Prowl fired side by side with the other officers, trying to down the slave traders before they killed all the slaves the Enforcers were trying to free.
Rapid shots and pitiful cries showed that the small police force was failing in their task.
Prowl gritted his denta and pushed on, covering several officers as they made a run for the slave quarters.
Once they were inside, however, the whole place went up in an explosion, and Prowl knew they'd been lost.
"Pull back!" Prowl's commanding officer screamed as more and more of the illegal compound went up in flames.
As they all turned to leave, Prowl heard a faint cry from the burning buildings.
"Help me!" the voice whimpered, and Prowl turned back.
"Prowl!" it was his commander. "I said, pull back! No one survived that!"
"Someone did." Prowl didn't look back as he traced the call he had heard.
"I didn't hear anyone." Prowl's police partner complained. "Come on Prowl, stop trying to be a hero already. It doesn't help anything."
"If Prowl says he heard someone, he did." Prowl heard his commander say sharply.
Prowl waded into the flames, honing in on the area he had heard the cry.
"Hello?" he called gently. "Anyone there?"
"I am, if I'm anyone that is." A faint, raspy voice said weakly.
Prowl rushed over and lifted a piece of not-yet-engulfed-in-flames girder aside and saw a young slave crouched on the ground, brilliant blue visor staring up at him.
It was a black and white Porsche model, and he grinned up at Prowl. "Are you going to rescue me, or just stand there and burn to death?" he asked, rising gracefully from the ground.
Prowl silently held out his arms to the young bot, and said slave gratefully clambered into them.
Prowl then made a mad dash out, barely making it before the building finished collapsing in a roar of flames.
"Coulda moved a little faster. Your skideplate's got a burn." The young slave frisked a servo down and patted Prowl's rear.
"You don't act like any slave I've ever rescued." Prowl couldn't help noting, a little flustered.
The slave beamed up at him. "Maybe I'm not a slave. Maybe I'm one of the slave traders in disguise so that you'll rescue me and I can go free to imprison and torture other young, innocent mechs like myself."
Prowl nearly stumbled.
This bot made no sense.
"Prowl!" Prowl's team rushed towards him, glad looks on their faces.
The young slave, if he really was one, stiffened. "Who-who are they?" he asked warily, shrinking down into Prowl's strong arms.
"My team." Prowl answered.
"So there was someone in there! Good work Prowl. A promotion might just be in your future." The commander beamed at Prowl.
"Thank you sir." Prowl murmured, trying to move forward while the rest of the team cooed over the young bot he cradled.
The confident attitude had vanished, and the slave was trying to hide his face in Prowl's chest, whimpering piteously.
The whole team transformed and headed back to their compound while Prowl headed off to place the slave into an organization that helped former slaves resume their lives back in free society.
Once Prowl was all alone, the young bot stopped shaking and began to laugh.
"What is so funny?" Prowl demanded.
"Their faces!" the slave choked out. "They thought I was really scared of them! It works so well every time!"
Prowl suddenly stopped and set the young bot down roughly.
"Ow!" he complained, one leg giving out and nearly making him fall if not for Prowl holding him up.
"Who are you?" Prowl demanded, and the slave looked up at him brightly.
"I have no name. I'm just a slave." He chirped innocently.
"Why did you act scared of my partners when you were not?" he asked next.
The slave wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. "They might take me away from you." He responded.
Prowl looked over him closely.
He sure looked like a slave, but he sure didn't act like a slave.
The tags, collars, and abuse marks were all over him, but the confident, friendly smile he shone on Prowl didn't fit.
The visor glowed blue, and Prowl was tempted to remove it to see under it, but when he reached for it, the slave recoiled, and cowered.
"Are you like them?" he whimpered, covering his face with one trembling arm. "I thought you might be different."
Prowl dropped his hand, then the slave, (he was sure he must be a slave, just a very strange one), relaxed.
