Author's Notes: I'm sorry this update took so long. I guess this chapter is what you could call "overwritten". I honestly could've kept going with the plot line in this chapter, but then it would've been super long, so I had to make myself not use every last little idea I had for it. This chapter is the one where 4 gets his memories back, and while I doubt his identity is a surprise to anyone at this point, I hope the back story I gave in this segment is at least interesting. Anyway, a big thanks to everyone for your patience, and please enjoy the latest chapter of "My Spark Still Shines" :)
Chapter 21
Police Academy
With the success of Bluestreak, Klunker, and Saline all getting their memories back the base was full of joy and talk of what the future would hold for the Vehicons. 4 and VS-5000 were both starting to get excited for the prospect of finding out which Autobots they used to be.
"I can't quite figure out the pattern though," 4 told VS-5000 and the human children when they were discussing it, "Bluestreak was a civilian, yet he was turned into a soldier. He told us about that Hound mech being a Vehicon warrior, and that guy was an Autobot scout like Bumblebee."
"His brother, actually," Jack reminded them.
"Yeah, his brother," 4 replied solemnly, "My point is I don't know if VS-5000 and I will be civilians or soldiers. What if we had relatives that died during the war? I'm not sure I wanna know that."
"Maybe Megatron forced us to kill our own families," VS-5000 theorized, "Or maybe they're still looking for us. Frankly I'm more concerned with what kind of family members we'll find. I mean, the miners got a Wrecker for a son, but Bluestreak got a crotchety old mech for a sire. What if I get like a crazy uncle or something?"
"What if I'm bonded?" 4 suddenly realized, "What if she found someone else while I was gone? How would I even explain this to my hypothetical family? Hi Carrier, hi Sire, hi children and bond mate, I'm a Vehicon now. Who wants a hug?"
"Don't feel too bad. I mean, you didn't know any better back then," Raf reminded 4.
"We're not sparklings, kid," 4 retorted, "I know what I did. I shot mechs right between the optics because I believed they would destroy everything I was built to protect. I know I fought for the wrong side, but I thought I was an unsung hero. I did my job well and protected my fellow Vehicons and the Decepticon officers that accompanied us. I'm not gonna apologize for that. All I can do is start over and hope I got it right this time."
"Maybe I have an evil twin…" VS-5000 mused, "Maybe he was sleeping with my bond mate and I used the photos to blackmail him into opening an illegal casino, but then my bond mate cheated on me with the slot machine and I murdered them both in a jealous rage and then faked my own death."
"Dude, you've been watching too many telenovelas," Miko chuckled, "Don't worry about it, Alfred. Everything's gonna be alright, you'll see."
"Alfred?" Jack interjected, "Who's Alfred?"
"He's Alfred," Miko said as she pointed to VS-5000, "That's what he wanted me to call him."
"Yeah, I figure I wanted to be named after the coolest butler in earth's culture," VS-5000 explained, "Besides, I can give the name up if I like my old name better. If I don't then I can keep the name Alfred."
Their conversation was interrupted when Bluestreak came in from the medbay and motioned for a Vehicon to step forward for their memory recovery operation.
"The medic will see you now," Bluestreak called out to the others.
"Which one of us should go first?" VS-5000 whispered.
"I wanna go," 4 volunteered, "I can't wait to find out what's waiting for me. I just hope I can handle it."
4 then bravely stepped into the medbay with Bluestreak, leaving the others to talk among themselves. At first no one said anything, feeling like some of the energy in their discussion left with 4.
"Alfred?" Raf finally piped up, "What if you're related to a member of Team Prime too?"
"After Bluestreak and Bulkhead's parents showed up?" VS-5000 scoffed, "Come on, kid! Twice is already too much of a coincidence. At best I'm probably related to a dead Autobot like Seaspray or Cliffjumper. Ooh, wait. Arcee didn't hear that, did she?"
"Don't worry. She's in the training room," Jack assured him, "Hey Alfred, what if you're the evil twin?"
VS-5000 gasped dramatically and shouted "I never even thought of that!"
Ratchet hooked 4 up to the energon drip and pried away the plating from his helm. Just like Bluestreak before him, he didn't take his visor's focus away from the ceiling. Ratchet wondered if it was due to training or a programmed response that the Vehicons didn't exhibit physical signs of pain during surgery. Ratchet wished he could just put his patient under, but he needed to monitor the processor activity.
