“Soundwave.”
The blue carrier mech startled and quickly closed the open window on his visor’s HUD. His shoulders slightly sank. This would be imperceptible to most bots, but “most bots” weren’t Megatron, Lord of the Decepticons, Scourge of the Autobots, Champion of the Pits of Kaon, et cetera, et cetera. Additionally (and most importantly), “most bots” hadn’t had Soundwave as their ever-present shadow for nearly four million stellar cycles.
“Yes, Lord Megatron?”
“You seem to have become rather jumpy recently.” Megatron lazily ex-vented, crossing one pede over the opposite knee joint and relaxing further into his throne. “This is unlike you.”
“Soundwave: same as always.” It was difficult for his highly-synthesized voice to sound petulant, but he could sometimes manage it.
Megatron rolled his eyes. “‘Soundwave, distracted,’ you mean.”
“Your meaning: unclear.”
Megatron leaned forward. His optics were sharp, somehow perfectly managing to meet Soundwave’s own despite the opaque visor covering them. This was the result of many long vorns of practice. Ordinarily, Soundwave basked in being so well known by his leader.
At this moment, however, Soundwave closed his optics in utter humiliation.
“I believe this all leads back to a certain mech you find so… interesting.”
Soundwave’s internals seized in embarrassment at the reminder of how his Lord had caught him watching a loop of the Autobot in question slipping through the ventilation shafts of the Nemesis.
“Megatron: misunderstands. Soundwave: merely studying Autobot methods of infiltration. Sole purpose: furthering the Decepticon cause.”
Megatron hummed. He didn’t sound so convinced.
“Speaking of those blasted Autobot fools,” – Soundwave tilted his head as his leader spoke – “I need Starscream’s new strategy for targeting their base analyzed for back-stabbing. As usual.”
Megatron sent a data packet wrapped up in Starscream’s ostentatious signature. Soundwave opened it in a quarantined partition, just in case.
—
“-I will not be lectured about how best to fly by a mech who can’t even move in his own alt-mode!”
As usual, Starscream (and the Decepticons’ short-tempered leader) had turned this meeting into a screaming match. Megatron was currently describing to Starscream exactly how he planned to “clip his wings like the oversized canary he was” while Starscream was thrashing and squawking, held down in his chair by the wincing members of his trine.
Soundwave looked the very image of a patient shadow to Megatron. He had been placed behind Megatron’s right shoulder, where he would, in theory, have a clear visual on Starscream at all times. Just in case the seeker had planned on doing anything except screeching today. He had adjusted his audials to reduce all voices by 60%, and, to any outside observers, was calmly observing the shitshow.
Unbeknownst to all but himself, he was virtually at a musical instrument store with the Autobot Jazz in pixel form.
He was currently trying to decide between the three options on his screen.
> electro-bass
> synthaxe
> key-viola
What would Jazz prefer?
The decision seemed arbitrary, but Soundwave knew from prior experience that even seemingly frivolous decisions could lead to the “bad ending” of this route. What was worse, he could not find any evidence of the real Jazz playing even one of these instruments anywhere in his databases of stolen security footage or candids captured by Lazerbeak and Ravage.
Soundwave turned his attention back to the continuing cacophony in the meeting room. Starscream was hurling more insults at Megatron, his alt mode, and his lack of respect for “The Shining Jewel of The Vosnian Academy”. He had managed to wriggle both himself and his trinemates off of the chair and onto the floor. Megatron had him thoroughly pinned with both a glare and a pede firmly planted on one of his wings.
Soundwave then turned his attention to the other mechs in the room. Hook and Motormaster were both still sitting in their chairs further down the tables with their gestaltmates gathered loosely around them. Some were in chairs with others standing or leaning against the wall. They all looked bored and as if they too had greatly reduced, if not entirely shut off, their audio-inputs. Deadlock was alone, as usual, wrapped up in whatever he was doing on his data pad.
