Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the vast and wild kelp forest, the sun's rays paint the currents in filtering rays of colour. Fishes dart in between the leaves as seals glide through them in their graceful sweeps. There's a group of otters foraging the deeps for clams. One, in particular, has a giant mussel in its paws. It breaches the waves floating onto its back for a rest.
The otter is content.
A shrill cry echoes through the waters outside the Kelp forest, the sound of something big approaching. The Otter scatters as from within the Kelp a high-pitched keen sounded back. From the swaying green, a juvenile orca mer emerged. They had the widest of smiles on their face, performing lazy spins and twirls moving with the tides. In their little servos, they clutched a menagerie of seashells, all different shapes and sizes. With a flip of their tail, they departed off to deeper waters, coming to the surface to greet their carrier back from a successful hunt. A beautiful Black Orca mer herself, she smiles and pulls the little one into a hug. They spend a moment like that, just happy to see each other. When they returned to their pod's home waters, the little one decided to show her his prizes.

'Carrier, look!'

The little one pulls away to show off their pretty hoard. Carrier holds each presented shell to the sun's light, making a show of appreciation for each item. 'You're getting better and better each day baby!' She held up a small shell, it had a small hole in its middle like something had used it as a chew toy. In the rays of the sun, a rainbow tint could be seen on it. 'You truly have an eye for pretty things.' she praised. The little one puffed out his chest in pride. Today was great, perfect even.

The waters warm, the waves calm, the sun bright. It will forever be ingrained in his mind.
That was how Blue remembered it.

A new noise rose them out of their peace, loud and noisy it cut through all the other sounds of life growling louder and louder in their direction. Carrier tensed looking out towards the horizon, Blue cautiously hugged her tighter not wanting to be apart from her. The sounds were scary but he did not know if they were inherently bad. He got his answer but a moment later, as he saw his carrier's optics widen. She let out a shrill shriek, calling any neighbouring pod members to run and hide, before snatching Blue into her hold as she dived. With the sudden movement, Blue lost his grip on his hoard, the colourful shells disappearing into the gloom. He did not have time to mourn their loss as Carrier urged him to swim faster. For a moment, Blue dared to look back. Above them nearly blocking out the sunlight was the blackest of shadows, it had the shape of a really fat shark but possessed no fins. A trail of white ran far behind them.
Blue saw the pod scatter in all directions, he made sure to stay real close to Carrier.

It was just them in the water now, but the black shadow remained on their tail. No matter how hard they swam, the thing seemed to always keep pace, even knowing when Carrier tried to throw off their trail by hiding under rocks. It's been 25 minutes, Blue try as he might was growing tired but his Carrier continued to urge him on wild with fear. Finally, the green of the kelp forest came into view. Carrier let out a cry of relief.
'Hurry baby, we're almost there. The kelp will hide us!' She pushed Blue in front of her. 'Swim! and don't look back!' Blue pushed himself with renewed vigor, once within the green they would be safe he believed. The leaves were coming into the view now. His tail was on fire. 'Carrier! We're here! We're here!', with a final flick of his tail, he entered the green folds. He looks around for Carrier but doesn't see her frame.

'Carrier?', he gasped still winded from the swim.

A horrid sound rocks the water, shocking the little one. CARRIER! Without thinking, he rushes from the safety of the kelp, towards the drop-off. The water holds a tinge of red. His mother's frame lies still in the water. She is sinking. 'Carrier? CARRIER!', Blue cried, rushing to her side. She doesn't stir, still as the dead. growing more and more panicked, Blue's sounds turn to the chirps and whirls that he had only recently grown out of. 'Wake up! wake Up!', the young one quaked with fear. Carrier kept sinking. A splash overhead caused him to stop his efforts, looking up. Something was in the waters, Blue saw a strange mesh of holes surrounding them. The mesh closed around them, he felt them being pulled to the surface. Blue panicked more as the mesh entangled them, his tears all but blending with the salt of the water. Their sharp cries are left unanswered by the still form he clung to.

She was beginning to feel cold.

Blue clawed at the material but the ropes were too thick for his baby claws to cut. With a final tug, they are pulled from the warm waters of his home to the brittle cold air of Alaska. They were set on a solid cold floor. As the net unwound from their frames, strange bipedal creatures were set upon him and his Carrier, putting wet furry things on their flank and yelling over them in harsh tones. One of them tied his servos together. Blue did not dare make a sound. He looked around the place, everything was foreign and scary-looking. The smell of long-dead fish greeted him. The boat rocks high and low with the waves and it made his little stomach squeeze. Looking sideways, Blue sees the beings surrounding his Carrier's frame, poking and prodding her form. The Beings were getting more heated with each other.

'Ya shithead! We were supposed to bring 'em back TOGETHER! ALIVE. Non-lethal tranqs ONLY!', one tall being shouted at another skinny one.

'I'm sorry sir, this one tried to bite me!', the skinny raised his hands in surrender. That didn't seem to curb the other's anger as they grabbed the other by their garments and slammed them into a wall. Blue cowered in fear at the sound. He hadn't any real idea what they were saying. 'Well sorry ain't gonna get me my paycheck!' The tall one raised their fist in an attempt to hit the other -

'What's going on here.', a new voice rang out on the deck. The tall being stilled his hand, as a new figure approached the group. The being this time was dressed differently to the other ones. All in black and jagged angles. They looked sharp and dangerous to Blue. 'My apologies, mister Bishop. One of my men has fumbled the merchandise.', the tall one seemed to shrink into themselves. 'We lost the mother.' They moved out of the way to reveal Carrier's body more to the dark one. Blue stared on helplessly, 'What were they planning to do to her?'

The dark one was silent for a moment thinking. The dark one then turned to stare at Blue, Blue curled up further, trying to hide behind his bound servos. 'It is unfortunate, but not unsalvageable. We keep the baby for the site. Preserve the body for processing, I have a client I know that would gladly have it.' The being's grey stare was beginning to unnerve Blue. The dark one approached him and crouched down. Blue closed his eyes in fear remaining silent. They reached out a hand and pinched his cheek. 'Interesting.......', the dark one said. 'You going to be my special project.'
The dark one rose and re-addressed the others. 'Prep this one for transport. The hunt is over, we leave at once.' The dark one turned gaze simmering, 'When we dock, have him fired and the damages taken from his pay.'
'Yes... sir', replied the tall one, the skinny one seemed to deflate in defeat. with a final glance, the dark one retreated to the depths of the vessel.

As the other beings came to surround him, Blue lost sight of his Carrier. He finally let his heart sink.

No one was coming to save them.

Chapter Text

Blue hadn't seen his Carrier in a while now.

Trapped within the confines of a boxed pool of water, he was bound to a harness that itched more than it supported him. Blue couldn’t even tell how long he had been held there, the ever-lit fluorescent lights shining through the tiny holes that lined his box didn't tell day from night. At least, they feed him. Occasionally. But, even that left him tired and sore with an unsated fuel tank. Not that Blue would have understood it yet, but adult cybertronian mers had fully developed intake systems to fully convert the organic material they consume into energon. Sparkings lack these systems and so are semi-reliant on their family units to provide them energy until they are developed enough to start converting their own.

This meant Blue was not getting the nutrients he needed.

He grew to long and dread mealtimes. Once a day, one of the crew members would enter his pool, wrestling his helm into their lap before prying his intake open to shove a bottle full of weird-tasting milk down his intake. The harsh treatment usually left him with bruises, but he felt no pain. There was only numbness, it was the only physical contact he got.

He was pretty sure they put something in it too, as after the feedings he would always feel sluggish and floaty.

When they weren't feeding him, Blue was left to the confines of his own mind. There was nothing much to do except sleep. But, sleep offered him no escapism. With his first deep sleep, he dreamt of his carrier. There was a lot of red in that dream. By his third, Blue had no more tears left to cry.

Deep down, he had a feeling his carrier was never coming back.

That was how he spent his days.

It was dark, it was dready, it was his normal.

Until it changed. 'Crack!'

The lid to his box was opened. Blue opened optics he forgotten were closed, squinting in the harsh light to greet the peering faces of the ones that took him. They enter his pool surrounding him on both sides. They tied his harness to a winch that lifted him out of his box to the larger space beyond. Having only been fed a while ago, the sensation of being lifted made his half full fuel tank do unhappy twirls. Blue felt quite dizzy. The air felt quite warmer, the area around them damp and musty, not a trace of sea salt in scent. It was hard to breathe in. Blue looked out on a giant room, multiple beings were running around carrying all manner of things. He felt the winch they were lowered into a circular deep pool.

The water felt wrong, smelt wrong, tasted wrong. Stricken malnutrition and mild muscle atrophy from being immobile for so long, all Blue could manage was a quick breathe of air before before sinking back down to the bottom of the tank.

His tail wasn't cooperating with him. Bubbles escaped him. This distressed him greatly.

A shout of alarm, came from outside the tank. Two personnel in rubber suits splashed in. One grabbed him around the waist, the other dragging a floating platform of sorts. Blue wheezed as his upper half was placed atop it, tail left in the water.

He gasped for breathe willing his little spark to settle.

He has no time to reprieve. More personnel entered the pool. Smelling of dead fish, they stunk up the water. Touching him anywhere and everywhere. One applied a sort of cooling salve onto his chafed skin. Another was shining a light into his optics. Blue wailed in distress as something long and slender was inserted INTO him. He felt the prick of a needle on his dorsal fin. Held down as he was, Blue could only accomplish the tiniest of thrashes.

In all the chaos, Blue didn't notice the collar being wrapped around his neck.

It beeped once as it clicked around his neck.
A green light shone bright, indicating it's activation

As sudden as it started, it was over. The rubber suits exited his pool one by one until only one was left. Blue was left a whining mess. He was coherent enough to see the flat plate stuck to their chest.

Spike.W

Since the launch of Ocean Voyagers merely a year ago, the public has been told that the mermaids were repurposed engineered animatronics. Abandoned by the growing advancements the US military have been making in biotech engineering.

Spike knew different. Not that he would tell anyone about it. He had to sign close to like TEN NDAs to even get this job.

These mermaids were animals. Wild things that lived and thrived in the 99% of the oceans undiscovered.
They were U like anything else on this planet. Almost alien. If their animal mimicry didn't suggest they shared common ancestors with common day animals.

It fascinated Spike. So much so he applied to this job for the chance to upgrade to bioengineer level. They get to do the good stuff, the cutting, the looking, the building......Spike sighed.

For now, he was stuck at ground zero doing the grunt work.

He was tasked as of today to be the main caretaker for this mer here. Said mer looked the picture of distressed traumatised child. He had read the file. Real unfortunate, Mother had been shot dead before it could be extracted from the ocean. The little one was all that was left of that hunt.

Spike make quick work of closing the distance between mer and human. He reached out, pick up the tiny mer from under their armpits. The mer was about the same size as a five year old human child, though quite a lot heavier. They looked like one too. That made things easier on deciding how to calm the distresses thing.

Spike brought the mer to his shoulder, the noisy little thing still chirping nonsensical sounds. Spike would gobble up the article that may one day appear detailing the language these animals speak. What kinds of language would they use, the dialects, the curse words. Spike continued to daydream as he gently rocked the little one, patting they back in a circular motion. Spike even went the extra mile making shushing white noise at them.

Tired with all his fight scared out of him, all Blue could do was hold onto the human. Absent mindedly, his distressed chirps calmed down. And soon, he found himself again on that tethering edge of awareness and sleep.

On the shoulder of his capturs, he rested. The pats feeling like the ones Carrier would do to him when it was time to sleep, back in the great reef they lived in. In the corner of his blurring vision, he thought he saw a glimpse of his carriers tail.

'Carri-'

But, before he could chase that thought, his overworked brain finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

He dreamt of his mother and of warm sun rays.

Spike felt the little body go limp. Careful not to jostle the thing too much, he placed the thing back onto the floating platform. Wetting a blanket to cover it. He checked the clock, he shift was over. Most of the aquarium is closing up shop. Stepping out of the pool, Spike made quick work of dimming the lights and clearing away any unused equipment.

He didn't look back as he locked the door, stepping out of the facility for a good smoke.

Chapter Text

[Cetacean Mer catergory: Line manager Ian] (Twat💩)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twat💩: It’s been three days, Spike.
Can the damn baby swim on its own yet?

Me: No, sir. Thing’s been limp as a dead fish.
I’ve tried the exercises the vets recommended, but I think it’s a failed effort.

Twat💩: Well, if you have any bright ideas SPIT IT OUT. Management needed that thing ready for the gala event two days ago.

Me: Well, if I may, sir,
I’m no vet, but even with me feeding it four times a day, the baby is just vomiting it back out. I think our synthetic formula is lacking some vital components.

My suggestion. We have another problem case sir, the one that just arrived last night. They're of the same species of Mer. My theory is that, hopefully, the adult will latch onto the young, and we could possibly see our first ever live feeding of their youth.

If it all works out, we’ll get a free attraction, one less mouth to feed, and one new research project for the white coats to study.

Twat💩: Absolutely NOT!
Isn’t that thing male??? Also, it’s violent; what makes you think it will spare the baby when it has already cost us the hospital bills of three other workers? ONE OF THEM IS DEAD.

Me: They are hermaphrodites, sir.
The male should be able to produce milk in some capacity. We can start small. Drug the water or use the baby to make the male meet us on land instead of in the water. We will have personnel on hand with tranqs if intervention is needed.

Twat💩: Tell you what, I’m feeling lucky. This plan of yours might just work.
I’m giving you the full reins on this little project of yours.
Just let me know what you need.
BUT, if any of the animals wind up dead. I AM DRAGGING YOUR ASS DOWN WITH ME.
Clear?

Me: Crystal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The capture had been unpredictable.

So caught up in trying to run Cybertron, Prowl, second in command to the Autobots, Cybertron's most brilliant strategist and the mech that could observe, track and calculate the trajectories of 800 moving object, has been caught by humans.

The very beings that he, titled as all of the above, with his many other responsibilities, had been tasked to keep AWAY from the five main groundbridges hidden in the planet's seas and through them sleeping Cybertron resting twenty thousand leagues under the sea.

Never in his wildest imaginings would he have thought humans could breach the walls of the reefs that surrounded their secret island. The pacific groundbrigde has been compromised, and no one would know of it.

Not until it was too late.

Prowl seethed at the thought, ‘Why hadn’t the proximity alarms sounded? What about the shoreline cameras not sensing any motion? What happened to the satellites that were supposed to survey the island night and day?’

When Optimus had punched his optic out, it really felt to him that his friend thought him a failure, failing to see reason.

It had been the most profound shame when that blasted collar had been strung around his neck. Now trapped in these manmade binds, he felt that failure burn within him.

Try as he might to justify it, he had failed his task. He failed in keeping Cybertron safe. It was ironic that it wasn’t from slagging Megatron nor was it from Unicron himself. It was from the very humans they now shared planet earth with.

They had sprung on him at his lowest just as he exited the groundbrigde bruised and blinded. Prowl did not go gently; through his infinite fury and spite, he fought them tooth and claw on every step of the transport process, destroying the harnesses they strapped him in, ripping the nylon of the pools they submerged him in, and clawing the faces off personnel that tried to touch him. Not even the shocks the collar delivered deterred him much.

He made them rightfully fear him for the dangerous being he was.

Eventually, they had to drug him into oblivion to get him to stop. But even in recharge, Prowl planned as his body tried to heal. He wasn’t at full capacity, not with an eye down, his ATS offline, and his body aching, but while on the boat, Prowl had almost managed to pull off two separate escape attempts, but twice it had been the collar that damned him.

That collar had to have an in-time GPS tracker and somehow also acted as a mini diagnostic tool to gain access to his vital readings. It always beeped once in warning when it sensed his rising agitation. To Prowl‘s misfortune, this meant it beeped constantly.

It gave Prowl a right processor ache.

No matter how much he scratched and tore, the damn thing was like a blasted space barnacle. Prowl had realised all the delicate workings seemed to be embedded into the innermost part closest to his throat, protected from his destructive force via a ridiculous amount of closed net padding. His claws could not catch onto anything, and even if they did, he would severely injure himself in his attempts to rid himself of the disgusting piece.

His days were spent in a silent rage.
They had soon arrived at their intended destination, dragging Prowl ‘s bound body into a rather large facility. It looked to be a warehouse with high, lofty ceilings and bright lights that blinded his senses. Different humans dressed in white rubber vests welcomed him, wrapping unknown salves and bringing unwelcome touches. A patch was brought to cover his damaged right eye.

If he hadn’t been weakened by the slag ton of drugs he was on, he would have swiped at the one who put it on. The cover itched with medicine.

When they finished their tasks, they dumped him into an isolation pool, closing the area up afterwards. With a final click, Prowl was left in the darkness.

The empty walls smelt of distress and dead fish. Immediately, Prowl breached the water's surface, only to be met with a metal net covering the top of his cage. ‘Frag!’ Prowl raged, banging his fist on the metal. It rattled but did not give.

Prowl frown became cavernous.The probability of escape was terrifyingly low. The bars were solid, the facility was too large to navigate, his collar was still active, and his energon levels were too low to activate his t-cog.

As he thought of all that was wrong at that moment, a wave of tiredness washed over him. He sank to the bottom of the tank, curling into a tight ball as he tried to calm his raging spark. Emotion would do him no good here. He tried to meditate, but he didn’t think he was doing it right. He stayed like that for a while.

In the dark, he realised. It was the first time he experienced true solitude in days.

It was as liberating as it was spark-breaking.

Mabye, it was the drugs messing with his processor, but the silence he used to enjoy now felt like a deathly weight on his spark.

Prowl gazed up at the bars with a bleak expression. He allowed one tear to escape him, to lament all he had lost.

His career, his reputation, his control.

His mind. His friends.

Prowl was alone.

He stayed like that until the morning shift crew arrived to greet him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days of less than appetising food and a couple of bitten humans later, they deemed him healthy enough to be put in a display tank.

It seemed that these human intentions were most dehumanising.

They intended him to be an attraction.

A PET.

His first glimpse into his new cell was less than flattering. He was stuck in a small tank measuring about 86 feet by 51 feet in length. There was not even enough space for a decent dive.

He immediately noticed the giant glass wall, backing away in disgust as he met the gazes of hundreds of humans in all their shapes and sizes. Some were standing right up to his tank, unafraid of his presence. Others were on the catwalks the facility provided, allowing the viewers a look into his tank from above. He could see screens all around the place displaying pictures of him. A worker dressed in bright attire stood centre stage in front of his tank.

His nametag spelt: Spike. W.

‘Let’s all welcome, Will! The one-eyed Orca! As one of the only remaining prototypes that survived a recent unfortunate incident in our labs. The team here at Ocean Voyagers had decided see how durable our technology can truly be.’ they announced to a cheering crowd of children. They went on to spin a tale of how he came to be.

Prowl flinched at the name they called him, anger boiling; his name was NOT fragging Will! His collar beeping was all that stopped him from ramming the glass.

The humans outside were making quite the racket, with many holding cameras that flashed so bright his left eye hurt. Prowl shuddered at the thought of having little to no privacy. Beyond his tank, about a dozen other tanks lined the walls, varying in the number of occupants. Having seen the fanfare of his arrival, his neighbours had glanced his way only to take one look at his auto brand and start throwing him scathing looks over their shoulders.

Other cybertronians. Why were there so many of them? Unsettled, Prowl realised all of them were factionless.

They were neutrals.

The humans had been preying on those who had no true contact with the two major factions. Prowl’s spark sank further.

The Autobots had failed them. He had failed them.

Prowl quickly assessed that asking them for help in escaping would not be smooth.

Done with the chaos occurring outside, Prowl turned his attention inwards.

Shockingly, the remaining three walls of the tank were fully furnished with natural kelp and marine rocks. There was a small alcove at the bottom of the tank to hide in, with barely enough space for a mech his size to stretch out.

Prowl assessed it was to discourage him from hiding.

Small schools of fish swam around him while colourful starfish and other small sea creatures littered the rest of the tank grounds. One of the walls had an ominous grate. Prowl couldn’t sense any current passing through it.

A look inside didn’t reveal where it led to. Prowl clicked his tongue. His echolocation system identified a cavernous space with many other living beings, both cybertronian and normal terran sea life beyond it. Yanking on the grate revealed it to be tightly welded shut.

