"Oh, I don't doubt that," Mirage grumbled, voice muffed from his position, face buried in his own knees and pillows.

It took a long moment, in which Mirage tossed the pillow away in disgust, wheels twitching and fingers raking down his otherwise pristine, glyphed plating, but when the spy finally turned back to his superior, he was much more composed.

"So. He actually agreed to this farce?"

He was certain Jazz would be polite enough to ignore his still-spasming tires. He reached out for the datapad.