Captured Sparks (pt 1/2)
Title: Captured Sparks
Author: Zea Taylor
Continuity: Robots in Disguise (2000 cartoon)
Rating: K+/PG
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Sideburn, X-Brawn, Hot Shot
Warnings: pre-Jazz/Prowl romance, off-screen violence, unbetaed
Summary: Prowl wouldn’t have believed it possible to be infuriated and intrigued, both at the same time, and by the same mech. The new spy-changer on Hot Shot’s team seems determined to broaden his mind.
Disclaimer: This story is based in the 2000/2001 Japanese cartoon series “Transformers - Robots in Disguise”. It is a work of fan fiction - characters and settings are used without permission, and belong to their legal copyright holders.
Author’s Notes: Well, it's been a while and I have no idea how big the audience is for a Robots in Disguise story - particularly for an RID Jazz/Prowl fic. I’ve speculated for a while now about why RID Prowl didn’t have a Jazz of his own. I’ve seen a few mentions of Robots In Disguise recently and they reminded me to actually sit down and write this thing! Inevitably, there are G1 influences. Comments, suggestions or advice for improvement are more than welcome!
The first time Prowl encountered the new spy-changer, Jazz was clad in black and white and racing down the freeway with wild abandon. By the time he lost the mech, almost two hours later, Prowl’s engine was racing, the exhilaration of the chase almost offsetting the frustration of its ending.
The second time Prowl saw Jazz, the spy-changer was wearing red. The sleek sportscar sped past them and Sideburn was in hot pursuit before Prowl could so much as warm his vocaliser. Prowl followed the pair up side streets and down alleys, his sirens clearing the road for all three. It wasn’t until Prowl transformed in mid-slide, grappling his brother to a halt, that Sideburn paused to listen. Sitting on the younger mech to hold his attention, Prowl watched Jazz waggle his shapely aft with deliberate nonchalance before driving off, and laughed harder than he had for vorns.
The third time Jazz cruised past Prowl on the highway, he was a near-perfect white, a stripe of brilliant blue echoing the colour of his visored-optics. The paint-scheme suited him, and Prowl said so that night, even as he revved hot and ranted about the mech’s immaturity to a tolerant X-Brawn. The next day, he found a cube of energon and a thank-you note waiting for him, and all his scans for watching spy-changers yielded precisely nothing.
The fourth time the infuriating mech made his presence felt, he’d taken on X-Brawn’s paint scheme - grey-green, with red highlights placed just so. He parked quietly, nose to the older mech’s tail and when X-Brawn’s human arrived, two sets of lights responded in perfect unison to her key. The female looked from SUV to sports car, both identical, both chirping their lights at her command and her face went blank. She returned inside to indulge in mild hysteria. X-Brawn fumed. Prowl just watched Jazz drive off, torn - as was becoming increasingly common - between his laughter and irritation.
The fifth time drove the laughter from Prowl’s circuits. Jazz was a little too close to the centre of town, going a little too fast, and a human tragedy was averted by no more than a mechano-micron. Prowl felt obliged to report the mech, and Optimus was unimpressed. Hot Shot, on the other hand, spent the conversation studying Prowl with a deepening frown, even as he promised to call his spy-changer to account.
The sixth time Prowl saw Jazz was a demonstration exercise in slow speed evasion. The intelligence mech crossed every junction ahead of a changing light, leaving Prowl behind to fume at the red glow. He obeyed every traffic law, never giving Prowl an excuse for pursuit, and the police-mech never got within a hundred metres of him. They were three hours into the master-class before Prowl decided that Jazz was one of the best and most careful drivers he knew. It was another day before he realised that teaching him that had been the point of the exercise.
The seventh, eighth and ninth times Jazz and Prowl crossed paths were statistically implausible for chance encounters and everyone knew it. T-AI rolled her eyes, X-Brawn frowned and Hot Shot muttered curses under his breath. Prowl, chasing the white and blue racing Porsche across town and country, freed from concern for the humans around them, was having far too much fun to care.
