Traditions

In the midst of the night, Jazz returned from his patrol, silently and smoothly gliding into the abandoned warehouse that served as the home for his fellow Autobots on Earth. It was definitely no Metroplex, but it had a homey feel to it that the garrison lacked. He greeted Bumblebee, who was still up playing Ultimate Bloody Death Combat IX vs. Zombies!. He could see the appeal of video games, but combat simulators were one of the few aspects of human culture that he could not appreciate. He did the real thing for a living; he didn't need to dwell on fighting in his off time either.

His own room had a widescreen TV now, a "welcome to Earth" gift from Sari Sumdac. Flipping through the channels, he finally settled on Men in Black. Jazz rather liked this Will Smith guy, for some reason he couldn't quite put a servo on. The man had style. Bringing up a file, he added Hollywood to his ever-growing list of places on Earth he wanted to see someday, right under Paris and above Egypt.

There was a knock on the door just as the movie was starting to get good. Comedies were interesting; they gave him a good idea of the sensibilities of humans. Hopefully sooner or later he'd be able to appreciate the humor. He accessed the internet through his processor so he could continue watching the movie in the back of his mind. As he answered the door, there before him stood Prowl, distinctly lacking of the mods he had been sporting since the incident with Lockdown.

"Where's your armor, bro?" Jazz asked. He loved the languages of this planet, especially the particular vernacular he'd chosen.

Prowl seemed apologetic in his body language. "I took it off," he answered. "If we must fight, I must face you without it to aid me."

Jazz was taken aback. "Fight?"

"I've completed my training," the cyber-ninja pointed out. "That means..."

"Oh! Right, right," Jazz shook his head. How could this fact have escaped him? Now that Prowl, Yoketron's final student, had mastered processor-over-matter, the time had finally come for all Yoketron's pupils to battle. He leaned against the threshold of his door, looking Prowl over. "Do we have to do this now?"

"Well, no," Prowl admitted. "But I would rather we get this over with. Besides, now that word has gotten out, someone will come to Earth looking for us soon."

"True." The white martial artist nodded, shifting his weight back onto both his feet. "Where do you wanna do this?"

"I was thinking out in the woods. I'd rather not have the others know about this."

"Why not?"

"Because Ratchet will refuse to let us do it, fearing we'll harm each other. Bulkhead will want to observe, Optimus won't understand and Bumblebee will try to convince us to hold off until he can sell tickets."

"Gotcha." Jazz transformed, shifting back into the sleek white form he enjoyed so much. This was actually the first time he wouldn't be able to enjoy the drive. Prowl converted into his two-wheeled form, and the two discretely departed from the base. Bumblebee didn't even see them leave as his video-game avatar mercilessly decapitated A.I. after A.I.

It took them fifteen long minutes to reach a properly isolated forest area. After unfolding back into their true forms, Prowl pulled out several stakes and planted them into the earth. Once they were all laid, they formed a decagon around the two Autobots. This would be their battlefield.

"In the end… there can be only one," Jazz remarked.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothin.' Just something I picked up from a movie."

Prowl looked displeased. "I would think this is hardly the time to be making light of the situation."

"Hey chill out, bro," the white Autobot said, raising his arms. "You were actin' so somber I almost thought this was a funeral. It's not like we gotta fight to the death."

"I… suppose you're right," Prowl admitted, before taking a defensive stance. "Very well then, my friend. Let's do this."

Jazz made the first move, lunging towards Prowl. As he expected, Prowl chose to leap upwards and try to get him from behind. The advantage to fighting a friend was that one could better anticipate the other's moves. The white Autobot spun around, making a wide sweep with his left arm It connected with his opponent's body, but Prowl fired his boosters at the last second, pushing himself towards his right and rolling with the blow.

Aside from some scuffed paint, both warriors were unharmed. Again, Jazz surged forward, using Prowl's own momentum to knock him off his feet. The two tumbled, struggled, but avoided leaving the circle. To leave the circle was to lose automatically.

