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wyntir_knightTitle: The Polyhex Candidate: Chapter 18
Fandom: Transformers: Generation One
Characters & Relationships: Smokescreen, Mirage, Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Ironhide, Perceptor, Wheeljack.
Jazz/Prowl, Wheeljack/Ratchet/Perceptor, mentions of Smokescreen/Swindle, Jazz/Mirage, Jazz/Smokescreen.
Rating: R
Warnings: graphic violence, dub-con, attempted rape, implication of bondage, mentions of rape, mentions of torture, reprogramming, tactile, spark-sex, plug-and-play
Summary: A year ago Jazz was captured by the Decepticons and reprogrammed into a walking time-bomb. Now that he has returned to the Autobots his new programming has kicked in and he has left chaos in his wake. It's up to Smokescreen and Mirage to find Jazz and bring him back to their side and back to sanity before he is completely lost. Meanwhile Prowl and Ultra Magnus try to keep Iacon from destroying itself as panic grips the populace, and as Prowl fights for his sanity after a year's separation from his bonded and the sure knowledge that Jazz may not survive.
Chapter 17
Read Chapter 18 on AO3 or under the cut.
“So what do we do?” Mirage asked, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he watched Smokescreen hook Jazz up to the cable splitter.
“We just hook ourselves up,” Smokescreen replied, distracted. “It’s just like cable sharing with a lover. Just without any other stimulus we should be able to keep ourselves together.” He shrugged. “It’s just interfacing, after all.”
“It’s not just interfacing, it’s … clinical,” Mirage replied. “Or I imagine it’s supposed to be.”
Smokescreen stopped what he was doing and turned to Mirage. “What’s the real problem here? You just pop your compartment, release your cable, and plug in. Easy.”
“Not all of us can just interface with anyone. Not all of us are -” Mirage cut himself off before he could complete the thought with a shake of his head. “What I mean is that it isn’t that easy for everyone.”
It would have been so tempting to respond waspishly and it was clear from his body language that Mirage was expecting another argument. After all, he had nearly called Smokescreen a whore. For the second time in as many orn.
Instead of reacting badly, Smokescreen actually chuckled. “How in the Pit did you manage to survive the Towers? Yeah, sure you have the attitude down pat, but you couldn’t possibly have had feelings for everyone involved in the orgies.”
“High grade helped,” Mirage replied a little sheepishly. “And just because I had to be involved didn’t mean that I liked it … and there were always ways to avoid actually linking into someone. Or being linked into.”
Smokescreen nodded. “That makes sense.” He then stood and moved to the door, anticipating the answer to his next question. “So, do you want some time alone to get ready? I mean, I’d offer to help,” he added with a rakish smile, “but something tells me that the offer wouldn’t be appreciated.”
“No, I don’t need privacy, that’s not the issue,” Mirage replied, never looking at directly at Smokescreen.
“Then just pop it open and-”
“Must you be so crude?” Mirage demanded.
Smokescreen sighed softly and came over to sit beside Mirage. “Mirage, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the issue is. And none of us have time to play guess the hang-up. Now, just out with it, okay? I promise I won’t judge or laugh or anything like that.”
Mirage was quiet for a long time, looking from Jazz to the wall and back again before finally responding. “I’ve never done this before,” he said quietly.
“Well yeah, neither have I. It’s an experimental proceed-” Smokescreen suddenly cut himself off, his optics widening as he grasped the statement. “Wait, you mean you’ve never plugged in- sorry, never shared cables with someone? How is that even possible? You’re a Towers Brat.”
“Yeah, well not all of us fit in with the stereotype,” Mirage replied, clearly irritated and trying to hide his embarrassment.
Smokescreen smiled and took Mirage’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Look, as you said, this is clinical. It’s a psycho-medical procedure. I should never have called it interfacing in the first place, since that implies certain things. Implications that I don’t care to dwell on given that Jazz can’t consent right now.” It was Smokescreen’s turn to look uncomfortable as he pulled away slightly. “Seriously, don’t worry about any of this. I don’t know if you’re worried about first times or if you’re saving yourself for someone or any of that romantic stuff. None of that applies here. This”, he said, motioning to Jazz and the box, “is just medical. Nothing more than that.”
