#transformers jazz

[Chapter Five]

Jazz whistled a jaunty little tune as he walked around the Ark. With Prime currently away to lead negotiations with the Decepticons, it was up to him to make sure the base was up and running smoothly. He had already checked in with various commanding officers to track their department's current progress. Usually they would do group meetings to discuss progress, but he rather enjoyed doing one-on-one check-ins with everybody. It was much more fun than sitting in a stuffy meeting room. Prowl would no doubt question the efficiency of his approach.

Speaking of Prowl, Jazz quickly sent a quick burst down the bond to see how he was doing. There was no response. The bond was quiet. Prowl must still have been sleeping. Once an early riser and always the last to berth, Prowl now spent more time sleeping as a side effect of carrying.

While Prowl had been granted carrier leave, Jazz's rank made it so that he still had shifts to report to. The result being that he had to spend the first 10 breems of the morning carefully untangling Prowl's limbs from his own, which was a task that was made significantly more difficult by the fact that Prowl's carrier coding made it so that he instinctively clung to warmth. Jazz had long figured out that the only way he was getting out of the berth was by carefully tucking in and covering his conjunx in a ridiculous amount of blankets. He smiled at the mental image of a little bundle of happy Praxian.

Accessing his HUD, he quickly added a reminder to find more datapads that Prowl would enjoy reading in his newfound free time. He knew that his conjunx still felt guilty about being on mandated leave, so he had made it his mission to track down anything that could keep his processor busy for prolonged periods of time. Optimus had gladly lent him some of his favorite mystery novels, Rewind had been happy to have a willing audience to his archival material, Wheeljack and Perceptor had developed a puzzle program for him, and Hound had sent over some of his favorite documentaries.

He entered the Rec Room and grabbed a cube, before taking a seat in a booth currently occupied only by Ratchet. He was the last commanding officer on his check-in list.

"Hey Ratch!"

"Jazz." Ratchet acknowledged him. "How's your conjunx?"

"Getting tired of spending most of the orn just lying or sitting around."

"I imagine he's going to be singing a very different tune once your sparklings start running you both ragged."

"Have a little faith. This is Prowl and me we're talking about."

"You're right. We'll be lucky if your twins don't come out already knowing how to run."

Jazz laughed, but was distracted by a message flagged as urgent from Blaster.

From: 📻 Blaster (Communications Commanding Officer)

To: 🎶 Jazz (SIC/Spec Ops)

Subject: [Keep an optic on Prowl!]

Currently speaking to Prowl in the hallway. He looks the angriest I've ever seen him. He says the Twins pulled a prank in his room, so he is currently hunting them down. He looks like he might actually murder them!

To make matters worse, Prowl looks different…

His previous mirth faded away. Jazz could have sworn that the Twins had promised to behave so as to not stress Prowl during the last leg of his carrying. If Jazz had put a little extra pressure on them, that was neither here nor there. Regardless, if Blaster was contacting him, then it must be serious. He was confused though. It was unlike Prowl to get visibly angry. Aside from Optimus, Prowl had some of the best patience in the entire army.

Not to mention the fact that he apparently looked different? Different how? Good different? Bad different? Carrying frames tended to shift, so Blaster's vague statement offered no information. It just left Jazz worried.

Something must have showed on his face because Ratchet asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Blaster just messaged me. He says the Twins decided to play a prank, and Prowl is disconcertingly angry. He apparently looks 'different'."

"Leave it to those two to slag off a carrier so late in their term." Ratchet rubbed his chevron in exhaustion. "Can't say what's running through their helms, but Prowl's exaggerated anger might just be a side effect of his carrier coding. Heightened mood swings are common."

"But Prowl? He is usually the model example of keeping one's helm."

"Carrier coding doesn't discriminate, but check on him if you're that worried. Bring him over to the Medbay if he actually does look different. You know his frame better than Blaster."

Jazz nodded. "I'll just finish my cube and head out."

