With graduation in a few day, Prowl didn't have too much to do with his time. He'd commed Jazz once since meeting the Polyhexian a day ago, to give him his own comm number. After all, if he had Jazz's, Jazz should have his. They'd even agreed to meet up at a cheap energon bar the day before Prowl graduated. Jazz seemed very excited about it and Prowl couldn't help but wonder how much the outsider really got to socialize with others during his stay in Iacon.

Most of all, he'd searched for a way to send a message to Red Alert. Doors seemed to be slammed in his face at every turn. At least he was actually talking with the psychiatrist Dustwing now.

"Well, it has to do with confidentiality." The skinny, grey mech Dustwing-Prowl could tell instantly he wasn't a flier-leaned against his desk. Gesticulating with his left servo while his right supported his left elbow. "I can't legally release any information on a patient unless you have a subpoena."

Prowl sighed. "If you could even just tell me who was fostering him when you counseled him."

"I'm sorry, but I can't." It'd been a longshot anyway. "Unless you have something else you wish to discuss I need to get back to work. Reports don't file themselves!" The mech said cheerily.

"Good day then." He walked out of the office, the psychiatrist's off-tune whistling following him into the waiting room. He hadn't been expecting much really. If his current luck kept up, he'd be glad to just get a message sent to Red Alert before he offlined from age. Oh well. Life just goes on.

His internal clock chimed, warning the cadet that he'd better hurry back to the barracks before curfew. It would be a shame if his first time being late was only a few days before graduation.

"'Ey, 'ey! M' main mec'!" Jazz exclaimed as Prowl seated himself across the little table from the actor. "H'w ya be'n d'ing? Ex'i'ed fur gra'uat'on?"

It took a moment for Prowl to figure out what the smaller mech said. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I am. How's that acting job been going for you?"

"O,' it's a' be'n gr'at!" He leaned back, arms extending. "Alm'st done tho,' then Ih gotta g' ba'k to Poly'ex. 'Ve only g't a wo'k per'it af'er all." He sighed. "But 'ey! Ih got ya some en'rgon!" He pushed a steaming cube across the table into Prowl's surprised servos.

"Jazz you didn't have too. Really, I can pay for my own energon."

"Ah, b't I wa'ted too!" Jazz determinedly wrapped his companion's servos around the cube. "'Sides, ya ca' ju't make 't up by pa'in' for d'inks af'er gra'uat'on." Half of his visor dimmed in a pseudo wink.

Prowl raised his fuel. "I'm good with that."

The pair spent the rest of the time at the cafe just chatting about life.

The next morning, Prowl woke to find a text message asking for attention on his communication line. Opening it, the words popped up, obscuring his line of vision a little.

Hey Prowl, it's me, Jazz.

Look, I know I told you that I'd be able to come to your graduation-at least come after the ceremony-but the vid's director decided she wanted to get the filming done early. She had the other actor and me work most of the night. Once the last scene was shot our contracts all expired and she told us to beat it.

I'm really sorry, but since I'm not actually employed anymore my visa's all but void. I really need to head back to Polyhex before any more enforcers ask what I'm doing here and I get myself locked up.

Sorry.

I'll stay in touch though. Maybe I can get a visiting visa sometime-I don't know-or you could get one-but don't worry 'bout that 'cause I know you'll be busy with being an officer and all.

Deepest regrets

Jazz.

"Cadet Prowl, my office. Now." The summoned mech quickly marched into Highbrow's office. The graduation ceremony started in only a few breems and an unexpected call wasn't helping Prowl's nerves.

"You summoned me Sergeant Highbrow."

"Yes. Sit down." The older mech, who'd dragged Prowl-and the four other mechs in his unit who made it to the end of training-through the worst five months of his life, pointed to a stool set before his desk. The stool was actually kind of considerate given that Prowl's wings made sitting in most of the chairs at the academy uncomfortable.

"Thank you sir." He sat, wings held stiffly to attention.