"I thought you were different." He announced with no small relief in his voice. "Now, are we going to your home, or what? I'm ready to serve my master."
Prowl stiffened. " I am not your master." He corrected stiffly. "I am a police officer who just freed you from slavery. I am taking you to a place you can learn to live a free life in."
The black and white bot pouted. "But I don't want to be free. I was meant to be a slave. They said so." He sounded so matter-of-fact that Prowl had a hard time not face-palming in exasperation.
"No, you are a free bot now." Prow tried to explain, but choked off when the young bot sidled up to him, wrapping his arms around him again as he did so.
"I can make you very, very happy." He murmured, arching seducively into Prowl's body.
Prowl, to his horror, felt warmth growing in his groin.
The young slave took advantage of his hesitation, and began to stroke Prowl's body lightly, and rubbing along his doorwings.
There was a pop, and Prowl glitched out as he froze up.
Prowl gradually came to in his own home, in his own bed, served by his own slave.
Wait… slave?
Prowl didn't own any slaves; he was against slavery for Primus's sake!
Slowly, the police officer sat up, and the perky slave danced over, poured him some energon, and offered it to him.
"Feeling better, my master?" he asked gaily, beaming up at Prowl with obvious delight.
"I am not your master." Prowl said firmly, then drank the much-needed energon the slave was offering him.
The slave shuttered one side of his visor in a wink, then tripped away to place the glass, presumably, in the sink.
"Pretty drab place you got here." Prowl jumped.
Somehow the young bot had came up from behind him, and silently at that.
Prowl turned to look at him, but he wasn't there.
"Look up." The voice sounded amused, and Prowl did as told, glancing upwards to see the Porsche dangling by his knee from a ceiling rafter.
Prowl gaped for a second, then snapped his mouth shut hard.
Standing to his feet, he beckoned the slave to come down.
Obediently, the slave twisted free and landed in a crouch nearby.
For a moment, the slave's visor glowed dangerously, but then it passed, and the young bot rose to his feet once more.
"Are we going somewhere?" he inquired happily, skipping over to where Prowl stood motionless.
"How old are you?" Prowl asked, ignoring the question.
The bot shrugged.
"Do you remember where you were sparked?" Prowl asked next, and the slave recoiled slightly.
"No, no please don't take me back!" he pleaded, visor flashing erratically, then threw himself on Prowl, clutching him tightly. " I wanna stay with you! I'll, I'll do better, I promise!"
The slave tore free of Prowl and sped off grabbing a cloth as he did so, and frantically began whisking the cloth around, trying to show how useful he was by dusting the place.
"That's not why I asked." Prowl sighed, and the slave paused.
"Really?" he said, his face lighting up.
He dropped the cloth and danced over to Prowl.
The whole time he did so, Prowl had noticed something unique: the bot moved silently.
Not a sound did he make as he twirled across the floor to Prowl's side to beam up at him.
"Do you remember who your creators are?" he asked next.
The slave shook his head.
Prowl suppressed another sigh. "Come on." He said, turning to leave.
"Where are we going?" the smaller bot stayed right where he was, watching warily.
"To the slave rehabilitation center." Prowl responded.
The slave promptly whirled and ran, disappearing in Prowl's small apartment.
Prowl followed, and searched his whole apartment from top to bottom before finally discovering the shivering, sniffling bot in an air duct in the ceiling.
As soon as he saw Prowl, he pressed backwards further.
"Don't!" he begged, shaking his head furiously. " They'll take me! Don't!"
Prowl hesitated.
"How about we go visit my commander instead?" he offered, thinking quickly.
His commanding officer always had great advice on how to deal with surprising situations, and Prowl hoped he could do something about this slave.
The young bot slithered down and landed in Prowl's arms, snuggling close.
Prowl was relived, and strode out of his apartment and down the street, the slave clinging to him as though he might vanish forever.
As soon as they reached the home in question, the door opened.
