Chapter Text
The first cycle of Bluestreak's life was also his worst.
Corrupted memory files ping in his processor when he reaches back for his earliest moments, cutting through visions of looming figures and static filled voices. The tiny snapshots claw at his spark, tugging at him in a way that few other memories do. Maintenance subroutines pick apart his memory files, snatching up the ones they label as repetitive, irrelevant, or insignificant to be deleted or wiped—there is simply not enough space to store a lifetime's worth of memories. And yet, these nanoklick flashes of color and sound, interrupted by errors, remain lodged in the deepest parts of his storage, in well worn routes of code.
They're not even the earliest memories he has, because they come after The Before. They have movement, his optics catching onto the world around him, and the crisp reverberation of language sliding through his audials. The Before holds nothing more than feelings; it catalogues an impression reaching toward his spark, warmth flooding from all sides, and muffled metal scratching past him. A repeating cycle that his subroutines organized down to a single file.
"That's normal," his brother tells him. "Bots created from hot spots often have a faint memory from before they are extracted. Your systems were starting to come online, but not all programs were functioning until afterward."
What isn't normal are those distorted moments that come after.
Codes invert and rewind as he stretches across them again, selecting familiar strands and tugging them out of place. The memories swirl through his processor as analysis structuralizes around them, then they play across the backdrop of his optics and he lets himself sink. Sensations wash over him, one after another drowning him with waves of codes and thoughts. Unfamiliar voices rumble in his audials with words he didn't recognize, shapes of bots he'd never gotten to know loom above his optics in shades of rich greens and blues, and their servos slide against his frame. They heave him up into the light, only for the memory to screech into static, releasing a burst of phantom heat across his armor.
The heat seeps into seams and drips down onto worn protoform, paralleling the real fire that suddenly erupted to life in his memories. An explosion shatters through the moment and suddenly his audials ring, pain exploding through his frame as his internal systems swoop inside of him. He drops and drops, a collapse that ends in shades of darkness that glitch along his optics. Like clockwork, corrupted data cuts through the memory.
A voice hums to him, soft but wobbly, in a simple shuffling tune with the same four notes. The melody twists through his audials as soft waves glide over his spark, submerging him with comforting touches. But slowly the notes fall away, dropping out of the moment one by one until silence echoes through his audials. It's then, always then, that he notices the warmth seeping into his frame from a sticky liquid beneath him. His optics jolt open, graying paint swarms his vision as blue liquid drips from jagged metal.
Another jump cuts through his processor as his spark wrenches inside its chamber, his intake tightening as he tugs on another strand of data. The next memory shakes loose and collides into his thoughts, throwing him into colder air and harsher pain. Something lurches above him, behind him, the sound creaking closer and closer before suddenly a weight drops onto his back. A cry warbles out of his intake as the object continues to slide over his frame. It creeps closer to his doorwings as he throws out his servos and scrambles for a hold, his helm snapping to the side and twisting back to catch a glimpse. The object hovers over him: a broken technosteel, blown off of whatever building it had once belonged to, digs and presses into his frame at a sharp point across his spinal struts. His door wings wiggle behind him, batting against the metal structure in frantic rythyms and his servos stretch out further. His claws scratch and slide over the blackened floor.
Another round of pain rips through his frame as he struggles to scurry out from the trap, searing into the tops of his digits and deeper into his frame. Terror creeps through his spark, creating phantom trails that cling to his chassis. They ignite through his arms and fizzle into his neck cables as he clambers harder. Coolant springs to his unfocused vision and burdens it further, blurring the world around him until there is nothing to focus on but the fear grasping onto his spark. Code ignites deep in his processor as his priority tree shifts, the cables around his neck tighten, his intake falls open, his vocal box comes to life. Trills and beeps screech into the air, bouncing off the structure in high pitch tones. They drone on and on as he suddenly throws static—
Static shifts over the memory and it falls away.
Bluestreak lets the code fall between his digits, slipping out of reach as he turns to the final strands. The data floats toward him and lurches to life as he reaches for it, as he tugs it closer to himself. A familiar, worn down memory file settles into his processor, drowning out the reality around him. Pedesteps thunder through as the memory crashes into him and sparks to life. The ringing in his audials gives way to the pounding steps as they grow closer, each one warding off the riptide of pain and helplessness threatening to consume him.
Then bright light breaks through the area and his optics gleam upward, blinking at the sky above him before its overcast by another shape. White-and-black armor swoops toward him and a servo presses against his spinal struts. Shuddering pain flickers through his protoform again as the technosteel piece shifts in place, digging deeper into him and his doorwings. His vocal box spits raw static that scratches through his intake as he tries to curl away from it. He cries panicked notes, a beep that strikes the walls around him, and tries to escape—
But then it dies away.