Prowl's wings gave him an advantage on the ground, both making it trickier for Jazz to wrap his arms around the otherwise slender bot, and giving him some leverage if he used his body as a fulcrum. A foot hooked between Jazz's legs and the next thing he knew, he was airborne. If Prowl had been any stronger, he definitely would have knocked him out of the ring. Instead, Jazz hit the ground and skidded to the edge.

The snap of a twig alerted him to Prowl coming in for the "kill." Jazz hesitated, allowing Prowl to think he was disoriented. Wait… Now! Hefting his weight forward onto his arms, he blindly kicked out with both his legs as hard as he could. The attack connected without Jazz even seeing the black mech, grimacing at the sound of shattering glass. Right on the torso – somehow he didn't feel as satisfied as he thought he ought to.

Jazz tucked his legs underneath himself and kicked up away from the ground, spinning in midair to face his brother martial artist. A blow to the face was already waiting to meet him, then another to the shoulder. Prowl was trying to both disorient him and render his joints inert, but Jazz's bulky car hood made his shoulder joints hard to reach. However he was momentarily blinded, and at that point chose to fight fire with fire. Without warning, he turned his headlights on, stunning Prowl with his powerful highbeams. Never thought to use them that way before, he thought. I'll hafta keep that trick in mind next time I go up against a 'Con in a dark alley.

Both recovered about the same time. So far, Jazz was keeping Prowl on his toes, just the way he wanted. Prowl excelled at the offensive, but his defensive technique needed polish. Leaping into the air, Jazz delivered a couple good kicks before coming back down, receiving another blow to the torso while he landed. Before he could be knocked backwards, he kicked the ground, pushing himself forward again. The two bots tangled in each others' arms, both struggling for the leverage to bring the other down.

Finally, in a gambit, Jazz sacrificed his footing and allowed Prowl to push him down, but used his legs to batter Prowl in the gut. The black bot grunt in pain and his arms weakened. In that moment of vulnerability, Jazz heaved and they switched positions. As he passed over the lithe Autobot's body, he grabbed Prowl's arm and straddled it between his legs.

"Yield," he grunted. He had leverage to do anything he wanted, even break off the other Autobot's limb.

"I yield!" Prowl said quickly, and the two bots relaxed. Standing up, Jazz offered Prowl a hand, which Prowl accepted with the same arm Jazz held in the death-lock a moment before.

"Guess I'm gonna have to face the next round," Jazz said grimly. Then, more graciously, he added, "Nice moves there. Your technique keeps gettin' better and better."

"I try." Prowl sounded disappointed, and Jazz knew why. In his own optics Prowl still felt guilt for "failing" Yoketron. And since it had been their Master's wish that Prowl one day be his successor, now that it wasn't going to happen for some time, the guilt was probably resurging.

"No, I'm serious," Jazz insisted. "The only advantage I have over you is age and experience. If you'd been fightin' as long as I have, you'd probably be better than me. As his youngest pupil, you may one day carry Yoketron's legacy." He was not afraid to admit when he was outclassed. In fact he was enjoying helping Prowl train and ushering the younger-bot to the greatness Jazz knew he would be destined for one day. Knowing he would have a servo in destiny would be his legacy. The closest human term he could think of to describe their relationship, he believed, was "brotherhood."

XXXXX

"What the slag were you two doing out there, wrestling a Klud?" Ratchet demanded as he surveyed the two bots' injuries the next morning – exactly what Jazz expected.

"What's a Klud?" Prowl asked.

"It's a large aquatic creature on the planet Peq- Never mind that, answer the question!"

"We'd love to tell you doc-bot, but we can't," Jazz told him. "Cyber-ninja ritual stuff."

"What kind of ritual?" Optimus Prime asked as he entered the repair bay. "I understand your desire for secrecy, but I can't have two of my fighters scrapping each other when the Decepticons could attack at any moment."

"It won't happen again," Prowl reassured Optimus.

"Well, not for him anyway," Jazz said. "I got one more fight to perform. At least."