Mirage nodded. “I’m surprised that you jumped to me being a ‘Towers Brat’ instead of my former relationship with Jazz,” he said, sounding genuinely curious at the reasoning.
“Hrm? Oh I figured that you’d never done anything but energy and tactile stimulation with Jazz. He never shares his processor with anyone … well, probably Prowl, but that’s different, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I was rather surprised when they announced their Bonding. Neither seems to type really. Prowl is so very cool and Jazz …,” Mirage trailed off searching for the right words. “As open and friendly as he is with everyone, it’s all an act, isn’t it? He’s always hiding everything about himself behind that facade of joviality.”
“Yeah,” Smokescreen replied, “yeah, he’s good at that. As for him and Prowl, I dunno anything about that really. It surprised the slag out of me, but I guess the spark wants what the spark wants. It’s good that he found someone who clearly wants the same thing as he does.” He shrugged, but the casual attitude did nothing to hide the wistfulness in his tone.
“So,” Mirage said, “what can we expect when we get in there? Jazz isn’t going to just let us in and wander around in his processor. What can we expect?”
Smokescreen’s lips curled up slightly in a small smile, appreciative of the change of subject. “Everyone’s processor is different. Usually you don’t go in too deep, you just share memories and sensations. Without the outside stimulation, we won’t get any of that. Instead we’ll be in a facsimile of his own mind. It’ll be how he sees himself and how he sees his world.”
“Okay, so what does that mean? I really don’t like the idea of going in blind, especially since Jazz won’t want us in there,” Mirage said.
Smokescreen pursed his lips as he tried to form his thoughts into something that made sense. “In one case the psychiatrist found himself in an empty space, just him and his patient, and as they discussed issues, memories were projected on the walls. In another case, the doctor was in a long hallway with a series of doors, and behind each of the doors was a memory or a series of memories. Both of those cases were pretty literal. I don’t think that Jazz will be. But I can’t tell you what we’ll find. He’s going to do everything he can to keep himself hidden from us. We need to be ready for anything. Thankfully he shouldn’t realize we’re there so long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves. We just need to treat this as a mission into enemy territory.”
Mirage nodded and cleared his vents. He could do this. He was professional enough to separate his personal feelings and concerns from the needs of the mission. He could do this.
Smokescreen’s hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’ll be fine, Mirage. We won’t go in too far today. It’s just a scouting mission.”
With that he moved to the other side of the berth, opened his panel and plugged into the splitter. He gasped slightly as he did, his back arching and his doors spreading out sensually as he was hit with the sensations of the connection. As soon as his systems calmed he turned to Mirage, his optics slightly brighter than usual.
“Once you’re plugged in and comfortable, I’ll open the connection fully,” he said, his voice edged with static. “It’ll just be a flush to your system at first. It’ll probably take a nano to get accustomed to it and get your senses back. Once you’re in we’ll be connected, so I’ll be able to hear anything you project. And vice versa.”
Mirage nodded slowly and took up his place by Jazz’s side on the berth. With a deep, steadying vent, he opened his panel and plugged into the cable splitter. Instantly he was hit by the sensations as his systems prepared for a transfer of data. His back arched, his optics half-shuttered, and his mouth opening in a small O as the slightest of moans escaped him. He sat like that for a moment, upright and bent back, neck exposed, fingers twitching as if to touch and stroke someone. It was a show that demanded a response and had the situation been different, Smokescreen might have taken it as an invitation. Of course, it wasn’t, and no matter how incredible Mirage looked – arched and wanton and just begging to be touched - this was neither the time, nor the place, and even if it had been there was no way that Mirage would consent and that was a line that Smokescreen refused to cross. Still though ...
“Primus he is beyond gorgeous when he does that,” Smokescreen thought, inadvertently sending a flash of lust across the connection. Immediately he looked sheepish and reined his thoughts in. “Sorry, that was wildly inappropriate. I’ll, uhm, … sorry.”
Irritation and disgust flowed back across the link before Mirage clamped down hard on his feelings, but the sentiment did get through and Smokescreen didn’t quite manage to hide a flinch in reaction.
“It’s fine,” Mirage said dismissively. “Let’s get on with this.”
Smokescreen seemed about to say something, but he held off. Instead he turned back to the cable splitter and activated it. Instantly the world went completely black.
---
Smokescreen groaned, onlining his optics slowly as he came back to himself.