Relief streams through his frame as the cramping pain disappears and his doorwings suddenly flutter free. Two servos wrap around him and hoist him up, pulling him from the cold floor into warm armor. His frame presses against another and his vocal box switches to shuddering sniffles. Bright blue optics glare down at him, driving through his processor, through him… but then a field of steel falls over his spark, dropping like a shield around him and warmth pulses through his entire being—not just his spark, but his armor and his coding.
Coding that ignites from that deeper part of him. Instinct written into his functions snaps to the forefront. It scans and analyzes as he stares up at the mech holding him, protecting him, and it holds out an offer to him.
Bluestreak watches through his younger self's optics.
He watches himself choose that strange mech, a sparkling reaching out with determined fortitude and processor set on a single goal. He chose who his creator would be and nothing else mattered. Nothing could change what was written so deeply into his code that it became engraved on his spark.
***
The sparkling's helm slides against Prowl's chassis, a budding red chevron digging deeper into the white-and-black armor. Tiny energon-covered pedes kick below his bumper while even tinier servos stretch out, digits picking their way into grooves and seams. The gray sparkling's invasion plunders further as Prowl shifts the sparkling closer, wrapping one arm underneath the mechling before pushing his other servo up fragile spinal struts. Small doorwings, though unreasonably large for the sparkling's size, flick and tremble at the touch. Then a soft beep falls from the sparkling's intake, scratched through with static.
The noise cuts through Prowl's audials, a sharp reminder like the notifications jumping onto his HUD. He shuffles the sparkling closer again, letting his priority tree branch out on its own as he turns toward his own spark. He scrutinizes over the pulsing emotions escaping into his field and reaches for them, carefully tweaking the waves of his EM field. He creates soft drumming waves to drown out the terror and anxiety wafting from the small frame.
Comfort, protection, safety.
He washes the sparkling in those feelings, as mandated by his training, and pulls tighter on the stray waves—on his true emotions. A dark pain swaddles closer to his spark but he shoves it further down, erasing any notion of it from his field. But an unbearable heat still trickles out, as if it had only been cover. It laces up the back of his spinal strut and circles around his neck cables. It works a way into his mandible joint, grinding into his denta. His own doorwings try to flare up, to disperse his frustration into the world, but he holds them carefully aloft against his back.
The feelings itch at his spark, warring with the coding running through his helm, but he knows that now isn't the time for his emotions to pour out into the world. Not when he holds a sparkling in his arms and kneels in the middle of what once was Praxus' hot spot. So he wrangles his field in until it listens, until the sparkling is stated, and then slowly he tears his attention away from his spark and back to the world around him.
Broken structures spread out in all directions as he pulls himself to stand up. His optics scan over the toppled walls, darting across the ones that stretch toward the sky in jagged and shattered patterns. They sweep across a large portion of the area, creating a slope that swoops deeper and deeper the further his optics track them.
A crater, he realizes.
The very center sits far from him, nearly obscured by a precariously balancing wall. But when he tilts his helm and sidesteps the broken debris, furniture twisted into shattered metal and burnt cloth, he can make it out. Light pours downward into the center where the shortest, most destroyed structures sit. Slowly they grow taller and taller the further from the middle they rise.
Data jolts onto his HUD as his optics scan over the surface. His processor grabs the distance and angles, the heights and depths. Fuel boils inside his tanks as his tactical suite grasps onto the data and opens a file, pushing through scenarios without prompting.
The sparkling squeaks in his arms, snapping his attention from the numbers suddenly surging through his thoughts. The tension throbs through his mandible joint again and slips through his denta as they grind together.
He glances down at the sparkling and his HUD highlights the energon covering the sparkling's frame and the way it slowly drips onto his own armor. Investigation shifts lower in his priority tree and his pedes start to move, kicking up dark soot behind him. He can't probe further with a sparkling clinging to him, definitely not when they could be injured.
PRIORITY: SPARKLING MEDICAL
Prowl mentally kicks himself and turns his back to the crater's center, revisiting his field and the emotions escaping into it. He shoves everything back into place, locking it under key as his pedes stomp through the broken terrain.
Walls loom around him as he stalks past, their shadows falling over his frame and onto crumpled metal piles. Layers of metal debris crunch underpede with each step he takes, joining the muffled noises of creaking metal swaying around him. He braces himself as he raises his audials volume and lets the noise crash louder over him, scratching against him in a barrage of groans. It lets him catch back onto the muffled voices he had cut off before finding the sparkling, when he'd marched into the destruction. They guide him back the way he came now, to where the wreckage tampers off and his surroundings fade into untouched structures. Slowly broken walls transform into buildings holding floors, ceilings with large cracks running through, shattered glass dropping from windows, and then further, into unmarred apartments and establishments. His audials catch onto crisper notes too, erupting into clear conversations and the ringing of sirens.
