Warning: somewhat graphic OC death in this chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I don't profit fom these works

They called it gaming, which made it sound harmless enough. And it was, in the beginning. Certainly not illegal. Well at least not officially because no-one had ever been caught doing it and no-one had ever gotten hurt. Embarrassed, yes, but not harmed.

Gamers accessed a mech's processors through the cables on their recharge berths and could manipulate them. Files could not be accessed directly - attempting to do so would alarm the host and rouse them out of recharge - but with practice a gamer could cause the host to feel emotions. Fear or worry. Happiness or anger. Desire or disgust.

With practice, a gamer could bring a mech to overload in his charging state.

Or have him empty his waste tank onto himself.

Or, much more amusingly to the juvenile humour of those playing, onto an unsuspecting berthmate.

It was fun, it was untraceable, and that was as far as it should have gone. But then one of the gamers discovered it could be taken a step further.

Online gaming.

A line or two of extra code, carefully slipped in past the mech's firewalls during recharge. Something that would wait innocuously until triggered and which would then take effect while the mech was conscious. Still just a game, still just a bit of fun. No real harm could come of it.

Could it?

Jazz leaned back in his chair, doodling idly on his datapad and mostly ignoring his lecturer as the mech droned on. This was the most tedious of his classes and it was also the most irritating. No-one here cared at all about the calculations for determining gravitational conditions on other planets - anyone interested in that would be at the Science Academy at Crystal City, not the generalistic Iacon Academy. No, this was a waste of time. And worse, it was a waste of time which led to the wasting of more time as Oscillate always gave them much longer assignments than their other lecturers.

Glancing at his chronometer, he noticed that the class was nearly over. At last. Now interested, he watched over the top of his pad as Oscillate finished his talk for the orn and prepared to tell them about their next assignment.

"...so for next class I have a challenge for you all." he intoned. "You are each to...t-to...t-t-t-t-t-to-to-to-to-to..."

The class stirred, unsure what was going on. Jazz fought hard to keep the smirk off his face as the moments ticked by with the poor lecturer unable to finish his sentence. The moment was broken as the bell rang for change of class, and he gathered up his belongings and headed outside. Leaning casually against a pillar as his classmates and others flooded past, he waited for a familiar Praxian form to find him.

"Tolja there'd be no assignment t'night." he spoke first.

His lover laughed and kissed him appreciatively.

"You're a naughty mech. What did you do to him?"

"I swear to Primus I never touched him."

"As if that'd stop you getting your way. So? What did you do?"

"Nothin' permanent. An' nothin' t'hurt him. Today he won't be able to give out assignments: ev'ry time he tries, his language centre'll shut down. He starts thinkin' 'bout anythin' else an' he'll be talkin' again. Simple."

"You won't leave him like that, though. Right?"

Jazz laughed and leaned in for another kiss.

"I swear to ya, Slimline, he'll be back t'normal by mornin'."

"Heard what you did to Oscillate."

The words were a little louder than Jazz would have liked in the open courtyard, but he just shrugged at his fiend, Icon, and joined him lounging on the bench.

"Poor mech musta got a virus or somethin'."

"Yeah, right. A bit obvious, though, wasn't it? Thought you were always looking for the stylish solution."

Jazz turned to face him, slightly irritated.

"What's up wit'you t'day?" he demanded. "Why the interrogation?"

Icon shook his head.

"Nothing much. Just bored."

Jazz relaxed.

"Yeah, well. Nothin' changes there, does it?"

"Nope."

Jazz had first met Icon two deaorns after starting at the Academy. The mech was almost a decade older than him, but they had met at a party and Icon had introduced him to the small but select commnity of gamers. And then he and Icon had taken it further.

Icon's creator was a Towers noble, and Icon was his third creation: not created from need or desire, but in a blatant flaunting of power since the laws restricted almost everyone on the planet to only a single creation. Jewel, the eldest of the family, would be the heir; Icon and the second mech, Gilt, were merely for decoration. Icon had had the best of programming and construction, but he was a mediocre student with little interest in anything beyond turbofox hunting, racing of any form, and attending parties. He hated the Academy, and skipped the majority of his classes, but his creator refused to let him come home until he had achieved high honours.

In other words, he was not to come home.

"You coming to the races tonight?" Icon asked after a moment. "It's a good line up."