Optimus's face contorted into a baffled grimace. "With who?"

"Whoever shows up on Earth first."

"That reminds me," Prowl said. "I meant to tell you last night; we're expecting company."

Their leader groaned in frustration, making a grunting noise that Jazz always thought sounded more suited to a villain than a Prime. "And just when are we expecting this 'mystery caller' to show up?"

Jazz opened his vocalizer to answer, but the alarm interrupted him, heralding Bumblebee as he speed through the door of the medical bay.

"Prime! I just got a transmission on an Autobot frequency, asking for Prowl and Jazz! When I asked who they were, they just gave me a code – 'S-W-R-86.'"

"I guess that answers my question." Optimus turned to Jazz. "Anyone you know?"

The Elite Guardsmech nodded. "We should go."

"Not til I'm done with you!" Ratchet insisted, pushing Jazz back down on the bench. His tone grew patronizing as he declared, "I get it, there's no way I'm going to stop your arcane little 'ceremonial battles.' But there's no way I'm letting you go out there half-slagged."

"Fair enough," Jazz said with a grin. Ratchet wasn't so bad under that gruff exterior. Any mech that had the ball bearings to openly defy Sentinel Prime was okay in Jazz's datapad. "Bumblebee, if you'll just transmit a code back for me along with some landing coordinates, our guest will wait…"

And hour later, Jazz and Prowl rolled into Tigatron stadium, which was fortunately devoid of humans since there weren't any events scheduled for the week. It seemed empty, but both knew better. Transforming, Jazz hollered, "Come on out, Springer!"

A green and white bot with disproportionately large feet seemed to fly out from between the stands, coming to a smooth – but impressive – landing before them. "Jazz, you old beatbot! It's been a long time."

"Too long," Jazz agreed, greeting his fellow warrior with a handshake. "This is Prowl."

Yoketron's final pupil, once again back in his armor and their departed teacher's helmet, greeted Springer. "I've heard about you," he remarked. "It's a pleasure."

Affable as ever, Springer nodded. "Likewise," he said. "We've been waiting for you to reemerge for some time so we could finally begin searching for Yoketron's successor."

"I apologize for that."

"In his defense, he spent over half a vorn in emergency stasis," Jazz piped up.

"Ouch! Not fun. That almost happened to me, once. Ship got shot up in a firefight with Decepticons. But I had better things to do that night than snooze."

Jazz groaned. "We need to find you a new joke. That one wasn't funny to begin with."

Springer shrugged nonchalantly. "So, which one of you am I going to have to fight?"

"Me," Jazz said. "What's the score out there, by the way?"

"Well, so far I've defeated Heavy Load, and he defeated Roadhandler and Star Upper. Star Saber defeated Devcon who defeated Powerhug and Road Rocket. Whoever wins this match is probably going to have to go up against Star Saber or Dai Atlas next."

"What about Drift?"

Springer grimaced. "I challenged him, but he got so carried away swinging his swords around that he decapitated himself. He's one with the Well of Sparks now."

Jazz cradled his head in a hand for a moment. "Why am I not surprised? He was always so concerned about flash over skill."

"All the more reason to reopen the training center," Springer reminded him. "We're losing our brothers in this new war. We need to keep training again to keep the Discipline from dying out."

"Then I will set up the markers," Prowl volunteered, pulling out the same stakes they had used the night before."

"Thanks," Jazz said, before giving Springer a good-natured slap on the back. "Your jumpin' power's not gonna do you much good in the Decagon, bro."

Springer smiled. "We'll see."

The two shed their weapons outside the ring – Jazz his nun-chucks, Springer his sword. They then stepped inside the ring and gave each other a respectful bow. Prowl, serving as referee, gave them a moment to prepare before beginning the battle. "Fight!"

The two circled as they drew closer to each other, sizing each other up and scanning for any possible opening. Jazz and Springer had not faced each other since their training days, and even then they'd had minimal contact – Jazz had just begun his training when Springer was on his way out.