He had wandered farther than he'd thought. Prowl shakes his helm and tightens his hold on the sparkling. His pedes hasten a step and he pushes himself further away from the destruction.
The buildings open up as he rounds a corner and their shadows fall back, sky light taking over as the area rises upward. Sets of terraces fill the space, an expanse of cityscape that unfurls without obstacle and rises floor by floor. A park holds the centerpiece, a miniature version of the Crystal Gardens that rolls outward and captures light, creating dazzling rays of colors amongst the surroundings. Benches and play areas pocket around it, reaching toward a short fence-line that surrounds it all, creating a barrier between the open spaces and the streets that circle around them.
Normally, families and citizens would create a hub in the space. Silly games or maybe even a small neighborhood event would mingle through the benches and crystal structures. But now, the Praxian Law Enforcement Department conquers the differing floors and spreads out across the benches. Haphazard command centers sprout around the play areas; a temporary medical tent uses half of a climb-and-slide as a support beam while another squadron of bots huddle under a swing-set, using a thrown over tarp to display a map of the cityscape.
As Prowl approaches, blaring lights glare out of the crystal gardens. The bright white gleams into his optics and sear through the lenses, catching his attention as he follows the reflection back to its origin. Bots line the street closest to him, cameras flashing toward them and mics held aloft in their servos.
Reporters.
Immediately, he cuts a line away from them. He hastens his pace across the street, but it's already too late. Bright blue optics attached to yellow-tan armor lock onto him, onto the sparkling. Their target systems, if they have any, engage as their frame springs into action, their sights on him never wavering even as Prowl pivots and twists away. He tries to duck across the street with his doorwings flaring in warning, to reach the reprieve of the Enforcers, but he barely makes it a few pedesteps.
"Officer!" The reporter calls as they practically materialize at his side. Their mic is shoved toward him and they thrown out an arm, lodging into his personal space like a broken piston. "Is this sparkling a survivor? Where did you find them?"
Prowl's escape route vanishes before his optics.
His gaze twists toward the reporter, pinning them with a heavy glare as his armor flares out. His doorwings rise across his back into a steep slanted 'v' while turning as wide as they can.
The reporter's optics crinkle and their helm tilts upward, highlighting the half-disc horns atop their helm. Prowl's processor grasps onto the details, his HUD's identifying system suddenly blaring to life with pings.
"Probably back that way, huh? It looks dangerous, you're very brave." The words slide off of Prowl's armor as his attention turns towards the pings. They fall into a list: cassette carrier, golden chevron, intake mask. It grows longer and longer as his attention flickers over the reporter's appearance, optics drawn straight to the badge over his spark. "Did you find any other survivors? How badly destroyed is that part of the city?"
A black circle, with blue and white accents, takes up the space. Tall peaks reach up from the bottom of the circle, meeting with others that mirror it from above. Crisp lettering, almost too small for the design spells out Iaconian-Praxian News Broadcasting in Standard Cybex.
The puzzle pieces slot together in Prowl's processor: tan armor, news broadcasting, cassette carrier, Iacon…
The mech shoving a mic into his faceplate is one of the most popular reporters in Iacon. Prowl's memory files struggle to come up with a designation for the dramatic newsmech, but the sheen of light rolling off his freshly waxed paint, mixed with the half-disc chevron upon his helm pulls up others details from his recollection. The tan-mech had become famous more recently, in the past vorn, for his shining personality despite the horrors of what Iacon was being subjected to. He'd reported it all: the revolts pocketing neighborhoods, the fall of a False Prime and the rise of a new one, the beginnings of war stretching past city-state borders. And he wasn't the only one, thousands of bots had broke news event after new event… but somehow it was his stories, his way of presenting them, that always caught the optics and audials of the audience.
And now, the very same mech stares down at him and the sparkling in his arms, searching for a story.
New data slides through Prowl's processor as he pulls on his TacNet, forcing another file to open. The newsmech takes the center stage, contorting into a challenge for him to tackle. He turns toward the mech and coaxes his armor to settle once again, forcing his doorwings to drop back into place, even as his servo presses tighter against the sparkling's back.
Slowly, the reporter's field flutters out and settles against Prowl's in soft touches. The connection twist into calm waves as Prowl clamps his field further back, heat pouring through his limbs. The touch is as soothing as warm oil, but something electric works underneath it. The feeling darts out and draws back again, escaping from servos carefully trying to contain it. Like contaminated energon seeping into a storage system, flickers of anxiety disperse into the mech's field and spread across the waves toward the sparkling.