Soundwave ran his algorithms to weigh the benefits of stepping in to separate Starscream and Megatron against letting them get the rest of their excess energy out like a pair of overgrown cyber-puppies.
The results scrolled down his HUD.
He further dampened his audials to 75% and opened an encrypted link to the Radiant Sparks Dating Sim Enthusiasts Forum.
He quickly created a username and made his first post.
—
Later that cycle, after his shift had ended, Soundwave hurried to the officer’s hab-suite he shared with his cassettes.
He only wanted an hour or two of peace . It wasn’t his fault that the latest and greatest propaganda idea from the Autobots was so addicting, and he had no privacy in which to enjoy it fully.
As he neared his hab-suite he picked up on squabbling.
Soundwave’s shoulders dropped for the second time that cycle.
At that moment, a high-priority notification pinged across his visor. He was finally getting a response to his forum query!
Soundwave took a klik to stay in the passageway and open the link.
GotTheMusicInMe: Mech, it sounds like you’re overthinking this one. You know, one bad choice doesn’t a bad ending make? I think you should go with your gut instincts. It is a dating *simulation* after all.
A sharp pang of irritation coursed through Soundwave’s lines. If the fellow player didn’t have anything constructive to say, why did they even bother replying!
Soundwave opened the response box.
Stuck: Request: allow users to play how we wish. Seeking information: not a crime.
With that, Soundwave snapped the browser off of his HUD and prepared himself to settle whatever mischief his cassettes were in the middle of.
“-BOSS!” The voice of Frenzy, currently painted to look even more like Rumble’s twin than usual, cried out as soon as Soundwave had opened the hab-suite door.
“It’s not what it looks like!” Rumble added.
Soundwave was over 99% certain that it was exactly what it looked like.
Energon treats and goodies of a wide variety were strewn about the room. Some were intact and still within their edible foil wrappers, but others had been clearly thrown, smashed, and tread upon. Neon green was smeared across the desk and console, glowing pink splattered on the ceiling, and day-glo blue pede, paw, and claw marks covered the floor. Every color of energon could be found on the chassis of his symbiotes to varying degrees.
Laserbeak was perched on the head of Soundwave’s recharge slab, the glowing remnants of a combination oil and high-grade roll dripping from her beak, just visible from where she was tucking it under her wing and giving her carrier her guiltiest looking electricdoe-eyes. She was making gentle cooing noises, the kind that she knew Soundwave found adorable and thus only ever broke out when she was trying to manipulate or placate him.
Ravage took this opportunity to open-com Soundwave, specifically so that the other cassettes could hear her say “ the youngsters were very unmanageable in your absence.”
Buzzsaw squawked indignantly from his location perched on Ravage’s back.
“… not including Buzzsaw.” The black cat’s tail twitched, breaking eye-contact with Soundwave. Buzzsaw preened his beak behind her audial in gratitude.
“Frenzy: again stole from Starscream’s supplies?” Soundwave asked, though each of the cassettes understood this to not be a question he wanted an answer for.
“Aww, c’mon, boss! He can always make more. Plus, I did a great job of makin’ sure he’ll never trace it back to me!”
“Yeah, cause you’re wearin’ my paint! ” At this, Rumble leapt onto his twin, arms transforming to give him a proper punishment.
“Rumble: cease! Twins will return remaining supply. Immediately.”
At this, both twins ceased their wrestling and Laserbeak quieted her cooing. All three gave Soundwave looks of devastation.
Just as both twins simultaneously opened their mouths to argue back, Soundwave received another high-priority ping from his forum post.
GotTheMusicInMe: Can’t argue with that! I just-so-happen to know aaaaall the answers for that little game. Ask nicely and I can guarantee you whatever ending you want. This does make me wonder why you’re so worried about getting a bad ending, though. You know you can just replay it if you don’t get the good ending, right?
Soundwave sent his irritation through his bonds with Rumble and Frenzy. They rarely pestered him if they thought he had high-priority communications to deal with.
And he did! Of a sort.
