Short, I know, but... I haven't had much time for writing recently. But I got a bout of inspiration, and a bit of time, so... well, here are the results. :)
Thank you all for your patience.
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Chapter 6: Request
Prowl intercepted the message before it made it to the chief's inbox, as he did all incoming and outgoing mail. He did not read what he stopped; he only scanned it to ensure it was from who it said it was from and clean of viruses.
This time it was different. The scan pinged back with strange results. It was clean, but it... wasn't just for the chief. It was for him, too.
His designation. Right there.
PR0.W13.R.
It was strange, to be sure, but he did not hesitate as he sent the message on to the chief's inbox and opened it up to read for himself.
Chief Markside,
Due to the continuing efforts against the rebel forces and our current lack of forces, we are requiring the use of your osa, PR0.W13.R. As an osa cannot be moved in its sparked form, we will be transferring it into a mech frame.
The frame is in its last stages of construction. My medics will be at your station in three orns to transfer his spark.
Thank you for your kind compliance.
From the Desk of Sentinel Prime
Save for the background protocols that monitored the camera feeds, every single one of Prowl's thought-threads came to a screeching halt.
He was being... transferred? To a walking frame? But... How? He was an osa, through and through, sparked as one, taught as one, raised to think and feel as one. The very idea of being able to move was ridiculous, scandalous, and...
Honestly, he found it horrendous. Osas were not made to walk. To move. They were created to think, to be, but not to move.
Thought-threads started up again, two, then ten, then twenty, then thirty. All focused on this problem. A few scenarios were run through, some considering refusal, some considering outright rebelling against the Enforcers and the Prime, others...
Others focused on complying.
Calculations slowly ran their courses, probabilities were given, ideas scrubbed or approved.
Slowly, Prowl came to a conclusion.
There was nothing he could do. Unlike his mobile teammates, he could not run and hide. He could not fight back. There was nothing he could do.
As much as he hated it, his decision was made. He went back to his normal functioning, if a bit slower and more reluctant than before, and resolved to discuss it with Jazz at the soonest possible time.
. . .oOo.
"What're you saying, mech?" the Enforcer demanded, red optics narrowed at the camera he was accustomed to looking at while conversing with the osa.
"Sentinel Prime has requested that I be transferred to one of your walking frames so that I may aid the war effort. Or rather, the effort to prevent war." The words held no inflection, the voice sounding much the same as it had when he had first come online.
"Prowler, that makes no sense!" the black and white mech protested, clawed fingers digging into the armrests of his chair.
"Actually, Jazz, it does," Prowl said softly, his voice taking on a regretful tone. "I am an osa in a lower section of a poor city. I am... While I am of use, I... They do not see it that way. They believe you can function without me. And you can."
"Mech," Jazz said as he slumped down, optics dimming and moving away from the camera. "This is... I know we can, but... Primus, Prowler! We've... You're part of the team!"
"I know that. But I am in no position to deny Sentinel Prime's demands. The medics are coming in two orns time."
The sound Jazz choked out made Prowl's spark throb painfully. Partially a laugh, partially a hopeless sounding sob. "Prowler..."
There was only one thing the osa could force through his speakers. "I am sorry, Jazz."