He would have to wait and see what other opportunities it could provide.

Overall, the space seemed so…. domestic —a gilded cage, but a cage no less.

A sudden rise in commotion outside of his tank drew Prowl out of his lament. Prowl glanced outwards towards the glass.

There was a new face on the screens now—a distressingly younger face than he would have thought to encounter here in this slagheap.

It was the face of a sparkling. An orca mer just as he was.

The announcer in front of his tank seemed winded as they feigned excitement.

‘We have some more wonderful news to share with you all today at the Aquadome. We at Ocean Voyagers now have the utmost pleasure in introducing you all to the newest creation from MECH technology; as you all know, our engineers have been working non-stop to bring you all the joys of creation. With this new mech, a new project was formed. Project: Nurture. It isn’t hard to guess that the creative idea here was to rediscover the makings of a family.’

They glanced back at Prowl for a moment with a look that bordered on pity.

‘Will you all welcome to the world, Hope!

'Named after the hope that our research into allowing technology to go hand in hand with biology will continue to serve the betterment of our world.’

With a flourish of their hand, they gestured to the top of his tank.

Splashing could be heard coming from above. Prowl glanced up. Where there was once empty water, now a floating platform has been placed atop it. Two ropes were tied to one end of the float, slowly lifting it away.

A tiny tail was seen poking one end, and more and more of the sparkling was revealed as they from the safety of the platform.
Prowl frowned. Something was wrong. The sparkling wasn’t swimming right. Their tail wasn’t moving.

The platform was now wholly lifted, but the sparkling still sank. Prowl rushed towards them Something was very, very wrong. The sparkling was unconscious. Upon first contact, he was met with ice-cold skin. The sparkling’s eyes were offline.

Frag.

He breached the surface of his tank to avoid drowning the sparkling, ignoring the silent crowd of humans and neutrals watching as he cradled the sparkling to his chest. He only knew the basest of first aid, immediately searching for the latch on the sparkling’s wrist and seeking out their main medical port; he quickly connected his own cable by popping it in. Even with the little one asleep, there was no handshake for Prowl to initiate; the little one had no firewalls to block Prowl. He got to work running diagnostic checks on the sparkling.

He quickly identified the problem. The sparkling was severely under-fuelled. Their fuel tank was at 3%. Prowl had to fuel them fast. Without thinking, Prowl bit his finger until it bled. He held the bleeding appendage over the sparkling’s lips, allowing it to flow into their intake. He rubbed their neck cables to initiate the swallow reflex there. Little by little, he saw the numbers rise until the sparkling’s fuel tank reached 80%. It was then the sparkling began to stir.

Prowl saw eyes blue like the Atlantic.

Fear scented the water. The sparkling cried when it registered the unknown mech holding him. Glowing blue tears escaped their optics as little hands tried and failed to escape his grasp.

Later, Prowl would stress over how distressing it was that the sparkling was silent throughout the whole ordeal. But in the moment, panicked, Prowl tried to calm the sparkling down. He leaned back on his enforcer programming.

‘Shh, shh, you are alright, you are safe.’

Prowl swam on his back, placing the sparkling square on his chassis and began to circle the tank, hoping the movement would calm them down. He placed a hand onto the sparkling’s back, rubbing in clockwise movements. Surprisingly, the sparkling began to calm. 

Prowl thanked Primus.

‘You are here; you are fine; you are with me; you are safe.’, he repeated like a mantra to the little one while continuing to make his rounds. The humans outside his tank were having a field day, celebrating what they thought was a happy and successful surrogacy. The other cybertronians watched with mixed looks of silent rage and pity.

It was on his 15th round that the little one reached out to grasp his finger still refusing to look up at his wrecked face.

Time froze.

Their grip was weak and their digits cold, but at that moment, the world and their fragged-up situation narrowed down to just the two of them.

If only for a nano click, Prowl was struck by how young the little one was. The size of their servo in his. The tiny puffs of breath the little one drew. The weight of them above his chassis. It was like he became hypersensitive to all things that were the sparkling.

Waves of emotions washed over Prowl's spark. It was such a foreign sensation for him.

It was as the sparkling braved another look at him that Prowl’s resolve strengthened. ‘Hi,’ the little sparkling greeted. Prowl was going to bust them all out, alive or dead.

He was a failure, with a lot more wrongs than rights. But even in the face of failure, Prowl will do all he can to free his kind from this pit.

He will protect and serve as he has always done, as he was built to do.

He glanced at the other cybertronians trapped in this fresh pit with him,

For them. His gaze met the little sparkling's, and for you.

Chapter Text

It had been four million years of war.

In his many orns of life, Jazz had learned to master moving to the rhythm of this plane of existence. He had played both the highs and lows, the good and the bad, the lines of life and death. To live was to be noisy, so for a maestro like him, he learned to listen out for the rarer pieces, collecting them like records to listen back on in the harder times he knew would always come to meet him.

Tonight was one such special record.

A city-wide party was going in full swing all across Iacon. .They had done it. The Autobots have won the war, and Jazz celebrated it just like any other mech would that nigth cycle, down at Maccadams. The bar was up in full swing. The lights thrummed, the crowds poured and the engex flowed. Jazz was where he belonged, center stage performing a piece quite close to his spark. It was a piece that he had started working on during the war four million years in the making. he had saved it for when he would live to see the end of their conflict. His fingers on the strings of his electro bass, Jazz never felt more complete.

He had done it. He achieved something.

As his set finished, he was met up with an uproar of applause. Mech’s were all the rage, hooting and hollering for an encore. Blurr appeared right that moment with a cube of his favourite high ball. Jazz’s ever-present smile grew wider; with a crowd like this, how could Jazz deny them? Swigging the engex presented to him, Jazz took everyone in the bar on yet another trip down memory lane and through the night cycle.

It was hours before he sauntered out from the bar with all the grace someone that drunk off their aft shouldn’t have had. The streets were lit with the neon artificial lights that Wheeljack had installed citywide. The giant chrono tower in the distance indicated that it was Earth’s morning in their part of the hemisphere. Jazz lamented that there was no morning light to greet him.

That was the price they had to pay, he guessed. With Cybertron encapsulated in an almighty subspace generator, the planet would no longer be able to access sunlight for the bleak foreseeable forever.

Cybertron would no longer be able to see the stars without tearing earth asunder with it, and that would not happen, not under Optimus’s watch.

So, in the bubble, Cybertron stayed.

Now, great. Jazz got himself all depressed and sombre. His frame was too cold for his liking. A good sunning might help him relax, though; a detour was needed. Jazz headed towards the transport hub. The building stood right in the centre of Iacon. White spotlights lit its base, illuminating the many spots that were still unfinished. It was one of the first commodities Optimus ordered built, while the transport hub was still a work in progress, all the bays had been made functional to their full capacity. Perceptor and Wheeljack had been worked overtime to get everything in working order.

Jazz entered its huge entrance and made his way to the epicentre of the building, where a large ring structure stood. He stopped at the gated till to flash his ID and cred card before being let through to an elevated platform. He inputted the coordinates he desired to go to, and a green portal opened before him; Jazz stepped through it. The dawning rays of Earth’s sun greeted him as he stepped onto their base’s sandy beach. Diego Garcia, one of five islands across the different oceans of the planet that served as the Autobot’s terrestrial bases. They were heavily guarded from humans.

Jazz took in the salty air, the gradient sky, the rushing sea and breathed a sigh of contentment. Even if Cybertron were his birthplace, Earth would always have a special place in his spark.

The planet was alive in ways Cybertron would never be.

Something new broke him out of his reverie. His chemosensors picked up a new scent in the air. The metallic scent of burnt metal cut through the crisp air. It had the tang of what one would get smoking a cygar.

Jazz wasn’t as alone as he thought he was out here.

He started following the scent, curious to see who they were. It didn’t take Jazz long to track down the culprit. Further up the beach, in the leafage that lined the barrier between sand and dirt, he saw the back of a pair of doorwings leaning against a coconut tree. He knew they could only belong to Prowl. The usually stiff appendages were jittering in the wind as smoke wafted upwards in puffs like a mini locomotive.

Now, this was quite the sight, feeling playful Jazz decided to approach, creeping up behind him.

‘Didn’t know ya smoked Prowler.’, he greeted, one hand leaning against the tree as he looked down at the praxian. The reaction he got was not what Jazz had expected. His smile disappeared.

Prowl flinched. Violently.

The cygar he held in his servo dropped onto the sand, and the ash dimmed. Well, what was that? Jeez, Jazz didn’t mean to scare him that badly. He didn’t have any of his stealth mods active. Prowl’s doorwings should have picked him up before he got there. Prowl seemed to regain his composure, doorwings no longer moving as he grounded out, ‘Well, you don’t know everything about me, Jazz. Go away.’

Unsettled and reluctant to start a fight with the mech, Jazz backed up to give him some space. From the angle at which he sat, Jazz couldn’t get a good look at Prowl’s face, but he could imagine the frown he was wearing. It could have been the trick of the light, but Jazz swore he caught a tint of energon on the edge of Prowl’s faceplate. His gut feelings reared up.

Something was off, and Jazz had a bad feeling about it.

Seeing as the unwanted company hasn’t left, Prowl’s doorwings buzzed in agitation. Instead of yelling at Jazz to get lost, Prowl turned away from Jazz, reaching into his subspace and grabbing a fresh cigar from a crumpled pack. Jazz could spy the image of the Crystal Gardens, a key attraction in Praxus on the pack. The pack looked old, vintage even. Prowl must have had it for a long time.

Jazz had half the mind to follow through on that rude request. Prowl wasn’t the most pleasant company to keep; if the mech was in one of his broody phases again, well, who was Jazz to stop him?

But this time, as Jazz glanced at the way Prowl’s servos shook as he brought a simple battered lighter to the butt of his cigar, Jazz felt immediately a sense of danger. Without thinking, Jazz leapt forward, grabbing Prowl’s arm, halting him as he was just about to strike a flame.

‘LET GO OF ME.’ Prowl snapped, finally looking up at Jazz.

Jazz’s spark stalled.

Prowl was missing an optic. A gaping hole was all that was left of Prowl’s right optic; a small, steady stream of energon trickled from the wound, making a sizeable puddle where Prowl sat.

Energon was explosive.

Jazz ignored the threat, grip tightening around Prowl’s arm. His gaze grew steely, ‘Are you trying ta OFF ya’self?!’ Jazz hissed.

‘NO, of course not!’ Prowl retorted. ‘I just needed something to get the edge off.’ That didn’t reassure Jazz in the slightest.

‘Ya need a medic Prowl! Ya're bleeding OUT!’ Jazz exclaimed. The praxian made the blankest of faces as he looked down at the puddle he made. Prowl’s reflection shone in the puddle, his face looking back at himself. Jazz couldn’t decipher what the praxian was truly seeing. It was but a moment later that he looked back up at Jazz with a face that spoke a thousand emotions and yet revealed nothing at all.

He all but whispered, ‘I am functional.’ Jazz’s anger evaporated.

Jazz could literally see the hurt that was pouring from the mech, as he went slack in his hold. ‘Well, being functional ain’t everything, Prowler.’ Jazz sighed.

Taking Prowl’s lighter, he reached for Prowl’s cygar, lighting it and holding it out to the mech. Prowl gazed at him with a look that held a thousand questions, but still took the cygar in his shaky servos. The deep drags he took from it looked like it hurt.

‘Functional ain’t what you are.’ Jazz said, accent gone. Jazz turned to sit beside Prowl, plucking the old forgotten cygar off the sandy beach. He shook off the ash and sand before lighting it, taking a deep drag. ‘You’re a mech; mechs live, Prowl.’ Jazz exhaled, realising a large puff of smoke; he gazed into the swirls deep in thought. 'Your Alive Prowl,: Jazz said. 'Just like me. Spark's beating no?' Prowl beside him remained silent.

'What happened?’ Jazz asked, his tone steady.

‘It is not your concern.’ was Prowl’s guarded answer.

A flare of annoyance flickered in Jazz. ‘It is my concern if it’s a con that’s gone and done this to ya. Ya already had that mind control incident; I‘m pretty sure ya don’t want an encore of that experience.’ Jazz watched as the praxian visibly cringed at the mental image.

Inwardly, Jazz felt just the tiniest bit bad about bringing that up.

A glazed look came upon the praxian’s faceplate, ‘This was not the work of the Decepticons.’ was the quiet cryptid answer Prowl gave. He continued to smoke, his cygar gaze locked on the ocean beyond. Jazz knew that look well. Prowl would keep this secret under lock and key, and only death might pry it from his cold, cold servos.

It was not a battle Jazz wanted to fight right now.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, watching the sunrise. Their moment seemed timeless. Still, the drunkness and the comfortable warmth of the sun and of the frame next to him unexpectedly lulled Jazz into recharge right there on the beach. When he woke, the sun was mid-rise, and Prowl was gone. He left his vintage pack of cygars behind. There was one single cygar left, a note tied to it reading in the clear penmanship that Prowl was known for, ‘Thank you.’

That was 5 cycles ago.

No one has seen Prowl since; even Optimus has been quiet. Images of Prowl in the sunlight haunted Jazz for cycles after, yet again, he felt the gut feelings of something being amiss.

Prowl hadn’t shown up to any of his shifts. Ratchet was saying that Prowl hadn’t visited him at all during that time.

With unease in his spark, Jazz had resorted to breaking into Prowl’s habsuite. There was a layer of dust on everything, but the room was neat and tidy. It looked untouched; the scent of stale air greeted him, Prowl’s scent was almost gone.

This was wrong, very wrong.

Prowl was missing and no one seemed to care.

Prowl was a snappy mech, a true prick that one, but Jazz had never wished true ill on him. During the war, they had their moments. A rescue here, a quick diversion there. They could work together relatively well under pressure; together, they had beaten the odds again and again, saving each other's afts once or twice in the swing of things. After the war, Jazz had chosen to stay out of the limelight, whereas Prowl had chosen to stay in it. Prowl was adamant in protecting what was left of their planet below. Above the waves, out of the political circle, Jazz embraced their new world, living as he always done, on the whims of life's simple pleasures.

As he dived deeper into the investigation, hindsight was becoming more of a glitch now.

The glimpses he had caught of Prowl back then were brief and fleeting but yet he felt he had noticed a change in Prowl. Regret filled him. He should have called it sooner.

Prowl had acted like a mech possessed, more controlling, angrier. It had rubbed Jazz in all the wrong ways. Yet he had brushed it off, believing in the petty words of hate that the others had strung of Prowl.

Now, Jazz wondered why no one else had seen it. The mind control. Living the civvy life must have made him rusty. It seems he had learned the news far too late. Prowl had been changed. Mind raped, under Megatron's orders. The events of Shockwave's near-successful genocide right after probably hadn't helped the mech either.

The night celebrating the war's end was also the night of Megatron's plea of pardon. The public resolution of the Decepticons. The night Optimus struck Prowl.

It was hard to believe that OP would do that. But he had.

Jazz ain't got it in him to determine who was more right than wrong. It was war; they were all sinners walking as saints. But Prowl. The image of his face leaking Energon, bruised face, the shaking hands. The war was over, and Jazz was sick and tired of seeing mechs fight over the crumbs of their society. In all his four million years of war, He had never seen Prowl like that, so stricken with hurt and betrayal.

Back on that beach, back in that moment, it had struck something in Jazz. A broken mech Prowl may be, but maybe with some help, Jazz truly believed he could get better.

Everyone needed someone, after all.

It has been 5 cycles, and Prowl was missing. No one else had bothered to look; no one else seemed to care.

Call it heroism, curiosity, a funny gut feeling even, but Jazz felt like he had to find him. Prowl had been hurting and is still hurting out there somewhere. Prowl may not be outwardly calling for help; maybe he just outright couldn’t cry, but Jazz would answer anyway.

He clutched the pack of cygar's close to his chassis.

Jazz cared, and he was going to find Prowl and bring him home.

Chapter Text

Being from a big family, Rafael thought he had seen it all. As the middle child, he has had to deal with many things. Being happy with his older siblings hand me down computers and clothes, having to help his younger siblings with their homework, his parents talking down to him as if he hadn’t just fed the baby, done the dishes and ended his twin sibling's petty squabble.

Raf knew he wasn’t the favourite child in the family, but he had at least expected that his family would look out for him.

Now, he was alone in the mega aquarium complex, lost at closing time.

Just great.

Rounding the corner, Raf was met with yet another dimly lit corridor, just like the many he had previously encountered. More glass, more black walls, and not a person in sight. Only the animatronic mermaids were present to see his turmoil, alone Raf didn’t stay to admire them. To hold their gaze gave him shivers down his spine.

Maybe it was his brain playing tricks on him, but even during opening hours, the mermaids, mechanical marvels as they were, had pools of great intelligence hidden in their lenses. It intimidated him, like a mouse under the gaze of a hoard of cats. Those optics followed him, tracking him to the end of the corridor.

He turned and found himself in the main auditorium of the facility empty and silent. Finally. Raf ran in the direction he remembered the front entrance to be. As it came into view, Raf lost all the wind in his sails. The main entrance was shut, huge shutters blocked his way to the outside, to his family.

‘No, no nononono…..’, Raf whined. He felt along the doors of a latch, an opening, anything that could open it. He looked around the doors; he couldn’t see any emergency opening buttons. Raf scoffed. That should be illegal. Where were the security staff anyway? Frustrated and defeated, Raf sat against the shutter doors, legs folded, tucking his head into his arms. Looking around the complex, the dim cerulean did little to calm his racing heart. He was trapped, alone, hungry, angry. He was a whole ball of emotions at the moment.

Forget the family vacation, Raf just wanted to go home.

It was in his wallowing that he picked up the faintest of voices, the sound of two sets of feet pattering off in the distance.

Potential help!

Emboldened with hope, Raf hopped to his feet and jogged in the direction of the footsteps. They sounded relatively near, just on the other side of the auditorium. As he got closer, he could begin to make out what the voices were saying.

Raf comes upon the most peculiar situation. A pair of teenagers, a boy was pacing back and forth as a girl was fiddling with a large vent that rested in the side of a wall. A camera was held in the arms of the boy. Both were dressed in dark clothing that hid them well in their dim surroundings, but the pink highlights in the girl’s hair shone like mini glowsticks against the cerulean background.

Was he about to witness a robbery? Unsure of how to approach, Raf hid behind a countertop to observe the scene

‘Ah hah!’ the girl exclaimed in triumph as she tucked away a pocket tool knife. The opening to the vent was now opened, its black maw leading to part unknown to Raf. Beside her, the boy’s pacing intensified.

‘I can’t believe you talked me into doing this! Miko, maybe we should head back; surely there’s a better way to do our report.’ The boy looked around, gaze filled with unease. ‘We are trespassing.’, he hissed.

 The girl dubbed as Miko only scoffed. She turned to Jack, showing off the orca hoodie she was wearing. She gave Jack a hearty shake, ‘Stop being such a baby Jack! Don’t worry about it. This will be an easy mission. Just a few photos are all we need.' She stopped to crouch by the vent, hand outstretched to Jack. 'You can stay here if you want. Hand me the camera, I’m going in.’ Without missing a beat, she turned, snatching the camera from the boy’s grasp and started crawling into the vent.

‘Wait, MIKO. Argh, why do you always do this?’ Jack scrambled into the vent, hoping to catch up to the fading silhouette of Miko; in his hurry, he didn’t replace the vent cover.

Raf watched as the two disappeared into the large vent. He weighed his options. To stay would mean he had to stay the night in the aquarium, which his stomach was very much against. If he followed the pair, there was the chance that he would find another way out, or at the very least finally find that absent security officer he had been trying to find all this time.

Mind made up, Raf entered the vent, remembering to cover it back up after and down the vent he crawled, to what he hoped would be his ticket to freedom.

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As much as Prowl wanted to escape their prison, he had to admit. It was turning out to be one pit of a task. His ATS was down, and with it, about 40% of his ability to simulate his way to victory. The symphony of numbers and lines ran flat in his head; the puzzle pieces once so clear to him were now so abstract even he had no idea what he was comprehending most of the time, whether this was from his head trauma or the drugs they had him on, Prowl could only guess. His cell was sparse with nothing standing out to him as usable in the moment. Sure, it was just his first day here but it sure didn’t stop the sea of failed plans from dragging him under.

