Disclaimer: Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun.

Warnings: Jazz is a bad influence.

"Backwards"

~Present times On the Ark~

Upon entering Prowl's quarters, the resident saboteur stepped over a board game and the two younglings sprawled around it before plopping on his friend's berth. "Hiyah."

Prowl sat up groggily, "Jazz, what—are you overcharged?"

"Nah not yet." He looked down at the neon pink cube in his servo. "Limit's twelve."

"And you've had?"

"Ten."

"And you're still standing... why do you always come here?'" Jazz slipped to the floor with a thunk, "Cuz yah Don gimme dat sad look Prahm doez an 'Hide just tries tah out drink meh." He tossed a second cube up to him, "'Ere yah go."

Prowl smirked, his accent always got thicker when he was more relaxed. The Polyhexian wasn't so far gone he didn't remember he couldn't have high-grade, though. It was a courtesy move shown by the mid-grade in his lap. "Oh, so we're celebrating our first meeting?"

"Ya. Yah mah bestie and anythangs a good scuse for a party." Then he began a song inappropriate for any age that made Prowl glad the two on the floor were in recharge. The Praxian rolled his optics at their old chant, "Performing those lyrics is going to be difficult. We are enforcers."

"Oh. Shoot. Well scrap dah cons and," he sobered momentarily, "And Lockdown while we're at it."

Prowl glowered, "Now that I don't mind."

~Fifteen Vorns Ago, Cybertron~

"Until you learn to control yourself you will stay here."

Icy blue optics that matched the elder ones that glared back, "I don't want any part of your control."

"Very well." And the mech that he so closely mirrored left.

Prowl shrank in on himself as he was led down the bright halls of the juvenile detention center by two guards and his over-sized doorwings shuddered as last the door to the outside world slammed shut.

"Wasn't that Praxus' chief?" One of the mechs queried.

The other guard nodded, "This is his youngling."

"Sheesh, kid, what'd you do?"

"It's none of your business."

That earned him a helm shove from the second guard. "Mouthed off to the High Protector, caused a buncha shame, yada yada. Chief wants him to learn a lesson." He stopped in front of a cell door and snapped his cuffs off, "Okay kid, have fun."

The other guard chuckled and he was left very much alone in the dark.

Or so he thought.

Some force shoved him faceplate first into a wall, "Well, lookeh here…"

The voice in his audio screamed Polyhexian. That was to be expected. They were in a facility used by multiple city-states, but something was very wrong here. There had been talk of a Polyhexian enforcer's youngling that had completely flipped and gone rouge, turning to a life of crime. A too wide smile flickered in the little light given off by his own optics.

Scrap.

A pair of red optics opened somewhere across the room, "Meister, if you're gonna offline him do it quietly!"

His attacker huffed but let him go with a sneer. "Welcome tah pit."

That would be his first introduction to Jazz, better known by his code name. Even if Polyhex and Praxus hadn't shared a border, everyone knew about Meister.

He shuddered, maybe things wouldn't be as bad as his sire said…