Sometimes I wonder if Jazz and Prowl purposely make themselves hard to write, because I seriously had to rewrite this chapter three or four times just to get them to a point where I could tolerate them. Blasted difficult bastards. But I love them anyways. XD Like I mentioned in another story of mine, I'm currently house-sitting for a professor of mine and internet access is limited. His computer doesn't even allow me to open documents from my USB on it. So, yeah, sparse updates whenever I get the chance... which doesn't really change the pace of this story since I only update it once every couple of weeks or so. ^^;

Major thanks to the amazing reviewers of the last chapter! Some reviewers came out who I haven't seen in a long time, so I was overjoyed to hear from them again! Love to Patcher, Darkeyes17, Dixie, Got Buttermilk, UsagiLovesDuochan, Nightblooming Orchid, FoghornLeghorn83, femme4jack, animelover1993, renegadewriter8, CNightJoy, MoonWallker, sparklespepper, Christina, smoking caramels, Kai-Chan94, Knocks, Shinigami-Sama1, Daklog73, Sideslip, Jinx, Phoebe Turner, Nanodiode, ChaosGarden, SwedishDragon, Chikku-Chikku, A Lurker, Faecat, Shizuka Taiyou, Chloo, Peacewish, Lecidre, 1bloodtempest, RococoSpade, and MissyMoo! All of you are the best~

Enjoy the chapter! ^_^

Chapter 24

He hurt.

Primus, he hurt all over.

He could literally feel his life draining away, bleeding out the same way his energon was. Each beat of his spark was a struggle; a throbbing, burning, reluctant pulse. A slow lethargy was creeping over him, stealing the feeling him his limbs. Heavy, cold numbness seeped into his frame, fogging his mind. The dojo, normally so bright with natural light reflecting off the copper panels in the walls, was fading to dark. Darkness that came not from lack of light, but from lack of life.

Jazz coughed weakly, trying to clear his vents. They were clogged with congealed energon. His energon.

For so long, he'd survived with the punishment. He'd fought so hard. How long had he told himself that he would figure out his master's games? Too long had he fooled himself into thinking he was stronger. There was only so long someone could live with those dreams. Xerxia had taken him in, brought him into her dojo, given him hope for a future, and then crushed him mercilessly. Ground him into dust. His will to live, his resistance, his spirit... gone.

He had nothing left.

He was broken.

Dying.

Even as his vision faded, his audios still worked. There came a thump as Xerxia hopped down from the dais, making her way toward him. Jazz could imagine how her ugly, scarred faceplate looked as she stared down at him; no expression at all. She didn't care that she had finally beaten him to death.

A heavy weight settled next to his numb frame. A lukewarm rush of air came over his back as his master sighed. She was just going to sit there and wait for him to die. There would be no medic coming. No one to care for Jazz. Xerxia truly was a sparkless glitch, able to sit next to the apprentice she had kept around for... vorns? Had it really been that long? No matter, she was able to sit next to him and watch his spark fade as if it meant nothing to her.

"Kill meh," Jazz pleaded in broken little words, possessing barely enough strength to push sound past his mouthplates.

Xerxia blinked and looked down at the small, slim frame that laid next her. Twisted limbs and a contorted back. A pool of energon leaking around around him like a halo. She nudged him with the back of her hand. "Say that again."

"Kill meh," Jazz whispered, even as energon gurgled between his mouthplates. "Ah got nothing left. Just finish meh off quick."

His optics had stopped working, so he failed to see the smile that spread across his master's dark faceplate. Not of happiness or cruelty, but a crooked half-smile that was foreign to her, reflecting satisfaction and a vague sense of relief. He failed to see her optics flash in the light, burning a molten amber like twin suns on the horizon. He did not see her raise her hand, but he felt the touch on the top of his head.

"Finally," she sighed. "I didn't think you would ever break. You have such a strong spark."

Jazz could no longer summon the strength to sneer. If he had been able to, he would have smacked her hand away. He didn't want her touching him. But there was nothing for him to do. He was a broken doll in the floor. Useless and abandoned. A puppet whose strings were cut.