The tenth time Prowl set off in pursuit of Jazz, Megatron dropped out of the sky without warning, crushing the blue-striped hood under his massive, clawed pedes.
---
The spy-changer commander, Hot Shot, was talking to Optimus Prime when X-Brawn and Sideburn arrived back at Base. The fact alone should probably have set off alarm flags, or at least made them pause to ask why.
That kind of hesitation just wasn't in Sideburn's nature. The hot rod didn't think before acting. He hit the other mech with all the momentum of his transformation, slamming the spy against the wall and holding him there with an arm pressed into his neck assembly. That the intelligence officer could probably break the hold without even revving didn't seem to occur to him.
"Sideburn, really!" T-AI's protest was lost in the ringing thunder of metal clashing against metal and the angry cry from Sideburn’s victim.
X-Brawn, following behind and with a few seconds to think about things, winced. The rational part of him fully expected to have to pick his youngest brother off the floor, and probably put him back together again afterwards. Right now though, it was drowned out by the larger part - the one that wanted answers. Looming behind them, engine growling, the older mech frowned. He made no attempt to intervene, his yellow optics fixed on the spy-changer, waiting for the answer to his Sideburn’s snarled question.
"What in the Pit has your lunatic done with our brother?"
"Sideburn! Release Hot Shot immediately!"
Optimus Prime's voice of command wasn't one any of them could ignore. Sideburn backed off a few steps, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. X-Brawn realised his were doing the same and unfurled his finger-servos with a conscious effort. Both of them were venting hard, their optics flashing with anger and concern.
Prime surveyed the Autobot Brothers with a tension in his posture and a frown half-hidden behind his battle mask. The absence of their third was impossible to overlook.
"Explain."
"Prowl's missing." Sideburn spat the words, his optics turning to their Prime, his weapons systems whirring audibly as he paced a few steps to one side and back again.
X-Brawn could only nod as Prime's attention turned to him, his own anxiety as deep as Sideburn's, if rather less vocal. "He was meant to meet us two hours ago. He's not answering hails and we've already gone over his patrol route."
"Two hours isn't that long." Hot Shot shook his helm. Prime’s optics cycled through a reset, and even the experienced intelligence agent flinched at the looks he received in return.
"This is Prowl we're talking about." Sideburn threw his arms up in emphasis. "The mech's not been late once since the day he first on-lined."
T-AI's eyes turned distant. The small, human-analogue form that the artificial intelligence projected pursed her lips, her eyes wide as she confirmed for herself that Prowl was unresponsive. "It is rather uncharacteristic," she admitted, turning to Optimus. "I can't find a trace of him."
Crossing his arms, X-Brawn backed up his brother with a scowl. "It has to be something to do with Jazz." He snorted, still unimpressed at the trick the spy had played on his already-skittish human cover-owner. "Another of his 'games'. The mech's a menace."
The look he turned on his leader was expectant. Optimus Prime could order an Autobot to respond, and even a smart-ass spy-changer like Jazz would think twice before refusing the signal. He was startled when Prime raised a hand to stroke his battle-mask thoughtfully, a glance deferring his answer to the spy-changer's commander.
The black-clad mech folded his arms across his chest-plate, mirroring X-Brawn and half hiding the flame decals that decorated it. His blue visor was unreadable, and his voice calm.
"As I was telling Prime before I was so rudely interrupted, Jazz is almost four hours overdue for his last check-in. I can't raise him."
X-Brawn froze, his optics fading. Sideburn was less impressed. He snorted, shaking his head and pacing again.
"Probably just afraid to face the music for whatever he's done to Prowl."
Turning his back on Hot Shot was unwise. The spy-changer commander moved before X-Brawn could even think of intervening, and this time it was Sideburn who slammed back-first into the wall, an angry mech looming over him.
