Authors Note: I do not own Transformers. The characer Phage is mine. Also, the storyline does not follow any one particular TF series in general, though it mostly takes after G1, it has plots and other stories thrown in from other series as deemed fit for the Revelations Universe.

The 'Impression' series are just short chapters detailing Phage's life before the fanfic 'The Golden Hour' and how she interacts with the other Autobots onboard The Ark.

Chapter 2, Gender: One-Half

He watched as the femme's optics blinked slowly up at him, her lips, outlined in green, parting to form a silent 'O' as realization at last dawned upon her. Inwardly, he couldn't help but feel relieved. She was finally grasping what he had been trying to explain to her for over the last Earth hour of their session together.

"Wait..." Phage said at length from the table she sat behind, drawing the words out slowly, cautiously as she related back to her tutor what she believed she had finally understood, her young voice reflecting the flicker of comprehension that had at last smacked her. "So…what you're telling me, Ratchet, is that Cybertronians are genderless?"

"Yesss! She at last understands!" The white and red Autobot flung his head back, closing his flexi-metal optic lids momentarily as he spoke, thanking the heavens for finally making the femme understand what he had been teaching her.

The emerald green and white-flexi-skinned femme squinted her optics at Ratchet as the medic looked back at her, clearly unamused by his action, and a hint of confusion still clinging to her as well. Or was that anger? It was difficult to tell with her. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was always difficult to tell if she was angry, sad, or deep in thought. Anyway he sliced it; he didn't like the dark look she was giving him.

"But…" She spoke again, as usual, her voice full of hesitation, almost as if she was afraid to speak for fear of being told she was wrong. "That doesn't make any sense. I mean, I'm a femme, right? And you're a mech. And, as far as I know, I, um, well…still feel like a woman, if you know what I mean."

Ratchet released a slow, agonized sigh and turned to address the large monitor screen he had been using in his lessons with the human-turned-femme. Again, he pointed to the pictures displayed on the screen. There were three in total, with alien words neatly scrawled next to each in fine, stylish detail. The language was Autobot, and, according to Prime, Phage had to learn how to read and speak it. Thus the reason for why her lessons, in fact, from what he understood, all her lessons with all of her tutors had to be in Autobot and Old Cybertronian.

Of the three pictures, one was of a spark, the second was of a mech's internal diagnostic (the mech in question was none other than Ratchet's because he didn't think that any of the other mechs would be too appreciative if he used their systems for their lessons), and the third one was of a femme (of whom was Phage, seeing as how there was no other femme in The Ark). "Again, yes, I am a mech and yes, you are a femme. Both, from what I understand of your, um…former species, the sensations of having the designation of 'male' and 'female' should be similar, though for us Cybertronians, it is more a mental state of mind that designates the scale of feminism and masculinity rather than bodily."

"Like how Tracks is a bit girly and how Brawn is overly masculine, leading to the conclusion that he's obviously overcompensating for something."

"Yes…no! What?"

Ratchet threw her a rather confused look, but Phage started giggling to herself, a mischievous glint echoing across her normally deep, sad blue optics. The act livened them up, brightening them like twin binary stars, giving life to her white flexi-metal face; but the act was fleeting, and soon the sad, depressed femme returned to her normal mood she had maintained since awakening from her coma nearly three months ago. Well, given if you could accurately say that 'depressive' was the main mood that she wore most of the time. It was hard to tell, even for him, what frame of mind she was often in. He'd never met anyone but Windcharger who had an emotional rollercoaster as bad as her, but he chalked that up to the depression she seemed to be suffering from since her transcendence from a carbon-based life form to metallic-based life form, especially since she didn't have it that bad when she was human.

Despite the quick tumble she took from cheeriness back into the black folds of depression, there was still a hint of mischief in her optics. "Come on." she said, her voice matching her optics. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed? You've been with these guys for millions of years! Or fighting them, if you think about the Decepticons. I mean, come on, have you seen Megatron's fusion cannon? The guy's obviously overcompensation for something with a weapon that size, and I know it's not some sort of short-man-syndrome. He's taller than Optimus. Then there's Jazz and Prowl. Have you seen their chests? They're both femmes in disguise, and really good at hiding it."

