Caro Transmutata Metallo 43
A Transformers Prime Fanfiction
Treason and Memories Pt 2
Prowl pushed aside the doubt and hurriedly attached the rest of the leads. He deliberately restrained the memory of the last time he had used the antiquated equipment. If he dwelt on Tumbler's nervous grin, if he compared it to Jazz's overcharged but trusting smile – no, he had to focus on the tasks at hand. He could not afford any mistakes. He glanced at the still flowing thread of energon. He could not afford any more mistakes. He carefully leaned over Jazz and steadied himself by resting his servos on Jazz's hands as he connected to the investigator's wrist data port. He met with fairly standard firewalls for someone of Jazz's profession and rank and ordered the machine to initiate the medical overrides.
It was a frighteningly simple matter after that. The same procedures that he had used to remove the tainted Quintessan coding from Tumbler made short work of removing such recent memories. As Prowl had suspected, the investigator had already committed the engrams to long-term storage. It was a common safety feature among civil servants. A bit of investigation revealed a backup memory storage system that required more delicate handling. Prowl needed to go in, remove the relevant memories, either delete the associated emotional resonances or redirect them, and erase any trace of what he had done. At this point the equipment proved invaluable. While simply removing a single memory was fairly simple there was no way that Prowl would have been able to remove all evidence of his memory erasure without the refined capabilities of the reprogrammer.
"Almost done," Prowl whispered, instinctively resting a comforting hand on Jazz's shoulder.
However, just as he was about to retreat, the machine helpfully indicated a particular neural pathway as being of concern to Prowl's goals. The enforcer examined the associated memories and logic threads and felt a thrill of fear surge up his backstrut. This information should have led Jazz to deduce Prowl's involvement in Tumbler's activities already. It would doubtless do so soon. At the suggestion of the reprogrammer Prowl carefully separated the logic thread from the associated memories. The machine seamlessly spliced in other memories that fit the situation but rendered any deduction meaningless. Immediately afterwards another investigative thread was highlighted. This one pertained to a small family unit not directly tied to the few Prowl knew but who lived nearby. Jazz was nearly ready to act. Images replayed of a delicate sparkling and her guardians, clearly artisan caste, laughing over a crystal growth vat. The investigator only needed a bit more evidence to prove the illegitimate origins of the family unit. Once again Prowl carefully isolated memories and rerouted priorities. It was slow, meticulous work and every time he thought he was nearly finished the machine would highlight another mental pathway leading to potential danger.
"Primus, you've been busy Jazz," Prowl hissed through gritted denta. He immediately regretted the irreverent use of their creator's name, but brushed the feeling aside. He had lost track of the number of files he had altered by now. Each new discovery set another weight of responsibility on him. There was a reason the various Guardians only kept contact with a few others who knew about the illicit nature of their bonds. He could not ignore the danger to these families, but if he were captured and interrogated they would all be put in danger. The reprogrammer indicated another memory and suggested rerouting the emotional resonances to affix them to a more recent event. Prowl hesitated and considered this instruction. Unlike all of the alterations leading up to this point there was no logic thread associated with the memory. There was something about the memory itself that was different as well … A smiling caretaker was rubbing the helm of a lanky sparkling. *You are doing well, Jazz. You do the crèche proud.*
Prowl recoiled as if he had thrust his helm into a scraplet trap. Raw horror filled him as he realized where the helpful reprogrammer had led him. He was deep in Jazz's processor, perched over what was obviously one of the investigators oldest and, from the associated emotional tags, most precious memories. Core memories. Spark-tied memories. Prowl was paralyzed with confusion for a moment before he demanded an explanation from the AI. The machine obligingly laid out its simple logic. This scene was marked by the reprogrammer as one of the formative moments where Jazz had first learned to trust a certain type of authority figure. The trust was spark tied and all of his experiences so far had not managed to dislodge it. The enforcer fit the type. Jazz already had formed a partial emotional connection between Prowl and those crèche caretakers. It would be a simple matter to reroute the emotional resonance completely and cement the fragile trust Prowl had built into a permanent emotional bias. This would make deceiving Jazz in the future far easier. Prowl absorbed the information in a state of nearly blank fascination. The logic was sound. The action would make the situation in Praxus so much easier, so much safer. The solution appealed to him.
