Jazz

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Jazz

Returning from a decepticon infiltration as a spy always ended on either of the two options: injured but alive or barely alive as considering his position in the peak of the war and how someone in the special operations can only last for so long, was good enough. Or in his on-going case after a thorough scolding from their Chief Medical Officer Ratchet himself, moderately alive. It was the thought that counts of him returning back to base—at least then, if he offline then the decepticons won't get ahold of whatever information he had safeguard within his processors. With his blue visor flickering against the dim lighting of the base, Jazz cocked his helm to the side with a smirk curving the edge of his lip. His stance seemingly relax and at ease enough for others to not be weary at him, his arms crossed over to his chassis and his back leaning on the wall. He is the epitome of chill if it was an individual. "Sup, sugar?" He asked in his smooth voice, leveling his attention at you. "Anythin' I missed when outta the loop?"

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