One of us, part 2.

Pawn

The black and white concentrated on the replicated battleground on his workstation. His fingers furiously skimming the keypad as he added in the movements of every mech present at the battle, Autobot and Decepticon alike. Every step, every weapon blast from the beginning charge to the Decepticon retreat. Adding in the last few bytes of data then letting the simulation boot.

Starting the feed when Hound moved from his designated location to counter a weapon barrage that would have other wise hit and from his force calculations would have not destroyed the still populated central operating station.

The power station sat in the Blue Ridge Mountains on the western edge of Virginia. Verdant green peaks with wisps of blue grey fog passing between them, obscured the vast facility from overhead surveillance and forcing them to send Hound as recon. The picturesque views were lost to Prowl who analyzed the terrain as merely a factor to the success or rather failure of the mission.

The power producing turbines had been destroyed. Yes, the Decepticon's had not been able to convert much of the power in to energon but 54 humans had died, and millions were sleeping in the dark due to the loss of power.

His hand slowed the replay as Sunstreaker broke away from the main battle group and stationed himself on a vantage point on a fog obscured mountain side. Three jets rocketed up the valley diverting around the clashing ground forces to fire at the rear of the Autobot lines. Sunstreaker fired his high powered weapon at the circling seekers, drawing their attention and fire away from the other ground forces that had come under heavy fire.

The yellow mech endured barrage after barrage from the air forces. The trees and hillside turning to mulch under his feet and a misplace footstep onto a fouled log sent the mech to the ground. The flyers landed and Prowl moved his focus, he had already analyzed the brutality inflicted onto the Yellow mech.

The red twin responded by breaking off and rushing to assist his brother. Optimus managed to land a solid blow to knock Megatron back and with suppressing fire, drove the Decepticons away from the power station.

Prowl leaned back in his chair and restarted the sequence, jotting a few notes before Hound darted out of the wood line to prevent the ineffective attack on the power plants human population.

He paused, rewound and played it again.

Why did he do that?

Hound was recon, under order to report his findings and specifically to not engage. It was his brash actions that drove the Autobots to start their assault early. Costing them time to strategically position themselves Sunstreaker was the only one to make it to his pre briefed point.

Again he stopped, rewound and restarted.

He did not understand.

There must be a reason for Hound actions.

The mech was in the med bay under the tender mercies of Ratchet otherwise he would ask and hold the mech accountable for blowing the operation.

Turning from the screen the black and white opened a reprimand form and started filling in the particulars for Hounds indiscretion.

His office door opened and admitted a sashaying Jazz.

The other black and white irked him.

To be kind about it.

Jazz sat himself on the corner of his desk, despite the chair placed conveniently in front of the impressive desk.

"So a pilot on final approach gets a call from control "Delta 2341, for noise abatement, turn right 45 Degrees."

The pilot responds, "Center, we are at 35,000 feet. How much noise can we make up here?"

The controller retorts "Sir, have you ever heard the noise a 747 makes when it hits a 727?"

He glared. Prowl understood why the Decepticons chose red optics, one could glare rather effectively. Blue was much too passive a color to convey how much he wanted the mech to leave.

"Is there a point for your being here?"

He looked down to the data pad with Hounds reprimand adding a few words before Jazz spoke again.

"We're all here for a reason; I'd like to think I'm here to make the world a better place. Or just to annoy you."

He looked up to the patented Jazz grin and had to refrain from making a sharp retort, instead just looking back to his data pad with what he hoped was a withering glare.

The annoying one was on his feet and looking over his shoulder in a millisecond.

"Whatcha doing?"

"My job."

"Really? From the look of this you're being an aft hat."

The data pad was snatched out of his hands and he rotated in his chair to view the mech head on.

"Jazz, return that immediately."

The Porsche cocked his head at him and smiled from his position leaning against his shelving system.

"No."

Prowl let his face sink into a glower. He didn't have time to deal with Jazz's antics.

Well, he did, but didn't want too.

"It is my job to reprimand those that disobey direct orders, Hound did. He broke away and cost us the element of surprise."

"He did it to protect the humans in the plant."

"It is statistically improbable that the attack would have harmed the humans present as the facility."

Jazz shook his head.

"Megs had a fragging artillery barrage aimed at them!"

The empathic Jazz was waving his hands and Prowl snatched the data pad from him.

"Yes, to draw us out. Megatron is not a simpleton, Jazz. He knows that we'll go to any lengths to prevent harm to the native species. He drew us into a trap, Jazz, and Hounds brash actions sprung it."

He turned around and sat, falling on the floor when his chair was pulled out from under him. Prowl squeaked before silencing his vocalizer. His wing sensors had been charred in the battle and landing on them sent stabbing jolts through his sensor network.

Jazz had the data pad again and looked down on him as he got his feet under himself.

"That was very unwarranted."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. He thought they were in danger and he acted. Like YOU said Prowl we'll go to any length to protect our human Friends."

There was a note in Jazz's voice modulation, something deep and resonating that spoke to his very core.

He didn't like it, it wasn't logical.

The other black and white deleted the reprimand form and threw the data pad onto his desk.

"I know you have a stack of those but I implore you to accept the aft whooping the Decepticons gave him as punishment enough for disobeying orders."