Deep in his thoughts, Prowl was only vaguely aware of the facility's closing. The lights were dimmed, the crowds of humans ushered out, the common walkways echoingly silent. It was now just him and the sparkling peacefully floating at the top of their tank. But even in peace, he began to worry. It had been several hours since the sparkling first fell asleep in his hold. Prowl didn‘t know if it was because of the severe starvation or the stress of their new environment but the little one had yet to stir.

To be honest with himself, in the dim of the light Prowl too was suffering from an exhaustion that ran bones deep. But, he fought to remain vigilant. To recharge now would only invite nightmares, an act that could potentially rob the little one of theirs. So Prowl opted to settle in for a long night.

It wasn't like he hadn't done so before. Thoughts of escape leaked into thoughts of his new cell mate.

Where were their mother now? What had happened to them? Captured? Killed? What of their pod? How long had the baby been alone for? What had they been witness to? 

Judging by their alt mode and size, Prowl concluded that the sparkling was likely around 3-5 vorns old, most likely originating from one of the smaller nomadic neutral pods originating around the northern hemisphere. The sparkling's carrier was probably one of many earth bound neutrals that hadn't managed to leave the planet in time before the great collision.

The great collision. Prowl remembered it like it was yestercycle. The ground shaking, the yelling, the screaming, the sudden popping silence as Cybertron’s atmosphere literally disappeared during the battle for Iacon. The Decepticon’s planetary spacebridge had malfunctioned brought about by a well placed shot from Cliffjumper’s cannons. It sent Cybertron right through  to a completely different solar system and onto a collision course with what was pre-historic earth.

The impact would have decimated both planets.

The Decepticons made their cowardly retreat as the Autobots scrambled for a solution to save their war-ravaged planet. It had been their darkest hour to date. It was a last minute decision proposed by Brainstorm, Wheeljack and Perceptor to encase Cybertron in a mega subspace. Optimus gave the okay and the rest was history, their war continued, but on new soil, or should they say waters. As the earth back then was just a massive ocean planet. As the eons rolled by, the planet changed, and so did they.

If there was one good thing to come out of the planetary collision, Prowl supposed it was the new fuel source it provided. Earth was an abundant source of renewable fuel. Now, with more resources to go around sparklings, while still not common were finally not a rarity to their dwindling race outside of the major factions. 

As an autobot and SIC, Prowl had always been preoccupied. The war with the Decepticons, handling operations and trying to contact what remains of their race beyond the stars. He had been at the forefront of almost every battle, fighting for the good of Cybertron. Post war, his duties had narrowed down to evading humans and keeping the peace on Cybertron. Childcare had never been one of them, nor an option he thought to pursue. He did not have a romantic partner nor any time to invest in one. The terror twins and Hot Rod now Rodimus had been child enough for him. To be honest, he had never really seen a sparkling up until Chromedome and Rewind first introduced theirs during the Lost lights last docking trip and hadn't that done a number on his spark. 

Caught in the memory, the words of Ultra Magnus rang out. '- I think your the loneliest mech I've ever met.'

In his tank, he looked over himself. Scars and healing flesh. Shattered mind. A deep sense of disgust and sadness fill him. After everything that has happened, Prowl could barely take care of himself most days, how can he take care of a sparkling?

Could they even eat solid foods yet? A quick look at the sparkling's intake showed they had a full set of sparkling denta. If the little one hadn't been weaned, he would have to be soon. So sparkling energon was not a worry at least. All cybertronians were intersex, but for the majority of cybertronians carrier coding had to be activated by an actual kindling. Being initially a public service servant, Prowl was made with the standard carrier protocols buried in place for the event such as these. He could already feel the changes within him, a foreign sort of soreness that dwelled primarily around his spark chamber. At the most he estimated that it would take at least until the morning for his pouches to fill.  

Prowl didn't know how to feel about that, his body changing yet again in ways he never dreamt of nor thought he wanted. He will experience his first feeding before his first kindling, alone. A funnily sad thought that this was the first milestone that Prowl would share with a little one. 

A thought struck him then, a designation. He didn't know the little ones' designation. In the day's events, Prowl hadn't even thought to try and ask for one. 'Could the little one even speak?' Prowl mulled it over looking down sparkling tightly clutching his chest in sleep. Their skin was still slightly flushed, eyes furrowed even in dreams. Mabye, Prowl thought, they weren't really of a mind to tell him a designation anyway. 

He didn’t have time to think more on it.

The lights went from the dim cerulean to completely blown out, shrouding Prowl in sudden darkness. Shocked, Prowl dived with only the glow of his optics and collar to guide him. He headed to the cove for cover, facing the entrance with wary apprehensive glances. The sparkling stirred but did not wake, it was a small mercy, Prowl didn’t know if he had the capacity to multitask at the moment. This was bad, was the facility malfunctioning? Prowl waited. Tense silent filled his pool, nothing stirred in his vision.

The faintest creak was heard just outside his pool. Prowl caught movement beyond the glass. There were two pairs of lights shining into his enclosure. White optics. Through the glass a thing of horrors looked back at him.

What the frag was that thing?!

Prowl gasped, burrowing deeper into the cove to hide, his hide scratching the rough surface. His wings were strained from the raised position they were in, his plating flared in shocked fear, his collar flared red. He tried to still his rising fears. It would not do to shock both him and the sparkling.

The humans were indeed cruel.

Prowl was starring down the optics of a mech long dead. Long and ghastly, their plating was scuffed and greyed, the organic bits were dried up or long gone. If they were alive, they would have been a crustacean mer, a lobster mabye. But now, they were missing a few appendages, part of their crusher claw had been replaced with a metal one, the poor weld marks made deep scars on their plating.

The thing swayed with staggered movements, crawling close to the floor like a large metal snake. It was stalking, hunting. They stared unseeingly into the tank, searching for something. Prowl could only guess what. The white light illuminated the debris in the water, the beams travelling the walls to come across the entrance of his cove. They stopped at the entrance of it.

He willed it to go away.

Prowl held his breath, grip tightened on the sparkling. The sparkling squirmed unhappy about the constriction bout them, but Prowl couldn’t afford to look away from he danger out front. His claws emerged as he braced for a fight.

The lights remained at the entrance for a solid minute. Without a sound, the creature looked away, taking the beams with them to stalk down the hallways once again. As the last of it disappeared down the corner, the dim lights above his pool turned back on again as if nothing had actually happened. Prowl didn’t emerge from the cove until the sparkling’s wakeful wriggling brought to his attention their need for oxygen.

With the little one still weak, Prowl made an adjustment to carry them on his back. Cautiously, Prowl emerged from their cove to look up at the surface of the water. It seemed all clear.

He noticed the vent in the side of the tank was now OPEN however.

This night was getting freakier by the minute.

He had to act fast, the little one needed air. With a powerful swish of his tail, Prowl brought them up to the surface, going past the opening vent. The little one let out a gasp of relief as they breathed in the chilled air. Prowl kept his helm under the water, eyeing the opening for any signs of life. It was empty.

With the little one now relieved, Prowl dove back down to explore the sight further. It would be valuable to see where it lead too, to learn the layout of this place, a possible means of escape but that was highly unlikely to lead to such. The opening of this vent seemed to intentional and there were still the dangers that may rise after entering it. The vent may close shut behind them, It was dark and enclosed. He didn’t even know if there was an oxygen source on the other side.

Prowl lingered undecided at the entrance to the black maw. Was he really going to risk the sparkling like that?

The lights going out again gave him his choice it seemed. Whatever it was, that thing was on its way here again. Deep seated fear overtook him, Prowl couldn’t allow them to stay and find out, they had to hide. So into the vent they went, the sparkling made a whine of distress at the sudden change in light, body pressing right up to Prowl as they made their way into the liminal space. Prowl took care to not crush them.

Just as he had feared, the vent closed up behind them. Was this all just a ploy from the humans? Prowl thought. To use their biology against them, corralling them like livestock? Prowl couldn’t linger on such thoughts, now the only way out was forward.

With apprehensive fear in their sparks, together Prowl and sparkling slipped deeper into the vent away from the tips of white light lighting the metal slips, into the dark.

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In the heart of the facility, a man stood facing a myriad of monitors fixed into the wall. The screens broadcasted the ongoings of the entire facility, their white lights casted a long trailing shadow behind the man’s dark figure. Placed at the centre of the cacophony of light and sound, a large screen displayed the image of the two Orca Mers making their way down the tunnel. 

A second man appeared beside the dark one, standing to their left.

The new arrival spoke first, ‘The plan worked, sir; I am recalling subject X back to their pen now.’

The first man gave a pleased hum, eyes transfixed to the screens above. He paid special attention to the adult mer, the way it cared for the child on it’s back, the calculated hesitation just before subject X circled back to them. He could see it in their eyes, so resilient, so intelligent. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on him, to uncover the very thing that makes them tick.

To get one step closer to his dream.

‘Indeed it has, Spike.’, the first addressed the second.

He turned away from the monitors, proceeding to head to the exit of the room. Spike trailed behind him like an ever loyal puppy. The first man fixed the tight latex gloves he wore over his hands chuckling darkly, ‘Come, we have much to prepare.’ 

Chapter Text

Fifth cycle since Prowl's disappearance-

Oh Primus.

A dead human was washed up on the beach.

Even in the red of the morning, Jazz could tell the carcass wasn’t fresh.

The corpse was grossly intact, gently rolling with the motions of the waves; it reeked of rotting flesh. Little flesh ribbons fluttered in the waves from the massive hole in the corpse’s torso. What little skin that was left was littered with peck marks and cuts.

Already, the island was eager to greet this new offering, a small crowd of crabs having already gathered to the hole’s edge, fighting for prime feeding rights.

Jazz turned his head from the grotesque sight to the ocean. What was that? A digit to his visor, he zoomed in on the action.

Two miles off the shores of Diego Garcia, a feeding frenzy commenced. A massive flock of seabirds were circling a singular spot of the ocean; as he focused, Jazz could see the silhouettes of large fish in the water. Whatever was out there, it wasn’t anything Jazz expected.

Strange, very strange. Diego Garcia wasn’t on any major fish migratory path, nor did he spy any large fishing vessels nearby.

Could it be Whalefall? Jazz searched the island’s log. The island’s scanners hadn’t caught any whales entering their water lately. There had been a lot of blue shark traffic, though.

Jazz looked down at the corpse. For a second, Jazz saw Prowl’s face. Shocked, Jazz smacked his faceplate, shuttering his visor. When his vision returned, the face of a deceased human looked back at him, now with one less eye. A crab was making away with that glorious prize. Jazz baulked in disgust. The corpse looked worse than when he had last looked at it.

Now, he had seen a lot of dead bodies in his lifetime, and this was giving him a familiar feeling of bad juju. This wasn’t sitting right with him.

Jazz transformed and swam out to investigate. With a few flicks of his tail, he arrived to a crime scene. Above him, the sound of the seagulls got deafening.   

This was bad, this was very, very bad.

Dead Humans, five in total, drifted on the high seas. They were bloated with varying degrees of decay, all submerged around pockets of motor oil. If the smell didn't indicate that the event had happened quite a while ago, the dead seagulls trapped in the oily black did.

In the waters, a small shiver of blue sharks circled Jazz, their beady eyes curious about the new arrival. Jazz wasn't worried about them. The sharks would know better than to mess with him. They swam their wide circle, making great efforts to steer clear of the debris, but as careful as they were, their flanks would brush against the oil, spreading the black mess further.

Jazz’s brow furrowed deeper. All this filth in the water. Disgusting.

He had found the dead humans, but where was their vessel?

Not wanting to linger, Jazz dived, drowning out the shrill cries leaving the corpses to the animals. In the dim waters, Jazz longed for his headlights. From what he could see, he was at the edge of the barrier reef, the blackness beyond indicating his proximity to their local drop-off. A metallic glimmer caught his visor, leading Jazz close to the drop-off’s edge.

What Jazz found only concerned him more.

A sunken dinghy sat overturned, wedged between two large rocks. A large gash ran down the left bow of the deflated vessel, the decisive cause of the sinking. Jazz assessed the vessel. It only took a good few tugs to pull it free, flipping it over uncovered the damning logo engraved into the nylon: MECH.

A piece of metal had flown out from the rubber in his tugging. Jazz retrieved it from its impact crater in the sand. He wiped the remaining sand off it.

A guttural growl escaped his throat. It was cold and slightly grey, but in his servos, the piece of metal displayed part of a faded gold star.

Prowl’s gold star.

Frag!

Jazz’s fears only grew. Prowl was in more danger than he thought.

Whoever MECH was, they’ve kidnapped Prowl.

Jazz did some more digging in the rubbery mess. His digits wrapped around his quarry. A quick tug tore the registry plate of the vessel away from the shredded mess.

Above him, the sky was lighter, and with it, the activity intensified. Hammerheads were arriving.

It was time Jazz bounced.

He made swift work of getting back to shore.  Shaking the water off his frame, Jazz transformed and hacked into Red Alert's comm.

‘Ay Red! Ah got a situation ya might wanna know bout.’

‘JAZZ, fragging pit. HOW DID YOU GET MY COMM. I SWEAR to Primus, if I see you….’

‘Chill mech, this was bad. Prowl was kidnapped. Ah found a lot of dead humans here; the wreck’s two miles offshore. Why hadn’t we got any notice of this?’

A fizzle came through the comm.

Jazz continued to make his way to the island's centre. In his helm, Jazz could just imagine the sparks coming off of Red Alert's helm.

Going at a panicked jog, Jazz needed Red to snap out of it. 'RED! Ah need ya with meh mech! Jazz hesitated a moment before adding, 'A group called MECH has Prowl; Ah snatched their license plate, Ah need ya to scan it for me.' He sent a picture down the secured channel.

A weak ‘Okay, on it.’ Came down the line.

Jazz jumped over a fallen log. He was almost at the warp pad. ‘I also need ya ta check the proximity alarms around the island. None of 'em had raised da alarm.' Red Alert kept the line open but didn’t bother with a reply. Jazz focused on the trek before him; Red would reply when he found something.

Jazz’s thoughts stayed on the scanners. Being one of the first things installed on the island, those scanners were designed to track all biological activity within 5 miles of Diego Garcia. As the love child of Skyfire and Perceptor, it served in research as well as defense, capable of cataloguing all the species present on the island as well as recording all activity in their waters.

The scanners not working was a HUGE issue. This was a huge breach of security. They could only thank Primus that the humans hadn’t found the ground bridge. No one had known of MECH's presence.

All except Prowl, and it seemed he paid the price. The image of that blasted dead human popped back into Jazz’s helm. Jazz bristled at the thought.

Summiting the top of a small hill, Jazz arrived at the warp pad. The machine itself was disguised as an old tree. Jazz placed his servo onto the flat part of the thick bark, flashing his spark signature. With a dim hum, the bark began splitting open to reveal the relatively small-sized portal. Jazz stepped through, entering back into Iacon’s central transport hub. As the portal sealed shut behind him, Jazz navigated the relatively crowded hub towards Bay B where his private (long stolen) shuttle awaited.

The small shuttle sat innocently in the centre of the bay, engine cool, the lights off. Jazz keyed the ramp to lower.

Jazz froze just short of entering the vehicle. Though the docking bay itself was empty, the air around the entrance to his shuttle was warm.

 Someone was HERE.

His mods sensed a shift in airflow. There! Without hesitation, Jazz whipped out his energon blade, feeling the sensation of him pinning someone into the wall of his ship.

Jazz smiled big.

'Now, Ah would love ta stay and have a good ole fashion brawl but I'm in a bit of a rush ta get somewhere, so I suggest y’all scram before I decide to kill y'all.', he threatened, field bristled harsh with murderous intent. Spanning out his field, he brushed across the edges of five different ones, each with varying amounts of anxiousness and suppressed fear in them. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had crashed Jazz's party.

A snarky voice rang out of thin air, 'Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who said anything about fighting?' Various voices rose up with murmurs of placating agreements as the once empty-looking docking bay shimmered with distorted light, revealing the forms of five large green and purple octopus mers cramped into his hanger bay.

The Constructicons stood shoulder to shoulder within the cramped space. Jazz had Scavenger at knifepoint, the edge of the blade placed threateningly close to the mer’s throat cables. Scavenger was wide opticked with barely suppressed panic, his servos raised in surrender. The group were stuck frozen in place, a new level of fear teeking into their fields.

Jazz smirked. GOOD, they should fear him after all the harm they’ve done to Prowl.

'What's ya lot of drunk slagtards doing on mah ship? Ain't y’all got some building to demolish somewhere?' Jazz spoke with hints of annoyance sinking through. He was losing time. Jazz had better things to do than corral a bunch of drunken mers off to the medbay.

Hook, never the one to take insults lying down, was the first to speak up, 'HEY, we ain't drunk! We only had 3 cubes at Maccadams last night cycle.' Scavenger and Long haul nodded along. Bonecrusher seemed to have other ideas field revved with jittery energy. He glowered at Jazz. 'Well, what's it to you, short stuff? Let Scavenger go! We found this ship fair and square. If it's a fight you want, it's a fight y'all get.'

Jazz's smile turned strained. He steeled himself for a fight, flexing the knife deeper into Scavenger’s throat cables, said mer squirmed. A bead of energon formed as a whine of pain escaped Scavenger’s voicebox. Bonecrusher's scowl deepened, and he rumbled a growl as he flexed his fists, stepping towards Jazz with dumb, violent intent. Hook, Long Haul, and even Scavenger were all panicking, telling him to stop.  A servo on his shoulder stopped his advance. Mixmaster, who had been eerily quiet the whole time, had his servo outstretched, stopping Bonecrusher. The other three mers fell silent, their intakes held. So did Jazz.

Behind his visor, Jazz raised a brow. What da frag was going on? Bonecrusher whipped back at Mixmaster in disbelieved anger, 'What the frag mech?! Let me at em!' Mixmaster only stared at Bonecrusher with more intensity.

Jazz silently wondered if the mer was high, Mixmaster was levelling Bonecrusher with the heaviest of poker faces. It was very un-Mixmaster-like. A noise of disbelief came from Bonecrusher as he looked between Jazz and Mixmaster, 'What do you mean he can help us?'

Ah, Jazz released the breath he was holding, so bond-speak was in play.

Mixmaster only gave his brethren a slight nod before facing Jazz again. He spoke with a clarity that spooked Jazz. 'We apologise. We didn't know this ship was yours. None of the ship vendors were willing to rent a shuttle to ex- decepticons. We are simply trying to find Prowl; we had followed his signal here.' The other Constructicons seemed unfazed by Mixmaster’s new mannerism, nodding along to his statement.

All the anxiety he lost came back to Jazz. 'What makes ya think Prowl is in danger, let alone if he would want to be found by the likes of ya?', Jazz grounded out. The Constructicons spelled trouble. It would be downright shameful if they also knew that Prowl was kidnapped when even Prowl's Autobot brethren were in the dark about it. In his helm, Jazz was questioning their motives.

Why were they seeking Prowl out? Too hurt him?  To drag him back into their fold back to the decepticons? The image of Prowl injured that night came back to him. Would Prowl lie about them hurting him too?

Mixmaster only moved to put his servo on his spark casing. 'When we first formed Devastator with Prowl, his spark merged with ours. While still small, he formed a bond with us.' Mixmaster paused. 'We felt a burst of his pain five cycles ago, but he wouldn't allow us to do anything to help him.' His gaze turned somber. 'His side of the bond has been silent since then. The bond weakens with distance. We know he has been taken. Curiously, we sensed Prowl’s bond split in two. One somewhere in the vast.' Mixmaster turned to eye Jazz's knife-hand. ‘And one somewhere on you.’

‘Me?’ Jazz questioned, grip loosening slightly on Scavenger. ‘I haven’t done anything to him, let alone spark bonded.’

Scavenger choose to pipe up then, voice raspy from the abuse. ‘Not a spark bond, the signal we picked up was too small for it to be. But you do have his spark signature somewhere on you.’

Hook asked as Scavenger finished, ‘Has Prowl given you anything within the last few cycles?’