"Jazz is a good agent. One of my best. He's too good to break protocol on a world with confirmed hostiles loose, let alone Megatron's Predacon elite." Hot Shot scowled, the expression manifest in his body language where his optics and face-plate were hidden from view. "He wouldn't miss a check-in without a good reason - not even with your brother as a pit-spawned distraction from his work."
"So this mess is Prowl's fault? Not Jazz being a bad influence? Prowl spent yesterday chasing that maniac's aft, breaking just about every speed limit in the county, and he was laughing when he got back - laughing!"
"Enough."
Again, Prime's deep rumble cut through the tense confrontation. Hot Shot huffed air through his vents, stepping back from Sideburn and putting Prime between himself and the Autobot Brothers. Optimus Prime looked from one group to the other before turning to T-AI with a look that needed no explanation.
“Bringing Autobots online. Activating Battle Protocol.” The hologram wore an intent expression, the console behind her small figure flickering in synchrony with her eyes. "Team Bullet Train - come in!” She nodded, her eyes distant as she listened to words only she could hear. “Team Bullet Train report condition normal. Build Team - respond!” Again the pause, the interminable wait. “Wedge tells me that the Build Team is still working on the South American land-bridge, and has experienced no disruption. Condition A-OK." Her eyes flashed, head cocked to one side as if listening. When she refocused, it was to give her commander a short, sharp nod. "Tow-Line also acknowledges. I have instructed him to remain on guard outside Koji's home."
"Good," Optimus agreed, his voice still betraying an edge of tension.
"The other spy-changers have already checked in." T-AI nodded to Hot Shot, and then turned back to Prime, her hands on her hips. "Jazz and Prowl are the only Autobots on Earth unaccounted for."
Her pronouncement fell into a worried silence. Hot Shot and X-Brawn exchanged grim looks, and Sideburn's servos fell away from where they'd been rubbing the back of his helm. All three turned to their Prime more in hope than any real expectation.
Prime nodded slowly, his optics distant for a few moments before they refocused. "Neither responds to my override codes," he confirmed. "I fear - "
"Optimus!" T-AI's eyes widened. Her voice rose in pitch, her cheeks flushing as her hologram generator responded to her agitation. "I'm picking up a news report!"
"... in this leafy suburb earlier this afternoon, when Megatron, tyrannical leader of the Predacons, disturbed its tranquillity." The voice of a human reporter spilled from the console, the image that accompanied the television report swimming into view a moment later in the air between them. "While no humans were injured in the brief incident, eye-witness reports suggest that two Autobots were involved in the altercation and may have suffered serious damage." A perfectly-coiffed human female replaced the view of a debris-littered road, her eyes deliberately wide as she tried to add gravity to a story almost entirely lacking in human interest. "While such damage can hardly compare with the loss of life and property since the Predacons and Autobots brought their war to our planet, we nonetheless offer our prayers for the brave defenders of our planet, and our hopes for their speedy recovery."
The virtual screen flickered. It faded, leaving the Base's control room dark and still.
"Optimus..." Sideburn whispered, his fuel tanks roiling. "Prowl and Jazz..."
Prime nodded, one large hand coming up to rest on the younger mech's shoulder.
"... have been captured by Megatron," he finished grimly.
---
"Prowl? Prowler, you alright?"
The voice was anxious, its musical tones speaking English but with a rich accent that his processor tagged as thick Polyhexian. Prowl groaned, more interested in stopping the noise than actually responding. One hand came up to rub his helm, trying to ease the thunderous ache in his processor.
"Wha... what happened?"
"Sky-byte. Him and Gas Skunk, they jumped you 'fore you finished transforming." The other voice hesitated, wavering a little. "Saw it happen. Couldn't do much about it 'tho."
"Jazz!" Prowl's optics flared into life, cycling furiously to clear his last image of the mech's frame, crumpled under the claws of Megatron's beast mode. He scanned the room with frantic urgency, his optics adding to the glow from Jazz's single, cracked but functioning headlight. The spy-changer was still in vehicle mode, sitting low on his tires. His roof was torn, pierced by a claw and buckled under its weight. Beneath a shattered windshield, his hood had caved in, its white surface warped and its blue racing stripe almost obliterated by scratches of bare metal. The panel rested loose, its clasps broken, the mech's engine visible beyond its curled edges. Prowl stared, aghast at the damage, and dreading what more might be hiding behind the surface panelling.