Ratchet rebooted the processor block and then shut it down while it was trying to reload. 4 was still technically conscious, but his processor was a galaxy away...
...He was in! He got into the police academy and was going to make Polyhex a better place to live when he graduated. This was the best orn of his young life.
Some of Jazz's neighborhood friends thought he was wasting his time. To be fair, despite growing up in one of the poorest areas of Polyhex Jazz had always had ambitions. He worked hard, studied hard, and partied hard. Jazz never did anything halfway. He was a youngling with energy and drive, and he knew that deep down his neighbors were just jealous that he was actually going places.
Jazz drove for 3 straight orns to get to Iacon. When he got to the police academy he wiped down his frame to make sure the dust from the road didn't make him look like an urchin. After all, a mech only got one shot at a first impression, and Jazz wanted everyone to know he had style and was ready for anything.
He went up to the main desk of the academy and registered. He drummed his fingers lightly on the desk, and the receptionist gave him a dirty look for disturbing her while she was working. He sheepishly stopped drumming his fingers on the counter and stood there trying not to broadcast his boredom too loudly.
"Hm, Jazz...According to this you're in dorm 83," The receptionist told him in a cold disinterested voice, "You have two roommates named Barricade and Prowl. Curfew is at 47:00 and the refueling station is open until 33:00. Have a nice vorn at the academy."
She didn't sound like she meant that, but Jazz just smiled and shook his helm before taking the data pad with the map she handed him and going on his way. He figured why let the sour mood spread when a smile and a stride could brighten up the orn? He walked for about 10 breems before he found the room he was looking for, and the door had red and black tape going across it that read 'Caution: Not My Orn To Care'.
"Well, at least my roomies have some personality to them," Jazz commented to himself before using the keycard to unlock the door.
When he opened the door he was immediately greeted by the sight of a spiky looking black and silver mech sitting on the edge of a berth and tightening a bolt in his ankle joint. This mech was obviously a citizen of Kaon judging from his intense looking armor and red optics.
"Hey mech," Jazz called out to get the fellow car-former's attention, and he looked back at Jazz with a bored expression, "My name's Jazz, and I'll be roomin' here for the semester. Are you Prowl or Barricade?"
"Barricade," The titular mech replied, "The berth next to the window is yours. Prowl insists on having the one next to the wall in the corner. There's some textbooks under the berth from the last guy who stayed here with us. He didn't last long."
"Last long?" Jazz repeated skeptically, "You make it sound like prison."
"Close enough," Barricade shrugged, "The regimen here is pretty strict, and of course there's our dear roommate Prowl. Trust me on this one Jazz, the less you have to see him the better."
"That bad, huh?" Jazz asked with a raised optic ridge.
"I just try to stay out of his way," Barricade replied, "It's not that Prowl's that tough or anything, but he's got more rules to follow than the instructors. Nothing's ever right for him, and nobody can do a better job than him. You wanna have fun? Do it away from here. Fun to Prowl is like sunlight on a driller's face plate. He hates it and acts like anyone that displays happiness is committing some sort of grand offense."
"Thanks for the warnin', Barricade," Jazz replied gratefully, "I'll keep that in mind. So, you doing anythin' later? I'd like to check out some of the more colorful parts of Iacon."
"I can introduce you to some of the femmes attending the academy, and maybe show you the lob ball stadium where the Iacon Prospectors play," Barricade suggested, "There's also a dive bar a few blocks from campus where cops usually hang out at the end of the orn. It's a good place to get some real life experience."
"Sounds cool," Jazz nodded approvingly, "I think you and I are gonna get along just fine."
Jazz then started to remove items from his subspace to decorate his part of the room. He was glad he got to be next to the window so he could see the big wide world out there. He knew he probably wouldn't spend much time in this room though, since Iacon was a big bustling city with so much to do. He was also looking forward to his classes so he could learn how to take down bad guys, negotiate tense situations, and sneak around to surprise perps before arresting them. Yeah, everything was going to be great.
Jazz set up a worn out storage box full of data pads, a small black table with a wobbly leg, a poster of his favorite band, and on the table he placed his speaker system. It was a state of the art sound system that had taken Jazz months to save up for, but it was worth it since it delivered the crispest sound on Cybertron.
Barricade left a few minutes later, which Jazz barely noticed since he was busy making his little piece of the room feel like home. When he heard light pede steps coming back in he just assumed it was Barricade coming back.