"It'll be fine," Ratchet tried to assure him. "I highly doubt this is anything to worry about. Blaster was probably just erring on the side of caution, just like the rest of the army seems to be doing."

"Hah! Tell me about it." Jazz said as his worry began to subside. "The other orn Prowl mentioned he had gotten a heavy bout of nausea after smelling the magnesium additives Bumblebee adds to his energon. Bumblebee went out of his way to throw away every packet from the Rec Room."

Ratchet groaned. "That explains why I've been having to take my fuel bland for the past couple orns. Honestly, you'd think nobody has seen a carrying mech before."

"Well, to be fair, we were at war for millions of vorns."

"Yet, that didn't seem to stop you two now did it?"

He chose not to dignify that with a response and instead took a sip out of his cube to hide his slight flush. So he had sparked up his conjunx after a baffle failed. Sue him.

He was saved from further engaging with the conversation by an incoming comm call. "Give me a klik Ratch. Gotta take this real quick."

[(1) INCOMING GROUP CALL FROM "SIDESWIPE" & "SUNSTREAKER".]

"You two want to explain what exactly it is you did to rile up my conjunx?" Jazz snarked.

"Jazz!" Sideswipe said. "We didn't do anything. That's part of the reason for why we're calling."

He could hear a grunt of assent from Sunstreaker.

"Explain. Now."

"We were just chilling in the hangar, and then Prowl stormed in accusing us of messing up his habsuite. Then he told us that we were responsible for cleaning up, so we are currently here right now, but it looks clean to me!"

"Wait, you're currently in our habsuite?"

"Yes, but Jazz! Prowl wasn't acting right. He was storming down the halls, rapidly crouching down, and carrying a heavy load of cleaning supplies. Now I'm no expert, but I don't think that's stuff a carrier should be doing, but when we tried to tell him anything, he just told us to be quiet."

"He also threatened to drag us down himself if we didn't comply," Sunstreaker added.

Stumped by the information he was receiving, Jazz replied, "Thank you for the heads up. I'll take it from here." But before he forgot, he quickly added, "Oh, and get out of our habsuite."

"Gladly," the Twins responded in unison.

[(1) GROUP CALL ENDED.]

Jazz was at a loss for words. Not only was that behavior worrying and potentially dangerous for a carrier, but it was so unlike Prowl. Even when dealing with the worst offenses committed by the Twins, he had handled each situation calmly and professionally. Never once raising his voice or threatening physical action. He felt worry slam into him. Was carrier coding really that strong?

"What was that all about?" Ratchet's voice broke him out of his worried stupor.

"The Twins just called. Apparently, they maintain that they are innocent. But Ratch, apparently Prowl was physically overexerting himself."

At that, Ratchet immediately went into medic mode. "Overexerting himself how?"

"According to the Twins, he was zooming around the hallways and carrying heavy materials."

"Has he done that before?"

"No. That's why I'm worried. It's been killing him to just sit around, but he's never even attempted to engage in heavy physical activity since it might pose a risk to the twins."

Ratchet pursed his dermae in thought. "Considering he's been fine this whole time, I'm thinking something must have set off his carrier coding."

"Is he going to be fine? Are the sparklings alright?"

"Assuming that it is just temperamental changes, they should be fine. But I am concerned about the fact that he has had such a drastic change practically overnight. I think it would be best to see if having the sire nearby might satiate whatever set off his coding. It could simply be an extreme adverse reaction to being physically separated."

Before Jazz could respond, Ratchet raised a servo and appeared to take a comm call of his own.

In the meantime, Jazz felt his anxieties increase tenfold. He tried figuring out what could potentially have set Prowl off. When tucking him in before his early shift began, everything had seemed to be fine. Prowl's engine was purring happily underneath all the blankets by the time he left. And the previous night, they had happily indulged in their usual routine. Prowl had looked so sweet and content cuddled up next to him. Like always, Jazz had sung the twins a little lullaby, causing Prowl to doze off, leaving him to appreciate his little family in the quiet.