Jazz thought back to the cygar box. With his free hand, he pulled it out from his subspace. Long haul leaned over trying to get a good view, ‘That it! The spark signal.’

‘Keep ya servos to yaself, aight?’, Jazz hissed, releasing Scavenger from his grasp. He wiped the energon off his knife in disgust before subspacing it. Scavenger squeaked out a sign of relief, nearly tripping over himself running to Hook to have his throat looked at.

Jazz ran his digits down the box, feeling for any hidden grooves. His claws caught on a tiny seam etched onto the giant crystal centrepiece. Carefully, he pried the seam open to reveal a tiny glowing spark shard.

Jazz blushed slightly, even as a slitter of crystal. A spark was an intimate thing to see.

His comm decided to go off then, Red Alert chiming. Jazz put two digits to his helm to answer. Red Alert's voice welcomed him on the other side, 'Jazz, I've found MECH's flagship. Designation: Ghost. I've tracked their movements back several days. The last known dock the ship visited was in Southampton, the United Kingdom, four cycles ago at 03:57 BST. They are currently on course back to the Atlantic.' Red Alert's voice quieted in fear. 'Judging by their trajectory, they’re heading straight for us again.'

Jazz could hear the sparks fizzle, 'This is bad. This is bad. THIS IS BAD JAZZ! I think we're compromised! Jazz, we have to tell Optimus!' Red Alert said. Jazz had come to the same conclusion.

His gaze turned resolutely towards the mers that, in their brief moment together, had already given him so much grief. The comm hadn’t been totally soundproof, so the cons had heard everything. They fidgeted under Jazz’s gaze, all except for Mixmaster.

Mixmaster was smiling like the cat that got the cream. Mer's got some ball bearing on 'em, Jazz thought, growing steadily unsure of the Constructicon's – no - Mixmaster's motives.

'We know that he went to you that night. That he hates us. That he doesn't want anything to do with us.' Mixmaster's gaze became smouldering. 'But I think you and I both know that Prowl needs help. Gestalt is gestalt, we stick together no matter what. You're going to find Prowl too, am I right? I propose a truce. You might have a lead we don't, and we might have a link you need.' Jazz's smile was gone, replaced with a deep frown.

The air was thick then with anticipation, the Constructicons silently looked to Jazz, awaiting his response.

Jazz's mind was racing with possibilities. It would definitely help to have a living beacon and extra manpower. But, he wasn't so naive to think they didn't have other reasons to seek out Prowl. Jazz couldn't risk it. Not with this. Just as he was about to deny their request, he saw Prowl’s spark crystal flicker. Now was not the time for hesitation. A life was on the line. If Mixmaster wants to deal, fine, Jazz can deal too.

It irked Jazz, as he curtly replied into his comms, 'Do it. Tell OP ta start prepping for a potential groundbridge breach.' Jazz stormed past the Constructicons, heading further into the ship. He raised his servo, motioning them to follow.

Looks like these fraggers might be of some use to him after all.

He reached the shuttle's cockpit and began prepping the vessel for launch. As the ship slowly crept online, outside in the bay hanger, a portal opened, leading straight to the air space over Diego Garcia.

Jazz addressed Red through the comm, 'Ya need ta assign a new guard for this site.'

'What?! Why? Where are you going?', Red Alert asked.

'Search and Rescue,' was Jazz's smooth reply. Confused mumbles turned to dissuading shouts from Red's end of the line. Jazz got comfy in his seat, checking through his peripheral to see if the slaggers he brought on board were settling in yet.

Scavenger's neck was hastily patched, with him seated next to Hook in the ship's narrow back hanger. Long Haul and Bonecrusher must be elsewhere on the ship. Hopefully, those slaggers aren't messing with his energon stores. Mixmaster, being the biggest of the gang, didn't quite fit into a seat and had chosen to sit on the ship's floor.

Mixmaster's optics met Jazz's through the rearview mirror.

'Ah have ta bring him home Red', Jazz said. Breaking optic contact to focus on steering the ship. ‘Don worry bout lil ole meh, Ah got some backup riding with meh.’ Jazz primed the engine, raising the ship to a hover and aligning it with the growing portal.

A clear view of the sky sat before him, though now brighter than before the red dawn washed over him. It lit the cabin in a warm light.

It reminded him of a certain red Chevron in the morning light. 'If Ah don't make it back in an orn's time, lock down the island. Ya copy Red?'

'Crystal, may Primus light your path Jazz.' Red replied. Quietly, he added, 'Bring him home alive.'

'Ya know me Red, I always will. Over and Out.'

'Over and Out.' the line clicked shut, signalling the end of the call.

Jazz steered the ship through and out of the portal, charting a course for UK waters.

Once at a high enough altitude, Jazz turned the cloaking device on and set the ship to autopilot. At some point during the climb, all the Constructicons had gathered once again into the small hanger bay. Jazz's smile twitched in annoyance. There was a cube of mild high grade in Bonecrusher’s servo.

Itchy servos that one had.

Addressing them all, Jazz said. 'Ah'm gon be honest, Ah don 't even trust y’all as far as Ah can throw ya. But, for Prowl's sake, Ah'll accept ya Lil truce but we gon be playing things mah way.'

Hook opened his intake to retort. A flash of Jazz’s fangs had him closing it again. 'Careful, one wrong word and Ah'll end ya sorry aft.' Hook gave him the nastiest stink eye.

Jazz's visor flashed with manic glee, 'Now, onto more exciting plans. The first agenda on the Finding Prowl objective. What da y'all say ta some good ole revenge on MECH?' reaching out his hand in the beginnings of a handshake.

The Constructicons didn't even hesitate, smiles going deviously wide, with fields revved with malice. Mixmaster rose and clasped hands with Jazz, his mirth and malice intoxicatingly entwined.

'We think it would be a devastatingly good time.'

Chapter Text

How long had they been in these vents already?

With his phone under lock and key in his parents’ hotel room, the only way for Raf to tell time was by counting the pants of his breath, crawling like some kind of rat through this boiling vent. He figured that with the facility closed, only the most essential fans were kept spinning.

This giant vent wasn’t one of them.

Raf was feeling quite sorry for himself. It was as if he was a slow cooked rotisserie chicken. His stomach churned at the image. Raf wished he was a rotisserie chicken. He certainly wouldn’t have to deal with this vent then.Dusty and tired, his body was aching all over and knees were sore from shuffling over the stiff metal.

Once he left this place, maybe it was time for some gym sessions. He knew he wasn’t the fittest of kids, rare as it was that he went out, but Dios mío, this was too much. It was getting a little harder to breathe in the stifling air. Up ahead, just out of his line of sight, Raf could hear the faint tapping sounds of the two other teens making their way through this nightmare maze of vents, their flashlight illuminated the walls just enough for Raf to follow. Visibility, even with his glasses on was poor, which Raf was in a way grateful for. The teens’ moving shadows hid all the old filth trapped in the vent. Raf tried not to look too hard at the suspicious rust coloured splatter stains on the metal he passed. He did not linger on the unmoving fuzzy mounds he could just make out in the dark.

It reminded him of the time a rat had died in his family’s air-conditioning vents last summer. The smell was still vividly stuck in his memories. This vent at least just smelt faintly of rust and thick dust.

He noticed the light ahead was fading. Raf picked up the pace. He really didn’t want to be left alone in the dark here, not when all the metal walls looked the same.

It astonished him, that the pair hadn’t picked up on their little stowaway, not that he was complaining. Their whispered conversations seemed to have taken all their attention.

‘Are you sure this is the right direction?’

‘Stop worrying Jack. Yes, we tripled checked the maps and everything, remember?’

Silence.

‘Are we close yet?’

An irritated sigh could be heard.

‘Quit it, Darbey! We are NOT playing this game. Do you want to be caught?’

The pair continued to exchange remarks like that as they crawled through the vents.

If he wasn’t feeling so miserable, Raf would have found it amusing, like that time he caught his older sister sneaking around, in the act of bringing a guy home past bedtime. They had whispered to each other just like that. It had not been subtle. The earful they had gotten from his parents had left him and his younger siblings laughing on the floor.

Fun times.

Slithered light fell over Raf’s hands. A grate!

Raf looked up. The grate was to his right, a big square in the wall of the metal. Through it, he saw rows upon rows of cylindrical tanks lining the darkened walls of a grand hall. The vent was positioned high above the floor of the room, looking down gave Raf an intense sense of vertigo. Eyes wandering, he couldn’t even see the end of the hall. Though the room was gloomy, the tanks themselves gave off an unearthly blue glow, bleaching the walls with their colour. Within their murky depths, he could just faintly discern dark shapes within the thick blue, hooked up to tubes that connected to the pods, supplying them with things unknown. It was clear that they were no longer in the public areas of the facility. This was a restricted zone.

It was quite a sight.

‘Woah…’ Raf whispered, the teens he was following long forgotten. He leaned in closer to the grate, wanting to get a better look. He didn’t notice the hinges on the grate slowly giving way.

Until it was too late.

‘AHH!’ he screamed. Hinges torn; the vent panel popped off the wall of the metal. That awful feeling of weightlessness tingled up his spine as Raf fell out of the vent. Muffled by the wind and blood rushing past his ears, he could barely hear the exclamations of alarm from the teens that echoed through the vent as he slipped further away from them.

‘OUPH!’

It was fortunate that it was only a short fall. Raf laid in a sad heap, face-planted on the catwalk below the vent. He was lucky the fall didn’t break his glasses. The grated metal surface still hurt though, knocking the wind out of his tiny frame. Raf laid there for a moment, eyes closed tight, willing the pain in his face and side to go away.

He was really regretting his decision to do this, maybe waiting at the main entrance all night hadn’t been such a bad idea now.

Above him, an older boy’s voice was shouting out. ‘Hey! Hey, kid! You all right down there?’

‘Oh my god, Jack, I thought I told you to close the grate! How did he get in here?! The kid’s not dead, is he?!’

‘Why are you blaming me for this? I was busying trying to catch up to you. You were the one who ran off first.’

‘Nuh uh, I specifically told you to watch my back.’

Their voices echoed within the big hall, making Raf’s head swim. He slowly turned to face the vent, meeting the worried gazes of the two teens. He gave them a shaky thumbs up. Weakly, he mustered up a reply, ‘I’m okay.’

‘Oh, thank goodness!’ came Jack's relieved voice. ‘How did you even get in here?’

As Raf was about to regale them with his good-for-nothing, horrible, very bad night, Miko’s phone beeped a chirpy tune, her face twisted in displeasure at the screen as she closed it. She held up a hand to stop Jack’s line of questioning.

‘Shoot. Sorry Jack, we’re almost out of time. Listen, kid, what's your name?’

Raf, having now managed to sit up on the catwalk, supplied her with it.

‘Please, don’t leave me here. I just want to go home.’ Raf pleaded. The distance of his fall was too great. He wouldn’t be able to jump back into the vent. The thought of waiting there alone was frightening. He couldn’t imagine what the staff might do to him if they found him there the next morning. Raf didn’t fancy going to jail.

‘Do you think you can walk?’ Miko’s voice cut through his spiralling worries.

Raf didn’t feel like he had any broken bones, ‘I think I can.’ He replied.

‘Okay. Listen Raf. We’re currently short for time here. According to my map, the room we’re supposed to drop into is close by.’ She pointed towards the far end of the hall. ‘Look for a door labelled “Bioengineering lab 1”. We can meet you there and decide on how to help you then, can you do that, Raf?’

Raf gave a shaky nod, ‘Yea.  Yeaa. I can do that.’

Miko rummaged in her backpack for a moment. ‘Here, catch!’, she said as she threw down something at the small boy. Raf barely caught it. In his hands, he now held a shiny, heavy-duty flashlight. The weight of it sat heavy in his small palms. ‘Use it to light your way. Be careful with it, you hear me! Don’t break it, it was really expensive.’

‘Thanks, sure thing...’, Raf replied. He turned it on. Yellow light revealed the rest of the catwalk ahead as well as the beginnings of a winding metal staircase that led to the bottom floor. That was a lot of stairs. In all honesty it looked very much like those horror games that his older brothers wouldn’t let him touch. Raf stood motionless, the grip on his flashlight tightening.

He was more than a little afraid.

Miko must have seen it on his face. ‘Don’t worry, champ. Jack here managed to hack into the site’s security system. If we don’t see you in the room, we promise we’ll search around until we find you again.’

Jack chimed in, too, ‘Yea, we won’t leave you here alone. We’ll get you home, you have our word.’

Though they were just mere words of encouragement, for strangers that he had all but met just moments ago, the pair of teens had managed to alleviate some of the fear in Raf’s heart. He would just have to trust that they knew what they were doing. Raf steeled himself. To get home, the only way now was forward. Trying to hold onto all the boosted courage he’d been given, Raf stepped bravely into the dark.

The pair watched him fade from view.

‘Come on, Jack, Let’s go.’, together the pair disappeared down the vent.

Walking down the stairs of the catwalk, Raf was getting chilly. His flashlight illuminated clouds of thin fog blanketing the pods beneath. The cold air smelled faintly of ammonia, salt, and dead fish and it grew stronger as he descended.

It didn’t take too long for Raf to reach the bottom of the stairwell.

The pods he once viewed from above now towered over his small frame. Raf walked in silence. His senses hyper aware of the ongoings around him. Raf swore he caught sight of movement in one of the tanks ahead. He stayed well away from that pod in particular; footsteps light as he continued down this new labyrinth. His spine tingled, the feeling of being watched had returned. All at once, the reality of where he was truly sunk in. He was currently in what was said to be the world’s most renowned biotech laboratory. This must where they make all the animatronics for the exhibits.  He remembered all the conspiracy YouTube videos he had watched about this place, the rumours floating around on how the animatronics came to be.

Some said MECH was illegally hunting all kinds of endangered species, making them cyborgs, others suggested that they were using convicted criminals in the same manner. Others suggested cloning mechanisms to be at play.

MECH had yet to disclosed anything to the public. ‘We wouldn’t want to share our best trade secrets just yet.’ they had said.

Some people were even going so far to say that the government and military were involved. That they were using actual aliens to make the animatronics.

With all the sci-fi creepiness going on around him, Raf didn’t know what to think.

Too absorbed in his thoughts, he accidentally tripped on a stray wire. A loud thump sounded from the impact. It echoed off the pods. Raf shot up, frantic as he looked around the quiet space. He had fallen in front of a pod, the dark form within was still. Raf blinked. A grey eye now looked at him from the other side, hand imprints appeared on the glass.

Raf was too terrified to scream.

He didn’t wait around to see what happened next.

He bolted.

As his loud steps thundered down the hall, the pods around him were stirring. Grey eyes pierced him wherever he looked. In the distance, the pattering of a different set of feet could be heard. It felt like there were more than one pair. It was approaching fast.

Tears were building in Raf’s eyes.

He was in deep now. His heart in his throat, Raf looked around frantically for the door. He zoomed past a couple of unnamed doors. He kept his eyes forwards, too scared to look back. From afar, the pattering of footsteps did not stop. Time was running out. He had yet to find the door. Raf’s hope of ever getting out was dwindling. Was this where he would die? Alone in the dark with no one the wiser to it. Would his family ever know?

Finally, as he rounded a corner, he caught sight of it, a single red door with the engraving ‘Bioengineering lab 1’ sat innocently at the end of the hallway.

That’s it! Safety!

Raf reached the door and felt around the big bolt lock.

It was suspiciously unlocked but Raf had no time to dwell on that. He pulled at the handle with all his might. It felt like a race against time, the thick door a heavy obstacle to the ten-year-old child. The pattering had turned to heavy clomps. A hiss sounded through the air.

That didn’t sound like a sea creature at all.

Come on!

With strength he didn’t even know he possessed, Raf finally managed to open it just enough to slip his small frame through the crack. He shut the door straight after, locking the bolt in. It was just in time, as he saw the faintest glimpse of something passing through on the other side. He pressed himself against the door.

Those were NOT the standard human guards, Raf thought.

He held his breath, hands pressed over his mouth as he felt scratching of sorts from the other side of the door. A dull knock, then another. Raf didn’t dare move, keeping deathly still, lest whatever was beyond the door stayed longer.

The knocks ceased. Still silence blanketed the room, but Raf refused to lower his guard, uncertain of the thing’s presence.

After five minutes of nothing, his heart racing, Raf finally allowed himself to collapse onto the floor. Quiet gasps escaped him as he allowed his tears to flow free. Raf was scared shitless.

Just what was this place?

Raf really hated being alone here. Raf really wanted a hug right now. Raf really wanted to just leave this place. Raf really wished he was with his family right now. Raf really wished he was home.

He gazed down at the cold floor as if it would grant his wishes. The cold floor did no such thing.

Jack and Miko had yet to arrive.

Raf cried himself dry. He sat for a moment longer where his breath evened out, and his wobbly heart was somewhat steady again. On shaky legs, Raf stood up and began to explore.

His flashlight illuminated the large room that he was in. It was empty of life. Cluttered about the room were various power tools that Raf would have thought only belonged in a surgical theatre. He noticed a large object hanging from the ceiling. Raf pointed his flashlight upwards to reveal a gigantic robotic arm with a bulbous end attached to it. ‘Just what kind of bioengineering did they do here?’ Raf whispered. As he moved, the light of his flashlight reflected off thick acrylic glass. The whole left side of the room was walled off. ‘An observatory tank.’ Raf realised. The dark tank was filled with water, and Raf was very thankful it had nothing in it. He didn’t think he could handle more black forms in pods.

His relief was very short lived.

Suddenly, the lights above the tank came on, lighting the room in that sickening blue. Raf watched in horror as a hatch in the side of the tank opened, allowing a large black and white form to swim out from its depths. Raf stood stuck like a deer in the headlights in the centre of the room. There was no cover for him to hide behind. The large form moved with the grace of a cornered predator. Their frame now in full view, Raf recognised it as the newest addition to the facility. Will the Orca mer. On its back, the tiny form of Hope rode, hiding from Raf’s view.

With his flashlight still pointed at the tank, it wasn’t surprising that Raf was staring down the full brunt of the adult mer’s gaze. For a moment, Raf was lost in cold icy blues. He saw cold intelligence in that predatory gaze, but Raf could also sense a wildly primal rage boiling under it.

It was a rage that seemed to dim at the sight of him.

Chapter Text

Raf was scared to look away.

He felt like a mouse under a wild cat’s gaze.

While the staff had said that the animatronics were not programmed to harm humans, Raf still felt like this one could rip him to shreds should he make even the slightest movements. That was until a few moments passed.

Breathing deep, Raf was starting to come down from his adrenaline high.

Fear turned to confusion. Why hasn’t it done anything yet?

Freed of his fear-induced trance, Raf began to notice things.

The mer’s gaze was silent, yet their body spoke in waves. In the now cramped tank, Will’s body coiled defensively against the back of the tank. Their back wings were flared, like the fluff of a very peeved avian. It acted like a cornered predator as if Raf was the real danger in the room.

Something felt wrong.

Emboldened, Raf walked on timid legs towards the tank, keeping his movements slow and projected. The creature followed him with its eyes but made no move towards the little human.

Raf reached the glass.

He was pretty sure it would have eaten him already if the glass wasn't there...right?

Right?

Tentatively, Raf reached out a palm to touch the glass.

A loud voice cut through the silence. Both Raf and the mer looked up towards the sound.

‘Raf!’ came Miko’s voice.

 Miko’s bright pink highlights revealed their position in the ceiling. She smiled down at Raf from the top of the room, unaware of the other presence that shared their space.

‘You made it! I knew you could do it, unlike some people…’ she said. Jack appeared into view then, a coil of rope in hand.

‘I did NOT say that.’ he said with a miffed expression.

Jack turned his gaze downwards. ‘Glad to see you, Raf. Watch out, we’re coming down.’ He tossed down a thick piece of rope. The heavy braid landed with a solid thump; Jack gave some experimental thugs. He seemed satisfied.

‘All right, Miko, Ladies first.’ He gestured to the rope with mock courtesy.

‘My, my, what a gentleman.’, she deadpanned. Miko swung out of the vent with a practised fluidness that the average teenager would not usually have had, making quick work of the descent, even choosing to jump the last few meters. She looked like she was having fun.

