph standing next to him, reading his schedule for the day. Jazz could only wish that time would hurry on, as he wanted to get out of here and meet up with a friend. He didn't have a time limit or anything, but he wanted to get started on what he came here for.

He still got the odd look or two, and he had been advised to make himself presentable to the public. Jazz, however, had no intention of covering himself in ridiculous paint and ornaments for anyone. Sunstreaker suggested an exquisite body wax, but Jazz couldn't stand the stuff, it made him feel sick and he didn't like the sensation of it on his armour. Maybe a little buff would please them, a simple but effective body buff. As long as he looked shiny, who gave a damn?

Glyph approached Jazz, after finishing up with Sunstreaker. "So Jazz, how are you finding life in the Towers so far?" she asked.

"It's interesting," answered Jazz, "very unique from the rest of Cybertron."

"It is, isn't it?" agreed Glyph, "so did you settle in alright? I hope the Mortal Sol's accommodation didn't blow you away." She giggled a little, almost as if she found the whole topic amusing.

"It was a nice pad, and I got a nice room," replied Jazz, "though I almost screwed up before my first day began, when I almost threw out his twin brother."

The small femme suddenly ceased giggling, and she stared up at Jazz, with a face full of disgust. "So you met... him... did you?" The way she uttered the word "him" was off putting. She poured a lot of hatred into that single word.

"You talkin' about Sideswipe?" confirmed Jazz.

Glyph made an odd sound before explaining. "I can't believe the twin brother of the Mortal Sol is such a rude, vile, putrid brat! The Mortal Sol works so very hard, works such long hours, pushing himself to be the best, and he lets that horrid mech stay with him? I would not have blamed you for throwing him out, he deserves to be thrown off the tallest tower."

Jazz stared down at her, completely in shock. "That was a bit... harsh."

"Harsh?" gasped Glyph, "I was being kind with my words, for no one with a faint spark should hear what I have to say about him! That horrid spawn of Unicron." She was a little loud, and upon realising this she coughed in embarrassment, glancing over to check if she had upset Sunstreaker. "I'm sorry for acting abnormally," she sighed, returning her attention to Jazz, "but that Sideswipe is a horrid mech, and you need to keep an optic on him."

"Why would I need to do that?" asked Jazz.

"I'm certain the CEO is planning on telling you," explained Glyph looking over to make certain Sunstreaker wasn't listening, "but to make a long tale short; Sideswipe has assaulted the Mortal Sol before."

Assaulted? Sideswipe attacked his own brother? "He tried to hurt the Mortal Sol?"

"Not only that, but he has been charged with vandalism, theft, and many other crimes," continued Glyph, now speaking like she was enjoying this topic. "I don't know why the Mortal Sol puts up with him. I know they're brothers, but still. If it were me, I'd send him to the nearest correction facility for life! Of course, I shouldn't judge what the Mortal Sol does with his own sibling, but I just wish he'd punish him or something. "

Jazz was starting to get annoyed with the gossip Glyph was feeding him, and he attempted to block out her voice. He did take one thing away from the conversation, and that was Sideswipe being violent to his own brother. The little punk did seem the aggressive type, and he didn't seem to show any love towards his brother during their first meeting. Sunstreaker didn't express any fear being around his brother either. Was this just idle gossip, or was there something more to it?

Before he could dwell on it any further, the large doors opened at long last, and a tall femme walked out. "His Highness will see you now," she announced.

Sunstreaker jumped up, beckoning Jazz to follow. They walked through the doors and entered a very large office. The floor was made of a alien stone, the walls were carved with patterns that took eons to make, the art decorating the room was both bizarre but beautiful, and it had one of the largest window Jazz had ever seen.

Near the window was a large desk, made out of an odd material Jazz had never seen before, and sitting before it was a large mech. He reeked of grease, and Jazz was fairly certain that if he shook hands with him, he'd get a handful of it. His colour scheme was weird, dark green with bright yellow hints. He was quite a bulky mech, possibly one too many engex treats. His helm design was bizarre too, looking a little like Sunstreaker's but a bit more greasy and over done. For someone who ran a business based on looks, he didn't seem to have a grasp on it himself.

The greasy mech rose from where he sat, spreading his arms open in a welcoming gesture. "It is lovely to see you grace my office, Mortal Sol," he said, showing off his platinum grin.

"Lovely to see you too," replied Sunstreaker, sitting in another expensive looking plush chair.

