A Black and white praxian mech paced back and forth outside a bedroom. His bonded, a gray praxian sat on a chair against the wall. He was slouched over, his helm resting in his servos. "What are we going to do?"

The Black and white praxian ignored his bonded as he continued pacing. His bonded stood up quickly. "Do you not care about what just happened, Klor?" He yelled.

'Klor', the Black and White praxian, paused. He slowly turned to his bonded, and gave him a glare. "I do care. We are high caste, if our youngling has a glitch, do you know how that will affect us? We'll be laughing stocks! We'll be out castes, Florn!"

Florn shook his helm, his yellow chevron gleaming in the light. "You care alright, for all the wrong things!"

The two froze as the bedroom door opened. A red and white medic stepped out. "His vocal processor fritzed out."

"He is alright though?" Florn stepped forward.

The medic nodded. "Yes, but I do have to speak with you both."

Klor quickly walked over to the medic. "What is it?"

"Your youngling… He does have a glitch."

Klor cursed as he stepped back and sat down in the chair Florn was sitting in a couple of moments earlier. Florn sighed. "How bad?"

The medic shook his helm. "Not bad. It's a vocal processor glitch. He won't be able to talk as much as I'm sure he'd like to." The medic smiled. "He is very talkative. His vocal processor basically overheats. It could be painful for the youngling, so I'd keep him from talking as much as you can."

Florn nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

The medic nodded. "Sure."

"I'll show you out." Florn spared Klor one last glance before he led the medic through his large home.

Klor stood up as the two left, and let out one last curse before he stepped into his youngling's room. "Silverstreak."

"Sire!" The youngling's voice was fuzzy and full of static.

Klor sat down next to the youngling's berth. He sighed as the gray and red mech smiled up at him. His tiny cheveron scuffed from when he fell into stasis. "Did the doctor talk to you?"

"He did! He said tha-"

"Stop." Klor shook his helm. "No more talking. At all. None. Do you understand? You have to understand something, youngling. The life we live is all about honor, and nobility. You, you are a disgrace."

Silverstreak stared at his sire with wide optics. "Si-"

"Shut up." Klor hissed. "What did I tell you? No more. No more talking! If anybody else finds out you have a glitch, that is it for this family! No more, Silverstreak." Klor stood up, giving one last look towards the youngling who was now on the edge of crying. "No more, please." He turned on his heel, and quickly left the room.

Silverstreak sat in his room staring out the window. He had the perfect view of his family's courtyard. Some of the servant's younglings played there. He used to like playing with them too, but that was vorns ago. So long ago, he wasn't really sure he knew how to play with other younglings anymore. He'd probably disgrace his family even more.

Silverstreak looked away from the window, and stared at the floor. It was shiny and white. He could see his reflection. He frowned. He was a disgrace.

"Silverstreak?" Silverstreak slowly turned to the doorway. His carrier stood with a small tray of energon treats. "Do you want a snack?"

Silverstreak frowned and shook his helm. He wasn't really in the mood for snacks. His carrier frowned, and walked into the room. He sat the tray on Silverstreak's desk, and sat down on his berth. "When you were younger, you'd go out there, and play for joors. I'd worry that you'd go into stasis from exhaustion." He chuckled to himself.

Silverstreak looked away from his carrier.

"Silverstreak, things are changing. I don't know if you've noticed, though I doubt it. You never really leave your room anymore. Not since…" His carrier trailed off. "Since that, but things have really changed."

Silverstreak spared his creator a sideways glance. His carrier was staring out the window with a far of look. "We're neutral in all this, but Primus knows for how much longer. Even I know it won't last."

Silverstreak frowned. He had no idea what his carrier was talking about. He was making no sense.

"Your Sire says we'll be leaving Praxus soon. He wants to get out of here as soon as possible. I want you to understand that before we start packing up. I know it's sudden, but your Sire says we have to."

Leaving? Where would he stay? What would he do? Was he just going to be locked into another room? Would it really be so different than here?

Silverstreak laid in his berth, his carrier sitting on a chair next to him, reading him a story that he wasn't paying any attention to. His processor was still on leaving. "Silverstreak, are you listening?" His carrier asked, a small smile on his face.

