Chapter Text
On one occasion, Ironhide decided that the Ark was getting too cluttered and messy and assigned all the residing Autobots to tidy both common spaces and their private corners. As Jazz finally had gotten to cleaning his little office, he found a severed hand.
Extremely unsettled about whose it was, how had it ended up in his place and for how long had it been there, the Autobot TiC rushed to notify the others about his macabre discovery. Then, getting back with a gaggle of disbelieving ‘Bots, he got creeped out even more – he was sure that he’d left the hand in a crate on the side, but now it was resting in the middle of his desk. And he made damn sure to close the door as he rushed to tell others. Still, it wasn’t possible for it to move on its own, right? The only plausible explanation was that he had put it on the desk and didn’t remember it due to shock. Very unlikely of him, but, well… Happened to the best, right?
It was picked up and immediately given to Wheeljack and Ratchet to study. It was a purple hand, quite basic and generic. And they couldn’t determine for the lives of theirs who had that thing belonged to. At the same time, it was definitely a part of a living mech, severed just below the elbow, as opposed to it being made as a spare part. Also, Jazz couldn’t help but notice that the researchers kept accusing each other of moving and misplacing the hand, but he decided not to get too deep into it and just leave them be.
Finally, Ratchet and Wheeljack admitted to be at their rope’s end and decided to send the hand to First Aid at the Protectobots’ Headquarters to obtain a second opinion. Not sad at all to part with it – at least temporarily – Jazz secured the thing in a special kind of parcel dedicated to transporting highly sensitive pieces of evidence in medical and criminal investigations. Then, he gave it to Red Alert and, later that day, personally supervised it being given to Streetwise and getting secured at his back seat, ready for transportation. Relieved, Jazz was able to focus on his duties as if nothing had happened.
After the end of his shift, he returned to his quarters intending to relax a little bit and read something in peace. He opened his door and entered, carrying a pile of datapads. And he stopped dead and dropped everything he was holding. Then stumbled back and rushed outside to get the others.
In the middle of his berth lay a purple severed hand.