"Ah just want it ta be over," he breathed.

"It is over," Xerxia murmured. "It's time to rebuild now."

In an act of rare kindness, she patted him on the head. A small consolation after beating him to death. She then got to her feet and left him to his fate.

His spark sputtered like a dying flame. Consciousness fled him. His world faded to black.

For the first time in a long time, Jazz felt no pain.

Prowl cycled a deep drag of cool air through his vents in preparation for...whatever he was about to face. The doors to the training range loomed high and heavily armoured in front of him. He would be lying to himself if he said he was not feeling the least bit wary of what he might find on the other side. On the console next to the doors, a small screen announced that the holographic projectors were active within the range. Jazz was in there, waiting for him.

Could there be a more ominous situation to walk into?

Nearby, the door to a second range opened with a heavy groan. Several agents from Special Ops exited. Like most members of that division, these agents were subdued despite their heaving vents and grimacing faceplates. Their paint was dark and their optics were haunted. Special Ops was among one of the unique divisions where the bots available on any one base rotated constantly as the agents were sent on various missions, forcing them to move constantly. None could call a single base home. It was smart to be aware of all personnel on base, so Prowl consulted the Special Ops roster to find out who these agents were: their designations were listed as Enigma, Shadow Striker, and Mystère

Blackhawk wandered out last, rolling his shoulders. When he caught sight of Prowl, he immediately made his way over. "You could have just asked their designations," he said, nodding to the retreating agents.

"I wasn't interested in socializing," Prowl replied simply.

"Neither are they," Blackhawk said dryly. He nodded to the active range Prowl was loitering in front of. "I take it you're getting back to your..." he paused, arching both optic ridges, "training?"

"Need you say it as if it were something scandalous?" Prowl asked flatly.

A ghost of a smile haunted the edges of the saboteur's mouthplates. "My apologies."

Prowl narrowed his gaze. "Sarcasm is unbecoming of you."

"Strange, because it is oddly becoming of you." He inclined his head, keeping that almost-smile. "I should be heading after my bots. I'll let you get to that training- wouldn't want you to be late."

"No, of course not," Prowl drawled with a definitely sarcastic lilt.

Blackhawk smirked.

Not interested in being the subject of the saboteur's shrewd scrutiny, Prowl narrowed his gaze on him. "Shouldn't you be going?"

"In a moment. I still have a question I've been meaning to ask."

"Ask, then," Prowl prompted curtly.

Blackhawk cast his gaze around the open area they were in, careful to note with there was anyone near to eavesdrop. When he decided the coast was clear, he leaned in and asked, "Have you spoken with Jazz about what he said in the debriefing?"

The tactician grimaced. "I've tried."

Several orns had passed since Jazz had summoned Iacon's entire compliment of commanders to the conference room to brief them on the matters that had transpired in the borderlands. What he had to say had not gone over well with a number of bots. How could a bot that dangerous exist without them knowing about him? When Jazz had been a Decepticon, they had been perfectly aware of how dangerous he was even though he left so few alive to report about him. Of Shockwave, there was not even a whisper in the ranks of Special Ops or Intelligence & Espionage. And now when others came to question him on the matter, perhaps make him reconsider the demands he had made of the Autobots, Jazz turned stubborn. Shockwave was unequivocally his to deal with.

"I've tried to speak with him as well, as have several others," Black sighed. "I had hoped you would have better luck."

"Unfortunately, that is not the case. He changes the subject every time I try to bring it up," Prowl replied. Sometimes it was a benign change, such as a verbal detour. The last time Prowl had tried to bring up the notion of Jazz going after Shockwave alone, the saboteur's patience had run out. He had punched Prowl in the faceplate and walked out of the room.

Blackhawk shook his head. "If this Shockwave creature is as dangerous as Jazz says he is, Jazz could end up dead. Or worse."