‘One small climb for Miko, One large leap for womankind!.’ she yelled, landing with a flourish.

Her chipper mood dampened as she approached Raf.

‘Hey Raf, are you alright?’ she asked softly.

Embarrassed, Raf wiped his eyes; his sleeves came in wet. His tear trails hadn’t dried thoroughly.

He must have looked like a mess.

Without missing a beat, she hugged Raf. Drained as he was, Raf melted into it. ‘I’m sorry that we couldn’t be with you just now. You were very courageous.'

'Everything will be alright now.’ They stayed like that for a moment. Raf tried to get her attention, to tell her to look towards the tank, but Miko was distracted. She made a show of playfully whispering to Raf. ‘Watch. Boy scout Jackson here is spectacular at descending ropes.’

She shouted up at the teen, ‘Oi! Hurry up. We’re burning candlelight here.’

‘I am trying Miko! Not everyone is trained in breaking into aquariums, you know.’, Jack retorted. The teen was currently halfway down the rope, his descent starkly contrasting to Miko’s smooth slide.

A hand slipped.

‘Jack!’

Jack would never admit to the manly scream that came with his tumble down. Raf and Miko rushed to his side. ‘I’m good.’ he wheezed, strapped to his heavy backpack like an overturned turtle. 'I just need a moment.' The pair couldn't see any immediate injuries. Overall, the teen just looked winded.

Raf looked to Miko, hoping she knew what to do now.

Miko was gone.

‘Miko?’

'OMG.'

Helping Jack up from the hard floor, Raf looked around the room. He found her by the glass, locked in a staring contest with the Orca in the room.

Raf noticed now that the mer looked visibly calmer, their expression more open and inquisitive. There was a question in those eyes.

In a fluid motion, it kicked off the wall, spinning as it approached the glass.

Miko froze but didn’t back away.

Everyone jumped when it spoke. ‘You aren’t part of the staff here.’, it said, voice icy calm.

Miko gasped. ‘I KNEW IT!’, Miko exclaimed. ‘They can speak! What’s the point of all this engineering if they can’t even talk.’ She whipped out her phone and began recording. The adult mer covered the entirety of her camera’s frame. ‘Hellooo, it is nice to meet you! My name is Miko, that’s Jack. Raf is next to him. Say hi to the camera, Will!’

Instantly, that inquisitive nature vanished. The mer snarled, tail thrashing. They looked disgusted. ‘My designation is NOT Will.’ it growled out. ‘It is Prowl.’ Their eyes furrowed deeper, looming over the poor girl. ‘I implore you to use it, Miko.’

A surprised look overcame Miko’s face. ‘What’s a designation?’ Miko asked.

‘I think it's their name.’, Raf whispered.

‘Ah, sorry.’ Miko apologised, smiling sheepishly. ‘We’re totally staff here, so please don’t report us.’

Prowl raised a suspicious eyebrow. He sensed no danger from them, so he felt safe in questioning them.

‘Would staff really transverse their own facility via the ventilation ducts? Or hire juveniles to cover for night cycle shifts?’

‘Hey! We aren’t kids. We’re subadults.’ Miko retorted. ‘Except for Raf,’ Jack added on. Prowl and Raf looked rather unimpressed.

Miko looked away sheepishly. Prowl frowned.

‘Just what is the goal you wish to achieve here? This is no place for children. Juvenile humans should be at home recharging by now.’

‘We’re doing a course on journalism back home; we just wanted some exclusive footage to add to our summer report.’ She pulled out her phone, ‘Here, see.’ Prowl leaned forward to better see the tiny pictures on her phone screen.

A map of the whole facility was beginning to form in his processor—the images of the many blue tanks and blank eyes haunted him. But, the odds of escaping this place rose; Prowl finally had a plan forming in his damaged processor.

‘She kinda got us kicked out for making a scene a few days ago.’ muttered Jack.

‘I was only trying to talk to them! With all the work put into their design, you would think that the animatronics could talk back, no?’ retorted Miko.

She looked back to Prowl.

‘You’re the first animatronic that has spoken to me, despite all I’ve done to get their attention. Please, I have so many questions for you.’ Approaching the glass, Miko began rapid-firing questions. ‘If your name is Prowl, what’s the little guy’s name? How do you name yourselves? What is life here like? Do you remember the first time you got activated? Who activated you? Have you seen any of the experiments conducted here? Do they use dead marine animals in their studies? Do you know anything about the disappearances of personnel who worked at this facility? Are there really aliens on site?’

Prowl raised his eyebrows at that last question. These human children played no part in his capture, but his trust in them was still very reserved. They have just met, after all. Reluctant as he was to give out such revealing information about his kind, these children were his only way of escape. Earning their trust is paramount to the plan budding in his processor. He did not have much time; he needed to gain their trust now.

Prowl would play nice for now.

‘I apologise. I cannot answer half of your questions, as I just arrived last night.’ He looked sadly at the sparkling on his back, ‘I do not even know this little one's name nor how long he had been here.’

The little sparkling looked back at him, frame small and frail.

‘Your kind has not been kind to ours.’

Shocked expressions met Prowl’s statement. Jack spoke up, growing concern on his face. ‘Wait. You said you arrived here; they didn’t make you?’

Prowl regarded them with an angry expression. ‘Humans will never be able to make me. I am solely myself.’ Prowl said. ‘As for what we are, we are not animatronics; we are cybernetic organisms originating from the planet Cybertron. Cybertronians. Transformers. We now refer to ourselves as Merformers, as we now share this planet’s oceans with your kind.

'The ocean is our home. It is where we must return to. So, to answer your question, yes, there are aliens trapped on site with you.’

The words sat heavy in the silence. The three children were unsure of how to reply.

The sparking on his back was starting to fuss from the inactivity. Prowl turned, bringing the sparkling towards his front. He made sure to turn at just the right angle so his collar caught the light.

Raf was the first to take notice. ‘That collar. It is stopping you from leaving, isn’t it?’

Prowl looked down at him, ‘Yes. All the captives here have one.’ Showing the little sparkling’s collar to the humans as well.

It was an unspoken request. Prowl waited to see if the children were swayed.

Miko and Jack shared a look, nodding. The pair stood and began looking at the gadgets around the lab, Raf was quick to join them. A large cutter in hand, Miko looked up at Prowl. ‘What do you say to us helping you bust out of here?’

‘It would be greatly appreciated.’ Prowl said. He smiled, hopeful. This was a mission success. He now had allies in his corner; things were rolling out before him. Prowl looked at the benches as well, assessing the tools on them. ‘Grab that one. Second tool to the right on that wall.’ he said, pointing and guiding the children to the items he needed.

They gathered everything in quick time.

‘Look around, children. An electrified chain net covers my pool of water; I cannot get out of the pool while it is still active. Is there any button or switch that would turn it off?’ Prowl asked. Raf was the one to find it, hidden in a sealed panel disguised as a wall tile. ‘It's here,’ he flipped the switch. ‘Power is off.’

Prowl could indeed see the green lights overhead turn to red; the chains now just standard metal.

Prowl was pleased. He placed the sparkling down on the tank floor. Again, Miko’s question came to his mind. Now was as good of a time as ever to ask. He put on what he hoped was a gentle smile. ‘Hey sparkling, do you have a name?’ The little one blinked up at him. Prowl was disheartened when the little one did not immediately reply. He almost didn’t catch the sparkling whisper, ‘Blue.’

‘What?’

‘Bluestreak.’ The little sparkling repeated with some difficulty, voicebox hoarse from disuse.

Prowl sighed with relief; he felt elated at the discovery. The little one could talk; his broken tacnet now showed a much better outcome for little Bluestreak. They can heal from this, Prowl thought.

‘Hello, Bluestreak. I am Prowl. I need you to stay here, all right? I do not want you getting hurt.’

Bluestreak gave a weak nod, looking out at the human children with slight interest.

With the sparkling safely to the side, Prowl commenced the next phase of his plan.

Prowl turned to the human children. ‘Stand back. This might splash you.’ He didn’t quite wait for the children to step out of the way as he swam up to grab the chain. With both servos, he pulled the structure downwards with all his might. The chains groaned under the pressure. His struts were straining, his vents flared. Prowl suppressed a grunt of pain as he put his battered body to work. With a few more tugs, he managed to pop the hinges off the tank throwing the cursed structure to sink in the far corner of his tank away from both him and Bluestreak.

‘Woah,’ the trio gasped.

‘That was so cool.’ Miko said, having filmed the whole thing on her phone. Prowl could only huff in tiredness. 

To the children, he said. ‘Stay there, we will come to you.’ Prowl swerved back to retrieve the sparkling who had migrated to the edge of the glass, now actively looking out at the children with interest.

‘Come here, Blue.’ Prowl said gently, picking the little one up to place them on his back, coaxing little servos to grip onto his doorwings. ‘Hang on tight, and don’t let go.’ Prowl kept his wings tight together, further holding the sparkling in place. He dived as deep as he could before turning around and heading for the surface again. He gained enough speed to breach halfway out of the water. It was enough to tilt more than half his body out onto the rim of the tank.

That was all he needed. Using his momentum, he allowed the front of his frame to meet the hard floor below. With a loud crash, he slid across the floor like a performing cetacean while carefully keeping the sparkling safe on top of him.

The kids stared in cringed disbelief.

He came to a stop against a far table. ‘Ow,’ was all Prowl could say. He laid there for a bit just to clear out all the new warnings that had appeared on his HUD. Bluestreak patted him between his wings, trying to soothe the clearly hurt mech. ‘Thank you, Bluestreak.’

The children approached with the tools in hand.

They looked at the collars the pair wore. ‘Do you know how to get these off Prowl?’ Jack asked. The collars seemed very high-tech, with little to no seam work in the design. It would be hard for the children without proper guidance to crack it.

‘I can figure it out once I get a good look at it.’ Prowl replied. ‘Miko, may I borrow your phone?’

Miko offered her phone up to Prowl. He extended a data cable from his wrist, plugging it into the phone. He linked up to her camera; Prowl could now get a good look at the collar without having to lean at uncomfortable angles. It didn’t take him long to figure out where to start.

‘Start around the edge of the light.’ Prowl directed.

It was like performing delicate surgery, with the children following his every direction with the utmost care. They didn’t want to hurt Prowl unintentionally. As much as he wanted to speed the process up, Prowl continued his calm instructions, mindful of the children’s capabilities. With each click, another level of the collar was cracked, Prowl could feel the once tight band slacking.

Every moment that passed, he was closer to freedom. It was not passed in tense silence.

‘You know, this is still pretty cool; we’re saving aliens.’ Miko said. She kept her camera steady with the flashlight trained on the collar. It illuminated the many scars and irritated mesh that lined Prowl’s neck.

Seeing such bruising and scars on Prowl, the children could not help but be curious.

‘Metal beings can get hurt?’ Raf asked, curiosity peaked.

‘Yes, while we can take on much more force than your kind, we bleed as you do.’ Prowl supplied.

A feeling of unease bloomed in Jack’s chest as a thought crossed their mind. ‘If you can get hurt, that means you can die too.’ Jack trailed off.

Now, wasn’t that a heavy thought.

Prowl was silent for a moment. ‘Yes, Jack. We are a long-lived species, but just like you, we are not free from the clutches of time.’  

Finally, they were down to the final layer. All they had to do was press a switch hidden behind a small seam. Jack was having difficulty reaching. Frustration began pooling on his face. ‘I can’t reach this one.’ he bemoaned. ‘My fingers are just too big.’

‘Let me try,’ said Raf. He reached into the collar, touching the switch with ease. With a flick, he disconnects the collar.

Finally, the red light goes off. The collar slips from his neck and falls to the floor. The cold air felt soothing on his irritated mesh.

Prowl rubs his bruised neckcables. The children had done it. He was free.

‘Thank you,’ he said, true gratitude radiating from his EM field.

He turns to Bluestreak, who had slid off Prowl, to sit quietly by his side. Prowl picked him up and placed him in front of the kids.

‘Quick, please free him too.’

His spark stopped as the door to the laboratory swished open.

‘HUH!? What are kids doing here?’

Standing in the doorway were three figures.

Spike, Silas, and Project X.

Chapter Text

A splash broke what was supposed to be a calm summer night out in the South Pacific Ocean. Despite his seasickness, the teen onboard the small fishing boat rose from his bunk in frightened alertness. He chucked off his thin sheets, clutching his jacket as he booked it towards the upper decks.

Turning the wheel, he opens the door hatch to get a face full of salty cool night air.

‘Dad?’ he called out, stepping out onto the deck with feigned bravery. Night had fallen on the waters as he had slept, bringing a total sheet of darkness. The boy could not tell the waves from the sky around them. There was not a star in the sky. The boy’s only light sources were the small floodlights his father had hung off the roof of their vessel, bleeding dry white to feed the ever-hungry black. The night made the boy’s world feel ever so small. Suffocating.

Trapped.

 ‘Dad!’ the boy called again, louder this time. His voice rang out in the open space, echoed by the waters. He looked around the small ship he stood in, searching for the form that had brought him to this most boring place. Seconds dragged on, and neither a reply nor form was in sight. The boy’s uneasiness grew.

Something was not right.

He turned his efforts towards the water, leaning on the edge of the railing. He stared into the inky black.

He focused on the sounds of the waves, of the wind.

But there was none. It was quiet.

Save for the faint sound of bubbles right underneath where he was.

The teen looked down.

Bubbles popped on the surface of the water from a trail that led deep beneath the waves. He took his phone out and shined it in the water.

It illuminated a lifeless form.

Alarmed, the teen shouted, ‘DAD!’

With the light’s continued presence, something caught the teens’ eye—movement. Something was wrapped around his father, keeping him from breaking the waves surface.

That something was in the water, and it was looking right up at him.

The boy screamed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Silas wore a grim smile, its sharp angles oozing with ill intent.  A scar ran out from the shadows of his face over the whites of his right eye to trace into the right side of his scalp. Beside him, Spike remained flabbergasted, face spinning between the room and the ipad in his hand.

‘Well, well. You’ve been quite busy while I was gone, Prowl.’

The human children froze, baffled by the wholly unnatural alien sounds that had just come from the man that blocked their exit. Prowl felt his spark stop. Later, he would contemplate the fact that a human spoke in cybertronian, but for now there were much more dire things to focus on. Puffing out in rage, Prowl hissed, baring his fangs at the human, the source of all their troubles, the man whose face and name were plastered on every nook and cranny this forsaken place had to offer.

The director of the VOYAGERS: Silas Leland Bishop.

‘You don’t get to say my name human.’

Silas chuckled in reply, awfully calm for a man whose facility had been broken into by teenagers.

In response to his threat, Project X roared back in challenge only to be silenced as Silas all but raised his hand. It chittered away behind the man, waiting with bated breath, teeth gnashing as if seeking out flesh to eat. Under the white lights, Prowl could now see the full form of the creature. It was a hulking thing with a long winding body of mismatched body parts that seemed hazardously welded together. Wires of all colours jutted from its many nocks and cracks, many shooting sparks as it moved. Even as its top-heavy form hunched over its master in a protective curl, Prowl estimated it to be around 16 feet high as the helm of the long dead mech drooled a bizarre golden liquid as white unseeing optics stared unblinkingly at Prowl. Prowl grimaced, even if he was at his best physically, taking down that beast solo would be a challenge.

Prowl’s aching frame turns numb. He feels his core temperature rise as his tattered processor scrambles to formulate a scenario to get out of this situation. His optics tracked the abysmally small number on his screen, Prowl steeled himself, he could not see a way out that didn’t involve someone getting hurt.

Unacceptable.

As his processor ran a mile a minute, his focus turned to the children as Prowl grew increasingly aware of the position they were in. Raf and Bluestreak were behind him, fearful gazes on the verge of tears but somewhat safe with his frame shielding them from the immediate threat out front, but Miko and Jack aren’t so lucky. Stood in front of Prowl, the pair were frozen like deers in the headlights, their joints locked tight. They were in uncomfortably close lunging distance from the twitchy Project X. Prowl needed to get them out of there.

With a fake sense of calm, Prowl began to called out, ‘Miko. Jack. Get behind m-’

A loud click echoed in the space.

‘I don’t think so kids.’ Silas calmly, cutting through Prowl’s words.

With a flick of his wrist, a small pistol appeared in Silas’s hand. Silas trains it onto Jack.

The children gasp sharply.

‘Woah! Woah, chill…’ Jack exclaims raising his hands in surrender as Miko does the same. Bluestreak ducks down at the sight of the metal, little hands covering his face as fat silent tears stream down his face. Raf hugs him close to his chest.

‘Not an inch, you hear me.’ Silas warns, as he draws the safety back. Beside him, Spike’s eyes widen, apprehension blooming on his face.

‘Woah boss, they're just kids….’ He mumbled pathetically, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Silas ignores the man, his gaze burning holes into Prowl, as his bare neck specifically.

Prowl snaps at the man, his tail lashes about angrily, ‘Don’t shoot them! They have nothing to do with this.’

Silas huffs. ‘Nothing you say?’ the man exclaims in exasperation. ‘I leave you alone for one damn day and this is what happens.’ Silas chuckles again, as if the whole situation was amusing to him. ‘How about we make a deal.’ He snaps his fingers. On an unspoken signal, Project X bows its great form down to the floor, turning to show its left flank to Silas. A small subspace opens on the creature's side. ‘Spike.’ Silas grounds out, motioning towards the open pocket dimension. Spike scuttled over to the opening, tentatively reaching in to pull out a brand-new collar clearly struggling with the weight of it. Prowl glowered. This collar was clearly different to his old one. It was a thicker model, armed with a spiked coat of matte black, traced a circle of blood red. Prowl could see a set of prongs sticking out on the inside of the collar. It was clear that the soul purpose of its design was to hurt its wearer.

‘You trashed your lovely collar, Prowl. I put a lot of work into that thing you know. You’re lucky I always have a spare on hand for cases like this.’ Using one leg, Silas slides the collar towards Prowls.  Prowl stares down at it in distaste. ‘Tell you what, if you put on that collar, I’ll let the children go, not a hair on their heads will be touched, not even the little baby mer you have hidden away.’

Immediately, Miko was the first to object. ‘Don’t do it Prowl!’

Silas fired a warning shot near her, causing everyone to jump as she squealed.

‘Shut it girl!’ he barked.

Prowl sat silent as waves of conflicting emotions overcame him. They had him locked in limbo, unsure of how to proceed. He agreed with Miko. Prowl had lived through enough lives to know that there was no way in the pit that Silas was actually going to keep his word. Yet, there clearly was no other way forward. Glancing down at the children, Prowl sees their fear-filled faces full of despair as if begging him not to do it.

It warmed something strange within him.

A sigh cut through the tense silence.

It seems he had hesitated for too long.

Silas now had a remote in his hand. ‘I always liked doing things the hard way.’ he said. His thumb pressed down on a button on the device.

The collar that was still on Bluestreak flashed red.

Raf only had moments to separate from him before waves of electricity rocked through the little frame.

Everyone was screaming.

Prowl saw red.

‘STOP IT!’ Miko yelled. To hell with being held at gunpoint, she had to do something! Dashing towards the pile of power tools they had abandoned to the side, she picked up a screwdriver and begins running towards the armed man a war cry sounding from her lips. ‘RRAHHHHH!’

‘Miko NO!’ Jack yells.

Project X, seeing the threat rears back, body rattling in preparation to attack her.

[Transforming sounds]

It lunges at her with lightning speed, only to clash with the black form of Prowl in his bipedal form. He growls from the strain. This creature was strong. It roars in his face, splattering golden liquid on his faceplate, throwing him to the room's far corner. He crashes into the fish tank, groaning as he cracks the glass. Little bits of it dig into his already wounded back, causing him to bleed.

‘Prowl!’ the children yell.

Whatever tense peace there was in the room was finally shattered. The creature screeches pursuing its prey as Silas and Spike watch. Prowl fought it tooth and nail. Watching the giants grapple brought Silas much joy. His creation was remarkable, he thought. Finally, man would stand as equal to the aliens that hid like rats in the deep. This was just the beginning. Silas was relaxed, Prowl had been weakened before being brought here, there was no chance that he would best his newest invention. Soon that pathetic being will be back under his control, where they were always meant to be.