“You here, Mirage?” he asked sluggishly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” came the response. “Where is the pit are we?”
“Jazz’s processor,” Smokescreen replied as he sat up slowly and began looking around and stopped. “Oh-”
They were in a dark and broken city, a destroyed parody of Iacon. The surrounding buildings were twisted and dripping with living rust, looming in on either side of them, trapping them in a narrow alleyway filled with garbage and the rusted out remains of long-deactivated Empties. Above them the steel grey skies were lit with the rage of a massive lightning storm, filling the air with the acrid tang of ozone.
“Oh this is not good,” Smokescreen murmured as he got to his feet. “This has to mean that Jazz is worse off than I thought. We need to find whatever’s causing this and quick.”
Mirage moved to the mouth of the alley, his steps uncertain as if the ground beneath him was uneven and the world was spinning. It was the tread of a mech drunk on high grade or worse.
“Is it just me or is everything slightly off-kilter here?” Mirage asked as he fought to keep his balance without having to touch one of the walls.
“It’s Jazz. He’s off so this place is too,” Smokescreen said as he came to stand beside Mirage, careful to not touch the other mech. “It may be physical damage to his processor, but most likely it’s the reprogramming and whatever viruses the ‘Cons gave him.”
Carefully Mirage stepped out of the alleyway, followed by Smokescreen. They found themselves in a vast open square that looked similar to the marketplace outside of the Iacon garrison. The plating beneath their pedes was worn and dull, patched in areas with grating that revealed a dark pit below. The buildings here were covered with the same dark red rivulets of living rust as the alleyway was, and the walls were splattered with the brownish pink of old, spilled energon. And as with the alleyway, the square was filled with the bodies of the fallen – some were unknown Empties, while others were the familiar faces of Autobots and Decepticons alike.
“Fine. He has to be in here somewhere. You said as much in the safehouse. We find him and bring him out of whatever hole he’s been stashed in,” Mirage said firmly.
“It’s not that easy, Mirage. Yes, he’ll have an avatar in here, but all of this,” Smokescreen motioned to the city and the sky, “is him. He’s everywhere at once and he’s going to view us as a threat the moment he realizes that we’re in here.”
“And if he attacks us?” Mirage asked. “What then? Can we defend ourselves without risking hurting Jazz?”
Smokescreen shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m hoping we won’t have to – that we can just reset our progress each time he comes after us. I’m hoping that if we’re injured in here we’ll just be thrown out.”
“You’re hoping,” Mirage said flatly, hiding his nerves behind flat derision. “And if that’s not the case?”
“If not then we end up like all those mechs who vanished out of existence in the Towers parties. It’s not too late to back out, Mirage. Honestly, it might be best if someone was on the outside. Just in case.”
Mirage was about to answer when chattering laughter filled the air, setting the Autobots on edge.
“I seeeee youuuuu ….,” came a voice from nowhere and everywhere at once. “I see you my little playthings! Come out and play with us!"
Back to back, Smokescreen and Mirage scanned the square and came back with nothing. They were able to see the buildings, the streets, the storm, but their sensors told them they were in a vast empty space.
“This is disconcerting,” Smokescreen muttered.
“To say the least,” came Mirage’s reply.
The spy was about to run a deeper scan when the white noise was shattered by the high pitched whine of a laser rifle. It was only vorns of practice that gave Mirage the warning he needed to grab Smokescreen and roll out of the way.
“Slag!” Smokescreen spat out as he spread his doors to try and shield Mirage before releasing a smoke bomb. Instantly he grabbed Mirage’s hand and tugged them both back into the nearby alley just as another laser bolt flashed out, striking the dead centre of the smoke cloud.
“I think I can track where that came from. We need to get to Jazz.” Mirage carefully looked out of the alley optics tracking the nearby rooftops.
“Getting to Jazz won’t help any. We need to get to Bombshell’s programming subroutine and shut it down,” Smokescreen replied.
“How can you be sure this is Bombshell and not Soundwave or Shockwave?” Mirage asked in a soft, low voice.
Smokescreen leveled a dark gaze at the spy. “Because I would know that laughter anywhere,” he said, his voice cold and hard.
Mirage suppressed a shiver. Something in Smokescreen’s tone and manner screamed that he was speaking from personal experience.