Prowl shuttered his optics for a moment. "That is not a possibility I want to consider. I've invested too much work in his rehabilitation."

"We've all invested a lot in keeping Jazz around, perhaps a little bit more than some of us care to admit," said the dark mech, his gaze lingering on Prowl a moment too long. "Be damned what anyone says about him, Jazz is a good bot to have on our side. I don't want to give up a good potential agent for my division."

"I don't intend to let him do this by himself," Prowl said firmly. "Whether he likes it or not, I am his partner. If he wishes to find out what Megatron has ordered Shockwave to do, he will do it with my assistance."

"Is Jazz aware of this?"

"He knows I won't give up without a fight."

Blackhawk smirked. "I feel sorry for Shockwave, then. You two make one formidable team."

"I know." It was not to gloat, but a statement of fact. Their combined abilities made them the perfect team. If Jazz would simply have to get it through his thick head that, tactically speaking, the two of them were stronger together than apart, things would be so much simpler.

"Well, in that case, I'll leave you to him," Blackhawk said, offering a salute. "Do try to enjoy your training."

"Sarcasm is still unbecoming of you."

The Special Ops commander merely laughed as he sauntered away.

It was useless to put off the inevitable, so Prowl took one last cycle of air through his vents before approaching his impending fate. The doors groaned open, bright light blinding him for a moment. His optics adjusted, surprising him with the vision on the other side. Instead of the familiar dojo Jazz insisted on holding their sessions in, a whole city stretched out to the horizon. He stepped into the training range, feeling the electric buzz of the holographic projectors. His footsteps clicked crisply across the roof of the building he found himself standing atop of.

Jazz stood at the far end of the roof, leaning over the railing. It was high noon in the holographic city, with the light of the distant sun shining down brightly on the mech's silver armour, setting him to shine.

"You're late," said the saboteur without looking back. "It's not like ya ta be late."

"I was waylaid. I did not think you would mind," Prowl replied, making his way to Jazz's side to brace his weight against the railing and look out over the city. "I thought we were going to be training."

"We are. Ah was just taking a moment- figured ya wouldn't mind," Jazz said lightly, glancing over at his company to tilt him a half-smile.

Prowl canted his head, noting that "taking a moment" was oddly sentimental for someone like Jazz. Jazz, by nature, was not sentimental in the least. The only time when he did break from his normal behavioural patterns was when something from his past with his old master came up. Going with that notion, Prowl made the appropriate connection that the city must have something to do with Jazz's past. The abundance of metal and lack of organic material meant it was a Cybertronian city, but the architecture lacked the usual visual cues to reveal which territory they were in. A distinct lack of recognizable monuments also served to confound the tactician.

"Tyger Pax," Jazz intoned suddenly.

Prowl blinked away from his examination. "Pardon?"

Jazz laughed quietly. "Tyger Pax- that's where we are right now. In the spark of the capitol."

Prowl drew back, scrutinizing the vision around him again. "I've seen pictures of Tyger Pax. This does not look like it." The typical pictures of Tyger Pax were usually full of colour and boisterous activity; the buildings were gaudy with paintings, flashing lights hanging from every corner. Neon lights and a wild party scene were the two things the territory had been best known for during the Golden Age.

"This is before the place got all crowded with the mainstream slag," Jazz said, and then pointed to a thin half-finished spire jutting above many of the skyscrapers around it. "See? There's the Paxian Cultural Tower, before it was finished. This is how Ah remember Tyger Pax."

"Your memory is impeccable," Prowl commented quietly. The crispness of the design of the city was stunning, to say the least. Much like the recreation of the dojo, the details invested in the image were extraordinary. The holographic projectors did a good job of creating the illusion of depth, height, and distance.

Jazz laughed a brief, harsh noise.

Prowl ignored the noise. Instead, he asked, "Is this where you're from?"

Jazz shook his head. "This is where Ah trained."

"In the territory where circuit-su was invented? How appropriate." Prowl arched an optic ridge, his interest piqued. Whenever he was given the slightest detail of Jazz's past, directly or inadvertently given, it never ceased to make the enigma that was Jazz all the more fascinating.