The greasy mech then turned his attention to Jazz. "So this is your new bodyguard guard?" He offered a hand to Jazz, "welcome to Pulchritudo INC. I am the CEO, Platinum."

Jazz shook the outstretched hand, and his previous concerns came true. "Lovely place you got here," he said, wanting to let go of that hand.

"Yes it is," agreed Platinum, letting go of Jazz's hand. "Everything in this room was made from an alien material. The floor is organic stone from a volcanic planet in the Omega 5 system, the drapes were crafted from the material of an organic creature from Gamma 2, and this desk-" he ran his hands along it, adoring it with his optics "-was crafted from giant organic plants from Quartz 7, an entire planet covered with them."

"You sure do love your organics," chortled Jazz, discreetly wiping his hands, "they must have been really expensive."

"They're unique to Cybertron, and I adore unique things," gloated Platinum, "I also adore beautiful things, and I believed that all of Cybertron should be blessed with beauty." Platinum reached for a box, filled with cygars. "We give the public what they want, and they want to see beautiful bots on their products, on their media screens, on everything they own." Popping the cygar in his shiny mouth, Platinum leaned back into his chair. "Do you think he's beautiful, Jazz?"

Jazz looked over at Sunstreaker, who smiled back at him. "He's an optic catcher," answered Jazz, "and he's one of your best models. You're lucky to have him in your company."

Sunstreaker seemed to appreciate that comment, but his boss didn't seem to like the answer. "You didn't answer the question," said Platinum, giving Jazz a funny look. "Don't you desire him? Don't you want to reach out and grab him? Hold him? Touch him all over? Make him yours and yours alone?"

"Excuse me?" responded a stunned Jazz.

Platinum grinned again. "He's one of my most beautiful bots in the business, and he has a lot of fans. A lot of fans. Dangerous fans. All of them want to have him." Platinum sat up, leaning upon his desk. "You are aware of our no touch policy?"

Jazz nodded. "I am aware that I'm not allowed to make contact with the Mortal Sol," he said.

"Yes," chuckled Platinum, "but to let me explain it in more depth. You see no one is allowed to touch any of our models. Not you, not me, not anyone. We can't risk having our models dented or dirtied, especially from not so beautiful bots. Touching one is a criminal offence here in the Towers, and the last one who dared to try and touch one of my models, was thrown into a rusty cell for the rest of his days." He leaned in closer to Jazz. "Do you understand?"

Jazz didn't flinch as Platinum leaned in his face. "Even if he's in danger? I can't pull him out of the way?"

"Your job is to prevent him from getting into those situations in the first place," continued Platinum, "surely you can protect him without making any contact with him?"

That actually made his job sound harder. How could he protect Sunstreaker if he couldn't even touch him? Still he had to do it, he needed to be here for his true purpose. "I can do it," he answered with confidence.

Platinum just continued to give him that smug smile, as he pulled out a file from his strange desk. "We did a check on you, Jazz of Tygar Pax," he said, opening the file before him, "graduated from a military school during your twelfth cycle, came out top of your class in the defence academy, and... oh my, you seem to be an expert at swordplay."

Jazz didn't like that little poke at his ego. "I prefer the term sword fightin', cause only sparklings and idiots lookin' to get chopped play with swords," he responded coolly.

Platinum merely stared back at him with those small scarlet optics of his, silently acknowledging the comeback. "So where are your swords, Jazz?"

Oh, he was going to be like this, was he? Jazz remained strong as he answered, "They're currently still goin' through customs. Can't blame 'em for being so cautious, they are forged from titanium."

The greasy mech chuckled calmly, finding this whole thing amusing. "So you'll be using these swords to protect the Mortal Sol?"

"With me around, the swords would be a last resort," answered Jazz, getting annoyed but hiding his frustration, "look, if you doubt me and fear that I can't protect your Mortal Sol, then I would be happy to demonstrate how capable I really am."

The room was silent for a moment, until Platinum began to chuckle, and then he began to laugh. Sunstreaker calmly rolled his optics whilst shaking his head, as his boss continued to laugh and laugh. "You are a determined one, aren't you?" said Platinum, after ceasing his laughing. "Yes, I think the Mortal Sol would benefit with you protecting him."

Jazz could not believe that this whole thing was nothing more but a ridiculous test. Didn't his paperwork help convince them? Whatever, it seemed the CEO was giving him his blessing to be the bodyguard for the Mortal Sol.

