Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The transport pulled to a stop in front of the elegantly decorated iron gates. The heavy slabs were closed, held that way only by their weight and the equally heavy-looking hinges connecting the slabs to the columns on either side. Each metal slab was engraved with the official seal of the Academy, various bits of crystal inlaid both within and outside the pattern.

A gnawing pit of dread rose in Jazz's tank when he realized he wouldn't step outside those gates for the rest of the semester. He hesitated, taking in the imposing sight of the gates and the fortified wall running several hundred feet in both directions.

The driver huffed impatiently and slid the door open. Jazz stepped out carefully onto the walkway, clutching his two meager subspace generators with both hands. He turned and thanked the driver again, who replied only by closing the transport door in Jazz's face. The words had been repeated enough over the course of the ride that Jazz could understand the irritation permeating the driver's EM field. It had been the only thing he'd said, spending most of the ride in tense silence.

Jazz stepped back when the transport sped off out of sight, without even so much as a 'good riddance' from the driver.

To a point, it was good to know that he wasn't the only one having a bad day.

A heavy grinding sound behind him had Jazz turning to look at the gates again. The thick bars slowly swiveled open, the hinges catching and protesting even more loudly every few seconds. The crystals set into the metal caught was meager light there was and sent fractals of color dancing across everything around, including Jazz's plating.

A group of color spots caught Jazz's optic and he followed them to where they slid reluctantly up the columns to rest on the surface of the gargoyles perched on the tops of either column. Each one held an orb, and each gave Jazz a mirrored smirk that made his plating crawl even more that the metallic grating had.

He eyed one nervously, half expecting it to jump down at him. The milky crystal orb it held shimmered, and Jazz came to realize that the dark colored disk in the center wasn't decoration but the lens of a security camera. The other gargoyle held another camera, also trained on him.

The gates stopped their horrid grinding and Jazz stepped forward through them. Despite the clouds blocking most of the light from the sun, he could still see the scenic landscape of the campus.

Bleak.

That was his first impression. Tall crystal spires were spread generously over the area, their tops exploding outward into thousands of long, tiny spindles that each held dozens of flat reflective plates. In between the spires were smaller crystal formations, some clustered together and others sprawling over the ground. Some formations arced off the ground in spectacular formations while others clung flat to the ground like a lifeline.

The clouds hanging in the sky effectively blocked any light from reaching the surface of the crystals, and Cybertron's natural EM field was the wrong configuration this time of year for them to create their own light. Without any light to shine on the crystals and without any light glowing from within, they were dull and muted, frozen in place instead of dancing with energy. Combined with the dull grey of the stone the buildings seemed to be made of, the entire sight blended into a single shade of matte grey.

Jazz passed through the gates and paused in the wide area of pavement just beyond. When he stopped moving, a soft whirring sound came from above and behind him. He half turned, twisting just enough so that he could look at where it had come from, and saw the black lens of one of the cameras rotating around to fixate on him once more.

The new angle of light, or perhaps the movement of the rotation, made several fine seams crackling over the orb's surface. Jazz had a suspicion that he could move virtually anywhere withing range and still have the camera watching him.

Right. This would be fun. If fun were synonymous with horrible.

Turning back to face the campus he shifted the subspace generators in his hands to grasp both metal straps with one so that he could use his other to fish a datapad out of his personal subspace. Scanning what little he could see of the campus from the base of a gentle hill, he onlined the datapad.

Several buildings were visible from where he stood, each sitting squat and angular in the rolling landscape. He could make out some writing on the closest one, but it wasn't legible from this angle.

The datapad's screen lit up and Jazz looked down at it, ignoring the painful squeeze of his spark when he remembered the urgent goodbyes his creators had given him along with it. There was no point in lamenting circumstance when he had to find...

He scanned the screen, looking for his destination. Admissions. He had to find the Admissions building.

The writing on the building, though it was still difficult to make out, looked vaguely like Admissions. Jazz squinted through his visor and took a few steps to the side, trying to get a better viewing angle.

Before he could get a definite idea on what the writing said, a burst of static from the direction of the gate had Jazz snapping his helm back to locate the source.

Another burst of static, louder than the first, had Jazz wincing as the sudden and harsh noise rolled over his sensitive audios. A bright yellow light flashed and his optics locked on to a small external comm. unit laid into one of the columns holding the gates in place.

Jazz stepped closer cautiously, and another burst of static assaulted him. This time it was somewhat expected though, and instead of wincing Jazz found himself frowning. The yellow light was coming from a small button, pleading for attention. He stashed the datapad back in his subspace and pressed it without hesitation. “Hello?”

A low-pitched wave of static responded, and Jazz let go of the button. The static cleared and transformed into words. “--we go. Are you Jazz?”

“Yeah, I'm s'posed to check in today.”

A pause from the intercom unit, and the sound of typing. “Yes, your sire called and let us know you'd be coming late. If you'd wait where you are, someone will be down to collect you in a few minutes.”

He tried to ignore how much he disliked the idea of being 'collected.' It made his plating crawl, though he couldn't quite discern why. “Okay, thanks.”

Not even a second had passed when a thought struck him. “Wait, are there any more orientations?”

As per the school's strict policy, every student was required to attend an orientation before they could create a schedule for the semester. His belated arrival only gave him a few days before classes started, and those precious few days had been for getting all the preparations taken care of and for putting his schedule together. A gnawing fear wormed its way into his tank at the suggestion that he'd arrived too late.

The intercom unit crackled with static again. “That's why we're sending someone to get you. The last orientation was scheduled yesterday, but we can have someone give you the rundown.”

A surge of relief ran through Jazz's frame and he thanked the voice again before stepping back a bit. He hadn't expected the academy to make any sort of allowances for him, nor did he want any, but at least he wouldn't be kicked out before he even started because of something out of his control. He might not have been the most enthusiastic about the switch, but he didn't want to get booted out. This was, after all, the best school he would never have any hope of attending.

Jazz still couldn't quite believe he was there. It had been through pure fortune and random chance that he was, and he wasn't about to let his stroke of luck slip through his fingers.

The intercom unit had said someone would be down 'shortly,' but shortly could mean a lot of different things depending on who said it. Expecting to wait at least a few minutes, Jazz wandered over to inspect a nearby crystal formation.

It was about a foot taller than Jazz's helm, a dark stormy grey color. A thick base at the bottom rooted the spires growing in all directions, jumping out at anything and everything around the formation. Even if it had the sun shining directly on it, Jazz guessed it would still be grey from the complete lack of any other color in the graceful spires.

He was admiring a particularly large spire jutting straight up and out of the formation when something colorful behind it caught his attention. The branches of grey crystal were too closely packed to see past, and too densely coloured to see through, so Jazz took a few steps around the formation to get a better look at the splash of colour. A hopeful glance up the pathway proved to be a hopeless endeavor, so Jazz took a few more steps while still remaining in sight if anyone ever did come.

Visible across the wide, flat, and fairly empty stretch of land was a red mech tucked away behind a row of tall crystal columns. He was crouched behind them, facing away from the wall surrounding the campus and looked to be peering out from between the white columns.

As Jazz watched, he turned from his crouch to rest his back against one of the columns, shielding himself behind the solid wall. The way the mech was looking around warily, peeking his shoulder every few seconds while settling himself into a sitting position, didn't sit well with Jazz. He was protected from sight by the columns on his back, and there was nothing against or near the wall that would potentially see him. It was possible that the mech just liked his privacy, but it seemed to Jazz that he was hiding from something.

A quick look at the cameras and another comparative look at the suspicious mech confirmed that he was out of sight for even them. While the cameras could theoretically swivel to point in any direction, the stone bulk of each gargoyle was blocking the camera angle in the exact location that allowed the bot to remain hidden.

Jazz looked back at the bot and squinted through his visor to see what the bot was doing. He appeared to be hunched over himself, hand brought together over his middle, grasping something long--

Heat flooded Jazz's faceplates and he wrenched his gaze away. Of course the mech only wanted some alone time. It had been hasty of him to jump to conclusions that anything sinister was going on, and he firmly reminded himself that it wasn't like that anymore. This wasn't Kaon, and he wasn't still stuck trying to claw his way out of some back-alley dump.

He moved to retreat behind the crystal formation and out of the mech's line of sight. It would be embarrassing for both of them if the bot looked up during or after the fact to see Jazz standing there, and Jazz didn't have any interest in watching the bot.

His optics itched to take one more look at the bot though, just to be sure.

Even from the considerable distance, Jazz could see the reflective glint of metal. He could still make out every fine detail of the syringe, could still see the small vial in the bot's fingers as it was shakily inserted into the syringe. He thought for a second that he could see the individual markings on the vial, indicating quantity, but dismissed the thought. There was no way he could see such tiny details from so far away.

He could see the color of the liquid sloshing around though, and past experience told him it was too bright to be anything but dangerous.

The pathway was still empty, and the cameras couldn't see the bot. Dread curled Jazz's spark, and he looked at the intercom unit. He could call someone, have someone come get the bot before he did something stupid.

No. If there was one thing he'd learned in Kaon, it was to leave well enough alone. Snitches wound up in the hospital at best, and Jazz shuddered to think the worst.

This wasn't Kaon though. This was new. Jazz didn't know if he could interfere, or if turning a blind optic was the only way he got to keep walking. Without knowing exactly what this part of the campus was like, he couldn't make a solid decision.

Leaving it up to the faculty was a possibility, and Jazz looked at the intercom unit again, then up the pathway one more time. Based on how long it was taking whoever it was to arrive, he didn't think it would do any immediate good to call someone. He could not just stand there and watch the bot shoot up, either.

Taking a leap of faith that this wasn't like Kaon after all, Jazz turned back to the bot, ready to sprint across the field or shout or something to stop him, and froze.

A figure was edging around the row of columns, crouched low and yet moving swiftly towards the red mech. Black and white plating shifted, and enforcer decals became visible on one shoulder strut. The shadows cast by the large pillars seemed to welcome the bot, his contrasting plating blending in well with the light and dark patches of light and shadow. The bot took another quick step, quite close to his prey now, and paused. Mostly black doorwings stirred and the Praxian looked at Jazz.

From across the expanse of the field, intensely blue optics locked immediately onto Jazz's. His spark stilled in its casing and he suddenly became aware of how he looked, half-hidden behind the crystal formation and desperately clutching two tiny subspace generators as though his life depended on it.

Those optics blinked once before the Praxian turned and pounced. It couldn't be called a tackle, even though that's what it technically was. It was too graceful, too precisely executed so that the syringe would be plucked from one hand while the other was used to spin the mech around and pin him face down against the hard ground. Tackles were clumsy and relied on brute strength and momentum while this, whatever this was, reminded Jazz strongly of Soundwave's feline symbiote.

In less than a second, the red mech was on his front with his faceplates pushed into the ground, kicking and thrashing when the surprise faded. The Praxian summarily ignored his protests, which were so loudly given that they carried through the thick air to where Jazz stood, and held up the vial against the light to examine it, doorwings held high. The writhing bot on the ground was held in place by only one arm and a knee, with an ease that made Jazz's spark tighten with fear or something else. The Praxian looked down and said no more than a couple of words to the bot, faceplates showing no emotion that Jazz could discern from this distance, but the effect was immediate. The mech stilled and collapsed against the ground, looking suddenly small against the stark contrast of black and white.

The vial was snapped into the Praxian's subspace, followed by the discarded syringe, and the red mech was hauled to his feet, roughly only because he resisted the motion. When they stood, it became evident to Jazz why the bot had seemed so small. He was small—a minibot and small even for his frametype.

The Praxian's mouth moved again, and the minibot started walking stiffly around the row of crystals, arm still twisted between his shoulders.

“Drug busts aren't common here.”

Jazz nearly jumped out of his plating, tension he hadn't realized had gathered in his limbs releasing in a flurry of motion when he whirled around to face his would-be attacker. He'd been too focused on the scene across the field to notice anyone approach, and past experience had him raising his arms to defend himself.

The motion ended with abruptly shuttering optics and moving his arms to shield himself from the onslaught of light. Sometime in the last few minutes the sky had cleared to allow a torrential wave of light to beat down on everything around Jazz, and the crystal formation he stood next to took full advantage of it. The long spires captured the light and flung concentrated specks of it gleefully in every direction, including Jazz's plating and optics.

“Yeah, it's pretty bright.”

Jazz darkened his visor to nearly black in order to cut back the amount of light, and suddenly he could see his new companion. Green plating, soft optics and kind faceplates greeted him when he looked at the other bot. “Wha'?” Suave, as always.

The bot gestured towards the crystal formation, shuttering his own optics slightly. “The crystal. That's why it's away from the main part of campus. After the third fire it was moved away from anything flammable.”

Jazz looked at the crystal formation, then back at the green bot. Silence stretched between them, before Jazz cleared his vocalizer and extended his hand. “Ah'm Jazz.”

The bot smiled warmly and grasped Jazz's outstretched hand, not at all surprised by his abruptness. “Hound. I apologize for keeping you waiting. I would have been here earlier, but security was concerned my visibility would interfere with the apprehension of a suspect.” The last part was pronounced like it left a bad taste on Hound's glossa, leading Jazz to believe it was being quoted.

His hand was released, and Jazz felt himself frown. It made sense, in a completely paranoid way, to keep the bot from freaking and running if he saw Hound walking down the pathway. It did not make sense to have Jazz standing there, completely visible, if Hound had been held up because of the potential for the bot to see him. “Was it a problem that Ah was here?”

Hound shook his helm. “No. I'm one of the guidance counselors here, so this kind of stuff is part of what I do.” Hound started to say something, but visibly cut himself off before continuing carefully. “The student knows it's part of what I do, so he would have reacted much worse if he'd seen me than if he saw a complete stranger.”

The student. Jazz ventured a guess that whatever Hound had cut himself off from saying was the bot's name. “Alright.” He nodded, showing his understanding, and gave a smile of his own.

It was returned, and Hound turned slightly to take a step in the direction he'd come from. “Welcome to Iacon First Academy.”

Taking the hint Jazz stooped to pick up his subspace generators from where they'd been flung to the ground in his brief moment of panic. When he stood again, he hurried to join Hound, who was still half-turned, waiting for him.

A moment of silence passed and they set off up the gentle slope. Hound broke it after several long seconds, glancing over to look at Jazz. “Drug use is almost never and issue here, and I apologize for the scene. It must not be very encouraging to witness that as soon as you arrive.”

“It's a lot better than what Ah'm used to.” It was mumbled under his breath, and Jazz hadn't meant for it to come out, but it did. The school he'd gone to previously had been plagued with problems. It hadn't had any sort of enforcement policy against drugs, or drug-related violence. There were rules, of course, but without the ability to enforce any of them they were completely useless.

Briefly Jazz regretted letting it slip; the last thing he wanted was pity. But when Hound hummed thoughtfully, any unease he'd had was melted away. “Most of the time, problems are taken care of before it gets to that point, but if it does Prowl takes care of it as efficiently as possible.”

“Prowl?” Was that the black and white Praxian?

“Campus Security.” Hound's casual reply was accompanied by a shrug. “A member of the local enforcers, specifically assigned here.”

Jazz glanced at a squat lump of pale green crystal as they passed it. “Campus Security only has one enforcer?” As prestigious as it claimed to be, and from what Jazz had seen the claims were valid, Iacon First Academy had at least a couple thousand students. One enforcer would be stretched to their limits over such a large student body, not to mention the size of the campus.

“There's also a Director of Campus Security, but otherwise yes.” Hound looked sideways at Jazz and met his optics. “We had more enforcers at first, but Prowl claimed the others 'got in his way.'” Air quotes accompanied the amusement in his voice.

Jazz gave a hesitant smile, and the air quotes dropped. Hound pointed towards a building they were passing. “That's one of the dorms.” Following his direction, Jazz glanced at the building, a couple of levels high with windows coupled together on each floor.

Before he could take much of the building in, Hound continued as though he'd never interrupted himself. “Prowl's pretty good at his job, so we don't really need anyone besides him and the Director. If something does get to be too much for the two of them to handle, we'll call in a few more enforcers from the local force.”

They reached the top of the hill and stopped in front of a flat, boring-looking building. Jazz was immediately grateful to be done with the trek, and cycled his vents several times before they settled back to a normal setting. Even with the sudden influx of light and the colors dancing off various crystal formations surrounding the building, it still looked rather dull. “This is admissions. Once you get checked in and get everything set up, I'll give you the official campus tour.”

Hound gave another friendly smile and started towards the building. Jazz adjusted his grip of the handles of his subspace generators and hurried to follow.

Chapter Text

When Prowl returned from his search of Cliffjumper's dorm, the minibot was still sitting fairly motionless. The cuffs keeping him firmly attached to his chair might have helped, but the fight to get him in the chair in the first place had proven he was just as much of a nuisance when restrained.

The sound of the office door sliding open earned no response that Prowl could discern, even when the hover transport was pushed into the room. The minibot remained hunched forward, helm ducked down, with both arms held behind him and cuffed to one of the bars used to create the chair backing.

Prowl stepped through the door and allowed it to close behind him. He had anticipated Cliffjumper's unease, but the small space of the office was crammed with the delectable smell of the student's fear. It sent a sharp thrill through his jaw to his fangs, which pinged him with a request to extend. He denied it, venting in the heavy scent and becoming acquainted with it.

Several moments passed, and the heated ache in his fangs receded to a point that Prowl didn't have to concentrate on manually override the requests. He didn't even particularly like the scent of fear, and Cliffjumper himself smelled less than appealing. The smell was only affecting him so much because it was so strong, and likely because the minibot had been kept in the same small, enclosed space for the entire length of Prowl's search.

Once the initial impact had passed, Prowl felt his frame relax and his jaw settled back into dormancy. Without the hunting protocols tugging at him, he could focus on continuing his previous task. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to move the hover transport against the adjacent wall so that it wasn't in the way of the door. It was placed exactly parallel to the wall, close enough in the small space of the office that it was just barely in Cliffjumper's peripheral vision as a constant reminder of why he was there.

Satisfied with the placement, Prowl flicked his doorwings contentedly.

It had been at least four full minutes since he had first stepped through the door, and throughout the course of him forcing his fangs into submission and the movement of the transport, Cliffjumper had not once moved. Prowl's hadn't felt any air movement on his doorwings, nor had he sensed any fluctuation in the minibot's miserable field.

The thought crossed Prowl's processor that maybe he was asleep. It had taken a while for Prowl to complete the very thorough search of his dorm room, and it would be fitting of Cliffjumper's unique personality to make use of his and Prowl's time recharging.

That possibility was squashed when Prowl stepped to a small table that held an incense burner. In this angle, his doorwings were focused completely on Cliffjumper and he could tell that the minibot's systems were running normally. He wasn't asleep, he was just sulking.

Prowl didn't light the incense when the small tray was filled but instead turned and sank easily into his wonderful office chair. He looked the minibot over, taking note of the hunched shoulders and the way Cliffjumper was studying something absolutely fascinating on the front of Prowl's desk. He refused to meet Prowl's optics even though his plating lay visibly flattened against his frame. The minibot had his EM field drawn tightly against his plating, though the mixture of fear, guilt, and heavy resentment clouding the air told Prowl all he needed to know. The other chemotags were detectable now that the first sharp fear-filled tang had passed.

“Quite a stash.”

A wordless grunt was the only response Prowl got.

He flicked on the console sitting on one side of his desk. “I can tell Perceptor not to worry about the Bunsen burners now.”

It took only a few seconds to type out the message to the professor, informing him that his missing equipment had been located and recovered. During the short span, Prowl noticed the minibot's frame had become tense. He could tell, thanks to his doorwings, that Cliffjumper was shaking as well. The air around the minibot was vibrating slightly from the movement, and the vibrations radiated outward until they cascaded over the sensor panels.

The response from Perceptor was immediate and extremely grateful, and Prowl turned back to the guilty student, who still refused to look up. Prowl tapped his fingers on the hard surface of the desk rhythmically, his patience beginning to wear. The sound seemed to snap Cliffjumper out of whatever trance he'd apparently been in, and he finally looked up to meet Prowl's optics.

Lesser mechs would have shuddered at the intensity of the indignant hatred in the look Cliffjumper gave him, or at the sharpness of the scowl that twisted his lips. Prowl had experienced such dislike many times before, and had experienced a worse temper nearly every week when he traded words with Ratchet, so the glaring did nothing to faze him. His own expression remained even while he waited for the student to speak.

After several moments of silence, Prowl came to the conclusion that glaring was Cliffjumper's preferred method of communication. He allowed a sigh to escape and leaned back in his chair. “Were you selling any?”

Cliffjumper shook his helm without hesitation, though his optics narrowed when he stilled.

Prowl plucked a datapad off his desk and wrote down the current charges Cliffjumper faced. “Production, abuse, and potential distribution of a dangerous substance.” He read what he had written, then placed the pad back on his desk. “These are serious offenses.”

The minibot's optics dropped once more and a generous amount of misery added itself to the room, overlapping and negating a good portion of the dread. It was an improvement, if only because Ultra Magnus wouldn't have to be physically restrained upon walking into such a dense cloud of fear. Unlike Prowl, he seemed to have a taste for that particular spice.

Cliffjumper lowered his gaze again, then jerked his head up with a snarl. “I said I wasn't selling any!”

Prowl arched one optic ridge. Wordlessly he stood and moved to the transport. The tarp covering the contents was pulled off with a snap and draped carelessly over the back of the one other chair in the room. A datapad was perched on the top of the pile, lying screen-down between two beakers.

The transport remained uncovered when Prowl turned, datapad in hand, and dropped it in front of Cliffjumper. “What is this then?”

It could have been just any datapad, but the look on Cliffjumper's face confirmed otherwise. Prowl slid into his seat, watching the minibot's jaw work, hanging half-open in an attempt to make something come out. It had been found deliberately wedged behind one of the berth supports, and had a thin stripe of black paint along the top. The screen, Prowl knew, showed various designations and several different shanix sums for each.

From his angle, Cliffjumper couldn't see the screen very well and cuffed to the chair as he was, he couldn't pick it up to get a better look. It didn't matter if he could see it or not though, because he knew what was on the screen and the black stripe was visible even if the contents weren't.

Cliffjumper opened his mouth one more time and, after a sharp burst of static, finally managed to speak. “That's not—I'm not selling! I know what it looks like, but I swear I was just helping some people with—” His jaw snapped shut, abruptly cutting himself off. He lowered his gaze again to focus on his lap.

Prowl tried not to let his exasperation show. He'd have better luck maintaining optic contact with a plastered Sideswipe than this. “You were helping students with what?”

Cliffjumper squirmed in his seat, the motions tugging on the cuffs and making them clink together. Prowl decided he'd have to get a good look at the front of his desk later, because there was evidently something absolutely fascinating on it. His assumption that Cliffjumper had been helping students went without comment, and Prowl frowned.

“Hm. So I can add academic dishonesty to the list.” There were other possibilities of course, but not many of them would warrant the need to hide the datapad, and of those that did, few were even remotely plausible. The sums were far too low to be adequate compensation for sexual favors, and even with Prowl's advanced processing systems he couldn't imagine any scenario where Cliffjumper of all bots would put himself in that position.

When he picked up the charge sheet to add the new offense, the misery seeping out of Cliffjumper's frame increased significantly, telling Prowl that he'd come to the right conclusion.

