Chapter Text
Praefectus Vigilem Prowl stared at the collection of artifacts that had just arrived from Iacon for a museum exhibit in Praxus, bright blue optics narrowed. The many historical pieces dated to before the city-state of Polyhex had been nearly destroyed in a long-ago war against Praxus, and there was a strong likelihood that someone would try to steal them in transit. Hence the reason Prowl was there to inspect the security system of the warehouse. It would look very bad indeed if the first time the artifacts left Iacon’s “Museum of Cybertronian History” for an away-exhibit led to them all being stolen.
The centerpiece of the exhibit was a large, shimmering orb known as “The Pearl of Polyhex.” No one was quite sure what exactly it was, but it had apparently been some kind of power source for the string of islands the city-state had been spread across and the Polyhexians had guarded it fiercely. It was said that the moment Praxian troops had captured it was the moment the war had been won, and Polyhex had died.
Whatever the Pearl’s purpose was, it certainly was beautiful. The surface of the orb shimmered, the harsh lights of the warehouse reflecting off its flawless surface. Prowl found himself leaning in closer to examine it, watching his own distorted reflection shift across the rounded surface. It was fascinating, entrancing. No wonder it was the most popular item on exhibit at the Iacon museum. No wonder Praxus had sent the Praefectus Vigilem himself to watch over the artifact.
There almost seemed to be something in his reflection. Prowl leaned in closer towards the Pearl, staring at the shimmering surface and willing it to become more clear. There was something there. Something-
Pain suddenly exploded in Prowl’s helm as though an axe had been slammed into his processor. It was almost like one of his processor crashes, but those were always preceded by some sort of input overwhelming his tactical network. Prowl had only just enough time to wonder what was happening before everything went dark.
Prowl slowly booted sometime later. About two joors later, according to his chronometer. He was crumpled on the floor of the warehouse with his wings jammed uncomfortably underneath him, sore with a splitting processor ache. As he slowly sat up and took stock of the situation, one thing became immediately clear. The Pearl of Polyhex was gone.
The next several cycles were spent poring over every mechanometer of the warehouse and every klik of the security footage, but there was no sign of what happened to the Pearl. For five kliks before and after Prowl had been knocked out, the footage was corrupted with no sign of who or what had altered it. It was a scandal, that the famous Pearl had been stolen from the most secure warehouse in Praxus directly under the olfactory ridge of the Praefectus Vigilem himself. It was a blight on Prowl’s otherwise impeccable career, and a public embarrassment to the city of Praxus.
Jazz of Staniz cursed and threw down the datapad in his hand, causing the screen to flicker off. The headline that had been displayed there was still burned into his vision, however. ‘Famed Pearl Vanishes – Praxus Enforcers at a Loss’. The Pearl was gone, some bold thief had managed to spirit it away right in front of the Praefectus Vigilem himself. Jazz almost wanted to congratulate whoever it was. That warehouse was nigh impossible to break into, as he knew first hand. Ever since it had been announced that the Pearl, along with other Polyhexian artifacts, were traveling to a different city for exhibition, Jazz had been planning just such a heist. And someone had beaten him to it! The worst part was that whoever had done it, they certainly weren’t Polyhexian. Though Jazz’s registration said he was of Staniz, a small port city on the Mithril Sea in what had been the municipality of Polyhex, that wasn’t actually where he been kindled. He had emerged underneath the surface of the waves, where the true heart of Polyhex still lived. Lived, but did not thrive. As the lead Villicus of his pod, a plan as big as this would have gone through him.
The bottom line was: he had to find the Pearl. Had to. The Pearl had been removed from its secure case in Iacon, there was no better chance than now to take it back and restore Life to his people and their land. Polyhex had been a dark, bitter land where little grew ever since the Pearl had been taken from them during the war with Praxus. Not even the eldest in the pod remembered just how the Pearl had kept the land and waters alive, but nothing had been the same since it had been taken.
Picking the datapad back up, Jazz flicked back to the news story and scrolled down a little to consider the photograph of Praxus’ Praefectus Vigilem. Prowl of Praxus was a classic Praxian frame, with broad shoulders to support those characteristic wings, a narrow waist, and a sharply pointed chevron that only accentuated the fixed scowl of his faceplate. What a joyless mech. But, also Jazz’s best chance for finding the Pearl. As the Enforcer in charge of the case, as well as the highest force of the Law in Praxus, this Prowl had the resources and the drive to track down the missing artifact. Jazz just had to make sure he was right there with him.
A call to his Originator got Jazz a profile, backstory, and credentials to pass himself off as a conservator from the Iaconian Museum of Cybertronian History who had been sent to Praxus to work with the Enforcers on the recovery of the Museum’s most prized artifact. In the morning, he would meet Prowl of Praxus in person and, hopefully, ingratiate himself to the infamously hardaft Praefectus.
Prowl stumbled into his habsuite, exhausted and worn out after a full cycle of scouring security tapes, investigating possible suspects, and trying to juggle the press who all wanted to know how the Praefectus had managed to lose the Pearl.
The Pearl, the Pearl, his life had been consumed by the Pearl. Prowl wished he’d never even seen the slagging thing.
As Prowl fetched a cube of his favored high-concentrate fuel, the servos in his arm stuck and shuddered, sloshing fuel all down his plating. Great, he was so tired he’d started to misfire. Prowl set the cube down on the counter and reached for a rag to wipe himself off when there was a strange sensation near his T-cog.
It was almost as though he was about to transform into his alt mode, except his frame wasn’t moving to reshape into his familiar Enforcer alt. Was it possible for a t-cog to move backwards, somehow? That as the only thing he could think to blame for this incredibly nauseating sensation.
Prowl’s legs were reshaping, plating moving and shifting until he found himself falling forwards to land hard on his bumper on the floor of his hab. All he could do was cling to the floor and ride out the sensation until, mercifully, the strange transformation ended.
As Prowl tried to move, he felt and heard something slap against his fuel cooler. A sting ran up his backstrut, like he’d stubbed his pede, but it felt terribly, horribly wrong.
Rolling onto his side, Prowl looked down to see that some strange sea creature had taken the place of his lower body. From the waist down, his legs had been replaced by a cylinder of delicate, interlocking plates of black and white, with a broad fin where his pedes should’ve been. He tried to move, and the tail thrashed, moving with far more joints than legs had.
There was a growing noise in his processor as Prowl tried to will down the crash he could feel building. His vents were all wide open, but his frame was still getting hotter and hotter. Something was wrong with his cooling system. He couldn’t feel his fans spinning, leaving him gasping through his mouth in an attempt to draw in cooler atmosphere, but nothing was working.
Finally, there was a pinch in his processor and, mercifully, Prowl crashed.