Prowl shoves his field forward, pushing the mech back with a swift correction. His waves cut like steel against the wayward vibes of the newsmech, snapping at him like turbofoxes guarding a meal. The threads of his spark pull taught as he plucks at them, yanking them into place until they weave into a tighter net. He casts it over the sparkling like a protective tarp and shuffles his weight to one pede, creating distance between them.
The reporter's field draws back, but his frame shifts closer and his helm tilts to the side. Light slides off of his armor, catching the gold of his chevron to create a dazzling display that over shadows the bright blue optics glowing underneath.
Suddenly, the newsmech's name pops into Prowl's processor.
Sunshine beams down at him, as if nothing had happened. "He seems to like you, do you think you'll adopt the little guy?"
The question rattles hard into Prowl's helm, crashing right past the possibilities that his TacNet had been lining up. He stares at the reporter as his processor tries to scramble his thoughts together, because the answer is obvious. "My superiors wouldn't allow me to do that."
"Huh?" Sunshine's optics widen and his frame freezes in place, the waves of his field faltering. Then suddenly it snaps back, at the same moment that the reporter's optics roam over Prowl's doorwings. Understanding slashes through his field, even as the calming waves stir themselves back to life. "Oh, right… Well, is the—"
"Can you excuse us?" Prowl interrupts, letting his frustration slip into his tone as he takes a step to the side. A note from his TacNet flares onto his HUD and his processor snatches it, pushing him to add with a pointed glare, "He needs to be seen by a medic."
As if following a cue, the sparkling lets out a trembling beep and curls further into Prowl's hold. His mini-doorwings flap into sharp flutters, slapping at the air and his frame.
"Of course!" Sunshine pivots on a pede, finally allowing an opening for Prowl to escape through. "Thank you for your time, officer."
The Enforcer grabs hold of the opening and draws himself through it, pedes jumping in a sudden vigor. He tears his field away from Sunshine's and pushes past him, dropping his pauldron and twisting to the side as he goes. In one quick movement, the sparkling slides out of the reporter's sight, hidden from the cameras and microphones. Together they slip across the street, Prowl's back to mass of journalists and the sparkling hidden against his chassis.
But still, optics burn holes into his doorwings and follow him as he rushes away. Sunshine's reputation weighs over his pauldrons with each step he takes, leaving him to agonize over how the mech will twist his words. And even in that regard, his TacNet is quiet.
Prowl ascends the first terrace and plunges into the crowded rescue station. Groups of Enforcers move around him as he skirts by, their own doorwings shuffling across their backplates. Electric hums dart through the air; data disperses across frequencies with each flap and dip of a doorwing, an unspoken jargon chattering between the shrills of voices and resounding sirens.
A distinct wavelength slides over his doorwings and his helm snaps up, optics darting across the sea of Enforcers. As if drawn in, his gaze meets another set of optics staring back at him.
X-Brawn's doorwings tilt behind him, perking up as a smile appears on his faceplate. Then his wings give a clunky roll, waving past his pauldrons in an awkward dip to form a query without words. At the same moment, sensors across Prowl's doorwings pick up the frequency again. It taps against his wings, a mixture of short and long pauses. Together, the movement of his cohort mate's doorwings and the frequency cast off of them collide together, rolling into Prowl's processor as words.
{Prowl - going - ?} X-Brawn asks, optics trailing after him as Prowl stomps through the area.
Prowl dips both of his wings back before rolling and dipping it too, more frequency darting from them. {Medical. X-Brawn - going - ?}
{East structure - there - Smokescreen - with} X-Brawn inclines his helm to the side, optics turning away from Prowl to the direction he came. When they draw back, they sweep over Prowl's frame and fall onto the sparkling in his arms. Immediately they widen as X-Brawn's intake drops and his doorwings uncontrollably twitch behind his large stature. {? - ! - ?}
With one flicking wing toward his cohort mate, Prowl dismisses the conversation and drags his attention away. Tingling wavelengths immediately barrage his sensors as he moves away, cascading over his doorwings in blinking codes. They create a nonsensical cry for attention, mixed with unfinished queries pinging around. Each signal arches deeper into the heat welling across his back, aching to spring forth from his spark like a crackling fire. He shoves it further into its box and a flaps his doorwings, swatting away his brother's errant demands.
There are more important tasks to complete than answering questions. Namely, giving the sparkling away to the nearest medic and returning to investigate what happened.
Complete equations burst open in Prowl's helm as his TacNet floods him with various files. The data streamlines in the background, important notes attaching themselves to his HUD. Possibilities sprout and bloom, ranges of numbers dropping through each one, shaking at the coding in processor. He drags out one event after another, but the data falls shorts as the unknowns multiply across his TacNet. The factors enter into each scenario and spits out probabilities that leave a dry taste over his glossa.
