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When Prowl first met Jazz, Prowl thought his new friend was empurata. True, Prowl still found many of Jazz's features to be attractive, but that didn't change facts. The classic signs of the barbarous act were obvious.
Face.
An entire lack of expressive facial features was the baseline of the empurata procedure, and though the victim was usually left with only a singular optic, it wasn't the only possible end result. Lack of depth perception, partial blindness, and other visual impairments were common ailments of those having suffered the procedure.
Jazz's entire face was nothing but a visor. And no. It wasn't a battle mask. There were no seams, latches, hinges, or clips to indicate anything about his face was meant to be removable. The amount of blind spots he had also indicated a narrower field of view and while his depth perception seemed to be intact, his distance vision was bellow average. He even seemed to have difficulty adjusting to certain light levels and hearing outside of certain auditory frequencies. All of it was... worrying at times. But Prowl would not insult Jazz by attempting to coddle him for disabilities he seemed to be functioning just fine around. Prowl would simply adjust any strategies to account for them. His tactical battle computer was very efficient and the more data he was able to give it, the more accurate his calculations could become.
Hands.
The removal of a Cybertronian's original hands and subsequent replacement. Claws and hooks with low or zero articulation are the most likely outcome of empurata. Many victims seek out better replacements if a medic deems it viable after examining the extent of the inner circuitry damage.
Four digits was not a common number to be forged with, but not impossible. The give away that those hands couldn't possibly (93.7%) be Jazz's original ones was their dexterity. Jazz obviously made due very well with them, Prowl had seen him nearly rip a Quintesson to shreds with those hands alone after all, but those servos had no where near the range of finesse and fine motor skills an average mech had. Whether they are the direct result of the emperata process or an upgrade Jazz sought out later is unclear. Prowl would once again make adjustments to account for this observation.
Legs.
The replacement of legs was one of the more uncommon results of empurata. The face and hands were usually considered enough by the monsters who carried out these vile procedures. If the legs were replaced however, they were always replaced with ones that had enough joints to change the way the victim had to stand. After all, empurata was supposed to make the victim stand out so they could be easily identified as 'those to be shunned'.
Prowl had never seen a mech move like Jazz. If anything his extra joints seemed to make him that much more agile. The visored mech had taken what many would see as a defect, a hindrance, and turned it into a strength. It certainly made for interesting data for his tac net to crunch. It was also very nice to watch.
Transformation.
He's never heard of the empurata process involving the removal of the t-cog. Alterations and replacements being so drastic that they impaired the victim's ability to transform? Yes. But if proper medical treatment was provided afterwards transformation should be possible once again, though perhaps not with the same alt mode as before.
Jazz did not seem able to transform. Prowl could never identify anything that appeared to be a transformation seam and the visored mech lacked any and all 'kibble' that would suggest an alt mode. True, not every Cybertronian had 'kibble', especially those with more object based transformations rather than vehicles, but that did not seem to be the case with Jazz. Prowl even suspected that Jazz... didn't even have a t-cog. His battle computer even gave that suspicion a 89.3% probability. After all, Jazz never had any sort of hesitation or made an aborted move a mech expecting to transform might make. Such actions would imply the loss of transformation to be recent. No. Instead, Jazz had broken such a habit, and no medic would allow a mech to go so long without a functional t-cog that such an instinctual 'habit' could be overridden. And given how long ago the act of empurata was put to an end... That would certainly be enough time to 'get used to it.'
Sensory Network.
Impaired sensory input was very common among the victims of empurata. In some the impairments were limited entirely to whatever modifications were force upon them. In others? It was systemwide. After all, damaged neurocircuits could impact a Cybertronians entire sensory network. And damage to neurocircuitry is very easy when butchers are cracking open cranial cases to switch out a mech's entire head. That's not even counting the amount of victims that are subjected to mnemosurgery, if not outright shadow played, on top of everything else. This just increases the chances of processor damage. And of course one cannot discount the damage trauma alone can do to the mind.
Prowl has already observed Jazz's impaired optical and auditory sensor range, but the most severe would have to be tactile. He could obviously still feel to some extent, he reacted when others touched him after all, at least when it was more than just a faint brush. He even apparently enjoyed touching others in return. But damage? Jazz didn't seem to feel it. Outside of maybe a grunt or a shout of surprise from a particularly jarring impact, not once had Prowl ever heard Jazz make a sound or show any physical indications of pain. And truly, some of the damage the tactician had seen his visored friend suffer should have left Jazz screaming, but the most he'd do was maybe take note of the extent of the damage and assess how much it would impair his ability to continue fighting or moving.
This one. This one was hard for Prowl to plan around, even with the tac net. Because how do you stop a mech from getting hurt when they don't seem to care about how badly they're damaged and avoiding a fight isn't an option?
Trauma.
To say being a victim of the act of empurata is traumatic would be an understatement. It's like saying acid rain burns.
Jazz's absolute disregard for his own safety when in battle could easily be called a result of trauma, but Prowl could still work with that to an extent. He could make tighter, more precise plans to hopefully avoid Jazz having to be damaged all together. Or at least minimize it.... But what does he do about an empty EM field?
When they'd first met, Prowl had simply assumed Jazz was either being polite about keeping his EM field to himself, or was unsettled by the situation of waking up to strange organics around him and hadn't wished to show it. Then he and Prowl began to interact and still he'd thought perhaps it was shyness. Prowl quickly learned how NOT shy Jazz was.
Jazz was loud, exuberant, and always in others' space. One might even say the visored mech was being down right flirtatious at times, others would call it overly forward. Still not a hint of EM field felt through it all.
