Slaves of the Beat

The Autobots didn't know what to make of it. The proximity alarm had been triggered and nothing was on the monitors. This meant only one thing Ravage had snuck on to the base and slipped up somewhere. So when they spread out to search for him it was a surprise to Prowl and Jazz to see him sitting in the loading bay. Waiting. Just waiting. Prowl was about to fire on the kitty con when Jazz held up a hand.

"Hey there Ravage." Jazz flinched for a second when the Decepticon stood up. The panther like bot's tail hung low dragging the ground. He tipped his head and a flash of silver flickered from his mouth. "Wha` cha got there, kitty?" The saboteur said kneeling down.

Either Ravage didn't hear the kitty comment or didn't care was unknown because the second Jazz knee joint hit the loading bay floor he was limping towards the Autobot. Prowl in the meantime contacted the others informing them that they found the little spy and to report to the loading bay. Purple blue liquid streaked across the floor as small sparks flickered at Ravage's rear leg near the hip. Involuntary Jazz held out his hand and the young bot let whatever was in his mouth go.

He had never been this close to the Con without trying to rip each other apart. So he took a good look as the cat sat back leaning on his good leg. Ravage was young they all knew that but it only now occurred to Jazz that he was only a little older than Blaster's oldest and they were barley younglings. It was clear that the little bot was in pain but he didn't show it that was until Blaster along with Optimus, Ironhide and a few other bots showed up.

"Ravage?" Blaster spoke almost lost at the sight. The bot let loose a cry of pain and utter loss that no one had ever heard from the con and shot forward staggering to get to the orange bot. The Autobots were in shock from the sound and the sight of Blaster scooping up the small Decepticon and holding him close to his spark. The black bot nuzzled his muzzle against the frame holding him. Energon tears slipped between the two frames and Blaster was afraid to ask. "What happened?"

Never looking up at the bot, the sorrowful cries slowed and the kitty spoke, to the surprise of most of the Autobots. "Creator…" A small hitch in his vocal cables that sounded strangely like a human hiccup laced with pain echoed in the silence. "…Megatron…" That sound again.

"Where are your siblings?"

"Wouldn't …leave…creator." Each pause was that spark wrenching sound.

"Ravage one more." He nodded. "Where is Soundwave?"

That seemed to being the kitty con back. "Assistance." The word was short and he pushed against Blaster roughly. The Autobot lost his grip on the little con and he tumbled to the ground. With his leg nearly torn off he didn't get his balance and landed sharply on the injured leg. There was a sickening crack and a flare of sparks before the Decepticon stood up.

Ratchet had pushed his way to the front of the gathering Autobots in time to see Ravage force himself up on three legs. The fourth remained on the floor along with a growing pool of fluid. Ratchet was fighting every protocol in him not to rush over and treat the wounded Cybertroian. Looking directly at Jazz the kitty con flicked his head and looked at the Autobot's hand. Holding up the piece of silver Blaster snatched it away.

Looking over it he could see it was folded. Blaster carefully began to unfold the piece. Optimus being quite this whole time chose now to speak. "Blaster, do you know what to make of this?" There was a pause and no answer as the orange bot held open what looked to be a flyer from Cybertron. "Blaster?" The Prime asked as the boom box stared at the flyer his frame starting to shake.

"Hey I remember that place." Jazz piped in looking over the poster. "They had two rocking DJs that would battle it out for the Master of Bass title."

"Follow!" Ravage snapped before running out the bay doors on three legs.

Blaster never waited or asked for permission as he followed the Con out the doors in a dead run. The flyer had slipped from his servos and drifted to the ground. Jazz scooped it up. The flyer proclaimed they had "The Masters of Bass battling it out on the mix tables all night long for the closing night" all flared in reds and silvers on a plain background. But scrawled in the corner in what appeared to be energon was a phrase.

"In the end we are all masters of the music but slaves to the beat."