Chapter Text
Jazz didn’t know what to expect of Praxus, but it sure as Pit wasn’t this. Everyone said it was one of the cleanest cities on Cybertron, but this…
Everything was gleaming in the transport terminal, and he swore he could see his reflection in the stainless chromium pillars that supported the clear crystal windows that let in light. There wasn’t a micrometer of graffiti anywhere, not past what was clearly a sponsored event where sparklings had drawn mechafauna and flora on the walls of the station.
He cast a suspicious glance around, looking for any sign of the ever-present rust that soaked into any transport station. A shady mech making a last minute trade, someone wavering near the front of the train, trying to time a few steps forward correctly… nothing .
It was happy and clean and clearly something to be celebrated.
Jazz knew better.
There was always something rotten about a city, he just needed to find out what, and if he needed to break a few rules to find out where the foothold that the Decepticons would be using would be, then so be it.
No place would be this perfect without some kind of dark secret, and for this level of perfection, he was terrified about what it would be.
He reshouldered his bag and continued, looking for his contact. He was only told that it would be a–
“Hey, you must be Jazz.”
Bright blue Praxian with a yellow chevron. He wasn’t the prettiest mech he’d ever seen, but there was a grin on his face that Jazz knew anywhere in a kindred spirit.
Jazz smiled and held out his hand for a shake, “In the metal, mech. You must be Smoky.”
“That’s me. Welcome to Praxus, one of the best cities you’ll ever go to,” He said proudly. He waved him along, “I’d say I show you around, but I can’t be away from my desk for too long. I heard you’re going to be working under Barricade, right?”
The Polyhexian nodded and looked around again. Nope, still as prim and proper as it had been a klik ago, “Yeah, that’s what Prime said. Ya got a real nice city here.” All of the crystal bushes were neatly trimmed, barely a shard out of place. There was a mech nearby with a pair of trimmers and a brush. He let himself relax. There was always work being done to keep the place clean. Well, it wasn’t being done by unseen hands, then.
Smokescreen glowed and his doorwings, coated in the number 38, twitched, “It’s a great city. I’ve been around to a few others, but Praxus works hard to be the nicest city-state in the world. Lowest crime rates, lowest unemployment rates, highest happiness satisfaction rates… He works hard to make sure we’re all taken care of.”
Jazz had heard language like it before from Iacon from Inferno and for good reason. The primary Autobot base there strove to keep its facilities moving cleanly, efficiently, and safely. The only city that had a higher safety rating than the base was Praxus, and that was as a whole. The entire city of Praxus was safer than the Autobot base.
Optimus wanted to know how.
So the spy put on his best smile and nudged him in the most friendly way he could, “Hey, the brochures don’t do this place justice. I haven’t seen a single cube lying around anywhere.”
Smokescreen nodded as the pair made it out to the street. They chose to walk and they continued to talk, “We have a well-funded city sanitation crew that gets notifications when a mess happens."
Cameras then. Just how much surveillance did the city have? A quick glance showed wide-angle cameras positioned on most areas, but not so much that it was bordering on creepy.
What was creepy was how perfect everything seemed. It was unnatural and everything screamed at him that something else was going on here.
He opted to keep quiet about it, instead asking questions about the best places to eat and the best music shops.
He opted to keep quiet when Smokescreen smiled at him, a twinkle in his optic that seemed too omniscient about the questions.
The building he would be working out of was the city hall, and even from their vantage point on too-perfect roads by too-perfect buildings, Jazz could tell that this building was a shelter . It was built with the same code as every governmental hall he had ever seen, but the way the roads narrowed in some places and widened in others to create chokepoints…
This was a well fortified bunker and they were open about it.
“Frag, you all expecting a fusion bomb to get dropped on ya?” Jazz laughed, wiggling his wheels slightly. Smokescreen tapped on the brakes, not enough to make him slow too much, but he definitely stopped with his digging in that line. He’d probably need to ask someone else.
He hummed, “We have a particle shield that’s able to be cast over the city at a moment’s notice, but it’ll give almost everyone time to make their way into the complex. Don’t worry, Praxus is always keeping an eye on any potential threats, even with Megatron flaunting his army like he has.”
Jazz winced, even as he continued next to Smokescreen, “Nice to know that the folks here don’t need to worry. It’s not a story we hear too often in Iacon.”
“No. I imagine not,” He responded.
It was the end of that line of conversation.
“Anything else I need to know? I’m wondering if anyone could be available to show me around?” He asked.
“You should have some information at your desk, but if you’re still having problems, feel free to ask Barricade. Do you have much furniture?” Smokescreen asked as the turned the corner.
Jazz peered down an alleyway that he knew would have at least one or two drugged up mecha, hoping for something normal –
It was a perfectly clean alleyway with a large group of mecha on outdoor seating, cubes of highgrade in hand, but nothing rowdy . It was just friends having a good time.