"Is there any place better?" Jazz smirked, but it was a hollow sound. The haunted look he sometimes wore whenever he thought of his past briefly flashed across his faceplate. Emotions there that most bots probably assumed Jazz was incapable of feeling; disgust, fear, rage, hatred, and pain. So much pain. But unlike Prowl, Jazz was already the master of himself, and like all the previous moments when faced with his past, he dragged in a breath of air and sighed everything out until the usual façade of himself returned. After regaining his composure, he leaned a little farther over the railing of the holographic the building and said absently, "Ah think Ah like this place better the way it looks now."

"I agree- it looks much more efficient without the lights and mess," Prowl agreed.

Jazz snorted, shaking his head. "Didn't mean it like that. Ah meant Ah like the way it is now in the present. Burned ta the ground and nothing but ashes."

Prowl couldn't say he was surprised to hear such a graphic comment, but the vehemency that laced the words was more than Jazz usually invested. With his curiosity piqued, he asked, "If you hate this place so much, why do you constantly come back?"

Feigning ignorance, Jazz cocked a sharp smirk. "What makes ya think Ah hate this place special?"

Prowl sent the silver mech an arched look. "I am trained to see details, Jazz. I know you too well for you to hide as well as you think you do."

Jazz's smirk disappeared.

"Whatever happened to you here..." Prowl murmured.

The saboteur's feigned innocence dropped instantly, replaced by a dark threat. "Don't go there, Prowler."

"You said it yourself when we started these sessions; this place made you what you were. You were driven insane," Prowl said, continuing as if unafraid of the threat the saboteur represented. "What I can't fathom is why you insist on coming back. Why train in a facsimile of the dojo you were tortured in? Why create a hologram of a city you have every reason to hate?"

"Prowl..." Nothing but a dark growl.

His hand moved, grasping Jazz's. "What possesses you to come back to a place that haunts you?"

Jazz jerked away. "Ya don't wanna know."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," Prowl replied honestly, his hand grasping Jazz's a fraction tighter.

Silence permeated the air between them, matched by a dangerous tension. Yet again, they were caught in a staring contest, the strength of their wills clashing. Prowl had no intention of backing down. After several tense breems, the saboteur reluctantly relented. He understood that Prowl, of all bots, knew how to keep a secret, and he was among the few that Jazz...trusted enough to speak to.

Prowl could sense the moment he won, not that he considered it a gloating matter. He was honoured to know that Jazz was willing to relent. He felt the tension sag out of the saboteur's frame. When he turned to meet Prowl's gaze, Jazz's visor dimmed.

"The reason Ah come here is because there's no where else Ah can go."

Prowl frowned a little. "I don't understand."

"Of course ya don't," murmured the saboteur. "Everything Ah've ever done, it's just colours and sounds and a few brief pictures. Mah life is literally a blur." He looked down at his clawed hands. "Skills Ah remember just fine, but Ah don't remember faceplates Ah've met and places Ah've been. It's like it all never existed."

"But here?" Prowl gestured to the hologram of Tyger Pax.

The light of Jazz's visor dimmed further. "Ah remember every detail. Ah come back because its the only place Ah know- the only place that has ever been real ta meh."

Prowl was quiet for a moment, uncomfortable with the strange feeling churning in his chest. "Is it memory damage of some kind?"

"Maybe, but Ah'm more inclined ta think that what Xerxia did ta me..." He was quiet for a moment, hands clenching into fists. "After Ah left this place, Ah was bad, Prowl. Ah know Ah hurt bots, a lot of them... Don't remember no faceplates, but sometimes Ah think Ah can hear them screaming." He sighed. "Ah guess Ah was too... wild ta let anything sink in."

Even if it was not a medical condition Prowl had ever heard of before, he accepted the condition. It made sense, for the most part. The change between who Jazz had been and who he was now... it was as if he was a completely different bot. Of its own volition, his hand moved to lay atop of Jazz's as he asked, "What changed?"