Stuck: Desires: unclear. Ask nicely?
GotTheMusicInMe: “Pretty please”…?
Stuck: Understood. “Pretty please”.
Soundwave immediately received a DM.
GotTheMusicInMe: I figured we should keep spoilers out the chat and take it to DMs. You should try that electro-bass btw ;)
This forum user was quite something. Soundwave shook his helm and closed the browser.
—
Soundwave docked Buzzsaw and Ravage into his tape deck and tossed the twins into the hallway with instructions to return the remaining treats and then make a couple of rounds around the Nemesis . Soundwave then collapsed onto his berth. Laserbeak took a quick swoop around the room before nestling into the crook of his arm. She affectionately pecked at his tape-deck cover, sending waves of contentment and affection to her fellow cassettes inside.
Finally.
The Autobot propaganda once again filled the inside of his visor.
With his new information, Soundwave confidently selected the electro-bass. Jazz’s pixelated face transformed into a pleased smile, with lines drawn across his faceplate as visual shorthand to denote shyness. It was a stylistic choice several Cybertronian artists had picked up during their time on Earth.
Text flowed across the bottom of the screen and Soundwave's processor generated an approximation of what Jazz would sound like speaking the words, splicing together field-recordings from Lazerbeak. This wasn’t what the recordings had been originally intended for, of course.
“Wow, this is perfect! Thank you. I haven’t played one of these in forever.” The avatar changed once again. This time to a hinting grin. “ You hopin’ for a private concert?”
Soundwave fought to keep his suddenly flustered emotions from traveling through his symbiotic bonds. He must have succeeded, because he didn’t feel any curious or teasing responses. Laserbeak was still drowzily nuzzling her faceplates and beak against his chest. Soundwave could feel her drifting in that space right before stasis, where the world feels fuzzy.
The scene changed and a pixelated crystal garden appeared. At the center of it was a clearly lovingly made graphic of Jazz smiling at him. “The next day” appeared on the screen in a formal script.
Soundwave’s spark skipped a spin, filling his chest with warmth that he had up until this point associated with the moments after an altercation or battle when he had confirmed that all of his symbiotes were in good health and fully accounted for.
“Hey, mech! Whathca up to?”
Soundwave selected the boldest option: “Just admiring the view.”
In this fantasy, his language core hadn’t been damaged from the date of his onlining. In this fantasy, he wasn’t shy and reserved, either. He could interact with and even directly flirt with the Autobot who had so long ago caught his eye.
“You flatterer!” Jazz’s sprite changed to more a demure image, with, Soundwave admitted to himself, those very charming blush marks once more across the cheeks.
“Only for you,” Soundwave’s game-self said. “I wanted to tell you that I have an extra ticket to an event tomorrow night. Would you like to join me for some energon and a show, Jazz?”
He felt longing for the normalcy shown in this game.
Despite rumors that regularly spread amongst the lower ranks of both factions, Soundwave was not an unfeeling tool. He was not “practically a drone” for Megatron’s use. He most certainly could appreciate both the form and processor of the Autobots’ cunning Third in Command, head of Special Operations, and Spymaster. Jazz was a mech that Soundwave found fascinating to watch whether he was giving his signature sound and light show on the battlefield or slinking through the Nemesis on security footage, viewed long after he had safely slipped back to his fellow Autobots. In fact, Soundwave’s processor was very regularly engaged in specifically anti-Jazz-maneuvers. It would have been difficult to not regularly consider him. Perhaps a different mech wouldn’t spend quite so much time considering his opponent’s flashy grins and appealingly curved plating. If Soundwave were truly as cold as he was often believed to be, perhaps he wouldn’t wonder what Jazz was like before the war, what he was thinking about when he sat alone in his quarters at night, what exactly it was he found so interesting about human pop-culture.
