Swindle might have had the market cornered on questionable videos of Autobots in alluring poses and behaviors, but Soundwave was the single-most authority on Jazz. Not that he ever offered his many, many recordings to Swindle for the purpose of making a profit. No, these recordings were for his use, and his use alone.
They were research. They were clues. They were hints. They told a story, painted a picture, they were pieces of a puzzle, of the enigma that was the Autobot’s third in command. A mech who smiled, danced, and laughed in the light, and slit the intake of many a Decepticon soldier in the shadows. He could slip in a virus without a second though. He never hesitated to pull the trigger.
Jazz was a walking contradiction. And Soundwave… might have developed something of a hobby. An obsession, one might call it. Everyone had ways they passed the time, things to occupy themselves while the Decepticons cowered in their underwater prison, waiting for the right time to try (and fail) to destroy the Autobots.
Skywarp performed poorly executed pranks. Motormaster made odd metallic sculptures. Thundercracker scribbled in a very old, very flimsy datapad. Lord Megatron brooded, plotting Optimus’ demise in many potentially gruesome ways. Or erotic ones, depending on how you looked at it.
Soundwave, meanwhile, had this.
Video. Recorded conversations. Scribbled notations. Scraps of paper. Items stolen from his private habsuite. It formed an interesting mosaic on the back of the standalone closet in Soundwave’s hab.
Sometimes, he opened the doors and stared at it, his gaze wandering from artifact to memory to memento. He thought if he stared at it long enough, he’d understand Jazz, and through that understanding, he could devise a way to defeat the Autobots for Lord Megatron.
Or, barring that, discover a way beneath Jazz’s plating. Surely a mind that devious harbored thoughts of the tasty variety. Surely a frame that flexible could find itself in rather interesting positions.
Surely Jazz would open to him, if only Soundwave could get close enough to touch. But in order to do so, he needed to understand. To anticipate. To prepare.
Thus, the research. Carefully acquired, carefully arranged, carefully understood. Surely the answers were here. All Soundwave had to do was keep looking.
He would find the key, and then, only then, would Jazz be his.