‘Sir, watch out!’

Distracted as he was, Silas didn’t notice the flying kick to his face. It knocked him to the ground as stars filled his vision. It also knocked out the gun and remote from his grip.

‘NO!’ Silas yelled. Curse these meddlesome children.

‘Now Jack!’ Miko yelled. Kicking the firearm to the far corners of the room, she picked up the remote and tossed it to Jack who stood further away from the duo.

In the background, Bluestreak’s hoarse screams continued under the unforgiving torrent of volts. Raf kneels by him, unable to touch the electrified frame. He began desperately looking around the chaos for a way to help him.

With deft fingers, Jack hit the only red button on there.

With a whine, the red light on Bluestreak’s collar turned green, turning off the flow of electricity. The little mer collapsed on the floor, a final broken cry escaping his intake as his circuits still spasmed as the onslaught of electricity finally tapered off. The poor thing was out cold from the pain. Raf rushed to his side, silently apologizing as he carefully gathered the still spasming frame and dragged them to a safer corner of the area. With his frame now safe to touch, the little boy immediately got to wrk on freeing the little mer from his collar, using the memories of freeing Prowl to guide him.

Silas’s previous calm façade was shattered. Cradling his still aching jaw, his cocky smirk was replaced with a furious scowl that promised a world of hurt. ‘Insolent child! You don’t know who you messed with!’ he screamed.

‘Bring it old man!’ Miko yelled, dropping down into a basic fighting stance. As a girl who had won three international tai chi competitions before coming to the US to study, she wasn’t afraid of him. She silently thanked her father for making her go through all those lessons.

‘Spike!’ Silas yelled as he swung at the girl. She nimbly dodged and traded blows with him. ‘Call in the CRABs, get that experiment underway NOW!’ he ordered.

‘Yes sir!’ Spike cried, dashing away to the large dormant console.

‘Oh no you don’t.’  Jack was in hot pursuit of the man. Unfortunately, Spike was a slippery bastard. ‘Hands off kid.’ He yelled, punching Jack in the guts before managing to reach to console. ‘Arh!’ Jack groaned in pain. With precise movements, he activated the console and pressed a button with a crab icon on it.

Whooshing sounds could be heard as four small vents opened from the room's four walls. The sound of scampering announced the arrival of dozens of small robots crabs emerged from their depths. They marched with a singular purpose. Spike was quick to give orders. ‘Retrieve the juvenile mer for processing,’ he snapped, returning to the console. He began inputting various data points into the machine. Around him, the room became more and more alive as machinery started to boot online.

The crabs went to obey, cornering Raf and Bluestreak in their corner. Raf had just finished snipping the final wires of the collar when he noticed the army of crabs approaching. They crittered menacingly, snapping their sharp metal claws at him. One was already reaching out to grab the boy.

BANG.

It went flying as Jack came at it with a piece of metal. A few more got knocked around by Prowl’s sweeping tail as he continued to fight Project X. ‘Jack, get to the console, you have to turn them off.’ he yelled just as Project X came to bite his arm. Prowl punched it away, redirecting the creature into the wall.

‘Prowl’s right Jack! We have to get to the console.’ Jack nodded, he reached down to pick Blue up, groaning at the weight, who knew aliens were so heavy. With his cargo secure on his back, Jack and Raf sought to make the trek back to the console, dodging and weaving past the slower clumsy crabs as they passed.

Silas was secretly impressed. For a girl that was three times his junior and definitely hadn’t been in the military before, the dumb girl was actually holding her own against him. Their little bout had been going for a good 5 minutes now, and she still showed no signs of slowing down, landing blow after blow to him as he did her. What was this girl made of? What is she currently in high school? College? If she wasn’t so against him and his agenda here, Silas was seriously considering offering her a part-time job or sometime ASAP. What a shame, he could have used someone like her in his ranks. Surely, she had to give in at some point, right? Silas looked to the side, taking his attention away from the fight for one moment. He sees the forms of Jack and Raf making their way to a very engrossed Spike. That would not do.

He had to end this little spar.

Feinting his next move, he retrieved a tiny pocketknife from a hidden sleeve of his pant leg. Unsheathing the blade, he pushed her off balance before stabbing her in the thigh.

Miko yelled as white-hot pain flared in her left thigh. Groaning as she collapsed to the floor, tears pooling in her eyes as her blood stained the floor below her. Still, she managed to glare daggers at the man that glowered down at her.

‘You dirty cheating bastard!’ she yelled.

Silas sniffed, ‘Sorry kid, you’ll live. I have some business to finish,’ he said, straightening his jacket as he made a beeline for the other two troublemakers, leaving her to her sad puddle.

A glint of metal catches his eyes.

Perfect…..

Jack and Raf made it to the console. Seeing Spike distracted, Jack took the chance to wack the man upside the head with his metal pole, sending the man crumpling to the ground, out cold. ‘Quickly, Raf we have to find the button for the crabs!’

‘On it,’ Raf said, only to freeze as the cold barrel of something touched his forehead.

Jack froze in terror.

‘STOP!’ Silas yelled.

His voice brought the room to a grounding halt. ‘What?’ Prowl exclaimed, brought out of his battle haze by the sound. His optics widened at the sight of Raf at gunpoint, this gave Project X the chance to pin him down, immobilising his battered frame.

‘No!’ Prowl cried. ‘Let him go! It’s me you want!’

Silas feigned contemplation. ‘I was originally going to use you first. But…..I figure why not speed up the process.’  he said sinisterly. He beckoned one of the CRABs over, gesturing to Bluestreak’s unconscious frame. ‘Prep this one for the beam.’ All bruised and battered, none dared challenge the trigger-happy man. All anyone could do was watch as two of the robots pick up Bluestreak and strapped him down to a flat table.

Silas smiled. Everything was finally going to plan.

His smile widened as a thought passed through his head. These children had broken into his laboratory, broke his nose, and almost stole his precious merchandise. They deserved to suffer.

The crabs had finished tying the petite mer down.

It was now or never.

‘You boy,’ Silas growled at Jack. ‘Press that green button. You shall start the experiment.’ he snapped.

‘What?! No way!’ Jack protested. No way did he want to be the harbirnger of what he assumes would be a world of pain for little bluestreak.

Silas pressed the barrel deeper into Raf’s skull, causing the boy to whimper in pain. ‘Do it. Or I blast his brains out.’

This was not how he wanted to die. ‘Jack.’ Raf whines, as tears start to pour down his cheeks. Jack stood frozen in fear. He couldn’t do it, but Raf…..

‘DO IT!’ Silas yelled, causing Raf to jump, full on crying now. ‘Jack’ Prowl said, causing Jack to turn towards the trapped mer. The mer was truly a mess, a trickly of pink energon flowed from a cut on his lip. His skin was a mosaic of red and black with open scratches littering his body. " It’s ok.’ he said. ‘Do it.’ Acceptance and forgiveness resonated in his words.

Jack took a deep breath, he raised his hand. He realized he was trembling. Slowly, as if in a trance. He reached for the button. Everyone’s eyes were on him, time seemed to slow as his finger descended towards the button.

‘HAI YA!’ Miko yelled.

A heavy metal pole came down on Silas’s hand. For the second time that day, she knocked the gun out of Silas’s hand, sending it sliding across the floor.

‘NO!’ Silas yelled both from the pain and the shock. Project X startled, seeing the harm done to its master, loosening its grip on Prowl.

That was all the leeway Prowl needed.

Kicking the creature upside the helm, Prowl used his final bit of strength, spinning around from under Project X to hurl the creature into the spiderwebbed fish tank glass. The glass shattered, causing a wave of sea water to flood the room, soaking its occupants.

And short-circuited the machine.

Miko hissed as the salt of the water penetrated her wound.

‘NO,nO NO!’ Silas yelled. In his anger, he pushed Raf away from him, wading towards the console. He checked the readings on the screen, the numbers were all wrong now.

All his work, all his blood, sweat and tears. GONE.

He whipped towards the children, who were headed to the flat table, seeking to free its bound captive.

‘YOU. YOU ALL HAVE RUINED MY LIFE’S WORK AND FOR THAT YOU WILL PAY.’

Silas mashed the green button, breaking it in the process. The children and Prowl watched in horror as the machine started booting up. The flatbed began to ascend out of their reach.

His intended task complete, he signaled to the CRABs to evacuate the premise. This lab was as good as done for.

‘No!’ they all yelled.

Prowl made to rush to their side only to be jumped by a dripping Project X. The creature ripped a deep tear into his torso. Prowl screamed.

Above them, the large bulbous thing Raf saw began to unfurl like a hideous metal blossom to reveal a series of spikes and antennae protruding at all angles around it. At its center, a mysterious pulsing golden stone laid all on its lonesome. It didn’t seem to be connected to anything and yet pulsed as if it were radioactive.

Like it was alive.

Its pulses quickened as the machine began to fill with energy, a deep whirring sound that reminded Raf of the Godzilla movies he watched was growing in pitch as more and more of the machine began to light up.

‘Quick! Get on my shoulders.’ Jack yelled to Raf. Raf was quick to climb on, at this height he was just at the right level to reach the hand straps of the sleeping mer. He reached out to begin untying the straps. Miko was frustrated, the pain in her leg rendering her immobile in the water.

On the flatbed, a tiny fist clenches as its owner slowly awakens.

Prowl too was frustrated. He was getting really fed up of having to deal with this thing. He had to end this NOW. He looked around for weapons, snatching the metal pipe that Miko had used on Silas. The creature rushed him once more, jaws opened wide with the intent to kill. With a shout, Prowl took his chance, skewered it in the helm through the intake of the creature. It screeched in pain, writhing in a desperate attempt to escape, but Prow had it where he wanted now. He pushed it further and further, until it finally penetrated the brain module of the creature. It shrieks instantly stop, its hulking frame finally still in death. Prowl tossed the frame to the side. It sloshed lifeless in the tainted seawater.

It was done. Project X was dead.

An intense weariness came over Prowl. It was like his TACNET was underwater. His thought processes lagged. The events of the day have finally caught up to him. He’s bled too much energon. His vision blurs, threatening to take him under. Prowl’s frame sways as he fights his mind on the verge of shut down.

A sharp cry cuts through the fog of his mind. Time slowed.

Even as overstimulated as he was, all his senses honed in on that singular source. It was Bluestreak, awake and crying. Tearful eyes wide and terrified, half tied to the flatbed. The little thing was too weak to even lift their head.

With their singular shaky freed hand, they reached for him.

A hoarse strangled voice rang out of that little intake.

‘Pow!’

All his processing power stalled. There was no thinking; all of his system directives were now to protect the sparkling. Above him the whirring of the machine was deafening. The machine was overloading.

It balloons up like a molten bubble and shoots a beam of golden light.

Prowl leaps in front of the beam, as Raf holds onto Blue in both comfort and fear. Below him, Jack has him in a firm grip as Miko holds Jack steady. 

The beam hits Blue as Prowl’s digit comes into contact.

Energy unlike any other surges through them.

A bright light blinds everyone.

The Children scream. Bluestreak screams. Prowl screams. It all bleeds into one for Prowl as he feels his frame come ablaze in energy.

It burns. In a bad way.

You are no Prime but you will do nicely.

Prowl was too out of it to comprehend the voice that had entered his head.

High on a whirlwind of emotions, Prowl gives himself to the inky black.

Chapter Text

[WARNING: Critical damage detected to…… TACNET, processor, right op-].

[Full processor shut down IMMINENT, full frame shutdown IMMINENT, energon reserves CRITICAL, organic frame BREACHED]

[Probability of survival: 9%]

[Alert! : Foreign entity detected.]

[Command override requested: Force reset P.R.I.S.M protocols? Y/N]

[Y/N]

[Command override authorised – Beginning altmode transfer: Processing……]

[P.R.I.S.M protocols mass reset: Time to completion – *****clicks]

[Who…sto]

“Shhhhh, rest that pretty little processor of yours. I need it in perfect working order to get this done right.”

“I knew I should have seen to your capture personally. I can never trust those humans not to damage good products. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore little fish, you will come to find that I am a very benevolent master. I’ve even started by repairing your frame!”

“Your old masters have failed you, but now, I can give you a greater purpose. Together, we can restore the old ways. Just as I’ve always dreamed it would be. Your kind was always built to serve after all.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ugh....”

Jazz’s helm was throbbing. He activated his visor, only to recoil in shock at the sight before him. He was alone, standing in the middle of an empty office area.

How had he gotten here?

One moment, he had been looking over his plans on how to deal with the Ghost. The next, POOF! He was suddenly here.

The loud hum of static was numbing his processor.

Jazz looked around, fighting through his processor ache. All he could see were rows and rows of office booths, stretching endlessly before him on both sides. Around him, the desks were barren, save for the lone console that sat on every top. The light of the screens was the only source of light in this place, bleaching both the room and him in an eerie sheen of static white against the darkness.

Jazz found that they all displayed one thing.

[P.R.I.S.M protocols mass reset: Time to completion – *****clicks]

It was all written in Praxian. Jazz drew back as the screen before him suddenly glitched. When it cleared, he saw that the text had changed.

[P.R.I.S.M protocols mass reset: Time to completion – ****clicks]

Just what had he gotten himself into now?

Frustration bubbled inside of him. He didn’t have time for this. He had a ship to catch. Jazz approached a console, trying to see if it would respond to his commands. He pressed a few keys, clicked the cursor, and even tried spamming the on/off button.

Jazz sighed.

Nothing worked. The screen remained its awful white, unchanged despite all Jazz’s efforts. He glared at its ominous words and mysterious timer.

Jazz dreaded to think of what would happen when that timer dropped down to one *.

As his growing anxiety fed into his frustration, Jazz stalked the rows of desks, trying his damnest to find the exit. He pulsed his EM field as far out as it could go, scanning past the walls he could see.

Movement up ahead caught his visor, stopping the mech in his tracks. HOLY

Jazz stood his ground, flaring his plating as far as it could go. His spark whirred a mile a minute.

WHO THE PIT WAS THAT?

White, crying optics stared wide at him, as the colourless frame of a Praxian stood half-hidden in the shadow of the corridor it peeked out of.

Shocked recognition crossed Jazz’s processor. This wasn’t any old Praxian. This was Prowl. Jazz was spooked, mind reeling as the data from his initial scan finally came back to him. He tensed; plating flared in warning. His EM field had come back empty.

It told him that there were only more identical rows of desks beyond the tall booth walls of the row he was in. There should therefore be nothing there.

Nothing, physically at least.

So, why was Prowl staring at him from the end of the corridor? Was he trapped here just like he is?

Quickly, Jazz double-checked himself. His mods came back clean. There was no one here besides him. He steeled his nerves as he spoke warily.

“Prowl?”

As he waited for a reaction, Jazz took a closer look at the apparition. This frame of Prowl’s was unfamiliar to him. The more he looked, the more questions he had.

This Prowl seemed way younger.

It had been a millennia since he had seen a fully Cybertronian frame. There wasn’t an organic part on this Prowl. But even then, this apparition was entirely different from the early-war Prowl he knew.

Its frame was smaller, missing the large shoulder cannons that all wartime praxians had adopted after the fall of Praxus. It stood unencumbered by the heavy, standard-issue armour that all Autobots adorned, its frame impossibly pristine from what Jazz could see. The grey of the frame wasn’t a deathly shade either; it was just unpainted, as if the colour nanites were either offline or freshly inserted. The most unsettling thing to Jazz was that this Prowl was crying. Silent tears ran in twin streaks down his faceplate but non hit the floor. Instead, they floated, turning into strings of white data lines that hung down from the ceiling.  

He had never seen the Prowl he knew cry until that day on the beach.

The apparition didn’t reply.  Prowl was just looking at him. He stood deathly still, faceplate void of any telling emotion. The two had an intense standoff, as Jazz’s mind raced, trying to determine the current threat level.

This Prowl reminded Jazz of the many ghouls and monsters that humans like to put in their horror movies. Particularly, it reminded him of what humans called a Weeping Angel. With that in mind, Jazz blinked.

When Jazz saw him again, he saw that Prowl had taken a step towards him.

Jazz made the mistake of looking away to see if it was clear to run.

When he looked back, Prowl was right in front of him. Their chest plates almost touched. With their frame in full view now, Jazz also caught a glimpse of the twin holes that punctured through both door wings that were previously hidden in the black.  They didn’t seem to have penetrated through the appendage, but still, Jazz’s optics were hyper-focused on the jagged cracks in the metal around the dry wounds.

Prowl raised their right arm.

“Wait!” Jazz exclaimed, raising his left arm as he braced for an attack.

Nothing came.

Confused, Jazz lowered his arm to see Prowl’s right palm outstretched, holding something out to him. Prowl’s mouth plates moved, but no sound escaped.

Jazz read his lips. Take it.

An old enforcer badge glistened in the flat of its servo. It was shaped like a star. Just like the one Jazz had found in the silt and sand. Prowl jostled the badge, urging Jazz to take it. Gingerly with great hesitance, Jazz took the offered item, noting distantly how cold and weirdly solid Prowl’s servo was.

The badge itself was cold in his grip. It was only with its weight in his palm that Jazz came to the distressing discovery that it was more a pin than a badge. A pin designed to be pierced into things, unlike the common standard magnetic badges that most Cybertronians would wear. Jazz gripped it tightly as he read the engravings. It read in Praxian:

Property of Praxus Enforcer Department: P-1037

Jazz realised too late that this was a memory file. A foreign memory triggered, surging through Jazz, slamming his processor with the force of a freight truck. It all happened so fast, Jazz could do nothing but succumb to the memory.

Jazz could only watch as the frame he was in stood alone, unable to control the servos behind his back that were locked in a parade rest. He came to the conclusion he was in Prowl’s frame as the crowd of mechs before him were all praxians who were all painted in various degrees of white and black. All of them looked young as if they were fresh out the forge. Their plating was pristine, shiny, new, with twin badges shining from every doorwing in the space. They were all hung low in reverence to something.

That something was fast approaching.

“I have waited a long while for your arrival, P-1037.”

The imposing figure of what must have been the times Praxuem Commissioner emerged from the sea of frames. Compared to Prowl’s frame, his commissioner was huge, towering over the young mech with a cavernous frown. He was clearly a heavy riot vehicle. Built to barricade. The Commissioner was mostly a bold black, with the only hints of colour being the streaks of white and red splashed over his own doorwings alongside the two boldly decorated badges hung proudly from his doorwings.

Jazz felt foreign emotion wash over him as those deep yellow optics pierced into memory Prowl’s spark.

The Commissioner stopped before him; in his servos he held a single datapad.

“Sir!” memory Prowl greeted, as did the other mechs around him, all saluting the higher-ranked mech. The Commissioner ignored them, turning his attention to the datapad he had in his grasp.

The mech whistled, a pleased tone in his voice. “Just as I ordered. P.R.I.S.M. sure does deliver. A nice-looking frame and a great processor. You cost quite a pretty credit, you know.”

The taller mech showed memory Prowl the datapad. Jazz inwardly recoiled as he saw the price listed. Prowl had costed a whopping 10,000,000 credits.

 He felt the unease as memory Prowl gave the commissioner a meek reply: “I know, sir.”

 Jazz mentally choked. Mechs would have killed for that amount of dough.

How did Prowl manage to pay that off?

The Praxuem Commissioner paid no mind to the inner turmoil going on in the other mech. He turned to the crowd before him, droning on as he read from the datapad.

“At ease. Listen up, you lot! I will only say this once. As your commissioner, my obligation to you is to provide the necessities. Board and training. You will each be given a salary, starting at 11.49 credits per joor. This is subject to change based on your performance. A percentage of that will be taken each decacycle to pay off your manufacturing cost. The rest, I suggest you use wisely.”

The Commissioner glared out at the group of mechs. “Let me make this clear now.”

“Until you have paid off your debt to us, you are property of the Praxus Enforcer department. We, here in Praxus carry our name very seriously. So, if I so much as hear about any misconduct or talk of leaving before your time, I am legally allowed to carry out disciplinary action should you stray from your primary directives.”

A chime sounded from the datapad he held in his servo. The mech cleared his voicebox.