Placeholder for link to Chapter 19
Fandom: Transformers: Generation One
Characters & Relationships: Smokescreen, Mirage, Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Ironhide, Perceptor, Wheeljack.
Jazz/Prowl, Wheeljack/Ratchet/Perceptor, mentions of Smokescreen/Swindle, Jazz/Mirage, Jazz/Smokescreen.
Rating: R
Warnings: graphic violence, dub-con, attempted rape, implication of bondage, mentions of rape, mentions of torture, reprogramming, tactile, spark-sex, plug-and-play
Summary: A year ago Jazz was captured by the Decepticons and reprogrammed into a walking time-bomb. Now that he has returned to the Autobots his new programming has kicked in and he has left chaos in his wake. It's up to Smokescreen and Mirage to find Jazz and bring him back to their side and back to sanity before he is completely lost. Meanwhile Prowl and Ultra Magnus try to keep Iacon from destroying itself as panic grips the populace, and as Prowl fights for his sanity after a year's separation from his bonded and the sure knowledge that Jazz may not survive.
Chapter 17
Read Chapter 18 on AO3 or under the cut.
“So what do we do?” Mirage asked, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he watched Smokescreen hook Jazz up to the cable splitter.
“We just hook ourselves up,” Smokescreen replied, distracted. “It’s just like cable sharing with a lover. Just without any other stimulus we should be able to keep ourselves together.” He shrugged. “It’s just interfacing, after all.”
“It’s not just interfacing, it’s … clinical,” Mirage replied. “Or I imagine it’s supposed to be.”
Smokescreen stopped what he was doing and turned to Mirage. “What’s the real problem here? You just pop your compartment, release your cable, and plug in. Easy.”
“Not all of us can just interface with anyone. Not all of us are -” Mirage cut himself off before he could complete the thought with a shake of his head. “What I mean is that it isn’t that easy for everyone.”
It would have been so tempting to respond waspishly and it was clear from his body language that Mirage was expecting another argument. After all, he had nearly called Smokescreen a whore. For the second time in as many orn.
Instead of reacting badly, Smokescreen actually chuckled. “How in the Pit did you manage to survive the Towers? Yeah, sure you have the attitude down pat, but you couldn’t possibly have had feelings for everyone involved in the orgies.”
“High grade helped,” Mirage replied a little sheepishly. “And just because I had to be involved didn’t mean that I liked it … and there were always ways to avoid actually linking into someone. Or being linked into.”
Smokescreen nodded. “That makes sense.” He then stood and moved to the door, anticipating the answer to his next question. “So, do you want some time alone to get ready? I mean, I’d offer to help,” he added with a rakish smile, “but something tells me that the offer wouldn’t be appreciated.”
“No, I don’t need privacy, that’s not the issue,” Mirage replied, never looking at directly at Smokescreen.
“Then just pop it open and-”
“Must you be so crude?” Mirage demanded.
Smokescreen sighed softly and came over to sit beside Mirage. “Mirage, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the issue is. And none of us have time to play guess the hang-up. Now, just out with it, okay? I promise I won’t judge or laugh or anything like that.”
Mirage was quiet for a long time, looking from Jazz to the wall and back again before finally responding. “I’ve never done this before,” he said quietly.
“Well yeah, neither have I. It’s an experimental proceed-” Smokescreen suddenly cut himself off, his optics widening as he grasped the statement. “Wait, you mean you’ve never plugged in- sorry, never shared cables with someone? How is that even possible? You’re a Towers Brat.”
“Yeah, well not all of us fit in with the stereotype,” Mirage replied, clearly irritated and trying to hide his embarrassment.
Smokescreen smiled and took Mirage’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Look, as you said, this is clinical. It’s a psycho-medical procedure. I should never have called it interfacing in the first place, since that implies certain things. Implications that I don’t care to dwell on given that Jazz can’t consent right now.” It was Smokescreen’s turn to look uncomfortable as he pulled away slightly. “Seriously, don’t worry about any of this. I don’t know if you’re worried about first times or if you’re saving yourself for someone or any of that romantic stuff. None of that applies here. This”, he said, motioning to Jazz and the box, “is just medical. Nothing more than that.”
Mirage nodded. “I’m surprised that you jumped to me being a ‘Towers Brat’ instead of my former relationship with Jazz,” he said, sounding genuinely curious at the reasoning.