"I take you are pleased with my choice?" asked Sunstreaker, speaking at last.

"As long as he does his job, and obeys his contract, I am satisfied," replied CEO, "you have chosen well, Mortal Sol." Sunstreaker smiled with delight. "Now I just need to talk to him privately for a moment, would you mind leaving us alone, Mortal Sol?"

Now Jazz was getting angry. What else did this greasy bloated bolt head want with him? Sunstreaker merely acknowledged the CEO's command, and excused himself. Once he was out the door, Platinum turned his attention back to Jazz, with a serious look upon his face. Jazz could only guess what he wanted to talk about with him.

"Now Jazz, there is a matter regarding the Mortal Sol, you should be aware about," explained Platinum, pulling out another file and dumping it before Jazz. "This little subject upsets him, and the last thing I want for him is to get stress lines all over his pretty face."

Reaching for the file, Jazz opened it and the first thing he saw was a familiar face. Sunstreaker's twin brother, Sideswipe. The whole file was about him, and it wasn't good. His mug shot was displayed on the front of the file, and a long list of his atrocities were displayed for him to read. This file was more like one would find at an Enforcer station.

"As you are already aware," continued Platinum, "the Mortal Sol has a brother, who lives with him. Unfortunately, young Sideswipe was not as blessed as the Mortal Sol, in both appearance and personality. Whilst here, he has committed a number of anti social activities. Vandalism to company property, uncouth behaviour to other models, and he even struck his own brother! Unfortunately, the Mortal Sol was not the only one he attacked. He's a problem child, as you can see."

Looking through the the file, Jazz could see everything that Sideswipe had done. He destroyed a camera worth over a thousand shanix, kicked over an expensive imported organic plant in the lobby, shouted offensive words to a number of models, and it did indeed state, in bold letters, that he had attacked his brother, and apparently was responsible for injuring some celebrity. He knew the kid was rude and all, but seeing all this made Jazz wonder why Sunstreaker put up with him at all.

"So he attacked the Mortal Sol, right?" confirmed Jazz, "I thought you said touching a model was a criminal offence?"

"It is," replied Platinum, "and we were about to press charges against him, and hand him over to the authorities, but the Mortal Sol was able to find a way to keep him out of prison."

"Like what?" asked Jazz. Platinum pointed at the file, a particular page catching Jazz's attention. Pulling it out, Jazz found himself looking at a contract, or rather the copy of a contract. It was long, and the words were very small. Jazz had no desire to read it, so he asked, "what exactly did he sign?"

"Nothing special," replied Platinum, "just an agreement that he is now the property of the Mortal Sol."

That didn't sound too bad, but Jazz guessed there was more to it. What did it mean the Sideswipe was now Sunstreaker's property? What exactly did that imply? Sideswipe didn't look like a slave, and he seemed to have free reign around the property, heck he even had a job. This was indeed a bizarre punishment he didn't fully understand. Maybe he had restrictions or something like that? Sunstreaker never mentioned anything about his brother having restrictions though.

"We just want you to keep an optic on him, when he's around the Mortal Sol," explained Platinum, taking the file back, and stuffing it back in his odd desk. "We don't want another incident. He may be bound by the contract, but he has an unpredictable personality. We did advise the Mortal Sol that if something like this happens again, we will have to take drastic action. The last thing we want is for his face to be ruined again."

So Sunstreaker did this to protect Sideswipe? "I guess he was lookin' out for his brother," pondered Jazz aloud.

"Hardly," scoffed Platinum, "the Mortal Sol did this to stop the little brat from embarrassing him, and I believe he did this to keep him under control, I mean, why else would he? He's a burden on the Mortal Sol, but our fair model has stated that as the oldest of the pair, it's his responsibility to take charge of him. Such an inspiration he is."

In other words, this contract that Sideswipe signed was some form of a leash, and Sunstreaker was holding the other end. Jazz just had to make certain the little punk didn't bite the one holding the leash.

"Now that is taken care of, you may go," stated Platinum, waving a dismissing hand at Jazz. "Also please do something about your paint job, you look atrocious. Can't have the Mortal Sol walking around with someone looking so shabby."

Jazz would have punched him right there and now, but instead he forced a smile on and responded with, "I'll look into it."

As Jazz got up to leave, a comm unit upon Platinum's desk went off. Waiting for Jazz to exit his office, Platinum picked it up, and a voice he dreaded greeted him.