"Need to deal with Oscillate." Jazz reminded him quietly.

Icon snorted.

"Why not leave'im that way? Be better for everyone."

Jazz frowned.

"Sometimes you're a bit cruel, mech."

"Hey, you're the one who mucked up his speech function, not me."

"Only cause you've stopped gamin'."

Icon was the one who had introduced him to gaming, and Jazz had enhanced the fun by discovering the way to make it happen online, but the Towers mech was hopeless at implementing it. He needed Jazz's help to identify the right target, and then he got impatient so his coding was so clumsy and went wrong or never initialised at all. Eventually he'd given up trying, just like he did with everything else he got bored with.

"You should game Piper." Icon suggested.

"Piper? Why?"

"The mech's an aft."

"So're you, but there ain't much I can do t'change either of ya."

"So give me his ident code. I'll do it."

"Why?" Jazz repeated. "You don't even take classes with him."

Icon shrugged.

"I'm bored."

Jazz rolled his optics.

"Course you are. Okay, tell ya what. I'll do what I gotta get done, then I'll come find ya. We can go watch the street racin'."

Icon brightened up and Jazz sighed.

"Mech, seriously, y'need t'find some more friends. Y'know that, right?"

Jazz's entire body ached as he dragged himself to his final class of the day, mentally cursing the fact that Icon had yet again talked him into drinking backstreet high grade made from who-knew-what and staying up all night. All he wanted to do was go home and charge, but unlike Icon he did actually care about his studies. He wasn't going to stay here forever.

As he turned a corner his classmate Clattertrap leaned in close.

"Better watch out, Jazz, Piper's on the warpath today."

Jazz groaned. Piper was bad enough on a normal orn, but when he was in a mood he was impossible to please. For a moment he seriosuly considered skipping the class, but then dismissed the thought. For him, this was compulsory attendance: his creator wanted him to become an ambassador. Besides, he actually liked the subject. He knew he was good at it; he was genuinely interested in other cultures and ceremonies and traditions and was happy to immerse himself in the details. Yet Piper was always claiming he was cheating or blaming him for any misbehaviour in the class. It wasn't fair.

Of course, the fact that he had been caught cheating in one of Piper's other classes three vorns earlier, and that he had played a prank on the mech then that had resulted in him needing to have his entire paintjob stripped and the nanites reapplied had nothing to do with it. Any mature mech should have gotten over that by now anyway.

Walking into the lecture hall he was relieved to make it to his seat without drawing Piper's attention, the lecturer being busy talking with one of the other students. Jazz snorted, seeing who it was. Veneer was Piper's favourite student. He always did well, he got extra tutoring that wasn't offered to others, and even had dinner with Piper sometimes. The less charitable in the class said he was probably spending some of his time in Piper's berth too. For all Jazz knew, it could even be true. But if that was what it took to get top grades in this class, he would rather not bother.

Eventually the class got started, and as always it began with a short reading from the day's newscasts which highlighted how poorly the average Cybertronian understood the culture and values of his neighbours. Piper would always pick one for the class to do a short review on for the next orn in addition to their main assignments, and because they were selected fresh each day there was little class could do to prepare. Well, most of them. Jazz casually lifted his datapad and grinned across the room at Smokescreen who shrugged back at him in good-natured resignation. It was something of a game to try to predict which news item would make it into class, and so far Jazz had correctly done so for the past two decaorns; a trick that kept him comfortably supplied with the tin strips that Slimline loved to chew on when she was studying.

Granted, he managed that predictive trick by doing the work on a dozen or so reports each day in case it happened to be the one selected, but no-one else need know that. Particularly not today when he had only had one joor's charge thanks to Icon's diversions.

The replay ended and Piper instructed them to have their assessments of it ready for him by the end of the orn. For most in the room it would mean locating the feed, playing it back and analysing it, something which could take groons out of their free time. For him, it just meant handing in the work he had already completed as he walked out the classroom door and enjoying the frustrated scowl on the lecturer's faceplates as he did so.

"I have here," Piper intoned acidly, gesturing to a pile of flimsies as he addressed the class, "your last assignment. Let me start by saying that I've never been so disappointed with a class in my entire career. Generally your answers were sloppy, your research skills poor, and your arguments weak. Not one of you thought to consider referring to the military conduct code in answering question four..."

