Disclaimer: I don't own #transformers or any recognizable chracter in any way.

Beta: Starfire201

Side Alleys

Sometimes, fate twists your whole life around and you ask yourself if Primus plans your life as one great cynical joke.

This moment came for Prowl as he sat in an old drinking hole in a dubious part of Perihelix, emptying his eighth Energon cube in stride. Around him, other mechs hooted, their names already forgotten in the pleasant drunkenness of his processor. Determined, he winked a server to him and ordered new Energon, this time the most expensive high-grade the bar offered.

Jokes went around, mechs laughed and the game master gave out the new numbers. New round, new luck, and repeat. Sometimes he lost, sometimes he won, every time many credits changed hands. It never ended.

New players came and others went away, once the game master changed. Prowl stayed and played.

But after a big win, his tank signalled him persistently that he was so full that it hurt. As his optics drifted over the gambling table, everything became blurred. With a grimace, he finished the game and slowly staggered to the bar, just to stop and turn towards the exit after all.

Swaying, he pushed through the faceless crowd, anxious that nobody touched his doorwings and eventually stepped outside. It was dark here, as expected. The new energy laws meant that the unimportant districts wouldn't get any energy for street lights any more if they couldn't pay for it. Far away, the richer districts were bright oases in the darkness.

For a moment he was unsure where he had to go, then he decided to log into the city net, which thankfully showed him the way. Completely wearied, he started to trudge through the sooty streets.

He didn't make it far. A hand seized his shoulder, wrenched him into one of the side alleys and threw him against the wall. Unable to catch himself, Prowl slid down it and fell into a heap of trash.

"If ya want to keep your life, Praxian, give ma all of your credits."

The voice sounded confident and to judge by his silhouette, he was being assaulted by a medium-sized mech. An impoverished construction worker? he guessed. Only then, he realised that he should probably answer.

"I'm not from Praxus."

"No?" His attacker sounded amused. "Not everybot has to come from there. What about your money? Ah'm getting impatient."

The barrel of a gun was pointed at his spark and Prowl froze as he noticed this. Even as drunk as he was, the fact that he was in danger finally penetrated his processor. Slowly reaching into his sub-space, he took out the credit card on which all his winnings and losses of the past orn were booked and held it towards the mech, who took it from him with a smirk.

"Nice doing business with ya!"

The weapon vanished, his assailant winked once and left the alley.

With a low moan, Prowl let his helm fall back against the dirty wall. On the card was around half of his remaining wealth. This night really had it in for him. He was now a couple of thousands credits poorer, had more error messages in his CPU than ever before and his own situation was still a catastrophe.

But he lived. And that wasn't the common result of ambushes by far. In comparison to the stories, this had been harmless and friendly. He had met a gentlemech robber.

Slowly he stood up, logged again into the city network, and continued his long walk back to his hotel.

He was on the border of a better district when he heard shouts.

"But Ah'm telling the truth, that's the card of ma friend!"

"Sure, and your friend is now lying deactivated in some waste heap."

"No!"

Prowl was getting nearer and now saw that two Enforcers were holding a greyish mech who was looking very desperate. Normally, he would simply walk past, but something familiar about the voice– and the wall next to his shoulder that looked oh so inviting – made him stop.

Neither of the Enforcers looked as if they believed a single word. "No? Then maybe your victim lies on the bottom of a slag-puddle? Or was it just a robbery, Jazz?" asked the older Enforcer, whose insignia on the shoulder armor marked him as the chief of his unit.

"Ah ain't a murderer!"

That voice... Now he recognized where he'd heard that voice before. This "Jazz" had been his attacker in the alley. And that meant that that card was his own!

He felt his headache getting worse. Why had Jazz had to run into those Enforcers? Did Primus really want to torture him?

None of them had noticed him yet and for a astrosecond he wanted to give in and simply walk away as if he had nothing to do with this. But still, it was his credits and his gentlemech robber that they were capturing. He felt responsible.

His logic chips gave him the helpful hint that he really had drunken a bit too much.

"You're not a murderer yet." The Enforcer stressed the 'yet'. "Why should anyone give you their card of their own free will, uh?"

Jazz glowered. "'cause he's ma friend?"

"Sure." The younger one laughed mockingly. "As if street runners like you have friends." He took a step towards Jazz and towered above the smaller mech. "But tell us, what's the name of your so-called friend?"

Prowl moved towards the scene with the firm intention of getting his card back. He needed those credits. Walking a less then straight line, he used the chance to scrutinize his attacker for a few astroseconds. He really was smaller than he and didn't look really that dangerous outside of a dark side alley. His dark grey – silver coating was chipped on several places and the posture was defensive, as if ready to run at any time. The white visor was really the only noticeable feature and gave the bot a certain charm. But it failed completely to help to sway the wary enforcers.

"'course ma friend has a name," answered Jazz angrily, but the uncertainty was too obvious.

The Enforcer grinned, feeling he was close to victory. "And can you tell me this name, just so that we can verify it?"

"Not necessary," Prowl heard himself say. "My name is Prowl."

All three turned around and stared, completely surprised, at the non-Praxian. Prowl could understand them well, he wasn't any less surprised. Maybe that hadn't been a good idea?

The unit chief controlled himself fast and pointed at the card, which he held in his hand. "Is this yours, good sir?"