There was no way he endorsed the practice, but Prowl felt a small flicker of disappointment every time a student was caught in this way. Over his long years as Campus Security, he'd been astounded by how many bots had been caught or convicted of illegal activities simply because they'd kept a record.

He added the charge to Cliffjumper's sheet, making a note in the margin to inspect the students on the list as well. When he was finished he placed the pad on his desk again and leaned back with his hands folded in his lap. “I don't need to tell you how serious your situation is. Substance abuse is a major offense. It's not just that you've broken the rules, Cliffjumper, you've created a dangerous situation that affects your classmates as well.” Prowl picked up the altered charge sheet and began to read off the list. “Illegal substance creation, consumption, and possible distribution.”

Cliffjumper started to protest again, but Prowl cut him off. “Until a thorough investigation has been conducted and turns up no evidence of distribution, the charge will stand. That's why it's possible distribution.” The minibot looked as though he wanted to protest further, but visibly swallowed whatever retort he had and nodded glumly. The explanation stood, and Prowl continued. “Theft of campus property, destruction of campus property, academic dishonesty, assisted academic dishonesty, and monetary profit from assisted academic dishonesty.” The Bunsen burners Perceptor had reported missing weren't the only missing equipment that had turned up in Prowl's search. Other materials such as beakers, tongs, welding supplies, and the raw ingredients for the boosters had also been found. Cliffjumper had altered some of the equipment to create tools that he otherwise hadn't been able to obtain, and the welding jobs were so badly done that they could be called nothing but destroyed. Very thoroughly destroyed. “And illicit possession of engex on a dry campus.” Prowl added after recalling the half-empty bottle he'd found.

A ping from Chromedome alerted Prowl to his and Ultra Magnus' arrival only a few seconds early.

The door slid open to allow them and Chromedome stepped through, followed by Ultra Magnus, who had to stoop in order to avoid hitting his audial stacks against the top of the door frame. The door slid shut behind them and Magnus paused. Prowl could see his vents opening wider and his optics darkened a few shades, though he remained still. Chromedome immediately moved to the table and lit the incense. In the few seconds the action took, Ultra Magnus had collected himself and was moving to accept the charge sheet Prowl held out to him.

After a quick scan Ultra Magnus nodded and passed the datapad back to Prowl before folding his arms over his chest. Normally, as dean and therefore the highest ranking of the three, Ultra Magnus would be given the best seating in the room. However, it was Prowl's office and Prowl's chair (which he had personally purchased after declaring his hatred of the pile of scrap he'd previously had), and Prowl was the one officially in charge of the situation. Besides, Magnus' huge frame was more intimidating and therefore more effective at keeping order when he was standing, unless he was in his own office. There, students found him intimidating regardless of what position he was in. 

The distance between Magnus and Prowl was small, as much as was allowed by the size of the office. Prowl could pick up on the minute vibrations from his frame rippling in the air, betraying his collected demeanor.

Chromedome finished with the incense and positioned himself against the wall. With everything ready to go, Prowl cleared his vocalizer and continued. “As of now, you haven't broken any state laws.” Cliffjumper's helm snapped up sharply, optics wide in disbelief. “The situation has been contained within campus borders, so it will be dealt with by the Academy itself unless outside enforcer intervention becomes necessary.” Prowl paused and gave the minibot a look. “As a student on a closed campus, still without your final upgrades, you will be dealt with by Iacon First. Until you receive your final upgrades, you cannot be charged as a full-frame. Do you understand?”

Cliffjumper's optics remained wide, but he nodded slowly. He opened his mouth to say something, but paused when a sudden cleanness swept through the room. The minibot searched the room, twisting so that he could see behind him, and his optics quickly fell on the burning incense. “What's that?”

Chromedome gave a slight shrug and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just some incense.”

Cliffjmper studied him for a second, expression laced with suspicion, before turning his gaze on Prowl and Ultra Magnus. Prowl saw his optics flick to both their vents. Seeing that they were still open, Cliffjumper shook his helm slightly and huffed through his vents. “Just get on with it.”

The vibrations from Ultra Magnus' frame had ceased, and any lingering aroma the minibot had been letting off was faint. Swallowing his surprise at the insightful direction the student's optics had looked, Prowl dipped his doorwings. He cleared his vents before continuing, noting how Cliffjumper followed suit and cleared his own. “You have a couple of options here. Classes don't start for two days, so the semester hasn't officially begun yet.” The official student record didn't begin until the semester did, so Prowl had the rare option of letting Cliffjumper choose his own punishment.

Right then, Cliffjumper held the honor of being the only student arrested on campus between semesters. The majority of what he would be charged with had happened during the summer semester, but no other student had ever been caught before classes even started.

Prowl vented slowly. This was where he had to be careful.“The options are community service, extended detention periods, temporary suspension,” He paused, trying to gauge Cliffjumper's reaction, “or donation of energon.”

The room fell into a tense silence for several seconds. The only sound came from Cliffjumper's venting as he considered his options. The other three occupants of the room were completely still, not daring to vent for fear of setting Cliffjumper off.

It was clear when the realization hit him, from the sudden sharp frown and the furrow of optic ridges. The air stirred behind Prowl when Ultra Magnus uncrossed his arms to ready himself for a physically violent reaction. Cliffjumper didn't move save for the slow upturn of his optics to meet Prowl's. “What?” His voice was hesitant and edged with static, and it seemed to Prowl that he was waiting for a punchline.

Past experience had proven that actually giving him the punchline was a very bad idea. Nothing stirred terror like telling a student he was going to a school where the teachers were what common folklore called vampires, and oh look, he's trapped in a locked room with three of them in complete radio silence. Besides, if he didn't know what he was donating energon for, he was more likely to give the much-needed substance.

Seconds passed, and when no practical joke became evident, Cliffjumper looked between the three of them. “Energon?”

Ultra Magnus took a small step forward. “Small amounts of donated energon would serve as recompense for your infractions. You would donate during a detention period, but the overall duration of the detentions would be less.”

Disgust rippled into the edges of Cliffjumper's field. “Why do you want my energon?”

Prowl spread his hands on the surface of the desk. “A large portion of it would go to the medical programs, for students to study and learn from.”

“And the part that doesn't?” His vents were coming faster now, cycling higher as a new wave of unease crept into his field.

Past experience had also proven that it was a bad idea to tell Cliffjumper that it would be used as fuel, and that the medical program would only require a tiny portion, if any at all.

Telling Cliffjumper what his potential donation would be used for wasn't an option, but neither was giving him a flat-out lie. Prowl's doorwings twitched in irritation, and he brought his servos back into his lap. “Does it make a difference what it would be used for?”

“Yes!” His field was withdrawn from Prowl's range, but the thick smoke of suspicion billowing from his frame was clearly detectable.

“Then we won't take that option.” Prowl hoped that closing the topic would deter Cliffjumper from his panic. “You still have the options of community service—”

“No, I wanna know why you want my energon so badly. What will it be used for?” Cliffjumper leaned forward, pulling the cuffs and his arms taught behind him. “And why am I cuffed to the chair?!”

His voice was shrill, or as shrill as it could be, and the suspicion he was letting off gave way to another strong cloud of fear.

Prowl felt his field flicker with irritation at being cut off, but he shoved it down. It was too late convince Cliffjumper to donate, and sooner or later he would fall into all-out panic again. Deciding it was best to end the situation before it could escalate further, Prowl stood, drawing himself to his full height and flaring his doorwings wide. “Chromedome?”

Both Chromedome and Ultra Magnus converged on the student in unison, Magnus wrapping his fingers solidly around the base of his helm and forcing him down against the surface of the desk. He held Cliffjumper in place while Chromedome positioned himself behind the minibot. There was a sharp snick when his injectors extended from his fingertips, and Cliffjumper momentarily ceased his struggling when he heard the sharp sound. His vents were heaving, pouring the tangy spice of panic induced by survival protocols into the air even through the curtain of incense, and words tumbled from his mouth in a jumble of sounds that quickly devolved into a strangled and desperate keening.

Any hope that Cliffjumper would agree and willingly give his energon was abandoned when Prowl watched the injectors slide into place. Cliffjumper's optics whited out before he convulsed and slumped forward in his seat, held upright only by the cuffs. There was a soft rasp when the injectors were withdrawn, and his optics went dark. The torrent of scents from his frame evened into a flat calm, and his field relaxed away from his plating to a normal range.

Ultra Magnus straightened and stepped back, while Chromedome sank heavily into the only other chair in the room, ignoring the tarp draped across the back.

It would less than an hour before Cliffjumper's memories settled and he was awake again. Prowl moved to rest him against the back of the chair and tried to keep the tremors out of his hands as he removed the cuffs keeping him in place. They weren't necessary anymore now that Cliffjumper would have no reason to feel he had to escape. Hopefully he would accept the explanation that he'd fallen offline while waiting for the search to finish.

Prowl positioned the minibot's arms so that they hung limply at his sides instead of being squashed behind him. He tucked the cuffs back into his personal subspace and rubbed one hand wearily over his nasal ridge. It was rare enough that a student got in enough trouble on campus to even consider presenting the offer to them, much less having a student accept. Compared to how some of the previous candidates had reacted, Cliffjumper's response had been downright friendly.

He made a mental note to discuss the details of how they presented the offer with Smokescreen later and slowly took the few steps towards the transport, managing to only wobble slightly. It had been too long since the last offer had been made, and Prowl hadn't prepared himself for the mental strain of trying to keep a student away from that fragile precipice of panic, or the emotional backlash when the student's memories were forcibly wiped.

As taxing as it was, the process was necessary. Even if they didn't know why the offer had been made, having suspicious students walking around knowing they'd had the option of donating energon to pay for crimes was unacceptable.

After a collective cycle of vents, Ultra Magnus shifted back until he was no longer hovering over the minibot. Chromedome looked up when Prowl dug the half full bottle of engex from where it was tucked underneath a particularly large set of tongs. He set the bottle on his desk and dug three small cubes out of a drawer. The remainder of the bottle was distributed almost perfectly evenly and discarded.

Chromedome accepted his cube, which held a bit more than Prowl's, along with the thin straw Prowl offered gratefully. It was always the worst for Chromedome, because he was the one to actually remove the memories, so Prowl figured he'd need the extra bit of liquid courage. Ultra Magnus didn't even frown when he accepted his own cube, and took a large swig as soon as it was in his hand.

The cubes were drained in a weary silence. There was nothing to say aside from the obvious, and words seemed almost offensive with the unconscious student slumped over in the middle of the room. While he nursed his drink, Prowl mentally reviewed the lecture he would give Cliffjumper when he woke, stuffed full of slightly different iterations of “drugs are bad,” “you messed up and you should feel bad,” and “education is more important than drugs or money.” Prowl decided that assigning community service for half the semester several times a week would discourage further unlawful activities and maybe even promote a benevolent attitude towards others, but that was unlikely. At any rate, serving in local shelters would expose Cliffjumper to the horrendous effects of substance abuse among other various misfortunes.

Ultra Magnus finished his cube and excused himself to return to his duties. Chromedome lingered a while longer, even after his own cube was empty. Eventually though he heaved himself to his feet and left as well, leaving Prowl alone to chase after the fading pleasant numbness the high grade had allowed him.

By the time Cliffjumper stirred, Prowl was typing his report of the incident and recording the spoils of the dorm search. Any lingering scent of high grade had long since been smoothed over by the incense.

Chapter Text

Jazz stood before his dorm room, attempting to juggle his massive stack of datapads and the subspace generators to one arm so that he could open the door. It took some work but he managed to key the dorm's code into the pad on the wall, and the door slid open.

He stepped inside and hurried to an empty berth, flashing the other occupant a friendly smile, who had stood rather suddenly when Jazz entered.

The datapads and subspace generators were dumped unceremoniously on the surface of the berth, much to the relief of his aching arms. Hound had helped him get all the texts he needed after checking in, and most of them were loaded onto heavy duty datapads, which were designed to take all sorts of abuse without breaking. They were very aptly named.

With a sigh of relief, Jazz turned around to face the other bot. “Hi, I'm Jazz. We're roommates.” It came out breathless, and he collapsed backwards to sit on the edge of the berth.

The other bot, a Praxian frame with different shades of dark and light grey and a few splashes of red, smiled. “I'm Bluestreak, nice to meet you. I didn't know which berth you'd prefer, and you weren't here when everyone else moved in so I left that one for you. We can switch if you want. I haven't unpacked everything because Hound told me you'd get here later.”

Bluestreak offered his hand, and Jazz shook it in greeting. “This is fine. 'S long as I can sleep on it, it's good.”

There was a moment of silence when both bots examined the other. Jazz tried not to feel self-conscious about his Polyhexian frame and accent. He didn't exactly look like most Polyhexians, but the visor and audio horns were as much of a giveaway as Bluestreak's doorwings and chevron.

The silence ended almost immediately, without any sort of comment on Jazz's origin. “So you just got here, right?”

Jazz nodded. It had only been about an hour and a half since he'd first stepped through the gates. Checking in and getting the datapads for his classes hadn't taken nearly as long as he'd expected, and the orientation was basically just a list of things to not do on campus.

“Do you have your schedule?”

Another nod, and Jazz dug through the pile next to him for the datapad. He found it and pulled up the course schedule he'd made over comm a few days previously. If he had waited until he arrived, the counselor had said there wouldn't have been enough time to allow for any unexpected complications.

Bluestreak took the offered pad and looked it over. “We don't have any of the same classes, but we do have a few of the same professors.” He looked up at Jazz. “Do you know where these are?”

“No, I was gonna find them today. I don't really know the layout of the campus, either.”

The datapad was returned and promptly tossed back on the pile. “I could show you around. I know the campus pretty well since I'm a third year here, and I need to find some of my classes anyway. We can get to know each other some too, since we'll be rooming together.”

“Sounds great, mech.” Even though the day had started out poorly, it had gotten better and better since Jazz had arrived. He still wasn't sure what to make of the spectacle he'd been greeted with, but good news had assaulted him mercilessly in the past hour and a half. The guidance counselor he'd spoken to hadn't found any problems with his schedule, he'd gotten a comm call from his creators, and looking around the room Jazz noticed a suspiciously festive box sitting on a small table. Now his roommate was offering to show him around the campus. He'd been so busy lately getting everything together before that he hadn't had time to consider how his roommate would be.

Bluestreak seemed to notice Jazz looking the box over curiously and spoke. “Oh, yeah. That arrived only a few minutes ago for you, from a Blaster. Do you want to open it?”

Jazz shook his helm. He was excited to hear from Blaster again, and excited to see what he'd been gifted, but it wasn't exactly pressing. “Nah, I can open it later.” He slid off the edge of the berth to stand. “So, about the campus?”

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“This is where most of the administrators are.” Bluestreak pulled open one of the double doors and held it for Jazz, who thanked the other as he stepped through. “You're welcome. It's still part of the admissions building, but the dean's office and a lot of the professors' offices are here. Not all of them, because they wouldn't all fit, but most of them are.”

They headed past a small line of other students waiting in front of a desk of some sort. “That's financial aid. They'll help you sort out scholarships and stuff like that, and if there's a problem or anything. Last year one of my scholarships ran out and they helped me sort it out.” The bot behind the desk, a small flier, noticed Bluestreak and gave a big smile when he passed. It was returned, and Jazz heard a soft ping from Bluestreak's comm unit. The Praxian paused for a second and his optics dimmed slightly, before returning to normal. “That's Airhorn. He wants to meet later for energon, if you want to come?”

“Sure.” Jazz looked back at the flier and gave a friendly smile. It was returned with a wink before the bot resumed his conversation with the first bot in line. “Is he a student?” It would be strange for a faculty member to invite two students for energon, and with a paint job like that, black stripes crossing over neon green plating, it would be hard to imagine the flier as anything else.

“Yeah, he's working as a receptionist.” Bluestreak gestured towards a large board the were passing, which was mounted to the wall and displayed several different files. His voice took on a very professional tone when he continued, and Jazz was reminded of the tour he'd once taken of the ruins of old gladiator pits on a field trip to Kaon. “Iacon First offers a student work program with a variety of opportunities based on your schedule, major, and other interests.” Bluestreak cut himself off abruptly and stopped short. Jazz was suddenly glad he was walking beside the Praxian and not behind, because he was certain he would have run into the suddenly drooping doorwings. “Sorry. I did some of the orientations for first years.”

If not for the sheepish expression and downward tilt of doorwings, Jazz would have laughed at the sudden change. He waved away Bluestreak's embarrassment at the relapse. “It's fine, my mech. I missed orientation, and I do need a tour.”

Grey doorwings returned almost immediately to their previous cheery tilt and they continued down one of the corridors. Bluestreak pointed out several of the doors and provided some names and occupations. His voice had gone back to normal instead of the tour-y tone he'd slipped into before, and remained steady the whole time. However, Jazz noticed small changes in the set of his doorwings when they passed a few of the doors. For most of them, his doorwings bounced up slightly and flared outwards, and Jazz got the impression that the movements meant he was happy.

When they passed one of the doors towards the end of the corridor, Bluestreak didn't comment on it, but he did look sideways at it. Jazz glanced behind him at his doorwings to see them flare outwards several times in rapid succession.

Jazz couldn't decipher what that movement meant, and resolved to learn as quickly as possible. He'd heard in Polyhex that doorwings were an outlet of emotion and indicated mood. Someone had even told him that two doorwinged mechs could have entire conversations based on doorwing movements alone, but he hadn't believed it. Now though, after seeing such a variety in Bluestreak's sensor panel movements in such a short time, it was easy to believe.

They turned into to stairwell to go to the floor above them, and Jazz kept an optic on the panels under his visor. There weren't any Praxians in Polyhex, and any that visited never stayed very long. He'd been around a variety of other models most of his life, but no others had anything close to the level of self-expression doorwings allowed.

Bluestreak stopped at the top of the staircase and paused. He pointed down one end of the corridor. “That way is the Dean's office. He's usually there, but there's a schedule of his office hours outside the door if you need it.”

Jazz shook his helm and they turned down the opposite corridor, heading away from the dean's office. If he needed to speak with the dean for some reason, he'd worry about it then. Bluestreak continued down the corridor and pointed out several more doors. He stopped at one and knocked without any explanation. When there was no response, Bluestreak tried again and lifted one hand to his comm unit. After a few moments, he dropped his hands before retreating with a disappointed sigh. “This is Prowl's office. He's the head of Campus Security, and I wanted to ask him something.”

The name Prowl rang a bell, and Jazz remembered the black and white enforcer and the arrest he'd seen when he first arrived. “Hound said he's the only member of Campus Security.”

Bluestreak nodded. “He is. Usually he's here, but I guess he's still busy right now. What classes do you have again?”

Jazz handed him the datapad with his schedule on it. Bluestreak examined it for a moment before handing it back and turning in the direction they'd come. Behind him, Jazz heard soft pedsteps and beside him felt Bluestreak turn so quickly he was concerned the other bot had given himself whiplash.

When he turned to look behind him, his optics fell on the Praxian enforcer from earlier walking confidently to meet Bluestreak's enthusiasm.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

As soon as Prowl reached the top of the stairwell, he could smell it. Vibrant, enticing, and absolutely stuffed with the richness of life, it hit Prowl with all the force of class eight transport.

His spark fluttered in its casing and his knees threatened to give out from the sudden force. The wall beside him offered support and he clung to it while fortifying himself. Plating contracted and Prowl could feel his fangs peeking out beside his other denta before he could stop them.

The day had been long already and Prowl didn't think he had enough patience left to deal with the sweet ache in his jaw. He certainly didn't have the willpower to silence the pleasured groan that escaped him when he ran the tip of his glossa over the extended tips of his fangs.

His plating felt too tight over his protoform and his vent coverings opened to expel the rapidly accumulating heat in his frame. With a shaky inhale, Prowl drew in a breath to calm himself and to try to clear the fog clouding his processor.

Mentally he cursed himself when the rich scent settled on his glossa and he tasted the chemotags perfuming the air. Oral lubricant pooled in his mouth and threatened to spill down his chin.

Prowl brought his free hand up to cover his nasal ridge, where the chemoreceptors were most concentrated, in an attempt to block out some of the delectable scent. Sharp points pressed into his cheek and with a start Prowl realized that his claws had extended as well.

Slag. If he stayed any longer, he'd be completely controlled by the rich smell.

With fading clarity, Prowl decided it would be best to leave and come back later when whoever it was that smelled so delectable left. It definitely wasn't any of the faculty members who had offices in this hallway, and it wasn't unusual for a student to be in the corridor in order to speak with a professor.

As soon as he turned to retreat, one of the bots in the hallway spoke. Prowl's doorwings told him there were only two, and he recognized one of them as Bluestreak.

The other bot's voice rolled smoothly over his sensitized audials and straight through his fangs. The sweet ache increased, and the specialized denta extended a bit more.

Several steps in the opposite direction later, Prowl's tanks grumbled unhappily, telling him how empty they were. He hadn't fed in almost a full month, and he hadn't had any regular energon yet that day. It was an especially bad idea to be within any distance of that bot in his state.

He took another shaky step and paused, supporting himself against the wall again. Every step he took away from the mystery bot was a fight, like trying to run through water against a current. With his extended fangs came onlined feeding protocols, and every line of code in them screamed at him to get closer to the source of that wonderful smell, not farther.

His tanks grumbled again and his joints felt weak in the onslaught of desire. For a moment he paused, debating what to do. Debating was a very calm word for what was going on in Prowl's processor, but he refused to admit to himself that he was having this much difficulty walking away from a bad situation. He was Campus Security, for Pit's sake. He protected the students, not endangered them.

Bluestreak's voice carried around the corner again, and the sound of pedsteps reached his audials. With a start Prowl realized that the two were coming in his direction and realized he needed to decide on something, quickly.

Whatever he'd wanted to go to his office for was forgotten. Prowl decided with a quiet growl that he'd leave and come back later, after he'd fed. With the decision in mind, Prowl started again in the direction he'd come from, intent on disappearing before the two pairs of pedsteps rounded the corner.

Several determined steps later though, a sharp pang in his spark nearly had Prowl dropping to one knee. One clawed hand grasped his chest plating, the other still clamped over his mouth and nasal ridge. His spark fluttered again, and Prowl realized why. He really wanted to be as close as possible to the mystery bot, not necessarily to feed.

It was commonly known among clans that mechs smelled different depending on who was smelling them. It was also commonly known and accepted that how a mechanism smelled to a vampire was based on how compatible that bot's spark was for bonding.

Ratchet's censored shorthand version was that the way a mech smelled to someone depended on how attractive that person would find the mech.

Never in his life had Prowl smelled someone quite so enticing. Never in his life had he been so drawn to someone based on scent alone. He didn't even know what the other mech looked like, and he'd only been able to form a general idea of the bot's voice from the muffled speech that had reached his audials.

With a shaky vent Prowl drew in more of that tantalizing scent and made up his mind. He wanted to at least get a good look at the bot, if only to know who to avoid in the future if it came to that. No matter how good the mystery bot smelled, he wasn't willing to put any student in danger.

He knew he couldn't face the bot like he was though, with knees shaking and vents heaving, claws and fangs fully extended and nearly crippled by the desire to plunge his aching fangs into the warm embrace of energon lines.

The tip of his glossa ran over the back of his fangs again, and Prowl straightened so that he was no longer leaning on the wall. He removed his shaking servo from his mouth, and took a deep breath before plunging his specialized denta into his wrist.