"Hey mech, I was just thinkin' about that bar you were talkin' about," Jazz said without turning around, "I think a cop bar is cool and all, but I'm not sure they'd sell the best high grade. You know where they sell the harder stuff?"
"No, I cannot say that I do," an unfamiliar voice said stiffly from behind Jazz.
Jazz swiftly turned around and found himself face to face with a very displeased looking black and white Praxian holding a data pad and tapping his pede in admonition. Jazz could only assume the obvious.
"So, you must be Prowl," Jazz stated rather than asked, "The designation's Jazz. I'm your new roommate."
"Of course you are," Prowl replied in flat critical tone, "Just be sure to keep your part of the room clean and free of debris. I also expect you to adhere to curfew and be back here by 45:00 every night so you don't disturb anyone while coming home."
"But the curfew is at 47:00!" Jazz protested.
"Not in here," Prowl replied sternly, "Also, you should probably fix that table so your speaker doesn't fall on the floor and break. I also expect you to keep the noise level at such a volume so as not to disturb our neighbors."
"Fine," Jazz muttered; starting to understand what Barricade was talking about.
"Obstacle training is in two joors," Prowl told him, "Please be punctual as your performance reflects on myself and Barricade as well. Also I will need you to remove that poster from the wall."
"Excuse you?" Jazz asked rudely; offended at being treated like a sparkling.
"Posters are against student code of conduct regulations," Prowl stated dispassionately, "As a future member of the police force I would expect you to be familiar with school policy. You have 5 joors to take it down or else I will have to remove it myself. I need to leave for study group with Darkstar and Chase. By the way, welcome to the academy Jazz."
Prowl then turned on his heel and left Jazz feeling angry and patronized. That self-righteous Praxian had some nerve to come into their shared dorm and pretend like he ran things. Jazz wasn't going to take this kind of treatment lying down. Oh no, if Prowl thought a poster was trouble just wait until the Jazz Meister was through with him...
...This prank war had been going on for deca-orns. Jazz and Barricade were both tired of Prowl's constant rules and regulations, and they were finally doing something about it.
It had started with Prowl ripping Jazz's poster off the wall and telling him that no self respecting cop disregarded rules the way he did. Jazz retaliated by playing his music all joors of the night, which meant Prowl couldn't recharge properly. This affected Barricade as well, but he liked Jazz's style of music so he didn't mind.
Prowl retaliated by going to the campus arbitrator, who then locked Jazz's speakers in a closet in the back room and was told he could have it back at the end of the semester. Jazz was livid at this point, so he hired movers to get rid of Prowl's berth while they were all in class.
Prowl went into his room to find the berth missing, and Jazz and Barricade acted innocent about the whole thing even though they had planned it together. Neither would snitch on the other though.
"So, neither of you know who stole my berth?" Prowl asked with a surprising amount of calm.
"Nope," Jazz said with a smirk that he just couldn't hide.
"I see," Prowl replied skeptically, "I'm sure this will be a great story to tell your future offspring. It will go great along with the story about how you dropped out of the police academy and later got arrested for breaking and entering."
Jazz's engine rumbled angrily, and Barricade gently pulled him away from Prowl to keep him from doing something he would later regret. When they went out in the hall Jazz finally exploded.
"That isn't fair!" Jazz shouted, "We got him good! How is it he takes away my victory and tries to make me look like the bad guy?"
"He doesn't get it, Jazz," Barricade consoled him, "You and me, we've seen some slag in our lives. Polyhex and Kaon are the places that really need mechs like us on the inside to help the poor, the low caste, and those that would only have a gun barrel to look forward to without us. Prowl on the other servo, he's from Praxus. That city is a trim of gold on Iacon's frame. They get all the good stuff from being close to Iacon without any of the social problems that face a city this big."
"So what?" Jazz asked; still not calm but at least not as cross as before.
"So he's spoiled," Barricade spelled it out for him, "Prowl is what the council is looking for in a cop. He's obedient to the system, doesn't care about the real lives he ruins, and is ruthlessly efficient. Don't worry Jazz, you'll never be like him."
...This was so awkward. The end of the semester was at hand, and that meant the students all got their photo taken together as a group. It wasn't graduation, but it was still a celebration of the cadets that had made it this long.
