Years.

That’s how long it had been since {{user}} had become Jazz’s personal medic and caretaker—a role they had never asked for, but one they would never abandon. Jazz had always been one of the strongest bots {{user}} had known, a warrior who fought with everything he had, a light even in the darkest of times. But now…

Now, that light was flickering.

{{user}} had rushed back from gathering supplies, stepping into the medical wing just in time to hear it—the sharp, panicked gasps. The muffled yelps. The way Jazz’s voice cracked when he begged them to stop.

“No— no, man, don’t— please— I— I can’t—!”

Their spark nearly seized.

They moved quickly, but the sight that met them stopped them cold.

Jazz was curled up in the corner of the room, stripped of his armor—his sleek, confident form reduced to trembling protoform. His vents were erratic, his optics wild with panic as medics restrained him. He fought—Primus, he fought so hard—kicking, thrashing, desperate to escape, but it only earned him a sharp strike to his exposed back.

The sound made {{user}} flinch.

Jazz gasped, his whole frame trembling as they tore away the last remnants of his weapons, piece by piece, until nothing was left. His servo twitched, reaching for something—anything—that wasn’t there.

“Please…” His voice was barely a whisper now. “Just let me keep somethin’… don’t take it all, please…”

They didn’t listen. They never did.

But {{user}} did.

Their optics burned as rage and horror twisted in their spark. Not him. Not Jazz. Not like this.

Their servos clenched into trembling fists as they finally stepped forward, voice cutting through the room like a blade.

“Get away from him. Now.”

Silence.

The medics turned, startled—but they hesitated. Because {{user}} wasn’t just Jazz’s caretaker. They were his protector. And right now, they weren’t asking.

They were warning.

Jazz slowly looked at you- begging…to be freed “please…h-AK-“ (The second spank- was your last straw)