A/N: This is a bunny that's been bouncing around my brain for some time now. Wrote a little ficlet for it for a speedwriting prompt this week (Chapter 56 of my speedwriting prompt fills), and decided that it was about time I finally write it for real. So here's the first chapter! Enjoy!

Divisions

He came online to a voice. Quiet, authoritative.

~ PR0.W13.R. This is Medic Fastline. Can you run a diagnostic?~

The newly onlined being, PR0.W13.R, hesitated, then searched for the protocols. They were easily found, popping up on something he knew was his HUD as soon as he thought of them. A moment later, he was feeding the information they were responding with to the mech hooked up to him.

~Good... Good. Everything looks like it's in order. Here's a list of protocols for interacting with mechs outside your processor.~ a datafile was quickly downloaded into his processor, and he started a new thought-thread to open it an analyze it.

~I'm going to disconnect, now. There are some comm links in that packet I just sent you. They're the links to all the Enforcers in this station. Contact them if you have any questions.~

A moment later the presence was gone, and PR0.W13.R was alone.

Then the thought-thread that had analyzed the packet pinged back with results, and he realized he wasn't as alone as he had thought. Sensors fed him information... there were mechs inside him? Or he was part of something that they were inside?

Hesitantly, he activated one of the protocols, and was assaulted with something... an image? Yes. From the cameras through the... the building. Most were black and white, sitting stiffly at monitors – and he belatedly realized he could see what they were doing on the monitors. Feel the processes they were running.

Another system activated, and he could... hear? Yes, that was it. Microphones in the monitors and attached to the cameras. For a moment, he heard, but didn't understand. Then language protocols hummed to life.

"-stationary. Other than that, he's much like any other preprogram. I'd suggest leaving him for a day or so to let his spark integrate, but... yeah."

"I see. Thank you, Fastline."

The first mech, Fastline, one of the feat that wasn't black and white, nodded, face contorting. A small part of the language protocol whirred to life. It was a smile, indicating that he was happy or content. "No problem, Chief."

The medic exchanged a few more words with the "chief" before he left, and PR0.W13.R was left watching the black and white mechs work.

Then, slowly, they started leaving. One by one. The chief left first, then the others, slowly trickling away. One mech entered. He sat down at one of the side monitors, waving to the last mech to leave, then settled in.

PR0.W13.R watched the mech, who was gazing intently around the room with sharp, red optics, and pulled up the datafiles on the Enforcer he had stored in his memory banks.

Enforcer J422. Commissioned ten vorns ago. Had an almost perfect service record. Had been considered for Special Operations, but discarded because he was a preprog.

"Hey," a deep voice said, barely startling the new mech. Osa, something in his programming whispered, and he dedicated a thought-thread to that.

Another protocol option popped up, one he had not used yet. Speaking. He could speak? After a klik of debate, he activated the protocol. "Greetings, Enforcer J422. I am PR0.W13.R"

The thought-thread devoted to researching "osa" pinged back. Osa; a sparked computer. A stationary mech, part of a system. A frameless mind.

"Jazz, mech," the Enforcer said, and the thought-thread devoted to their conversation wondered at what, exactly, this mech was saying. What it meant. "Only the sparked mechs call me J422."

Jazz? What was that? It made no sense. He had a designation. Why change it?

Deciding that it was safe to voice his confusion, PR0.W13.R spoke. "... Jazz? Why would you call yourself as such, Enforcer J4-... Jazz?"

The mech smiled, red optics glittering with something PR0.W13.R couldn't identify. "Because it's a mech name. A real one. I'm a mech. Not a drone. Drone's get numbers. Mechs get names."

Well, that was hopelessly confusing and illogical. What was the difference? But some instinctive part of the osa knew that it wasn't something that J422 – no, Jazz. His name was Jazz, no matter how little sense it made – could explain.

So he simply said, "I... understand?" even if he didn't.

The black and white shook his head, red optics dim. PR0.W13.R wondered if he was low on energon. "No ya don't not yet, You will, though, when your spark starts to tweak coding. When your emotions start to develop. Trust me."

And, for some strange reason, PR0.W13.R did.

The term "osa" is Gatekat's, and is used with permission.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! If you have a sec, I'd love to hear what you thought!