Perhaps his processor wouldn’t continually circle back to what could have been had they ended up on the same side of the war…
Alas, he would likely never be able to enjoy the Autobot’s company in reality, but thanks to this novel new form of propaganda he could at least pretend for a few moments between his assigned duties. And (occasionally) during them.
—
As the cycles passed, Soundwave found himself messaging his mysterious Radiant Sparks expert more and more. Each of the game’s choices became increasingly nerve-wracking as he progressed through Jazz’s route, leaving him to lean more and more on GotTheMusicInMe.
“His favorite energon add-in is magnesium!”
“Obviously, that one’s Nat King Cole :)”
“You should ask him if he’s ever been to New Orleans!”
GotTheMusicInMe hadn’t steered Soundwave wrong once. Of course, each of these helpful messages had only been procured after Soundwave had navigated through a plethora of increasingly personally invasive ones. The messages were also becoming more and more friendly and, dare he say, flirtatious.
“Have you heard any of that new Earth stuff? They call it ‘Hyper-Pop’! I’m workin’ on a DJ set of my favorites mixed with some of Glitchwheel’s old stuff. I just sent you a sample! What do you think? More bass, right?”
“Yeah, he likes rust sticks more than oil cake. Less sticky. I bet you’ve got a sweet-denta, am I right? In my experience, it’s always the quiet mechs who do. ‘Course, that’s not the only thing quiet mechs are known for, am I right?”
“I’m sure that clever processor of yours has already figured this one out ;)”
Soundwave really was not used to this.
Responding with the confident dialogue options to Jazz in the game was much easier to do than coming up with responses to possibly-flirtatious messages from nothing. Soundwave’s processor simply wasn’t used to his. He had rarely experienced flirtations before the war, and he had certainly never experienced any after the war had started. The only dynamics he was used to navigating were carrier-symbiote and the intense loyalty-adoration-knowing that had grown over so much time with Megatron.
He tried his best to take it in stride, but between the excitement of romancing pixel-Jazz and this stranger’s attentions his spark felt like it was going to spin right out of his chest!
Perhaps this is the goal of the Autobot propaganda. Debilitation through emotional turmoil.
Soundwave could only assume that his helpful stranger was an Autobot. He knew that if Megatron knew he were regularly exchanging messages with one of their opponents so casually that he would be displeased, to say the least. Soundwave wasn't sure if he would be able to convince his leader that this was just a new and more direct method of the data collection that made up the bulk of his assigned duties. He had already been forced to calm his own processor’s racing by narrowing down who this stranger was most likely to be.
It must be someone who either took part in the creation of this game or knew Jazz intimately. He had managed to shorten this list down to only Blaster, Prowl, and Jazz himself. Soundwave wasn't sure if he would be able to survive these new feelings of embarrassment he felt when his processor showed that the most likely possibility was that Jazz and the Autobot Spec Ops team had created this game. This made the probability that Soundwave had been speaking about dating pixel-Jazz with the real Jazz 95.67%.
Soundwave struggled to stamp down the rush of conflicting emotions this thought gave him.
—
It was only a few cycles later when Soundwave was sent a high-priority, absolutely furious summons from Megatron.
As he rushed through the damp halls to the command room of the Nemesis , Soundwave tried his best to take control of his anxiety. If he was being summoned because Megatron had found out about his inter-faction communication, what was Megatron planning to do? Soundwave had never before done anything to even inconvenience Megatron, much less betray his trust!
When he arrived, Megatron was pacing. Soundwave entered and waited for his lord to acknowledge him. It took a full breem before he did anything except pace.
“Those damnable Autobots!” Megatron raged, clenching his fists and finally, finally, turning to face his Third.
“My lord-,” Soundwave started, preparing himself for… he didn’t know what.
“They have been burrowing themselves into the processors of our chain of command like parasites,” Megatron’s optics burned as he approached Soundwave and grasped him by the shoulder plating. “When I sought to weed out Autobot sympathizers, all I needed to do was question the very mechs sitting around my own command table!”
Soundwave’s lines felt as if they had frozen over.
