A/N: I've decided to continue… :) This chapter was a pain for some reason. Prowl is a difficult character to write. And I don't think I have everything the way I wanted, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless.

I don't own Transformers or any characters.

Operation: Analyze

The star Cybertron orbited had cast such a peaceful glow on everything that evening. Sharp glints of reflected light on the metallic surfaces gave a depth to the soft shadowed areas trailing behind the towering structures, giving an almost mystical essence to the air, a feeling that was dream-like.

Prowl allowed a smile to settle on his faceplate as he watched the scurrying motion of the city far below. It was truly a sight to behold from his position in one of the newly reestablished towers. The view was just perfect.

Cybertronians of every shape and size strolled the streets, some conversing in a friendly manner, others simply gazing in admiration at the sunset as they made their way home. Even the twisting and tube-like roads and highways seemed to sparkle as swift blurry figures glided over them at an almost awe-inspiring speed.

The Autobot watched in appreciation. It was a rare occurrence that he would actually find himself forgetting the troubles and everyday duties of life. And it was even less common that the law-enforcer would be enjoying himself. Cybertron's restoration had brought a sense of peace and security that was felt by nearly all its inhabitants—Autobot or otherwise. But, as was almost always the case, this newly found peace came with a cost. And as more and more refugees returned to their home, the need to establish order became essential.

Prowl absently stroke a finger over the insignia engraved on his shoulder. The War was finally over. The cause they had so desperately fought for had finally won. There was no longer any need for conflict. This was what Cybertron had been meant to be. There was no doubt in the mech's mind. This was the real Golden Age. And he didn't care how stressful his own responsibilities would be to keep it that way.

The Praxian nearly jumped when the buzz hummed in his ear, his door wings twitching in surprise. The law enforcer immediately recovered from his shock, sighing wearily as straightened his posture. Back to reality and all its problems, someone had once said; Prowl couldn't quite remember who. But the truth of the statement was certainly something he could relate to. With one last glimpse at the world below, he brought two fingers up to his comm. link.

"Hey Prowl." The greeting was gruff, impatient and undeniably irritated; a whole rant was just waiting to be unleashed from those first two words. The Praxian frowned in anticipation, his mind almost immediately calculating possible reasons for Ironhide's aggravated interruption of his free time. And if he knew anything about Ironhide, nearly anything could be labeled as a decent enough problem to justify bugging the former SIC. It was going to be a long night.

Resisting the urge to hang up, Prowl acknowledged his fellow law enforcer with a low hum.

"Guess wha' I'mma puttin' up with," the mech snarled over the comm.

Prowl made no attempt to answer. The large red mech had been one of his closest companions back during the War for Cybertron. The two had both served in the Autobot inner command circle under Optimus Prime, often working together with surprising efficiency spurred on by their Praxian heritage. Neither was without flaw however. Prowl had come to the conclusion that it was best to simply stay quiet and detached when Ironhide was in his "rambling" mood, a trait that had become some-what legendary among both sides.

"Ah'll give ya a hint, what's annoyin' as the Pit, talks like slag, an' gives ya one frag of a helm-ache?" Of course, Ironhide was a very persistent mech when he set his mind to it.

"What happened, Ironhide? You better have a good reason for this interruption," Prowl finally spoke up smooth and calm, only his door wings giving away his irritation.

"Don't ah always?!" Ironhide snorted indignantly, managing to sound the perfect mix of frustration and hurt at the same time.

Prowl shuttered his optics, suppressing a sigh. It was probably best to save that particular conversation for another time. "Continue."

"Well, if ya really want to know, Prowl," Ironhide huffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "we got a complaint from someone 'bout some disturbance of the peace on the outskirts—not too uncommon if ya ask me, especially with al' those younglings partying like scraplets in a steel park and such, but, Jazz 'n' ah went ta check it out anyways an' found that someone had broken into one of those condemned buildings out there—ya know, the ones left from the bombings long ago—Ah don't think that's too uncommon either, ya know? Some bots are just curious and wanna explore, ah guess. Ah know I'd be wanting ta if ah lived out there, who knows what kind o' stuff you'll find. And then there's all that construction goin' on and stuff. Ah was thinkin' maybe that's what all the noise was, but, Jazz said we should investigate just in case. An' when we did—was an ol' storage buildin', ah think—we found the door was smashed real viciously—ah mean, looked like a Dinobot had a temper tantrum and decided to pick a fight with Bruticus—" The older mech continued until even his speech trailed off into half-intelligible babbling.

Prowl slowly buried his face into his palm, door wings twitching violently. It probably made for a scandalous sight, but Prowl couldn't force himself to care. "Ironhide!" He waited for the mech to grow silent. "Leave the details for the report. At the moment, let's get to the point of why we're having this conversation."

There was a short pause over the connection as the older Praxian halted his mumblings, most likely reviewing the events in his own mind (or trying to find his way back to the original subject.) "Let's just say we now have two lil' slaggers 'ere who are disturbing a whole lot more peace than they originally set out ta," he finally grunted, adding as much revulsion to his voice as he could.

"Over-energized younglings?" As far as Prowl could tell, that particular category was one of the most despised by Ironhide… he just hoped it wasn't—

"Worse."

Prowl finally let out a long-awaited sigh. He had been desperately holding on to the hope that his evening would be left at least somewhat peaceful. The tone of Ironhide's voice was all too telling however. "Care to elaborate?" he asked, although he already had a sickening feeling that he knew whom his fellow Autobot was referring to.

"A cert'n ex-communications officer's punkish, deceitful, giddy pit-spawn hellions of doom," Ironhide replied, the venom in his voice as apparent as ever, "again, if you can believe it."

It was an apt description.

Prowl shifted his position to rest his arm against the windowsill, propping his helm up with one hand. Already he could feel a head-ache coming on as his mind wavered to what had to be the most irritating problem of his (and Cybertron's) many troubles: Ex-Decepticons... Those two in particular.

"Soundwave's minicons." Even the words sounded wrong. Especially when uttered in this era of peace, this new Cybertron… where those names were dead. Things of the past. Never to be remembered or spoken of again…

If only it was that simple.

"Yep," Ironhide's gruff voice jumped in. "Ah'm starting ta think this is their favorite place."

"I don't find it amusing, Ironhide," Prowl stated, the tone of his voice affirming his statement. "Those two have been apprehended thrice this month alone. This has to stop."

"Yeah, precisely my point, Prowl! Three times this month! This month! Ah mean, don't get me started on last month! I'm certain we've put up with this slag far too much than what is healthy for a mech," Ironhide burst out. "When ya gonna get the Council ta put 'em away for good?"

Silence.

The truth was Prowl didn't have an answer. The Council had not been living up to its expectations—that much was certain. With its useless debates and false promises, the Council seemed more like a throwback to the Golden Age than the "Revised Council of Cybertron" it claimed to be. It was hard enough getting it to actually deal with relevant problems… like ex-Decepticons.

As his gaze wandered once again to the city below, the Praxian brought a curled finger to his chin in thought. Ex-Decepticons. Part of him wanted to simply stuff all who had borne that brand right into a stasis pod… or somewhere much worse. They deserved as much. But even Prowl couldn't deny that even they, the Decepticons, were Cybertronians at spark. They had joined their cause for whatever reason or another... And when the opportunity showed itself, most had been willing to give up their faction for peace and for their home.

Society still had yet to accept the idea. And there were wounds that would never fully heal. Prowl himself was still trying to gauge how much was forgivable. "I'll be down there soon. Hopefully we'll get to the bottom of this," he said. "And Ironhide?"

"Yep."

"This time, try to keep the perpetrators in the holding cell."