I know I did not get to respond to all the reviews so far, but please rest assured I read every one of them and they have been a great source of encouragement. My thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review!
Warning (depending on how sensitive you are): Like the title might suggest, it is an interrogation scene.
Prowl was among the last to disembark, escorted down the boarding ramp by Ironhide and another he did not know. The light from the hanger-bay they had landed in spilled across the open hatchway with a warmth that would have been inviting had it not heralded his arrival in the spark of Autobot power.
Long ingrained and well-tuned instincts for self-preservation had Prowl casting his optics in a brief survey of his new surroundings as he stepped out of the ship. When he hesitated an astrosecond too long, he was pushed forward.
Normally he could depend on his doorwings to continue taking in pertinent data, but the same combination of damaged and disconnected sensory feeds made the panels almost useless in that regard. Thus he was limited to that brief snatch of visual data as he refocused on where he was going.
The hanger was five levels high, with docking arms located at intervals that indicated it could accommodate ships several times larger than the transport that had carried him here. It was very bright, a sharp contrast to Decepticon facilities, which generally favored a more subdued lighting scheme.
A none to gentle shove to his right shoulder to indicate the way he was supposed to go made him hiss in pain even as he complied. Lifting his gaze to look in the direction he was now being taken, Prowl was tempted to feel dread.
Standing in a loose formation were three mechs and Prowl recognized all of them. Jazz, infamous for his many and varied skills and abilities, was known to all Decepticons along with the warning of 'extremely dangerous, engage at your own risk.' Next to the silver minibot was Ratchet, still covered in dust and grime from Praxus and looking irritable and fatigued at the same time. On the saboteur's other side was Optimus Prime himself, his posture that of stately power which he carried with a calm confidence that Megatron could never pull off.
Perhaps he should have felt flattered, but all Prowl could manage was alarm. His last vorns serving under Megatron ensured he did nothing to show any evidence of that alarm however. Even so, he was almost painfully aware of the intense scrutiny with which he was being studied even long before his forward progress was checked at what Ironhide must have considered a 'safe' distance from the Prime.
It was a long moment before anyone spoke, Prowl remained silent during that time as three sets of cerulean optics continued to examine him.
Finally Optimus broke the silence, his deep baritone voice rumbling over Prowl's armor with calm authority that left no question as to who was in charge. "So, you are Prowl, the infamous and mysterious Decepticon Head Tactician?"
Prowl nodded. "I am."
Optimus' optics hardened and Prowl managed not to shiver as the Prime continued. "I have heard much about you. Little of it good."
From Smokescreen, no doubt. Prowl could think of no response to the Prime's statement so he kept silent, jerking a short nod to indicate he had heard what had been said.
"Now you are our prisoner – a prisoner of war." Optimus continued, his voice carrying the finality of a death sentence. It was not new information, but for some reason hearing it from Optimus made Prowl want to shiver. "You will be interrogated. After that, depending on our judgment of your behavior, we will decide what to do with you."
There was no room for argument. Prowl nodded stiffly. Not that there was any doubt in Prowl's processor what would become of him. While it might be true that Autobots did not summarily execute POWs like the Decepticons often did, that did not mean they would not keep him in forced stasis.
Either way, his future was out of his hands. He had accepted that fact when he had handed the gray and blue sparkling to Ironhide back in the wreckage that had been Praxus. That did not mean it stung his pride any less.
He averted his gaze as the Prime continued to consider him, as if waiting for him to protest. Then the Autobot leader looked at Jazz, who had been watching him carefully from behind a visor that masked his expression.
Though Jazz was not looking at his commander, he obviously felt Optimus' attention shift to him. He spoke to Ironhide without taking his gaze off Prowl. "Take him to Cell Two-Beta."
"You got it." Ironhide wasted no time in pushing Prowl toward the nearest door.