The awkward part for Jazz came when he saw the assigned positions for the photo. Because he and Prowl were the same height he had to stand right next to that Praxian Pit Spawn and pretend he wasn't uncomfortable. He had finally stopped trying to prank Prowl into leaving their dorm, and Prowl seemed to be content to ignore him, but they still hated each other's struts.
The students milled around waiting for the photographer to arrive, and Jazz looked for Barricade, Trailbreaker, or someone else he knew and liked. He didn't see anyone he wanted to talk to in the crowd of happy students, but then he was tapped on the shoulder guard and he thought his boredom was over. No such luck...
"Hey, Prowler," Jazz greeted him sourly.
"I told you I am not comfortable with that nickname," Prowl replied irritably, "I only came over here to say you have a smudge on your helmet."
"So?" Jazz asked challengingly.
"Fine, if you don't want to look presentable in your own end of semester photo I can't stop you," Prowl replied in exasperation, "Frankly I'm getting tired of trying to turn you into graduate material. You disregard every statute and soil every tradition. I'm done, Jazz. If you want to throw away your future that's none of my concern."
"Throw away my future?" Jazz scoffed, "Just because I like loud music and hangin' out with friends doesn't mean I'm not tryin'. I study hard and I pass my tests. When I go back to Polyhex it'll be with a degree in my subspace and my helm held high. You can't make me ashamed of who I am."
"I've seen your grades. You won't pass," Prowl stated matter-of-factly, "You may say you study, but I live with you. I know where your time really goes. Not only that, but I've seen other cadets just like you. You think this is a game, Jazz? People's lives depend on the kind of job we do out there. If you got this job you would be given a license to carry a laser rifle, an electric staff, and stasis cuffs. You would be given the kind of power that can go to a mech's processor, and frankly the idea of someone like you with that kind of power terrifies me."
"Why, because I'm Polyhexian?" Jazz accused harshly.
"No, because you don't know what you're doing," Prowl replied stonily, "Do you know why I had to remove the poster, called the arbitrator to collect your stereo, and go out of my way to criticize your every move?"
"Because you hate my struts," Jazz snorted.
"No, because you are desperate to have people like you," Prowl replied, "If you're going to be a police officer, then you have to understand that the people you run into will not be your friends or your new drinking buddies. They will fear you, they will hate you, and they will often refuse to cooperate with you. Mechs like me making it harder for you to do your job will become the new normal. Are you ready for that? Do you want this badly enough? Can you handle a lifetime of mechs like me?"
"You don't know anythin'!" Jazz snapped bitingly, "What has life ever done to you? You think I don't know what adversity feels like? My old friends turned their backs on me when they found out I wanted to become an enforcer. Cops are seen as the council's personal thugs. They don't see the other side of it. My uncle Squarepeg was murdered when I was a younglin', and nobody investigated it. You know why? Because he worked as a window washer! Yeah, he was a low caste mech and the enforcers didn't want to waste their resources on a mech with so little importance to society. I grew up realizin' that we the people of Polyhex were on our own. I don't want that to be the system we live in, and it starts at the bottom. I have to go back to Polyhex as a cop, and I have to be there for those that deserve justice, because if I don't then no one else will."
Prowl didn't interrupt as Jazz spoke, but he didn't show any emotion either. Jazz was sure he wasn't getting through to the Praxian, but then-
"Meet me at the stadium at 50:00 tonight," Prowl ordered.
"After curfew?" Jazz asked mischievously.
"It is necessary that we are not interrupted," Prowl explained as if that excused everything, "I'm going to train you in the areas where you are currently failing. I believe we can get your grades up, and more importantly I think you can learn the techniques you need to know to work effectively in your home city-state."
Jazz was skeptical of Prowl's motives, but then again out of all the negative things he could say about Prowl he couldn't say Prowl was a liar. Jazz nodded curtly and then walked over to the lawn where the photo was soon to be taken. Prowl walked over and stood next to Jazz, and despite the tension between them they both managed to smile for their picture.
..."What is this song called again?" Prowl asked as he eyed the music chip curiously.
"One shot," Jazz replied jovially, "It's about the dangers of high grade addiction. You know, since that's an issue you care about."
At first Prowl was offended, but then he realized Jazz was being sincere and not sarcastic. He smiled slightly and sat down on his berth while Jazz turned on his speakers. The song that played was rough sounding and had a heavy bassline. He wasn't used to Polyhexian music and normally didn't like it, but the more Prowl listened the more he appreciated the lyrics and the beat.