"I take it you met him?" asked the voice.

"I did," replied Platinum, "and I doubt he'll be willing to cooperate like the last one."

"We don't need anyone for that task anymore," replied the voice.

Platinum appeared alarmed. "B-but how will we continue? Are we just stopping? We were making so much shanix! How can we get-"

"I'm taking care of it," calmly replied the voice, "you'll see, we will continue with this little side business, until the planned date. You'll get your shanix, so don't fret."

Platinum wiped his brow, both out of his nerves acting up and his relief. "I'll arrange the bookings then. When shall I make the first one?"

"A week from now," instructed the voice, "now if you'll excuse me, I have a mech to track down. Oh, and make sure that the Mortal Sol does a good job as the spokesperson for Beauty Immortal at next weeks event. I want everyone begging to be a part of it."

Platinum wheezed a little. "I think he's on to us about that."

"So? What can he do? Still, better not underestimate him... you know what he's like."

And with that, the caller hanged up, leaving Platinum alone in his organic office, coolant dripping down his greasy face out of fear.

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Walking next to Sunstreaker in a huff, Jazz tried to keep himself composed around his important client. At least it went well, and it looked like he was going to be working here for a while. He also received a private message, asking him to come to the Gears Grease Burger joint at the bottom border this afternoon. Jazz knew who sent it and what was about, so he could only hope Sunstreaker didn't require him for the rest of the day.

"You know, Platinum isn't his real name."

Jazz looked up, realising he was begin talked to. "Sorry, what?"

"The CEO, Platinum. It's not his real name," repeated Sunstreaker.

"I figured," snorted Jazz, "who'd name anyone after some metal, when the only part of him made of the stuff is in his mouth?"

Sunstreaker laughed. "The truth is, he's actually planning on having his whole frame made out of platinum." He stopped near a vending machine, wanting a quick beverage before leaving the floor. "He wants platinum armour, platinum spark casing, and I even heard he wanted to have a platinum glossa!" He selected an Engex sweet drink, pulling the ring to open it up, a hiss following. "I think he'd look silly, if I'm perfectly honest."

A whole body made of platinum? That sounded really expensive, especially with someone with a body that big. The metal itself was mined on Luna-2 and even though the moon was full of it, it could take forever to locate a hotspot. It was easier to mine for it on alien worlds, but it then had to go through decontamination and that could take a century for more. Not only that, but the metal was used by the church of Primus and the Primes in their holy occasions, and ever since they classed it as a holy metal, the stuff just got even more expensive. Getting furniture made of alien organic material was cheaper than getting a handful of it.

"At least he's got shiny teeth," chuckled Jazz.

Sunstreaker downed his drink, gasping as he swallowed the last drop. "I don't know how he afforded it, when the price of platinum just went by 200% a month ago." Crunching the can, he tossed it in the nearby bin. "We were all surprised when we saw his new teeth. All that must have cost him over five million per tooth."

Per tooth!? Jazz could only whistle in response. "He must get quite the pay check."

"He gets a standard 1.5 million shanix a month, same as any other CEO of any other major company," explained Sunstreaker, continuing to walk down the crimson hallway. "So unless he's been doing some extra work on the side, I have no idea how he paid for them."

Jazz was a little impressed. Sunstreaker seemed quite knowledgeable about certain things. Up until now, he just assumed the model was nothing more than a pretty face. "So what's his real name?" he asked.

"I couldn't tell you," confessed Sunstreaker, "his name was Platinum when I started working here. All I know is that it's not his real name, and everyone else either doesn't know or refuses to share." As they entered the elevator, the model faced Jazz and said, "please don't tell anyone what I just drank. They are really funny about what I should and shouldn't drink."

"Sure," responded Jazz, "our lil' secret." Sunstreaker smiled as the lift descended, waiting in silence until they reached the studio floor. Jazz thought this was the perfect opportunity to ask, "will you be needin' my services this afternoon?"

Sunstreaker shook his head. "I'll be in the studio all day, and I'm not planning on going out. Just keep your pager on when you leave."

"Of course," said Jazz, very pleased how well that went.

When they finally reached their destination, the elevator's doors slid open to reveal Quadocular and Glyph, waiting for their model. Sunstreaker bid Jazz farewell as he stepped out, leaving with his manager to continue his work.

Glyph dashed up to Jazz with something to say. "We just had customs on the comm. Your weapons have been processed, and will be delivered to the Mortal Sol's estate this evening."