The taste of his own energon washed over his glossa, coating it and the rest of his mouth with the thick bitterness.

He gagged, wrenching his wrist away and clutching it tightly with his other hand. Energon dripped from his mouth and he looked around the empty stairwell, a bit belatedly, to make sure he was alone. Seeing no one and no longer hearing the pedsteps of the two students, he drew a clean cloth from subspace and wiped his mouth before pressing it to the wound on his wrist.

A soft wave of pain blossomed from the pressure, and the pain from the bite reached his clouded processor. His soft gasp seemed loud in the quiet solitude of the stairwell, and he slowly drew the cloth off his wrist.

The heavy cloying smell of his energon spread throughout the room, and combined with the taste of it coating his throat and the pain from the bite his thirst was negated. Instead of cramping with emptiness, his tanks felt bloated from the few drops of energon that had trickled their way downward. His fangs no longer ached and they sat placidly recessed into the sockets of his upper jaw.

With new clarity of thought, Prowl brought his wrist to his mouth once more and licked around the wound, thoroughly coating it with oral solvent.

In the few seconds it took to clean the pink drops from his frame and the ground around him, the enzymes in his solvent did their job. An intense itching sensation burned its way through his wrist and he resisted the urge to cry out in discomfort.

The sensation faded shortly after and when Prowl looked down the would was closed over. There were marks in the soft metal where his fangs had sunk in, but they were easily concealed.

Prowl took a few seconds to collect himself and listened for pedsteps again. They were closer now, but the two didn't seem to be moving at the moment. He gave himself a once-over to make sure his plating was clean and when he was satisfied, moved to enter the corridor.

Bluestreak immediately turned when he rounded the corner and the young Praxian's face lit up with an excitement that made Prowl wary.

“Prowl! I was looking for you but you weren't in your office so I thought I'd have to come back later to talk to you. I wouldn't have thought you were right around the corner!” Bluestreak hurried down the short distance of the corridor to meet Prowl, who continued moving to meet Bluestreak somewhere in the middle.

The irony of Bluestreak's statement wasn't lost on Prowl when he realized the other bot didn't mean that he knew Prowl had been there the whole time; rather he thought it coincidence that Prowl would arrive precisely when he and the other bot appeared to be leaving.

Prowl hummed in response and swallowed, trying to remove the lingering bitterness from his mouth. “I was in a meeting. What did you wish to talk about?”

The other bot had followed Bluestreak at a more reasonable pace, and when he stopped next to the young Praxian, Prowl took the opportunity to look him over. He had an unusual Polyhexian build, combining the usual sensor horn adorned helm and unique shape of visor with the shorter and lither bodily proportions one would expect from an art class frame.

Bluestreak followed his gaze and turned to the mech in question. “This is Jazz, my roommate. He just got here, so I'm giving him a tour of the campus.”

The mech, Jazz, smiled and gave a friendly wave. “Nice to meet ya. Blue says you're Campus Security?”

Prowl nodded and gestured towards his enforcer decals. “That's what it says here, yes.” He paused when he realized why Jazz looked so familiar. “You arrived just this morning?”

The smile Prowl got made his spark flutter and he felt his fangs start to tingle all over again. The temporary shield he had made for himself was fading fast, but Prowl was reluctant to hurry the conversation to an end. “Yeah, I got quite a show.”

“Oh, right!” Bluestreak's enthusiasm brought Prowl attention back to the other bot. “I wanted to ask you how about Cliffjumper.”

“You'll have to be a bit more specific, Bluestreak.”

“Umm...” Bluestreak's doorwings gave a slight flutter, which Prowl immediately recognized as a signal that he was searching for words. In the short span of silence that followed, Prowl noticed Jazz's helm turn slightly. It was hard to tell with his visor covering his optics, but it seemed that Jazz was trying to interpret the movement. Experimentally, Prowl dipped his own doorwings in an encouraging manner to Bluestreak, and sure enough Jazz's helm swiveled to watch the movement when it was repeated. “How is he? I mean, I know he's in trouble, but he's not been expelled or anything, has he?”

“No, he's not been expelled. However, his offense was serious enough that he could have been.”

Bluestreak's doorwings flared in relief before curiosity and concern overtook his field. “What was he arrested for?”

Prowl shook his helm and gave an apologetic wave of his own wings. “I apologize, but that is confidential. If you ask Cliffjumper he can tell you, but as his arresting officer I am not legally allowed to disclose that information. The exact details of his sentence are confidential as well.”

It was unlikely that Cliffjumper would be willing to share the information with Bluestreak, but as an officer of the law Prowl was legally obligated to keep quiet about it in the interest of Cliffjumper's privacy. He wasn't allowed to spread information that students would prefer to keep quiet.

Bluestreak nodded in understanding and Prowl was relieved that he didn't know the details, since that meant Bluestreak hadn't been involved in any way.

The relief was short lived when Prowl cycled his vents and was reminded just how close he was to Jazz. “If you'll excuse me, I need to go.” He projected a sense of urgency into his field to emphasize his words.

Bluestreak field intertwined with his own and he picked up on it. “Okay. Thank you, and have a good day.”

“You as well.” With that, Prowl moved past the two towards his office. As he passed Jazz though, he couldn't resist looking one more time, and was surprised to find that the student was watching him as well. He maintained optic contact as he slid past Jazz, watching transfixed as Jazz's neck cables slid past one another as his helm turned, lips slightly parted and perfect denta barely visible between the plump lips.

Then Prowl dragged his optics away and turned away, focusing on the door to his office instead of his fangs sliding out once more.

By the time he reached his office, both sets of pedsteps had turned the corner and retreated. As he keyed in the code, Prowl absolutely refused to believe that he'd heard one of them pause before turning the corner.

Chapter Text

It was easier than Jazz expected to get the hang of things. Previously he'd been told that going to an Iaconian Academy would be a huge adjustment from a general Polihexian school, and to a point it was. There were obvious things he had needed to adjust to, like the difference in his class schedule and the amount of work involved in each class. He found it was much harder to keep in touch with his creators on a regular basis, much less most of his friends.

Perhaps it was because Jazz had expected these changes that he adjusted easily, and Bluestreak was always eager to talk if he felt a bit lonely. He settled quickly into the new lifestyle, and many of the friends Bluestreak introduced him to became his own.

Since the first day he'd arrived, Jazz hadn't seen Officer Prowl again, though there was no point in fooling himself into believing he wasn't looking. He just hadn't reached the point of making up an excuse to visit the Praxian in his office to satisfy his curiosity yet.

It didn't help alleviate his curiosity that he kept seeing flashes of black and white out of the corner of his optic. He'd see a piece of monochrome plating or a doorwing or a ruby chevron and his helm would snap around on its own accord, but when his optics focused there would be nothing.

Siren had teased him about it multiple times, and recently Starscream had joined in too.

Jazz pulled himself from his thoughts and tried to focus on the datapad in front of him. One thing he hadn't easily adjusted to was the massive amount of homework.

He managed to work out a few more of the problems before Starscream waltzed through the door to his habsuite, something that had long since ceased to be unusual.

“Hey, mech. What's up?” Jazz pulled himself into a more comfortable position, somewhat welcoming the distraction.

“You know how I said I was in a club?” Starscream stopped in the middle of the room, facing Jazz's berth.

Jazz nodded. Starscream talked about it often enough that it would be hard for him to not know, but every time he or Bluestreak asked about it, Starscream would claim it was invitation-only and would avoid giving any actual answers. He seemed to be good at talking a lot and not actually saying anything.

Starscream paused, presumably for dramatic effect, before sweeping the room and peeking into the main room. Satisfied with whatever he found, he turned back and planted his hands on his hips. “There's a meeting tonight.”

For a second Jazz tried to evaluate the type of smirk Starscream was wearing now. Like Bluestreak's doorwings movements, there were subtle differences between the smirks that Starscream gave. Deciding it was pointless almost immediately, Jazz tried to act nonchalant. “Yeah?” This wasn't the first time Starscream had announced a meeting, and similar to asking about the club in general, showing more than casual interest in meetings proved pointless.

This time seemed to be different though. “We want you to come to this one. Last time we voted, and we want you to be a member.”

Jazz hadn't expected that, and his surprise was apparently evident from the way Starscream's smirk deepened. “Uh …” He felt suspicion color his field and smoothed it back into neutrality, grateful that Starscream wasn't close enough to notice. “What kind of club is it?” He asked carefully, looking at Starscream from behind his visor.

Starscream didn't answer right away, choosing instead to cross his arms over his chest. “Can't tell you until you agree to come.”

Despite his better judgment, Jazz was curious. “Sure.”

Before he could ask when it was, Starscream smiled in an absolutely delighted way. “Don't tell Bluestreak.”

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

Starscream had left almost immediately after Jazz promised to go to the club meeting with him, saying that he'd be back to pick Jazz up beforehand. Jazz's comment that he wouldn't need to be 'picked up' if he knew where he was going was brushed off casually.

In the hours before the meeting, Jazz pondered over whether or not he should talk to Bluestreak about it. Starscream hadn't given any reason not tell the Praxian, but Jazz was suspicious of what Starscream didn't want him to know. Eventually the decision was made for him when Blue sent him a ping saying he wouldn't be back until very late that night and then set his comm frequency to do not disturb.

Starscream arrived shortly after Jazz had finished a cube of energon, with Siren in tow. When he saw the thin band of fabric the excited flier held, Jazz sighed and resigned himself to it. As much as he didn't like the thought of being blind, he was more than a little curious about this elitist club and why they didn't want Bluestreak to know about it.

The door closed behind him as the blindfold was tied over his visor, effectively blinding him. He was led down the dorm corridor and around a few corners and Jazz trailed the tips of his fingers along one wall to mentally follow their movement with his knowledge of the building.

They passed into a different area, and based on the difference in how Siren's excited chattering echoed around them, he came to the conclusion that they were in a stairwell several moments before the hand on his shoulder drew him to a stop. “Stairs.” Starscream's voice echoed in the space as well, and the hand guided him to the side a few feet.

“Be careful.” The sound of pedsteps descended in front of Jazz, and he gripped the rail mounted on the wall for balance to edge one ped forward, without ever leaving contact with the ground. When he felt the sudden absence of the edge, he shifted his weight to his other ped and eased his way down the step.

Now that Jazz knew where he was, it was easier to proceed. He still held the rail, but instead of gripping it tightly Jazz's hand slid over the top. When he reached the bottom, he was ushered forward yet again and out of the stairwell. The sound of a door opening came from one side, and Starscream's hand returned to his shoulder in order to steer him towards the sound. Jazz resisted the urge to shake it off.

They walked through the campus and Jazz tried to mentally map their progress again, but the two made several twists and turns on the darkened paths that made no sense to Jazz and he quickly lost all sense of direction.

His protests about it were either ignored or responded to with only a vague explanation saying he'd know where they were when they got there. After several frustrating repetitions of the cycle, Jazz decided he'd had enough.

“Okay, enough.” Without any other warning he stopped, and it was only because of that statement that Starscream didn't run into his back. He pulled the blindfold off his visor and looked around to get his bearings, dismayed to find them in front of the dorm building. He turned to Starscream. “Where are we going?”

Starscream looked pointedly at the blindfold in Jazz's hand. “Well, I was going to tell you when we got there, but since you don't want to wait, fine.” He put a hand on one cocked hip and looked down his nasal ridge at Jazz. “We're going to the library.”

“Then why didn't we just go there in the first place?” Jazz gestured to the building they were next to. “Instead of traipsing around everywhere else and not actually getting anywhere?” He knew he was getting louder, but Jazz didn't care about that at the moment. When he agreed to go to the suspicious 'don't tell Bluestreak' meeting of Starscream's super special secret club, he'd been irritated to begin with. If he'd known that he would be paraded around campus pointlessly with a blindfold, he never would have agreed.

Starscream narrowed his optics and looked as though he was about to respond, but Siren's voice cut in. “We're not actually going to the library so much as behind it. We didn't want you to know where our base was until you swore in so you couldn't tell anyone else.”

“Would you shut up?” Starscream's glare was transferred to Siren, who just shrugged. He sighed dramatically, and pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge before dropping his hand again. “The point of the blindfold and all the misdirection was so that you didn't know where we were going until we got there.” Starscream's voice was louder now too, and rapidly increasing.

Before Jazz could think of anything to say, a voice cut in. “What's going on here?”

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

Prowl had started his nightly patrol a bit earlier than normal. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon when he set out, and the few crystals on the campus that were active during the cold season were glimmering faintly in the dying light.

He circled the campus, wading through the sea of scents looking for any that seemed off. Taking a deep breath when he passed one of the dorms, Prowl paused. He took another breath, more focused than the last. There was a trail that was heavily laden with mischief, and it was very fresh. Another breath, and Prowl identified the trail as belonging to one of the third-year fliers named Starscream.

Looking around to make sure he was alone, Prowl set off to follow the trail. The scent lingered in the dry air and led him to a different dorm. He paused outside the door, contemplating following the trail inside when Prowl sniffed the air again and realized that Starscream had already emerged and there was another trail leading away from the dorm in a different direction.

When he turned to follow the new trail, Prowl noticed that another scent had joined the first. It was fainter than Starscream's and far less potent, even though it was just as fresh. Prowl couldn't place who it belonged to, though it seemed rather familiar to him. He followed the trail to yet another dorm and paused again. The combined trail was nearly saturated with mischief, and Prowl was somewhat concerned. It wasn't unusual for student organizations to haze new members, which is what this felt like to him, but usually hazing occurred at the start of the semester, not halfway through it.

Prowl expected another trail to join the other two, and when he reached the door he wasn't disappointed. However, he didn't expect the new trail to smell quite so irritated. Every trail he'd followed from a hazing victim was soaked in worry, fear, or dread, or a combination of the three. This trail was different, and Prowl got the distinct feeling that if a scent trail could grumble irritably, this one would be.

After only a few steps, Prowl took another light sniff and was shocked to realize that the new trail was the same one he'd been following since the beginning of the semester, though Jazz had never smelled quite so irate.

With a mental curse, Prowl broke into a jog. He wanted to all-out sprint to wherever the students had gone, but an enforcer sprinting across campus at a speed that shouldn't be possible for anything but a high-performance racer frame tended to raise questions and attracted more attention than was desired.

Prowl reached an intersection of the paths and slowed to a stop. The trail continued straight through the intersection, but there was a slightly fresher trail crossing the other direction. For several seconds, Prowl tried to decide which way to go. He needed to know everywhere the three had been so he would be prepared for any situation. But if someone was in danger, he needed to get to them as soon as possible.

With another hesitant sniff, Prowl turned and followed the freshest trail, jogging a bit faster now, until he reached another intersection. He only paused briefly to determine which direction had the freshest trail, silently hoping that he wasn't missing anything dire by not following their entire path. Prowl was only slightly relieved that he had yet to smell spilled energon or any sign of fear or a struggle. He didn't smell any drugs either, so there was no chance that Jazz had been sedated.

The small bit of relief gave way to frustration when Prowl crossed another intersection with overlapping trails. Prowl paused only to determine which way to go before continuing on, but he felt his field adjust to reflect to confusion he was feeling. After several more instances with overlapping trails, Prowl stopped. His field was filled with no small amount of confusion, and he was getting tired of wondering around aimlessly in a potentially urgent situation. “Where the Pit did you go?”

Where haven't they gone? Despite Prowl's growing frustration, he needed to find the students as quickly as possible. Running all over campus following an apparently endless maze of scent trails was not going to help him. A swift look around confirmed that there was no one else around, and a long, deep, inhale provided no scents other than those left over from earlier in the day.

Satisfied, Prowl knelt down and positioned himself against the ground so that one audio was pressed firmly against the hard surface and the tips of both doorwings were resting lightly against it. He took several deep breaths to calm himself and slow the beating of his spark so that it wouldn't interfere with the vibrations. It was a trick that had taken him years to master, and only worked when no one else was around.

After several moments had passed, Prowl felt a slight tremble travel through one doorwing. He lifted the opposite wing into the air, so that the tremble was translated into a slight tingle in his sensors. The doorwing still against the ground was shifted in an arc until Prowl found the position that made the tingling sensation the strongest. Only a few seconds after finding the direction, Prowl heard it. Footsteps, from more than one bot.

Prowl opened his optics to see which way the vibrations were coming from, and was surprised to find himself looking back in the direction of the dorms. In the scant light provided by only a few small crystal formations, Prowl could barely make out three silhouettes cross in front of the last rays of light from the setting sun before disappearing.

With his optics locked on the direction the students had gone, Prowl pushed himself to his knees and stood in one fluid motion. Moving silently, Prowl ran to where he had seen the three disappear. When he neared the dorm he slowed, then stopped just out of sight behind the edge of a building. Sinking into a lower stance, Prowl peeked around the edge at the three students, who had stopped directly in front of the dorm. In the silence of the night, he could clearly hear what the students were saying, and was relieved when it became clear that this was not a hostage situation.

He could see Jazz standing between Starscream and the other student, whose name still escaped him. From the way Starscream's wings were raising aggressively and the increasing volume of both of their voices, Prowl decided to interfere before fists started swinging. In the last several weeks Jazz hadn't seemed prone to violence, but even from this distance Prowl could smell the aggression boiling off the two frames.

Taking a small breath, Prowl straightened and stepped out from behind he building. “What's going on here?”

Even in the faint light, he could see the raised plating as he approached. The three students turned to face him and he looked between them before settling his gaze on Jazz.

For several seconds, tension crackled between the three and Prowl could practically hear the nervous beating of the three sparks. Unaffected by this, Prowl idly wondered if he would need to find a thrall after this was over to relieve his thirst. He could already feel the tension settling at the base of his fangs.

“Uh, we were just going to the library, Officer.” Starscream cut in, and Prowl turned his scrutiny upon the flier. While not quite the same as doorwings, Starscream's wing positioning gave away his sudden nervousness. If not for the stench he was emitting, this would have surprised Prowl.

Prowl crossed his arms over his bumper and glanced behind them pointedly. “It's a bit late for a trip to the library.” He checked his internal chronometer. “Curfew is in less than an hour.”

The other student stepped forward, and Prowl finally recalled the name Siren. “Yeah, we know. We've been really busy working on a project and we were just trying to get as much done as possible before curfew.”

Starscream nodded enthusiastically in agreement, and Prowl couldn't help but frown disapprovingly. He didn't enjoy being lied to. A glance at Jazz showed the visored mech standing awkwardly between the two, looking as though he was weighing the pros and cons of breaking down and telling the truth versus not getting involved with an enforcer.

From Jazz's background, Prowl wasn't surprised that it was a difficult debate, and he had to give the mech points for not talking himself into incrimination. He turned back to Siren, who was attempting to smile innocently. He obviously hadn't been in contact with Sideswipe, thank Primus. “What kind of project is it?”

“Umm...” Siren glanced at Jazz, who shook his helm slightly but didn't say anything, then looked at Starscream before dropping his gaze to the ground. “It's a research project.” Prowl shifted his weight slightly, arms still crossed. “About... umm...” Siren's plating was still fluffed up, and somewhere along the line his shoulder struts had become even with his helm. Both arms had come up to hug his torso, and any attempt at optic contact failed miserably. “Vampires.” The last word came out nearly as a squeak.

“Siren!” Starscream's wings flared up aggressively and he took a sharp step towards his fellow student. Between the two, Jazz stepped back and raised his hands defensively. “Ugh.” The flier brought a clawed hand to rub the spot between his optics, and his shoulders hunched up. The smaller winglets between his two main wings fluttered suspiciously in the dim light, and Prowl could swear he heard the mech's processor working. After a moment, Starscream straightened and met Prowl's optics with a surprisingly even look. “We're supposed to research lore on a specific subject, and we chose vampires.”

So it wasn't anything to do with the clan, then. Prowl uncrossed his arms and let them drop, resting one on his hip. “And what professor is this assignment for?”

“Professor Drift.” Starscream's response was immediate.

That did seem like something Drift would assign, but if that were the case there would be no need for Starscream to be lying.

Prowl thought for a moment. This clearly wasn't a hostile situation, and no one was in danger. Realistically speaking, it was most likely that the three were playing a prank on another student or something to that nature—nothing that required his interference.

Recalling the maze of trails and the near-conflict Prowl had interrupted, he came to the conclusion that Siren and Starscream had been playing a prank on Jazz. He looked at the bot, who had taken a step back when from Starscream and Siren. If that were the case, then Prowl absolutely did not want to simply leave and allow the two to continue whatever cruel joke they'd come up with. While he had no doubt that Jazz was capable of standing up for himself in such a situation, it went against his enforcer programming to leave an innocent bot to the mercies of two decidedly not innocent bots. Besides, further interference in the situation meant further interaction with Jazz.

Prowls gaze fell on something shimmery in Jazz's hand, and he stepped closer in order to get a better look. Without thinking, Prowl grabbed one end of the object, and consequently the hand attached to it, and lifted it for closer inspection. “And what does this have to do with a research project?”

A flare of plating accompanied Jazz's overly quick release of the strip of cloth, and Prowl felt a flush on color in his cheeks when he realized the other's discomfort. None of the three seemed to have an answer for him, so Prowl brought the piece of cloth closer to get a better look at it. He took a hesitant sniff, and was surprised to have his olfactory receptors pleasantly flooded with Jazz's rich scent.

Feeling only slightly guilty about it, Prowl tucked the blindfold into his subspace and took a small step back, but kept his optics on Jazz. “Is there any problem?”

Prowl couldn't be certain with the visor, but from his body language it seemed that Jazz was avoiding optic contact. His feet shuffled nervously, and one of his audial horns gave a small twitch.

“There's no problem Officer, I assure you.” Starscream cut in.

Prowl turned to the flier and met his optics evenly. “I wasn't asking you.” He made sure to keep his voice as even and calm as possible, to avoid any unnecessary confrontation. Starscream gave an indignant huff and his wings once again rose into a more aggressive position, though he made no further move.

Satisfied, Prowl turned back to Jazz. The suspicion rolling off the smaller bot's frame was tangible, and he mentally checked his own frame's positioning. He manually lowered his doorwings into a more passive position once he realized that they'd flared up in response to Starscream.

After several tense seconds, Jazz shook his helm. “No, Officer. There's no problem.”

With a nod, Prowl took another step back and glanced between the three of them again. “In that case, be sure to be in your dorms before curfew.” With a small departing nod towards Jazz, he turned in the direction he'd come. “Have a good night.”

As soon as he was out of sight, Prowl stopped and leaned against the same wall he'd crouched behind previously. His audials and doorwings were finely tuned on the three students, and with only a few grumbled words the three began moving in the direction of the library.

Once Prowl was sure they were gone, he pulled the ribbon of cloth out of his subspace and took a wary sniff. Like before, his olfactory sensors were assaulted with the scent he'd come to habitually seek out from the others. Clutching the cloth with both hands, Prowl took a long, deep drought of the heady scent.

There was another scent on the cloth, hiding under Jazz's. It was difficult to detect, but after filling his vents with it Prowl could detect the foul stench, and after the brief encounter he could attribute it to Starscream.

Prowl drew the cloth away from his faceplates and frowned at it, suddenly wishing he'd found an excuse to bring the flier in. Even though Jazz had insisted there was no problem, Prowl didn't like the thought of him being led around completely blind by a third-year that he could recall by name. With most of the students on campus, Prowl didn't need to get to know them. As Campus Security, if he knew a student's name it was because he'd dealt with the student or the student's file several times. Jazz was a very rare exception.