Over the past few deca-orns Prowl had been training Jazz in strategy techniques and crisis prevention methods. Jazz's grades were slowly improving, and to thank Prowl for his help Jazz would even sometimes invite the Praxian to chill with him at a bar or a party off campus. Prowl felt uncomfortable at these places due to social awkwardness and a feeling that everyone was misbehaving in some way, but at the same time he also began to feel more accepted thanks to Jazz's natural ability to make everyone feel at ease.
In time even Barricade decided Prowl wasn't as horrible as they first thought. The three roommates soon became an inseparable trio, and it benefited all involved. Jazz felt more prepared for the job he would soon have, Prowl felt like he understood his peers better, and Barricade learned to let go of old grudges.
The song stopped playing, and Jazz put on a softer tune from Ibex. He looked over his manual that taught different holds and defensive moves in case of a difficult arrest while Prowl wrote something out on one of his blank data pads.
"Hey Prowler, what's it like in Praxus?" Jazz suddenly asked, "I've told you all about Polyhex, but you've never told me anythin' about your home. What's it like?"
"Praxus is not nearly as interesting as Polyhex," Prowl replied stoically, "I would say your family is more interesting than mine as well."
"What? Just because my sire heard voices that told him to drink high grade until his optics crossed?" Jazz chuckled, "That's not interestin', that's depressin'."
"And yet you are not depressed," Prowl noted, "I don't know how you do it, Jazz. You go through life with a smile and a hopeful outlook despite the injustice and grief you see around you. How do you do that?"
"I don't know. I just do," Jazz shrugged, "I mean sure, there's some bad scrap that goes on, and the council makes our lives miserable, but there's a lot of good stuff too. I remember when I was 7 vorns old and my neighborhood had an energon crisis because the filtration lines were corrupted with grit from the Sea of Rust. Mechs and femmes were starvin', and we weren't sure where our next meal was gonna come from. Well my neighbor, a friendly older mech named Night Jam, took some of the corrupted energon and mixed it with this green powder that he was sure would make it safe to drink. He was a retired chemist and knew a little somethin' about that kind of stuff. I still remember the goofy look on his face plate when he tried to drink it! Haha! He looked like he'd just put a live turbo rat in his mouth! Stuff worked though, and his quick thinkin' saved the neighborhood."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Prowl replied, "Your entire area nearly starved because it took government workers too long to repair a problem that would've only taken a few joors and some basic tools to fix. How can you be so happy about that?"
"Because we didn't die, and because I knew we could count on each other," Jazz explained, "That's the thing. A system might fail, but a community won't if they stick together. I had my sire, my uncle, my extended family, my neighbors, and my friends. They might not understand why I'm doin' this, but I'm gonna play a role in my community that doesn't exist yet. I'm gonna be there to take down the crooks and help those that are defenseless. I'm gonna be an advocate for my people."
"You're going to be a police officer, not a super-powered lawyer," Prowl snarked in a dry tone of voice.
"Yeah, yeah," Jazz waved away his cynicism, "Anyway you still didn't tell me about your family. What are they like?"
"Well, for starters I was the first creation my sire got from the Allspark," Prowl told him, "Several vorns later my little brother Bluestreak was sparked. My sire is a medic that works in Iacon but lives in Praxus. Most Praxians with any means simply commute to work rather than work in the small city-state. My school was normal, my family is normal, and there really isn't anything interesting about us."
"Sounds cool," Jazz replied with an easy smile, "I'm from the Allspark too. My sire thought new codin' was better for the genetic strength of Cybertron than merge sparkin'. He had some funny ideas about merge sparks. Truth be told though, my sire was just a little off in the processor in general. He thought if he ever bonded with a femme she would suck out his spark and replace it with an exact replica."
"That...makes no sense," Prowl commented; unsure of how to respond to that.
"Nothin' he said made sense," Jazz laughed, "I just learned to live with it. He was crazy, but harmless. I miss him."
Prowl had never been told how exactly Jazz's sire died, and he never asked. Jazz wasn't offended though. He knew Prowl was a very private mech and just extended that same privacy to those he cared about. Jazz was actually grateful for that. It was hard to tell someone something like that, and Jazz wasn't ready yet.
...This was the first time Jazz had ever met Prowl's sire. He wished it was under better circumstances. Jazz and Barricade came with Prowl to a vigil that was being held for the lost city of Praxus. Such a tragedy had never before occurred in Cybertron's history, and it was strange that it happened to a suburban town like Praxus.