"Jazz!" he repeated, more softly, stumbling across the space between them and falling to his knees at the spy-changer's side.
"Hey." Jazz managed a chuckle, his vocaliser choking off as his engine stuttered. "Nice t'finally meetcha, Prowl."
The observation gave Prowl pause. He tilted his head, his expression wry.
"It's difficult to know whether I should be greeting you or arresting you." He paused, his hand hovering over the battered vehicle before falling away. "I had wondered when I would catch up with you for long enough to hold a conversation."
That got another shivering laugh. "Was kinda hopin’ for better circumstances."
Prowl shook his head, venting a sigh. "As was I."
He paused, taking a moment to look around the small brick-built room in which they’d been confined. The door had been replaced, a solid steel barrier replacing the usual flimsy human construction. Beyond that, the Predacons seemed to have done little work, leaving the building as it had been when they - presumably - stole it. Usually, that thought would be enough to incense the police-mech. Right now, Prowl couldn’t bring himself to care. His optics slid back to Jazz and stuck there, helpless and horrified.
The spy-changer rocked slightly on his tyres, his engine whining at a pitch Prowl found deeply concerning.
"Look, Prowler, you've gotta knock me back into some kinda shape. I can't do nothin’ to get us outta here if I can't transform."
The small, dark room was silent for a long moment.
"I believe Sideburn was correct after all. You are quite insane."
"Prowler!" Jazz's insulted tone cut right through Prowl's aching processor. He shook his helm, trying to clear it, still not able to tear his optics from the damaged vehicle in front of him.
"Without medical intervention to deactivate your pain receptors, any attempt to correct the damage is unwise to say the least. Medical protocols require - "
"'m a spy-changer, remember?" Jazz shifted and then groaned, his hood creaking as a corner caught under part of his frame. "Seriously, Prowl. I can dial down the receptors myself. I'm not talkin’ 'bout major surgery here. Just knockin’ out some o’ the dents."
"I can do that." The new voice was unwelcome, and the flood of light that accompanied it more so. The steel door slid aside, revealing the brightly-lit corridor beyond. Prowl cycled his sluggish optics, trying to force them to adjust before his processor burnt itself out. He squinted into the light just in time to make out the beast-mode form of Sky-Byte take a swipe at Jazz's flank with his tail. Whether it was the momentum of the blow itself or the force of Sky-Byte's anti-grav projectors, Jazz's door creaked, a new indentation forming.
"Did that help?" The Predacon chortled, vindictive in his glee. "No? Want me to try again?"
Prowl was on his pedes before he could think, his fists clenching and his processor searching his subspace for a weapon that was no longer there. He interposed himself between his enemy and his ally anyway, helm raised high.
"You'll have to come through me first," he said, voice quiet.
It was curiously satisfying to see the sharkatron back off. Sky-Byte might have the upper hand here, but he'd faced the Autobot Brothers often enough to give his natural cowardice pause. Prowl tried his best to glance around without breaking optic contact, certain it couldn't be long before the Predacon Second remembered his prisoner was alone and unarmed.
"Gas Skunk - terrorise!" The battle cry came from the doorway, and the sound of transformation accompanied it. Prowl flinched, his optics adjusting slowly to the flare of excess energy that spilled off the new Predacon's form.
Gas Skunk stood in the doorway with Dark Scream behind him, both with weapons trained on Jazz and Prowl, both rolling their optics at their nominal superior.
"You done here?" Gas Skunk shook his head, looking at the Autobot captives with a sneer of pleasure and contempt. "Boss's getting impatient."
The presence of two mega-blasters on his side worked wonders for Sky-Byte’s confidence. The Predacon’s wide mouth spread in a grin, foot-long teeth glinting in the dim light.