“Hrm? Oh I figured that you’d never done anything but energy and tactile stimulation with Jazz. He never shares his processor with anyone … well, probably Prowl, but that’s different, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I was rather surprised when they announced their Bonding. Neither seems to type really. Prowl is so very cool and Jazz …,” Mirage trailed off searching for the right words. “As open and friendly as he is with everyone, it’s all an act, isn’t it? He’s always hiding everything about himself behind that facade of joviality.”
“Yeah,” Smokescreen replied, “yeah, he’s good at that. As for him and Prowl, I dunno anything about that really. It surprised the slag out of me, but I guess the spark wants what the spark wants. It’s good that he found someone who clearly wants the same thing as he does.” He shrugged, but the casual attitude did nothing to hide the wistfulness in his tone.
“So,” Mirage said, “what can we expect when we get in there? Jazz isn’t going to just let us in and wander around in his processor. What can we expect?”
Smokescreen’s lips curled up slightly in a small smile, appreciative of the change of subject. “Everyone’s processor is different. Usually you don’t go in too deep, you just share memories and sensations. Without the outside stimulation, we won’t get any of that. Instead we’ll be in a facsimile of his own mind. It’ll be how he sees himself and how he sees his world.”
“Okay, so what does that mean? I really don’t like the idea of going in blind, especially since Jazz won’t want us in there,” Mirage said.
Smokescreen pursed his lips as he tried to form his thoughts into something that made sense. “In one case the psychiatrist found himself in an empty space, just him and his patient, and as they discussed issues, memories were projected on the walls. In another case, the doctor was in a long hallway with a series of doors, and behind each of the doors was a memory or a series of memories. Both of those cases were pretty literal. I don’t think that Jazz will be. But I can’t tell you what we’ll find. He’s going to do everything he can to keep himself hidden from us. We need to be ready for anything. Thankfully he shouldn’t realize we’re there so long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves. We just need to treat this as a mission into enemy territory.”
Mirage nodded and cleared his vents. He could do this. He was professional enough to separate his personal feelings and concerns from the needs of the mission. He could do this.
Smokescreen’s hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’ll be fine, Mirage. We won’t go in too far today. It’s just a scouting mission.”
With that he moved to the other side of the berth, opened his panel and plugged into the splitter. He gasped slightly as he did, his back arching and his doors spreading out sensually as he was hit with the sensations of the connection. As soon as his systems calmed he turned to Mirage, his optics slightly brighter than usual.
“Once you’re plugged in and comfortable, I’ll open the connection fully,” he said, his voice edged with static. “It’ll just be a flush to your system at first. It’ll probably take a nano to get accustomed to it and get your senses back. Once you’re in we’ll be connected, so I’ll be able to hear anything you project. And vice versa.”
Mirage nodded slowly and took up his place by Jazz’s side on the berth. With a deep, steadying vent, he opened his panel and plugged into the cable splitter. Instantly he was hit by the sensations as his systems prepared for a transfer of data. His back arched, his optics half-shuttered, and his mouth opening in a small O as the slightest of moans escaped him. He sat like that for a moment, upright and bent back, neck exposed, fingers twitching as if to touch and stroke someone. It was a show that demanded a response and had the situation been different, Smokescreen might have taken it as an invitation. Of course, it wasn’t, and no matter how incredible Mirage looked – arched and wanton and just begging to be touched - this was neither the time, nor the place, and even if it had been there was no way that Mirage would consent and that was a line that Smokescreen refused to cross. Still though ...
“Primus he is beyond gorgeous when he does that,” Smokescreen thought, inadvertently sending a flash of lust across the connection. Immediately he looked sheepish and reined his thoughts in. “Sorry, that was wildly inappropriate. I’ll, uhm, … sorry.”
Irritation and disgust flowed back across the link before Mirage clamped down hard on his feelings, but the sentiment did get through and Smokescreen didn’t quite manage to hide a flinch in reaction.
“It’s fine,” Mirage said dismissively. “Let’s get on with this.”
Smokescreen seemed about to say something, but he held off. Instead he turned back to the cable splitter and activated it. Instantly the world went completely black.
---
Smokescreen groaned, onlining his optics slowly as he came back to himself.