With a sigh Prowl tucked the cloth back in his subspace and looked around to make sure the area was empty before making his way back to where the three had been standing. While he was certain that the situation was not and had never been a dangerous one, he still had to figure out exactly where they'd been that night, which meant working their trails backwards from where they'd started.

Chapter Text

Jazz didn't know what he had been expecting to find behind the library. At most, he had been expecting an open area with some tables and chairs or something of that nature. When he followed Starscream around the corner of the building, Jazz immediately found that even these shabby expectations were too high for the flier. A flickering light mounted on the side of the building cast unreliable illumination on a roughly square pile of rusted metal sheets that might have once been a tool shed. The dull surface of a hibernating crystal formation covered one side of the pile and had begun to grow over what attempted to pass for a roof, and it seemed to Jazz that the crystal was the only thing holding the shed together.

Undeterred, Siren approached the structure and grasped one of the panels with both hands and moved it to lean against the side. Any attempt by the weak light to penetrate the yawning blackness inhabiting the inside was ignored, and the light apparently settled for glinting harshly off two fixtures on the edge of the panel, which seemed to be the remains of hinges.

“Is this it?” In most other scenarios, Jazz would have at least tried to keep his voice free of how completely unimpressed he was, but the run-in with Prowl had only given him a brief respite from his steadily growing frustration. He placed a hand on one hip before remembering how Starscream looked in that position, and promptly removed it in favor of crossing his arms over his chassis.

He could feel Starscream's optics on him like an insect under his plating, and abandoned his search for anything structurally sound in the shack in order to return the flier's scrutiny. A slight twitch in Starscream's lips was the only indication of anything more that the passive expression and the stagnant calm in his field. His primary wings mirrored the twitch, and seemed to be held higher than normal.

Then Starscream shifted his weight and cocked one hip out dramatically, and the impasse passed with a flippant wave of his hand towards the pile of metal and crystal. “Yes, this is it. If you would go inside, sometime this month?”

Siren chose that moment to poke his head out of the oppressing darkness. “Are you guys coming or not?”

The thought of going inside that unstable pile of scrap made Jazz's plating crawl almost as much as Starscream's attention had, and his processor unhelpfully supplied suggestions about what could be lurking behind the thin metal sheets. He'd already come this far though, and if he backed out now Starscream would give him absolute Pit over it for the rest of his function. Besides, if Siren, or at least Siren's helm, was still safe, then he probably would be too.

With a steadying breath Jazz fought the shiver threatening to crawl up his spinal strut, filled himself with determination, and stepped across the threshold.

Once inside, the scant light provided by his visor did nothing but cloud his immediate vision with light pollution, and he quickly darkened the crystal to black. It took a few seconds for his optics to adjust to the dark, and once they did Jazz was unsurprised to realize that the inside contained a cloud of dust.

His vents sealed themselves on reflex, and the faint light of Siren's biolights struggled through the cloud to reveal a mass of metal limbs crouching on the floor only a few inches from what, for lack of a more accurate term, called itself a wall. From the shape of the small mass of biolights, Siren seemed to be bent over something on the ground. Without any decent light inside the shed, the only way Jazz could tell there was anything on the ground was a slightly more solid-looking area of black next to where Siren was crouching.

The conglomeration of biolights shifted, and Siren's optics appeared, looking in the direction where Starscream was fiddling with the metal sheet at the entrance. “Hurry up.”

An indignant huff, then the sounds of metal warping reached Jazz's audials. Suddenly, the small amount of light that was allowed through the entrance was cut off, and the three were thrown into the most oppressive darkness Jazz had ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Jazz looked for where Siren had been, only to see a blurry lessening of darkness in the area he'd been crouching.

“Almost got it.” Several different sounds, all metallic in nature, came from Starscream's direction. A light shuffling sound, a dull thud, and another huff later, Starscream's voice cut through the dark. “There. Go ahead.”

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, a harsh squealing assaulted Jazz's audials. He winced and found himself reaching to lightly massage one audial horn.

A few seconds of tense silence passed, and Jazz felt the attention of the other two bots prickling over his plating. He opened optics that had slipped closed, and was surprised to find that he could see Siren looking at him.

Jazz dropped his hand and took in the sight before him. Siren's face was illuminated by soft, warm light that was emanating from a square hole in the ground. The hole looked big enough that Starscream could pass through without any problem with his wings, and a metal rung bolted into the wall was peaking out just below the edge.

Jazz took a step closer and looked down to see a series of rungs leading to an opening about twenty feet down, lit up by some unseen light source.

Wordless, Jazz looked at Starscream, who gestured towards the opening. “After you.”

“Alright.” Jazz stepped to the edge of the hole and looked down to see the hard stone ground below. The rungs further towards the bottom seemed to coated in a fine layer of old rust. A bit warily, he gripped the first rung and lowered himself down.

When Jazz reached the bottom, he found the rungs were sturdy, even though the rust clung to his servos. When he let go of the ladder, he found himself in what looked to be an old drainage system. The ladder was set into a niche in the wall, outside of the main tunnel. He stepped forward to allow Siren and Starscream room to dismount the ladder, resetting his visor as he adjusted to the light.

The tunnel was rounded, easily three times Jazz's height. It was just as wide as it was tall, and extended farther than the warm light could reach in both directions. There was discoloration on the walls, presumably from water and solvent having flowed through. Now the stone was dry though, and there was no hint of any moisture.

Down one end of the tunnel was a series of red light fixtures, which gave off the warm light flooding the area. They were evenly placed along the wall on both sides of the tunnel. Jazz looked at the wall next to him, and found where they started. He approached the crystal and dimmed his visor in order to be able to look at it more closely.

The crystal was a red bulb with patches of orange and yellow thrown in, and glowed brightly for its size. Jazz couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed the stone wall around the crystal's base was beginning to crumble.

Jazz remembered seeing a cluster of similar crystal growths in the drainage tunnels in Polihex, but those had cast a chilly blue light that seemed to hover within a few feet of the crystal.

Starscream reached the bottom of the ladder and dismounted, giving a satisfied flick of his winglets. The small sounds his feet made against the dry ground were echoed and amplified by the curvature of the tunnel, presumably sending the sound through the entire system. It would be easy to tell if there was anyone else in the system.

“What are these?” Jazz gestured to the strange crystal formation sprouting from the wall in front of him.

Starscream's field filled with pride, reflected by an increased tilt in his wings and a smug smile on his face. “I made those.” He swaggered closer to where Jazz stood. “It was a project last year for one of my classes, and we decided it would be perfect to use down here.” By 'we' Jazz assumed he meant the rest of the club. “I modified the chemical structure of a luminescent crystal formation indigenous to Polihex to provide more and better quality light.” His voice had gotten louder, and so had the echoes created.

With a few steps backwards, Starscream began moving down the lighted tunnel and Jazz followed with Siren. “My lab partner and I had the second best project in the entire class.” Suddenly Starscream's wings drooped and his voice dropped to a grumpy mutter. “We would have been the best, except the professor liked the prototype for a photon-powered laser scalpel better. Can you believe that? A photon-powered laser scalpel! What use would a weaponized scalpel be?”

Jazz looked down the tunnel to discover that the crystals lit the tunnel for quite a ways before turning down one branch. He said something vaguely reassuring to Starscream, distracted by his attempt to judge how far the crystals went. He hadn't really been listening in the first place after Starscream had explained what they were, since everything that had come after was just the flier's habitual self-worship.

They walked for several hundred feet in the light, with Starscream occasionally muttering something or making conversation with Siren. Jazz had been tempted to turn off his audials since they arrived in the tunnel system, but every few minutes a strange echo would reach them from somewhere else in the tunnel, and if someone else was in there with them and heading in there direction Jazz would need to know.

Eventually they turned down one of the branches and left the main tunnel, the series of light crystals leading the way. They had passed several other branches, but all had been devoid of light. It seemed Starscream had only placed the crystals along the path to wherever it was they were going. As they went, the echos got louder and more frequent, though Jazz wasn't having any luck trying to figure out which direction they were coming from.

By the time they reached a solid-looking metal door, it had occurred to Jazz that this was an excellent place to take someone you didn't want to be found. The trail of lights leading directly to the metal door gave the impression that this was the only path used, and it would be simple enough to lead an overcharged bot down one of the other branches with headlights or with a simple hand-held light. Jazz didn't think these two bots meant him harm, but that didn't mean he would trust them with his life.

Apparently Starscream had regained his usual arrogance, as he shot Jazz a smug grin before firmly grasping the handle and pulling. He had to use his frame weight to leverage the door open, taking a step back to balance himself when it did swing outwards.

Once the door was open, Jazz understood why the echos had been getting louder and more frequent. Several bots were gathered around a table inside the room, grasping glasses of something too bright to be regular energon and conversing energetically with one another.

“Well, nice of you to finally show up!” One of the bots, a rather large blue groundformer with a chin that was easily half his frame weight motioned for the three to come inside.

Starscream huffed and shuffled his wings a bit. “I told you we would be late.” He stepped inside and waited for Jazz and Siren to follow, shutting the door after them. “And I told you to wait on that!” A clawed hand pointed at the half emptied glass in the blue bot's hand angrily.

Inside the room was several degrees warmer than the slight chill of the tunnel, and glancing around the room Jazz noticed a heater tucked into a corner. There were a few other tables around, all in horrible condition and looking as though they were taken from the garbage. Chairs were scattered about, and several of them looked suspiciously similar to the ones in the campus's cafeteria.

There were a few more light crystals placed around the room, providing illumination for the mass of pictures and datapad printouts hanging on the far wall. One of the tables was pushed flush with the wall and was piled high with datapads. The pictures were too far away for Jazz to be sure, but many of them looked to be other students on the campus.

The bot shrugged in response to Starscream, and took a small swig of the substance before examining Jazz. “So this is him?”

Jazz's attention snapped back to the blue bot. He smiled and extended his hand to shake. “Yeah, I'm Jazz.”

The bot ignored Jazz's hand and gave his own smile. “Sentinel. I'm the student body president here, and the president of this club.”

A loud thud came from behind Jazz, and he turned to see Starscream turning away from the now closed door. “Technically he's the president. We don't really have any need for leadership positions, since everyone in the club gets a say. Isn't that right, Sentinel?” Starscream aimed a sickeningly sweet smile at the bot while pouring himself a glass of the too-bright energon.

Sentinel waved his hand airily and took a sip of the energon. “Yeah, whatever.” He drained the rest of the glass and stood, wobbling just a bit. “So!” He turned to Jazz. “What has Screamer told you so far?”

Jazz took a step back to give Sentinel room to stand. “Not much, just that I can't tell anyone else about it.”

“Good!” Sentinel glanced at Starscream. “This is a secret club, on a need-to-know basis only, and no one else needs to know, got it?” The other bots at the table became silent, opting to examine him instead of continuing their conversation. Jazz noticed Siren getting some energon and joining them.

“Uh, sure.” Jazz ignored the feeling of unease in his tanks. Between the completely unnecessary secret lair, the wall that looked like a serial killer's victim net, and the copious amounts of secrecy, this was seeming like a worse idea every second. Instead of turning and running though, Jazz smoothed his plating back into a neutral position and swallowed his unease. He didn't want to believe that something as horrible as a murder convention existed underneath the best college in Iacon. In Kaon or Polihex, Jazz would have cleared out the first chance he got, but this was Iacon. It was supposed to be better here.

“Good.” Sentinel clasped one oversized hand on Jazz's shoulder and led him to the wall. “Let me ask you, what do you think of the college so far?”

That sounded like a trick question to Jazz. He took a second before answering, wrestling with what to say before deciding on a neutral answer. “I like it.”

Sentinel didn't give any indication that he had noticed Jazz's hesitation and nodded. “It's safe right? A lot safer than Polihex?”

Jazz shouldn't have been surprised that Sentinel knew where he had come from, being the student body president and all, but it wasn't something he had made common knowledge. It was in his student record, but Jazz hadn't considered that other students would have any interest in his records, or that they would be able to access them even if they did. He'd been told that confidentiality was important. “Yeah. How did you—”

Sentinel waved the hand resting on Jazz's shoulder. “I pulled a few strings. We have to know about you before we let you in. Anyway, the campus does seem pretty safe, especially with that police bot patrolling all the time.” Jazz had frowned in the general direction of the ground at the non-explanation, but at the mention of Officer Prowl he looked up again. “But that's just what they want you to think!”

Jazz cleared his vocalizer questioningly. “Uh, they?”

“Yes!” Sentinel gestured to the mass of image captures and printouts on the wall. “They want you to think that you're safe and secure and getting a nice education at a halfway decent price. But all that is a lie! Walking among us at this very campus is a horde of the most horrible creatures in all of Cybertron's history. Beneath that calm facade, monsters prey on the innocent and helpless students of the college. No bot is safe from these beasts! I present to you,” Sentinel paused for dramatic effect and plucked one of the pictures off the wall, a crude drawing of a horribly disfigured bot with long dentae spilling out of his mouth, “the Vampires of Iacon First Academy!”

Jazz carefully accepted the drawing and examined it. He felt Sentinel's field buzzing with excitement and expectation, and he suspected that the other bots in the room were in much the same condition. Upon further examination, the drawing wasn't very detailed, or very skilled for that matter. It looked like someone had scribbled the most hideous rendition they could as quickly as they could. Fangs were overflowing the mouth portion and sticking out at completely ridiculous angles, and the entire figure was covered in what was probably supposed to be energon. In the bottom left corner, there was something that looked suspiciously like Sentinel's signature, even though the glyphs were just as sloppy as the rest of the drawing.

With a deep, slow inhale, Jazz slowly came to the realization that he was several dozen feet underground, at the far end of a catacomb of tunnels, locked in a room surrounded by mentally unstable bots. His self-preservation coding onlined quietly, and he prepared to run if things got ugly. “Look mech, I'm not sure that vampires are anything more than fairy tales. Even if they were, what makes you think that there are some here?”

Sentinel didn't seem the least bit deterred, and in fact chuckled lightly before removing his hand from Jazz's shoulder. He pulled a few more pictures and datapad printouts off the wall before facing Jazz again, who offered the drawing back. Sentinel accepted it, and exchanged it for several up-close image captures of neck cables. “Ah, most people don't believe it right away. Look closely, there.” He pointed at a very small speck on a cable in one of the image captures. “You see that?”

It wasn't anything that Jazz would consider extraordinary. “I see a speck of dirt.”

Another light chuckle, and Jazz's plating began to crawl. “It doesn't look like anything much, except one of our members, Pharma, took a closer look. He's not here right now, but he's a medical student, and he said it's a bite mark. Now, the only type of dentae that match that mark are fangs.” Sentinel quickly pointed to another drawing he had given to Jazz along with the image captures. The drawing was a close-up diagram of a bot's mouth, with exaggerated fang-like denta. It was much neater and more anatomically realistic than the first drawing, and the glyphs scrawled in the corner were too small to see properly. “And vampires have fangs.”

Jazz shook his helm at the matter-of-fact tone in Sentinel's statement. “Lots of mechs have fang mods. Pit, I even have some.” They'd been a farewell gift from a close friend. He opened his mouth to show the slightly elongated tips of his dentae before speaking again. “And they're getting more popular, especially with bots who live in cities. Don't you think it could be from that?” Jazz flushed when he thought of exactly how the mark would be given in that scenario. “And isn't that kind of personal?”

Ignoring Jazz's embarrassment, Sentinel shook his head in an amused manner before his expression and field sobered. “That's the thing though!” He turned to fully face Jazz. “When Pharma asked him where he got the mark, the bot didn't remember. He didn't even know he had it, and the next day it was completely gone!”

Starscream joined them and grabbed a data pad from the pile on the table. “When he noticed it, Pharma thought it was from a fang mod like you did, but surely that would be at least somewhat memorable.” He handed the file to Jazz and took the image captures in turn, then onlined the pad to pull up a specific file. “After that, me and Pharma started looking for bots with something similar, and we found a few more.” The datapad file opened and Jazz found himself looking at a table with a handful of names, presumably of other students, each with an image attachment and a note. As far as Jazz could tell, all of the notes said the bots couldn't remember how they got the mark. “They were all students, and the only thing they had in common was some sort of involvement with Campus Security.”

Jazz looked up from the datapad sharply. “And these supposed vampires aren't with Campus Security because...?”

“One of the club members had worked an internship with them, and he said the security officer worked too much to have time to be a vampire. Plus the whole of Campus Security is only two bots, and we haven't found that many marks. It's hard to find them, especially since they only seem to be there for two or three days before disappearing, and we've only found a handful out of what we speculate to be dozens. That many within a month or two is a lot more than just two bots can create.”

Sentinel shifted to lean one hand against the edge of the table. “These sickos probably think they can attack people just because they've had a few complications with legal matters. Well I disagree, and so does the rest of this club! We've banded together as protectors to root these monsters out and put a stop to their tyranny.” He accepted the datapad Jazz offered him and dropped it on the table. “That's where you come in. We've been watching you since you got here, and you fit the bill.”

It was rather unnerving for Jazz to be told that he'd been watched since arriving at the campus, especially when he was surrounded by bots who firmly believed fairy tales were real. However, he was curious about why he had been shown these things instead of someone else.

Starscream leaned his hip against the edge of the table on Jazz's other side and crossed his arms loosely over his chassis. “We look for members who have certain qualities. You know, brave, cunning, clever, all those typical things. Like Sentinel said, you fit the bill.”

“So what do you say?” Sentinel asked from Jazz's other side. “Are you in?”

Jazz stepped back from the table so that he wasn't sandwiched between the two, and looked back and forth between them. “I'm still not sure that vampires exist, especially not on the campus. Thank you for your offer, but I don't want any part of your club.” With that, he turned and headed towards the door, intent on leaving, but a firm hand on his shoulder brought him to a stop.

He turned to face Sentinel, who had a sharp glint in his optic. “Don't be so hasty there, Jazz. We really would love to have you in the club. You'd bring a lot to the table.” Sentinel's voice had dropped a bit deeper, and was getting louder.

Shaking his head, Jazz brushed the bot's oversized hand off his shoulder. His plating was crawling again, and he really didn't want to be there anymore. “I said no.”

Sentinel scowled almost as deeply as Starscream and looked down his nasal ridge at Jazz. “Let me put it this way. You're not going to leave here knowing about us. You could tip them off, and I won't let you do that.”

For the first time since leaving the dorm, Jazz's frustration bled into fear. 

Chapter Text

Jazz's alarm dragged him out of the pleasant embrace of recharge at the same disgustingly early hour it had every other day. He groaned, rolled over, and collapsed back into the soft comfort of his berth. The alarm chimed again, and Jazz hastily shut it down. It was too damn early for him to be getting up, and the fact that the ordeal last night had dragged on for several hours hadn't helped.

He could tell it was going to be a bad day already. With another slight groan, Jazz rolled over onto his back to stare at the ceiling through his visor. He hadn't expected to be blackmailed into joining the club, but it hadn't exactly surprised him either. Considering who else was in it and where they chose to hold their meetings, he should have been expecting something like this.

What they were trying to use as blackmail material wasn't even that bad. It was really just his background in Polihex and Sentinel's influence as student body president. They didn't have any solid proof that Jazz had been involved with anything illegal, and no matter how much they looked they wouldn't be finding any. Sure, he'd grown up in one of the worst neighborhoods in Polihex, but he'd managed to avoid being involved in any of the major crime gangs.

It figures. I finally make it out and now I'm picked up.

Iacon was supposed to have been better, but it seemed like it was worse. At least in Polihex, Jazz had known what to expect. He'd known how to lay low and stay out of things that weren't his business, but here he'd been dragged into something he wanted no part of, against his will.

They weren't even a proper gang either. It had seemed more like some vampire fan club than any real threat to Jazz. Sentinel was the student body president, Siren was in the radio and broadcasting program, Starscream was a science major, and that other bot they mentioned was a medical student. The only thing they had going for them was size. There were at least a dozen members already, and Siren seemed to be one of the physically smallest in the group. It wouldn't be that hard for Jazz to unhinge them, one member at a time.

The minibot that had been busted for drugs when Jazz first arrived at campus had apparently been a member, before he was caught. His punishment had taken all of his spare time outside of classes, so he'd had to leave. Without him, they were all pretty good-sized bots.

Since the blackmail material was so weak, Jazz could have refused. He had no doubt that they would carry out their threats, but he could handle the backlash. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he'd handled worse before.

It was mainly out of spite that he'd agreed to join. If they wanted Jazz to be in their club so badly, then fine. They got what they wanted. But Jazz had been living by the game they were playing at his whole life, and if he couldn't safely leave the club, he'd destroy it. Threats meant nothing if they weren't going to be carried out, and Jazz was willing to take a few hits to see how far Sentinel would go. It wouldn't be his first choice, but if Sentinel did carry out his threats Jazz could take everything to Officer Prowl, and that would be game over for them.

One of the programs Jazz had downloaded onto his visor allowed him to take image captures without anyone else knowing, and he'd taken full advantage of it last night. He'd also created a secure file in his memory banks and on a locked datapad to keep track of each of the club members. He'd already started collecting info on the club members, so he'd be prepared if things did go sideways.

With this in mind, Jazz dragged himself to his peds and stood, stretching widely when he did. He glanced at the still-sleeping form of Bluestreak, outlined by the pale early morning light filtering through their one small window.

Starscream had insisted that Bluestreak shouldn't know, but Jazz resolved to get the Praxian's opinion on the matter later that afternoon. In his own humble opinion, Starscream could go frag himself.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

As soon as his last class of the day let out, Jazz was out of the room on the hunt for Bluestreak. They'd agreed to meet in the cafeteria for midday energon, and as Jazz was walking in that direction he spied Bluestreak coming out of another building.

“Bluestreak!” Jazz waved his arm to get the other bot's attention, and when he had it he jogged quickly to meet him. “Hey, can I talk to you about something?”

Bluestreak nodded and gave an affirmative dip of his doorwings. “Sure. Hey, where were you last night?”

“Actually, that's what I wanted to talk about.” Jazz started walking in the direction of the cafeteria, and Bluestreak fell into step beside him. “You know how Screamer has that club that he's always talking about?”

Abruptly Bluestreak stopped and turned to look Jazz full-on. “You didn't.”

Well then. Jazz had intended to explain the situation fully and carefully, but he hadn't anticipated that Bluestreak would pick up on it right away. He shook his helm before answering. “I didn't have a choice, Blue.” Before Jazz could explain further, he noticed a mech coming in their direction down the path. For a second he couldn't remember where he had seen the bot before, until he remembered the dim lighting and quiet conversation of the bots that had been at the table last night and had to fight to keep down a wave of panic.

Bluestreak had picked up on his hesitation and followed his gaze to see several other bots on the path. “Jazz?”

The sound of his designation broke Jazz's brief lapse, and he turned back to his friend. “Uh, yeah, sorry.” Another glance at the bot showed that he was walking more slowly and looking at the two. “So, how far have you gotten in the homework so far?”

“Homework?” Bluestreak's confusion from the abrupt topic change was evident in his voice and expression, and a strange flicker in his doorwings might have been confusion as well. “Jazz, what--”

“The homework from history?” He gestured casually for them to keep moving in the direction of the cafeteria and was glad when Bluestreak complied. His hands were trembling slightly, and Jazz was fighting to keep his plating from flaring up. The bot wasn't bothering to hide the fact that he was listening in, and Jazz couldn't let any of the other members know he was talking to Bluestreak about it. They'd made threats toward Jazz, but he wouldn't let Bluestreak become a target as well. “It's due tomorrow, right?”

