Chapter Text
The street lights flickered above him as he walked briskly down the empty street. It had certainly been a long shift, and most definitely not an enjoyable one. To say that there was a lot of tension in the station would still be understating it.
Violent crimes were at an all-time high, and the pressure was causing the station to start to run thin. The workload was never-ending. Every time Prowl finished a case, it seemed like he would be given 10 more in replacement, with each one becoming more and more violent. His desk was starting to resemble the layout of a city, with each stack of tablets a model of a skyscraper. At least it formed somewhat of a wall that could allow him the peace of privacy from the other enforcers in the station.
His supervisors offloaded more cases onto him than the other enforcers in the station. His TAC-Net made him much more efficient than any other mech in the room. In fact, it was the exact reason that he had been made in the first place.
Not only could Prowl do it faster, he would, and on top of that, he would do it better. It was a badge of honor that he wore proudly. It bore the truth that he had value. He had a purpose to continue with each day.
Now, Prowl loved his job. He loved the city and helping keep it safe. He would take in every case because he knew he could do it the best. It's what the people of Praxus deserved. Although the responsibility almost feels like a small curse.
He was starting to be pushed to his limits.
His TAC-Net was running at a constant high. Despite his best efforts to moderate its level of functioning, it seemed to be giving him a fat middle finger as it proceeded to do whatever the hell it wanted. The headache that always follows is enough for Prowl to wish that he could just turn his brain off for just one kilk.
Each step felt like his pede had some sort of adhesive attached to the bottom, and to lift his pede up to take a step took more way effort than it should. Not to mention the ever-growing ache that rested in his back strut as well. It was probably due to being hunched over his desk for the past cycle.
Prowl ignored the irritation, as well as the HUD message that popped up reminding him that his fuel tank was getting low. He was starting to become accustomed to the never-ending ache that his body was in. At the moment, though, he had better things to direct his attention to. He was only a few breems away from arriving at the small apartment that he called home, collapsing into his small berth and finally getting relief through recharge.
His surroundings seemed to be a direct reflection of the state of his body. The streets were littered with trash, and each alleyway was dark, hiding whatever secrets resided within. Prowl knew the area he resided in was considered the 'slums of Praxus' and ideally was not an area that he should be living in. However, it was the only apartment that he could afford with the meager salary he got. It was ironic that an enforcer lived in such a high-crime area, he mused to himself. Maybe it was the media or the way that his academy instructors had lived, but he had always held the notion that enforcers lived a middle-income life.
Definitely not the life where an individual has to live from paycheck to paycheck, forgoing a few meals if the credits aren't available. He tries to ignore the disappointment that slowly leaks into his tanks. There is no need to throw himself a pity party. The city, both the good parts and the bad parts, needed him. He was there to stand proud and do the right thing, even when things were tough.
The last and final turn that leads to his apartment is coming up on the sidewalk. The sweet relief of rest was almost there. Just one more breem and he will finally have a moment to just sit down and breathe.
A blunt sound of something being hit breaks the silence that fills the air.
His body automatically stops in its tracks. Like Prowl had just hit an invisible wall that resided in the middle of the sidewalk. He turns his helm just slightly to listen for the sound again.
Maybe (hopefully), it's just something out of his imagination, his processor just on overdrive and mistaking a door closing for something else. (He ignores the fact that his processor is never wrong, trying to hold onto the hope that nothing is wrong and he can just continue walking home and rest his exhausted body onto his berth and finally get some sleep-).
Another smack fills the air, as well as the unmistakable sound of air quickly leaving a person's vents. 85% a response to getting hit in the chest with a blunt object, his TAC-Net tells him. It comes from the dark alleyway on his right side.
Prowl stands tensely for a klik. He is off duty. He could just call the local enforcement line and report a possible incident and continue on his way home. His fellow enforcers would most likely do the same thing (90% likely, TAC-Net says). But the thought of just walking away makes his tanks turn.
How could he live with the notion that he left someone in need and danger alone? It would be failing his only purpose on this planet.
Prowl curses silently as he turns on his pede and runs into the alleyway to his right. His TAC-Net is working at full capacity now, spitting out every possibility as it calculates it. He flicks away the message in his HUD as he approaches the entrance.
He enters the alleyway to make out a group of individuals within. Three large individuals hover around a single mech. They are large, hefty builds. The type of builds that are meant to withstand tons of force. Prowl can infer that this isn't the first time that they have done something like this. All are strategically placed in a way that eliminates the possibility of escape for the single mech within.