“You here, Mirage?” he asked sluggishly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” came the response. “Where is the pit are we?”
“Jazz’s processor,” Smokescreen replied as he sat up slowly and began looking around and stopped. “Oh-”
They were in a dark and broken city, a destroyed parody of Iacon. The surrounding buildings were twisted and dripping with living rust, looming in on either side of them, trapping them in a narrow alleyway filled with garbage and the rusted out remains of long-deactivated Empties. Above them the steel grey skies were lit with the rage of a massive lightning storm, filling the air with the acrid tang of ozone.
“Oh this is not good,” Smokescreen murmured as he got to his feet. “This has to mean that Jazz is worse off than I thought. We need to find whatever’s causing this and quick.”
Mirage moved to the mouth of the alley, his steps uncertain as if the ground beneath him was uneven and the world was spinning. It was the tread of a mech drunk on high grade or worse.
“Is it just me or is everything slightly off-kilter here?” Mirage asked as he fought to keep his balance without having to touch one of the walls.
“It’s Jazz. He’s off so this place is too,” Smokescreen said as he came to stand beside Mirage, careful to not touch the other mech. “It may be physical damage to his processor, but most likely it’s the reprogramming and whatever viruses the ‘Cons gave him.”
Carefully Mirage stepped out of the alleyway, followed by Smokescreen. They found themselves in a vast open square that looked similar to the marketplace outside of the Iacon garrison. The plating beneath their pedes was worn and dull, patched in areas with grating that revealed a dark pit below. The buildings here were covered with the same dark red rivulets of living rust as the alleyway was, and the walls were splattered with the brownish pink of old, spilled energon. And as with the alleyway, the square was filled with the bodies of the fallen – some were unknown Empties, while others were the familiar faces of Autobots and Decepticons alike.
“Fine. He has to be in here somewhere. You said as much in the safehouse. We find him and bring him out of whatever hole he’s been stashed in,” Mirage said firmly.
“It’s not that easy, Mirage. Yes, he’ll have an avatar in here, but all of this,” Smokescreen motioned to the city and the sky, “is him. He’s everywhere at once and he’s going to view us as a threat the moment he realizes that we’re in here.”
“And if he attacks us?” Mirage asked. “What then? Can we defend ourselves without risking hurting Jazz?”
Smokescreen shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m hoping we won’t have to – that we can just reset our progress each time he comes after us. I’m hoping that if we’re injured in here we’ll just be thrown out.”
“You’re hoping,” Mirage said flatly, hiding his nerves behind flat derision. “And if that’s not the case?”
“If not then we end up like all those mechs who vanished out of existence in the Towers parties. It’s not too late to back out, Mirage. Honestly, it might be best if someone was on the outside. Just in case.”
Mirage was about to answer when chattering laughter filled the air, setting the Autobots on edge.
“I seeeee youuuuu ….,” came a voice from nowhere and everywhere at once. “I see you my little playthings! Come out and play with us!"
Back to back, Smokescreen and Mirage scanned the square and came back with nothing. They were able to see the buildings, the streets, the storm, but their sensors told them they were in a vast empty space.
“This is disconcerting,” Smokescreen muttered.
“To say the least,” came Mirage’s reply.
The spy was about to run a deeper scan when the white noise was shattered by the high pitched whine of a laser rifle. It was only vorns of practice that gave Mirage the warning he needed to grab Smokescreen and roll out of the way.
“Slag!” Smokescreen spat out as he spread his doors to try and shield Mirage before releasing a smoke bomb. Instantly he grabbed Mirage’s hand and tugged them both back into the nearby alley just as another laser bolt flashed out, striking the dead centre of the smoke cloud.
“I think I can track where that came from. We need to get to Jazz.” Mirage carefully looked out of the alley optics tracking the nearby rooftops.
“Getting to Jazz won’t help any. We need to get to Bombshell’s programming subroutine and shut it down,” Smokescreen replied.
“How can you be sure this is Bombshell and not Soundwave or Shockwave?” Mirage asked in a soft, low voice.
Smokescreen leveled a dark gaze at the spy. “Because I would know that laughter anywhere,” he said, his voice cold and hard.
Mirage suppressed a shiver. Something in Smokescreen’s tone and manner screamed that he was speaking from personal experience.
Placeholder for link to Chapter 19