"Yes." He stopped next to Jazz, who looked completely flabbergasted and tried to discreetly check out escape routes. "If you want, you can verify it with my ID."

They did. As expected the inquiry came back positive and Prowl was again the owner of his credits. Relieved, he put it back into his subspace.

"Can I help you further?" he asked politely as he has a thousand times before.

The younger one pointed to Jazz. "Has he offended you or something...?"

Offended? Prowl's CPU presented a few pictures of insults and angry arguments. "No." Jazz was a gentlemech robber.

"You're friends?" asked the Enforcer, doubtingly.

Before Prowl could answer, Jazz said "Yes." He gave the robber an angry glare. Really, he could speak for himself, he had ceased to be a sparkling vorns ago.

The unit chief shook his head disbelievingly, but also with the certain professional indifference that all seasoned Enforcers had. "Come on, Hopper, looks as if everything is alright here. We wish you mechs a good orn."

"Whatever." Hopper gave them a mistrustful glance, but followed his boss as they again went on the hunt for the miscreants of this town.

When they were out of hearing, Prowl turned towards his own miscreant, clueless what to do in such a situation. His body was still telling him that hotel and a recharge station was a worthy destination and so he decided simply to go, just as Jazz asked:

"Hey, why did ya help me?"

Prowl stopped, annoyed. This was obvious, wasn't it? "Because you had my credits."

"Sure, right, but ya could've just said that I've robbed you... or attacked ya. Whatever ya want to call it." His gentlemech robber nearly looked angry. Prowl was puzzled.

"Yes. But you said I'm your friend." Something was wrong with this reasoning, but his logic chips thought it flawless. He had always been told that friendship was the most important of all. Sadly, he never had a friend on who he could have tested this theory.

Jazz shook his head, seemingly desperately. "Ya're really completely drunk, what?"

Prowl nodded honestly. A part of him was pleased that the other had realized it. "This is to be a realistic assumption after twenty Energon cubes... or so."

At some point he had stopped counting. At twelve... or eleven? Was that when he bought that second round?

"Twenty? Are ya insane? All those credits... and ya simply waste them."

He shrugged. "Better than laying in the corner and wailing about my fate."

Jazz saw that probably slightly differently, for he angrily yelled: "Sure. Do ya realize that ya could've survived a quarter vorn with all that Energon? Ya've wasted a fortune, more than Ah ever had! No fate can be that bad that this is justified or Ah would be the biggest drinker on Cybertron!"

Prowl needed a moment to understand the gist of what Jazz said, and then muttered, feeling a bit guilty: "I thought it a good idea at the time." Even if he didn't remember how exactly he came to this conclusion.

"Obviously."

"Yeah..." He hesitated as his body renewed his demand of recharge with a vertigo. "Do you think I can return to my hotel this late?"

Jazz only shrugged. "How should Ah know? Ah never was in a hotel to sleep."

"No? Why were you then in a hotel?"

His gentlemech robber stared and then laughed loudly. "Primus, are ya this drunk or this innocent?"

"I'm not innocent." If he were, he wouldn't be here. He was everything but innocent. "They all said I'm guilty."

"Not guilty, innocent." Jazz made a hand movement that could mean everything and nothing. "Ya know, innocent as in to have never been getting it down with another mech, or intimate...to never have-"

"Interfaced?" interrupted Prowl with a flash of insight, of which he was absurdly proud.

"Yes."

"I've head of it, but what has interfacing to do with a hotel?"

Air was pulled hissingly through Jazz's filter, then the gentlemech robber laid a hand on Prowl's shoulder. "Ya know what, ma friend, I'll just come with ya to your hotel and show it to ya, 'kay? And just for once, ya don't have to pay."

"Are we friends?" He wasn't so sure, but then Jazz had already said it twice. "And I thought interfacing is free?"

Jazz grinned. "Sometimes. Sometimes not. But for ya, Ah'd rather not, sweety."

"Don't call me sweety." He wasn't an Energon confection.

"'kay, Prowler. So, the deal is 'kay?"

Prowl hesitated. The temptation to learn something new and not to be alone at the hotel with his black thoughts and blacker memories was strong. Though... "And you really have time to show it to me? Doesn't anybody wait for you?"

Again Jazz grinned, but it was edgier, much more bitter. "Ya're really new in this town, what? Here no one misses no one... and Ah never had a home. So?"

"Oh... then yes." But it was sad that his attacker was this lonely. Maybe he should tell him that. They were already friends, weren't they?

"Well, then let's go!" Jazz linked arms with him and started walking, just to stop again. "Eh, what hotel again?"

Prowl told him the coordinates and Jazz admitted appreciatively that it was the best hotel he ever visited. Whereupon the non-Praxian asked a bit surprised if many cheaper hotels existed.

An alley away, two Enforcers had watched the scene and now relaxed slowly. The unit chief said, smiling towards his subordinate.

"Well, Jazz has a friend after all... and you have lost the bet." He gave him the data stick with the shifts of the next few orns.

Grumpily, Hopper signed his name into four shifts of voluntary paper work.

Every story uploaded as a "First Meeting"-oneshot has the potential and the background to become it's own story. I simply don't have the time to write them all. So if you like a story and want to read more of this universe, please tell me. I'll see what I can do. ^^

~silber