So I was writing a new chapter for my Simmons-centric story All in the Job (should be going up sometime this weekend) and I started chatting with someone about the possibility of bringing Jazz back. Only in my warped brain could 'bring Jazz back' equal 'human Jazzy hotness'.

And as a warning, this chapter was meant to be… let's be kind and call it disorganized. I wanted it to confuse readers, and having read it back myself, I can quite easily say it's succeeded. Ignore the butchered grammar and overuse of commas, both of which have been utilized to give it a rougher feel.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything TF-related. Cha cha cha.

--

The darkness was omnipresent, pressing down on him from all sides, and for a moment he wondered if the twins had pushed him out of the airlock again- they thought such things funny. But that couldn't be right; they would have had to shut off all his scanners and sensors first and even with their hard-won knowledge of anatomy they wouldn't be able to force him into this total blackout. He tried to move but nothing happened, not even an error report scrolling across his CPU.

'What… happened?'

A sharp, evil laugh came then, sending pure terror cascading through him but Primus dammit he still couldn't do anything--

"You want a piece of me?!"

'Huh?'

Lights exploded, the sun perched high in the sky, the familiar flash of energy cannons, the dazzling display of metal reflecting light rays like handfuls of shattered glass. The air was spinning, the ground snapping past as something dragged him up and around and he was doomed, he knew it, but he was going down with a fight.

Memories rushed in, warped and twisting around one another and he knew there was something he was forgetting, something he should be feeling but somehow couldn't.

And there it was, a sleek silver vehicle that was so elegant it almost looked Cybertronian if one ignored the rubber 'tires'. These creatures had a flair for the aesthetic that most every other race lacked, including his own. Despite their primitive technology they had style. He liked that. Now if only he could remember what they were called- usman? Mahun?

Humans, an unknown voice informed him. From Earth.

Yeah, that sounded about right. If he pushed he could almost remember what they looked like, but at the moment all he was getting were the ghosts of memories. Small. Organic. There were two variations, right? Like 'bots and femmes? And they didn't like it when certain medics commented on the hormonal states of their frail bodies.

'Medic? What's his name again? Wrench? No, something else. Doesn't matter anyways.'

Oh, how he had envied those humans. They had a thriving culture based not on the tattered remnants of an everlasting war, but on their own ingenuity and sense of self. He had wanted to live there, to immerse himself in that world. With those people, whose lives were so pathetically short yet so… so… well-lived. Even before the war Cybertron and its inhabitants simply didn't have the vibrant culture, the raw personality, that Earth did. In the brief while he'd been there he'd had a grand old time downloading music, watching movies, laughing at some television shows and being more than vaguely grossed out by others. Like House. That right there was one show that could give a mech nightmares.

Sad, the voice commented mildly. You remember that but not your teammates' names?

'I kinda remember them. There were three, right? Wrench, and the bug-bot, and the walking cannon.'

And what of your leader?

'… leader?'

The mech was tall, by far the biggest single 'bot he'd ever seen. Just seeing him and a 'bot would never guess how much he loathed fighting. A sentimentalist at spark, an idealist struggling to fend off the cruelties of reality without losing the simple innocence that defined him. His outrage at what most others quietly accepted, his refusal to do nothing when he could do something, his inability to let others fight their own battles- it made him a serious hazard to himself.

It also made him Prime.

'Prime? There was another word, something Prime. Why can't I remember?!'

Access to your memory banks is a bit, shall we say, questionable as of this moment. I have found this to be a rather unfortunate side effect of dying.

'Eh?'

You almost had it a little while ago, before you started thinking about your vehicle mode. Perhaps a certain word is needed to trigger the proper memories? Let's try this one- Megatron.

And there were memories, all right, many of them and not all of them the right ones. He remembered a giant standing over a battlefield, the only living being within sight. He saw bodies sent flying with one effortless swing, a fierce-looking jet carving through the sky with bladed wings. A foot, carelessly pressing his ally into the ground with one clawed hand descending--

An immense pressure pinning him down. A sickening ripping noise, metal shrieking and glass shattering, with the distant realization that he was being torn in half--

That's quite enough, thank you. I've seen plenty this monster is capable of; he's sent a large number of your allies to me, as well as a surprising quantity of his own.

'So now what?'

And the voice was finally silent, thoughtfully so, as they both contemplated… whatever. The 'bot's thoughts wandered down a long, familiar path and he wondered what happened to those who died. Was this how he was going to exist for the rest of eternity, dredging up random memories to share with a quietly sarcastic voice?

The formal speech pattern and disdainful tones reminded him of someone. He recalled white, and blue, fading from sight. A half-vanished memory, he asked himself, then discarded that thought. The mech in the memory faded but the rest of the image remained crystal-sharp. Familiar, somehow, but before he could figure it out the voice was back.

I have come to a decision, it announced. I am going to give you another chance.

'Another chance at what?'

At everything, since it is quite apparent you handled it all so poorly the first time around. Not everything that happens is actually meant to be, you understand.

'I do?'

We'll pretend you do. Now, I am powerful but not infinite, so some things are going to be… different. And I have to maintain balance, so you won't be the only one.

'The only one what? Ya know, this conversation would go a lot smoother if both of us knew what we were talking about.'

I can't help you afterwards so you will be on your own. Try not to bungle this too badly; you're leaving my domain, so if you die again I will not be able to do anything.

'After what? And waddya mean die again?'

Serve Prime well. And offer him my thanks, if you remember this.

'Who are you?' Now he thought to ask what should have been first on the agenda. His answer was a deep laughter, rippling all around him.

You already know the answer to that question, although you refuse to consider the possibilities. But it makes no never mind to me. Now, I must ask you- do you remember your own name?

'Jazz.'

--

The universe twisted on itself, a snake trying to shed its itching dead skin. Dimensions that barely existed previously were gutted and left lying open like a fisherman's trophy. The various balances of space and time altered themselves ever so slightly, giving way to a power that could shatter them should it so desire. Existence itself teetered on the brink carelessly, barely clinging to itself, its naturally fragility nearly allowing it to be rattled apart.

In a distant corner of the universe, on the rim of an all-around uninteresting spiral galaxy, within the sheltering confines of a blue-green gem of a planet the laws of physics rewrote themselves as matter was pulled out of nothing. A body slowly knitted itself into being, appearing unaware of all the fuss it was causing. And in its heart, invisible to all but the one who had put it there, a spark in place of a soul.

Deep in the darkness, something smiled.