Silverstreak shook his helm, earning a laugh from his carrier. "Tha-" His carrier was cut off by a huge siren. He quickly stood up, worry on his face. "Silverstreak, get up. Hurry!" He quickly started pulling Silverstreak out of the berth. "Go to the basement! I'll be right there!"

Silverstreak jumped as the floor beneath him started rumbling. His carrier ran the opposite direction of where he had instructed Silverstreak to go. Where was he going? Silverstreak stood split on which direction to go. Should he follow his Carrier, or- No, he should listen to his carrier. Go to the basement. Silverstreak gave one last look back at his carrier before he ran down the stairs, and towards the basement.

Prowl watched as his student Smokescreen directed the search and rescue. Praxus was gone. The Decepticons took it out in one wave of bombs. The slaggers would pay.

The rescue had been going on for several joors. So far, the Autobots had only been able to successfully locate and rescue five large groups of bots, and several smaller ones. That brought their total up to a little over 500. 500 bots in the five joors they had been searching. 500 bots in the city state that had once been over a million.

Prowl felt his engine rev at the thought of the few survivors they had. Smokescreen turned in his chair and frowned. "Maybe you should take a break. I can hear your growls from all the way over here."

Prowl sneered. "I am angry."

"You have every right to be, but remember what you told me, 'keep it in, and don't let it ruin your judgement'."

If it had been any other time, Prowl would have been proud of his pupil, but at this point in time, it only furthered his aggravation. "It has not clouded my judgment. It has only supported the fact that the Decepticons need to be pulverized."

Smokescreen whistled as he slowly turned back around in his chairs. "Praxians really get offended at any slagging of their city-state, huh?"

Prowl glared at the Praxian framed mech. "Slagging of Praxus would be saying it sucked. Destroying Praxus is called fragging with the wrong bots. You should be just as disgusted with this."

"I am disgusted, I just don't take it as a personal challenge. I grew up in Iacon after all." Smokescreen brought his servo to his audial as a transmission made it's way through the lines. "We need medics in the west central block 25."

Prowl gritted his denta. That was close to the crystal gardens.

Smokescreen frowned. "I don't care if there aren't any free medics! It's a youngling!"

Prowl's doorwings flew up in surprise. They had a few calls of younglings, but all had been declared deceased at the scene. Smokescreen sighed, and turned back to Prowl. "They're sending a team. I hope this ones okay. I don't think I can take another offline Sparkling or youngling today."

"I don't think anybody can." Prowl sighed.

"Can you hear me? Come on little mech!"

Silverstreak onlined his optics, and stared at the mech above him. He was red with blue optics. The two locked optics, and Silverstreak immediately looked away. He frowned as he caught sight of the destruction around him. He couldn't feel his back, or his legs. He glanced down, and his optics only widened further. His legs… They… They were gone!

"Calm down!" The mech grabbed Silverstreak's face, and angled it where the two were staring into each other's optics. "Calm. It'll be fine. It's not as bad as it looks. You'll be fine. Deep intakes."

Silverstreak tried to bring air into his system, but his intakes kept hitching. His legs were gone! His legs!

"Deep. Intakes." The mech took a deep intake of his own. "Come on little mech. You got this! Deep."

"Move!" Another mech slid down the rubble quickly. He had a gray chevron, and was white and red. He shoved the red mech out of the way. Silverstreak struggled to bring air into his ever heating system as the new mech ran a scan. "Slag!" He cursed, and stared down at Silverstreak. "I'm putting you into medical stasis, alright?"

Silverstreak barely had enough strength to nod before the mech went to work, and eventually everything went dark.

Prowl allowed his helm to fall into his servos. The rescue mission in Praxus was disappointing. The Autobots were able to rescue a grand total of 1200 praxian bots. 1200. Not even a fraction of what the city-state used to be.

Prowl sighed as his office door opened. The footsteps were light as they walked across the room, and paused in front of Prowl's desk. "Mech, ya gonna over work yaself."

"Jazz, I-"

"Naw. No excuses." Prowl's bond mate's voice was stern. Prowl lifted his helm out of his servos, and glanced up at Jazz. Jazz's face was dark. His visor dim. "Come on. Ya gotta take a break."