Jazz felt even better upon hearing this news, smiling with glee as he pushed the lift's button to reach his next destination.

In order for Jazz to reach his desired meeting point, he had to go through the Towers bottom border. Out of all the cities upon Cybertron, the Towers had a unique border system. Whilst other cities had their borders surrounding their outskirts, the Towers had an additional border located at the base of the city. The border existed between the hundredth floor of every tower, meaning that every floor above level one hundred was the glorious Towers city, and below this same level was a suburb city, known as the Base.

The Base had many names, such as the Towers Pit, or the Towers Slums, though it didn't really appear to be a rundown area. Down there it was like any other city on Cybertron, only no natural light could reach it. It was an average little city that had everything a city needed, it just happened to be right under the most famous city on the whole planet. Bots would flock here, thinking it was a gateway to get into the wondrous city above them, only to find it was a lot harder to get in from down here.

Jazz had to leave the elevator he traveled down in, go through a security gate, and then enter another elevator that took him down where he needed to go. He found it refreshing to be among the average bot, and the smell of the place brought about nostalgia memories. Leaving the elevator, he found himself in a bustling street, filled with bots going about their business, street vendors selling their wares, and tour groups.

Making his way through the crowds, he spotted the chain restaurant he was supposed to be meeting someone at. Entering the establishment, Jazz was greeted with that wonderful scent of grease burgers and oil cakes. The clinking of cheap cutlery, the chatter of ordinary bots, and the smell of that awful but good food made Jazz feel at home. Looking around the packed restaurant, he spotted a table with someone sitting upon it, hiding behind a media pad. He smirked, knowing full well who it was.

Sliding into the opposite chair, he leaned upon the table, staring at the large media pad that blocked his view of its reader. "Miss me?"

Almost upon saying those words, the media pad dropped to reveal a mech with a stern expression and a pair if ice cold optics. "You're late," hissed the mech.

Jazz casually shrugged. "Aw, and I was startin' to think that the great Prowl was indeed capable of expressin' basic emotion."

The mech, named Prowl, just glared at Jazz, as he neatly folded the pad he was reading. "I take it that everything is going according to plan? No issues?"

"They did do a back round check on me, but they didn't find squat, of course," answered Jazz, grinning in amusement.

"If I wanted them to know who you were Jazz, I would have allowed it," huffed Prowl, "unless I authorise it, you do not exist."

A waitress came by their table, wearing cheap perfume and a fake smile. "What can I ge'cha fellas?" she asked.

"The greasiest grease burger you have," requested Jazz.

"Filtered energon tea," ordered Prowl. Taking their orders, she trotted off. "And hold the damn oil this time," barked Prowl.

Jazz sighed as he relaxed on his seat. "You were not kidding Prowl," he muttered, "those Tower bots are a pain in the rear end. Endless contracts, advertisin' horrible merchandise, paint jobs that hurt my optics, and their attitude in general."

"I did warn you," responded Prowl bluntly, "they make their lives complicated to give them more meaning. It makes them feel that they are accomplishing something, when in fact they are just wasting their time, as well as the time of others."

"And that CEO of Pulchritudo INC? He's a right piece of work," ranted Jazz, "I can smell the corruption all over that greasy frame of his."

"Greaseload?"

"Aw, no thanks," chuckled Jazz, "I just ordered."

"I'm talking about the CEO, idiot," snapped Prowl.

It took a few seconds for Jazz to realise what Prowl was on about. "Wait... You were talkin' about Platinum... that's his real name?"

"Please, you didn't think anyone would be named after some metal in this day and age, did you?" sighed Prowl.

Jazz wanted to retort to that, but kept quiet.

"Anyway, I'm keeping my optic on that one," continued Prowl, "he's put in an order to have his helm forged out of platinum. He's been receiving funds from outside sources, but as to who and why, I'm unsure. Give me a few weeks, maybe less, and I'll have some answers."

Their order arrived in due time, and as Prowl stirred and re filtered his tea, Jazz took a big bite out of his burger, the grease and oils dripping all over his hands. "So," he said, between mouthfuls of his meal, "you wanted to share somethin' with me?"

Prowl nodded and slid a small data card across the table to Jazz. "Although his personal data pad was destroyed, we were able to recover some of the data from it. All that we salvaged is in here."

Jazz wiped his hands before picking it up. "Anythin' useful?" he queried.