Finally they wound their way within striking distance of each other, and Jazz made the first move, attempting an undercut at Springer's torso. But the bouncy Autobot pulled back quickly, grabbing Jazz by the wrist and yanking him forward. Despite the pull Jazz somehow managed to retain his balance and utilize the forward thrust to land a blow in Springer's face.

Jazz knew his opponent shared his wish to keep the fight on their feet as long as possible. Neither warrior specialized in wrestling. Springer accepted the blow with his trademark resilience and kept his grip on Jazz's arm, keeping the momentum in play to swing Jazz around and smash a fist into his shoulder.

Jazz mustered his strength and brought his knee upward into Springer's torso, the force of which finally separated them. Thank The Source for fenders, Jazz thought as he spied a glance at the bumper that served as armor for his robotic knee, now twisted and dented.

Both leapt for the other, but Jazz knew he couldn't stand up against the force of Springer's leaps and only made a half-hearted jump. Instead, he rolled with it as the two knocked into each other and sent Jazz sprawling back. In an attempt to use Springer's inertia against him, he rolled onto his back and kicked into Springer's gut, hoping to knock him out of the circle. But Springer anticipated such a gambit and grabbed ahold of Jazz again, merely absorbing the blow to his torso and staying in place with his arms firmly wrapped around the white Autobot.

On the ground, Jazz's skill counterbalanced Springer's thicker armor and greater strength – the fight could go either way. Springer began landing blow after blow into Jazz's sides, but he couldn't really attack any truly vital areas without releasing his grip on the slick white Autobot. Jazz knew Springer would try to wear him down first – so the only way he could get out of this was to summon new levels of endurance. With his own arms free, he alternated blows between Springer's shoulders joints and neck. One of the blows under his helmet hit something, and Springer's vocalizer sputtered involuntarily.

The green Autobot shifted tactics suddenly, pushing up and knocking Jazz into the ground as he did so. Jazz struggled to pull himself up out of the dirt but he felt a leg hammer him back down. Springer returned to his feet and brought his foot up to land another powerful blow with his torque-enhanced massive foot. Somehow Jazz managed to catch the foot before it flattened him, but that did little good. The last kick had impacted into his leg joint, knocking a piston out of alignment. His left leg was out of commission, and even if he could somehow stand up Springer would easily just knock him back down.

"I yield!" he shouted, and the pressure ceased.

Prowl was by his side in an instant, and Springer proffered a hand to help the fallen warrior up. Jazz gladly accepted.

"Sorry about that," Springer offered.

"No hard feelin's," Jazz assured him, shifting his weight onto his good leg. "You'd probably make a better Master than me anyway." Again, he was not afraid to admit when he was outclassed… not that it happened often.

"You want my help getting you back to your base?"

"Nah, we're good. Bulkhead over there can give me a ride if I need one."

From behind the stands, a lumbering hulk of an Autobot emerged shyly. "How'd you guys know I was here?"

Prowl flashed Jazz a knowing smirk. "I told you."

"I guess I should be going then," Springer declared. "Much as I'd love to stay and chat, we've got a war going on out there and it was all I could do to convince Ginrai Prime to let me make this trip."

"All right then." Jazz nodded. "As the humans say, 'Keep fightin' the good fight.'"

"Hey, I like that." Springer remarked before transforming into a three wheeled rocket-car. "See you around, Jazz, Prowl."

"Farewell," Prowl bid.

Springer sped off to exit the stadium one way while Jazz limped towards the other exit, with Prowl helping him. "Springer's a good 'bot," Jazz commented.

"He struck me as such," Prowl agreed.

They remained silent as they left the stadium, needing no words to express what they both felt: relief that the trials were behind them, so they could resume Prowl's training. They needed to prepare for the inevitable confrontation against Megatron that they both sensed was soon.

Behind them, footsteps thudded as Bulkhead followed them out. "Come on, guys! Seriously – how'd you know I was there? Was it some sort of cyber-ninja telepathy, or something cool like that?"