They passed the bot, who gave Jazz a not very subtle once-over, and Bluestreak slowly nodded. “Yes, but I don't see how--”

“That's great, I thought I had imagined the professor saying so.” Jazz was beginning to feel bad for cutting his friend off so many times, especially since his doorwings were beginning to flare in what Jazz could assume was irritation, but he would have to apologize once they were out of eavesdropping range.

They made it to the cafeteria, and Jazz led them over to a secluded booth against the wall. A survey of the area around them revealed no other bots that had been present during the meeting, and none that seemed even remotely interested in the two of them.

“How did you go from Starscream to homework in less than a second?” Bluestreak's doorwings were still raised when he sat down, and Jazz winced at the tone of the question. An apology would probably start things off nicely.

“Sorry about that Blue.” Bluestreak's slight frown didn't change, and Jazz went on to continue. “One of the mechs from the club was listening, and they don't want me to tell you anything about it.”

“Oh.” Sensing Jazz's distress, Bluestreak's demeanor became more relaxed, and his doorwings shifted to a sympathetic stance. “Wouldn't it be better for us to talk about it in the room?”

Jazz glanced around the room again and pulled a datapad out of subspace, shaking his helm again. Bluestreak followed suit and pulled out a datapad of his own, and Jazz's field reflected his gratitude. “No, I don't think so. I'm not sure if they have or not, but there's a possibility that the room is bugged.”

It was apparent that Bluestreak didn't like the thought of that, but he didn't say anything. Instead he followed Jazz's example and onlined his datapad to complete the illusion of collaborating on homework.

Jazz cleared his vocalizer before beginning in a low tone. “When Starscream invited me, he told me not to tell you. He said it was really important that I don't tell anyone, including you. I agreed to go because I wanted to know what the big deal was.” Jazz felt his faceplates heating with embarrassment at the admission that he had willingly agreed to keep something from Bluestreak, but pushed on. “On the way to the club, he and Siren blindfolded me and made a big show of leading me around pointlessly so that I didn't know where they were going. We were stopped by the security officer, and they both said we were just going to the library for some research.” Jazz didn't feel the need to give details on how Prowl had specifically asked about his well being, or how the brief contact of their hands over the silk blindfold felt like he'd jumped headfirst into a smelter.

“I'm guessing you didn't?” Bluestreak crossed his arms over the surface of the table and leaned forwards to rest on them. Jazz shook his helm again in negative, and Blue frowned. “That's weird. Why lie about where you were going, unless they were taking you someplace they weren't supposed to be?”

“There was an old tool shed behind the library, with the entrance to a drainage system in it. That's where we went, and there's a room where they've set up.” Jazz ran a hand over his helm in an exasperated motion. “You want to know what the club is about?”

Bluestreak nodded slowly, the twitch in his doorwings betraying his excitement. It was no secret between them that all of Starscream's bragging about the club had piqued their curiosity.

Ex-venting deeply, Jazz copied Bluestreak's posture and folded his arms over the surface of the table. “It's about vampires.” With that, Jazz slid forward to rest his helm against his forearms.

“What? Vampires aren't real.” Once again, Bluestreak's voice showed his confusion.

Jazz straightened in an explosive motion and resisted the urge to shout. “I know! They're just myths! But get this. The entire club thinks otherwise, and they think there are some on the campus. It's completely ridiculous, and I tried to say no, but they blackmail me.”

“What could they possibly have to blackmail you with? You wouldn't have been accepted into the school if there had been anything they could use against you.” Bluestreak frowned and ruffled his plating. He poked at his datapad, and Jazz thought he could detect a brief flash of suspicion in his field before it smoothed back into a neutral bewilderment.

It was probably nothing, so Jazz dismissed the slight fluctuation and shifted his peds under the table. “I don't know. They don't really have anything, but Sentinel's the club president.”

“Sentinel, as in the student body president?” Bluestreak's optics were close to bulging, and Jazz nodded. “He's the club president too?”

“Yeah, and the only thing they really have on me is that I lived in Polihex. The rest are just threats, and Sentinel threatened my reputation, but that's not anything big.”

“Then why did you agree to join? You don't seem like you want to, and you said that you didn't have a choice, but it doesn't really seem like they made you or anything.” That flash of suspicion was back, and Jazz nodded. He knew how this looked to Bluestreak right then.

“When I was down there in the tunnels, I was locked in the room, outnumbered by bots easily twice my size. Sentinel made it very clear that I wasn't going to leave there if I didn't say yes, and in that situation I knew better than to try to argue.” Jazz shifted in his seat again, leaning forward on his elbows and looking at the datapad before him. “I was never involved in any of it, but I did grow up surrounded by bad situations. Believe me, it wasn't a good idea to say no.”

A moment of silence reflected the shift in atmosphere that Jazz's statement caused, before he shook his helm and looked up at Bluestreak. “Now that I'm not down there anymore, I can tell them to frag off, but I don't know if I'll see Starscream or Sentinel today. There's a meeting tomorrow, but it's in one of their dorms. I'd rather not do it during a meeting, but if I don't get a better chance that's what I'll have to do.”

“Okay. I'm glad you made it out alright.” Bluestreak's wings fluttered a bit lower, and a curiosity settled into his field. “What did they say about vampires?”

Jazz gave a long sigh before resting his forehelm in both hands. “They didn't say much about it, and the only reasoning they could give me for why they think there are vampires here was some slag about bite marks on neck cables.”

A sudden motion drew Jazz's attention, and when he looked up he saw that Bluestreak had shifted so that the elbow joint of one arm was resting on the surface of the table, and that hand was resting lightly over the side of his neck cables. The slight stiffness in his posture quickly eased into the comfortable grace that seemed to cling to Praxian frametypes, but Jazz hadn't missed the almost panicked movement.

“Is something wrong?” Jazz asked carefully, frowning slightly. It wasn't difficult to make the connection between what he had said and Bluestreak's response, but surely that wasn't the case. Jazz hadn't put any credence in the so-called evidence of the marks, but what else could Bluestreak be hiding?

Either way, Bluestreak's field had suddenly flattened into a static state, which probably meant that he had something he didn't want Jazz to know about. That was fine, and Jazz wasn't about to pry into his friend's personal details, but there was one thing he did want to know.

Bluestreak shook his helm and gave an apologetic dip of his doorwings. “Yeah, I'm fine. I just remembered I have to be somewhere soon.” He slid to his right out of the seat before turning to retrieve his datapad. The movement seemed unnatural, before Jazz realized that Bluestreak almost always stood to the left. “Good luck with the whole club thing, and if you need help I'd be happy to assist.” With a smile, Bluestreak started to leave, but Jazz interrupted him.

“Hey, wait.” Filling his field with sincerity, Jazz stood and held out his hand, opposite the one that Bluestreak had held against his neck. “Thanks.” With a smile, he firmly grasped and shook his friend's hand. From behind the safety of his visor, Jazz looked at Bluestreak's neck cables and noticed a faint discoloration surrounding two tiny puncture marks.

Chapter Text

Prowl was relaxing in his office, reviewing the details of a recent warrant Barricade had given him. It seemed like an easy enough catch, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would be glad to have a chance to hunt soon. They had been growing restless lately, which was never good, and a new thrall would be an invaluable benefit to the clan.

One doorwing twitched contentedly, and Prowl leaned back in his chair with stylus in hand. His thirst had been slated generously and Bluestreak had left several hours ago, which left him alone in the peaceful silence of his office.

He was almost finished compiling the wanted bot's case file to give to Sideswipe when his office door chimed. The datapad was offlined and set on the surface of the desk before Prowl keyed the door open.

Bluestreak burst through the open door almost panicked, his frantic field spilling out a sharp chill of anxiety. Wide optics and a wild flare of doorwings accompanied him through the door, the scent of his restlessness billowing after. “Prowl!”

He descended on the front of Prowls desk and came to a sudden stop, and from so close Prowl could taste the only scent that had managed to elicit the sweet ache in his fangs lately. An instant after identifying Jazz's scent, Bluestreak's panic became his own. He felt his wings snap up by their own volition and he stood, ready to leap into motion. “Bluestreak, what's wrong?”

The student took several short ventilations before removing his hands from their death grip on his desk. “Jazz saw.” He tilted his helm back to expose his neck cables, the movement nearly habitual at this point. The new angle exposed the already-fading evidence of their earlier meeting, and Prowl understood Bluestreak's panic.

“What did he say?” Prowl closed the door hastily, ready to comm. Chromedome if necessary.

Bluestreak hesitated, before returning his helm to a normal position. From this angle, the discoloration was hidden in the shadow of his jaw, and the puncture marks were too small to be noticed. “Well, I don't really know if he saw or not, but he was talking about this vampire club that he's in now, and how the members have been noticing that students have bite marks like this on their necks, and I panicked and I think he noticed. He didn't say anything so I don't know for sure, but he's really smart so he might have.”

The revelation that Jazz might have noticed was swept away by what Bluestreak had just said. “What was that about a vampire club?” Prowl could smell his own worry filling the room and was suddenly glad that Bluestreak couldn't smell chemotags as strongly as vampires could.

It was a very bad situation if even one student knew of them, let alone an entire group. The clan leader would have to be notified and all the clan members on campus would need to be warned. He'd need to start working with Red Alert immediately to figure out how big the situation was before he could try to nullify it.

“Ah, right.” Bluestreak's doorwings drooped considerably and his anxiety bled into a gloomy melancholy. He cleared his vents and reset his vocaliser before starting, shoulders now slouched. “I told you that Starscream has that club that he wouldn't tell me about, even though he was always talking about it?” Bluestreak looked at Prowl, who nodded an affirmative, before continuing. “Well, he apparently got Jazz to join last night. He said they went to an underground tunnel system to have the meeting, and that Sentinel was the president.”

Recognizing that he should record this, Prowl held up a finger to stall Bluestreak and dug in one desk drawer for a datapad and stylus. After finding one, Prowl quickly jotted down the details he'd already heard. Looking them over, Prowl frowned. “Last night? I stopped Starscream and Jazz last night, along with another student, because I thought they were acting suspiciously.” Suddenly Prowl greatly regretted not detaining the group.

Bluestreak nodded. “Yeah, he mentioned that you had stopped them, and that Starscream told you they were going to the library for research. He said there was an opening to the tunnel system behind the library, and that's where they went. There's a room there where they've been holding their meetings, and Jazz said everyone in the club thought there were vampires here. He didn't say who they thought the vampires were, and the only bot he mentioned by name was Sentinel.”

Prowl nodded again while recording the last bits of information. When he looked up, Bluestreak was looking at his peds and fiddling with his hands. It seemed like he wanted to say more, but something was holding him back. “Blue? If there's anything else I need to know.”

With a deep breath Bluestreak dropped his hands and inclined his doorwings to a more neutral position. “It's nothing.”

His casual tone took too much effort to be genuine, and the slight puff of hesitation in his field undermined any validity his act might have had. “Blue?” Prowl forced optic contact between them and gave a small downward sweep of his doorwings to convey his disbelief. “If someone's in danger--”

“It's nothing like that!” Bluestreak's optics were once again widened, but not for the same reason as before. His field had evened out to a more normal frequency, and his wings gave a reassuring flicker. “It's just that Jazz mentioned he thought the dorm room might have been bugged when he was telling me about all this.”

Prowl's doorwings flared in surprise. “Were you in the dorm room?”

A quick shake of Bluestreak's helm relieved Prowl's sudden tension and he relaxed again. “No, we met in the cafeteria.”

“Okay, I'll look into it.” Prowl placed the datapad on the surface of his desk, then rounded it to stand in front of Bluestreak. “Thank you for telling me this. It means a lot to the safety of the clan that we remain undetected.” Bluestreak's smile was enough to melt the coldest of sparks, and Prowl returned it with a small upturn of his own lips. He hesitated before continuing, unsure of what Bluestreak would say. “Right now, you're in the best position to monitor Jazz's interactions with this club.”

The smile melted into a look of despair, and Bluestreak's doorwings once again sagged. “I don't want to spy on my friend!”

“I know, and in any other scenario I wouldn't ask you.” Prowl let his sincerity trickle into his otherwise flat field and reached up cautiously to place one warm servo on Bluestreak's shoulder. “But this is important. I have to alert the clan before I can even begin to investigate this, and until then I need someone to keep an optic on the situation. Jazz trusts you a lot more than he trusts me, and I'm not asking you to spy on him. I'm asking you to keep him safe.” He knew his optics were pleading with the young bot, and he knew his doorwings had given away his desperation, but Prowl didn't care. He wanted to be able to count on Bluestreak, and he wanted Jazz to be safe.

Bluestreak didn't answer for a long minute, and Prowl got the impression he was remembering Prowl's strange request earlier. Since he had first agreed to allow Prowl to feed on him, he'd been satisfied by just Bluestreak's energon. But earlier, he had asked Bluestreak to wear the silk blindfold around his neck for several minutes before feeding. He hadn't done a good job of hiding his embarrassment, and even though he hadn't explained whose scent the blindfold had carried Prowl had no doubt that Bluestreak understood his interest in Jazz by now. The scent left behind by the blindfold was the reason Bluestreak's neck cables were bruised so much more than usual, and the reason the bite hadn't completely healed yet.

Prowl removed his hand after a moment of silence, almost convinced that Bluestreak would decline. However, with a deep ventilation the young bot nodded. “Okay. I'll let you know what I find out.”

Immediately Prowl sagged with relief, a weight he hadn't known he'd carried suddenly gone. “Thank you.”

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

The door opened several minutes after Jazz knocked on it to reveal Starscream's overly excited face. “Jazz! Glad you could make it.” He stepped aside to allow Jazz inside. A small handful of mechs passed Jazz on their way out, and Jazz remembered seeing a few of them around the campus before. Once they were all out, Starscream shut the door behind them.

Jazz couldn't tell if the dorm was Starscream's or Sentinel's. The berths were pushed as far out of the way as possible, and one of them was considerably bigger than the other. It almost seemed large enough for a shuttle frame to use, and the room itself was quite a bit larger than what Jazz had expected.

The only bot present besides Starscream was a flier frame with medical decals adorning his shoulder pauldrons, sitting casually on the floor. Besides him, Starscream was the only other bot present. If Jazz wanted to announce that he was leaving the club, now would be the time.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Starscream edged around him and gracefully folded himself onto the floor beside the other flier and patted a space next to him invitingly.

Jazz complied, quickly dropping himself into a sitting position while keeping a decent-sized space between himself and the others. He didn't want to be there, and the prickly edges of his field conveyed that. However, he couldn't get the image of Bluestreak's injury out of his processor.

“Pharma, this is Jazz.” Starscream's voice reminded Jazz of how mechs spoke with younglings, and he resisted the urge to punch the flier. “Jazz, Pharma.”

Jazz recognized the name immediately. “You're Pharma?”

The bot, Pharma, nodded, and Jazz saved an image capture hastily. “Yes. You know me?”

“We showed him your diagram the other night.” Starscream's voice was dismissive, and irritation flashed briefly through Pharma's field before he gave a charming smile.

Starscream pulled a couple of datapads from under the berth, picking one of them up and onlining it. “We didn't get a chance to show you much then, since you were being so stubborn.” While he was speaking, Starscream was scrolling through whatever was on the pad as though he was looking for something.

“I wasn't—”

“Here we go.” Jazz's protest was cut off easily, and he wrestled with himself about how to proceed. He still didn't want to be there or be included in the club, and he still didn't think vampires were anything to worry about, but Bluestreak's injury had almost exactly matched what they'd shown him. Eventually, Jazz's cautious side won out and he silenced himself, with no small difficulty, from formulating a response and instead watched glanced over at Pharma, who seemed to be amused by his frustration.

Having found what he was looking for, Starscream spoke excitedly. “This is all the lore we could find on vampires. There's not much, and a lot of it contradicts itself, but here it is.”

Starscream passed the datapad to Jazz, but if the flier noticed his hesitation to take it he didn't comment. Jazz skimmed over the information sceptically, looking for reasons to disagree with it while Starscream picked up another, similar-looking datapad.. “It says here that vampires are nocturnal.” It seemed to Jazz that if vampires were only around at night, they wouldn't be involved with anything that operated mainly during the day, like the college.

“Yes, like I said, a lot of it contradicts itself.” Starscream's flippant hand wave was back, and Jazz reconsidered his decision to leave the flier's face unpunched. “Lore isn't exactly a very reliable source, since it's not scientific or factually based. It's all we have though, so it's what we're using.” Starscream shifted the position of his legs, his wings flaring out behind him in a manner very similar to Bluestreak when he attempted to get more comfortable. “So basically, vampires seem like regular Cybertronians. They look like bots, act like bots, even talk like bots, except they're not. They use this disguise to feed on the energon of regular mechanisms and steal the victim's life energy.”

Starscream was beginning to sound very much like Sentinel before Pharma cut in. “Actually, vampires feed on other bots because they can't process their own energon, and they need a source of fuel, according to some of the sources.”

The contradiction was not appreciated, and Starscream's sharp scowl let Pharma know it. Jazz looked between the two, a bit wary of the look that Pharma was receiving. The medical student was meeting the glare calmly though, and it dawned on Jazz that the club had an interesting power struggle going on. Starscream had denied Sentinel's position as the club president in the tunnels, and now he was reacting very badly to Pharma's interruption. This only reinforced Jazz's backup plan if he couldn't get out of the club safely. Nevermind that the club was the best place to find answers about Bluestreak's neck injury.

Carefully Jazz took a picture of the hostility between the two and cleared his vocalizer. “Uh, you were saying?”

The two turned to look at him, Starscream snapping to meet the new threat and Pharma swiveling his cold gaze to meet Jazz's. Starscream seemed to realize the situation and cleared his vocalizer, flicking his wings casually and giving an easy chuckle. “Of course, my apologies.” With one last dark look at Pharma, Starscream returned to the datapad in his hand. “A few of the sources do say that vampires are nocturnal, but I found one that went into more detail.” He showed Jazz the screen on his own datapad, and Jazz had to reset his optics from the assault of scribbles the image contained. He couldn't make out a single glyph, and how Starscream had been able to translate that he had no idea. “It seems that only a certain type of vampire is nocturnal, and everyone just forgets that part.”

Jazz nodded, knowing that if he disagreed he'd never get any answers. Arguing with Starscream would just derail him into a tirade, so Jazz listened to what sounded like melted scrap to him. The idea that there were multiple types of vampires was even more ridiculous than the idea that there were vampires at all.

“I found a lot of records about medical examinations done on suspected vampires, but you probably don't want to read those.” Jazz glanced over to Pharma and wasn't surprised to see disappointment twist his faceplates into an unpleasant scowl.

“Not really.” Jazz gave a small shake of his helm and sighed before continuing. “What exactly would vampires be doing here, if there are any?”

Starscream's faceplates lit up and he smiled in a way that sent a shiver down Jazz's spinal strut. “An excellent question!” Starscream's voice had started to rasp, and he took a sip of what looked like a light energon blend that had previously been hidden from his view before continuing in a somewhat smoother voice. “You see, vampires need healthy mechs to hunt, and the students here are a perfect fuel source.”

Pharma cleared his vocalizer and spoke before Starscream could continue. “It's a closed campus, so most of the time students can't leave. On holidays and breaks, a lot of mechs go home, but usually students are stuck here. They have a captive fuel source.”

That made sense to Jazz, and he nodded while thinking it over. “Okay, but everything I've heard or seen or read about vampires, it all says they really enjoy hunting. Wouldn't a captive fuel source kind of defeat the point?” Granted, all prior knowledge Jazz had was from entertainment vids, books, comics, or just general myth, and most of it had romanticized the vampire's hunting. In most cases, hunting the protagonist, but that was besides the point.

“Yes, but it's really only vampires that are alone that enjoy hunting.” Starscream's tone was dismissive, and his field was flat before it rippled with what Jazz assumed was a surprising realization. “Which means that the vampires here have formed a clan.”

“A what?”

“A clan, Jazz. Like a family of vampires.” Starscream thought for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice betrayed raw excitement. “Vampires really like crystals, and there are crystals all over campus! This proves it!”

From behind his visor, Jazz gave in to the temptation to roll his optics in irritation. “So do Praxians, and when the college was built it was funded by a Praxian.” So his first-semester orientation class had come in handy after all.

Starscream's wings swept sharply up and down, and Jazz couldn't quite understand what the motion meant. Based on the flier's huff and the irritation spilling out his field though, he had a few guesses. “Yeah, but a clan could have easily set up permanent residence here. It was practically built for them!” The wing motion was repeated before flaring aggressively into something Jazz did understand.

“And you're sure these 'vampires,'” Jazz's pronunciation of the word made it quite clear that he was still skeptical, “have nothing to do with the professors or anyone else who works here?”

“Of course not!” Starscream seemed offended by Jazz's disbelief, and his voice was rising into a very unpleasant screech. The irritation that had been building seemed to come to a peak, and Starscream's field turned sharp and hostile. “Don't be ridiculous. I've already told you that the vampires are students, and I'd appreciate if you would listen instead of arguing with everything that I say!”

Jazz looked at Starscream for a long moment. The silence filling the room was piercing after Starscream's sudden outburst, and Jazz decided that he'd had enough.

In one sharp motion, Jazz stood and dropped the datapad he'd forgotten he was holding in front of Starscream. “Well.” He looked between Starscream and Pharma. “It was nice of you to invite me, but I'm done with your club.” He turned and walked to the door, ignoring Starscream's indignant shriek that followed him.

“Jazz?” Pharma's calm voice made Jazz stop at the door and turn to look at the medical student. “Don't make any decisions you might regret.” His voice was was calm, but it was edged with a warning. Jazz recalled Sentinel's threats, and why he'd agreed to join in the first place.

With one hand on the doorframe, Jazz shook his helm. He'd already made decisions he regretted. “I said no.” Without looking back to see the bot's reaction, Jazz opened the door and stepped out, closing it solidly behind him.

Chapter Text

It was afternoon, more than a week after Jazz had left the club, and he was starting to get nervous. He hadn't seen Starscream since he'd walked out, and both Pharma and Sentinel had been strangely quiet as well. Every time Jazz saw someone else from the club, they either made a point to avoid him, or they paid close attention to him as though they were watching him. Jazz was beginning to feel paranoid, and had caught himself looking over his shoulder more times than he could count.

No one had said anything to him, and he hadn't overheard anyone else talking about the club or its intentions. For all the talk and buildup about what would befall Jazz if he crossed the club Sentinel hadn't done a very good job of following up. Jazz's life had resumed as normal, but that didn't mean all was well. To him it seemed like the lull of calm before a particularly bad storm, and even in his own dorm he was beginning to feel uneasy.

Jazz glanced up nervously from his work and looked across the room, just in time to see the mech hurriedly look down and hunch around his own datapad. He'd come to the library to work on a project, and the bot had arrived shortly after him. It wasn't hard to figure out that the bot was watching him, especially since he was so desperately lacking in subtlety.