Prowl went without protest or struggle though he wanted to snap at the larger mech for man-handling him so roughly. However, he knew better than to do something so foolish, especially now that there was virtually nothing that would prevent the trigger-happy, tank of a warrior from retaliating if provoked. He also doubted that, in light of the destruction of Praxus and the role they clearly presumed he had played in it, that it would take much to provoke the mech.
He was taken to a lift, aware of the cold looks cast his way by the countless Autobots they passed. It always amazed Prowl how quickly news spread on military bases; something shared between Decepticon and Autobot installations.
The lift took them down and, while Prowl had no regular way of determining how far down they traveled, estimating based on the amount of time it took for them to reach their intended level it was at least ten levels down.
The lift doors finally opened and he recognized the uniformly distinct nature of detention areas. Even if this level was just as well lit as the hanger had been, it was almost overwhelmingly oppressive in a sterile, unassuming manner.
Halfway down the hall Prowl was directed into an open door. Stepping inside, he glanced around and was unsurprised there was precious little to actually look at. Interestingly, it was clearly an interrogation cell, not simply a holding cell.
He was directed to a centralized stool and then was magnetically bound to it once he sat. Just as on the ship, with his arms still held by the stasis cuffs on his wrists, he was virtually immobile.
The other mech who had helped escort Prowl shook his helm. "At least he'll be useful. Come on, let's go 'Hide."
Ironhide stepped back, toward the exit, looking at Prowl with glinting optics. "Enjoy your stay, 'Con."
Then they were gone, leaving Prowl alone. He released a vent, but did nothing more, aware he was doubtlessly being monitored. At least being taken to an interrogation cell indicated they did not want to waste time.
That was something at least.
… … …
And Prowl was left alone. If he stilled his vents and internal systems the near absolute silence of the cell-block was overpowering, giving evidence that he was either alone in the entire section or that the room was sound-proofed. Either way, it was unsettling. Even so, Prowl was not about to let something so trivial get to him.
It was at least half an orn before any sound broke through the miasma of haunting echoes caused by the sounds of his own systems bouncing off the metal of his cell; footsteps, heralding a visitor.
The lock on the door released with an audible beep an astrosecond before the door itself slid aside revealing none other than Jazz himself.
Again, Prowl decided he should probably feel flattered to warrant the attention of the head of Autobot Intelligence and Special Operations himself. However, all he felt was a stab of true fright. He knew the rumors revolving around the mech now striding almost casually toward him. He knew Jazz's reputation in the field of interrogations.
Then his optics shifted from that fathomless visor to the faintly glowing cube of energon in the minibot's clawed grip. Noticing the change of Prowl's focus, Jazz lifted it slightly as if in display, but he did not offer it to Prowl. Nor did he drink it himself. Instead he bent down to carefully place it on the ground, out of the way, before closing on Prowl.
In his sitting position, Prowl was just slightly shorter than the Autobot who was clearly to be his interrogator.
Jazz almost swaggered as he approached. It was the gait of one who knew he had nearly absolute power over another. "Normally they'd have a medic on call for this, but with your faction deciding to destroy Praxus an' all they're busy with more important things than making sure some 'Con's processor doesn't get a little sore. And, with you bein' so high up the 'Con food chain, there ain't no telling what traps old Soundwave might have put in that sweet little head of yours. That means, I'm the best 'Bot for the job. Ain't ya lucky."
It made sense, not that that was any comfort for Prowl. He kept his voice calm and inflectionless thanks to long vorns of practice. "What do you want?"
Jazz made an irritated gesture with one hand as he proceeded to circle Prowl like a predator. "See, old Megs has done something horrible. We were caught off guard. I need anything in that processor of yours that can help us keep that from happening again. And I aim to get what I need."
Prowl considered the saboteur's words, aware those shrewd optics were watching him carefully, calculatingly.
He knew Jazz's reputation and thus knew it was only a matter of time before the Autobot succeeded in prying everything he wanted out of his processor. However, the silver minibot's stated goals were parallel with Prowl's own; to get the information he had into Autobot hands in order to facilitate bringing an end to the madness Megatron had descended into.