“And you!” His lord continued, “have you been so distracted with the squabbling of your little cassettes that you failed to notice the sedition in our own ranks?”
If not himself, then who-?
The carrier mech felt as if he had been grabbed by the pede and thrashed. His frame shuddered with panicked charge that had nowhere to go as he moved to kneel before Megatron.
“Lord Megatron; apologies aren’t enough. Soundwave: has truly failed you.”
At this, the imposing gray mech stepped back and took a few nanokliks to vent deeply. When he next spoke, it was more even but with a distinctly disgusted expression.
“Inform Ravage that she is to escort Deadlock to me. Immediately.”
“As you command, Lord Megatron.”
–
Soundwave was able to piece together what had happened later, secure in his berth with all of his cassettes accounted for and safely tucked in and around him. Even if they could not truly read his mind, the two sets of twins could feel his emotions. They knew something had frightened their carrier terribly right before Deadlock’s disappearance. Ravage, however, knew exactly what had happened. She had slipped Soundwave the first-hand footage taken from her own optics of Deadlock catching sight of her, realizing there could be no good reason for him to be personally escorted to Megatron, before transforming and quickly making his escape.
After searching Deadlock’s abandoned personal devices, Soundwave felt even more anxious. The only questionable material he could find was a thoroughly-played Ratchet route from the very same Radiant Sparks Dating Sim he, himself, had been playing. If this was what had led to Deadlock fleeing rather than facing Megatron’s wrath…
The rage Soundwave had seen would be nothing compared to what he would experience if Megatron knew that not only had Soundwave been consuming and enjoying Autobot propaganda, he had been freely communicating with one of them. In fact, he was all but certain he had been communicating with the Autobot Third and Spymaster as if they were friends !
Soundwave knew what he must do.
—
“Say it again. I want to know if you really mean it.”
Pixel Jazz was standing in the pixel rain. His expression had been drawn to show hope and those ever-charming blush lines.
> “I love you. Will you make me the happiest mech in the whole universe and become my Conjunx Endura?”
As soon as Soundwave had selected the option, the screen changed to show the final piece of art for this route. Pixel Jazz was holding the player’s generic servos in each of his own, and smiling in a way that Soundwave had never seen in footage of the real Jazz.
The credits began to roll.
Soundwave allowed himself a full klik to mourn what could never be.
Gathering himself, he began to manually sift through each of his files to ensure that every last trace of Radiant Sparks was deleted from his processor.
Deadlock’s continued disappearance disturbed him. Buzzsaw and Laserbeak had been deployed to search for him, but had only come up empty so far. It was as if he had vanished. For a mech with Deadlock’s skill set, Soundwave wasn’t sure how long it would take before he made a mistake and the cassettes were able to find him. The only thing Soundwave was sure of was that he would eventually make a mistake. Not even the greatest spymechs were able to evade detection forever. Not even Jazz.
Jazz…
Soundwave did his best to keep his sad thoughts in check and focus on the task at hand. He tried very hard not to think about why he had to delete these files.
He opened his encrypted browser files. He knew that he needed to end communications with suspected-Jazz and erase any evidence of it, not just for his own safety, but for the safety of his cassettes. That didn’t make it any easier. Before this mech, when had been the last time he had communicated with a mech more than once about something not related to the war?
It had felt good.
Soundwave sent one last message before deleting his account alongside any trace it had ever existed.
—
It had been merely half an astroweek after Deadlock’s escape and Soundwave had completed Radiant Sparks .
On his way to his work station, Ravage, in all of her wisdom and sensitivity, had cornered him in the hall before he could enter. She announced her presence with an irritated snarl.
“Our carrier is keeping secrets.”
Ears pinned. Tail flicking. She wasn’t too angry. She wouldn’t have announced herself before pouncing if that were the case.
Soundwave had no response to give her. She could feel through the bond that he had recently been anxious and experiencing new and confusing emotions just as well as he could. Just as well as the other cassettes, who she evidently hadn’t told of her plan to confront him, or else they would have joined her.