Jazz crossed his arms, frustrated. What the frag did the military conduct code have to do with an assignment on Iaconian religious observances? This was why he hated Piper's classes. The mech was insane.

"I am handing back the results in order of achievement." Piper continued, beginning to move around the room and put flimsies down in front of students. "I'll tell you now that only the first five of you actually passed. The rest of you, be ashamed."

Jazz watched, at first annoyed, then frustrated, and finally alarmed as Piper continued to move around the room and did not come to him. Surely he had not done so badly as this? Piper did not like him personally, but was always fair with his marking.

The lecturer did not even look at him as he handed out the last few, then returned to his podium and began the lesson. Several others glanced at Jazz curiously, but he ignored them. He wasn't taking in any of what was being said, he was just trying to figure out what was going on. This assignment was not worth much, but that was not the point. Where was his paper? What did this mean?

When the class finally ended, he let the others move around him, then headed down to the podium.

"Where is my assignment?"

"I have no idea." Piper said, still gathering his papers.

"What's that supposed t'mean?" Jazz demanded.

"Hey, back off." Veneer warned him.

"Stay outta this, it's nothin' t'do wit' you." Jazz growled, remaining focused. "Where the frag is my assignment?"

"No doubt wherever you last left it." Piper responded. "You do understand that you actually have to submit a paper for it to get marked?"

"What?" Jazz choked.

"Your paper was not amongst those I was given."

Jazz shook his head slowly.

"That can't be."

Piper finished collecting his notes and turned towards the door.

"There's no point lying about it. Now if you want to make a late submission I'll consider it, but you'll lose five percent for every orn. Standard practice."

All he could do is watch as Piper left, Veneer hurrying after him but not before smirking back at Jazz. Left alone in the empty lecture theatre, he stared at the offline board. It made no sense. He had handed in that assignment, so where had it gone? Piper was an aft but he was honest.

He paused at that thought. Piper was honest, but Veneer wasn't. And the sycophantic mech had been helping out in the office when Jazz handed in his paper. Had been sorting them for the secretary.

Resolute, Jazz headed for the door. He could not prove Veneer was behind this, but he could slagging well make it a very unpleasant night for the glitch.

Veneer looked dreadful this morning, Jazz noted smugly as the other mech stumbled into the commissary. Of course, anyone who had suffered persistent software errors every time he attempted to go into recharge would look the same. And now for the coup de grace. A delicate little bit of online gaming.

"Hey, Jazz, you ready to get going?" Clattertrap asked.

"Hold up a click. I wanna see this."

"See what?"

"Jus' watch."

Veneer had made it to the dispenser and scanned his identity card... which was rejected. He tried again, with no better luck. That much was just a little data manipulation, the best was yet to come. Behind the counter the server took pity on him, clearly recognising him, and simply asked him what he had been attempting to purchase. Veneer replied and was handed a simple energon cube. He brought it to his lips and Jazz waited eagerly... but then the mech put the cube down. He turned towards the counter and picked a metal blade used for cutting up magnesium strips. Jazz frowned. This wasn't part of the script he had written.

"What's he doin'?" Jazz asked.

"Who?" Clattertrap responded, turning.

Veneer turned the blade over in his hands, as though examining it for something. Slowly, he turned it towards himself, settled his hands around the hilt, and pulled inward.

Jazz stood under the rushing water, shivering, remembering energon spattered everywhere, and Veneer's screams, and how he had thrashed about...

It was not like in the vidflicks or in the newsfeeds. He had not died quickly and quietly. It had been messy and agonising and it had gone on forever.

Forever and at the same time still not long enough for the medics to arrive from the local clinic. Fifty witnesses, and not one of them had known what to do. What could they have done? Nothing.

It was suicide so the Enforcers had come to take the body and to investigate. They had promised counselling for all who had known him, but Jazz did not want counselling he wanted answers.

Had he done this? Not intentionally; of course not, he had never wanted to really hurt anyone in his life. He had gamed Veneer the previous night, sure he had, and he had been angry at him. But the programming he had added should only have made him spit out his energon because his taste sensors were mixed up. How did that translate to suicide?

It shouldn't have, he reminded himself. But then what exactly did he know about Veneer? What if the mech had already been depressed? What if a restless night and extra anxiety had been a step too far? What if it was his doing, indirectly?

The Enforcers weren't looking for a murderer, this case was clear cut to them.

Jazz wished he was as sure.