Prowl pulled out of Jazz's processor so fast it felt like something tore in his own cortexes. The machine chirped furiously in warning at him, but Prowl ignored it as he fell to his knees beside the medical berth. His tanks clenched and his mesh crawled. His spark casing seemed about to shatter from the weight of the shame that was crushing it from all sides. Prowl realized that he now had a tight grip on Jazz's hand and a sob wracked his frame.
"What have I done? Primus, what have I done?"
The only answer was the steady beeping of the reprogrammer.
Prowl gathered himself slowly and retrieved his data cable. The readouts on the machine showed that all memories that directly implicated Prowl had been deleted and the immediate logic threads associated with them had been redirected. Jazz might still technically have the capacity to reach the conclusion that the enforcer was involved with his investigation but it would be practically impossible. However, the machine pointed out that there were still connections that might lead to future compromises. Associations that led all the way back to the curious investigator's core memories. Jazz knew how a genuinely dedicated caregiver behaved. He still had everything necessary to determine Prowl's culpability. He had for some time now. The only thing that had prevented him from doing so was his relative inexperience as an investigator and his emotional biases. He considered Prowl a trustworthy mech and so he trusted Prowl. The only way to truly alleviate the danger would be to permanently alter Jazz's deep code; to cement that trust irrevocably.
The enforcer turned his horror-filled gaze to the smooth visage of the investigator; his faceplates relaxed under the influence of the machine. The fact that Prowl was actually considering a desecration of that magnitude terrified him. Was this how the Senate had started down the path that had led to the destruction of the most sacred gift Primus had given his children? With shaking servos Prowl disconnected Jazz from the table. He needed to get out of this place. What was meant to be a sanctuary of compassion was now corrupted. Prowl once more lifted Jazz in a carry hold and slipped out into the concealing darkness of the night. The short distance to the location where Prowl had planned to leave Jazz seemed tortuously long to the enforcer. Each time the investigator shifted, each time he groaned sent a knife of guilt through Prowl, followed by a surge of self-righteous indignation. But finally they reached the dark alley Prowl had chosen. It was located exactly as far from the oil house where this had all started as an inebriated mech of Jazz's size would be expected to stagger. There Prowl carefully laid his burden in the shadows of the refuse. He hesitated, then dipped down to brush his servos across the rapidly healing perforation he had left next to Jazz's optics.
"Jazz," Prowl whispered as he stared down at the frighteningly still form of the investigator he had just violated. "I am sorry. Perhaps one day I will be capable of asking your forgiveness." Then Prowl was folding into his altmode and speeding back to the reprogramming lab.
He knew his actions were reckless but the urge to clean, to erase his presence from the place, was burning his spark. It was only logical to sterilize the medical berth where Jazz had lain. The soft mesh was known to collect nanobots and harbor CNA that could be critical to identification in an investigation. Certain crystals growths sometimes preserved sounds in a primitive record. It made sense to remove them and cast them into the incinerator. Prowl even pulled the diffusing shields off of the lights. Every personal touch that Tumbler had left felt like a silent witness to Prowl's crimes. When he was done, all that was left was a cold and sterile room, devoid of any trace of his friend … of either of his friends. Prowl felt shock and pain sear through him at the thought but pushed it aside. He would have to face Jazz the next work cycle. He must not show any sign of weakness.
Prowl pulled out of the memory replay with a full-frame shudder. His firewalls gave an aborted twitch and he suppressed them once more. He didn't dare turn his attention to Jazz just yet, the remembered shame too potent. Jazz's firewalls held him in an almost comforting embrace and the saboteur's processor was quiet, not still, but focused on absorbing the information presented to him. Finally with deliberate care Jazz retracted his firewalls and Prowl's slid seamlessly back into place. Pensive silence filled the room for a moment.
"Slaggit, Prowl." Jazz gave a long sigh and dropped his helm unceremoniously into Prowl's lap.
The tactician felt the anger bleed out of Jazz's field and the tired groan the saboteur let out rattled Prowl's armor. Jazz turned over without removing his helm from Prowl's lap so his visor could focus on Prowl's face.