There had been a few other bots Jazz had noticed over the last few days. After he noticed the first one, he'd started spending as much time as possible in public areas with friends or in his dorm room. He hadn't gone anywhere alone, and was starting to feel guilty about dragging Bluestreak along with him so often, even though the Praxian didn't seem to mind. So far using his friend as a shield had been working but Jazz didn't know what to expect, and when the slag hit the fan he didn't want Bluestreak to get caught in the crossfire.

Realistically, Jazz knew he could go to Campus Security. He wouldn't be able to convict the club of anything except for being delusional, but there was a possibility Officer Prowl could offer some sort of protection. There were laws for that, right?

But then, Jazz also knew he wouldn't involve enforcers unless it were absolutely necessary. Polihex was known for crime, whether it be the massive feuds between mafia families or petty misdemeanors. When someone said Polihex, the first thing that came to mind was crime. As a Polihexan frametype, Jazz had always been stigmatized as being part of the problem.

Most of the enforcers in Polihex had been of other frametypes, and in Jazz's experience the idea that all Polihexans were trouble was part of the enforcer coding. As much as he wanted to believe that this Officer Prowl was different, that he actually believed in upholding justice instead of preconceived stereotypes, Jazz knew better.

From his first day on campus, Jazz had begun to form a sort of fantasy that maybe Prowl wouldn't be blinded by the stigma. He'd wanted to believe that Prowl truly functioned to seek justice, and even though he knew better Jazz would rather not go through the experience of finding out just how wrong he was.

Jazz's comm unit crackled to life in the silence, pulling him back to reality. The sudden sound had him nearly jumping out of his plating, and without looking at the ID Jazz answered the call on an internal line while ignoring the looks those around him were giving.

A small feeling of dread settled into Jazz's tank when Pharma's smooth voice rolled through the link. ::Hello Jazz.::

The words were spoken in a casual, impersonal way that made Jazz's plating bristle defensively. This was most likely the backlash he'd been expecting, but Pharma was speaking as though he were discussing the weather with a perfect stranger. His voice held no hint of malice, and were Jazz not already wary he'd even say Pharma was being friendly. Jazz didn't trust it for a second. ::Hey Pharma. Look mech, I'm really busy right now.:: Nevermind how Pharma had gotten his comm frequency, Jazz tried his best to match the easy, casual tone.

The line crackled with what sounded like a sigh, and Jazz glanced over to see the bot that had been watching him stand and make his way towards the exit. ::I see. I suppose that means you'd like to make this quick then?:: The small feeling of dread grew to the size of a boulder sitting in Jazz's tank, and when Pharma spoke again he sounded impatient. ::Last time Starscream said some pretty rude things in his outburst, and he's very sorry for that.::

Somehow Jazz doubted that Starscream was sorry for anything, and Pharma's voice didn't lend much to whatever apology he was supposed to accept. The fact that he was attempting to apologize in the first place couldn't be good, and Jazz decided to cut to the point. ::I said I'm done with whatever joke you're running. If this is some ploy to get me to reconsider, then forget it.::

The line was silent for a moment before Pharma gave a light-sparked laugh. ::We heard you loud and clear Jazz, and I understand. You probably think we're crazy, and you'd rather not get involved with something you don't have any reason to support. We didn't exactly have a very strong argument or any solid evidence, so I can see why you'd want to bail. But trust me when I say there's something I think you'll want to see.::

Jazz snorted and shuffled his plating, trying to shake the creepy chill he was getting. ::I'm not interested.::

::I understand. But how about this: you give us one last chance, and if your processor is still made up I'll make sure we leave you alone.::

The offer was tempting, but like Pharma's easy, casual tone, Jazz didn't trust it. ::Listen, I don't—::

::I'm sure Bluestreak would want you to come.::

The words made Jazz pause and his spark fluttered weakly in his chassis. They were spoken in the same cold, impersonal tone that seemed habitual to Pharma, but there was something else this time. There wasn't any particular nuance of his voice that Jazz could point to and say 'that's it,' but something about the words sent a stab of fear through Jazz's spark. They sat in his processor calmly, with the dangerously impartial coolness of someone who knew more than they let on, and suddenly Jazz came to the very late realization that Pharma would have no moral qualms about harming someone to get what he wanted. He had nothing on the line, no consequences to face for his actions, and Pharma knew it. If Bluestreak was in danger, then the only sure way to get him to safety was to do whatever Pharma was wanting.

Nervously Jazz dialed Bluestreak's comm unit and waited impatiently, shifting in his seat from the sudden need to be in action. The line rang and Jazz silently prayed that Bluestreak would answer, but the last bit of his hope was destroyed when the call was finally forwarded to an automatic message inbox. Dread began creeping up Jazz's spinal strut, gripping his spark and settling like a fog in his processor to cloud his thoughts. Suddenly Bluestreak's safety became so much more important than his own, and with a shaking hand Jazz dropped his work into subspace. ::Where are you?::

When Pharma spoke again Jazz could hear the smile in his voice as clearly as if the flier were standing in front of him. ::I'll meet you in the tunnels.::

Jazz didn't bother to respond. His answer had been clear enough, and getting to Bluestreak was more important than pleasantries.

As soon as he made it to the shed and down the ladder, Jazz broke into a sprint through the length of the lighted tunnels, crashing into the door to the room before flinging it open and bursting inside. The room was empty, barren of everything that had been there when he'd last seen it. The walls were bare, devoid of any sign that the pictures and diagrams Jazz clearly remembered seeing had ever been there. All the chairs and tables were gone too, and there was nothing to indicate that anyone had been there in the last decade.

Jazz looked around frantically, searching for some sign of Bluestreak. Finding none, Jazz turned to leave, fearing that he'd fallen into a trap. The door was still open, and Jazz lunged towards it desperately, pausing with one hand on the frame when a muffled sob had him twisting in a painful maneuver trying to locate the source.

The sound had come from beyond the room, and though Jazz couldn't be sure of how the acoustics of the stone chamber worked, it seemed like it had come from behind the back wall. He knew for certain that it hadn't come from the tunnel, at least.

Leaving the door, Jazz stepped closer cautiously, not entirely sure what he was looking for. He was nearly touching the wall before he saw it—a slab of the stone wall was barely jutting out, casting the slightest of shadows around the edge. There was a chunk of stone missing, exposing a metal support rod. The damage looked accidental, but its location was too much of a coincidence to be an accident.

Jazz wrapped his hand around the rod, expecting the rusted metal to give but it held, and with both hands he pulled, using his body weight as leverage. He stumbled back when the door opened easily to reveal a darkened chamber, the only light coming from ancient potassium candles set in a semicircle against the far wall, giving the room an eery purple glow.

The door opened and Jazz closed off his vents immediately, fighting back a sudden wave of nausea. The sick cloying smell of spilled energon settled on the back of his glossa and clogged his throat. He paused for a moment, one hand grasping his mouth and nasal ridge in an attempt to block the smell before he realized what it indicated.

A handful of bots turned to look at Jazz when he stepped inside, and he dimmed the crystal of his visor to adjust to the new level of light. When the crystal adjusted and he could see, Jazz found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the sight before him.

At the far end of the room, centered in the half ring of candles, was a mech. His hands were bound far above his helm, held by a ladder jutting out from the stone. His peds were barely resting on the bottom rung, and energon oozed from where the bindings cut into his wrist and ankle joints. Several long crystal spikes were dug into gaps in his armor, energon coating them so thoroughly that Jazz couldn't tell what color the crystal was. Energon dripped from the ends steadily, adding to a standing puddle that, for now, was contained within the limits of the candles. There was something sitting in the puddle, with jagged ends coated in drying energon. Jazz couldn't tell what it was, but it looked important and he didn't want to think about what it could be.

The mech was trembling violently, and his green plating was covered in condensation. Coolant ran down his cheeks in streams, dripping from his chin to make clean streaks on his energon-splattered chassis. The mech's expression was desperate, and when he caught sight of Jazz his lips shaped what looked like the word “please” without sound, as though he were afraid to speak. The mech was begging Jazz to help him, and everything about this moment was so wrong, so different from what Jazz remembered that it took him far longer than it should have to recognize the mech as Hound.

Jazz stared in horror, arms hanging limp at his sides and mouth open in shock, captivated by the scene in front of him. It was only the rude shove of a bot closing the stone door behind him that broke Jazz out of the spell, and he lurched forward to help.

A solid arm sprang out of the darkness, blocking Jazz from getting any closer. He looked from the arm to its owner, slightly intimidated when he saw a mech several feet taller and quite a bit thicker than himself.

Despite the mech's size, Jazz struggled to shake free of the unyielding grip, but Pharma's voice pierced the darkness and Jazz looked around to find the medical student standing close to one wall. “You got here sooner than I expected.” Pharma was holding what looked like a long shard of frosty white crystal. “I was going to meet you outside, but you made it here too soon for that.” Pharma paused, a spark-chilling smile crept briefly over his faceplates. “You must be very eager.”

“What's going on?” Jazz stepped away from the bot and turned on Pharma. His voice was louder than he intended, echoing harshly off the stone walls and reverberating through the crystal shard strongly enough that Jazz could detect visible vibrations. A sharp whimper from Hound had Jazz lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. “Where's Bluestreak?” There was no doubt that Hound was in need of help, but Jazz wanted to make sure Bluestreak was okay.

Pharma waved the question away, gesturing to nothing in particular with the long crystal before running some sort of cloth over the surface, leaving it with an oily sheen. “Bluestreak's fine. As far as I know, he's in your room.”

Jazz's relief was tangible, but short lived. If Pharma didn't know exactly where Bluestreak was, then he wasn't in immediate danger. With Bluestreak's safety no longer in consideration, Jazz could focus on the present problem. “What the frag are you doing?” His voice had jumped in volume again, and he could hear a faint hum from the crystal in Pharma's hand. Another soft sob from Hound had Jazz turning, intent on helping the poor mech. His progress was once again blocked, this time by two mechs of equally offensive size, and Jazz struggled pointlessly.

Pharma seemed amused by his efforts, flashing a chilling smile before stepping in front of Jazz to block his view of Hound. “I know this is quite sudden, and I know what this looks like, but let me explain. I was going to meet you outside and explain the situation to you, but like I said, you were early. I didn't want to act so soon, but that police bot was poking around the shed and I didn't want to risk being found out before we could get proof.”

“Proof of what?” Jazz struggled again, growing increasingly unnerved by the situation and his inability to do anything.

Pharma sighed and ran the cloth over the crystal again. “Proof of vampirism on the campus.” He made a sharp gesture with the crystal to Hound. “This is one of the creatures we told you about.”

Jazz watched speechlessly as Pharma stepped into the ring of candles, heedless of the energon coating his peds. He stopped beside Hound, who was straining at his bindings in an attempt to get away. His mouth began moving again, but no words came, and among all the energon on his chassis Jazz noticed a slit in his throat cables, right above where his vocalizer would be. It made sense, in a sick kind of way, why Hound wasn't begging for his life. With his vocalizer lying on the ground, he couldn't. He could still make noises, but not actual words.

“I wasn't sure until now,” Pharma drew one of Hound's lips up harshly, exposing a very recent-looking fang mod, “but I'm certain that this bot is a vampire.”

Jazz struggled to find words to express his disbelief. “Fang mods are popular! I already told you that!”

“Actually, you told Starscream, but it's not just that.” Pharma removed his hand from Hound's mouth and lifted the crystal shard. “There are a lot of other indicators that I'm not going to waste time explaining to you. You probably wouldn't understand them anyway.” With that, Pharma turned and plunged the shard deep into Hound's chassis, directly above his spark chamber.

Hound arched against his bindings, stretching already-strained shoulder joints past what should have been possible, mouth parted in a silent scream and optics going white. After several tense seconds Hound sagged limply against his bindings, prompting another flood of energon.

“What the frag?!” Jazz ripped himself free of the two mechs' grips and threw himself forward, intent on helping Hound. Pharma turned and in a motion that was too quick for Jazz to process the flier flicked his arm, sending Jazz sprawling against the damp ground.

Jazz picked himself up, wobbling only slightly. He looked at Pharma, racking his processor for something to do.

Pharma looked back thoughtfully, still standing in the puddle of drying energon. “You want to help this mech, yes?” Jazz nodded cautiously. “That's forgivable. You still think he's Cybertronian, so of course you do. But remember that he's not. He's a monster that preys on others to feed his own sick frame.”

Jazz watched helplessly as Pharma unsubspaced a pair of large utility pliers, vaguely aware that one of the other bots had grabbed him again. Hound gave a choked protest when Pharma lifted his lip again and fitted the pliers around one of the fang mods carefully, his other hand wrapped around the base of Hound's helm to keep him from moving. Pharma paused to look back solemnly at Jazz. “This is helping him.” He turned back to Hound and gave a sharp downward twist. There was a loud snap, then a wet grating noise and the fang sprung free, the clean edges from the installation clearly visible to Jazz. Hound was trembling again, and a flood of bright pink flowed from the cavity that the fang had been set in, pooling in his lower jaw before spilling down his chin.

Jazz had to open his mouth several times before he could speak. “How is this helping him? How on Cybertron do you think that this,” he gestured angrily towards Hound, “is helping him?”

Pharma had moved the pliers to the other fang, but after hearing Jazz he let go of Hound in favor of facing Jazz. “This would have been easier if I'd had a chance to explain properly.” He was silent a moment, looking Jazz over. Then he flicked one of the crystal spikes embedded in Hound's protoform, ignoring the sound of pain the motion caused. “These crystals are from a structure that blooms in the cold season. This particular type of crystal is thought to have cleansing properties. There is a chance that this will purify him of his affliction, and if he survives he will truly be a Cybertronian.”

“And if he doesn't survive?” Jazz started struggling again, fueled on by the soft, horrid whimpers that Hound was making.

Pharma smirked and shrugged casually. “Then there's no real loss, is there?”

“This is insane!” Jazz gave up on struggling and fixed Pharma with a glare that would have been more effective without his visor. “Vampires aren't real, and you're crazy!”

His words created another brief hum from the crystals, and after it died down the only sound in the room was the dripping of energon. Slowly, Pharma stepped outside of the circle of candles, seemingly unaware of the globs of energon that clung to his peds. He moved over to stand directly in front of Jazz, leaving pink footprints across the short distance. “I'm sorry that you feel that way Jazz. I understand this is quite sudden, and probably somewhat shocking. I regret that I did not have a chance to properly educate you, but I assure you, everything I'm doing is necessary.” He paused for a second and frowned. “Usually I wouldn't do this, but I'll give you a chance. You're smart enough to see what's in front of you, and I trust that you'll come to your senses, even if it's not very soon.” Pharma gestured to the door with a pink-stained hand. “There's a pipe out there that I may need. It's made of iron, which is caustic to evil, so you can see the necessity. If you are truly dedicated to helping this creature, go out and get it. If you still need time to work past your instincts, then wait out there until I'm done.” He made a shooing motion with his hand at the two bots holding Jazz, then turned back to Hound with pliers once again in hand.

One of the bots let go of Jazz and he heard the harsh grate of stone on stone. He tried to turn and see what was happening, the desire to know what was going on just as strong as the desire to turn away from the scene before him. His tanks felt queasy, and he was almost glad when he was half-dragged, half-carried out of the room and the door was shut behind him.

He was released and the two bots each moved to stand by one of the doors, blocking Jazz from any escape he might have had. The door to the tunnels had been shut, and when the bot guarding that door noticed where Jazz's attention was he moved to block the round hatch wheel from view.

Jazz looked between the two warily, stretching his shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the soreness caused by the two brutes' abuse.

From the other side of the closed door came a scream, and even though it was muffled the sound sent a sharp pang though Jazz's sensor horns. Spark still racing, Jazz looked at the door and forced himself to ignore the urge to fling it open and jump right back in. As much as he might want to, and as much as his coding was demanding that he do just that, he knew it was useless. He had counted four bots besides Pharma, all as large as the two keeping him company, and even though they had only moved on Pharma's orders Jazz knew he wouldn't get very far.

Another sharp scream tore through the stone barrier, and Jazz shuddered in horror. He had to do something, and he sure as Pit wasn't helping Pharma. After the last of the scream faded, Jazz realized that he was in over his helm. He wouldn't be able to do anything on his own, and he didn't have the authority to stop this. The only way that he could think of to help Hound was to get to Campus Security. Prowl could take care of this, and after he did Jazz would come clean about what little involvement he'd had with the club.

It was a struggle to do, but Jazz made himself turn away from the stone door and survey the room. The two bots were still hovering by the exits, and they were both watching him warily as though they suspected he would try to make a break for it. The door to the tunnels was still closed, and Jazz would need at least a couple of seconds in order to crank the hatch wheel enough to open it.

On an old table against the wall was a section of pipe double the length of Jazz's entire arm, covered in rust and dirt. Years of exposure to acid-tainted water was evident, and he shuddered to think what Pharma would do with it.

Jazz's mind was racing almost as fast as his spark, and he struggled to think of an escape. Every second he spent idle was time lost for Hound, and even though Pharma had claimed that Bluestreak was out of danger Jazz wasn't going to believe it until he had solid proof.

Jazz grasped the pipe firmly, and when he lifted it he was surprised at how light it was. He examined the metal length and noticed that only the outer layer was made of lead, and it made sense that it was so light if the rest of it was a more lightweight metal. He glanced at the two guards again, who were still watching him carefully, and the first tiny hints of an idea came to him.

“So,” Jazz held the pipe with only one hand and allowed the end to fall heavily to the ground. He took a shaky breath, and spoke carefully. “If I don' wanna be a part of this, what happens?”

The mech guarding the stone door, who seemed to be a bit larger than his companion and had an unpleasant sickly green paint job, shrugged and crossed his arms over his chassis. “You wait here.”

The other, who was almost the same shade of blue as Sentinel, put his hands carelessly on his hips. “After they're done it doesn't matter. If you're too scared to join, then you won't remember any of it. So like I said, it doesn't matter.”

A solid thud came from beyond the closed door and echoed in the tense silence. Jazz felt himself shaking and he brought both hands together to grip the rusted pipe in hopes that his plating didn't start rattling.

Since Jazz had left the library, he had forced his coding's demands down so that he would be able to think clearly, but the echo of a pained sob pushed Jazz over the edge. His code demanded action, and Jazz had no problems complying.

With both hands solidly on the end of the pipe, Jazz took two swift steps forward and swung the pip in a broad arc. The mech didn't have time to react, and the pipe landed solidly on his helm, leaving a curve in the rusted length.

The mech staggered back and crumpled to his knees, hands clutching his helm. A few drops of energon leaked from his fingers, spilling down his arm. The other mech was quick to react but slow to move, as Jazz had hoped he'd be. He lunged across the small space at Jazz, but was slow and clumsy and when Jazz moved he found himself imbalanced by his own weight and tripped over his companion to greet the floor.

Still grasping the pipe Jazz turned and attacked the door vigorously, cranking the handle as quickly as he could with one hand. He heard one or both of the bots getting up behind him, and heavy footsteps alerted him to impending danger. A shadow loomed over him and Jazz threw himself to the floor a second before the bot's fist connected with the door, throwing it open.

The door collided with the wall, guided in an arc by its hinges, and Jazz scrambled forward with the pipe dragging behind him. The metal door bounced back, smacking into the green bot to send him staggering back a few steps.

From his position on the ground Jazz used his ped to kick the door shut and hold it in place, launching himself upright to crank the handle closed. There was a pipe running vertically along the wall next to the door frame, and Jazz shoved the lead pipe behind it so that one end stuck through the spokes of the handle and held the door shut.

The handle rattled but didn't turn, held in place by the pipe. For a second Jazz was hopeful that the structure would hold, but a heavy impact from the other side sent the door bulging outwards, bending the pipe even more.

Another impact bent the pipe almost in half and the door opened just enough to give Jazz a look at the rage-filled faceplates of the green mech.

Jazz stumbled backwards before turning to run. The sound of another impact was dwarfed by what he could only imagine was the door colliding with the wall again. An angry growl echoed down the tunnel behind Jazz and he threw himself into alt mode. Technically, alt modes on campus were prohibited, but Jazz was pretty sure this was an exception. The speed of his motion was only allowed by the quick-burning fuel of nervous energy, and he rounded the first corner too fast and crashed into the far wall to scrape a good portion of the paint off his plating. It hurt, but Jazz pushed himself on. The other corners weren't much better, but Jazz didn't care. He had to get out, and the squeal of his tires echoed harshly in the tunnels, the sound bearing down on him and only increasing his frantic pace.

Finally Jazz rounded the last corner, his tail end bumping harshly against the unforgiving wall. The ladder was within sight, and in seconds Jazz was throwing himself out of alt. His momentum would have carried him past the ladder, but Jazz grabbed the edge of the alcove as he passed. He winced at the strain on his arm and shoulder joint, almost certain that he had dislocated it. He was pretty sure his axles would need to be realigned as well, and one of his taillights was definitely shattered.

Jazz didn't have time to be careful though, because he could see headlights illuminating part of the wall down the tunnel. Ignoring the burning ache quickly developing in his shoulder he dragged himself up the ladder two rungs at a time.

At the top, Jazz pulled himself through the opening and turned just in time to see a flash of pale sickly green plating in mid-transformation fly past the ladder alcove. With a slight limp, Jazz went around the opening to brace himself against the heavy metal cover. It wasn't heavy enough to stop the two, and Jazz had been able to lift it without a problem, but it would hopefully slow them down. It took an extra shove to get the cover to fall, and with a painful, high-pitched squeal the cover succumbed to gravity and landed on its frame with a resounding thud.

Clutching his shoulder tightly, Jazz exited the tiny shack and set off at as quick a run as his systems could handle, heading towards the Admissions building.

Chapter Text

Not a full minute had passed after Prowl ended his comm call, negotiating the potential capture of another thrall with Barricade, before the door to his office was shoved rudely open. Prowl looked up from his report, startled to see Jazz standing in the door frame. He was clutching his shoulder and noticeably favoring one leg, with his field wrapped so tightly around his frame that the edges were likely resting under his plating. His mouth hung open to aid his overtaxed vents and his chassis was heaving from exertion. The nervous growl of his engine filled the otherwise silent office, and Prowl suspected that under his visor his optics were as wide as they would go.

Prowl was still for microsecond, taking in the battered state of the student. An urge of /protect/ was vying for dominance with /easy prey/, and Prowl was trapped in the conflict between the two until he registered the chemotags hanging onto to Jazz's rich scent. The unsustainable energy high of adrenalized fear was foremost, with minor undertones of helplessness, disgust, and horror. Most importantly though, the overwhelming aroma of spilled energon clung to his frame like a coat of rust, wafting into the room nonchalantly a few seconds late.

The report was forgotten and slipped from Prowl's hand to clatter against the surface of the desk. The sound seemed to beckon to Jazz, who lurched forward to plant his hands on the front edge of Prowl's desk before exchanging a desperate vent for breathless words. “Officer! Please, you have to help him, they're going to kill him!” Jazz's words were filled with static and difficult to make out, and they quickly dissolved into incoherent rambling after the first few words spilled out. It wasn't until Prowl moved to gently lay one hand on his forearm that Jazz fell silent.

“Calm down.” He moved around his desk to guide Jazz into the seat there. His doorwings angled themselves towards the student, and Prowl could easily pick up the vibrations in the air from his trembling and the frantic pulse of his spark. “I need you to focus. Take a vent and tell me what's happening.” Prowl was beyond tempted to reassure Jazz, to take him in his arms and hold him while telling him that it would be okay and that he was safe now. But it was obvious from the scent he carried and what little Jazz had already said how very not okay it was. From what Prowl could make out, someone was in danger, and finding out who and where they were was more important at the moment than comforting Jazz. Comfort could come later.

