He walked beside Ironhide through the desolation, looking at the aftermath of the Iacon shipyard's destruction. The search for survivors had been turned into a clean-up operation. As he surveyed the rubble, a familiar shape half concealed by a broken metal slab caught his attention. He motioned for Ironhide to join Grapple's team over at a damaged support column. Once he was alone, Prowl knelt down and shifted the rubble exposing an ancient datapad, scratched but still functioning. I quick glance showed a red "3" dimly glowing on the screen. Frowning, he picked it up and subspaced it before joining the team determining the best method of salvaging these facilities. He would handle this other problem later.

Several orn later, Prowl entered the privacy of his office and sat behind his desk. Venting deeply, he reached into his subspace. Removing the datapad, he stared at the wall. "You might as well show yourself now. The monitoring system has been temporarily rendered offline. There is no one in the hall to overhear as everyone is downstairs gawking at the new Prime and his Consort."

"You don't seem surprised by my presence." A gray figure faded into view on the other side of the room. "Although I have to admit I'm seldom greeted with anger. Usually my masters are pleased to see me."

Reminding himself of the situation, Prowl tempered the rage beginning to smolder in his spark before he answered. "You almost killed the new Prime." He turned the datapad in his grip until it faced his desk, unwilling to stare at the burning "3" taunting his processor with possibilities.

"As to your accusation, he was not yet Prime when those wishes came to fruition." A pair of pale optics stared unafraid straight back at Prowl. "I'm just a servant who does what my master wishes. You must have been quite the Enforcer if you're going to lay the blame me when all I did was follow orders."

"What did your master ask for?" Prowl asked.

"My previous master asked for a his friends to become great. I granted his wish as is my duty." The gray mech leaned forward. "But what do you want, Master?"

Prowl took a moment to shove several processes back under control. "Please quit attempting to manipulate my emotions. I am fully aware of what you are. You are not simply a genie as you imply."

The figure smirked. "I live in a datapad, and I grant my master's wishes. What else could I be?"

"Praxus remembers. The jinn bonded into several of our clans, and our history contains the stories of their kin." Calm amber optics stared back at burning yellow. "Being bound by Alchemist Prime forced you to become linked to metal. That made you a genie. It does not change what you originally were. You are an afreet, spawned from fire and air."

"So the half-breeds do not forget us." The gray armor swirled into a cloud of shimmering crimson and cinnabar fire. "But you do not save us."

"No, we did not forget you, but we could not trace any of you. No genies were ever brought to Praxus, and traces of you fade once your wishes are complete." Prowl vented and dimmed his optics momentarily. "There are not many of us left who remember."

"Do you expect me to weep for you? Poor Praxus destroyed for its arrogance and isolation?" The flickering form stepped closer to the desk. " Do you know how long I have been bound like this? Forced to serve greedy wretches?"

"How much of this war did you cause?" Prowl snarled, clenching the datapad in his fist.

"Cause?" The afreet scoffed. "I did exactly as my masters wished; I gave them everything they demanded no matter how greedy and power mad they were just as I am required to do. This is your people's fault; I'm just a weapon." Suddenly he smiled, the glowing flames dimming. "Do you want me to end it, Master? Do you want me to strike down the Decepticons?"

A plan formed in Prowl's processor. Freeing an angry afreet would be suicidal but leaving a distant cousin in chains was abhorrent to him. Reaching a decision, he spoke. "What is your name?"

The afreet cocked its head to the left and stared at him. "Why do you want to know?"

Prowl stared back at the afreet. "I want to know your designation. It is only proper to exchange names."

"I already know your name, Master." He scoffed.

"My name is Prowl not Master." Prowl settled himself back into his chair, emotions calmed again as he focused on his chosen strategy. "I repeat, what is your name?"

"No one's ever bothered to ask me that." They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, the afreet spoke. "My name is Jazz."

"Thank you, Jazz." Prowl accessed the network and began pulling up forms. "Would you prefer to be listed as a resident of Praxus or Polyhex?"

"Why would it matter?" Jazz looked perplexed. "No one but you or your bondeds can see me and even you won't really remember me afterwards. You'll dismiss my aid as random chance or your own hard work."

"That will change now." Prowl continued filling in paperwork. "Listing your residence as Praxus would make it easier to explain your lack of history."

Prowl continued typing. "By your own admission you helped create this mess, so you are going to help resolve it. I wish for you to help me save Cybertron by working as a mech soldier in the Autobots. He looked up straight at Jazz. " The new Prime has expressed his dislike for slavery, and I share his disgust. Once this war is over we will see if I can alter the nature of your captivity."

Jazz looked at Prowl, amusement glittering in his optics. "As you wish, Master." Slowly the flames died down to a smoky gray. After a moment, he swirled to mix of black and white plates. "Better?"

Prowl reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a visor. "This once belonged to my partner." He handed it to the mech in front of him. "Now it will disguise your optics, Jazz."

Jazz took the visor and turned it over in his hands for a moment. He reached up and slid it over his still brimstone optics. "How are you going to explain my presence here, Master?"

Prowl vented. Speaking carefully, he said, "I would prefer that you would not call me Master. As to your presence here, you came to Iacon to enlist and broke into my office to prove your value as a soldier."

Jazz smiled and chuckled, "I will accommodate you desire, Prowler. I suppose I should go report to Ironhide now?"

Prowl nodded as Jazz turned to leave.

As the door closed, Prowl heard a rumble. "I hope you remember to keep your promise. For your sake."

After he had left, Prowl looked at the datapad in his hand. Tactical processor working in overdrive, he murmured quietly to himself, "What will you do if I do?" Putting that aside to ponder later, Prowl switched on the cameras and went back to his paperwork.

It was just an obsolete datapad, stuffed in a drawer in a seldom-visited office deep in the heart of Iacon. The fact that it was Prowl's old office and the drawer was a secret slot tucked inside a hidden floor compartment was the only thing marking it as special. Unless you looked closer and saw the dim red "2" on the cracked screen.