Prowl surveyed the mech in front of him, the scars on his legs from Ravage that prevented Jazz from reaching and disarming aforementioned missile barrage.

There was something… more about this mech.

That was why he didn't like him.

He couldn't deduce what the mechs motives were. It put him on edge and aggravated him to no end.

"I will consider it."

Jazz nodded and walked to the door, turning back to face him before leaving.

"I'll take some of those reports when you're done with em, Optimus has been up against Doc orders waiting for news if Sunny will pull through. He's about to crash. And get some energon, you get grumpy when your low, sweetie."

The Porsche blew him an over the top kiss and he had to throttle back the urge to throw the cleared data disk at him. The entire confrontation made his processors ache. The mech was just so… so illogical. The police car returned his chair to its proper spot and sat down.

He didn't understand it.

No mater how hard he tried he couldn't fathom what drove them, what made them fight so hard. His considerable processor ability was stymied when it came to why Jazz was like he was or why Hound would rush out like that. It was against logic to rush out in front of a missile bank and sure you would deflect some, but at what cost?

There was no way he could have stopped them all and he would be at risk of terminating his own spark from direct fire from the attending Decepticons.

But he still tried.

Why?

Prowl leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. Letting his door wings drift up like his great array, he sought the solitude of his form wandering the universe.

He, the great unmaker, the chaos bringer, was flabbergasted by the actions of these inferior mechs.

He was here to find out how best to destroy them. To destabilize and weaken their ties so when his great form reached Cybertron they would be unable to protect themselves. He had analyzed them, noted there tendencies and even joined the weaker side of the war to ensure it was long and damning.

But he still couldn't see an easy way to destroy them.

In all of his projected methods the simulation ended in his failure.

They would always fight him.

Even Megatron, inglorious bastard that he was would fight against an oppressor such as he.

It was… interesting.

He had never had an opponent he couldn't out think. And yes there had been massive loss of spark from the war, but they had survived.

Somehow, miraculously, they survived.

Not just survived, thrived. Plans were being drawn to bring the mass of the Autobots over from the heavily damaged Cybertron and build a city for them on this planet. They were rebuilding, moving on from a war that should have consumed them all and left the planet, his ancient adversary Primus, ripe for his consumption.

He let his hands fall away from his face and let his spark feel. This temporary body could only tamper with those immediately around it, but it was enough.

He felt the wearied Optimus crawling into his rack, a mech he had to respect for his tenacity and unwavering devotion. Unicron scowled, he never before had to go past the simple 'this one needed to die to plunge the organization into chaos.' Being personal was new and affronting. Pulling away from the fledgling sensations he felt out the med bay, seeking the comfort of pain and turmoil. Finding Ratchet working tirelessly on Hound and Sunstreaker, pulling both from the brink of certain death. That too bothered him; the deaths should have been a comfort to him, proof that his scheme of undermining the Cybertroinan race was working.

They would die, eventually, but not today. Yet even more miraculously, he didn't want them to.

He pulled back into himself and looked around his office. The stately desk with reports stacked neatly in one corner and his terminal monitor up and centralized. The shelves loaded with Cybertonian information pads, flanked him on both sides and the straight backed chair that had been pushed to the corner from Jazz's shenanigans. There was a potted plant in the far right corner. Optimus insisted that made the space friendlier to the natives he had to deal with on a routine basis. A painting of Sunstreakers, although the mech had made him swear that he wouldn't say who painted it, hung on the left wall. The bright colors of the Iacon skyline meshing well with the ornamental stump Trailbreaker had placed under it and that Jazz would put back every time he tried to remove it from his office. Ratchet had given him a hologram of the inner workings of the Cybertronian emotion core. To prove that he did have one and that it could feasibly operate. It hung next to the door so he could see it every time he looked up. A twisted hunk of something called a horse shoe that Wheeljack had welded above his door on request from Ironhide finished the room off. It was barren of any holos of mechs but he didn't want any.

Didn't really need any.

Somehow the mechs of this ship had attached themselves to him. In a way that he couldn't find out how to purge himself of.

From chaos comes order.

These mechs that had crashed here, both the Autobots and Decepticons seemed to embody the principle. It made his spark soar and crumble at the same time.

Was he that different then Primus who had made this motley crew?

Yes. He was the unmaker, the eater of worlds and Primus was the life giver.

They were bound together, sparks the same. Yet forever different, forever set against each over.

It was as it should be.

Prowl reached for the cleared data pad. Hand stopping short when he saw the cube of energon sitting on it.

He wasn't overly surprised, Jazz had a tendency to leave the cubes for him after a battle and it added to his resentment and appreciation of the mech.

Not so much appreciation as wonderment that any mech could sneak around him.

Bringing the cube of warm fluid to his lips, Prowl leaned back and savored the taste. Swilling the energon before swallowing and setting the cube down on an unoccupied corner of his desk.

He would not be the one to kill them. Not Optimus and Ratchet and Bluestreak, not even the Decepticons. If he had to during a battle then so be it, but he, Unicron would wait.

When this body passed on, then he would take arms and act, but until then, it was more interesting to simply be a pawn.

To see how far this could go.

And he still had to get Jazz back for pulling the chair out from under him.