That was what was best for Cybertron, his own comfort and pride were non-issues. At least that was how he convinced himself to do what he was about to do.
He looked up at Jazz, meeting that fierce blue gaze through the visor that masked it. "Agreed."
Not particularly in the mood to have more plating peeled back, Prowl slid aside the panel covering the primary data port imbedded in the armor on his right chassis.
He got the distinct impression that Jazz was staring at him even though nothing changed in the other 'bot's outward expression. Then, slowly, Jazz shook his helm. "It ain't that easy. I'm going after everything you know about the 'Cons."
Prowl's doorwings dropped a hair before he could stop them. He spoke quietly. "A deep processor scan?"
Jazz's helm canted to the side ever so slightly, intrigued and surprised at Prowl's reaction. Doubtless it was because Prowl had not demonstrated the anger and defiance he was probably used to.
"Yes." The saboteur confirmed.
Prowl's doorwings drooped a little lower and he shuttered his optics. He forcibly reminded himself of his main goal. If he could ignore the pricks to his ethical subroutines at Megatron's sparkless orders to kill sparklings and purposefully attack neutrals – all for the greater goal of ending the war quickly – he could ignore infringements on his personal comfort and privacy for the same goal.
He understood that if the Autobots had access to what he knew it could help them confront Megatron effectively. That was the whole reason he had surrendered in the first place. If this was how they chose to retrieve that information, so be it. He knew they would not believe him if he just volunteered it and, even if he did, he would likely find himself right back here, facing a processor scan to confirm whatever he volunteered.
It was part of the price he paid for being captured alive.
He unshuttered his optics and looked back up at Jazz. "Understood."
Jazz hesitated for a moment, obviously surprised. Then he seemed to regain himself and, pulling his own cord out he stepped closer. One of the minibot's clawed hands was braced on his injured shoulder in a manner that gave the smaller mech some leverage should Prowl attempt to try any physical attack or defense.
Both were quite impossible at this juncture and Prowl was not inclined to waste precious energon attempting either. That did not keep him from stiffening as Jazz's cable slid home and the weight of the notorious mech's personality suddenly fell against his firewalls like a hammer.
Prowl winced, but he had already resigned himself to what was coming.
… … …
Jazz was not sure what to expect when he synched with the seemingly emotionless Decepticon tactician. An orderliness that bordered on obsessive compulsive, noticeable even behind firewalls, was not it. The massive, truly impressive firewalls that greeted him, however, were expected even if not to the degree he now faced. He poked around the edges of the mental barrier briefly, looking for a weakness he could exploit to shorten this aspect of the hack. There was nothing. That in itself was an additional surprise.
However, as he prepared to start picking his way through the dangerous coding, the walls dissolved... all on their own.
Startled, Jazz looked down at the 'Con in surprise, only to see Prowl's optics were averted and shuttered, his expression – almost unreadable – took on meaning now that Jazz was in his head. He was worried and ashamed.
Worried Jazz was used to. Decepticons always worried when in his interrogation cell. Shame however… well, most 'Cons seemed utterly devoid of the emotion.
Intrigued as he was, Jazz kept his hand on the door-winger's shoulder in case he was stupid enough to try something.
Not wanting to waste time, knowing just how dangerous this type of work could be, Jazz made no more effort to further analyze the Praxian's emotional state. Instead, he launched into his hunt. He struck quickly and efficiently, not bothering to be gentle as he pried into every file, every stream of data he encountered.
It was absurdly easy, really; the Decepticon's processor was so orderly, everything he wanted all but had a virtual, definable label identifying it. He felt not a spark of guilt as he took full advantage of the open-door the tactician was giving him.
Beneath his hand, Prowl grunted, grimacing in discomfort, but the mech did nothing else. He raised no defenses and made no effort to stop Jazz, protect the information or even blunt the discomfort he was clearly experiencing.