Jazz cycled several quick, shaky vents before speaking. “There's a shed behind the library.” His voice wavered a bit, but he continued. “There's an entrance to a tunnel system in it, and Pharma and a bunch of others have Hound.” He paused and rubbed a hand under the edge of his visor, and when his fingers came away they glistened with moisture. “They think he's a vampire and they're trying to purify him or something.”

“What?” Prowl recoiled in shock, his hand slipping from Jazz's arm. He'd known that a group of students had suspected the clan's presence on campus; that hadn't been a surprise. But he hadn't expected them to attack another student, who most definitely wasn't a vampire.

“I don't know, mech.” Jazz turned and met Prowl's optics. “They have him tied up and they're gonna kill him. Just, please help him!” His voice was desperate, and Prowl couldn't ignore the way his spark turned to lead and sank into his tank from the miserable state Jazz was in.

Prowl nodded grimly, pushing aside his concern to make room for the task at hand. “Alright. Stay here, and I'll send Ambulon to patch you up.” He turned to the door, one hand already on his comm unit to alert Ultra Magnus to the situation, when he heard the chair scrape harshly against the floor and turned to see Jazz rise shakily to his feet.

Jazz shook his helm determinedly. “No, I have to go with you, to show you where it is.”

His attempts at bravery were admirable, especially when Prowl could smell the hollow courage fluttering off his frame, squeezing between all the other chemotags lingering in the air. Jazz knew he wouldn't be any help, not in the state he was in. Aside from his injuries, none of which seemed to be life-threatening, he was still trembling and it didn't take Prowl's enhanced senses to detect his shock. It was easy to tell that he really didn't want to go back to whatever he had come from, but he was still trying to help.

Prowl turned to fully face Jazz and dropped his hand from his comm, speaking in his most authoritative voice. “No, you need to stay here. You've done enough for now.”

Jazz sank slowly back into the chair, a small puff of relief in his field betraying his disappointed appearance. Prowl wondered briefly if Jazz was even aware he was afraid, since he truly appeared to be disappointed that he was staying. It was entirely possible that Jazz was still running on the exhilaration of whatever horror he'd endured. As strange as it was to think that an innocent such as Jazz would be excited by such a thing, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Some bots were naturally inclined to enjoy dangerous situations, and thrived on the peril. Perhaps Jazz was one of them.

Prowl turned to the door again, sending an internal ping to have First Aid come check on the student. He had stepped outside of the room and was about to head down the hall, following Jazz's scent trail when Jazz called out behind him. “Wait!”

He was still seated when Prowl poked his helm back into the room, resting one hand on the edge of the door frame to prevent it from closing on him. “Yes?”

“When you get into the tunnels, follow the lights, and there's a stone door in the room at the end of it. They're behind that.”

With an affirmative nod, Prowl left the office, locking the door once it was closed and authorizing only himself and First Aid to open it again. Once that was taken care of, he set off down the hall at a run, opening a comm call with Magnus and Chromedome, who both quickly confirmed that they would be at the shed in minutes.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Prowl dropped down the hatch, not bothering with the ladder, and was scanning the tunnels for signs of life when Ultra Magnus called out above him. The massive bot fit through the opening with minimal difficulty, followed closely by Chromedome.

Knowing it was too risky to speak verbally, Prowl tried to open a comm call between the three of them, but frowned when he couldn't. Instead of opening, the call went to his queue, and he canceled it before realizing the problem. The tunnels they were in were mostly made of stone, but the scan had picked up traces of lead, which blocked any signal he tried to send.

A sharp motion with his doorwings communicated his frustration, and both Magnus and Chromedome seemed to understand the problem immediately.

Without verbal communication, they moved through the tunnels in silence, using visual and frame cues to communicate their intentions to one another. Prowl took the lead, peering around each corner to make sure it was clear before moving on. It didn't take long to reach the end of the lighted portion, and Prowl slowed as he neared.

The door to the maintenance room had been thrown off its hinges and was lying several feet away from the frame. The round hatch wheel had been removed from the door itself and was lying near the frame with an old length of pipe twisted up between the spokes. From the looks of things, Jazz had been lucky to get out alive.

Movement from inside caught Prowl's attention, and he flattened himself against the wall next to the opening. Magnus and Chromedome mirrored his position on the other side of the wall, and Magnus gave him a nod to continue.

Prowl had brought his blaster, but since the situation was still unknown he transformed and readied his taser. He closed his optics for a moment and focused on the movement inside the room. He could make out two distinct voices grumbling about something and two sets of peds shuffling around, but they weren't moving very much and only distinguishable because of their size and distance from each other. If there were other bots in the room that weren't moving Prowl couldn't detect them, and if he scanned the room he'd lose the element of surprise.

He met Magnus's optics and held up two digits to indicate two bots, and received an affirmative nod in response.

With a deep vent, Prowl stepped around the corner and leveled his taser at one of the massive bots, who were both facing away from him. Prowl fired, and the bot dropped to his knees with a heavy thud and spasmed before collapsing. The other mech only had time to look in bewilderment at his companion before he too was on his way to meet the floor.

A quick scan of the barren room revealed no one else, and Prowl placed both of the downed students in stasis cuffs before they could recover.

Remembering what Jazz had said, Prowl checked the walls for a stone door, instructing Magnus and Chromedome both to do the same in a hushed voice. Finding nothing in the wall he was checking, Prowl turned to glance at Magnus and Chromedome, who had both seemed to come up empty as well.

Prowl took a step back and examined the wall, tracing the pipes running overhead and the cracks across the surface. There were faint marks in the surface, straight vertical lines that ran from the ceiling to the floor. The marks were parallel and evenly spaced, most likely remnants from when the room was built and the slabs of stone had been set. One of the marks caught his optic, because it was different from the rest of them. The placing was still as it should be, but this particular mark was deeper and more of a seam than a faint line. About waist-high next to the mark was a metal support rod that had been exposed by damage in the stone.

Not wanting to waste any time, Prowl stepped towards the exposed rod and took a hesitant sniff. He was relieved to find that the rod had traces of Jazz's scent on it, though it was nestled between the scents of others. On the floor irregular gouges arced away from the wall, betraying the door's disguise.

This close to the seam, Prowl could detect the faintest of smells seeping out from whatever lied beyond, carrying the smell of burning potassium and energon.

Time was of the essence, so Prowl signaled to Magnus and Chromedome to be prepared before grasping the rod and pulling.

The door opened easily, but time seemed to slow down when Prowl took in what was beyond. His tank turned at the sight, and Jazz's state suddenly made complete sense. Illuminated by a sickly purple glow, four massive bots stood watching a flier with medical decals insert a long, thin crystal needle into an area of exposed protoflesh under a restrained mech's bumper, over where his tank would be. The mech's frame was littered with other injuries and splashes of energon, though at the moment he was sagging limply against his bindings, unconscious. From what Jazz had said, this was Hound.

The smell took a second to hit, but when it did Prowl had to press the back of a hand to his intake to block it out briefly. The amount of fear in the room was sickening, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelmingly heavy scent of spilled energon that was suddenly clogging Prowl's nasal sensors.

Seeing the pool of spilled energon on the floor, Prowl felt queasy, and it was only his anger at the students for committing this atrocity that kept him from finding a corner to heave into.

Forcing down his revulsion, Prowl closed his vents and stepped into the small room, leveling his taser at the medical student. “Freeze!”

The four oversized students turned in surprise at his voice, and each gave their own version of a panicked expression. One shuffled forward and Prowl felt aggression boil to the surface of his field, but it quickly died when Ultra Magnus stepped into the room behind him.

At an order from Prowl, the four knelt in unison and raised their hands in submission. The medical student hadn't reacted to Prowl's interruption save to pause in his motion before continuing. He didn't respond when Prowl neared, and his field remained completely calm even when the tip of the taser was pressed against the base of his helm.

“Hands in the air.”

Prowl stood outside the ring of candles, careful to avoid stepping in the puddle that had spilled outside of the perimeter. The student didn't seem to care that his peds were coated in the stuff, and released the end of the needle to causally lift his hands. His field was still calm, tinged with the slightest bit of amusement, and turned to face Prowl directly.

“You're under arrest.”

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

It was several hours after the sun had set by the time Jazz heard footsteps outside the door. He'd nearly slipped into recharge waiting, drawn by the promise of peace that it offered. Once he'd calmed down and relaxed, the high of nervous energy had dwindled and left him feeling far more drained than he'd been in a long time. If he had known he would be waiting this long he would've let himself fall into recharge after Ambulon left, since it hadn't taken him long to realize the door was locked.

Bluestreak had returned his comm call with a series of messages, since there was apparently no signal in the tunnels and Prowl's office was housing a signal jammer. The messages had bombarded him in the short journey to Prowl's office, and he'd been flooded with relief when the Praxian had explained that he'd been working on a project off-campus and hadn't gotten a chance to respond until then.

The footsteps reached the door and it opened without hesitation. Prowl entered, looking more than a little weary. His field was professionally flat as usual, but Jazz could pick out a certain tension that came with stress. Jazz moved to stand, but with a casual wave of hand Prowl gestured for him to remain seating. Finding no reason to protest, Jazz shifted in his seat to get more comfortable, trying not to upset his fresh welds.

Neither spoke for several minutes as Prowl dug through a file cabinet that appeared to hold far more files and datapads than should have been possible. Eventually, Prowl took his seat after dropping a sizable pile on the surface of his desk.

The silence stretched on between them, and Jazz waited for the other to speak. Instead, Prowl seemed content to stare at the untouched pile with his elbows resting on the surface of his desk and his hands folded in front of his mouth.

Jazz . . . wasn't exactly familiar with Prowl. Despite the interest that he'd only recently admitted to himself he'd only spoken to the mech a handful of times, and all of those had been in a professional setting. He didn't know the Praxian's particular mannerisms or how he acted when he felt a certain way, and even though he'd been studying Bluestreak's doorwing movements like it was his thesis project, he still couldn't discern much meaning from the stiff downward slope of Prowl's doorwings. The rest of his frame language was easy to read, what little there was. Jazz could tell that the mech was drained, probably more than he himself was. He also seemed unsettled, from the slight tilt in his optic ridges and the way his optics were darker than Jazz remembered.

After several moments, Jazz felt the need to ask bubbling up inside him, and his vocalizer switched on unbidden. “Is he alive?”

Prowl barely moved, except to raise his helm a few inches to make optic contact. “Pardon?”

Jazz watched his doorwings raise tiredly in what seemed to be a display of interest and clarified. “Is Hound alive?” His voice wavered without his permission, and he quietly reset his vocalizer.

Prowl moved to lean back in his chair, the thin backrest sandwiched between his sensor panels, and nodded. One of his servos dropped to his lap, and the other remained on the surface of his desk, his fingertips lightly strumming against the hard surface. “Yes, Hound is alive. He's in critical condition, and he was moved to Iacon Mercy. The medics there are still working on him, but they said he has a good chance of recovery.”

Jazz nodded slowly, digesting the information. The room was silent for a few more moments before he felt the first touches of guilt clutching at his spark. He dropped his attention to his lap, where his hands were resting. He felt Prowl's gaze resting on him, and he flattened his field to keep the guilt out of it. Even though he didn't know Prowl, he knew what the bot would say, that it wasn't his fault Hound was in intensive care. But even though he saw the truth in that objectively, he couldn't help but feel that this was his fault. If he had done something about the club sooner, if he hadn't just ignored the problem and hoped it went away, this wouldn't have happened. And even though Prowl had only been able to save Hound because of Jazz, that didn't mean his guilt was absolved.

At least Hound was alive though. For now, anyway.

Prowl cycled his vents before speaking again, his voice holding a note of resignation. “The investigation is still ongoing.”

When Jazz looked up, Prowl was frowning down at him, as though he had somehow detected the miserable guilt eating at Jazz's spark. He was leaning forward slightly, with a few of the files opened in front of him. A stylus was in one hand, and even though he hadn't been formally arrested Jazz had been in this situation enough times to recognize an interrogation.

“You were in the tunnels before you came to my office correct?”

Jazz nodded. His guilt was joined by burning disappointment, and suddenly he wanted to be anywhere else besides that office, even back in the tunnels. He didn't know why, but it felt like a betrayal for Prowl to be questioning him. It was childish and stupid for him to feel that way he knew, but he couldn't change his emotions.

“What were you doing there?”

There was no point in trying to hide anything, not that there was anything to hide in the first place. Right then he was looking at a 'guilty by association' charge, but lying to an enforcer would double that at least. At worst, the whole thing would be pinned on him while Pharma was given minor charges since he was a 'promising student.' “Pharma called me. Said there was something he thought I wanted to see.”

Prowl nodded and dipped his doorwings encouragingly. “He said to meet him in the tunnels?”

Jazz nodded again and watched Prowl's hand flow elegantly through the motions of writing.

“Had you been in the tunnels before?”

Another nod. Jazz would tell the truth, but he didn't like having his words twisted against him, so he wasn't going to give Prowl the opportunity.

Apparently Prowl had picked up on this, since he set the stylus down gently and focused all of his attention on Jazz.

Jazz tried to ignore the tingling of his plating under the scrutiny, but eventually he gave in and met the enforcer's gaze. “What?”

Prowl's frown deepened slightly. “I am attempting to investigate the very brutal assault of a student on my campus. It would go more smoothly if you were to cooperate.”

“I am cooperating.” Jazz's indignation was clear in his voice.

“You are giving nonverbal answers whenever you can and when you do speak you say as little as possible. This is extremely unhelpful to the investigation.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, but Jazz at least had enough sense to drop his voice down to a mumble. “It doesn't matter if I cooperate or not, I'm still guilty.”

Prowl cycled his vents in an exasperated sigh and flattened his hands on the surface of his desk. “Jazz . . .”

He seemed to be at a loss for words, and Jazz jumped in before he could find some. “It doesn't matter what I say, I was involved with the stupid club before this so of course you're going to find me guilty of something.”

“Why would you say that?”

Jazz evaluated the mech's expression, expecting to find a cold, patronizing sneer or perhaps some sick form of amusement, but instead he found only tired curiosity. It didn't matter though. His voiced dropped to a mumble again, because even the act of voicing it seemed dangerous. “'cause I'm Polihexian. It doesn't matter what I do or don't do, enforcers always find me guilty of something 'cause of my frametype.” He was prepared to continue, but Prowl cut in before he could.

“Jazz. I know about your previous involvement with the club. Bluestreak's been working with me as part of his enforcer internship, and I've had him monitoring your interactions with them. If I was going to arrest you for engaging in extracurricular activities, I would have done it already. Being associated with the students in this club before the attack does not translate into you participating in it.” Jazz looked at the mech in disbelief, unwilling to say anything in case he said the wrong thing and shattered whatever fantasy he was having. “However, I still need to determine who was involved with the attack and who had previous knowledge of it. Any other information about the incident or the students involved would be appreciated as well, but if you have no information to give then I suggest you head to your dorm before curfew.”

Jazz took a long moment to respond, trying to determine if this was some sort of elaborate joke or setup, or if he really was being asked to give a witness statement instead of a confession. It would be safest for him to go back to his room and dive into recharge. But then, this was the most interaction he'd had with Prowl so far, and he wasn't willing to end this if the situation really was what it appeared to be. Plus he would be withholding information about a case, which would inevitably come back to bite him in the aft if Prowl found out.

Eventually Jazz slouched further into his chair and wrapped his arms around his frame, wishing for a thermal blanket to fight off the slight chill of Prowl's office. He was going to be here a while, after all. “Do you have a clean datapad?”

Prowl gave a slightly puzzled look for a second, before luxuriously twisting his frame in an exquisite maneuver to reach behind him and dig a small datapad out of a filing cabinet. He set the datapad in front of Jazz carefully, still somewhat uncertain about the student's intentions.

Ignoring him and his Praxian beauty, Jazz set about transferring all the information from his insurance file onto the datapad, by servo since the damned signal jammer prevented him from simply uploading the file without a hardline connection. When he was finished writing the names of the club members he set the stylus on top of the datapad and pushed it across the surface of the desk at Prowl. “This is only who I know is in the club, and I don't know how many of them were involved in the attack.” His vocalizer hiccuped over the last word and he reset it again. He didn't like calling it 'the attack' because that made it seem so impersonal, so callous, as though Hound was nothing more than an unfortunate victim and not someone Jazz knew personally.

Regardless, Jazz pushed on. “I'll start from the beginning, so that it makes sense when I get to what happened earlier.” Prowl skimmed over the information on the datapad and set it down, nodding in affirmation for Jazz to continue. “Okay. I only know Hound 'cause he's the one that greeted me when I got here, and he showed me around and stuff. Uhm, so about two months ago, Screamer was bragging about his club to me an' Blue, and later in the day he invited me to go. I said sure, just to see what all the hype was about, and he told me not to tell Bluestreak about it.” Jazz's gaze had dropped down to his hands again, but he looked up when he noticed motion from the other mech. Prowl had shifted so that one arm was resting on the surface of the table, the other hidden out of sight under the edge of the desk. Prowl's field had flickered with something that Jazz didn't have a name for before going back to normal, and Jazz detected a disapproving tilt to his optic ridges and the beginnings of a frown.

“We went to the tunnels that time, and I don't know if you remember or not but you stopped us on the way. Starscream and Siren told you we were going to the library for a research project.”

Prowl's optics dimmed for a moment before he nodded slowly, his apparent ire forgotten for the moment. “I do.”

“Okay. Well, we went to the maintenance room in the tunnels, and it was set up with all these tables and pictures and everything. Sentinel and Starscream were in charge of the club then, I don't know if they still are, but they tried to convince me that there are vampires on campus that are preying on students because we're a 'captive fuel source.' When I was there, Sentinel and Starscream tried to get me to join, but I wasn't really interested, so I tried to say no.” Jazz could feel his faceplates flushing with embarrassment at the admission that he had allowed himself to be so easily coerced., but he ignored it. “Screamer told me that wasn't a good idea.”

“So they threatened you?” Prowl's previous ire had bled away into incredulity. Jazz nodded, meeting the mech's optics for only a second before returning his attention to his hands. “Why didn't you come to me about it? Threats are not tolerated on campus.”

“I don't know, mech. It didn't seem like a good idea, and if they found out it would have been a problem for me. Plus it didn't seem like a big enough deal to go to the enforcers about.”

Prowl brought the arm resting on the desk up to pinch his nasal ridge between two digits. “You should have brought this to my attention.” He dropped the arm back to the desk and brought the other one up to join it, folding his hands over the surface and leaning forward to focus on Jazz. “But I didn't mean to interrupt. Please, continue.”

Jazz watched the other mech warily for several seconds, once again wondering if this was all some sort of elaborate set up. No enforcer had ever apologized to him, especially not for something so trivial as interrupting him. “Okay. Anyway, I said sure, I'll join, but only because it was a bad situation. I was going to tell them to frag off when I got a better opportunity, but after I said I'd join they kept making these comments and stuff, saying slag like 'It's a good thing you're with reputable bots now' and that they could take care of any 'unpleasant rumors' about me. Ya know, stuff to give the impression that if I wasn't a part of their little fan club they'd cause trouble for me.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Jazz shrugged his shoulder struts and straightened, spreading his hands a generic I-don't-know motion. “Like, spreading rumors and causing drama, that kind of thing.”

“Jazz, you're acting as if this is no big deal. What you're describing is bullying, which is a major offense. I understand that these were threats and not actual acts of bullying, but they were made in an attempt to get you to do something, which is coercion. Coercion is worse than bullying, and you should have reported this to me so that I could have taken care of the situation.” Prowl's voice had gained a hard edge to it, and his doorwings were rising aggressively.

“It wasn't a big deal, mech! I've dealt with way worse slag back home.”

“That may be, but you are no longer in Polihex. Threats are not taken idly here.” Prowl paused for a moment, pinching his nasal ridge again. “If you had reported this incident, I would have investigated this club and everyone in it, therefore preventing the attack.”

“Are you seriously blaming me for what happened?” Jazz couldn't believe his audials. It was one thing for him to feel guilty and blame himself, but it was completely different to hear Prowl speak it. “Mech, I had nothing to do with that, and I had no idea Pharma was that crazy!”

“I am not blaming you for anything Jazz, and before you ask I'm not charging you with anything either, since the investigation is ongoing and I have no evidence that you are guilty of any crimes. I am simply saying that it was foolish to attempt to deal with this scenario by yourself.” Prowl paused again, and Jazz got the impression that he was choosing his words carefully. “I did not mean to give the impression that any fault lies with you, I was simply voicing one potential outcome of the situation. It was poorly worded, and for that I am sorry, but you should have reported this.” Prowl's voice held a tone of finality, but Jazz wasn't eager to walk away now.

“Okay, fine. I should have. But I didn't. So what good does it do now to point out the obvious and make me feel like slag because I could have potentially prevented something I didn't know was going to happen?”

Prowl met Jazz's visor with a cold glare. “I was hoping that you would learn something from this and refrain from acting in such a foolish manner again. Since arriving here you have displayed a remarkable lack of interest in your own self preservation. You did absolutely nothing about being coerced, you willingly allowed yourself to be led into a dangerous situation, and you have been intentionally unhelpful during an enforcer investigation which pertains to you. By pointing these out, I was hoping that you would gain an increased interest in your personal well being, but it seems I was mistaken.”

“Why does my well being matter so much to you anyway?” By now Jazz was on the edge of his seat, ready to launch himself up and over the desk at the Praxian who was lounging in an infuriatingly lax manner.

Prowl tapped the tips of his digits on the surface of the desk twice in rapid succession before returning his focus to Jazz. “It is my job as Campus Security to protect students.”

“That's a load of melted scrap and you know it. Why are you so damn invested in my personal safety?” Jazz stood to lean his weight against the front edge of the desk, doing his best to copy some of the intimidating frame language he'd been surrounded with in Polihex. It didn't work very well, since he was so much smaller than Prowl, but he was still going to try.

Prowl was silent for a long moment, unaffected by Jazz's intimidating frame language. His doorwings were raised, but not high enough to be an aggressive display, and he seemed to be weighing his options. Eventually, he cycled a vent and slowly rose to his peds and met Jazz's optics. He didn't copy Jazz's position, and he didn't act aggressively. Instead, he flattened the aggravation out of his field and replaced it with a calming frequency. When he spoke, his voice was low and soothing, in a way that absolutely infuriated Jazz with how easily it wormed its way in to settle his tension. “We've gotten off track.”

Jazz recoiled, fighting off the calming effect of the mech's voice. He wanted to angry right then, dammit. With his hands no longer resting on the desk, still standing, Jazz scowled sharply. After a second, he nodded. “Yeah, we have.”

Prowl's relief was visible in the soft fluttering of his doorwings and the softening in his optics, and Jazz almost felt bad. “But I think we're done here.” He turned around and moved to the door.

“Jazz!” Prowl's voice was loud in the small room, louder than either of them had been before, and all of the sudden his previous anger was back in force. It was a bad idea to walk away from him right then, but Jazz didn't really care.

“You know what mech?” He turned, one hand resting on the door frame. It was immature and childish of him, but he didn't much care about that either. “Bite me.”