“As it stands, your job starts now. By now, you should have received a notification about your assigned handler. Report to them for further instructions. Dismissed.”

Silently, the new enforcers trickled out of the space, leaving just memory Prowl and the Commissioner. Jazz sensed memory Prowl’s unease at being the sole focus of the mech.

“I have been assigned to you sir.” Memory Prowl started meekly.

“That you have.” The mech said, his stare growing more heedy by the minute.

Jazz’s plating crawled.

Damn, fresh of the belt and Prowl already had to deal with this slag. No wonder he was so antisocial.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a bit before the Commissioner gestured to the door. “Come, I will show you to your workstation. Since you are our first made-to-order CC in a while, you will be assigned tasks within the precinct for now, just until you have better adjusted to your role here.” The large mech walked through the doorway with memory Prowl trailing close behind, padding on silent footsteps. They passed by the busier areas of the precinct, Jazz coming to recognise that the many desks here in this memory were identical to the ones he was surrounded by wherever he was outside of this memory file. They continued walking, going down several floors, entering more secluded areas of the precinct until the large mech seemed to suddenly stop in front of a section of unmarked wall.

Jazz’s suspicions came true as he saw the larger mech flash his wrist towards a hidden scanner. Dread filled him as he felt memory Prowl’s eyes grow wide in surprise at the hidden entryway, stunned as the edges of a door came out of the well-disguised entrance.

“Here we are.” the commissioner said, walking into the space.

Memory Prowl remained locked just outside the doorway. Jazz struggled to read the racing thoughts going through memory Prowl’s head. He caught one of them though.

‘The door was spark locked. Only the Commissioner’s and whoever else’s spark signature he had endorsed would open the door.’

Memory Prowl gazed within the space. It was dark, save for the wall of consoles that line a whole section of wall. Wires and plugs of all port sizes dangled around the space in a mock depiction of an organic species’ crib mobile, they were hung around what memory Prowl could only describe as a suspended bassinet. Jazz caught another thought.

‘Those plugs were designed to fit HIS ports. ALL of his ports.’

Jazz felt memory Prowl’s rising fear and worry. ‘This felt like a cage.’ Prowl being new, most certainly wouldn’t have the key to get out of this chamber. ‘This space as designed to be hidden.’ ‘No one would know he was here.’ ‘The precinct could burn down, and no one would know he was there.’

These were all the thoughts the TACNET was telling him about.

Just what did the Commissioner have as his primary objective?

The deep timbre of the Commissioner broke memory Prowl’s spiral. “Step inside, Prowl. I can see you have something on your mind,” the mech commanded. Foreign coding within memory Prowl surged to obey it. Jazz shuddered, shocked and horrified at the realisation that Prowl had slave coding. Memory Prowl reluctantly stepped into the dark space, oblivious to Jazz’s distress. The door shut behind him, lock clicking back on, leaving the two mechs shrouded in only the white lights of the consoles.

It was done. Whatever comes now, his fate was sealed.

The Commissioner approached then, getting awfully close. He placed a heavy servo on memory Prowl’s slender shoulder plates. “Go on, speak. I know you want to.” The larger mech said with faux gentleness, as if coaxing a scared mechling out of their shell.

Memory Prowl swallowed his intake before he asked.

He lowered his gaze, unwilling to meet that sickening yellow.

“I just don’t understand, sir. The others of my batch had already been assigned their primary directive, but I have yet to receive mine. I haven’t even received my enforcer decals or my colours. I haven’t received any information pertaining to my function here. You said that I was a MTO sir.”

The Commissioner said nothing. Memory Prowl trudged on.

“It's just, you already have plenty of able-bodied CCs and forged mechs in your precinct. The crime rate within Praxus has been within limits for decacycles. The Praxus enforcer department is already highly decorated and highly specialised. There is nothing I don’t think any other mech could offer you. With the specific coding you have installed in me, You don’t need an MTO of my calibre for peacekeeping.”

“I ….. would just like to know why I was made.” memory Prowl pleaded. His gaze cast downwards, unwilling to meet those searing optics.

The Commissioner stared down at him, a wicked glint shining in his optics. He chuckled lowly. He stalked forwards, herding an uneasy memory Prowl towards the bassinet. Behind them, Jazz registered the faint sound of the bassinet being lowered.

“Sir?” memory Prowl asked again, voice rising in panic.

“All you CCs are the same. Only a cycle old, and already so many questions. P.R.I.S.M. always did make the most intriguing of CCs, cute too. Truly a work of art.  It’s almost like you're alive.”

Memory Prowl’s spark stopped. Jazz recoiled in disgust.

“You’re right that I don’t need you. You’re also right that the enforcer units in Praxus are highly specialised already. But there are things much larger than us, than me, than you, then Praxus. Bigger things with deep pockets.”

Memory Prowl’s eye brightened in alarm.

“Why do you look so surprised? Did you really think I’ll just let you get wrecked like all the others will on the first cycle on the surface with how costly you were to make?”

The Commissioner let out a cruel laugh.

“Here in Praxus, we keep the crime rate low through our state-of-the-art surveillance systems. We have wires in everything from traffic to the internet across Praxus’s grounds. We can only achieve this sort of surveillance through our supercomputer.”

“Our precinct’s supercomputer’s spark guttered a last night cycle; I got special funding from the Senate to have an emergency order for an exact MTO placed with P.R.I.S.M.”

“You ARE our new supercomputer P-1037.”

“What?”

Jazz felt the jolt as memory Prowl tripped on the wires on the floor, tumbling into the lowered bassinet. Memory Prowl struggled to get his arms underneath him, only for the bulk of the Commissioner to hold him still above him, trapping him under his hold.

“Your primary directive -” the Commissioner whispered, sickeningly sweet beside memory Prowl’s right audial “- is to rid our city of all the filth in the streets by any means necessary. I trust that you will do your best to complete this task.”

Jazz watched as that same foreign piece of code activate.

Jazz felt memory Prowl’s spark drop.

P.R.I.S.M. protocols was slave coding.

The Commissioner grunted, one arm disappearing within a subspace compartment to retrieve two familiar-looking pins.

“You’re right about one last thing. You haven’t received your decals yet.”

Memory Prowl could only stare in horror, unable to fight as the pointed end of one of the decals was raised just above the metal of his left doorwing. The tip glinted with malicious intent.

“Let this serve as a reminder. You were always built to serve. Welcome to the force P-1037.”

 With a shove, the Commissioner drove the sharp end of the pin into the metal of his doorwing.

Memory Prowl’s scream was cut off as Jazz felt himself get physically pulled from the memory. He found himself back in the rows of empty desks, chassis heaving as the white-opticked Prowl glanced down at him, expression somehow hopeful despite the silent tears still running. Jazz felt a sharp pain in his palm. He was clutching the pin so tightly he had drawn energon. To ground himself, he gave the pin a gentle squeeze, feeling the sharp edges of the carved metal star dig into his palm. The pain helped him clear his mind. It took a while for him to pry his servo open again slowly.

Clarity hit him. Jazz now knew where he was. He was in Prowl’s mindscape. His memory caches to be more exact. He looked vacantly at the screens around them.

They were still white. Prowl’s memory caches were being blocked off. The timer on the screens had changed.

[P.R.I.S.M protocols mass reset: Time to completion – ***clicks]

Something was blocking them out. That same something was trying to turn on his slave coding again.

It was then that Jazz noticed that Prowl’s mouth was moving again. He was repeating words.

Help. Danger.  Hacked. Foreign Entity. Help. Danger. Jazz. Help. Da-

Jazz.

So, Prowl or at least a version of him, knew he was here.

“Ok, ok, I want to help you. Show me where the thing is.” Jazz said.

Prowl gestured again to the pin. Jazz read their lips.

Look inside.

Jazz shook the pin. His visor brightened as he heard a faint jingle coming from within it. Unsheathing a claw, Jazz got to work on trying to find the hidden seam on it.

A claw caught on a fine groove. Gotcha!

He worked the seam open, revealing a sliver of light shining from within the pin’s stem.

Jazz gasped. This was just getting freakier by the nanoclick.

Inside the pin was the shard of Prowl’s spark.

Reverently, he plucked out the shard from its hiding place. He felt it quiver in his grasp, suddenly sparkling with a newfound light.

A light line formed from the shard disappearing into the dark rows of desks that littered the space.

This was his lead.

If he followed it, Jazz would find the real Prowl and hopefully the hacker messing with him, too. With his newfound sense of direction, Jazz trekked onwards. Prowl floated beside him, silently tagging along.

 Soon, the rows of desks disappeared, encapsulating the pair in what Jazz thought to be the blackest void he had ever seen. Not even a black hole could compare to this. Jazz should know; he had almost been in one himself. They were definitely out of Prowl’s memory cache now, trekking into Primus knows what. It unsettled him to be in a mind so silent, being so used to the active minds of the conscious mechs he had hacked into in his time.

Jazz gripped the shard tighter, keeping his gaze steady on the faint tread of light. It would do him no good to get lost in this place. Jazz was busy collecting his thoughts.

Could having a spark shard really have done this?

Despite how long-lived their species was, there were still many mysteries to uncover around the science of sparks, much less spark shards. Jazz thought about the many myths around Conjunx endura. He remembered reading somewhere that some claimed to have the ability to share dreams.

Was this Prowl’s dream?

The darkness of Prowl’s mind seemed to suggest so. Either a deep dream, or he was knocked unconscious. Jazz could only hope it was the former.

It was a plausible theory, but...... Jazz wasn’t bonded to Prowl.

This made things curious and curiouser.

The shard gave him no answers. It pulsed in what seemed to be a gentle rhythm, reminiscent of the slow spark beat of a recharging Cybertronian. Jazz watched it for a while, hypnotised and worried by its slowness.

It at least confirmed one of his theories: Prowl was unconscious wherever he was.

The light only got brighter as he walked, and with it, his headache returned.

Jazz could only hope that it meant they were getting closer to where they needed to go.

Finally, the darkness subsided enough to reveal that the pair was standing in a dark corridor. Jazz read the engravings on the wall: P.R.I.S.M. facility_ Bay 01.

It figures that Prowl’s coremind would manifest in the place he was created.

Anxious, Jazz walked at a brisk pace. The dark corridors grew in length, twisting and turning as he went, but it was no maze. Many a corridor led out to the same void that Jazz had come from, leaving him with only the path the light showed him. It seemed unnatural to him that the place was empty, with many parts left open and deconstructed. Some areas were missing floorboards, forcing Jazz to climb the walls or parkour across spaces.

They passed by many doors, most locked, most unnamed. Jazz didn’t see a point in trying to bust them open, wanting to respect Prowl’s already shattered privacy. Plus, he was on a timer. He passed by what was a giant vault door labelled: Deep Freeze Spark Containment. It made Jazz stop for just a moment, as he felt the waves of unease and coldness wash slipping out from the bottom of the door. Jazz sensed no sparks in there. But, he did sense a lot of unpleasant memories behind it, though, locked behind that thick door. Jazz shivered slightly.

In real life, spark containment was the ultimate punishment a Cybertronian could undergo physically. Being the literal act of experiencing being severed from your very frame, your very thoughts, your very life. It was considered by many to be only one step below actually dying.

Jazz stood silent.

Just what kinds of memories was Prowl suppressing so much that the mech equated those moments of himself to be punishable on such a scale?

The shard pulsed again, glowing brighter as if urging him to move. Jazz felt his helm twinge in pain. This was something he’ll have to circle back to.

He had bigger problems to solve.

The corridor he was following had come to an end. The pair of mechs came face-to-face with a large door. The plaque on the side read: MTO HATCHERY: Primeclass. The door was bolted shut, the panel beside it shining an angry red. Jazz put his audial to the door. He heard nothing on the other side. It seemed clear.

“Ya got the keys da this place?” Jazz asked, looking towards his silent friend. Prowl simply nodded. He raised a servo, waving it over the sensor. The screen flashed green as Jazz heard the lock click open.

“Nice” With a steadying breath, Jazz slid a small vibroblade into his palm as he cautiously pushed the door open. He stalked through the entrance, peds meeting the cold metal of a catwalk as his visor landed on the many rows of broken pods lining the cramped space. The crunch of glass greeted him.

“Oh no,” he choked, looking around the space. In all his stellar cycles of espionage, Jazz had never seen a coremind so wrecked before.

 Jazz was no doctor, but he had hacked enough mechs to know almost every part of a Cybertronian’s processor. As much as some would harp on about the superiority of mechanoids over organics, the two undoubtedly held many similarities. Just as an organic’s most vital organ was their brain, a Cybertronian processor’s coremind held all their most vital codes. These core codes were the root of all Cybertronian functions, playing vital roles in all aspects of their lives, from the simple things such as base colours and frame movement to language and transformation.

Jazz had seen the damage breaching such a space had done to such mechs. The state of one’s core codes was always a very telling part of a mech’s overall mental state. To lose even one of them produced an entirely different mech.

His peds crunched against shards of black plexiglass. Every pod he came across was either cracked or shattered, empty of the core code it should have contained. The only thing that was functional was the small info pad that stood in front of every pod. They flickered weakly as Jazz approached. They all only displayed one message:  [P.R.I.S.M protocols mass reset: Time to completion – **clicks]

That was a very bad sign.

Upon closer inspection of a pod, Jazz could see the microcuts where the core code had seemingly been surgically removed. A small hint of fear trickled down Jazz’s spine.

This was no virus.

Whoever this foreign entity was, it knows what it’s doing. Core codes were notoriously embedded in one's own coremind, kept safe behind the rows of firewalls that a mech would build up throughout their life. The kind of firewalls Prowl didn’t have thanks to the whole Chromedome incident.

There was only one class of skilled mechs with the precision to identify and target such specific coding in lines of thousands.

This could only spell the work of a mnemosurgeon.

Prowl was in very real danger.

Jazz had to stop this now. Prowl has suffered enough. He made to move further down the catwalk, but Prowl suddenly grabbed him, covering his intake as Jazz tried to speak in protest. The crying mech pulled Jazz behind the ruins of an empty pod, mouth moving a mile a minute.

Danger. They are here. Watch.

Prowl gestured towards the far end of the row of pods. Distantly, Jazz could hear the sound of something slithering. Cautiously, he peeked a spy camera out of his armour to look. It was hard to see in the darkness at first, but movement soon caught his sensors. Jazz watched as five large tentacles emerged from the murky dark. He strained his camera lenses, fighting for focus in the dim lighting. The tentacles were slender and long with each appendage lined with a series of flashing biolights that pulsed a sinister shade of red. Jazz didn’t know if he should be relieved or not that there was no sign of their owner.

Their movement reminded Jazz of octopuses as he watched them slither across the walls and floors in search of… something. Zooming in, Jazz saw with mounting horror that they were slowly encroaching upon the location of an untouched pod. It was the sole survivor left untouched in this row.

Jazz wanted so badly to get out there and hit the things, but Prowl had a death grip on his arm.

No. Danger. Stay. Prowl said.

The tentacles had found their quarry. They loomed menacingly over the vulnerable pod. Like that of a snake, the tips of each tentacle unsheathed, revealing a singular, razor-sharp, needle point.

Jazz instantly recognised them as mnenosurgeon spikes. Collectively, they struck hard and fast.

Jazz winced at the sound of glass shattering. Beside him, Prowl’s grip tightened as his face froze in a painful grimace. His form flickered, almost threatening to phase out completely for a nanoclick before he regained his form. The crying mech sat, chassis heaving as he gasped for breath. The pained expression had yet to leave his face. Jazz felt the need to comfort him, but before he could reach out and do so, Prowl gestured for him to pay attention to the tentacles. Together, they watched the tentacles carefully extract the code, cutting it up into five separate pieces that each tentacle seemed to absorb, whisking off their prize to pit knows where.

Jazz was already crouching, fully intending to follow them to their source. “Alright, Prowl. This is our chance!” He twirled the vibroblade in his servo. “I’ll put a knife in their helm for what they’ve done ta-.” the sentence died as Jazz felt the cold weight of Prowl’s arm disappear. The light line that the shard had been producing flickered as well, abruptly cutting out.

“No!” Jazz exclaimed.  Alarmed, he turned back to look at the mech. He gasped.

“Prowl..”

Prowl’s form was fading. The apparition had collapsed. His frame lay limp on the floor, as his white tears now bled into big waves of white data trails that wept from the many holes that tore through Prowl’s once pristine form. Forlorn lips smiled.

It seems they have found me.  

All thoughts of killing the intruder or the tentacles faded into the back of his processor as Jazz rushed to Prowl’s side, kneeling beside him. Jazz brought the fading mech into his arms, full on panicking. He was honestly at a loss for what to do. He was no mneunosurgeon. He didn’t know how to help Prowl. All of his hacking skills were designed to extract valuable information from the most stubborn of enemies; they weren’t meant to heal. Jazz watched in despair as more and more of Prowl’s frame disintegrated. It seemed the intruder had breached Prowl’s memory files.

The bastard was trying to erase Prowl’s own memories of himself.

“Prowl! Prowl! Stay with meh, mech. I can’t do this without you!” Jazz pleaded pathetically. He despaired.

Prowl’s own sense of self would be gone, and Jazz could do nothing to stop it.

He should have just gone to him. Forget the Ghost, the mechs on Diego Garcia could protect themselves.

He had the shard, he had the constructicons. He had his path.

Anger and frustration raged within Jazz’s spark. This was the lowest he had felt in a long time. He was angry on so many levels that it was getting irrational. He was furious at the intruder who was committing such dastardly crimes against Prowl. He was angry that this wasn’t the first time Prowl had been subjected to lobotomy. He was angry at the humans for taking Prowl. He was even angry at Prowl for leaving by himself with not so much as a goodbye or at least the thought of waking Jazz to help him.

He was angriest with himself, even if it was stupid to feel that way. He should have done something. Yes, he wasn’t close to Prowl. Yes, he hadn’t really known what was going on until after Prowl was gone. Yes, there probably wasn’t much Jazz could have done to help Prowl then. But still, he had had the chance to help Prowl back on the beach.

It wasn’t his fault, and yet Jazz felt like it still was.

He had failed Prowl. So many people had failed Prowl.

He was continuing to fail Prowl, who was so near yet so far, probably dying alone in some cold, dark, unreachable place. It left Jazz in a state of utter hopelessness. He watched as all the nearby info pads glitched, their screens all turning to display another notch in the coffin.

[P.R.I.S.M protocols mass reset: Time to completion – *click]

‘There was no time.’ Jazz thought somberly. The tentacles had long gone now, and with his lightline gone, Jazz doubted he would get to them in time even if he tried. As with many occasions in his long life, Jazz didn’t know what to do next, torn between staying with Prowl and going off to try and end the fragger who was behind all of this.

There were so many problems and so little time.

It was getting to a tipping point for Jazz. Overwhelmed, he pressed his forehelm to Prowl’s red crest. “Please, Prowler, ya gotta tell meh how to help ya.” Jazz pleaded, his optics becoming a beseeching white behind the veil of his visor.

Matching white optics flickered up at him, struggling to maintain their focus on Jazz. Prowl could only groan in pain.  With a sigh, Jazz closed his own optics, steeling himself for the end.

For a mech that had killed thousands, he had the strange refusal to witness the light fading from Prowl’s optics.  “May Primus’s light guide you, Prowler.” he sighed, hugging what remained of Prowl’s frame to his chassis. He wouldn’t let him die alone in here.

So focused he was on his churning sorrow that the gentle touch of a cold servo on his faceplate hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water. Jazz’s optics shot open. Prowl’s frame was still fading, but there seemed to be a new light in his optics. With agonising slowness, Jazz read Prowl’s lips.

It is alright, Jazz. I am just a small piece of Prowl. There is still time. You have always made the impossible possible. Find the real me. Follow your spark.

Follow his spark. Follow his spark. Suddenly, Jazz had a crazy idea.

“Ah know ya’ve been through a lot already, but Ah just need yah to bear with meh one more time. Do you trust meh?” a newfound hope in his spark blazing.

Prowl weakly nodded. More than my real self would ever admit too.