The nerves got the better of him. He needed to check up on Prowl. To make sure that everything was alright. It was better to be safe than sorry.

From: 🎶 Jazz

To: 💌 Prowl

Hey, Sweetspark! Where are you? I heard the Twins were giving you trouble.

Luckily, Prowl tended to be quick at responding. All he had to do was wait and hear his conjunx's side of things. Hopefully, everything was just a result of the crew fussing over him.

A notification hit his HUD and relief filled him. Obviously, Prowl must have been just fine if he had been able to so quickly compose a response. He quickly opened the message and felt a sense of unease bubble in his tanks at the message.

[(1) Message to "💌 Prowl" failed to send. Comm number not found.]

There was no reason for Prowl's comm number to be unavailable. Even when he was not on the roster of active duty, Prowl never disabled his comms. The workaholic and dedicated commander remained adamant that he should be easily accessible at any time of the orn regardless of his leave.

Whether it was sire coding that kicked in or his naturally honed-in instincts from his time in Spec Ops, Jazz was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him. There was a lingering sense of uncertainty that belonged only on the field, not in the safety of his own base.

He tried to rationalize it. "Hey Ratch, what are the chances that carrier protocols could have cut off Prowl's access to his comms?"

Unfortunately, the medic seemed preoccupied with his call. The clear concern on Ratchet's face only served to further set off his nerves. He had no proof, but instinct told him it was connected to whatever was going on with Prowl.

The supposed unusual burst of anger, the difference in appearance, and his disabled comms were all painting an ugly picture. But everything had been perfectly fine just a couple joors ago. And even if comms were disabled by an unknown threat, Prowl could have easily let something pass through the bond to warn of an emergency.

Jazz sent another burst through the bond. Love/comfort/curiosity.

The bond was still quiet.

That couldn't be right. If Prowl was up and supposedly in an agitated state, he should have felt something, unless Prowl had his end blocked, but even then, he should have felt the muffling of whirling emotions. He had to see Prowl.

He was just about ready to jump out of his seat to go find him, when Ratchet confirmed his worst fear.

"You need to head to Prowl's office right now."

Jazz felt dread at Ratchet's tone. It was not a sarcastic lilt nor his typical tone. It was the voice he used when one of his patients was in danger.

"His office? I thought you and Red locked that down."

"We did, but Red Alert just informed me that Prowl is demanding entry access," Ratchet explained. "But, more importantly and more concerning, Red Alert noticed that Prowl looked substantially leaner. Given his prior behavior, I told Red Alert to grant him access to appease him for the time being, but you need to go wrangle him to the Medbay."

His spark dropped. It was one thing for Prowl's behavior to change. Carrier coding had been known to cause even the most rational of bots to act erratically. It was a completely different thing for a carrier's frame to undergo a severe physical change so late in their carrying. He almost felt as though his spark was climbing up his throat. It wasn't just Prowl, but also his sparklings that were in danger.

"Jazz! Listen to me. Prepare a cube for him, and meet me in the Medbay. Whatever might have happened, we caught it early, which increases the chances of successfully treating it."

He nodded and ran to the energon dispenser before rushing to Prowl's office. Images of the worst case scenario spiraled through his processor. Worry for Prowl, worry for his twins, worry for his family seemed to engulf him.

Primus damn it! Everything was going perfectly. Why did something have to happen now?

He pushed his pistons to the metal as he transformed and raced to Prowl's office. He would clean up the tire marks later.

Approaching the office door, he input the special access code that Prowl had granted him for easy entry. While he was no coward, he was terrified of what the door would open to reveal. His processor conjured up images of Prowl collapsing in his office, of Prowl hunched over in pain, of Prowl crying out for help with nobody around to hear, of Prowl needing him but being nowhere in sight.

