In the end, the decision to kill himself was not a difficult one to make.

Bumblebee was down; Ironhide and Ratchet were getting their afts handed to them by Starscream; Optimus Prime wasn't even within hailing distance, and Megatron was on the move. That alone would not have been such a desperate situation, but there was the matter of the All-Spark.

He was really starting to hate that thing. Eons of warfare and strife neatly packaged up and disguised as a blessing.

Human lore spoke of something similar. They called it Pandora's Box.

Jazz wondered briefly which was worse, the multitude of horrors unleashed in the initial onslaught or the fortitude to survive them provided by hope. Wasn't it infinitely worse, this long, drawn-out leprosy of millennia of struggle? Wouldn't it be so much better to make it quick and clean and go down fighting in a fiery blaze of glory?

And with that, his mind was made up and he charged Megatron.

It was stupidly suicidal, and he knew it. Jazz was many things, but no one ever accused him of arrogance. He knew he was no match for Megatron. He knew the moment he slammed into the monstrous Decepticon's side, he signed his death warrant.

Yet he did it anyway, shouting and bellowing and just generally causing a big, distracting ruckus and silencing his comm. link so he wouldn't have to hear his comrades cry for him to fall back.

And it worked wonderfully, for a time. Maybe he was small, much, much smaller than Megatron, but he was tough to ignore and he quite effectively distracted the infamous Decepticon Commander from the pursuing the All-Spark. It was his style, he decided glibly, that made him so conspicuous despite his slight build. He was even dying with style: How many others could boast that it had taken Megatron himself ripping them in two to keep them down? Not that he would be in much of a position to boast, of course, but he was morbidly confident that no one would be able to top him.

At the last moment, just as the strain became too much and cables began to tear, he threw his comm. open wide.

//Sayonara,// he called out cheerfully, each syllable brimming with all the considerable mirth he could muster. Everyone within range could hear his final farewell.

Ideally, Megatron would be thrown for a loop.

Everything finally snapped, and a tiny grin graced his features.

'Blaze of glory, indeed.'

---

A/N: Are you thoroughly depressed yet? I know I am.

Bonus points for those of you who noticed that the title is an allusion to Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night."

Also, I like the word leprosy.