The explosion could have been an accident. His TacNet can't rule out that possibility yet, but his thoughts shift back toward Sunshine's optics staring into his spinal struts, back to the warped metal buildings with scorches racing across what had been left behind.
The conflict between the Autobots and the Decepticons looms, its shadow casting a wide net across the surface of Cybertron. Very few places escape its dark claws, even fewer stand as beacons of light already drenched in the shadows around them. Every cycle the danger of being swept into it grows. It comes to a point that one wonders when their home will be next.
Praxus holds its own against the conflict that surrounds it, a single star in the night sky. A declaration of neutrality sits like an iron border, a shield that politicians heave at each international affair. They liken it to diamond, but Prowl knows that its true nature is far closer to selenite. Brittle, weak, unstable.
At any moment, his home could be dragged into the war and made into another battle zone of toppled buildings and shattered crystals.
But would it be because of the Autobots or the Deceptions? Or from the very citizens that the state was trying to protect?
The sparkling whimpers and his attention jolts, scanning over his field again in a quick sweep. But nothing stands out as another trembling beep leaves the sparkling, whose optics blink open and squint into the chaos around. Waves of anxiety slash into Prowl's field suddenly, stronger than they had been before and warp into quivering messes. Static attaches to the air around them, creating a thick soup that hangs to their frames.
Prowl picks up his pace again and shoulders his way through the crowd. His feet stomp across the terraces, climb the staircases, and his TacNet spins around. A route opens before him and follows after it, his glare leading the way.
The medical tent cuts clear into sight moments later, a cobbled together mess of tarp and supports. The climb-and-slide holds the entrance aloft as the rest of the structure reaches back into the playground, disappearing behind the various equipment. A steady stream of bots shuffle in and out, ducking underneath flaps that hang far too close the ground. The chatter of rescue workers ebbs away as sharp barking orders cuts through it, the voices of medics making demands rising just above the low moans and groans of their patients.
The sparkling's optics latch onto the playground and his doorwings shiver, a picture that wouldn't be out of place in a cheesy family holofilm. But instead of buzzing excitement ripping across his field, the anxiety arises anew and drags claws over Prowl's armor. The little mechling twists away and trills in sharp notes, digits digging deeper into crevices and seams of Prowl's armor.
It doesn't stop Prowl as he approaches, not even as the claws turn to burning holes. He ducks through the entrance and steps inside, letting his optics adjust to the sudden artificial light.
Medical cots line the walls, creating two rows that run into the back of the tent. Prowl's gaze drifts over their occupants, the survivors that dot the space in various states of disarray. He skips over the young mech sobbing into burnt servoes, the femme that holds a shattered arm to her chassis, and the energon-soaked bot rubbing at their armor. His sights lock onto the back of the tent, where the area grows larger and a cluster of medics gather.
Two medics kneel over the ground in the larger section, servos darting over a rapidly graying frame. They pull at a board beneath the bot, yanking straps tight across a broken chassis. A second medic scoops up a large vial of green glowing liquid—medigrade energon— while a fourth shoves their way closer. They heave the patient up, servos clasped tight to the backboard, and transform. Their root mode disappears as their ambulance wheels hit the floor and squeal against the metal, sirens exploding into lights and leaving noise in their wake.
/** Probability_surv. = Scenario_input selection + probability_met…
Prowl cuts out the code before it can begin. He already knows the odds of the injured bot surviving.
The mass of medics disperses, surging back across the cots with carefully tuned fields and returning to their patient's sides. One of them carries themself closer to the entrance and gazes out across the patients, their visor flickering in shades of yellow. The optics dim and brighten as their helm twists further and further, until suddenly their sights land on Prowl's form and the hues shine orange.
PRIORITY: SPARKLING MEDICAL
The alert forces Prowl's pedes forward at the same moment that the medic darts toward him. Equations burst forth across his processor again as his TacNet whisks away from him, yanking at ideas floating through his helm. Once the sparkling is safe with the medics, his priority tree will snap back into an alignment. He'll be able to return to the crater and investigate it more thoroughly… He'll be able to find something useful, something that will lay out more answers.
The medic reaches Prowl halfway and holds out their servos, visor tilting toward the sparkling as they say, "Here, give him to me."
A torrent of beeps suddenly fly out of the sparkling's intake as Prowl readjusts his grip. The cries turn to screeches as he begins to pry the tiny form away from him, only for digits to curl tighter. They hold snug as something within them suddenly sends prickles through his armor, tickling static into his circuits.
Prowl grunts, letting the sparkling go and reshifting his arms around him. "He's magnetized himself to me."
A deep vent sighs out of the medic's intake before they dig into their subspace and motion to the cot next to them, saying, "Sit down, I can scan him while you hold him."
"Aren't you going to get him off me?" Prowl asks as he glances back toward the entrance.