As the door slid open, Jazz was relieved to see Prowl sitting in his desk with bright optics and shiny plating. All of which were indicators of a healthy bot. More importantly, he was happy to see that his conjunx didn't seem to be in any pain regardless of what was going on. Prowl looked fine.

Just the sight of his conjunx was enough to calm his nerves. He entered with a smile. It was short-lived.

Momentary confusion on Prowl's face gave way to the meanest scowl that he had ever seen on his conjunx's face. Sweet dermae that would always curve into shy smiles were twisted into a grotesque glower. Optical ridges that would furrow in confusion or deep thought were now deep crevices of wrath. However, it was Prowl's optics that scared him the most. Light blue optics that were purer than the rawest celestite now burned like a cold fiery blaze. They scalded his plating.

Optics that had always looked at him in fondness now only reflected hatred. Simply put, Prowl looked downright rabid. Jazz felt his smile falter.

Never in the vorns of knowing each other had Prowl ever looked at him with such clear distaste. It stung.

Before Jazz could even take control of the conversation, Prowl hissed out "You!"

"Me?!" He exclaimed dumbfounded. Memories of the last few joors passed through his processor in an effort to try to figure out what he could have possibly done to warrant such a reaction.

Doorwings hiked up in anger, and Jazz didn't even know they could hike up so high.

"I bet you thought you were clever! I will admit you almost got me by framing the Twins. I had completely forgotten that their insolence is only outmatched by yours."

Jazz might have argued that point but considering that he had never seen Prowl in such an agitated state before, he wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. The first rule of being a spy was to let others freely give you the information themselves. He had yet to understand what Prowl thought he did wrong. And any attempt to try and defend himself immediately evaporated from his glossa the second he felt the pure fury emanating from Prowl.

"And as if desecrating my habsuite was not enough, you went behind my back and kept Optimus's absence a secret. Do you have any idea of the risk you have put him and this base in by refusing to communicate that vital information to me?!"

"Desecrate" was a pretty harsh descriptor in his opinion. He knew Prowl was a stickler for cleanliness, but when he'd left for his shift, their habsuite looked pretty organized to him.

But that was besides the point. The more glaring issue was that Prowl must have been suffering from some sort of processor fog, seeing as he had made sure to diligently confer updates of Optimus's progress. And even then, Prowl wasn't cleared for duty. All responsibility of the base fell to Jazz.

"And to top it all off, you had the audacity to convince Ratchet and Optimus to go along with your ploy to lock me out of my office when I am perfectly primed for duty. All because of what? A petty grudge? Or can you simply not comprehend that I am actually qualified for my position?"

Jazz felt like his helm was spinning. What on Primus's name was Prowl talking about?

Forgetfulness was a known side effect of carrying, but Prowl had seemingly forgotten large periods of time. While Prowl had complained about his mandated leave, he had begrudgingly accepted. So why was Prowl acting like this was brand new information?

Even worse, did Prowl feel as though his efforts went unappreciated by him? That was slag! Jazz knew there was nobody more qualified than Prowl. And he made sure to tell him that, repeatedly.

Slowly, Jazz approached the desk and unsubspaced the cube, placing it on the desk. "Prowl, I am sorry that was not my intention." Given that Prowl's hostility was completely one-sided, the best strategy was to try and mollify him. Plus, a cube of energon might have the added benefit of calming him down.

Jazz stood in confusion as Prowl looked at the energon cube with heavy scrutiny. He saw as some sort of realization flickered in those beautifully analytical optics. With speed he definitely should have been incapable of, Prowl jumped to his pedes and slammed his servos on the desk. "So you were in my habsuite!"

Horror filled him as he finally saw the part of his conjunx's body that had been obscured by the desk. Red's assessment had been correct, Prowl looked smaller. Dangerously smaller. The small bump that had formed to accommodate his twins was non-existent.