Silent acquiescence was not something Jazz was used to
At first, he was puzzled by this. Was the mech incapable of defending his own mind? But that made little sense, nor did it fit the available evidence. The firewalls that had greeted him initially were beyond what most mechs could erect. Nor was there any evidence of Soundwave's tampering. That alone was so rare among Decepticons as to be an oddity. Even the lowest ranking grunt had some evidence of Soundwave's attention. He had found scattered lines of codes that looked like it could have originated from that creepy telepath, but they were already broken and completely impotent. It looked like Prowl's self-defense mechanisms were continuing to work on that coding, implying that the implantation of said coding was relatively recent.
It was a rare mech indeed who could defeat Soundwave's mental attacks and intrusions. And yet there was no evidence of that strength now. Why?
That was when Jazz realized the Praxian Decepticon was intentionally letting him have free access, letting him have whatever he wanted.
Jazz paused, stunned at the very idea. The possibility was nearly processor blowing in its implications. His sudden stillness, in turn, caused Prowl to slowly unshutter his optics.
A long moment of silence passed between them.
Finally Prowl broke it, intoning in a perfectly flat voice, without any inflection. "You are not done."
It was a statement, not a question. Jazz shook his head. "No."
"Then why do you stop?"
The sincere puzzlement Jazz felt accompanying the question surprised him. "I'm not stopping." He let his engine rev softly.
Doorwings fluttered ever so slightly as the tactician took in a vent of air, looking aside, clearly taking the rev as a warning. "I see."
It was said with a feeling of defeat Jazz did not understand as there had been no fight.
Almost on a whim, but trusting his hard-won instincts, Jazz moved slower when he continued his search of the Decepticon's processor. It was still uncomfortable for Prowl – that was the nature of one-sided connections like this – but even knowing what Jazz was looking for, the mech did nothing to stop the saboteur.
Still not sure why he was not meeting any resistance, Jazz decided to simply try asking. "I woulda thought a 'bot like you woulda been able ta raise a better defense than this."
Prowl grimaced again, still not looking up. "My ability to defend my mind is not at play here. I agreed to give you the information you wanted."
That, spoken with simple, straightforward resignation made Jazz stumble to a halt, staring into the bright red optics that were now gazing up at him.
"Jus' curious… what would happen if ya did try ta stop me?"
Ruby red optics continued to stare up at him calculatingly for a moment. Then, faster than even Jazz could follow, those impressive firewalls sprung back into existence. Jazz's mind was trapped in a near suffocating grip. The only way he could get out of it would be to physically unplug. But that action – from this deep in the other's processor – would leave his own segmented and fragmented… enough to require a good defrag to recover from, if not a trip to the med bay.
However, as soon as he had made that calculation, the walls were lowered again, leaving Jazz once more with unimpeded access.
It took an astrosecond, but Jazz was quick to continue his work, unwilling to waste time. Even so, he attempted to satisfy his curiosity about the enigma he was encountering. "I don't understand. If ya can do something like that, why did ya agree to let me take it like this? Why aren't ya putting up a fight?"
There was a long pause, then those intense red optics were averted as another grimace ghosted across his face. "Because you need the information I have to defeat Megatron. And it was clear this was the only way you would believe I am not misleading you."
Jazz frowned. "But if you can raise a defense like that, you could easily have created a false data net and feed me whatever false information you wished."
Suddenly Prowl was staring, no glaring, at him again. "If you believe that, why do you now give me the opportunity to do exactly that?"
"Excuse me?" That was not an answer Jazz was expecting.
"I know your reputation, Autobot Jazz. I know you are wasting time right now." Bitterness filled the tactician's mind even if nothing found it's way to his voice. "You have a job to do. Why do you not just do it?"
Jazz blinked, surprised at the almost challenging tone. "Ya like the pain, then?"
Red optics flashed. "This is a one-way hack, Autobot. A deep processor scan. There is no way to avoid the pain inherent in such things. If it is going to happen, I would rather not drag it out."