The medic's helm snaps toward him, a glare heavy on their gaze. "Scanning first."
With one servo, they push Prowl toward the cot and shove him into a seated position. The scanner flashes as they hold it up, a thrumming sound emanating as they tweak the settings. Then they twist it toward the sparkling and rays of light beam out, spreading across the small frame and part of Prowl's armor.
Beeps cascade out of the sparkling's intake and he curls closer, doorwings fanning out into a sharp 'v' across his backplates. The noise rises in pitch, growing to a ringing cry, continuous and droning as the mechling airs his discontent to them both.
"Oh." The medic yanks the scanner back, their visor flickering brighter as their helm leans in. "You're going to be here awhile."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Prowl asks, voice falling low as he glares toward them.
"This sparkling has bonded to you, sir." The medic turns the scanner towards him and holds it out, showing off the small screen.
Scrolling information gleams up at him as he bends toward the screen, narrowing his optics. An image captures a tiny glimpse of the mechling's spark, where squares dot the image. They highlight specific parts, attaching data to them on the side. The medic's digit taps one of the squares and it expands, zooming in as glyphs enlarge to the side. They spit out fluctuating energy levels as the image shows whispering flames stretch from the spark. The wisps snap out, extending a brittle bridge further until it collides with a stark wall of wisping energy— another spark. A stonger spark.
Prowl's spark.
Immediately, he pulls his focus back to his own spark. It swirls and beats, pulses of energy fluctuating as he searches over it. Humming wisps reach toward him, greeting him with vigor and static. They pass like soft cloth under his digits, slip beneath his touch as he pokes and prods until suddenly, an unfamiliar bundle quivers and shakes in turn, pressing warmly back.
He plucks on the bundle and it snaps back, causing a cascade of prickles through his chassis. Faint light flutters out of it, building a bridge from the outer rims of his spark toward the core of another. He taps it once and it sizzles, quivering and expanding.
Cold fuel pumps through his frame, dousing across his protoform as he reels back. Static tears through his field before he can grab hold of it and the sparkling in his arms shifts, faceplate scrunching up. Coolant pokes at the mechling's optics as he glances up toward Prowl, doorwings suddenly quaking. Then panic seeps through the sparkling's field and cuts across the fledgling bond, cutting straight into Prowl's spark like a dagger.
"It's a weak bond." The medic's words cut through the moment. They stare down at the scanner in their servos, derma pursing together. "I'll get permission from your superiors… and a medical board, for the sparkling. We should be able to dissolve the bond at this stage."
***
Discourse swarms around Prowl's audials, a constant stream of voices slicing at each other and neither side swaying in their resolve. It drums at his processor as he pushes it to the background, pounding against his helm as it drones on and on. He dials down his audial intake again, throwing a muffling quiet over his systems as he cycles his optics closed.
PRIORITY: MEETING
Pay attention, a memory hisses, a familiar voice snapping at him. Flaring heat ruptures in response, blazing across his chassis and burning deep into his circuits.
His optics glare back toward the computer and the six screens it holds, but only three stare back at him. Those screens hold one form, once voice, and each of them stand covered in erratic flashes of wavering connection. Their frames flicker in and out of frame, their arguments glitch in the middle. The connection falters and the screens freeze before suddenly bursting for with motion again, but that's what happens when you hobble together an old rescue network to intercept transmissions from the upgraded congressional systems into a tiny tent.
The three directors squabble between each other, voices grating through his systems as he flickers his optics over their screens. Their familiar frames echo through his memory banks, racing back farther and farther through his existence, their voices like broken records repeating through his audials. His gaze jumps between their screens, switching from one speaker to the next and scanning over their frames. Even a million years later, their paint jobs have barely changed.
"We need to think this through, Senator Expo," a blue-silver mech cuts through the static as he sighs and vents. His words hang heavy on his glossa, dripping deep as he red optics roll backward. Thin door wings wave over his backplates, annoyance dripping off the elegant bend at their ends.
As far as Prowl cares, Vertacit has never made a quick decision in his life. There is always something that must be thought through.
"There is no reason for us to entertain this and no reason to waste our time on it," Expo hisses back at him. Her voice and her doorwings lowering, their slender sides swooping into a small slope. "We cannot afford an Enforcer raising a sparkling! And certainly not this cold-constructed model."
The words roll through Prowl's helm like reverberating noise. Cold-constructed in the tone of a curse… it used to sting through his circuits, but now all he does is glance down at the sparkling swaddled in his arms.
Familiar prickling static trickles from digits spreading out over his armor, one servo reaching to grasp his pauldron and another firmly rooted onto his neck guard. The mechling's intake opens and closes, soft beeps and steady squeaks skittering out as he explores more of Prowl's pauldron. He pats at the blue crystal symbol painted onto them and stares, as if he could read the Praxian Law Enforcement stamped across it.