"Why, Prowl!" the commander exclaimed, looking surprised. "I wasn't expecting you."
Then he noticed the young slave, face hidden once more.
He frowned.
"Why haven't you taken him to the center yet?" he asked in disapproval.
"That's what I came to you for." And Prowl explained what had been going on, the young bot somehow melting into the kitchen and unobtrusively bringing them drinks while they talked.
The commander's face got more and more concerned.
"It would appear that he was born into slavery." He said thoughtfully, gulping down the energon he was brought. "But some of his behaviors don't match. Where is he? I would like to see him a little better."
Prowl glanced up, but the slave was nowhere to be seen.
Apologetically, he rose to find him, when his commander suddenly grasped at his chest and went still.
There was a commotion fro the kitchen and a shriek that was cut off mid-cry, and then silence.
Prowl rushed to his commander, but he was dead.
Calling emergency medical, Prowl raced into the kitchen.
The door swung lazily, but there was no one in sight.
Someone had poisoned Prowl's commander and stolen the young slave.
All that was left was a name, in large, scrawled letters, JAZZ.
Prowl never stopped looking for the young bot.
After the commander was killed, Prowl was promoted as commander instead, and did his job well.
He just never stopped double-checking every smallish, black and white Porsche with a blue visor for the missing young bot.
More then once, as he hunted down a smuggler and assassin Porsche model who matched the young slave's description, but had a name, Jazz, and by his records never had been a slave, he would think of his missing young bot.
He could have sworn the troublesome smuggler Jazz was the exact same bot, but personally was never able to check up on him, as the bot always escaped him.
He would catch glimpses of black and white, and sometimes a twinkling blue visor would wink at him from the shadows, but he could never catch the elusive troublemaker.
Then the Great War broke out, and Prowl all but gave up the search.
"Hey Prowl, boss says to tell you there's a new recruit coming in!" the twin Lamborghini Sideswipe, one of the newer recruits himself, leaned in the doorway to tell the Autobot SIC, Military Strategist, general discipliner and tactician the information.
Prowl nodded curtly to him, spying the yellow twin, Sunstreaker, glaring over his red twin's shoulder.
"Aren't you going to thank him?" Sunstreaker demanded when Sideswipe began to walk away.
"A nod of thanks was offered." Prowl said tersely. "You are dismissed."
With an exaggerated huff, Sunstreaker turned to follow his brother, coming to a sudden halt as a cheerful voice rang out, "Hey man, what's with the cloudy face? I figured with a name like yours, you'd be all smiles and sunshine!"
Prowl froze at the voice.
It sounded so… familiar.
A little different-older-to be sure, but still familiar.
"You're the new recruit, aren't you?" Sunstreaker asked warily.
"Indeedy I am, man. You look fresh around the audios yourself. How is it, being new in this place?"
Prowl rose from his desk.
"Why don't you just find out?" Sunstreaker pointed the yet unseen bot towards Prowl's door. "Your recruiting officer is in there, and I'd be careful if I were you or you'll land in the brig right off."
"Speaking from personal experience I gather." The other bot chuckled, and Prowl stepped into the hall.
A proud black and white Porsche model stood in the hall, blue visor twinkling merrily at Sunstreaker.
Then he looked right at Prowl. "Ah, so we meet again, my noble rescuer, nemesis, and master." He said, and beamed at Prowl.
Prowl was taken back several million years to a young slave, who beamed up at him as he carried him home from a burning slave trader compound.
To a runaway saboteur who exploded part of the police compound-and winked as he fled.
To a smuggler who traded illegal goods-and left Prowl gifts with every case.
To the assassin that killed his own commander.
And even, a blurry memory of the one time he had been drunk, and the owner of the nightclub cozying up with him, black and white trim gleaming, and blue visor glowing softly as they kissed, and yes, they had a very intense interface session, the best Prowl had had to date.
"I'm sure you'll remember my name from before." The bot was saying. "It's Jazz."