Jazz could feel the Decepticon's powerful mind surging beneath those words and was immediately on the alert, his own defenses raised instinctively. Prowl winced as what must have felt like tiny blades stabbed into his mind as Jazz's mental defenses snapped into immediate readiness.
Jazz did not bother deactivating those subroutines as Prowl continued to glare heatedly up at him in silent challenge. "What if I preferred to drag it out?"
Ruby optics flashed again and Jazz braced himself mentally, his hand tightening fractionally on the shoulder he still held, eliciting a tiny hitch in the other's vents. Then, like a switch being thrown, tension left the tactician and that intense gaze dropped.
"Very well. Do what you wish."
There was an air of resigned surrender and Jazz felt a hopelessness feather at his awareness and he realized the Decepticon truly would prefer to get this session over with, even if doing so amplified whatever discomfort he might feel in the process.
Not usually one to care what Decepticon prisoners wanted, Jazz felt oddly inclined to do as Prowl had requested and finish it quickly. There was an… earnestness in the mech that suggested he truly wanted the Autobots to have the information and a listlessness that suggested he had no hope for his personal future.
Moved with something Jazz could not quite call compassion, he nodded his own acquiescence.
"If that is what ya want." Then he picked up the speed of his assault again, moving with lightning speed. Jazz watched with a sense of increasing surrealism as Prowl grimaced, his frame shuddering under the clawed hand braced against his shoulder.
Normally Jazz would have stripped every byte of information he could find, leaving no secrets, but this time found himself ignoring truly personal files – after confirming that was all they were, of course. This was only intended to be a strictly fact-gathering interrogation and, as Prowl was clearly cooperating, felt inclined to reciprocate.
It took a few breems but Jazz could feel Prowl's growing surprise at that unexpected kindness. By the time he was finished, those red optics had been lifted back to his faceplates.
"You did not take everything." The words were said lowly but with a definite flash of surprise, before Jazz could disconnect.
"I got what I needed." Jazz assured him, reaching for his cable.
Prowl was silent for a long moment, thinking. Jazz could almost watch it happen. Then, he spoke, shaking his head slightly. "Wait."
It was the last thing Jazz would have expected.
It was a one-way connection. There were many reasons for that, number one being safety. While it was possible for a 'bot to defend his mind in ways that could be very dangerous for the interrogator, it did offer a measure of safety in that the individual being scanned could not transmit data directly to the one scanning him. All they could do was light up pathways for the other to follow. And that was exactly what Prowl chose to do in that moment.
Hesitant and wary, looking for a trap, Jazz followed the pathways Prowl illuminated. They led to a file with a relatively small data-stamp yet a rather large emotional footprint. It indicated a personal file: one he had overlooked.
Now Jazz blinked his optic shutters in surprise. Why would a Decepticon want him to look at a personal file? Well, if the 'Con was going to offer…
Prepared for the worst, he unlocked the file. But there was no nasty virus waiting to scramble his processor. Instead, what he got was a brief series of statistical analysis:
Megatron was 68.32% likely to use a strategy similar to his attack on Praxus again in the future.
If he did so, there was a 75.91% probability it would either be Simfur or Centari Tetrax.
If Megatron was not prevented from succeeding in such slaughters, there was a 82.35% chance he would destroy Cybertron.
There had been other statistical analysis Jazz had uncovered during his scan. Most were disturbingly accurate predictions of Autobot preparedness and ability to counter Prowl's strategies. However, none were shrouded in the deep emotional context that these were. Alarm. Anger. Despair. Determination.
Determination to do whatever he had to do in order to keep those horrid predictions from coming to pass. But that was accompanied by a resigned acceptance that a potentially brutal interrogation at the hands of the Autobots was likely to be the only chance he would be given to meet that end.
The emotions flicked by so strongly and quickly that Jazz knew he was not intended to catch them – or at least not dwell on them. Only the statistical analysis was intended for Jazz's perusal, except that it was impossible to share the one without sharing the other.