"Now Prowl." Highbrow leaned forward. "I've noticed that despite your heritage," Prowl twitched, "and the amount of stress the unit has put on you because of it, you have performed admirably. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but as a trainer I have a certain amount of sway over where cadets go after graduating." The sergeant stood from his spot, walking around until he was almost directly in front of Prowl. "Of course, you'll still be receiving an official letter, but that's just for protocol's sake. Your position is already assured." He reached out to shake Prowl's servo.

"I'm sorry sir." Prowl paused not sure how to not sound rude. "But I don't understand what you're saying." He hoped the older mech got to the point soon, the ceremony would start in only two breems.

"Right." Highbrow straightened his shoulders. "Cadet Prowl. The Central Iaconian Enforcer Complex is expecting you to report to them in two weeks' time. Now," and the mech who'd worn a frown or scowl every time Prowl had seen him, smiled, "you'd better hurry if you want to make it to graduation on time."

For a moment Prowl didn't moved, then he was out the door in a flash and dashing toward the assembly hall. How? The Central Iaconian Enforcer Complex wanted him? He hadn't even served as an enforcer yet and they wanted him to work at the headquarters? Prowl couldn't believe it.

As it turned out, the graduation ceremony ended only about half an hour before a recruiting assembly started-and in the same room. Thus, as soon as the last words were spoken, the twenty mechs and two femmes were hustled out of the space and told to be on their ways. They could head back to the barracks if they wished, where they could stay (read sleep only) until the official letters of assignment came. They were told this could take anywhere from three to ten days.

Prowl was on his way out when the receptionist stopped him.

"Oh! Hey Prowl! Could you come here for a mo?" The mech working the desk called, arms laden with a crate of files.

"What can I help you with Searchlight?" He asked.

"I just need to run these down to the records room and Greenlight stepped out for her break. Could you hold the desk down still I get back? If anyone comes for the recruiting thing just send them to the main hall. Please?" The mech looked as though he might keep talking if Prowl didn't agree.

To forestall the not-quite-really enforcer from going blue in the face from talking, Prowl spoke. "Sure thing." He didn't have anything better to do: Jazz left suddenly in the night, his carrier couldn't make the trip-she'd gotten terribly ill since he'd last visited her-and all his siblings had lives and jobs over their own.

"Thanks so much." Searchlight began the treacherous journey down, into the bowels of the academy with the crate of files that probably out massed him two to one.

Prowl slipped in behind the desk, wishing that at least one of the chairs didn't have a back. The counter was just a little too low for him to comfortably stand at. Oh well, Searchlight shouldn't take too long. Unless he tripped and the files went everywhere, then Prowl'd probably have to wait here as slightly OCD mech put them all back in numerical order and then filed them away. That's what happen last time anyway.

"Excuse me."

Prowl blinked. A silver and gold femme stood before him, a green mechling by her side.

"How may I help you?" He smiled.

"I'm Coldstar, I'm presenting at the meeting today." She held up her ID card. "My son," the green mechling looked up before returning his attention to the mechanical puzzle in his servos, "needs to wait out here where he won't distract anyone. Would you kindly just keep an optic on him?"

"Sure." Again, he had nothing to do after this, so even when Searchlight got back, he could just sit with kid till his carrier was done.

"Lovely." Coldstar turned to the green child. "Now Hound." She got his attention. "This mech's going to keep an optic on you. If you get into any trouble he'll tell me, so behave yourself."

"Yes Carrier." The mechling, Hound, mumbled.

"Good." Then the femme hurried off toward the assembly hall.

Hound found a seat and returned to his game.

After a while, long enough for Prowl to conclude that Searchlight had indeed dropped the crate, he spoke to the mechling. "You know," he called, "you can sit behind the desk if you want Hound. It's kinda like being an enforcer then."

"Really?" Hound perked up, blue optics flashing. "That's so cool." Within moments he was out of his seat, across the room, and climbing onto the swivel chair next to Prowl, his puzzle forgotten on the floor. "This is so awesome." Hound gasped, barely able to see over the top of the reception desk.

"Wait a sec." Hound said suspiciously after gazing with awe for a while. "Why aren't you sitting?" He looked up at Prowl.