“Just letting the prisoners know who’s in charge.”
“Ya mean Megsy?” Jazz rocked forward on his tyres, not able to move far but the snigger in his voice unmistakeable.
Prowl’s sharp in-vent went unheard. A ringing clash of metal drowned it out, first from the hard thwack of Sky-Byte’s tail against Jazz’s bumper and then from the collisions as Jazz hit one wall and Sky-Byte himself rebounded into the other. Broken brick clattered down on both, the human-built warehouse not designed to take Cybertronian forces.
Prowl leapt without thinking, grabbing Sky-Byte’s tail while the mech was still off-balance, and swinging him hard into Gas Skunk and Dark Scream. The three went down in a tangle of limbs and a chorus of squawks. There wasn’t time to check on Jazz, as much as Prowl wanted to. He dived forward, reaching for a fallen mega-blaster, hope surging.
A stream of blue-tinted flame burnt it away. The fire came close enough to burn his outstretched finger-servos, certainly close enough to throw him off balance. Prowl hit the ground hard, sliding along it and almost into the huge purple feet that kicked the Predacons aside.
Megatron leaned down, optics glowing like red coals as they froze him in place.
“Autobot Prowl,” he growled, his voice dropping almost to a purr. “I think it’s time we talked.”
---
Sideburn’s pacing was doing no one any good, least of all the young mech himself. He could feel his tension rising as his restless energy built up.
He should be out, taking the fight to Megatron and his goons, not prowling around his own base…
The thought brought him to an abrupt halt.
Prowl.
Images of his quiet elder brother played through his processor. Prowl’s scolding. Prowl’s rare, rich laughter. Prowl in Megatron’s claws.
Memories of his own day of captivity in Predacon hands, lured by his own obsession, sent a shudder through Sideburn’s frame. The thought of the same happening to his big bro…
A cry of frustration burst from the young mech’s vocaliser. Swinging around, he slammed his fist into the metal wall behind him, a deep dent forming under the impact. The wall panel wasn’t the only thing dented. He massaged his finger-servos and found himself jumping when a hand closed over his blue-armoured shoulder and turned him gently to face the room. X-Brawn’s yellow optics glinted with sympathy and a shared fear that neither was quite able to put into words.
Sideburn’s eldest brother didn’t speak, just took Sideburn’s servos in his own, checking for damage.
“Sideburn, X-Brawn.” Optimus Prime’s voice drew the attention of both Autobots back to the centre of the room. The tall, red and silver mech stood in front of T-AI’s terminal, but his optics studied them both, his concern plain. “You should get some rest.”
“We should be out there! Searching!”
X-Brawn sighed, tightening his grip on Sideburn’s servos. “Steady, little brother."
“You were searching for almost six hours, after a full day of duty. The spy-changers and the others will take it from here.” Coming from Prime’s vocaliser, it sounded almost reasonable. Their commander caught their optics with his own, allowing them to read his rock steady determination. “We will do anything and everything necessary.” The promise spoke straight to Sideburn’s spark, and he held the optics of the leader who’d already proven his willingness to sacrifice all. Prime nodded to him, sharing the memory. “We will find them.”
The moment broke. All three mechs tensed, and T-AI’s hologram flickered into existence, as a deep engine note filled the air, rushing down the access corridor at unwise speed.
Hot Shot spun into the room, his flame decals glowing brightly against his black bodywork and his entire attitude aflame with frustration. Weariness was written through his posture as he transformed, the spy-changer’s search as long and fruitless as that of the Autobot Brothers. Optimus caught the mech’s arms, steadying him to give his balance sensors a chance to adjust, and frowned at all three of them.
“My crew is still looking,” Hot Shot reported, tone abrupt. “You didn’t have to call me in, Prime. I’m fine. Got work to do. Mirage seems to think he might have a lead.” He shook his head, glancing sympathetically at Sideburn when the younger mech tensed. “It might be nothing. He’ll let us know.”