Soundwave held the door open for her when he stepped into his station.
Ravage immediately leapt onto his desk, snuffling her olfactory around the clutter and sending her carrier concerned alert pings.
She pulled a small, cheerfully colored box out from behind his console.
Ravage was able to detect most varieties of poison and every kind of explosive through her sensory suite. She licked, sniffed, and opticted every inch of the box before giving a pointed “you can open it now” look to her carrier.
Nestled inside were twelve energon candies. Soundwave noticed a message etched into the inside of the lid: for your little cassettes and that sweet denta of yours .
Soundwave knew exactly who had left this.
He clamped down hard on his flustered emotions, hopefully before Ravage (or, Primus forbid, the other cassettes) could pick up on them.
He had suspicions of what might happen next.
“Ravage: follow,” Soundwave said, picking the box up and walking to his workstation door.
Ravage slinked beside him and sat at attention in the doorway. Soundwave slid his mask aside and popped a purple, magnesium-coated candy into his intake before offering her a chewy green one. Her favorite. After she took it, he closed the box and subspaced it.
“Gather fellow cassettes. Operation: contain in hab-suite.”
Ravage obeyed, but not before giving her carrier a suspicious look.
Soundwave closed his workstation door. He locked it.
“Well, I’m sure glad ta’ know I picked well.”
Soundwave paused at the real version of the voice he had been hearing in his dreams and synthesizing for his fantasies. He steadied himself for just a nanoklik before turning.
Jazz was practically lounging on his desk, legs crossed and leaning back on one arm. He looked very comfortable, as if this was where he usually came to relax.
“Autobot Jazz: did research,” Soundwave said, mentally floundering for the next thing he should say. “Two for each of us; each of our preferred flavors.” It was hard to make it not sound accusing. When had Jazz been observing his cassettes? How had he learned their preferences?
A lazy grin slid across the black and white mech’s faceplates. He clicked his glossa.
“Ya’ know you should never underestimate me.”
There was a strange, strangled noise. Soundwave realized it was coming from himself. He brought his vocalizer back under control before speaking.
“You are ‘net user: GotTheMusicInMe.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Oh no, I’ve been found out!” Jazz faked a gasp before he laughed. Not unkindly. He hopped off of the desk in one fluid, dance-like motion before slipping closer. He brushed up against Soundwave’s field. “Ya’ know what I enjoyed the most about making that game?” He said this with a loud, conspiratorial whisper, “I was able to make a route with each member of Decepticon high command in mind. I’ve found there’s a lot unsaid between the mechs on both sides. Everyone’s got their special weakness. I think we could ‘make love not war’ and all that.”
Soundwave’s processor was torn between analyzing what Jazz was saying and memorizing each and every inch of his field and frame. He had never been so close .
“It was pretty easy to figure out. I am the best, after all.”
“What-” Soundwave’s vocalizer froze in his throat as Jazz reached up and kissed his mask.
“Megatron wasn’t the only one who caught you watching me on the security feed.” Jazz gently took Soundwave’s trembling fist in his own servo and brushed his thumb over it. “We’ll figure out a way to keep in touch. Don’t worry, mech.”
Soundwave watched as Jazz pulled away and flipped himself into the open circulation shaft. He popped his head back out with another grin aimed at Soundwave.
“Deadlock’s fine by the way. I know y’all’ve been lookin’ for him,” Jazz winked his visor jovially. “Like I told ya’, I made a route for everyone because everyone has a weakness. I think ya’ can put that together.”
With that, Jazz was gone.
Soundwave made his way to his desk chair before his knees gave out.
He found that Jazz had left one more gift on his desk. A set of coordinates, a date, and a time on a piece of flimsisteel. Soundwave carefully subspaced it away. While his frame still felt weak from the unexpected experience, his processor had firmly latched onto Jazz’s words.
Had he truly meant everyone ?
Soundwave had work to do.