He had to forcibly shake himself out and remembered the question, “Yeah, just a few pieces. One of my buddies already had it brought here and delivered. Blaster owed me a favor or two and said he’d make the trip out.”
“He’s the comms mech, right? He threw one pit of a party last orn. I think there are some guys in the office who are still feeling it. They had to scrape some of the overnight shift off the floor,” He laughed and Jazz chuckled. He knew the feeling well.
“Overnight shift? You have multiple shifts here?” He asked. “First place I’ve heard that does that.”
Smokescreen hesitated for a moment, “We have a roster. There needs to be at least 8 mechs plugged into the computers at any given point, but we usually have about 16 or so. Everyone goes to lunch at different times, so you’ll know when you can go.”
They made the next street over and the feeling that something was watching him began to tickle his sensor horns. Jazz subtly looked around under his visor, but while some kids watched him from across a nearby park-
Everything trimmed perfectly, not one pebble out of line, no panhandlers, no homeless mecha sleeping under trees, only families and giggling sparklings running around an overly perfect park-
-But nothing that would make him feel like he was being picked apart under Perceptor’s microscope. Whatever was watching him wanted to know who he was and badly .
The closer they got to the building, the heavier the feeling got until Smokescreen cleared his voicebox, “You okay?”
“Fine, just… a little new to the area. What’s your secret, seriously? I haven’t seen a place this… perfect in ever,” He laughed, digging again. “It almost feels like the city’s watchin’ me somehow.”
The Praxian smiled almost nervously and he knocked his hand against the nearest building. “Hey, Praxus, stop watching Jazz so closely. You’re creeping him out.” Jazz laughed along, but it didn’t ease his mind to know that the feeling ebbed back slightly. It only made his panic worse.
Smokescreen shrugged, “But we have some amazing social network programs. Everyone has the help they need, and we’re all incredibly well-connected here. No one is left to struggle. A citizen in need is a friend indeed and everything.”
“Never seen it applied like this ,” He said in exaggerated awe. “There’s always at least someone who refuses the help.”
“Eh, we do, but where the state fails, the neighbors catch them. We’re big on community,” He said. They made it up the steps and for the first time, Jazz saw something that wasn’t perfect. The steps leading up to the entrance were worn, scuffed, and clearly well-used. “Any questions you have, please ask the people in your office area,” He said as they began to scale the stairs.
Jazz nodded as he looked over the stairs, “I get it, I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
Smokescreen didn’t miss the confused look and stopped halfway up the steps and sighed, “The city doesn’t clean the steps. It’s supposed to be a sign of dedication. It’s all of the steps that mecha have taken to get to work, to aid Praxus in any endeavor that his people need.”
“That’s… huh,” He admitted. “Never cleaned?”
“Only in the acid rain, and the traction marks are a little too thick nowadays,” The mech shrugged before he waved them on. “C’mon. My brothers are going to kill me if I’m any later.”
Brothers, huh? He could relate.
Jazz bounded up the stairs after him, ready to step into his new world.
The building, despite the stairs, was perfect again. There were no buzzing lights, no stained ceiling tiles, no dirty windows. It was as if dust didn’t exist in the place.
His attention was grabbed by the vaulted ceilings that had various mecha carved into them, reaching towards various skylights. In between different sections, large gates hung with sharp points threatening all below.
“Don’t worry, they’re not at any risk of falling, short of an intruder,” Someone else joined in and Jazz’s gaze shot back down.
An unfamiliar black Enforcer smiled at the pair, clearly having waited for them. He tucked his hands behind his back and nodded to his fellow Praxian. “Smokescreen, please return to your post to relieve Bluestreak. I’ll handle the rest of Jazz’s tour from here.”
Smokescreen snapped into a tight salute, “Sir. Have a nice day, Director Barricade.” He managed to spare a friendly smirk to the Polyhexian, “I’ll see ya around someday, Jazz, but it might not be for a while. Good luck out there.”
Jazz grinned, “Same to you out there, mech. Have fun.” Smokescreen bobbed his wings before he turned a short corner and disappeared.
His new supervisor cleared his throat and Jazz refocused his attention. Barricade wore his bemused smile well as he gestured down a different hall, “So, have you had a chance to settle in yet?”
“Not yet, I just got off the transport. One of my buddies was actually coming through a few days ago and offered to move my furniture in for me, so I’m set up. I’m more concerned about gettin’ lost,” He said. His gaze flew over everything and the feeling of being watched crept over his plating again. “Praxus is interesting. I haven’t seen any city so clean before.”
“It is through the grace of our people that we are able to thrive like this,” He said. “And the work of our workers.” He turned them down another hall that led more into the interior of the building. There were people wandering around and no one seemed… anything less than content. There were no tired eyes, there were no dragging feet. There were no signs of anyone taking less than perfect care of themselves.