"I have to finish what I was doing."

Jazz sighed. "Fine. Ya finish, and then we go take a break."

Prowl turned back to the data pad on his desk. Jazz sat down on top of his desk, and watched as Prowl started writing again. "Ah went ta the med bay today."

"What for?" Prowl asked. Knowing full and well that his bond mate went to go see the patients from Praxus.

"The Praxians." Jazz readjusted himself. "Ya know there was only one youngling that we saved."

Prowl froze. He knew that. He knew that so well. There was also only three femmes. "I… did."

Jazz shook his helm. "Didn't mean ta make ya upset, Prowler. I'm sorry."

"It is fine, Jazz. Did you visit the youngling?"

"Yah, well, ah tried. He was still in stasis. Missing his legs and his door wings."

Prowl's doorwings fell against his back. He didn't know the injuries were so extensive. "Family?"

"That's the-"

Prowl's processor suddenly clicked on what Jazz was doing. "No."

"No? Ya don-"

"No, Jazz." Prowl shook his helm. "No."

"Ya don't even know what ah was-"

"You want to take the youngling in. No." Prowl quickly signed the data pad, and stood up. "No."

Jazz stood up. "He ain't got nobody else!"

"There is 1200 other praxians that will be willing to adopt him. No, Jazz."

"Why not?" Jazz crossed his arms over his chassis.

"We don't even know him, Jazz."

"We got plenty of time! Let's face it! Neither us are gonna get sparked! You don' wanna do it, and ah don't wanna do it! This is the solution!"

"You're a soldier, Jazz. Just like me. This war has already done all of this to that youngling, I highly doubt he wants to lose another set of creators. I doubt he even knows he lost one set of creators."

Jazz sighed, looking away from Prowl. "Ah just…"

"I know, Jazz. I know you want to help him out, but we can't. Not us. There are plenty of other places for him to go." Prowl sighed. "Let's go get some energon, and take a break, alright?"

Jazz shook his helm. "Ah ain't hungry."

"Jazz, please do not throw a fit."

"Ah ain't throwin a fit! Ah just… Forget it!" Jazz turned on his heel stomping out of Prowl's office. Prowl sighed, knowing full and well, Jazz was throwing a fit.

It had been a decaorn, and Jazz still hadn't dropped the subject of the youngling. He went to visit the mech every orn. Prowl tried to tell Jazz if he kept doing that, letting the youngling go would just be that much more difficult, but Jazz only ignored him.

Prowl sighed as he walked into the medical bay. This had been the first time he had actually gone to get Jazz out of the medical bay. Usually Jazz would come find him, and casually drop the subject of the youngling into the conversation they were having, but this time Ratchet had to call Prowl.

"Prowl."

"Ratchet." Prowl sighed.

"He's over there." Ratchet pointed to the corner of the medical bay. "The youngling was onlined this morning, and he's scaring the scrap out of the poor youngling."

Prowl nodded. "I will take care of it." He pinpointed Jazz quite easily, and made his way through the rows of berths.

Jazz's back was facing him. "And then ah told him, if ya want this energon goodie, ya'll have ta fight meh for it!" The small gray youngling had wide optics. His unpainted doorwings were drooping down.

Prowl stopped behind Jazz placing a servo on his shoulder. "It is time to go, Jazz." The mechling looked at Prowl with wide optics. Prowl noticed the stare the youngling gave him, but decided to ignore it. "You're scaring him."

"No, ah ain't! Am Ah?" The youngling turned his attention back to Jazz, and shook his helm. Jazz smiled. "See? This is Prowl!"

Prowl? Silverstreak frowned. He looked just like his sire. He even had the sour face. Jazz smiled, and stood up. "Prowler here is just shy! Like ya!"

Silverstreak looked away from Jazz. Where were his creators?

"Jazz." Prowl frowned before turning back to Silverstreak. "What is your designation, youngling?"

Shouldn't his creators have filled out a form before he was admitted to this medical center? Silverstreak frowned.

"Ah don't think he can talk, Prowl." Jazz whispered.