The surge of hope and disappointment just fed Sideburn’s restless energy. He tore his hands from X-Brawn’s, resuming his pacing in spite of Prime’s deep sigh.
“We ought to be thinking about this logically.”
He scowled, aware of the incredulous stares sent in his direction. He didn’t need to be told he was taking Prowl’s line. He knew that well enough. “Jazz is a spy-changer, right? A good one. So what’s he most likely to try if he’s been caught?”
“I don’t know.”
It was Sideburn’s turn to stare. Hot Shot folded his arms across his chest, visor meeting optics with defiant frustration.
“I said Jazz was good. I didn’t say he was predictable.” The black-clad mech began to pace in unconscious imitation of his interrogator. “Half the time, I have difficulty even getting my processor around half the things he does.” The mech stopped in place in front of Sideburn, his voice and expression sombre. “Having Prowl there will throw him off. The mech’s been distracting him for weeks already! He puts on a good act, but Jazz is a loner at heart. When he’s mission-focussed, he doesn’t play well with others.”
Sideburn felt his spark sinking, but he managed a nod, his lips thinning to a firm line.
Hot Shot nodded an acknowledgement in return. The spy-changer held Sideburn’s optics for a few seconds before shrugging. “So, what about Prowl? He’s here with the two of you and Prime, and I’ve seen him fight, so I know he’s good. What will he do?”
“Prowl can fight.” Sideburn confirmed, reassuring himself with the firm assertion.
“Yeah,” X-Brawn’s uneasy tone undermined what little confidence his brother had managed to build up. “But let’s face it, bro, this far out of comfort zone, he’s not going to be doing well. Put him in a battle, and he’ll rumble with the best of them. Outside it?” He shrugged. “Prowl’s a stickler for rules and regulations, Hot Shot. Pit, even disguising his paint scheme was a major drama. He likes to be on solid ground.” X-Brawn scowled at the spy-changer, irritated with him by proxy. “That’s why Jazz needs to leave the mech be - my brother’s not a plaything for a bored chaos-bringer.”
Hot Shot bristled. X-Brawn bristled right back at him, both mechs too weary and too worried to hide their agitation, or to care that Sideburn was looking between them with bright optics, tensed for a fight.
“Had it occurred to you,” Prime’s calm tones washed over them like cool water, “that Prowl and Jazz might be good for one another?” The three mechs turned, united in confusion as they saw their commander’s raised brow ridge. “While Jazz’s record with the spy-changers is exceptional, I have long thought that he might benefit from some discipline in his approach. Prowl, in turn, would be stronger if he were to learn some of Jazz’s flexibility.”
Put like that, imbued with Prime’s ineffable wisdom, it was kind of hard to argue against.
Sideburn frowned regardless, not entirely happy with the implied criticism, no matter how gentle it might be. He didn’t need to know his brother’s weaknesses, or how he might be improved. He needed to know Prowl was safe and well and back in his brothers’ care.
The bright lights of the Autobot command centre reflected off the vibrant armour of four anxious mechs, each weary, each silent and caught in their own thoughts as they waited for news.
“Hot Shot! Prime!” Mirage’s familiar tones spilled from Hot Shot’s comm and T-AI’s terminal simultaneously. The spy-changer’s usual arrogance was missing from his voice. He sounded urgent, even excited, and Sideburn was tensing even before he heard the report. “The Predacons! I’ve found them!”
---
Jazz was quiet when they were thrown back into their cell, and Prowl didn’t know whether to fear the mech was stasis-locked or to hope for it.
Megatron hadn’t been gentle. Where the other Predacons would have tortured their prisoners out of petty vindictiveness or in angry revenge for some slight, the warlord did it with a cool indifference. Jazz was a lowly spy-changer, not high in the Autobot command structure, not widely known outside of his immediate chain of command and the mechs he came in direct contact with. Megatron bore him no particular ill-will - had no real interest in him one way or the other, in fact, beyond the fact that he’d been seen associating with one of the famous Autobot Brothers several times in the last orn. To Megatron, Jazz was leverage, a tool he could use against Prowl. To Megatron, Prowl himself was nothing more than a conduit into Optimus Prime’s inner circle, a chance to steal an insight into the working of his great rival’s mind.
