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Tumbleweeds

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                Soundwave had apparently wised up to Jazz’s ways.

                Or rather the particular pathways Jazz liked to use around the Nemesis. Several of his favorite air vents had been welded shut and others had large grates placed at the junctions. He’d had to backtrack several times and what had been supposed to be a quick excursion was turning into an exercise in Jazz’s patience.

                Now, Jazz had patience. He was a spy and a saboteur. He couldn’t make himself invisible like Mirage, so he’d long ago learned the art of blending in with the shadows and slowly creeping above or below optic level to avoid attention. He was good at it, so it had been a while since any of his excursions had hit a snag. It was making him both antsy and irritated.

                By now, Prowl was surely fretting and Mirage was probably pacing, wondering where he was at. Jazz certainly couldn’t comm either of them, not with Soundwave four hallways over. All he could do was stealthily move back the way he had come and leave the way he had entered.

                All the while hoping that this hadn’t been a trap and there wasn’t an ambush waiting for him at his exit.

                Then Jazz realized one more thing: whoever had done the actual welding was utterly incompetent.

                He discovered this when he backed up over an apparently weak spot in the vent and the floor of it collapsed beneath him.

                Now he dangled, slowly turning in a circle and completely entangled in his grappling hook cable. The hook was doing a great job holding onto the remaining piece of the ceiling and didn’t seem to letting go anytime soon.

                Normally this wouldn’t have been much of a problem as the majority of the vents that Jazz used were over partially destroyed or abandoned hallways. But as it turned out, the one he had been using ran over the hallway outside Megatron’s own quarters.

                “Well. This is a mite awkward,” Jazz said calmly, meeting Megatron’s surprised optics. Knowing Megatron’s reflexes, Jazz was a little surprised that he hadn’t been melted into slag by the infamous arm canon, but Megatron seemed too shocked to do anything but gape.

                “You come here often?” Jazz joked weakly, starting his slow spin around again. His processor frantically worked on a plan to get him out of this predicament and he tossed aside option after option. Then another presented itself as Megatron gradually came back into view.

                In an unexpected turn of events, Jazz caught the infamous Great Destroyer ogling Jazz’s aft.

                “Oh! See somethin’ you like?” Jazz purred with a salacious wink of his visor.

                Megatron didn’t even have the gall to look ashamed. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the doorway to his quarters.

                “… perhaps. I’m honestly waiting to be impressed,” Megatron drawled. His gaze raked down Jazz’s frame one last time before he turned and walked back into his room. The door remained opened as he moved out of sight. A moment later, Jazz heard the distinctive squeak of berth mattress springs.

                Huh.

                Well… he’d done worse in the name of the Autobots.

                Using his vibro blade, Jazz cut the cable to his grapple and flipped down to the floor. The hook could be restrung… if he survived this night.

                Yet somehow… he thought he’d do alright.


~ End