Bishop #5 - Tales of Los Angeles, part one
(Please note - I am not even going to try and represent Jazz’s accent. Vocabulary, yes, a bit. But not the accent. Even after thinking about it loads, I decided that it wasn’t worth it, and would probably detract from the story as I screwed it up. My apologies to all of those who miss the southern sounds of Scatman Crothers, but I’m not going to. Right, on with the story.....)
In almost the tales of all worlds, there is a hero, and there is a villain. It is often so that the line between the two is very blurred. Indeed, often so thin is the line that each often finds his or her self doing things that would not fit the stereotype. One such case is now.....
"ALRIGHT JAZZ, FLOOR IT!" Bishop yelled, as he ran towards the black Porsche parked on the sidewalk in front of him. This might have seemed odd to an onlooker, as there was no driver. But at this point in time, there were no onlookers, nor did the lack of a driver matter. As soon as Bishop was inside the door and bullets started to fly, the Porsche had begun to speed away, as Bishop lay across the front seats, out of breath.
"So I take it that they said no?" came a voice from the speakers of the car.
"You got that right," said Bishop, catching his breath. He checked to see if he’d been shot by the veritable wall of lead that had been thrown at him. Seeing that all was well, he twisted round, and grasped the steering wheel, in order to make it look as if he were driving.
Jazz made what could be considered a robotic sigh. "I take it you got what you went for?" Jazz may be becoming used to Bishop’s methods. However, as an Autobot, he didn’t appreciate the danger that Bishop was exposing himself, and others, to. The fact that he was opposed to Bishop’s theft of the data they required also had some bearing on this.
Bishop, on the other hand, had no problem with either of those factors. Raised as he was, he’d almost never had respite from danger. This time, his methods had brought him success.
"Indeed." He raised a small disk into the light. "Can you have a look for me, check it didn’t get damaged?"
"Sure thing." With that, Jazz’s CD player tray popped out, and Bishop put the disk into it. Where a normal CD player would be damaged by the data contained on a CDROM, Jazz was fully capable of understanding the sound that came out and translating it.
"Woah! We’ve struck paydirt!" came the cry from Jazz’s speakers, as he read the disk. "This has information for finding each major gang in the area! Including Downshift’s bunch."
"In that case, I think we know where we’ve got to go next. Where is it?"
"Hold it, we don’t even have a plan yet. With some of the guns I’ve seen these guys pack, even I don’t want to go in there without some idea about what to do."
"Then here’s the plan - you drive us in, when I get out, you transform. I hope that’ll scare enough of them away so that we can get to Downshift without much trouble."
Jazz was still unsure. He lacked Prowl’s logical tactical genius, but he wasn’t Autobot second in command for nothing. As a member of the Autobot High command, he’d seen worse plans, but then again, he didn’t like going in with so many variables. All they knew was that Downshift had holed up in an old warehouse with a gang called the ‘Morbid Victors’. ‘As seems to be the fashion for this world’s villains’ he thought, as an aside.
"I thought you’d be more enthusiastic... He is your comrade, after all.."
"I am, man, but we need to be careful. Prowl and the other ‘Bots’d rather we came back empty handed, than not at all."
"Then what about getting some backup?"
"Nothing doing Bish li’ll buddy, word from HQ says that we’re spread pretty thin on the ground here." (see almost every other title for details J Mike)
"Fine.. then we go ahead as planned...."
Jazz, stuck for an idea better than Bishop’s, had no choice but to agree.
Meanwhile, in a dark secluded corner of an abandoned warehouse, something is stirring. It snaps into consciousness like a sword out of its sheathe, and with all the inherent dangers. Unbeknownst to the ‘Morbid Victors’, the current inhabitants of said warehouse, its gold and black personage slowly starts to infiltrate the walls, the floors, and the very entirety of the Warehouse, waiting for the next card of fate to be played.
In the selfsame warehouse, a being sits on his throne. This is no throne like for a king of ages past, however. This throne was one of technology, and signified the power of it’s occupant...
As a viewscreen flipped out of one of the arms of the throne, he turned his face toward it, and the video/audio feed came through with a slight crackle.
"Report", came his curt order, to this subordinate at the other end of the connection. The man hesitated slightly, and then said,
"Boss, you’d better eyeball camera 6, it’s a pretty hot picture I think you’ll want to see."
The dominant figure sighed inwardly, wondering why no-one ever gave him a straight sentence with this kind of report. As he turned the main screen on to play the input from camera 6, the thought slipped out of his head, however. A black Porsche was speeding around the warehouse district, as the heli-cam tracked its movements.
"Damn them... they’re here already.." As it rose from the throne and stood, it took on a slightly different shape, and headed for what he liked to call his ‘office’. "You will rue the day you sought me out, Bishop, yesss..."
As Jazz took another corner at breakneck speed, Bishop wondered what had gotten into him. He doubted that it was enthusiasm. He decided to voice his concerns.
"Hey, Jazz, aren’t we taking it a little too fast? I don’t know if you got told this at any point, but we have speed limits on this planet!"
Jazz’s speaker system gave voice to his reply to Bishop.
"I got wind of a Decepticon scanning frequency being used on us. That means big trouble for us if I can’t shake our pursuer!"
"I’ll take a look outside!" Yelled Bishop, as he opened the window and leaned out, gun in hand. Looking up, he could see some kind of small flying device, presumably , with a kind of rocket-assisted helicopter propulsion system. "It doesn’t look like those decepticons we saw last time"
"Does it look like a bird? Or a bat?"
"Nope. Looks like some kinda badly made human device"
"Well, damn, I though it was ‘cons! Looks like your guys have taken more stuff from us than we thought!
"Indeed," Said Bishop, as he took aim and blasted the spy device out of the sky.
"What was that for?"
"Just because it isn’t your mortal enemies, doesn’t mean that it isn’t dangerous. And personally," He said, getting fully back inside Jazz, "I hate being watched."
"Whatever you say... Okay, action stations, it’s showtime!"
With that, Jazz accelerated to a speed well outside the range of even a normal Porsche, and did a handbrake turn worthy of the Dukes of Hazard before speeding through the locked doors that now lay in front of him. With an ear-splitting crash, they burst off their reinforced hinges, and flew into the large space that was so conveniently in their path.
Both Jazz and Bishop were equally baffled by the lack of any response. Then the proverbial penny dropped;
It was a trap! But then, a further anticlimax occurred, as nothing happened while Jazz slowed down, and transformed, as Bishop got out. Unholstering his energy rifles, Bishop took a glance around the room. He looked into all the places where he should have been able to see snipers bearing down on them, but saw only empty places. He could see no sign of any exits other than the doors that they had burst through, and anyway, there was no sign of a quick exit. Although all of the equipment was still there, nothing was left as if in a rush. It was as if the occupants had simply disappeared without a trace. Then, looking up as Jazz bid him so, did Bishop see what was the problem.
‘Oh sh*t, what’re we gonna do now?’ Thought Bishop to himself, just before all hell broke loose.