Prowl would have flinched to see any mech beaten, blasted by fire, paint-work bubbled and scorched, in punishment for his silence. This wasn’t just any mech. Jazz was an enigma he’d never spoken to before today, a thorn in his side for weeks, and the inspiration of more laughter in the last orn than he’d experienced in all his vorns.
The fact that Prowl’s silence wasn’t entirely his own choice, that just possibly Prime didn’t have a master plan his confidante could betray… well, as far as Megatron was concerned that just didn’t compute. The idea that Prime might be planning nothing more than to protect the human vermin was as incomprehensible to the warlord as abandoning his own plan for world domination. Jazz had suffered for Megatron’s blindness, and Prowl had watched every blow, and felt each one striking at his own spark.
It came as a relief when Megatron tossed them back into their prison, posting Gas Skunk outside and leaving to take his frustration out on Sky-Byte, as was his wont. Prowl needed to recover his bearings, and to think of a way to get them both out of here. And he needed to see if there was anything he could do for his companion.
“Spy-changers’ll come for us.”
The Polyhexian-accented murmur startled him. He hurried to Jazz’s side, his servos hovering helplessly over the twisted frame. Jazz was still stuck in vehicle mode, fluid leaking from under his chassis but tinted with pink energon rather than the iridescent sheen of human oil on water.
Keeping the spy-changer calm was important, at least until he’d assessed the damage. Prowl nodded, his voice as firm as he could make it. “So will my brothers.”
“You’ve just gotta stay strong, Prowl. Give Megs what you need ta, and don’t worry ‘bout me. Jus’ don’t do anythin’ to provoke him.”
“Says the mech who taunted Sky-Byte,” Prowl noted, more to keep Jazz talking than out of any real rancour. Kneeling, he peered under Jazz’s bulk, reaching out to crimp off the most obvious of the broken lines. It was pathetically inadequate as emergency care went, but nothing could be worse than inaction.
Jazz laughed, the quiet sound rippling with an undertone of pain.
“’m not a total masochist, Prowler. Thought Sky-Byte might jus’ knock my emergency beacon on-line.”
Prowl looked up at Jazz’s bumper, optics brightening.
“Did it work?”
“… No.”
Prowl suppressed his sigh, but he couldn’t stop his vents faltering, hope fading as quickly as it had come. He studied Jazz’s caved-in hood and wondered whether he’d do more harm than good trying to prize it open now. The thought of the damage that might lie beneath was enough to make him shudder.
“Prowl…” Jazz’s voice was still musical, rich and deep in tone, but it was weaker now than it had been when Prowl had first heard it. It hesitated, the mech drawing in a trembling vent before he went on. “I jus’ wanna say… in case I don’t get a ‘nother chance… these past couple of weeks, they’ve been a whole lotta fun.”
Prowl’s optics dimmed. “Agreed.”
“I was kind of wonderin’… kind of hopin’… to get t’ know ya better.”
Prowl could hear his own spark-beat pounding in his processor. He knelt, silent, looking at the mech in front of him.
“As was I,” he admitted softly.
The sigh of Jazz’s vents echoed through the room.
Prowl was still for several seconds. The whirr of his servos was loud, his systems less damaged than Jazz’s but still protesting the abuse they’d received, as he stood. His finger-servos trembled as they curled under the edges of Jazz’s hood, and he felt the spy-changer tense beneath him.
“Whatcha doing, Prowler?”
“You said if you can transform you can get us out of here. Did you mean it?”
The hesitation was infinitesimal, the answer firm. “I can try.”
Prowl took hold of the warped metal fouling Jazz’s transformation sequence and pulled.
---
“Keep back until we signal you.”
