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Title: (Unknown)
'Verse: Transformers G1 (all human AU)
Characters: Ensemble {story}; Jazz, Prowl, Cassette(s), Soundwave {chapter}
Pairing(s): Prowl x Jazz, to be determined
Warnings: Violence, offensive language. Will contain het and slash in later chapters. Further warnings posted as needed.
Summary: When you are part of the law, and your heart is at risk, what do you do?



AN: I know nothing regarding Police ranks, careers, or operations. Of any country. If anyone else does, please ignore my mistakes – this is a work of fiction, not an essay on the Police Department.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Chapter 3

“I’m sorry, sir. We failed.”
The figure at the window nodded once, sharply. “Culpability: acknowledged. Punishment: undecided.”
Francine “Frenzy” Schallenkind glanced at her twin. “Understood, sir. Orders?”
Sonden ap Wyvern eyed the interim “captains” of his “team”. In truth, they were more his children, despite the lack of blood relation. Orphans all, he’d rescued them from varying untenable situations. In gratitude for his time and care, and out of loyalty, they served him now.
“Ravage?”
“Still out.”
“Understood.” With Erik, his preferred “captain”, out of action, it fell to Frenzy and her twin Rumble (Rommel) to lead the others. Or corral them as circumstances dictated.
“Orders: continue surveillance. Note changes in routine and contacts. Stay clear of Megatron. Punishment: to be determined.”
Rumble and his twin nod-bowed, and made their way from the office.

Soundwave sighed. ‘A new player in the game, huh?’ This could make things…difficult.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Jazz woke from his sleep at the sound of ringing. Rhythmic in nature, the bell-like tone was doubled, a musical “clang-tink” of metal striking metal. There was something odd about the sound in the background – almost a roar, but muffled and consistent.
Shaking his head to rid himself of musings for the moment, Jazz made his way into the bathroom. It had become a familiar sight over the last few days, as it was about the only room Jazz was permitted into on his own without much supervision from his host.

Speaking of…’ Jazz looked about as he emerged from a cautious clean-up. No sign of Prowl. Which was strange. Prowl had been a very good caregiver, barely leaving the side of hir tenant and patient at all in the last, Jazz tallied quickly, four days. ‘Which makes today Monday. Wouldn’t a body normally be goin’ to work?’ He grinned. A mystery to be solved, along with the ringing sound. After some lunch.

His balance much improved from before, and his energy levels near normal, Jazz was ready for something new. Having been denied much activity since his injury, and with little in the way to appease boredom – apparently Prowl did not believe in spending much on Televisions or Gaming Systems, choosing books instead – Jazz was heading steadily for stir-crazy.

He had managed to gain an understanding of the layout of the floor he was on at least. Prowl’s home was primarily open-plan; with the kitchen and living-room-cum-library (where he slept) only divided from each other by bench-space. The living room was almost entirely window along the end wall of the former warehouse, but folding screens provided privacy as needed. This second floor was actually shorter than the building itself – a room at the opposite end from the end-wall-window went from first floor to roof in height and its floor-space was about one third of the total warehouse length. He still didn’t know what went on in there – there were no windows in the wall between. The entrance-way and stairwell was directly across from the kitchen; the laundry abutted the stairwell, followed by the toilet and bathroom; and finally Prowl’s bedroom, which met the end of the warehouse.

Jazz cocked his head. The ringing had stopped. ’Shame. Ah liked it.’ A rattle-slide-thump of a door downstairs indicated his host, who was probably the source of the ringing, had finished whatever se was doing. This supposition was strengthened when Prowl came up the stairs. Jazz blinked. ‘What the - ?

Prowl, dressed in a worn wrapped shirt and singed breeches, was covered – covered – in soot. And soaked in sweat. The drenched clothing showed off the powerful musculature beneath to perfection . A smudge marred hir cheek, and as se came level with him, he noticed the high heat se was radiating. Afire with curiousity, Jazz gave voice to the first thing in his head.
“What the slag happened to yeh?!”
Prowl raised a brow over tired eyes. “I was working.”
“Workin’? What d’yeh do?”
“We’ve been over this Jazz. I can’t tell you what I do until you are clear of the Decepticons radar.”
Jazz slumped and nodded in reluctant agreement.
Prowl’s gaze softened. “I know. It’s not fair. I hope you’ll still be my friend when we sort this out though.”
Jazz snapped his head up. “Are yeh nuts, man?! Of course Ah’ll still be yehr frien’!”
“Good. Since that is settled, I must clean up. Then we can have some lunch, and I’ll see about clearing your trail a bit more.”

Jazz nodded again, still half-stunned that Prowl was going so far for him. Se’d already got him clothing – from his own wardrobe even! – and had managed to remove the hacks that traced him, even getting protection over his files. He still didn’t know how se’d done that; it was high-level stuff, and to do it untraceably, well. A whole new measure of difficulty. All Prowl had told him was that se’d called in some favours. The only thing he currently had to worry about was surveillance and kidnapping. And possibly a black-ops undercover bust operation requiring his participation. Though, he thought Prowl was joking about that one.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Tuesday morning, and Detective Shizuka “Prowl” Yamano* was prepping for a long day at work. As the lead tactician for Portland’s Police Department (Tactical Division) Shizuka had a lot to do, unfortunately most of it was paperwork. It was livened some, in that the Dept. was perpetually short-staffed, so everyone pulled double shifts. Prowl’s second was normally as a traffic cop. Shizuka shrugged. At least it was out of the office.

Eyeing the masculine reflection in the mirror, Prowl nodded and called it good. Who cared, really? As long as appearance standards were met, it didn’t matter. Long hair pinned in a bun, uniform pants properly creased, the only thing slightly out of place was the biker-boots. But then Shizuka always rode into work on the motorcycle, regardless of weather.

Prowl stepped out the front door, having pressed the lock-button as it closed. Kicking the gorgeous Harley Dyna Switchback with its custom paintjob into gear, Prowl took off, heading for the station on NE Emerson Street.
Pulling into the usual parking space in the underground lot, Shizuka hauled the backpack off, switched shoes, and made her way into the Precinct.

 
Chapter End

Bwahahahahaha, I bet you weren't expecting that! Two more chapters in the next two days, and probably a third on the weekend. We'll see.



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