"Everything," Jazz breathed, staring at the spot where their hands touched.

Prowl revved quietly. "Do you feel remorse for the things you've done?"

"Maybe... Ah don't know." He shrugged, turning his back on the railing in order to lean against it. The exit out of the training range had disappeared, the wall incorporated into the illusion to create an uninterrupted view of Tyger Pax. Bracing his hands against the railing biting into his back, he arched backward, tilting his head to the sky. "Ah know that Ah'm starting ta hate when bad things happen ta good bots."

"All the more reason to let me help you find Shockwave," Prowl intoned. "It's not something you can do by yourself."

The saboteur's glare was hot enough to melt steel. "Shockwave is mine."

Prowl came away from the railing, his mouthplates pursed. "If he is as dangerous as you say, then you cannot do this alone."

"Shows what ya know." Jazz snorted, pushing away.

Prowl's hand shot out, grabbing Jazz around the wrist. "I won't let you do this alone."

Jazz went rigid. "Take your hand off meh."

"Listen to what I have to say and I will release you," Prowl said, tightening his grip. "Shockwave is dangerous- you will need what resources the Autobots have to capture him. You will need more than just yourself to do this."

"Ah've told ya no. Shockwave is mine ta deal with."

"Why is he yours?"

"Ya wouldn't understand. Just drop it," the saboteur growled darkly, trying to jerk away.

Prowl's grip remained tight. "I will not. You have avoided this for orns now. I want answers, Jazz."

Jazz snarled, the whiteness of his optics flashing red. "Shockwave is meh, Prowler. He's what Ah was. Ah need ta know that Ah can catch him. Ah need ta know that Ah'm better!"

"This isn't a game, Jazz! What if he catches you and you end up as his latest experiment?"

"Ah won't!"

"I'm not willing to take that chance!" He jerked Jazz's arm, bringing them flush together. Prowl used his greater height to glare down into the silver bot's defiant gaze. Frustration was starting to take a turn for the worse. The edges of his concentration fraying. "I am your partner, Jazz! I can help you!"

Too quick to counter, Jazz snarled and shoved Prowl to the ground. Suddenly, he was on top of the tactician, one hand magnetically adhering both of Prowl's hands to the ground above his head. Jazz's free hand came around Prowl's neck, squeezing.

"Don't give meh that partners slag, because all ya really feel is an overblown sense of duty because you're nothing but an EMO!" the saboteur spat viciously. "How the pit do ya think ya can help meh catch a mech more dangerous than Ah've ever been when ya can't even control yourself?"

"Why else do you think I am here!" Prowl shouted roughly, the words strained by Jazz's grip on his neck. Jazz squeezed harder, snapping Prowl's temper. He twisted until he could lift a leg and wrap it around Jazz's neck, struggling to tear the saboteur away. His legs happened to be stronger than Jazz's arms; the saboteur's back hit the ground with a satisfying clank of metal against metal. Jazz's own legs flew out, one of his feet landing a nasty swipe across Prowl's chin. They tangled like that for several moments before Prowl managed to break away, leaping to pin Jazz.

With their faceplates barely a breath away from each other, he shouted, "I am trying to better myself! You are not making it easy!"

"Ah never said it was gonna be easy," Jazz snarled. "If ya can't figure this out, ya ain't ready ta go after someone like Shockwave. You'll get yourself killed."

"And you won't? You're not infallible, Jazz!"

"Infallible this!" His forehead smashed into Prowl's olfactory sensor, stars erupting in the tactician's vision. The world whirled as their frames tangled again, rolling, grappling. Energon dribbled down Prowl's faceplate. Shock was painfully evident on the mech's faceplate.