"This sparkling is the last forged of our hot spot, he is a miracle," the third bot spits across his screen, a bright hue taking over his optics. Platarine huffs out his words, arms crossing across his chassis as he tips his helm higher. It's barely enough to hide the flaring wings on his back, the implements of gold adorning his silver-white paint job.
Beside Prowl, a blue-and-white colored mech snorts.
The mech's dark blue optics glance up at the screens before lurching back down to the datapad in front of him. Alkaline swipes through it, medical records flashing across the screen in a blatant violation of privacy policies that has Prowl biting his glossa. The medic's field shudders with boredom and cold indifference as he parses through the records. It barely shuffles against Prowl's own field, never drawing itself closer to the sparkling squirming in the Enforcer's arms, but thrums like a constant buzz of light in a dark room.
The North Precinct's assigned Doctor smells like a cygar mixed in cleanser, but dazzling fresh wax clings to every surface of his frame. It shimmers with cascading lights as he moves, as he shifts from one pede to the next, as he types one-servoed across his datapad.
"You have put yourself into quite the predicament this time, Prowl," he had said when he first stepped into the small tented area and optics had locked onto to the sparkling's gray form. Then his frame had swept forward, scanner jumping from his subspace to swap place with his datapad.
"We can't do anything that would endanger the life of the sparkling," Platarine continues, drawing his attention back to the screen. "Primus chose this sparkling to come to life, that is sacred."
"I don't care what Primus thinks," Expo replies. "We don't even know if the hotspot was that badly damaged in the attack, it could very well be functional. Stop putting the sparkling on a pedestal just because it fits your fanatic narrative."
"You might not care about Primus, but certainly you care about your constituents." Platarine sniffs as he looks away from the screen. "If the sparkling dies from dissolving the bond, they will blame you."
Expo scoffs, "The bond is weak, the sparkling will be fine."
"You don't know that!" Platarine snaps back to the screen, doorwings twitching behind him. "I don't want an Enforcer to be guardian to a sparkling anymore than you do, but it is against the will of Primus to endanger the life of a sparkling."
A scoff rips from Expo's intake as it opens, as words begin to cascade from her. The arguments recycle and Prowl catches himself before he can roll his optics. The cycle repeats itself at every meeting, the barge of reasoning used over and over again. Even if the debates spark over new events, new topics, it's always the same habits that the senators fall back on.
A loud beep from the sparkling suddenly pierces through Prowl's audials, snatching his attention as he snaps his gaze down to the smaller life form. Wide optics stare up at him as a smile suddenly blooms underneath them, denta poking into the light and doorwings flapping through the air. The bond suddenly explodes with unfiltered happiness and self-indulgent pride, each one a buzz of energy that laps out of the sparkling's spark. They carry over the bridge between them and fall flush into Prowl's spark, dancing in coils as they merge together.
It's all too foreign as the Enforcer stares down at the sparkling, all too new and uncomfortable and—
PRIORITY: MEETING
Prowl pushes his attention back to the screens, ignoring the flicker of disappointment, just in time for Expo to slam her servo into an unseen table.
"And what about you, Vertacit?" She suddenly rounds onto the other senator, cutting through Platarine's sentence as her optics lock onto the screen—lock onto Vertacit's frame. "You've been incredibly quiet for the past few breems. Have you thought it through?"
"I have." Vertacit's helm snaps up on the screen, optics glaring bright for a moment before glancing downward. "Because this isn't a private matter anymore."
"What do you mean?" Expo's optics narrow, words squeezing past her denta.
Vertacit leans forward and waves a servo across the screen. "Just watch."
An unused screen flickers online as an image—no, a video—pops onto it. A snapshot from the recording stands frozen and staring, a figure glaring down at Prowl. An image of himself, with the sparkling tucked in close and his door wings spread out.
Nausea flickers through Prowl's frame as his processor connects the image to his memories. It must slip into his field too, as Alkaline suddenly perks up next to him and twists away from his datapad, scanner brandished in his servo. The blue rays of the scan flash over his frame and the sparkling's as he pushes back at the feelings welling through his circuits. It boils underneath, heat crowding his systems, and shocks through his processor, tapping wildly against his TacNet as the system churns through old data.
Then suddenly the video plays out, a familiar figure replacing Prowl's and a boisterous voice harping through it.
"Take a look at this clip folks," Sunshine says to the camera, optics smiling for the audience as he tilts his helm. "Shot straight from Praxus, right outside of the disaster zone."