Chapter Text

It was an invitation, of sorts. Or at least, that's what Prowl's coding told him as he wrenched the desk out of his way. The harsh squeal of the metal crumpling under his fingers had Jazz turning, but he didn’t have time to do much more than wince at the harsh sound. Before he could register that Prowl had even moved, he found himself being shoved face-first against the hard wall, kept there by the weight of a heavier frame. Prowl relished the warmth of Jazz's slim back pressed tightly against his own plating, and felt his fangs slip eagerly out of their recessed sockets.

When Jazz recovered his senses from unexpectedly meeting the wall, he began struggling, unsurprisingly, to free himself. Confusion bled into fear in his field, and his sparkpulse sped up. Prowl could smell the adrenal chemotags seeping off his frame, adding another layer of spicy richness to his already heady scent.

Something came into contact with Prowl’s side, and he spotted Jazz’s arm jabbing sharply behind him, the armored elbow plating connecting solidly enough to leave a dent. With sickening ease, Prowl seized the offending limb and twisted it painfully between Jazz’s shoulder struts. His small cry of pain was almost musical to Prowl’s audials. Forced to take a step back, Prowl briefly mourned the loss of contact before using his free hand to gently cup Jazz’s jaw and tilt his helm to the side. The motion exposed the delicate cables of his neck and pulled them taught. Prowl took a moment to enjoy the exquisite sight, inhaling deeply to flood his chemoreceptors with Jazz’s scent. He rolled the delectable aroma over his glossa to taste and moaned in ecstasy, happily drowning in the scent of his prey.

Prowl felt a monstrous grin overtake his lips as the carnal desires of a hunt danced to the surface of his coding for the first time in longer than he could remember. Savoring the moment as best he could, Prowl leaned down to run his glossa over a main energon line, tasting the tense shudder that ran through Jazz’s frame in the brief touch. With delight Prowl bit into the soft protoflesh, feeling the metal give easily. He sunk his fangs in as deep as they would go, reveling in the sensation of hot energon coating the sensitive dentae.

The energon spilled into his mouth and washed over his glossa, the taste better than anything Prowl could have imagined. It flooded down his throat to settle hotly in his aching tanks. He had been lusting after Jazz’s scent for a long time now, but fantasies and scent alone paled in comparison to the actual experience of having his fangs in Jazz’s throat, and Prowl quickly became lost in his pleasure.

It wasn’t until Jazz’s frame went limp in his grasp that Prowl wrenched himself from the cables. He stumbled back, the haze of his coding lifting to reveal the horror of what he’d done. Without Prowl’s frame to support him Jazz crumpled to the floor, falling sideways onto the floor. The wound on his neck was hidden from view by his dented jaw, but Prowl watched transfixed as a line of energon swiftly made its way over his collar fairing to pool on the floor.

Shaking off the last dregs of his now sated coding, Prowl cursed himself in every way he’d ever heard from Ratchet and rushed to Jazz’s side, lifting him and cradling his helm to expose the wound. It was far worse than any bite he’d ever given anyone else, an open gash weakly spouting energon even though Prowl had taken so much already.

Prowl ran one hand over his mouth and was surprised when he felt something wet. He looked in bewilderment at his palm, which was covered in the rosy pink of energon. He wasn’t usually a messy eater, but Jazz seemed to be the exception.

Hastily Prowl licked the energon off of his palm and ran his glossa over his lips and around his mouth, not wanting to waste any of the precious liquid.

He needed Ratchet, or Ambulon, or someone who would know how to fix Jazz, but he wasn’t sure if anyone would get there quickly enough.

While stuck in his debate, Prowl watched a drop of energon gather on the edge of Jazz’s collar fairing before dripping down to splatter against the ground. Jazz was still losing energon, even though the flow was sluggish. If his spark didn’t have enough energon to support it, it would give out and Prowl was not willing to let that happen.

Carefully Prowl maneuvered Jazz so that he was nearly sitting, leaning against Prowl’s chassis. His neck was exposed, positioned near Prowl’s mouth, and the smell of fresh energon wafted up to Prowl’s chemoreceptors. With the care he would show a priceless artifact, Prowl ran his glossa over the wound, lapping up the stray energon and leaving his oral lubricant in its place. He made sure to run his glossa along the edges of torn protoflesh, thoroughly licking around the puncture wounds that he’d left.

Once he was finished, the wound had mostly closed up. There were still some frayed wires, but the energon flow had ceased. Prowl couldn’t tell if it was from his efforts or from Jazz’s autorepair, but it didn’t really matter.

Pressing his audial to Jazz’s chassis, Prowl could make out his sparkpulse. It was faint and far slower than it should have been, but it was steady and once he determined that Prowl felt relief wash over him.

So he hadn’t killed Jazz. That was good.

However, he’d still attacked Jazz, left him unconscious in critical condition, and revealed himself and thus the clan, thereby endangering all of them.

That was not so good.

Prowl relaxed onto his heels and gently laid Jazz on the floor to rest. He lifted one hand to cover his optics when he thought about what Ultra Magnus would say, much less what the clan leader would say.

For a second Prowl considered not telling Magnus or the clan, but immediately decided against it, chastising himself for even considering it. The clan was built as a family, built upon the trust between its members. Deceit would grow into distrust, and the clan would crumble. If an Enforcer for the clan couldn’t be trustworthy and honest about his actions, then what good was he?

No, Prowl would come clean about it. It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to, but it was necessary.

A greater concern overtook him, and suddenly Prowl’s confession was the least of his concerns. What would they do with Jazz? He was a student, a civilian, and he had become privy to the knowledge of their existence. He was an information leak, and part of Prowl’s job was to take care of information leaks.

He could call Chromedome. Chromedome could come and erase Jazz’s memory, therefore erasing the problem. But Jazz would still be left in less than ideal physical condition with a mark on his neck and a lot of unanswered questions. With Jazz’s involvement in the student club, it wouldn’t be that difficult to come to a conclusion.

Prowl also hated the idea. Erasing the memories of students who had been offered the option to be a donor was one thing; it was out of protection for the clan and it was only students who had intentionally been exposed to that option. In those cases, Chromedome's interference was limited to just a few words and the reaction to them.

In Jazz's case, the interference would be much broader. Chromedome would need to erase his memories of being attacked, which wasn't always possible, even for a skilled mneumosurgeon. That memory would also need to be replaced with something plausible, so as not to leave any gaps in his memory. Gaps in memories were like gaps in armor, in that they exposed the vulnerable truth beneath. Artificial memories didn’t always take, no matter how skilled the mneumosurgeon that placed them was.

Even if they did take, erasing Jazz’s memory somehow seemed wrong. Prowl could justify the students, because it was out of protection for the clan that they were in that situation to begin with. But Jazz would only have his memory erased because Prowl messed up.

Regardless of what he did, Prowl needed to do it soon. Jazz was stable, but he wasn't sure how long that would be the case. He needed to get to a medic, and Prowl needed to tell the clan.

Taking a deep vent to steady himself, Prowl grasped securely Jazz and lifted him. His helm was resting against Prowl's shoulder, and the wound on his neck was out of sight.

Prowl opened the door, checking the hall. If he could avoid meeting anyone on the way, this would go a lot more smoothly. Seeing no one, he left the room in favor of fresh air, but not without registering the lingering cloud of ozone.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

When Jazz came to, he was lying on his back, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. He felt like slag, and there was a dull, hot throbbing on one side of his neck. When he tried to remember how he’d ended up here, the memory files were corrupted. Until they were decoded, all Jazz could remember was a burning pleasure, like fire kissing his neck.

He brought one hand up to feel his neck cables, and was surprised to find them smooth and completely unscathed. One particular area was sore when he applied pressure, but it still felt unmarred against his fingertips.

Before moving any more, Jazz set a line of processing power to defrag his corrupted memory files. Once that was set, he raised himself to a sitting position, bringing his hand up again to feel at his throat.

He felt worse than the time he’d picked a fight with one of the thugs back home. Then, he’d woken up with scratches and dents covering his frame, but he hadn’t felt this bad. Now, even through a thorough examination of himself, he couldn’t find a single scratch anywhere.

Briefly Jazz wondered if he’d been drugged. There had been one time that he’d gone to a party and woken up tied to a chair. It had been one of the local gangs trying to recruit him. He’d resisted, and eventually gotten out, but he remembered the feeling. He remembered the heaviness in his limbs, the stiffness in his joints. He’d never gone to another party at that house again.

He wondered this only briefly, because it didn’t take very long to determine that this weariness was not the same as that weariness. There was stiffness, sure, but there wasn’t the fogged-up processor left by sedatives, there wasn’t the same lag in his systems as he onlined. His state was purely physical, caused by whatever trial his frame had endured.

Jazz figured the defrag would take a bit, so he pushed himself to his feet to look around. The lights in the room were dimmed, and a faint glow caught his optic almost immediately. There was a full cube of energon sitting on a coffee table in front of him. Looking around, Jazz saw that he had been lying on a couch, in personal quarters that were not his own. It didn’t look like a dorm, mostly from the size of the area and how organized everything was.

In the dim lighting it was hard to tell, but Jazz didn’t see anyone else. There was an area connected to the room he was in that appeared to be a kitchen of sorts, but it was mostly obscured by a sectioned wall. There was also a door leading to another area at the end of a short hall, slightly ajar to reveal the darkness beyond.

Jazz’s tank clenched, painfully empty, and he couldn’t stop his hand from shaking when he reached for the cube. Taking a sip, Jazz ignored how wonderful the taste washing over his glossa was, and instead sought out any unusual flavours. It tasted like normal energon, refreshingly satisfying as it sank into his tank. He downed the rest of it, perhaps a bit more quickly than was necessary.

He was still a bit shaky when he took a few steps, and his legs felt as though they would give at any moment. Jazz moved away from the couch, taking in the room when his system pinged him with the results of the defrag. It hadn’t taken nearly as long as he’d expected, and reviewing the data, Jazz determined that he’d only had a bit of a static in his relay. Frowning a bit, Jazz went on to review the memory files.

Clutching a hand over his mouth and sinking to his knees, Jazz remembered being attacked. He remembered being shoved harshly into the wall, remembered fighting back uselessly, acting on an autopilot that had been forged through years of reacting violently. He remembered in excruciating detail the thrill that had gripped his spark when he’d felt his assailant exhale hotly over the cables in his neck.

And he remembered the wet heat of oral lubricant, the sharpness of pointed dentae. The hand over his mouth moved to feel once again the unblemished cables, searching for any remnant of what he remembered, any evidence left by the denta he’d felt as his protoflesh finally gave, allowing his energon to spill onto that eager glossa.

Lastly Jazz remembered the burning pleasure, crashing through his frame and fogging his helm. He remembered, his neck was burning, he was on fire, and Jazz never wanted it to end. It was overwhelming, and he couldn’t fight the wave that overcame him, dragged into the peace of oblivion.

With a sharp gasp Jazz pulled himself out of the savage memory loop. His ragged vents seized as his entire frame convulsed in a violent shudder, nausea threatening to expel the meal he’d just had.

When his frame stilled, Jazz pushed himself to his feet, using the arm of the couch for leverage. Pharma’s words came rushing back to him, his explanations on vampires starting to make a crazy kind of sense.

Without a doubt, Pharma was crazy, and he deserved to rot in prison for what he’d done to Hound, for what Jazz had seen him do. But it seemed he’d been right that there was something going on. Jazz wanted to deny it, chalk it up to a bad recharge flux. After all, vampires seemed a bit far-fetched. But it was kind of hard to ignore the truth that had literally assaulted him.

A door creaked on its hinges, and black and white plating swam out of the darkness and into Jazz’s blurry view. Well, someone had some explaining to do.

Chapter Text

Jazz watched Prowl as he made his way towards the living area. Each step the officer took was deliberate, and the Praxian moved slowly. Despite this, Jazz still edged towards the front door, the cables in his legs tensed and ready to bolt if Prowl made any sudden moves. Prowl reached the end of the short hallway and paused, meeting Jazz’s optics. Neither of them spoke, and the tense silence dragged on for several sparkbeats.

Finally, Prowl dipped his doorwings to lay almost flat against his back, breaking optic contact to look at the clean floor instead. He turned, moving to take a seat at the small dining table that was crammed into the tiny kitchen area.

When Prowl turned away, Jazz looked at the door, taking in the loose bolt and tried to mentally calculate how long it would take for him to throw it open and leave. When he looked back to the table, he started, surprised to find that Prowl was already seated and looking at him.

“It’s open, if you don’t want to talk.”

Jazz remained still, looking at Prowl in bewilderment. “What do you mean, talk?”

Prowl was too far away for Jazz to register his EM field, but his doorwings fluttered as the officer folded his servos over the top of the table, his helm tucked slightly downwards. It was a stark contrast to the proud posture that Jazz was used to seeing him carry.

“I understand if you don’t want to speak to me after what I did, but if you want an explanation, or if you have questions you’d like to ask me, then I will be honest with you. I owe you that much, at least.” Prowl spoke in a lower tone than Jazz had heard before, his words coming out slower than usual and almost too softly for Jazz to hear.

Jazz hesitated, the defragged memories of being attacked still fresh in his processor warring with the anger that had been building over the last several months. He wanted answers, needed to know what the frag had been going on. But was he willing to speak to Prowl in private, alone, after what had happened?

In the midst of his indecision, another voice spoke up. “Jazz, please at least listen.”

Jazz’s spark jumped into his throat at the sound, and he looked to the darkened hallway to see Bluestreak standing there, optics pleading. “Primus, Blue.”

Bluestreak dipped his doorwings, his field emitting apology. “Sorry I scared you, but I didn’t want to interrupt.” He stepped forward, moving far less carefully than Prowl had. As he moved into the lighted room, Jazz marveled at how well his gray plating had blended into the shadows, even though the hall was only dimmed. Even the bright red of his chevron had been muted, but Jazz partially blamed not noticing that one on Prowl distracting him.

As he took a seat beside the other Praxian, Bluestreak spoke again. “I know you probably don’t want to be here,” he glanced at Prowl, “but I promise that this will go a lot better if you at least listen to Prowl.”

Jazz shook his helm, trying to decide if it was worth it. He turned back to the door, curiosity overtaking him. Did he really have the option to leave? Ignoring the silence in the room, Jazz looked back to the two Praxians seated at the table, patiently looking at him. He turned away from Bluestreak’s slowly sagging doorwings, and stepped up to the door. He was surprised to find that it actually turned, and peered outside.

Jazz’s visor quickly adjusted to the brightness outside, allowing him to size up the mech leaning against the railing on the small porch. Enforcer decals stood out against mostly black plating, the Iaconian frame considerably taller and broader than Jazz’s own, and probably taller than Prowl and Bluestreak. The mech had been smiling at something on a datapad, but when the door opened he’d dropped the pad into subspace and regarded Jazz. “Howdy.”

Well then. Jazz stepped back into the living area of the flat, closed the door and paused with his servo still gripping the handle. He could leave, in theory. He could leave and deal with whatever this mech outside had in store for him, or he could stay and get some answers. He was probably going to deal with this mech outside anyway.

Groaning both internally and externally, Jazz turned away from the door and stomped over to sit at the table. Crossing his arms over his chassis and crossing one leg over the other as he sat, he looked to the two Praxians. He felt a bit silly doing it, feeling like a sparkling throwing a tantrum, but it was appropriate given his current situation.

Bluestreak’s doorwings popped up to their normal position, while Prowl’s lifted only a little from their position against his back.

Prowl cleared his vocalizer before speaking. “Thank you for staying, Jazz.” Gratitude was evident in his field, coupled with uncertainty. “Where would you like to start?”

“Well I think an apology is a great place to start, personally.” Jazz might as well have been spitting venom, from the way the Praxians winced. Any guilt he felt was quickly shoved down though.

“Of course.” Prowl cycled his vents before speaking again. “I am sorry Jazz. I should have been able to control my code, and I should not have allowed such a dangerous situation to escalate to violence. I never meant to hurt you, and I will do everything in my power to make this up to you.”

Jazz considered him for a few cycles. It definitely helped, hearing the words come out of Prowl’s mouth. He took a moment to process the words, trying to dismiss the habitual and automatic response of assuming he’s being mocked. It wasn’t very often that Jazz was in a position to be apologized to, and usually he would shrug it off and move on.

This was different. He reached up to feel his neck cables again, knowing before he touched them that they were smooth, unmarred, lacking any evidence besides the rapidly dissipating tenderness to pressure that something had even happened at all. Doubt crept in, corrupting the righteous anger that had enveloped Jazz when the demand for an apology left his mouth. He shoved it back, replaying the memory files in his processor to reaffirm to himself that he was in the right. He’d been attacked, bitten, almost killed if the sorry state he’d woken up in was anything to go by. His assailant was sitting across from him, watching him with optics that seemed to feel truly guilty. He hadn’t asked for forgiveness, and thank Primus because Jazz knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the words from coming out of his mouth, even if they were hollow.

For the first time since waking up Jazz considered his surroundings. They were in living quarters, small and modest but well kept. When he’d looked outside, the buildings of the campus were recognizable beyond some tall, spindly crystal formations. They weren’t off campus, since the wall wasn’t visible between them, but they were definitely not in the dorms. They were probably in the faculty living quarters, Jazz figured, but that would mean that Prowl attacked Jazz and brought him straight here.

Then who was the enforcer outside, and why was he there? How much time had passed between the attack and now? A quick check of his chronometer showed that it was late afternoon. Almost an entire day had passed, and Jazz had been unconscious for all of it.

Jazz looked to Bluestreak, who had fallen into a miserable state. His doorwings were sagged almost as much as Prowl’s, and his field was staticky. Servos were placed firmly in his lap, and his attention was focused solely on the table in front of him. “Bluestreak.” Jazz’s voice was a far cry from the confidence he’d had earlier, the tension creeping into the edges of his words.

Nonetheless, Bluestreak looked up, his field immediately hopeful. “Hm?”

Jazz almost felt bad asking, but he needed to hear the words from Blue. “Did you know about all of this,” he nodded at Prowl, “before?”

Bluestreak looked between Jazz and Prowl, his mouth open for just a second before he reluctantly spoke. “Yes.” As soon as the word came out, Bluestreak’s doorwings shot up and his field spiked with anxiety. “I wanted to tell you! As soon as you said anything about the club and vampires, I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I’m not allowed to tell anyone about the clan unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Bluestreak’s expression was pleading, and Jazz found himself nodding. Of course he couldn’t.

“Okay.”

Bluestreak’s relief was evident in his field and in the stance of his doorwings, which now sat just under their normal position on his shoulders. He didn’t say anything else though, and Jazz cleared his vocalizer to ask the big question.

“So what happened then?”

Prowl looked up from the table, meeting Jazz’s pointed gaze. “In regards to the attack?”

Jazz huffed a vent and nodded. “Yes Prowl, about the attack.” The anger he felt was back, adding venom to his words again. Talking to Blue had calmed him down a bit, since he found that he couldn’t really be mad at his friend. With Prowl though, all bets were off. “Why did you attack me?”

With a small invent, Prowl straightened in his seat. “I am a vampire.”

“Yep. We’re a little past that now.”

Prowl winced at the interruption, but continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “Vampires feed on the processed energon of living mechs, as we cannot process out own. Since you arrived on campus, I have made an effort to avoid you, considering that your energon smells,” Prowl paused, doorwings fluttering and mouth half-opened as he searched for the correct word, “particularly potent to me.” Jazz took in the slight flush across Bluestreak’s faceplates and wondered if there was deeper meaning to that, but immediately decided that he did not want to know. Prowl continued onward. “However, with the investigation of the Supernatural Research Club and the attack on Hound, I did not take the steps necessary to ensure I was prepared to take your statement of the events. I was careless enough to place myself into an enclosed room with you, after not taking any energon during a high stress-situation, which I was then foolish enough to allow to escalate into violence.”

Jazz decided that he could get used to hearing Prowl insult himself, but the satisfaction of hearing it quickly turned sour. “You attacked me because you were hungry?”

Prowl gave a reluctant nod. “In short, yes.”

Admittedly, there was more to it than that, but Jazz ignored that and opened his mouth to rip Prowl a new one. Abruptly he cut himself off, suddenly recalling the exact words he’d said right before he found himself face-first against the wall. In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have baited the officer like that, but he still hadn’t been expecting to be attacked. Jazz also remembered how intentionally uncooperative he’d been, due to his overly hasty assumption that Prowl would try to pin the whole mess on him.

Prowl probably remembered it too.

Instead of yelling or bringing up his own words, Jazz opted to change the subject. “So what happened after? You bit me, but there’s not a single scratch left. Did you take me to a medic?”

Bluestreak cut in. “Yes, but Prowl helped too.” He paused when both Jazz and Prowl looked to him. “Um, vampire solvent has nanomites that help your autorepair, so that they don’t have to kill to feed.”

Jazz looked back to Prowl. “So you have magic spit?”

A look of disgust flashed over Prowl’s features at the wording before he reluctantly nodded. “Yes. I did take you to Ratchet, but the nanomites in my solvent stopped the bleeding before I could get you there.”

Unsure of what to do with this information, Jazz shook his helm. “Okay.” That was one question answered. “So who’s outside then?”

“That would be Barricade.” Prowl exvented lightly. “He’s a member of the District Seven Enforcers, and he’s waiting to escort you to the station to take your statement regarding the events with the club.”

Prowl hesitated, and Jazz’s suspicion immediately spiked. “And then?”

Prowl shifted in his seat. “He has orders from the Executive Director to escort you until you are processed by the clan.”

The anger was back, and Jazz’s volume was rising. “What do you mean, ‘processed by the clan?’”

“Jazz.” Prowl’s tone was placating, and Jazz hated it. “In the optics of the clan I have committed the greatest crime possible. Not only did I attack you, I revealed the existence of vampires and the clan to you. As such, you are currently considered a liability. The Clan Director will decide how to handle the situation, including how you will proceed from here and what consequences I will face for my mistakes.”

“Okay. Do you have any idea of what he will decide? Will he kill me?”

Bluestreak winced at the direct question, but Jazz ignored him. He had to know.

“There is a small possibility, yes. If the Director determines that you are too reckless with this information, and will further expose the clan’s existence, then he will either erase your memories of the clan, or have you offlined.”

Jazz scowled, his upper lip creeping up in the beginnings of a snarl, allowing the barest glimpse of the fang mods nestled in his dentae. Prowl paused his speech, before continuing hastily. “It’s more likely that he will offer you a partnership with the clan, very similar to the apprenticeship that Bluestreak has.”

Still hung up on the possibility of being killed, Jazz didn’t respond, so Prowl spoke again. “Jazz, I am truly sorry for hurting you, and for putting you in this situation. I will do everything that I can to help you get through this, but after what I’ve done my influence with the clan is extremely limited.”

Jazz shook his helm again. “You said it was up to the Director, so what can you do to help me?” He pointed his finger at the officer accusingly.

“Admittedly, not very much.” Prowl cycled his vents again. “My rank with the clan is forfeit, so the most important thing I can do is to let you know what you’ll be facing.”

“The Director?” Despite his anger, Jazz was curious about the clan and its leader, especially since his life apparently depended on what this Director thought of him.

“Yes.”

Jazz cycled his vents, resignation setting in. He certainly wasn’t happy about it, but he could not deny the possibility that he might not make it out of this. If Prowl was being honest with him, then cooperation was in his best interest. He could always be mad later.