All That Jazz

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or Transformers. I should think that rather obvious with my college-induced poverty and all.

Warnings: Slight spoilers for the '07 Transformers movie and the Soul Society Arc.

AN: Dedicated to ZangetsuGirl over on LiveJournal. I blame this entirely on her since I never would have even thought of this particular crossover on my own.

Yamamoto Genryuusai Shigekuni, captain-commander of the Gotei 13, was having a good day.

Relatively speaking.

There were the usual problems and complaints. The eighth division was too loud. Zaraki and his goons had knocked down another neighborhood. Strange smells were coming from Kurotsuchi's labs. And of course, that pesky business of his three traitorous subordinates.

Still, the day had been rather pleasant so far, as had the ones previous. The only true blip had been that strange burst of reiatsu detected in Rukongai earlier in the week, and the old man idly hoped that it wasn't another ryoka invasion. But that was Kuchiki's problem now. Let Byakuya-bo handle whatever had caused the continuing, albeit now diminished, surge.

Yamamoto was the captain-commander, after all. He could delegate.

The old man was sitting at his desk, contemplating an early lunch, when there was an unexpected commotion outside. He could hear people running back and forth on the other side of his office door, feel a faint trickle of reiatsu through the shielded walls. But he couldn't be bothered to get up from his chair.

That was until his door suddenly slid open, an nondescript Shinigami kneeling on the other side. The man's face was sweaty, breathing heavy like he had just run a marathon. Some nameless underling Yamamoto vaguely recalled. Maybe. Possibly. Not at all actually.

"Ano… excuse me, Yamamoto-soutaichou," the man panted, "but you really need to see this. Really, really need to see this. Outside… in the courtyard."

The captain-commander sighed but rose from his seat, absentmindedly grabbing his staff on his way out the door. He didn't even bother to dismiss his subordinate as he stepped into the hallway, mind too occupied with the sudden blast of reiatsu. Yamamoto sped up and hurried outdoors. He rounded the final corner, only to stop short, brain trying to process what exactly he was seeing.

It was… it was…

Dear gods, he had no idea what the hell this was! It was big, taller than Komamura, broader but somehow lither and more graceful at the same time. And it was silver. Bright and shiny silver. Metallic. He could see the moving machine parts. Servos and gizmos and whatnots whirling and clicking.

It appeared to be a fifteen foot tall, gleaming silver, sentient robot. With bright blue eyes. Which were visible from underneath some sort of visor.

And it had a soul apparently. After all, that was the only way to make it to Soul Society.

Perhaps it was Japanese.

Yamamoto just gaped for a few minutes before he managed to control himself. He dazedly turned towards a harried looking Kuchiki Byakuya, who was standing nearby.

"Kuchiki-taichou, explain this… this… just explain."

Grey eyes flickered towards him, but Kuchiki didn't reply. He honestly had no idea what to say.

Just then, the… thing came towards them, but it didn't walk. It danced. Actually danced to some tune that only it could hear.

And the old man's sole thought was, 'Please, kami-sama, please. Let this be another one of Urahara's practical jokes.'

The thing stopped just in front of them. Yamamoto tilted his head up. And up. And up. And up some more. And did he mention that it was big? The captain-commander fleetingly hoped that there weren't any more of these things. Especially if they got any bigger.

But that notion flew away as the thing knelt down, getting as close to eye level as possible. It gave them an eerily friendly smile, entire lower half of its face twisting into a grin.

"What's crackin', little bitches?"

Yamamoto could feel an aneurysm coming on.

Ever Hopeful,