Prowl glanced down at Silverstreak. "Can you talk?"

Should he lie? No. Lying was disgraceful. Silverstreak nodded.

Prowl waited expectantly, but frowned. "Will you talk?"

Silverstreak shook his helm.

Jazz gave Prowl a worried look. Prowl simply nodded. "Alright then. Do you know what happened to you?"

The youngling sat silently for a moment. His optic ridges furrowed as he thought. Finally he shook his helm.

"Do you know where you are?"

The youngling shook his helm again.

Prowl nodded. "You are in Iacon."

The youngling's optics widened, and stared at Prowl in shock.

Jazz frowned. "Maybe we should go, Prowl."

Prowl glanced over to Jazz. "He has a right to know, Jazz." Prowl turned back to the youngling. "Praxus-"

"Prowl!" Jazz yelled.

Prowl raised his optic ridges at Jazz. ::You want the youngling?::

::Ya don't have to hurt him!::

::I am not hurting him, Jazz. You did not honestly think you could just take him, and him remain in the dark of what has happened. He has to understand what is going on.::

Jazz huffed. "Ah think it's time we left, Prowl."

Prowl sighed. "Jazz."

"No! Ya..." Jazz growled as he stomped off, leaving Prowl behind with the youngling.

Prowl glanced down at the youngling. The youngling frowned, and made a motion of writing. "You want a data pad?"

The youngling nodded. Prowl sighed as he pulled out a data pad and stylus. The youngling wrote for a couple of moments. Is he mad?

"Yes, at me."

Praxus is gone? Was that what the rumbling was?

Prowl frowned. "Yes."

The youngling sat in thought for a moment. His optics started to tear up. My creators aren't coming back, are they?

Prowl frowned. "We cannot be for certain either way. They may, or may not."

You look like my sire.

Prowl frowned as he tried to understand why the youngling would bring that up. "Some say that a lot of Praxians look alike."

I thought you were him for a moment.

"I am sorry." Prowl looked back at the exit of the Med bay. "I have to go. Jazz is probably very upset."

The youngling nodded, offering back the data pad, and stylus.

"Keep it." Prowl nodded as he walked away from the youngling.

By the time Prowl found Jazz, it was too late. Jazz had already prepared arguments for whatever Prowl had to say. No apology would be accepted. Jazz expected nothing less than the adoption of a poor youngling. "Jazz, no."

"Ya can recharge on the couch then!"

"That will not make me change my processor." Prowl sighed. "We are in no position to take care of a youngling!"

"You told him after ah left, didn't ya?"

"He came to the conclusion by himself. I told him that we are not sure yet."

"And ya just left him there? Ya told him, and now he's your responsibility!"

"Jazz, how did you even-"

"Ya break it ya buy it!"

"Jazz, you cannot apply that to a youngling. I did not break him. The cons did. Would you like me sent him away to Megatron then?"

"Ya wouldn't dare!" Jazz crossed his arms over his chassis.

"If I follow your logic, I have no other choice. Please, allow me to get a crate and we can just mail the youngling off!"

"Ya know that ain't what ah meant!"

Prowl sighed. "Jazz, we already decided not to adopt the youngling."

"Ah changed mah processor."

Prowl sat down, and dropped his helm into his servos. "Jazz, I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't, Jazz! Younglings are very illogical beings! I cannot do it!"

Jazz shook his helm. "Ya just don't care what happens to that youngling, do ya?" Jazz huffed. "He could be sent off ta Primus knows where, and ya would just let it happen!"

Prowl sighed. "Jazz, do you really want the youngling?"

"Ah do."

"This isn't like how you wanted that turbo puppy, is it? We can't just pawn the youngling off onto a femme who thinks it's cute."

"It ain't like that!" Jazz yelled.

Prowl sighed. "We have to make sure the youngling is orphaned before we do this. We have to be positive. One hundred percent."

Jazz's visor lit up. "Oh Prowler! Thank ya! Thank ya!" Jazz jumped onto Prowl's lap, and wrapped his arms around his mate. "I love ya."

"You are trying my patience is what you are doing."

"It's a form of tough love."

Prowl snorted. "Sure."