"My wings," he flicked the sensory panels on his back, "make it a little difficult." Though it was technically rude to ask questions about a stranger's frame, Prowl didn't mind the query.

"I've never seen wings before." The green mechling reached out, running his fingers down the edge of a black and white appendage. Prowl's wing flicked away, unused to the touch. "Are you a seeker?" Hound asked, bringing his servo back to his lap.

"Oh no." Prowl turned to face the child better, which also happened to move his wings farther away from the little fingers. "I'm Praxian."

The mechling had a quizzical yet thoughtful look on his face, as though he were trying to remember something. Prowl hoped it wasn't something he'd learned in school. He'd gone through those lessons growing up too, where the teacher all but ranted about the 'evils' of Praxian society (and a few other cities).

"Oh hey!" Hound exclaimed, finally remembering. Prowl almost cringed, waiting for some form of bigotry to issue from the nice little mechling. "My brother talks about Praxians sometimes." Out of the crucible and into the furnace, no doubt.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah! He's not actually my brother, but he's still really cool." Hound nodded, bouncing in his seat. "He says that most of the stuff in the history books is just a bunch of biased garbage. He doesn't use that word, but carrier and sire say I'm not supposed to use the word he does." The last part was whispered conspiratorially.

Someone who didn't think terrible of Praxians, while not being one of them? Prowl was impressed. He didn't fault other mechs and femmes for disliking the society, it was a huge culture shock for most, but it was still disheartening to hear what they said.

"Your brother does sound cool." Prowl agreed.

"That's what I just said." Hound giggled. "But he is. He knows all kinds of stuff that my teachers at school don't. He can answer like all my questions. Well, he used to anyway, but he got a job and moved out. Sire was really proud about it. I don't know why, but I feel like he thought Lert wouldn't amount to very much."

Interesting, Lert wasn't actually Hound's brother, but it sounded like he used to life with the kid's family. "Well, It's nice to see that he was wrong, isn't it?"

"Sure." Hound was quiet for a while, busy arranging magnets on the counter. "But I see how sire could have thought that about him. Lert was really, really, really, really, weird when he started living with us. I don't mean like old space mouse femme weird. I mean actually weird." He looked up. "Are you okay with me tell you this stuff? Carry says not everyone likes to hear about it. Most everyone was what she actually said." He waited.

Prowl smiled. "You're good Hound. I'm totally fine with it." He reassured.

"Carrier said she found Lert at work. Which makes it sound like he's some kinda pet and isn't that an odd thought. Sire let me recharge with him and carrier for a while when Lert first came home, I guess because we only had the two recharge rooms and sire didn't like when Lert was around me. Odd, 'cause Lerts totally fine now and sire's like 'hey Star, when's Lert visiting again? I want him to watch the little green hellion so we can go on a date." Hound used air quotes around the last word. "I'm not kidding that's totally how sire does it." Hound laughed a little.

Prowl laughed too. He could recall a few times when his own sire—Primus bless him—had said word to the same effect to his carrier, though instead of air quotes he tended to just slap Rainbow on the aft as she passed.

"Oh hey!" Hound exclaimed, it seems to be his favorite expletive. "I forgot to ask you for your name officer." The mechling flush blue in embarrassment.

"Well that's okay, because I forgot to tell you." He stuck his servo out, shaking the smaller green one that grabbed his. "I am Prowl."

The child's optics lit up. "Really?! That's so funny. Lert says a Prowl was his best friend when he was little!"

Prowl froze, staring at the mechling, servos still clasped. Lert? Red Alert? Could it be that this little mechling really was talking about his long lost friend? Really how many mechs could there be in Iacon whose' names ended in -lert, actually knew about Praxian culture, and had a best friend called Prowl growing up?

"Is something wrong?" Hound asked, confused.

"What's Lert's full name?" Prowl was almost scared to know. He'd tried so hard to reach Red Alert, and then to think that if Searchlight hadn't called for him he'd never have met this mechling. Might still know nothing.

"Red Alert. Why?"

Prowl didn't know how to respond.