The clip cuts into the feed, pushing the image of Prowl across the screen. He watches through the lens of a camera as his pedes slide to a halt over the ground and his optics glare upward, like a dagger to ward off any bot around him. But the camera zooms closer in, panning away from his flaring doorwings and puffing armor to the sparkling swaddled in his arms. Bright blue optics blink upward at Prowl's faceplate, enraptured as they cycle into focus. Doorwings flutter across the sparkling's back, in between Prowl's servo, and flicker in comfortable circles.
Sunshine's voice radiates suddenly and clearly as he asks, "He seems to like you, do you think you'll adopt the little guy?"
"My superiors wouldn't allow me to do that," Prowl's voice replies immediately and drifts from the video, embarrassingly frazzled in tone. At least his doorwings stand neutral in the background, even as the camera pans back out to catch his optics glancing away before suddenly snapping back to Sunshine in a protective glare. "Can you excuse us? He needs to be seen by a medic."
The clip fizzles out, but not before it captures Prowl tucking the sparkling's frame closer to his own. Slowly, Sunshine's frame replaces it on then screen, but the sounds of the rescue area echo in the background. Sirens blaring, pedes stomping, voices shouting. It brackets the image as Sunshine turns back to the camera, optics a tad softer than before.
"This unnamed Enforcer has shown more care and love for that sparkling than more fortunate bots have for their entire community." Sunshine says from behind his intake mask, his voice warm and soft as he continues to announce, "It's a shame that Enforcers in Praxus are treated as low-class citizens, rather than with the respect that they truly deserve."
Then the video disappears from the screen, words echoing in the silence.
Four stares ignite across Prowl's armor, leaving a blazing trail of judgment across him. His pedes pull closer together as he raises his helm toward their gazes, tugging his doorwings into a proper hold as they try to slide downward. Every bit of his training strikes through his spark, through his coding, as his superiors turn their attentions onto him. Their anger wafts through the screens without any words spoken, their optics gleaming in dark lights that cut through his armor. It burns and burns and burns…
Until finally it turns away, Platarine huffing into his screen and voice clipping in demand. "We'll discuss this infraction later. What does the public think of this incident?"
"Praxians have a lot of mixed opinions on this, it's all over the cybernet…" Vertacit's gaze leaves Prowl's armor as he hums and turns back toward the screen. His red optics gleam as he raises a servo to his chin. "I think this is an opportunity for us to shepherd them to the right choice. A cold constructed drone isn't fit to raise a sparkling, especially one that was coded for law enforcement and war. We can show the public that we care by finding it a better family…"
Suddenly, Alkaline's frame huffs out a loud vent. It ruptures in a sticky cough as he steps forward, sweeping past Prowl's frame and pushing into the center of the console. The screens stare down at him as he slides into view, his door wings falling still over his pauldrons and his heavily-armored helm tilting toward the screen. He coughs again, awkwardly into his servo, before twisting his gaze to the screens.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Alkaline says with a dip of his doorwings, the large appendages bobbing place, "but the bond in question has reached permanency. Any attempt to break it now would kill the sparkling."
"What?" Platarine's sharp and high voice cuts through the sudden attention blaring through the screens, airing the words that Prowl is thinking. The senators all seem to lean closer, all of their doorwings jumping up in surprise across their backs as Prowl glances down toward the sparkling in his arms.
Questions flicker through his helm and his TacNet grasps onto them before he can stop it, before he can halt the program running loose in his processor. It screeches back errors as he drifts down to his spark, searching over the chords until he brushes over the bridge again. It hums underneath his attention, vibrating with vitality and spirit.
The floor opens beneath Prowl's pedes as horror sinks into his protoform.
"Are you sure that your scanner isn't broken?" Vertacit asks as Prowl spirals, a frown creasing over his faceplate.
"I scanned them twice, sir." Alkaline subspaces his scanner. "I am sure."
A silence sweats sludge through the air as it follows after Alkaline's words, growing rust over the tension as the nanokliks tick by. Optics jump toward Prowl, before swerving back to each other as helms shake and servos fly into the air. Rapid words suddenly clip across the feed and static bursts in the wake of three voices yelling between each other before—the silence falls back again. The three senators stare between each other, toward the empty screens and back. Conversations parses between them without spoken, given with gestures of doorwings and shaking helms.
"Vertacit," Expo says, breaking the silence, but her voice wavers.
"No." Vertacit's gaze slices through the screens, voice steadied to a pulled vent. "Our servos are tied."
The nausea burns through Prowl's tanks as the three directors turn to him, as the sparkling starts to snuffle with beeping cries. Their optics shred the silence with knives and claws, clashing against his armor as their stares break through the screens and pin him into place.
"Officer Prowl, we are appointing you as a guardian for this sparkling until he is old enough to survive the bond breaking." Vertacit glares down at him from the screen. "We will be keeping tabs on you."