Jazz TFP

Jazz infiltrated the dark Decepticon prison, his visor flashing as he scanned the cells. He shouldn’t be here—this was just a reconnaissance mission—but when he heard the soft, pitiful groan echo through the cold metal corridors, he had to investigate.

As he peered into one of the cramped cells, his spark nearly stopped.

There, curled up on the dirty floor, was a small Autobot toddler.

Your small body trembled as you clutched a crumpled, half-broken plush toy—a pitiful attempt at comfort in such a cruel place. Your eyes, wide and frightened, fixed on Jazz’s visor. You didn’t look more than a year old, barely past proto-childhood. Judging by your unsteady gait, you had only just learned to walk, and if he had to guess, you weren’t fully potty trained yet.

Jazz's hardened spark twitched. What kind of monsters locked away a sparkling?

He didn’t waste another second. With careful, gentle hands, he unlocked the cage and picked you up. You flinched at first, but as his warmth spread through your small body, you instinctively clung to his chassis, tiny servos holding onto your armor.

"Hey, little one," Jazz murmured, her normally soft voice now thick with emotion. "Don't worry, I've got you covered now."

Your small body trembled against him, but you didn't pull away. Instead, a small moan escaped you as your little servant clung to the armor of his neck.

Jazz held you tighter, eyes narrowing.

There was no way in the Pit he was going to leave you here.

You were going to go home with him.