"Timings with small details, and a couple of notes that don't make sense," sighed Prowl, sipping his tea, "hopefully they'll make sense to you, since you're the one up there."

"I'll look at it later," promised Jazz, tucking it away, "anythin' else?"

"Yes," replied Prowl, "I've stationed myself down here as the temporary captain of the Base Enforcer unit. The previous captain took a... vacation." He took another sip of his tea. "If you require assistance, I'm not that far away."

"Aw, you do care," teased Jazz.

"I've also arranged for someone to assist you in the Towers," continued Prowl, "but I must warn you, she is a rookie."

Jazz groaned in disbelief. "A rookie? Really Prowl?"

"Believe it or not, she was recommended by a close friend," explained Prowl, "I'll tell her when it's appropriate to contact you. She's just there to help you access the Towers enforcer records, and their facilities if you need them. Plus I doubt anyone would suspect anything out of the ordinary, when you speak with her." Placing his cup down, he then turned to Jazz. "Now is there anything you want to share?"

Jazz nodded, wiping his lips before starting. "Out of curiosity, were you aware the Mortal Sol has a twin brother?"

"Sideswipe?" replied Prowl, "yes, they try to keep him on a low profile up there. I've read the list of his crimes, and I'm surprised he's not in jail yet. I guess being related to a high profile model has its perks." He sat up a little, his wings twitching a bit. "Why ask anyway? What did you need to know about him?"

"They want me to watch him too," muttered Jazz, "I only met him once, but he has a mean streak, and the last thing I need is for him to get in my way."

"If he gets in your way, get him out of the way," ordered Prowl, "it's that simple." Prowl took another sip of his tea, and sighed. "Primus, this is awful."

Jazz smiled a little, the moment bringing forth a distant memory he'd almost forgotten. "Best energon tea in the world wouldn't even make you smile." Upon hearing this, Prowl placed his cup down down and closed his optics, his frame tensing a little. Jazz winced, realising he went too far. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's fine," said Prowl, picking his cup back up, "I'm just used to hearing him say it. Nothing personal, you just don't have the right tone."

The mood grew depressing, and Jazz admitted that saying those words made him feel sad, rather than happy. Jazz leaned over and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "Prowl, I will find the one responsible for this. I promise."

"I think you meant, we both will," retorted Prowl, a hint of sass in his stoic voice.

"Y'know what I meant," chuckled Jazz.

Although he didn't smile, Jazz could tell that Prowl was grateful. "Anyway," coughed Prowl, wanting to get rid of the awkward atmosphere, "I think you're getting rusty."

"Come again?" asked a confused Jazz, removing his hand.

Prowl cocked his head towards the window. "That green mech has been following you ever since you left the Towers."

Jazz didn't turn his head, but cautiously peered out the window. In the distance, leaning against a low wall with his back to them, a large dark green mech stood amongst the crowds. He was too far off to get a decent description, but it was obvious that he wasn't standing there to enjoy the view.

"Pickin' up any frequencies?" asked Jazz, checking for any other stalkers.

"They're faint, but someone is talking to him," replied Prowl, adjusting his audio feed, "its a scrambled one... only one person talking... hold it... Someone just informed him that we are aware of his presence."

Almost upon say that, the green mech suddenly walked off. Jazz jumped up. "I'll call ya later, keep me updated," he said, before dashing out the restaurant.

Jazz ran through the crowds, pushing past anyone that got in his way. He kept his optics locked on the green mech, who quickly turned a corner. He must have been aware that Jazz was now chasing after him. Jazz followed as fast as he could, a number of questions running through his head. Who was this guy, who did he work for, and why was he following him? This was his second day in the Towers, and already he was getting stalked by a potential bad guy.

Rounding the corner, Jazz cursed out loud when he could no longer see him. He scanned the crowds but he saw no sigh of the green mech. He activated his comm unit to report to Prowl. "Lost him," he growled.

"Whoever that was, he's a pro," responded Prowl, "I've just hacked the local security cameras, and he's using a program that makes him appear invisible on the video feed."

"Scrap," cursed Jazz.

"Get back to the Towers," ordered Prowl, "I'll call you if we need to meet up again. Keep your optics open on this one Jazz, the Towers may be a pretty city, but it's just as corrupted as any other."

Jazz took heed of Prowl's warning. Something was going on in the tall city, and he had a good feeling it had something to do with why he came here.