Every strut in his body was begging him to do something. To wrap Prowl in a bundle of blankets and hide him away from all danger. To hold him close and utter sweet murmurings that everything would be fine. To transport him to Ratchet's immediately.

Meanwhile, his processor was drowning in guilt. Why hadn't he noticed anything? Prowl had seemed fine in the early morning, but what if he had been wrong. He felt his spark drop at the thought that he had let excitement blind him. He would never forgive himself if a momentary lapse in his vigilance had compromised Prowl's health.

What sort of conjunx was he? What sort of sire? He had promised to protect them, yet he had failed.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Jazz went behind the desk and felt his mouth drop after noticing the dents left on the desk. He quickly grabbed hold of Prowl's servos and rubbed gentle circles to soothe the hurt from slamming the desk. In the sweetest voice he could muster, which came easily when it came to his lover, he said, "Prowl, let's go see Ratchet."

He had just barely started to trace little gentle designs on Prowl's doorwings—a motion that experience had taught him would have a guaranteed soothing effect—when a sudden change in his position caused him to cry out in surprise.

It all happened in an instant. Too focused on getting Prowl to Ratchet, he did not stop to think how his actions would be interpreted by a furious carrier, which is how he found himself pinned to the desk by Prowl.

Deep aggressive vibrations from Prowl's revving engine kept him suspended in a state of shock. His conjunx was the type of mech to use violence as a last resort. While he was ruthless when it came to directing battles, when it came to interpersonal conflict, he would never get physical.

"Have you lost your damn mind!" Prowl spat out over him. "Trespassing, conspiracy against a commanding officer, hacking base locks, vandalism, abusing administrative privileges, and purposefully withholding pertinent information! And as if that was not enough, you just had to add assault of a commanding officer to the list! You're lucky I did not snap your entire arm off!"

A chill traveled down his spinal strut at his conjunx's vicious tone.

But that was nothing compared to the way his energon had frozen at the fact that with Prowl using his body weight to restrain him, he could not sense their sparklings. Jazz would know. Nimble fingers had intimately memorized the outward curve of his lover's forge. Hypersensitive audials had memorized the faintest murmur of his twins' small thrumming sparks.

He could not hear them. Two small vibrant sparks that had become steady constants in his life were no longer audible.

His creations were not here. Deep and erratic vents left him breathless.

That was not possible. This had to be a horrible recharge flux. Anytime now he would wake up with Prowl cuddled up next to him. His twins residing safely in their carrier's forge.

The reality of a frame pushing down against him brought him back to the present.

"Prowl, please, are you okay? Are Smokey and Blue fine?"

"Who?" Prowl snarled.

Panic, fear, dread, terror, hysteria all swirled around in his processor. This was perhaps the first time Jazz had ever doubted the accuracy of his audials.

"More of your co-conspirators?"

If those names meant anything to anybody it would have to be Prowl. With Prowl's carrying being so widely known throughout the Autobot ranks, they had tired of everything becoming public knowledge. As a result, they wanted something that would only remain between them both. They were the only two mechanisms alive who carried the knowledge of their twins' designations.

Jazz turned his helm just enough to gaze at his sweet conjunx's face. He was met with a visage that promised retribution. "Smokey and Blue. Please Prowl, I need to know. Where are they?" He begged with tears welling behind his visor.

Genuine skepticism marred his conjunx's face. "I have no clue what you are on about." The familiar sound of Prowl removing his stasis cuffs from his subspace echoed the shattering of Jazz's spark. "I recommend staying quiet before you further incriminate yourself."

Vorns of experience as a Spec Ops operative had long taught Jazz to trust his intuition. Said intuition was currently yelling at him that something was horribly wrong. Every limb was begging to fight back against the mech currently restraining him. His processor was screaming that this wasn't his conjunx. It couldn't be his conjunx.

The same doting mech, who had braved his fear of medics and willingly let his overactive processor wallow in inaction for the benefit of his creations, could not be the same mech who now reacted to their designations in disdain and apathy. The same sweet mech, who lovingly cuddled with him every night, could not be the mech who was now attempting to restrain him.