That was all the confirmation Jazz needed. “Don’t be too mad at meh when we meet again, yeah?” Jazz said, opening his own spark chamber. He placed the spark shard inside, allowing it to touch his own spark. Immediately, he could feel the tendrils of a fledgling bond forming, as foreign emotions and thoughts raced up to meet his own. It took a nanoclick for Jazz to reorient himself, separating his senses from Prowl’s, but when he came back to himself, Jazz’s face lit up in delight. His plan had worked. In the centre of chassis, atop where his spark rested was a light line. It shone like a beacon in the darkness.

Jazz had his path again, and it was leading him downwards. He gave Prowl one more squeeze as he rose to the edge of the catwalk, climbing onto the railing. He looked down. He couldn’t see the bottom, but somehow in his spark, he knew that the real Prowl was down there waiting for him. This was his one chance, and Jazz was gonna make it count. It would be a long drop, but he was ready. His vibroblades itched to be plunged into whatever it was he would meet below.

Jazz looked back only to see that Prowl was gone. The last bit of him dissipating into white mist. Jazz steeled his nerves.

“Wait for me, Prowl, I’ll bring ya home.”

With that promise, Jazz jumped off the railing, plunging himself into the depths of Prowl’s core.

Seconds felt like hours as he fell, seeing nothing but black until finally, a hint of light pierced through from below him. It brightened his surroundings. Jazz was soon able to see that he was falling in a pit. The walls around him were covered in a thick webs of cables, all of which seemed to stem from the many pods above him.

He saw the bottom of the pit rapidly approaching.

Jazz threw his weight to the side, guiding his frame to the walls of the pit. Once he was close enough, he lunged, digging his vibroblades into the wall, cutting through the many cables there to slow his descent. In his processor, Jazz said a silent apology to Prowl for the damage. Arms straining, Jazz managed to come to a stop just a couple hundred feet above the pit. Of which Jazz then managed to safely jump down from, doing a roll to lessen the impact.

Down at the bottom, Jazz followed the light as it narrowed down to an area that the lines of cables seemed to originate from. Carefully, Jazz uncovered some of the cables. The light line fell on a piece of metal wall. Jazz saw there the barest hints of a door. Recognition hit him. This was the very door Prowl’s commissioner had led Prowl through all those vorns ago. This was it. Jazz knew in his spark that the real Prowl was in there.

Out of habit, Jazz pulsed his EM field, surveying beyond the door in search of signs of life. He sensed something. Jazz recoiled. Just behind that door was the intruder. Their EM field was like nothing Jazz had ever sensed before. It registered as Cybertronians but it didn’t feel Cybertronian. It was a really hard thing to put his digit on. It just felt off, as if the spark itself was on a different plane of being compared to any standard cybertronian. Pressing his audial to the door gave him nothing; it was silent on the other side.

Jazz tensed, flexing his twin vibroblades. Beyond that door, was a predator. He could literally taste the predatory intent that oozed from behind that door. They knew he was here. They wanted him to come in.

The element of surprise was gone.

He had no time to waste. Jazz burst through the door, blades drawn.

The room he had burst into was an exact replica of the supercomputer room of Prowl’s memory. The many screens were lit in the same static haze as all the rest of the screens Jazz had come across. They bathed the room in a ghostly light.

Jazz’s focus immediately centred on the bassinet that sat suspended in a nest full of cables. It hung motionless, as the cables running down the sides of it pulsed in time to a slow, weak sparkbeat. The tiniest rush of relief filled Jazz’s spark.

Prowl was here.

 But……where was the intruder?

A sense of doom washed over Jazz as his instincts screamed at him to dodge right. Jazz obeyed, just in time to catch the glint of a single needle tip swing past, striking the place he once was. Jazz tensed.

It had aimed for his spark.

He was truly in the belly of the beast now.

Immediately, Jazz was on high alert, spark pounding at the close call. He hadn’t heard it coming until the very last second. That wasn’t good. To add flames to the fire, for some reason, all his mods were going haywire, saying that the intruder was everywhere, and nowhere. Frustrated, Jazz’s optics raced. He couldn’t pinpoint the enemy’s location. “Come out, coward! Face meh like a real mech!” Jazz shouted.

“A mech?” A silver voice chuckled from the darkness. “I’ve never been called that before.”

Jazz looked up. More tentacles seemed to rush out of the darkness, lunging at Jazz as he tried his best to cut and weave past them. They were relentless in their attacks, growing more and more frenzied as Jazz continued to dodge and weave. He only managed to nick one or two of them before one of the tentacles managed to trip him, sealing the Jazz’s fate. His vibroblades were torn from his servos, clattering uselessly to the ground.  Jazz didn’t even hit the floor as suddenly, he was suspended, tied spread-eagled by four pulsing tentacles. Several more appeared beside him, brandishing their pointed tips in clear warning. Jazz was trapped.

“Why hello there.”

Something emerged from the shadows. Jazz watched as the intruder descended from the ceiling, dropping down with all the grace of an octopus circling its prey. Around him, their tentacles fanned out, webbing the walls in a way that made the thing before him seem so much larger, as the space got more claustrophobic.  In the glare of the screen, Jazz recognised the all-too-distinctive helm design.

Three pairs of yellow optics blazed down at him.

Jazz felt true fear grip his spark. He was right. This was no Cybertronian.

A Quintesson was in Prowl’s helm.

“Now, how did you get in here, little mech? I thought this one was mine to keep?” the quintesson hummed, looking rather pleased at his captured prey.

“Dirty Quint! What are ya doing tah Prowl?” Jazz demanded, wriggling in his confines. A tentacle lashed out, striking his cheekplate. Jazz hissed as he felt the sting of the cut open. The quint watched joyously as a trail of energon travelled down Jazz’s face. A couple of drops stained the floor.  

“Must you be so crass?” the quint hissed, happy to observe the struggling mech. Three pairs of optics widened as they noticed the light line that shone at the centre of Jazz’s chassis.

“Ah, so you’ve bonded, and quite recently too. How lovely.” they chimed in mock delight. Jazz didn’t appreciate the flat tone. “And here I thought this one was incapable of that. Maybe it is defective after all”

“Prowl is not an it! He isn’t defective either!  Ah’m only gonna say this once. Let us go and maybe I’ll make your death a quick one.” Jazz seethed, spark burning with contempt for the creature before him.

The quint just gave him an amused expression. “Ah, Cybertronians, your kind never changes. Always looking for first blood. Such a vicious species you lot are.” The quint gasped in mock exasperation.

“Is this not a time of joy? It is quite a time to get hitched, no?” They chuckled again. An idea crossed their face as all three optics shone in unison. The quintesson wore a sinister grin. “Here, why don’t I show you the blushing bride?”

The intruder moved with a jarring quickness, dragging Jazz towards the bassinet. “Here he is,” the intruder mocked. “Our sleeping beauty.”

Jazz gasped in horror.

This was the real Prowl. His once pristine frame was cracked, littered with dents and bitemarks of which many still bled, the energon trickling out at a slow crawl. Bruises bloomed in ugly blacks on the organic areas of his frame.

He looked like he was at death’s door.

Was this how he was now, in the real world, hurting all alone?

As brutal as the scene before him was, that wasn’t the worst of it. Jazz stared down at the thick tentacle embedded in Prowl’s helm, feeding pulsing waves of Primus knows what into Prowl as his chassis heaved on laboured breath.

Just what were these humans doing to him? How did this quint get inside Prowl? Were they working together?

Jazz’s head spun with all the worst possibilities. He turned his anger on the intruder. “Ya sick frag! What have you done to him?”  A needle dug painfully into the underside of his chinguard, Jazz seethed, glaring at the quint. He got the message.

Frag you. He thought in his mind.

“I’m saving him, of course.” The intruder hissed in clear annoyance. “Maker knows you aren’t here to do it,” they sniffed. Jazz’s glare grew hotter as unfamiliar feelings twisted in his gut.

He really wanted to throttle this guy.

“How is this saving him?” Jazz retorted. “You’re stealing his core codes. You’re deleting his memories. You’re no saviour. You're just making an empty shell.” Jazz shouted.

“You liar.” Jazz spat the word like it was hot slag. The needle under his chin pressed deeper. It drew energon, making parts of his chasis slick.

“How is this my fault?” the quint hissed. “Your kind broke him first. I’m simply refurbishing used goods.”

“Be glad.” The intruder purred, a tentacle caressing the side of Prowl’s helm. “I’m taking this one off your hands to live a new life. He was rather bothersome in your society wasn’t he?”

Jazz balked at this statement. He shoved against the needle. “Get your slimy tentacles off of him!” he roared. Energon trickled down his frame, coating it in its blue sheen. Jazz felt it slicken his frame. An idea flitted across Jazz’s processor. He pressed down further on the needle, ignoring the pain as he exaggerated his anger, “Don’t talk as if ya know him, ya mind jacker!”

The quint’s optics narrowed with sick glee at the sight. They chuckled lowly, the sound slick with malice. “Oh, but I do know him. Deeply. Intimately. I’ve been inside every memory, every line of code. I’ve seen all that there is to him. Funny enough, he let me in.”

Jazz clenched his fists, his frame trembling with rage. By now, energon coated almost every part of him, aside from his arms. “Ya hacked him, squid face. That ain’t da same as being let in.” Jazz sneered, flipping double middle fingers at the quintesson, making sure to look bold and unapologetic. That earned him twin nicks on either arm. The wounds stung as they bled, but luckily, they weren’t that deep.

Perfect. Just as he planned.

A flicker of annoyance pulsed behind the quint’s optics. “Funny, he didn’t resist nearly as much as you are. Maybe… some part of him wanted to change.”

“Or maybe it's because ya’ve buried him under so much code, he can’t even fight back,” Jazz growled.

The quint said nothing, instead choosing to stare at the screens. The timer had yet to change. They sighed. “Your last-minute mate is truly a work of art, you know? To have such a powerful mind and have such artistic slave coding intact! They are truly a remarkable relic from a bygone golden era.”

“I have to admit, I was surprised when I first discovered your colony on this backwash of a planet. The perfect mix of organic and machine, all thriving on this unconquered planet, and we didn’t even have to pay a cree for new software!” The quint let out an exasperated laugh.

The quint got dangerously close to Jazz. They rubbed his chassis in a mocking gesture of reverence.

Your colony are the closest we have gotten to the ultimate product that we, your makers, have been striving to make ever since the first one of your kind was onlined.”

“Do you realise how long I’ve waited on this wet, miserable world for a mind like this one. If it’s the physical damage that concerns you. Rest assured that the human will be reprimanded accordingly. While they and I have rather different ways of managing our goods. I am humble enough to know when I have damaged the product. It would be wasteful of me to let him gutter.”  All around them, the supercomputer screen glitched, displaying the text in glaring, bold letters.

[P.R.I.S.M protocols mass reset: Time to completion – Complete]

[Restart needed to implement new reset: Y/N]

The quint looked down at Prowl with a look of twisted affection so intense it was borderline creepy. “With that pesky self-consciousness gone, your mate will be the first model of my greatest business ventures yet. All of Quintessa will be bowing to me, the cycle I present this planet to them.” The quint smiled, clearly lost in their daydream.

“I hope you’ve said your goodbyes, fishy. Worry not, for you and your kin will be joining him in due time.”

Jazz’s time was up. He watched as the Quint produced a pad, activating its screen. He saw the buttons to select the yes or no shining on its flat surface. The quint locked optics with Jazz, watching his expression as they made to press the yes button.

Jazz knew what he had to do. It was now or never.

“Wait,” he shouted. The quint looked at him with both intrigue and a hint of annoyance.

“Ya got one thing wrong mate.” Jazz said calmly.

 “Oh? Pray tell, what am I so wrong about?” the quint asked, rolling their optics.

Jazz smiled, revealing his full denta, canines flashing. “Ah ain't not fish. Ah’m an otter. And ah’ve got a killer craving for some calamari right now.” With that, Jazz transformed, using the slickness of his own energon to wiggle his transforming limbs out of the tentacles' grasp. He landed on four furry paws, his beady optics glaring holes into the quint above him. He gave a mighty squeak as he bolted towards the quintesson.

“WHAT THE? HEY! GET BACK HERE!” the quint screeched, pad forgotten. They sent out more tentacles to catch him, but Jazz had learned his lesson. He dodged and weaved, leaving tiny bloodied pawprints as he pulled heavily on the advantage his smaller, slicker body gave him, biting tentacles and wriggling out of the holds that the tentacles tried to put him in.

One large tentacle swung over him. Jazz leapt, sticking a perfect landing as he proceeded to use it to climb up towards the quintesson.

Around them, the super computer’s screen’s flickered as the quint’s focus shifted elsewhere. Their once mirthful expression was now wracked with disgust and fear. “GET OFF OF ME, VERMIN!” they yelled, waving their tentacles in an effort to shake off the little sea otter. Jazz dug his claws into the soft mesh of the tentacles, holding on for a dear life as he continued to climb, leaving tiny bleeding tears behind him. Soon, Jazz had his target in sight; the pad shining innocently in the palm of his enemy.

He jumped just as two tentacles descended upon where he had just been, their pointed needles puncturing the tentacle he had been on, instead of his vulnerable soft flesh. Above him, the quint screeched in pain. Jazz flew in the air, just centimetres from the pad.

Tiny, clawed paws just managed to grasp the pad when a large tentacle came slamming down against Jazz’s side. It hit him like a baseball bat, the momentum throwing Jazz across the room, slamming him against the nearest wall. Jazz let out a pained wheeze as he slid down it, landing in a painful ball of misery.

Before he could recover, a tentacle snatched him up. Dragging him back into the clutches of the now very angry quint.

“YOU PEST! Did you really think that you could stop me?”

“Why yes, yes I did.” Jazz wheezed. “In fact, I already have.”

“HUH?” The quint asked, perplexed by the answer. They reached for their activation pad, only to panic as they realised they no longer had it in their grubby hands. “What?! Where is….”

Both beings' eyes locked onto the single pad lying flat on the floor. Its cracked surface flickered, but it still worked just fine.

[Restart needed to implement new reset: Y/N]

[Command received…. Processing]

[P.R.I.S.M protocols mass reset: DEACTIVATED]

[Core codes returned, restoring memory files]

[Commencing soft reboot -We appreciated you here at P.R.I.S.M_ Have a nice day ;>]

“No! NO!” the quint yelled, tossing Jazz aside as they scrambled towards the broken pad. They tapped furiously at the pad, but the commands didn’t change. They failed to hear transformation sounds behind them. They turned, jaw clenched as they snarled at Jazz. “LOOK AT WHAT YOU’ve DO-”

Jazz slit their throat.

The quint staggered back, crashing to the ground in surprise. Jazz relished the sound of their pain wheezes as green blood oozed from the fatal wound. It was sadly short-lived.  

To Jazz’s dismay, a cold chuckle rumbled from the spasming frame of the quintesson. “You didn’t really think that would kill me here, did you?” There was a crazed look in their optics as they glared up at Jazz.

“I am very much alive in the real world. And now, I know who exactly to hunt down for testing my product line's pain tolerances.” They hissed as they tried a final weak lunge with one of their tentacles, of which Jazz easily side-stepped. “Count your cycles, little mech. I will find you, and I will crush you. You and your sorry excuse of a mate.”

Jazz cleaned his knife, flicking the remaining blood onto the face of the quintesson, causing them to sputter indignantly. He crouched down beside the quintesson. “Bring it fragger. When I see you. It’s on sight.” Jazz hissed, making the final blow of puncturing the quint’s chest plate, impaling their organic heart.

Finally, the quintesson lay motionless. Dead. Defeated. Their frame vanished, bleeping out of existence. Though he was triumphant, Jazz didn’t have time to celebrate. He wasted no time in walking to the bassinet. He pressed the button that lowered it.

Once it reached the ground. Jazz gazed down at Prowl’s sleeping form. Gone were the bite marks and the open wounds. Prowl’s frame was back to working order, but the larger tentacle remained.

As gently as he could, he extracted the tentacle from the top of Prowl’s helm, revealing a long, bloodied needle. Jazz tossed it aside, anger giving way to worry as he gazed down at the still, silent frame. The wound closed with a sickening sort of fastness leaving nothing but a faint scar where the needle had once been.

Jazz knelt.

Wordlessly, he grasped Prowl’s right servo, caressing it in gentle circles. He frowned. The metal was cold. Too cold for his liking.

“Prowler?” Jazz asked, on bated breath, the question more a whisper than a sentence.

For a spark-breaking moment, nothing happened.

“Ah’m here, Prowl. Just like Ah said Ah’ll be. Come back to meh.” Jazz pleaded. He brought the cold servo into his own, snuggling it against his own warm chassis. Still, there was no response from the limp form.

Jazz shut off his visor, centring his focus sparkwards, pulsing his thoughts and prayers down the bond towards Prowl, hoping beyond hope that he was still there. In his channelling, Jazz leaned down, pressing his helm gently against Prowl’s.

“Please.”

A moment of silence passed.

Suddenly, Jazz felt a gentle squeeze coming from the cold hand he grasped. Already, he could feel Prowl’s servo getting warmer with every pulse of their bond. Jazz’s shock quickly turned to joy as he eagerly squeezed back. “Prowl!” he choked, a wet laugh bubbling up from his chassis.

Blearily, a single beautiful blue optic flickered online from within the bassinet. Prowl gasped, drawing in a deep, stuttering breath as he awoke from his near demise. Jazz noted that his expression was raw, stripped of his usual unreadable calm. He stared up at Jazz, confusion swimming in his gaze, like he was trying to piece together a fractured world. Of which he probably was. Jazz smiled down at him, chiming a greeting. “Hey, Prowler.” Gently, he helped Prowl into a sitting position.

Prowl was silent for a few seconds. Confused recognition bloomed on his faceplate. His voicebox fizzled as he opened his intake.

“Jazz…….what happened?  How did you get here?” Prowl croaked.

“Honestly, Ah don’t know mech, but ahm glad ah was here.” Jazz replied, relief flooded his spark.

It must have spilt over to Prowl’s side as the praxian gave a startled jerk at the foreign feelings. Prowl’s optics widened. “You…..me. We’re…..” Prowl grew quiet, the words dying in his mouth.

Unsure of himself, Jazz backed away, giving Prowl some space to breathe.  “Ah yeah”, Jazz rubbed the back of his helm with an energon-soaked servo. His optics flicking away. “Ah’m sorry, Prowl, I didn’t know what else to do. Your mind was getting wiped, and the trail Ah was following disappeared, and…….”  Jazz stopped his explanation, concern blooming within him.

Prowl was still, his frame curled around himself as his spark pounded a mile a minute. Jazz could literally see the mailstorm of thoughts the praxian was running through as it flickered through the screens in the control room. It was painful to watch Prowl’s frazzled mind fizzle and pop, struggling to realign and connect his wild thought nodes. Many of those nodes were filled with fear and bad memories, spiralling into garbled nonsense and error signs.

A new wave of disgust washed over Jazz.

Prowl was terrified of him. This was his core. His very shattered core, the barest he will ever be to any mech, second to his already breached spark.

He sat there waiting for Jazz to finish the job. Like special ops were supposed to do on orders.

He thought he was doing this to him.

Jazz’s visor grew stern; he had to stop this before Prowl got hurt.

He reached out, grabbing Prowl’s servo. He gave it one firm squeeze. Prowl stilled. White leaking optics peeked out at him from bent knees as the screens returned to their blank, white state.

“Prowl.” Jazz began. “Ah would never do this to ya. Not on anyone’s orders. Not on Starscream’s. Not on Ultra Magnus’s and definitely not on Optimus’s. A quint is working with da human who has ya; he’s da one who caused all this.”

Prowl was still stock-still, shaking like a frightened sparkling.

Jazz sighed. he kept his tone gentle. “Ah’m truly sorry this happened. It was a desperate idea born from an unfortunate situation. Ya never had a choice in this, and neither did Ah.”

Around him, the room seemed to blurr. Jazz released that Prowl was waking in the real world. Time was up for him. As much as he wanted to be delicate, He had to act quickly.

Seeing as he had Prowl’s full attention, Jazz reached for the other servo, holding them both in his own. “Prowler, listen. Ah need ya ta tell meh where you are. Once I find ya, we can go to Rachet and try to find a solution to this. Promise.”

He waited, desperate for the mech to reply. He watched as Prowl spoke.

“Jazz….I’m -”