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The elevator ride back the Mortal Sol's estate was a long and tiresome one. It did, however, provide Jazz with some time to think. He had been followed by someone, but as to who it was and who they were working for, he had no clue. He could only assume that it was someone from the company, wanting to keep an optic on him, or maybe Sunstreaker sent someone to spy on him for unknown reasons. For all he knew, it could be a whole other reason.

Thank Primus that Prowl was staying close by, for if there was one mech Jazz could depend on for acquiring information and for setting up a decent plan of attack, it was the infamous tactician and operations director of the Senate Secret Service. Prowl was a professional, and he could find out anything about any bot. It was almost scary how good he was, so Jazz was thankful that someone like him was on the right side.

Nearing the estate, Jazz was actually looking forward to seeing his swords. It took customs long enough to process them, they had their reasons of course, but it was still a hassle. Now that Jazz thought about it, he better check them over, just in case they were tampered with. If someone was trying to keep an optic on him, they might have planted a bug upon his weapons.

Reaching the floor, and passing the security door with ease, now that he had been entered into the system, Jazz entered the lobby of the estate. He looked about until he saw the cases that contained his swords, but that wasn't the only thing he saw.

Standing over his open sword case, Sideswipe was holding one of his dangerous blades, staring at it with curious optics, running his fingers carefully over the sharp edge. He failed to notice Jazz walking in, for he was too caught up in his snooping. Jazz felt something snap inside, for he did not like it when someone else held his swords.

"The hell are you doin' kid!?" he bellowed in rage.

Sideswipe jumped back in surprise, spinning around to face Jazz, and dropping the sword. He looked at Jazz, guilt written all over his face, and possibly trying to come up with a good excuse, after getting caught red handed. "I was just looking," he said innocently.

Jazz marched over, picking the dropped sword up and examined it. Thankfully there were no dents or scratches, but he was still angry. "These are not toys," hissed Jazz, packing it back into the case.

"I know," muttered Sideswipe, folding his arms, "they're titanium blade solar forged swords from Kaon. Can kill a bot without even trying."

That surprised Jazz, and he stared at the red youth. "How'd you know that?" he demanded.

Sideswipe shrugged before answering, "I'm into swords, and I know a few things about them." He shuffled a little, seemly embarrassed about something. "Don't tell Sunstreaker," he begged.

Jazz raised an optic brow. It was impressive that the kid knew a few things about swords, especially the make, but it still did not change the fact that this little punk touched his precious swords. "Stay away from my stuff, understand?" he threatened, giving the kid one of the scariest glares his face could muster.

Sideswipe nodded before walking off. "Cool blades by the way," he said, in a somewhat sad tone of voice.

He noticed this but ignored it for now. Jazz just shooed him away as he locked up his cases, still very angry that someone had touched them without his consent. Jazz grumbled to himself as he carried his cases to his room. He was going to have to put a lock on his door, in order to keep that brat away from his stuff.

Once inside he checked both of his swords, for signs of tampering. His scans came up with nothing, and they looked as clean as he had left them. Happy with what he saw, he placed them back into their holsters, loving the feeling of having them on his hips again.

"Now then," he sighed, pulling out the data card Prowl gave him earlier, "what do you have to tell me?"

Accessing the data card, he did indeed find a few things that made no sense. They were just words and numbers.

Incident 512

L266

The Heights 2245

Beauty Immortal

Knockout

Spark Flowers

Brawl's case contents?

Towers Times issue 3098 article 2

Scrolling down the list, he found a readable note at the end.

"This simple case has become a ludicrous mess. He wants to lock him away. I'm already too late. The contract is the key. It must be broken. There is no other way."

Jazz huffed, sitting down upon his berth as he tried to think what that all meant. He wasn't even certain where to start. This only provided him with more questions, than the answers he so desperately wanted. He could only hope that these clues would made make sense the longer he stayed up here. As to what the little note said, it felt more like a riddle then a clue.

Looking at his empty sword cases, Jazz decided to store them away. Looking around his room, he concluded that the best spot would be under his berth. Kneeling down to slide them under, he spotted something under his very berth. Whatever it was, it was really big. Pulling it out, Jazz found himself staring at a huge metal case. It was locked with good quality locks, and very sturdy. It even had a faint smell of some sweet perfume, that was familiar.

"Guess the last bodyguard forgot this," mused Jazz, pulling it out completely, and shoving his sword cases in its place.

He looked at the sturdy case, wondering what on Cybertron would anyone want with a case that big.