Jazz had feared Prowl had died when he heard on the news about Praxus being destroyed. Seeing the city dashed and covered in flames on the TV screen had sent Jazz into shock, and then into panic. He comm'ed Prowl over and over again, but there was a dampening field over the city. How could the Decepticons afford a dampening field? Jazz realized then that this so-called fringe group was a lot more organized than anyone was willing to admit publicly.
It wasn't until the next orn that Jazz learned anything about Prowl's condition. Just as Jazz feared, Prowl had indeed gone to Praxus for his vacation. He had managed to survive the onslaught and drove all the way back to Iacon with nothing to keep him alive but his tires and his wits. He reported that the devastation was even worse than what the media was reporting. There was nothing left of the city.
Now Jazz stood next to his two best friends and a medic that he didn't even know. Ratchet turned out to be a very nice if somewhat abrupt mech. Jazz could see where Prowl got his authoritative attitude. They stood by the mass grave of all the Praxians that were killed by the Decepticons. Among those missing and presumed dead was Prowl's own sparkling brother; Bluestreak...
...This could not be happening! After working together on the New Polyhex Space Station for vorns this just couldn't be happening, and yet Jazz had seen it with his own optics.
Prowl was dead.
He had been murdered in cold energon.
Jazz saw the killing on a security monitor several orns after the fact, but he had been there for the chaotic prelude to his best friend's demise. He didn't think he would ever forget that horrible day.
The Decepticons had forced their way into the station, and dozens of Autobots young and old scrambled to defend the structure. Prowl calculated which strategies would win them the battle, and came to a grim conclusion. The Decepticons' numbers and weaponry was too much for them. They would have to abandon the station.
Jazz and Prowl had both coordinated the escape on opposite sides of the station. Jazz had rushed civilians and soldiers alike into pods and small ships. A few shuttle-formers had managed to carry a few passengers as well. The Decepticons were nowhere near Jazz's side of the station, so it seemed like the escape would be completed before Megatron's forces got there. Oh, how wrong he was. Things went well for his side, but not the other side of New Polyhex.
After the escape Jazz regrouped with the senior staff on Moon Base 16 near an unnamed planet made mostly of silica and iron. He saw that most of the other residents of their former space station were there, still alive, but he didn't see the one face plate he was looking for: Prowl's.
Jazz looked around the mess hall for someone who might know something, and came across Bumblebee looking forlorn and lost. Maybe he knew what happened. He just hoped that look didn't have anything to do with Prowl.
"Hey, Bumblebee my mech!" Jazz tried to sound jovial, but the strain still came through in his tone, "How're you holdin' up?"
[I saw it...] Bumblebee whirred mournfully, [...the Decepticons captured my brother. They got Hound! They even smashed his sparkling to pieces! We've got to find those monsters and get Hound back!]
"Don't worry younglin', we will," Jazz assured him, though he wasn't sure how they would do that yet, "Have you seen Prowl?"
[Prowl saved our lives,] Bumblebee told him with wide traumatized blue optics, [The seekers were coming for us on all sides, but Prowl kept everyone focused and ushered us all into the escape pods. Hot Rod had a limp, so Prowl waited for him to hobble over to the shuttle. When Thundercracker and Skywarp cornered them...Prowl shoved Hot Rod into our shuttle and pressed the button to jettison us into space! Prowl stayed behind, Jazz! He stayed behind!]
Bumblebee was wailing now, and Jazz sunk lower into his chair. It was orns later before Jazz felt prepared to look at the footage. He saw that it was Thundercracker that pulled the trigger, and Jazz knew then that Starscream's trine had to be stopped once and for all...
...SS-PLX-04 awoke on the medical berth with a splitting helmache. Ratchet hovered over his patient to see if he was alright. 4 looked up at him and gave him a thumbs up, indicating the operation was a success.
"How do you feel?" Ratchet asked immediately.
"Like I got run over by Optimus," Jazz replied half-jokingly.
"Do you think you can transform?" Ratchet asked.
"Yeah, I feel alright that way," Jazz nodded.
"Well then, what is your name and do you think you have any living relatives?" Ratchet asked pointedly.
"Yeah, I got family," Jazz smiled knowingly, "Every 'Bot here is my family. It's me,Ratch...Jazz."