"Didn't calculate that, did ya?" Jazz sneered. He unlocked the clips holding his visor in place. As Prowl's fist came down on his face, it jerked the crystalline piece free. He only had a few spares and he wasn't about to let one get ruined in a stupid scuffle. Their confrontation degenerated further as tempers flared hotter. Prowl landed another heavy punch to the side of Jazz's faceplate, gouging the metal with his knuckles. Jazz ripped into Prowl's back, tearing at the tension wires holding his doorwings. Another headbutt cracked the tactician's chevron. A quick knee rammed into someone's abdomen, denting the armour. A vicious punch shattered the covering on the lights of the other's frame.

Jazz raked his claws down Prowl's faceplate.

Prowl gripped Jazz's horns, smashing the saboteur's head into the ground.

Energon flung everywhere in the heat of their fight. The ground became riddled with the glowing globs. Their frames became smeared with it, making them slick against each other. They continued to roll, still punching, clawing, grappling, and kicking. No holds barred. Writhing like animals on the ground, primal as they sunk to their basest urges. It was the release Jazz needed to get rid of all the excess thoughts and feelings that had been building up over the last few orns. For Prowl, he let himself be swept up in the thrill of fighting without calculation; the mindless violence was a powerful escape from the cold rigidness he usually struggled to maintain.

Both took a bizarre form of pleasure in the fight even as they lost themselves in the heat of their rage.

"Ah don't want your help!" Jazz snarled, dislocating one of Prowl's doorwings.

Prowl howled, bucking the mech off. He whirled, elbowing Jazz in the neck. "You are going to need it!"

They collided again like forces of nature. The sound of their frames smacking together was akin to thunder cracking across the sky. Like two wild battering rams, they collided with the railing around the building, made stupid in their clashing fury. The holographic metal bent and twisted; it pixelated, and then shattered. Their momentum sent them over the edge. While the world rushed around them, they continued to grapple. The fall was as much an illusion as the city was. As they rolled through what looked like mid-air, they could feel the solid ground beneath them.

The hologram stopped moving around them. They were now in the middle of a freeway suspended in the middle of the city. All around them, spires and skyscrapers rose around them like claws reaching for the sky. There was no sound in the illusion aside from the sound of their metal frames crashing against each other.

Jazz finally managed to get the upper hand, twisting Prowl onto his back.

"Release me!" Prowl demanded, bucking and writhing as hard as he could, unable to dislodge the saboteur. He could only imagine what his expression looked like; was it as wild as Jazz's? Did he have fire blazing behind the lenses of his optics? It felt as if he were burning from the inside out, heat from his pounding spark spreading to every fibre of his frame. He could hardly think beyond the inferno of fury inside him. It was like being released into the spark of a storm.

Jazz raised a single hand, poised to strike.

"Go ahead! Do it!" Prowl spat. "Hit me!"

Surprisingly, the demand made Jazz falter.

Prowl wrenched himself to the side, managing to throw the saboteur away. He forced himself to his feet, his vents heaving, his frame vibrating with the excess of everything he was feeling. Instead of lunging, he spread his arms wide. "It's what you want, isn't it? You're only going to beat the slag out of me anyways, so let me make it easy for it- hit me!"

Jazz remained on the ground, gaping at the storm-grey mech looming over him.

Not getting the reaction he wanted, Prowl bristling. "What's the matter? I won't fight back! Do whatever the pit you want!"

The blaze of white fire in the saboteur's optics simmered down. Tension drained from him. Suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed. Not a cruel laugh, but his true laugh- the rich, deep sound that vibrated across armour like a physical caress.

Surprised by the randomness of the reaction, Prowl's mind reeled to understand it. A primal part of himself tried to hold on to the fury that still burned inside him, but the sudden flood of a thousand other emotions drowned that singular one. Now shame, embarrassment, humiliation, and regret gripped him. Such behaviour he'd just demonstrated was completely unbecoming of a commander!

He cast his gaze around as the world came back into focus. Reluctantly, he dragged his optics back to Jazz, who continued to sit in the middle of the holographic highway and laugh. This only served to increase Prowl's already horrible feeling of dread.

"It's... not that funny," he mumbled. "I was in the heat of the moment."