The largest one of the bunch holds a metal bat in his digits. His 2 counterparts seem to be empty-handed for the time being.
Prowl's gaze slides over to the mech by the wall. It is a decent-sized mech. The mech is mostly gray and black, with the exception of an intriguing bright blue visor that gives light in the darkness of the alley. A grin resides on the mech's face, even with the situation that is occurring.
His posture is strangely proud for someone in such a bad situation; his back struts straight, and the only indicator that he seems to be injured is the servo that rests firmly against his abdomen.
"Hey!" Prowl shouts, "Step away at this moment!"
The sound seems to startle the group, their helms quickly turning to the sound of his voice. Prowl stands tall and confident, a posture drilled into him from the academy. The way you carry yourself speaks louder than words, and enforcers must be confident. Would you trust a timid person to protect you?
Prowl keeps his optics on the three aggressors of the situation as he continues to step towards the group. "Step away, or I will have no other choice than to use force," Prowl states, his tone strong and truthful. He is sure that they will become aggressive towards him for interfering (70% likely, TAC-Net determines). His previous aches and pains are long gone as his body prepares itself for a fight.
Prowl has no other way to describe his reaction to the situation that unfolds than anything other than overwhelming confusion. The three individuals exchange glances between themselves, a look of fear(?) blatantly present on their faces. He can't catch what they say to each other, and can only assume it is something along the lines of 'run' as they turn and quickly run out of the alleyway. No fight, no warnings to leave, no anything.
They simply left.
Prowl stands in the same spot for a klik, absolutely confused, but grateful that they abided by his words. He actually can't think of a time when a criminal actually listened to him on his first warning. What would make them unnerved enough that they would flee at first warning? His questions are cut short when the lone mech slumps against the wall behind him. The mech is still standing however, allowing the wall to support most of his weight.
Prowl swiftly makes his way over to him, his gaze running along the mech and making an analysis of the damage. The main portion of damage seems to be along his abdomen, where the mech's servo rests. Energon is leaking through his digits and slowly dripping on the ground. (Gunshot wound. 50%. TAC-Net determines). Scuff marks and dents are littered along his body.
He must have fought back, Prowl thinks to himself, despite the overwhelming odds that did not point in the mech's favor.
The energon that is leaking from between the digits of the mech's servo needs to be addressed immediately. He swats the mech's servo out of the way, kneeling on one knee to get a better look to gauge the damage. A small hole rests on the right side of his abdomen, energon leaking out of it at a consistent rate. Seems like his TAC-Net was correct.
Gun shot? Prowl frowns. That made no sense. The aggressors did not seem to hold any sort of gun-like weapon. And if they did, why didn't they shoot Prowl the second he interfered in the situation? They certainly would have had a high percentage of victory.
However, there is no time to think about the logistics right now.
Prowl firmly presses his servo to the wound, ignoring the sharp inhale from the mech before him. A wound like this needs treatment now, and a lack of proper pressure decreases the percentage of survival significantly.
"You are injured," Prowl states firmly, "You need to go to the hospital now."
He glances up from his crouch, making eye contact with that surprising blue visor. He tries to ignore the way his spark jumps at the way that the mech is so intensely gazing down at him. He can feel the optics taking in the look of his face from behind the visor. The intensity of the stare almost unnerves him. Prowl can't tell what it is, but there is something heavy beneath the gaze. The two of them sit there for a klik.
The mech's face, which had been tense with no emotion as he stared, suddenly gains a very handsome grin.
It's at that moment that Prowl realizes that this mech is very attractive. Prowl can't point it out, but something about this mech makes his cheeks warm up. Maybe it's the way that the mech carries himself despite being injured, or how he radiates a feeling of confidence and smugness. The mech definitely has a very handsome face, to say the least.
But what Prowl can't help but notice is how all of the mech's focus is just on him. Nothing else seems to matter, not even his injury. The only thing that this mech is focused on is Prowl himself. Prowl tries to ignore how he can't think of a time when anyone had been so focused on him. His spark flutters a little bit. Prowl hopes his cheeks aren't colored.
There must be a rational reason for such an intense gaze. The mech must be staring so intensely because he is quite literally keeping him alive, Prowl concludes. Definitely not for any other possible reason. That wouldn't make any sense.
Finally, the mech opens his mouth to speak. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. You must be my guardian angel."
What?