He sent several bursts down the bond, praying that Prowl would give him some indication of what was going through his processor. Love/Comfort/Fear/Worry.

There was no reaction. No response.

This couldn't be Prowl. The sheer rage emanating from his frame would have been impossible to completely hide from the bond.

Jazz closed his optics, trying to stop tears from falling down his face. He let out a shaky vent and could see as his vent fogged up the metal underneath him. Focusing on the metal, he could make out the warped reflection of the mech above him. Blue optics had a freezing, rather than a warming, effect.

No. This was not Prowl. His spark did not recognize him. Every single energon line in his body was warning him that something was wrong. He had not stayed alive for so long by ignoring them.

He stayed quiet, careful not to further escalate the situation, and quickly sent out a missive. He still had a base to protect.

From: Second-in-Command/Special Operations Commander Jazz

To: Comm Group: "Autobot High Command "

Subject: [CODE RED: INTRUDER ALERT]

A potential infiltrator has disguised himself as Prowl. Chief Tactical Officer Prowl's current status and location are unknown. All available personnel are needed at Prowl's office. Suspect is aggressive. Proceed with stealth and caution.

Battle protocols were fully activated, and Jazz had to fight against the urge to just slam himself against the mech wearing his lover's face. The most reserved part of his processor, the part that was too weak to raise a servo against his lover's likeness, cautioned him to approach the situation carefully.

He let "Prowl" handcuff him. If the situation called for it, he knew he could easily break out of them. He was hauled up on his pedes, hands restrained behind him.

"Honestly, I expected better of you." The fake Prowl snarled. "We've never seen optic to optic, but I never suspected that you would sink so low. And to think I had even the smallest shred of respect for you and your abilities."

The voice that would softly whisper sweet murmurings late at night was now a torrent of vitriol. It flooded Jazz's audials, filling him with hurt.

It was the worst torture imaginable. To hear a voice that had brought him such comfort now bring him such fear and panic. To feel servos that would gently draw patterns on his chassis now push him forcefully. To see fond optics swallowed whole by hatred and indifference.

Where was his dear lover? Where was the mech he had promised to protect? Where was the mech he had failed?

He tried rationalizing everything, but this farce made no sense. Ideally, a talented impersonator would have made sure to replicate Prowl's mannerisms perfectly. Instead, they had managed to mess up Prowl's traits so badly it was almost comical. Where Prowl was calm and collected, this mech was hot-helmed. Not to mention that it was definitely a horrible choice to take on the appearance of a carrier but fail to adopt their physical likeness in its entirety.

So what was the goal?

Maybe they were aiming to encourage infighting within the faction by pinning one of the most respected bots against the rest. It would explain why "Prowl" had been so openly hostile to everybody he came in contact with.

But that raised the question of who would even execute such a plan.

They were currently in a ceasefire agreement with the Decepticons. And even if they had chosen to pursue more underhanded means, Jazz knew for a fact that Decepticon intelligence was aware of Prowl's carrying status. Soundwave was not incompetent enough to sign off on such a half-baked plan.

He could think of no other group or party that would have a stated interest in this sham.

Strong servos started to guide him somewhere, presumably the brig. However, "Prowl" was stopped in his tracks when his office door opened to reveal Ironhide and Red Alert waiting outside. Jazz had worked alongside them all to know that Wheeljack, Blaster, and Ratchet were standing by out of sight, ready to intervene if reinforcements were needed.

For the first time, Jazz felt the tiniest tendrils of "Prowl"'s EM field. There was a small coil of unease running through it.

"Ironhide, please escort Jazz to the brig. He has committed multiple infractions. Among the most notable are assault of a commanding officer and abuse of administrative privileges. Given the ranks of those involved, we will, apparently, have to wait until Optimus returns for sentencing. Do make sure that additional precautions are taken. We all know he is clever."