Briefly it made Jazz wonder what other juicy tidbits he had missed in bypassing personal files. Prowl clearly read his intent and tensed in response. Jazz waited, defensive, for what the Decepticon might do.
Even after several long astroseconds nothing happened. Prowl neither attacked but nor did he try to block him from doing whatever he might want to do.
That, more than anything, made Jazz back down. For a moment he let a silent warning hang then he withdrew, disconnecting from the tactician.
"Ain't we full of surprises." He drawled, eyeing the Decepticon as he coiled his chord, returning it to its storage space.
"As are you." Prowl answered, his doorwings flicking slightly but in a stiff enough way it was obvious the Praxian was attempting to prevent the movement.
Jazz grunted noncommittally and knelt to reach for the cube of energon he had brought. He noted how Prowl eyed his movement with well-concealed suspicion and concern. Keeping his own optics on the Decepticon, Jazz took a careful, deliberate sip of the glowing liquid.
Prowl watched him the whole time, though he gave no outward indication of any thoughts at the moment.
Jazz considered him for a moment longer. "Ya could probably use some of this by now. Especially after that. Yes?"
He stepped toward Prowl again. The Praxian tensed as he approached, but when all Jazz did was move the stasis cuff from one wrist to just above his elbow joint in a way that allowed him limited use of the lower arm while still keeping him restrained, those red optics widened in obvious surprise.
"Here." Jazz put the cube in his hand.
Prowl stared at the cube for exactly three and a half astroseconds as if calculating the probability the energon was a trap. But the tactician's systems were almost critically low on energy, as Jazz had known before even heading down into the detention area.
Slowly, the white and black mech tipped the cube up to his lip-plates and drank.
Once he was finished, Jazz reclaimed the now empty cube and swiftly re-secured the Decepticon's wrists. Prowl winced minutely as the energy from the binders arced into the wiring of his arms but gave no other reaction.
Stepping back to give Prowl some breathing space, Jazz gave him a pointed look. Prowl responded as expected, giving him his complete, if surprisingly polite, attention. "This is how this is gonna work. I go make my report to the Boss-bot. In the meantime, or whenever he gets the chance, good ol' Ratchet is gonna come take a look at ya. Then he'll make his report. Then, and only then, Prime'll decide what happens next."
Prowl just stared at him.
"Got it?" He asked when Prowl's gaze remained flat.
"Yes. Thank you."
Jazz blinked again, not expecting an expression of gratitude. "For what?"
"For the energon." Prowl said flatly, but Jazz sensed there was something behind that bland neutrality even if he could not identify it yet. "For telling me what to expect."
If Prowl was nervous about what might happen to him, he did a remarkable job of hiding it. Jazz knew the mech had emotions now and knew that, with enough time and opportunity, he could learn to read the subtle clues to the mech's thoughts and feelings. It was a challenge, a puzzle that just itched at Jazz to be figured out.
He watched Prowl for several more sparkbeats then abruptly nodded, turned and left.
I believed I warned everyone last chapter not to expect that I'll make this easy on Prowl. For those of you interested in seeing how Prowl and Smokescreen first deal with the new dynamic in their relationship, their first true interaction with each other will not be until after the next chapter. But don't worry, more Prowl and Optimus to come in the next chapter. :) Also, before anyone asks, I have not forgotten about the cute little (*cough* nameless *cough*) sparkling! He is going to be showing up again soon too... and we'll be learning his name the next time we see him... though some of you have already guessed it. *Wink*
Also, please note that I see nothing 'sexual' in an interrogation such as this, no more sexual than a sentient USB drive being plugged into a sentient computer. As far as this story is concerned, 'interfacing' is nothing more than a hard-line method of exchanging data. My vision is that a one-way interface is uncomfortable because it is an invasion - more of an explanation will be given later in the story. So please, everyone, keep your thoughts out of the gutter. Thank you.
Until then, please review.