"So you erased the memory of one miserable, guilt-ridden, overcharged night that I was actively trying to forget, without my permission, and then kept me from staining my servos with any more innocent Praxian energon. That was what's got you in such a twist?"
"My crimes are more grievous than that," Prowl protested. He reached out to touch the side of Jazz's helm where his carelessness had damaged it so long ago.
Jazz let his engine rumble in frustration and brushed Prowl's hand away. When it looked like Prowl was going to push the issue Jazz cut him off. "Please don't. Just don't. I'm not up to arguing morals and ethics with you right now."
Prowl fell silent and waited for his friend to speak. He had given his confession in full and now all he could do was wait out the fallout.
"Look, Prowler," Jazz finally said. "That was ... that was intense for you. I know this means something to you that it just don't to me. I saw that. Let's – " Jazz gave another tired exvent – "let's just leave it at that for now. We both got scrap in our pasts that burns our sparks. I slagging offline the two mechs you loved more than anyone on the planet and you are tyin' yourself in knots over the fact that ya did the one thing ya coulda other than offline me." Jazz's engine gave a rev and his field pulsed with honest confusion. "I might not get that but I get guilt. I get remorse. I get spending vorns just wishing that ya could go back and erase what ya did. So yeah." His tone lost all of the bitterness that it had held and became deadly serious. "I forgive you."
Prowl felt tension release throughout his entire frame and he could not contain the single soft sob that escaped his vocalizer. His helm dropped to rest against Jazz's and they simply sat there a moment. An indescribable lightness lifted Prowl's spark, expanding into a bright, painful emptiness that was far more bearable than the dark secret he had carried for far too long. Now the only suffering he needed take to his creator was his own. Eventually Prowl felt Jazz's field flicker with mischief and the saboteur rolled to his peds.
"Now that that is out of the way," Jazz nearly purred with anticipation, "let's talk treason."
Prowl shuttered his optics and shook his helm in bemusement, pushing aside the lingering ghosts of guilt. "Optimus Prime nearly offlined because of a trespass committed by the mechs who held power in the Golden Age of Cybertron," he declared. "His sparkling is living evidence of the error of their blasphemy."
"So we're gonna make sure that the mechs who hold power in this age aren't up to the same scrap," Jazz said.
"I do not believe that they are," Prowl said.
Jazz looked up at him sharply. "What makes you say that?"
"You have observed their behavior," Prowl pointed out. "Ultra Magnus himself called Daybreaker a gift from Primus."
"And he meant it," Jazz noted.
"There have been other factors," Prowl continued, "most notably what I have not found in the archives and data available to me. I suspect that at the very least Team Prime is aware of the Quintessan influence and is taking steps to correct the errors made by previous generations. However, from your reaction to Shockwave's data, they might be ignorant of its origins as well."
"What you and I know would probably be a big help to whatever plan they got if that's true," Jazz said.
"Yes, but I must know for certain what their goals – and methods – are before I act. If they are indeed furthering the goals I have been working towards I will gladly, joyfully, join them. If this is a ruse ... " Prowl paused and fierce determination burned through his field. "If this is a ruse to draw out dissenters, I must do everything in my power to ensure that this freedom, that this idea of the family does not die."
Jazz grinned and reached out to grip his arm. "Prowler. I might have come up with a plot that cunning, but there's not a mech in the current high command who's got the kinda processor to think up something like that on their own."
"But there is a likelihood, however small, of outside interference. In addition to corruption within we must be alert to any sign that the Senators who defended the old order are trying to influence them," Prowl said.
"That's a tall order," Jazz observed. "Where do ya plan on starting?"
"Ultra Magnus has always been a very predictable mech," Prowl said.
"Predictable as rust," Jazz agreed. "Making sure that didn't get him offline was one of Special Operation's primary jobs."
"He nearly always stored sensitive information in the same manner," Prowl said. "But I have yet to find any evidence of the trial I suspect he is arranging for himself in the main Tower archives. He is most likely hiding it on his vessel."
Jazz grinned. "You need me to gather data." His engine was audibly purring now.
"Indeed," Prowl confirmed. "I have calculated that the only data that will be unreachable is what Bumblebee holds in his possession. Otherwise you will need to retrieve information from Ultra Magnus, Ratchet, any one of the Wreckers, and the Bio-dome."