"Prowl" then proceeded to roughly shove him into Ironhide, who thankfully caught him before he crashed into the ground.

Another mistake. Prowl would never treat a mech in stasis cuffs so callously.

It did not skip Jazz's notice that Red Alert had carefully repositioned himself so that the intruder was trapped in between him and Ironhide.

It did not miss "Prowl's" notice either.

Doorwings ever so slightly hiked up when Ironhide had yet to move a pede.

"Ironhide, I gave you an order," the intruder hissed.

Looking down, Ironhide shared an unsure glance with the saboteur, who tilted his helm and took his cue to slip away from his restraints.

"I don't take orders from you." Ironhide retorted.

The magnitude of the situation came down on "Prowl" as his expression morphed into one of shock. "What is the meaning of this?!"

Jazz approached with the same stasis cuffs that kliks prior had been fastened around his own wrists. "That's what we want to find out. Now we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. I'm just letting you know now that I won't take it easy on you just because you're wearing my conjunx's face, so choose carefully."

"What!?" The fraud exclaimed in shock and horror. Something in Jazz's statement had set off a visceral reaction from the mech because he could teek an EM field that was a dizzying array of confusion, shock, and embarrassment.

"Have you all gone insane? This is treason of the highest order!"

"I hear too much talking and not enough decision-making," Ironhide prompted.

The intruder looked around. Intelligent optics quickly analyzed the situation, and how it broke Jazz to see traces of his lover in them.

And despite the hurt it caused, he forced himself to track those optics. To see as this infiltrator, who had managed to distort Prowl's character, somehow managed to perfectly capture the brilliant glint he had fallen in love with. Clenching his fists and pursing his dermae, "Prowl" dejectedly put out his servos in front of him. His frame trembled in barely contained fury.

As Jazz approached to handcuff him, the fraud maintained unflinching optic contact. Jazz had almost preferred that he hadn't.

He heard as "Prowl" spat out, "I do not know what you are plotting, but you won't get away with it. I'll make sure of that."

And despite his confusion at those words, in that moment, he saw the determination, the steadfastness, and the stubbornness he had grown to adore. He had to look away.

"Ironhide, Red Alert, take him down to one of the interrogation rooms. I'll be there shortly."

Both bots nodded in acknowledgment and proceeded to carry out his orders. He heard as "Prowl" continued to complain and berate Ironhide and Red Alert as they escorted him, but he really did not care to follow. There was a much more important thing to worry about.

He saw as Blaster and Ratchet approached him, concern evident in their expressions, but he waved them off.

Jazz opened Prowl's office doors and let himself drop to his knees as soon as the door shut behind him. Heavy ventilations wheezed out of his frame as he processed the last couple of breems.

The only thing giving him the strength to continue was the consolation that his bond with Prowl was still active. He sent a short burst and felt a keening sound escape his vocalizer when nothing came back yet again. Prowl was alive, but he had no way of knowing what state he was in, of what state their creations were in.

Why? How? When? Who?

Those questions kept haunting him.

Jazz felt like his entire world had been cruelly ripped from his servos, and he had been unable to put up a worthwhile fight.

His loving conjunx had been replaced by a husk that couldn't quite properly imitate him in frame much less in spark. His beautiful twins had been stolen from his grasp before he had ever gotten the chance to hold them.

If Prowl were here, he would have already come up with an entire analysis of the situation, but Prowl wasn't here. Only a fake remained. A fake that had somehow managed to capture the subtlest of mannerisms that Jazz had grown so intimately familiar with, and that unnerved him for reasons he could not quite explain. It was like faint whispers of Prowl were haunting him.

Shakily, he stood up. That was all the time he permitted himself to grieve. Wallowing would accomplish nothing. He needed to get to the bottom of this.

His conjunx was fine. His beloved twins were fine. He would will these two statements to be fundamental facts of the universe. He refused to accept the alternative.