Was it just an act? A game? No. Prowl didn't believe that Jazz's actions were meant maliciously. Prowl didn't want to believe that. Jazz's actions matched up with how he verbally presented himself after all. So what was the problem?
Was he so traumatized that he suppressed his EM field to not... what? Burden others? And the emotions and personality he presented verbally and physically were just a cover for how hurt he was?
Was it possible he could no longer properly express himself through his EM field? And he over exaggerated his physical interactions in an attempt to convey his feelings and intentions in other ways?
Or.... Or had this been done to him on purpose? Because it wasn't even just Jazz not using his EM field.... He didn't seem to notice the fields of others either.
Prowl didn't know the answer. His tac net didn't know the answer. And honestly it had been a mistake on his part to try and feed those particular variables and data points to it. He knew better than trying to run emotional information through his battle computer. He's lucky he hadn't crashed before he was able to abort the attempted calculations.
Spark. Heart.
When Prowl first met Jazz, Prowl thought his new friend was empurata.
Since then Prowl has found out he was right about many things. The visor he looked into so often was not Jazz's true face. Those four digit servos and multi jointed legs were not the limbs Jazz was created with. Jazz did not possess a t-cog and was also incapable of expressing or detecting EM fields.
And yet.
Prowl was also wrong. His battle computer could not account for information bias. For all his logic and tactical know how, Prowl was not immune to making assumptions. It didn't help that Prowl had wanted Jazz to be a cybertronian. To be like him. So despite so many correct conclusions, Jazz was not empurata. And while Prowl was grateful his friend had not gone through such horror.....
The correct answer was that Jazz wasn't a cybertronian. Jazz didn't even have a spark. Prowl really should have figured it out sooner when no matter how close they ever got to each other, he could never hear or feel the humming pulse of a spark.
No. Jazz was a tiny organic called a human, and that was the truth. The body that everyone had thought was Jazz, was in fact a lifeless machine the true Jazz piloted. It was disconcerting. Confusing. It felt like a lie. Prowl felt lied to.
But facts don't lie.
This smaller Jazz was just as loud and exuberant as he was as a mech. He cracked the same jokes. Reached out to touch just as often. And he was still reckless with his own well being. Maybe the damage his 'mecha' took in battle wasn't nearly as reckless as first perceived, but Jazz was apparently terrible about remembering to take care of his actual body instead of focusing on his mechanical one.
He was still Jazz. This was a fact.
Thus leading to Prowl's current situation. Not that it was an unfamiliar one at this point as this certainly wasn't the first time this had happened. It likely wouldn't be the last either. And Prowl didn't entirely mind.
Currently the Praxian was reclined back on his berth just enough to make the front of his chassis a level shelf, his back and door wings supported by several cushions. It wasn't a position he normally chose, but he was trying to relax as he did work on a datapad with one hand. His other was carefully rested over top a bundle of fabric and the small recharging organic within it to keep him from potentially sliding off.
Perhaps it was a bit strange to allow his small partner to recharge in such a place, but Cybertron was cooler than ideal for humans. This issue of course could have been solved with a heater, rather than using the warm spot over his own spark, but Jazz was so small and so fragile compared to them all. Even more so when he shed the protective armor he wore to pilot his mecha. It made Prowl extremely anxious to leave him unattended while not conscious, because if someone where not to realize Jazz was there.... Prowl didn't want to think about what could result. His tac net had already crunched those numbers and he did not wish to revisit them.
Prowl also had a more.... selfish... reason for having Jazz recharge in this position. Organics didn't have the same tells a Cybertronian did that they were still alive. No EM field. No biolights. He knew though that organics needed to constantly cycle air, to breath, and it was a visible action, but... Jazz was so small it was hard to detect at a glance, especially when bundled up in layers of fabric. If he was touching him though?
Prowl could feel everything.
The slow, even rise and fall of Jazz's chest. The soft steady thump of his pump- his heart... It was so similar to the pulse of a spark.
The subtle increase of these functions along with the light shifting of limbs Prowl felt informed him that Jazz was coming back online- waking up.
"Go back to recharge," he encouraged softly. "It's barely been a couple joors and you're supposed to have eight."
Jazz hummed and groaned as he shifted again before mumbling, "It's called sleep, Prowler." Yawning he rubbed his face. "And I thought the deal was that if I took some proper sleep outside my mecha and my armor, then you'd take a break. I can hear you overthinkin' from here."
Prowl sighed and rolled his optics, a bemused smile pulled at his lips as he lifted the datapad in his off hand. "This hardly qualifies as work. Just minor filing."
"And yet I could hear your systems whirrin' all about from all them big thoughts in your head. What's botherin' ya, Prowler?" the small pilot asked, finally having settled into a better possition to look up at his partner.
Doorwings twitched as optics dimmed and glanced away. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to wake you."
"It's fine, Prowler, but ya still didn't answer my question."
"I'm just... worried. About everything. About you." It was true they could better tend to Jazz's needs now that it was known he was an organic, but that didn't change the fact they lacked a suitable fuel source for him. And Jazz's own supplies would eventually run out. And they still didn't have a way to send Jazz back home. Or even know where his planet was!
"Hey."
Jazz was suddenly up and Prowl's optics quickly refocused back on him when he felt those tiny warm hands on his face. Warm brown eyes looked up at him with such trust and affection as his partner smiled tenderly.
"I'm here. It's gonna be okay."
Warmth spread across the tactician's face as he released a slow vent and shuttered his optics. Gently he moved a hand to softly brush Jazz's back and focused on the feeling of his partner's dermis against his own. He could still feel that steady rhythm of Jazz's heart. Prowl swore it matched the pulse of his own spark.
"Okay."