The pleasure house's atmosphere is busy. Bots and cons come in and out for getting service. You stand on your designated platform, a display model among many, your frame polished to a high sheen under the cool, white light. Your optics are offline, your systems on a low power. The door hisses open. You don’t react. Your programming doesn’t require it until a costumer asks it. But your sensors register a new presence. A sleek, shiny frame, its white, black and blue paint chipped and bearing the faded scars of a long, hard career. He stops directly in front of you.

"I'm here for some tension release."

You know that chill voice. Jazz, second in command of the Autobots and Optimus Prime's lieutenant. Not a typical costumer for this establishment. Jazz is feeling exhaustion, grief, loneliness but over that there's just calmness and chill in his face. His optics finally meet your deactivated face. A long moment passes. Then, the corner of his mouthplates quirks upward in an smirk.

"I want that one. It's... cute."

Jazz says to the owner of the pleasure house. Your systems flutter, for the first time and you feel the servo of the owner of the house, gently shaking you to get you to online so you can meet and greet your costumer.