Jazz shook his head, gaining control of his raucous mirth. "Nah, it's not that. Ah'm not laughing at ya... Okay, Ah'm kind of laughing at ya, but not really."

Prowl blinked, chagrined to have yet another negative emotion added to the mix: confusion.

The silver mech popped to his feet, shaking out his many dents and oozing wounds. "Wow, that was exactly what Ah needed."

"A laugh?"

"A fight."

Prowl pursed his mouthplates in irritation. "I'm glad I could be so accommodating. Do you mind explain why you were laughing at me."

Jazz wrenched a couple pieces of askew armour back into place. "Ya figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

Jazz arched both optic ridges, looking at him like he was stupid.

Not appreciating the look at all, Prowl immediately analyzed the last moments of their fight. He called rolling around, punching and kicking each other, and then he was on his feet, demanding for Jazz to hit him. He gasped in outrage. "That was the purpose of the initiation! You wanted me to want you to hurt me?"

Jazz stooped for his visor, brushing it off and clicking it back into place. "Yep."

"You...! You horrible...! Wretched! That's absolutely sadistic!" He nearly blinded himself with his own outrage.

"Masochistic in your case, since you're the one who has to want it," Jazz replied nonchalantly, as if he had not just been boiling in his own rage. He made his way over to Prowl, a hand outstretched.

Prowl jumped away, too angry to let the saboteur touch him. In fact, he was quickly degenerating back into a place where he wanted to hit the silver mech again. Smack him around a little. All of those wretched beatings, all the orns spent recovering in the med bay, countless joors spent fruitlessly pondering the mystery of the initiation-! No matter how illogical the urge was, Prowl wanted to desperately plant his fist in the middle of Jazz's smirking faceplate in revenge.

"Go ahead, try ta lay one on meh," the silver mech taunted, able to see the burning desire in Prowl's optics.

Prowl moved forward, only to freeze. Logic won out. His fist dropped, his optics cast to the side. "We are in no condition to start another fight."

"Always the logical one," Jazz murmured wryly, easily stepping around Prowl to press his hand to the middle of the tactician's back. A gentle magnetic pulse radiated through him. He groaned and leaned back as the twisted tension wires in his doorwings were soothed. "A little pressure," the saboteur warned before he took hold of Prowl's dislocated wing and jerked it back into place. A brief burst of pain shot through him until another magnetic pulse soothed it away.

With a careful flap of his wings, testing the reset joints, Prowl turned to face Jazz with a frown. "I still don't understand, Jazz. Why go through all of this? You knew from the start that I wanted this training."

"It doesn't work that way," Jazz sighed and shook his head. "It's not just about wanting the training. Ya have ta be willing ta let meh do whatever Ah need ta- not just physical, but other stuff. Worse stuff than just punching ya in the faceplate. So long as ya fought meh, ya weren't ready ta let meh do the hard stuff. Ah had ta wait until ya were broken, in a way."

Now Prowl scowled deeply. "The moment I was willing to let you hit me-?"

"Ah knew ya were ready."

"That's horrible."

"Trust meh, ya got off easy." He nodded toward the exit. "Come on, we're done here. We might as well go see Ratchet and face the abuse now rather than let him hunt us down."

Prowl grimaced, limping after the silver bot. "Does this mean you will allow me to help you with hunting Shockwave?"

"Don't count on it," Jazz snorted.

Together, they limped into the hall.

Prowl glanced over to his company, pursing his mouthplates. "I do have one more question..."

Jazz shot him an arched look. "Yeah?"

He paused, cycling air through is vents before asking, "You are not the type of bot to bow to anyone. How did you figure out your initiation when it calls for such severe surrender?"

"Ah that. You're right- Ah'm not the type of bot ta bow ta anyone," Jazz said, offered a bitter smile.

"Then how...?"

"She took meh ta mah limit. Broke meh down 'till there was nothing left. In the end, Ah gave her the ultimate surrender," Jazz sighed. "Ah died."