Hot Shot barked the order, tagging on a “sir” only when Prime’s engine rumbled behind him. REV and Crosswire fell into convoy either side of their leader, appearing from nowhere as spy-changers so often did.
Sideburn and X-Brawn bracketed Prime, none of the three inclined to listen, all of them impatient to reach their destination. Hot Shot stood on his brakes, forcing them to slow, and making sure he had their attention.
“I mean it,” he warned. “I have Mirage ready to slip inside at the first opportunity. My other people will get in when they can. I need you to stay outside, keep Megatron’s attention on you, not what’s going on behind him. We don’t want to force his hand with his prisoners.”
“Prowl and Jazz are valuable hostages.” Prime would listen to his intelligence chief, that didn’t mean he always agreed with him. “Megatron knows I will be… displeased… should he harm them.”
“Assuming he hasn’t off-lined them already.”
It was possible Crosswire didn’t mean his muttered aside to be overheard. If so, the revving of engines quickly told him his mistake.
Wind whipped past them, other vehicles moving aside as the group barrelled across an overpass with unstoppable momentum. Sideburn’s fine-tuned engine whined, his voice grim as he gave voice to the thought on all their processors.
“The thing about hostages, you know, is that he only needs the one.”
It wasn’t possible for the convoy to travel any faster, but the engines of the entire group growled with their urgency.
The human-built warehouse complex loomed in front of them. At first sigh it was nothing special - an unlikely base for the Predacons, but no more so than a dozen others the Autobots had chased them from in the last few years. The senior Autobots slewed to a halt on the concrete apron in front of it, the spy-changers fanning out to either side of them, encircling the building. They weren’t trying for subtlety, not now.
“Optimus Prime - Battle Mode!” Optimus Prime’s roar shook the ground and the air. He landed on his pedes with a thunderous impact, weapons and armour snapping into place. “Megatron!” he challenged. “Megatron! Come out and face me!”
For several long seconds, the echoes faded into total silence. Then the broad, double-height doors began to fold open with a whir of poorly-maintained machinery. Megatron advanced through the opening in terror-dragon form, the earth under his feet quaking with each clawed footfall. Sky-Byte floated beside his leader, jaw gaping in a far-too-smug grin.
“Prime!”
“Megatron!” Prime threw back his broad shoulders, his blaster in his hand, his optics blazing with fury. “Will you face me in battle? Or does your cowardice reduce you to preying on my people taken unawares?”
Megatron’s snarl was his answer. The dragon-beast lunged, the meeting of the two titans thunderous. Neither noticed, or particularly cared, that their subordinates were squaring off, X-Brawn and Sideburn against Sky-Byte and Gas Skunk, the spy-changers driving rings around Slapper and Dark Scream. Neither had optics for any but each other, grappling, dodging blows and weapon fire, absorbing both where they must.
The battle could have taken seconds or hours, time meaningless until the moment when everything stood still.
Megatron hit the ground hard, landing on his back, his beast mode ill-suited to righting itself quickly or with grace. He snarled up at Optimus Prime, his nemesis poised above him with mega-blaster aimed firmly at his helm, and seized the only option he had left for distracting the mech.
Gas Skunk and Slapper had taken shelter in the doorway of the warehouse, firing around it to ward off the attacking Autobots. They stood frozen, together with the rest of the battlefield, captivated by the stand-off between two implacable foes. Megatron caught them with his optics, his finger-servos clenching into fists at his sides.
“The captives,” he barked, voice harsh and angry. “Kill them!”
---
“Mirage! Report!”
“I can’t find them, Hot Shot!”
Sideburn’s mega-blaster roared. He transformed fast, his tyres laying down tracks of burning rubber that stretched across the concrete and left parallel lines up Dark Scream’s back almost before the Predacon hit the ground. Sideburn launched himself from the ramp of Dark Scream’s wings, sailing over Megatron’s outstretched arm with a yell and landing in a skidding scream of tires.
He raced for the warehouse door, X-Brawn moments behind him, terror in both their sparks.