"The Bio-dome?" Jazz asked in surprise.
"Yes," Prowl said. "There is evidence that Ratchet has been going to and through certain of the human ambassadors for advice on sparkling care."
"That was within your classification level?" Jazz asked pointedly.
"No," Prowl replied.
Jazz chuckled again and Prowl felt an odd thrill of fear. It was not exactly because Jazz was approving the morality of his actions. No, it was the certain knowledge that Jazz was placing his trust entirely in Prowl for their coming course of action. Their outlook on life, on their connection to Primus and the Well, and therefore to the newsparks was very different. The tactician was still not sure how much Jazz inherently valued this concept of the family in and of itself and got the distinct sense that the saboteur's core motivations had more to do with their friendship than conviction. For better or worse, Jazz was throwing his lot in with Prowl and if Prowl was wrong, he would be dragging them both down into the Pit.
#
"I can sit on him, too, if you need me too?" Daybreaker offered with a helpful smile. "I may not have my brother's mass, but I am pretty sure I am bigger than Ratchet by gross tonnage at least."
The positively withering glare Ratchet sent his way from the medberth had the Seeker scooting back to try and hide behind Shard's smaller form. For his part Shard seemed mildly amused by the whole situation, but still spread his wings in a subtle comforting gesture. Rung chuckled and resumed checking the settings on Ratchet's readouts. "I am instigating the deepest level of regenerative healing," he informed Ratchet. "While I am aware you are fully capable of doing this on your own, I will feel more comfortable if I can observe the power-down protocols myself."
"Yes, yes," Ratchet snapped. "That, and I am just a field medic, after all, and you are the formally trained psychiatrist. Just get it done with, you overly trained processor splicer! Daybreaker!"
The Seeker stood to his full height and walked over to Ratchet's side, suddenly all intense concentration. Ratchet held out his hand and Daybreaker took it in both of his.
"I am leaving you in First Aid's capable servos while I rest," Ratchet said. "He is fully competent and actually has a bedside manner, so follow his instructions. He and Rung will be working together to hammer out the details of your procedure, so make sure they keep you in the loop. I don't want any of your special brand of surprises crisping my medical equipment."
"Listen to my doctors, take my meds, and don't cause trouble," Daybreaker recited with a wry grin.
"Well, that last one is a given. Of course you …" Ratchet's optics flickered and dimmed as Rung's servos carefully moved over his frame. Daybreaker stiffened as the monitors took up a steady comforting beep and began to display nearly flat readouts.
"Now." First Aid stepped forward once he had checked that Ratchet's systems had powered down properly. "Daybreaker, Rung would like to consult with you privately."
The short orange psychiatrist smiled benignly over at Daybreaker and First Aid wondered at how the mech could project such a soothing and welcoming aura. It was a true skill. However, First Aid could plainly see that is was lost on Daybreaker. The Seeker had yet to relax from his hypertense state. Hopefully Rung could eventually win his trust. For now Daybreaker was examining the psychiatrist with the intent, emotionless gaze that he took in all threats with. Given whose care he had been under, distrust of medical personnel was a perfectly reasonable reaction. First Aid only hoped that Ratchet's show of trust was enough to –
"No." Daybreaker spoke quietly but forcefully.
Perfectly understandable, First Aid mused with a tired internal sigh. Odd that that never makes this any easier. Outwardly he showed only the calm smile he had cultivated his entire career. "Daybreaker," First Aid spoke up gently. It was nearly impossible to read the Seeker's field and his now rigid frame gave away nothing. "I could start the discussions with you, if you are uncomfortable with Rung."
The Seeker's wings twitched violently and he stepped back from the medic. "No." This time there was a distinct trace of fear in his tones. "No."
Daybreaker spun on his ped and strode out of the room. Shard followed along behind and First Aid was relieved to see that the smaller Seeker was already subtly soothing his friend with calming frame language and a soft field.
"Well," Rung commented, looking after the retreating patient, "Ratchet warned me that this would not be easy. I had hoped to familiarize myself with the patient personally before looking at Shockwave's data, but from what little I have seen I doubt that Daybreaker will allow us the time to do that. Come." He bobbed his helm towards a nearby console. "Let's see what Ratchet was so concerned about me discovering in that data."
