In the midst of the night, Jazz returned from his patrol, silently and smoothly gliding into the abandoned warehouse that served as the home for his fellow Autobots on Earth. It was definitely no Metroplex, but it had a homey feel to it that the garrison lacked. He greeted Bumblebee, who was still up playing Ultimate Bloody Death Combat IX vs. Zombies!. He could see the appeal of video games, but combat simulators were one of the few aspects of human culture that he could not appreciate. He did the real thing for a living; he didn't need to dwell on fighting in his off time either.
His own room had a widescreen TV now, a "welcome to Earth" gift from Sari Sumdac. Flipping through the channels, he finally settled on Men in Black. Jazz rather liked this Will Smith guy, for some reason he couldn't quite put a servo on. The man had style. Bringing up a file, he added Hollywood to his ever-growing list of places on Earth he wanted to see someday, right under Paris and above Egypt.
There was a knock on the door just as the movie was starting to get good. Comedies were interesting; they gave him a good idea of the sensibilities of humans. Hopefully sooner or later he'd be able to appreciate the humor. He accessed the internet through his processor so he could continue watching the movie in the back of his mind. As he answered the door, there before him stood Prowl, distinctly lacking of the mods he had been sporting since the incident with Lockdown.
"Where's your armor, bro?" Jazz asked. He loved the languages of this planet, especially the particular vernacular he'd chosen.
Prowl seemed apologetic in his body language. "I took it off," he answered. "If we must fight, I must face you without it to aid me."
Jazz was taken aback. "Fight?"
"I've completed my training," the cyber-ninja pointed out. "That means..."
"Oh! Right, right," Jazz shook his head. How could this fact have escaped him? Now that Prowl, Yoketron's final student, had mastered processor-over-matter, the time had finally come for all Yoketron's pupils to battle. He leaned against the threshold of his door, looking Prowl over. "Do we have to do this now?"
"Well, no," Prowl admitted. "But I would rather we get this over with. Besides, now that word has gotten out, someone will come to Earth looking for us soon."
"True." The white martial artist nodded, shifting his weight back onto both his feet. "Where do you wanna do this?"
"I was thinking out in the woods. I'd rather not have the others know about this."
"Why not?"
"Because Ratchet will refuse to let us do it, fearing we'll harm each other. Bulkhead will want to observe, Optimus won't understand and Bumblebee will try to convince us to hold off until he can sell tickets."
"Gotcha." Jazz transformed, shifting back into the sleek white form he enjoyed so much. This was actually the first time he wouldn't be able to enjoy the drive. Prowl converted into his two-wheeled form, and the two discretely departed from the base. Bumblebee didn't even see them leave as his video-game avatar mercilessly decapitated A.I. after A.I.
It took them fifteen long minutes to reach a properly isolated forest area. After unfolding back into their true forms, Prowl pulled out several stakes and planted them into the earth. Once they were all laid, they formed a decagon around the two Autobots. This would be their battlefield.
"In the end… there can be only one," Jazz remarked.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothin.' Just something I picked up from a movie."
Prowl looked displeased. "I would think this is hardly the time to be making light of the situation."
"Hey chill out, bro," the white Autobot said, raising his arms. "You were actin' so somber I almost thought this was a funeral. It's not like we gotta fight to the death."
"I… suppose you're right," Prowl admitted, before taking a defensive stance. "Very well then, my friend. Let's do this."
Jazz made the first move, lunging towards Prowl. As he expected, Prowl chose to leap upwards and try to get him from behind. The advantage to fighting a friend was that one could better anticipate the other's moves. The white Autobot spun around, making a wide sweep with his left arm It connected with his opponent's body, but Prowl fired his boosters at the last second, pushing himself towards his right and rolling with the blow.
Aside from some scuffed paint, both warriors were unharmed. Again, Jazz surged forward, using Prowl's own momentum to knock him off his feet. The two tumbled, struggled, but avoided leaving the circle. To leave the circle was to lose automatically.
Prowl's wings gave him an advantage on the ground, both making it trickier for Jazz to wrap his arms around the otherwise slender bot, and giving him some leverage if he used his body as a fulcrum. A foot hooked between Jazz's legs and the next thing he knew, he was airborne. If Prowl had been any stronger, he definitely would have knocked him out of the ring. Instead, Jazz hit the ground and skidded to the edge.
The snap of a twig alerted him to Prowl coming in for the "kill." Jazz hesitated, allowing Prowl to think he was disoriented. Wait… Now! Hefting his weight forward onto his arms, he blindly kicked out with both his legs as hard as he could. The attack connected without Jazz even seeing the black mech, grimacing at the sound of shattering glass. Right on the torso – somehow he didn't feel as satisfied as he thought he ought to.
Jazz tucked his legs underneath himself and kicked up away from the ground, spinning in midair to face his brother martial artist. A blow to the face was already waiting to meet him, then another to the shoulder. Prowl was trying to both disorient him and render his joints inert, but Jazz's bulky car hood made his shoulder joints hard to reach. However he was momentarily blinded, and at that point chose to fight fire with fire. Without warning, he turned his headlights on, stunning Prowl with his powerful highbeams. Never thought to use them that way before, he thought. I'll hafta keep that trick in mind next time I go up against a 'Con in a dark alley.
Both recovered about the same time. So far, Jazz was keeping Prowl on his toes, just the way he wanted. Prowl excelled at the offensive, but his defensive technique needed polish. Leaping into the air, Jazz delivered a couple good kicks before coming back down, receiving another blow to the torso while he landed. Before he could be knocked backwards, he kicked the ground, pushing himself forward again. The two bots tangled in each others' arms, both struggling for the leverage to bring the other down.
Finally, in a gambit, Jazz sacrificed his footing and allowed Prowl to push him down, but used his legs to batter Prowl in the gut. The black bot grunt in pain and his arms weakened. In that moment of vulnerability, Jazz heaved and they switched positions. As he passed over the lithe Autobot's body, he grabbed Prowl's arm and straddled it between his legs.
"Yield," he grunted. He had leverage to do anything he wanted, even break off the other Autobot's limb if he wanted.
"I yield!" Prowl said quickly, and the two bots relaxed. Standing up, Jazz offered Prowl a hand, which Prowl accepted with the same arm Jazz held in the death-lock a moment before.
"Guess I'm gonna have to face the next round," Jazz said grimly. Then, more graciously, he added, "Nice moves there. Your technique keeps gettin' better and better."
"I try." Prowl sounded disappointed, and Jazz knew why. In his own optics Prowl still felt guilt for "failing" Yoketron. And since it had been their Master's wish that Prowl one day be his successor, now that it wasn't going to happen for some time, the guilt was probably resurging.
"No, I'm serious," Jazz insisted. "The only advantage I have over you is age and experience. If you'd been fightin' as long as I have, you'd probably be better than me. As his youngest pupil, you may one day carry Yoketron's legacy." He was not afraid to admit when he was outclassed. In fact he was enjoying helping Prowl train and ushering the younger-bot to the greatness Jazz knew he would be destined for one day. Knowing he would have a servo in destiny would be his legacy. The closest human term he could think of to describe their relationship, he believed, was "brotherhood."