“So, what are you going to be havin’ me do? I can do some of my own work on downtime, but usually I’m needed in one way or another,” He grinned.
Barricade twitched a wing up minutely as he considered it, “We shall see. If you are in need of more work, the system will recognize it and assign it accordingly. We do have a few who choose to slack to some degree, but the system always compensates for it.”
Jazz twitched again and he considered his question carefully before opting to go in bluntly. “So, what’s Praxus’ secret? It almost seems like you have everyone brainwashed.”
That caused a smile, “Brainwashed, no. Content with their lives through some of the most thorough systems on the planet? Absolutely.” He lifted his chin, “Praxus’ pride and joy.”
“Interestin’ way of putting things,” He mused, but left it at that. He needed more information before he made any accusations. All he knew was that this was unnatural.
Barricade smiled with the same knowing glint that Smokescreen had, and Jazz knew he was going to be in for a Pit of an assignment.
The room he was assigned wasn’t quite in the depths of the building, but he was definitely somewhat underground. His scanners were bouncing everything back, but Barricade twitched his wings and shot him a thoughtful look. Jazz’s training stopped his annoyed twitch, but he reined in his scanners. He’d need to do this the old-fashioned way.
The room itself was comfortable and, like all of the other places in Praxus he had seen, it was spotless . There were dozens of terminals wrapped around several circles, designed around a central point in the room. There seemed to be an intentional mess on at least a few of the desks, but it wasn’t anything insane. The monitors were all devoid of smudges, there were no flickering lights, and while there weren’t any cameras in here, his plating still crawled with the feeling of being watched.
And it wasn’t because when they walked in, at least half of the twenty mecha in the room looked up and smiled at him like they knew him.
Barricade twitched his wings in greeting, “All, you remember this morning’s memo. I am merely showing Jazz to his workstation. He will begin work tomorrow, but please hold any questions until later.”
Most of them looked down, but one of them, a blocky blue mech, still nodded, “Welcome to the team, Jazz. Glad to see a new face.” He smiled, “Rearview.”
Jazz put on a grin, “Glad ta be here. Maybe you can show me aroun’ sometime, yeah?”
“Sure thing,” He responded before turning back to his terminal.
Barricade waited for another moment before he continued around the outermost circle. Jazz trailed behind him and he found that the spot that the director put him in had him against a wall. Nothing to sneak up on him, and he could see the door clearly from this angle.
If it wasn’t for the million other things that made every part of his Spec Ops training twitch, he would have thought it was a coincidence.
Now?
Something knew he was Spec Ops.
Red Alert had been sure to hide that little detail.
He’d need more solid proof before he shared that with the paranoid bot, but it would put him into a tailspin.
Scrap.
He had never been so glad to be in his own habsuite. Well, besides that assignment he had over in Kaon, but he at least usually had an idea of who was watching him. Back in his workroom, there might not have been any cameras, but he still felt the same pair of optics bearing down on him and it was making his playing crawl. If he was going to be able to relax, he needed to find out who it was.
Luckily, as soon as he was in his own space, the feeling had stopped.
No neighbors had interrupted him, no solicitors trying to get into the building, and it might have been advertised as a secure building, but he didn’t need to show any kind of ID. Jazz had simply walked right in. He hadn’t even felt a lock disengage.
So, he put his own on the doors.
Or, rather, he tried to.
Jazz stared at the electronic mess inside the door handle that clearly led to an external control system, with its own internal backup power supply.
Someone could get into his apartment if they wanted to, and he didn’t know who had the controls. No landlord, even for an apartment as nice as this, would have something so pricey installed, and they were usually reserved for nursing homes and prisons, where mecha couldn’t be trusted to be left alone.
Why the Pit would his door have one?
He couldn’t just scrap the system. He needed to be able to lie low, and if whatever higher power had access to his door saw that he deactivated it, then he might give away the minute advantage he had.
He shook his head and resorted to planting a sensor on the door and an external locking mechanism by the doors and windows.
Nothing in, nothing out. Not without him saying something about it.
His furniture had all been delivered. A basic couch and some accents that Blaster knew he liked, a few lamps to liven the place up, his personal maintenance kit, and Wheeljack’s newer piece of tech.
His secure berth.
He wouldn’t need to risk plugging into an external recharge station, seeing as it recharged itself over time. It might not be able to handle more than one mecha for 10 joors or so, but it would wake him up before he got to that point.
Jazz had never been so glad to be out of a network hub.
Especially when he got a good look at the typical plugin for a berth on the adjacent wall.
It looked like a connection point for a terminal. A terminal with the power draw big enough for a few mecha.
Someone was spying on their citizens while they slept.