He had been in every office except one.

There were rumors about its owner, and one doubting his sanity was commonly spoken throughout the station.

"Jazz." A gravelly voice sounded over his comm. "You are needed in the meeting room."

"Already on mah way," he replied.

"Quit stalling and get your chassis in here. Smokescreen is just about ready to blow a massive fuse."

"Alright, don't bite mah head off." Jazz disabled the link, arriving at the meeting room. The door flew open before he could ask permission to enter. A tall, dark blue mech with narrowed, blazing white optics glared down at him.

"About time you showed." The mech spoke with a thick accent, his voice deep and cold.

"Calm yourself, Smokescreen. Ah showed, didn't Ah?"

"Barely." Smokescreen moved aside to let him in, where he was met with glares.

"Why did we recruit him?" A femme, one by the name of Redstar, growled. Her optics blazed as she glared at him.

"Cool ya jets, 'Star. Why did ya call meh here?"

Redstar's mouthplates curved into a scowl. "I didn't. He did." She motioned to an extremely tall mech at the head of the table, whose faceplate was enveloped in shadow as he watched them.

"Who's he?"

Smokescreen nudged him, a low growl rumbling deep in his chassis. "Show some respect. You are addressing the head of the entire police faction."

Realization hit Jazz like a magnetic pulse and he bowed. "The great Whiplash. Ah've heard of ya."

"I have heard much about you, Jazz of Polyhex." Whiplash's voice was extremely deep, a rumbling thunder not all that different from Optimus'. "You may rise."

"To what do Ah owe the honor?" Jazz rose, his visor flashing.

"I have come to speak with all of you," Whiplash rumbled, rising from his seat. "You may be seated."

They were all quick to obey his command, as if he would revoke it at any given moment.

" What do you know of our consulting detective force?"

"Nothing, sir," Redstar said. "We don't possess such a division."

"Your assumptions are inaccurate." Whiplash projected an image onto the wall before him. It was of a Cybertronian corpse, a mech with neon paint splattered over his graying frame.

"What is recognizable of this cadaver?"

"That is being the Enervator clan murder," a young 'bot with scorching golden optics and spiked wings said. "It occurred a day or so after the revitalization of Primus. The slayer was a Decepticon being by the name of Nightwing."

Whiplash nodded. "That is correct, Jetfire. Who was on this case?"

"No one but a few rookie glitch-heads looking for a promotion," Redwing responded.

"As usual, your deduction is incorrect," Whiplash rumbled, making the femme glance away in embarrassment. "There was one high-ranked Autobot who was working on this. His designation is Prowl."

"I've heard of him. There are rumors that he is being who devours Autobots for breakfast," Jetstorm, Jetfire's twin, said, voice shaking with fright and interest. Redstar gave him a scathing look and he lowered his gaze.

"I can assure you that these rumors are inaccurate as well. They are rumors for Prowl's unusual methods, as other call them."

"If ya don't mind mah asking," Jazz said, "What does this have ta do wit' any o' us?" He ignored Smokescreen's rumbling growl, keeping his gaze on Whiplash.

"Prowl is in need of a new partner. His former left under unannounced circumstances."

"Is that why Windcharger was so annoyed?" Jetstorm blurted out, his blue gaze wide. "He was looking ready to being blow the roof off."

"That is of no concern at the moment," Whiplash said. He moved his gaze slowly around the room, his dark optics piercing their very sparks. "You will decide who takes Windcharger's place. Inform me when you have completed it."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison, watching him leave.

"I do not mean the being of rude," Jetstorm said, his speech abandoning its formality and slipping into its strange accent, "But who will is doing the task of assisting the 'bot eater?"

"He is not the eater of 'bots," Jetfire said, his golden optics narrowing. "He is being the term misunderstood?"

"Well, you guys can continue on," Redstar stated, rising from her seat. "I am not going anywhere near that psycho."

"Hope for no promotion," Smokescreen hissed.

"I don't care about promotions," Redstar snapped. "I care about having a complete psychopath working on our cases and acting like a know-it-all glitch-head."

"Ah've heard of 'im," Jazz drawled. "He's got a loopy reputation."

"And I wonder why," Redstar snarled. "Solving cases won't be enough for him- one day he'll cross the line and become a killer himself." She turned and left, her irritation leaving a burning haze in the room.

"I will be glad when someone snaps for her temper," Smokescreen stated, his optics blazing white.

"Shut your processor," Jazz said. "If everyone's too much of a malfunction-"

"-we are not malfunctions!" Jetfire snarled, wings flaring to dangerous points.

"Ah don't care if ya are or not," Jazz continued, his visor flashing as Jetstorm began to object. "If no one will take the job, Ah will."

He was met with silence and shocked stares.

"You truly are as crazy as they say," Smokescreen said.

"I disagree with that," Jazz stated, crossing his servos.

"Why is that?"

"With everything everyone's sayin' about this Prowl, he seems crazier than meh-and that's sayin' somethin'."