His lips twitched, his CPU summoning up images for the sceneries she had given him, but he desperately beat them back, fully knowing that indulging in her weird and often random thoughts would only crack his resolve and break him down, make him as loopy as Sunstreaker, and that was never a good thing. Any thought with Sunstreaker was never a good thought. He refused to think about any of it, especially at the notion of Megatron overcompensating for a secretive femme drive with his large fusion cannon, or, perhaps more precisely, for a lack there-of a certain mech component where the solar winds don't blow.

He bit his lower lip–hard. He honestly didn't think any of it was funny; in fact, he was a little disgusted by it. In an attempt to reclaim some control over this lesson, he fixed the femme with a mock-serious stare and gritted out between his teeth: "You're lucky Prowl wasn't in here to hear you say that. You'd surely get stuck with armory duty or worse for three Earth months time."

The femme just shrugged, the mischievous glint in her optics faded once more. "Like I care." She replied, her optics focused elsewhere. "Pain is fleeting. Any punishment he would give me would be over eventually. No reason to get worked up about it."

Ratchet raised an optical ridge at her as he mused over her reasoning – and her ever growing case of apathy. An emotional rollercoaster accurately described her feelings for the past three months, but he was still wondering about her CPU and what havoc Celandra might have done to it. Since he hadn't been that close to the femme before, or more accurately, hadn't 'hung out' with her as often as Jazz or Bumblebee, he didn't know how much of her thinking was actually her or the signs of a traumatized mind. Even back when she was human, she possessed a rather…unique train of thinking. Like Jazz. She just got things quicker, assimilated things easier, and, as a result, often came up with some intriguing real-life realizations. Just like that one.

"That may be, but apathy is not always the correct course of action, especially if it comes to pain or abuse. But, we're trailing off topic here..." and with that, he smartly rapped his knuckles against the screen, capturing her attention. "Back to the lesson, hmm? Before you forget what you've just finally understood with your unsystematic thoughts."

"My thoughts aren't unsystematic. If you could read minds you'd know that. I just think very fast and by the time I decide to relate something that interests me, it just seems random to you."

Ratchet fixed the femme with a sharp glare, silencing her with it. He refused to be dragged off topic, something that she seemed really good at. Like Bluestreak. "Well, since you seem to be in such a fine talkative mood, I want you to explain to me what you got out of this lesson."

He watched, half-satisfied, as a bit of the feisty fire died from her optics. Her mouth parted to speak, but no words came out. She watched him for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"Well?" He said after a few seconds, fixating her with narrowed optics and thrusting his red iron hands onto his white hip joints. Phage opened her mouth again, then shut it.

"I, um…"

Ratchet raised an optical ridge at her, waiting for a response.

The femme seemed to shrink in size a bit, but he doubted that it had to do with the program that allowed her to do such a thing.

Ratchet sighed at her hesitance, his engine softly rumbling with the effort. "We'll start off easy. Tell me, what makes a mech a mech?"

Her optics flashed up to his, their glow soft and unsure, yet still a shade of dark blue to show for her depression. Her silver synthetic hair fell more across her face, obscuring it further from his view and casting her face in further shadows – which only served to make the femme look even darker. She had one of her fingers shoved in her mouth, and she was biting on it nervously, something that she'd always done even as a human. "Well…" she began, "A mech is a mech because, err… they…just… are?"

Ratchet narrowed his optics at her, his mouth pressed into a fine line. He was not taking that as an answer, and the femme seemed to get that.

"I mean…mechs and femmes both have interfacing ports similar to that of humans." Her cheeks turned a vibrant blue upon uttering that, and he noticed because she pushed her hair back behind her shoulder to get it out of her way. The light that flooded across her face was a relief for her. The darkness sinking into her aura vanished, the deep lines circling under her optics faded, and she seemed less like some human goddess of war and vengeance and more like an uncertain, young, femme.

If she had still been a human, her cheeks would have been red to show for her blushing, but Cybertronians didn't have blood that was red, theirs was blue, and so her cheeks were blushing at a bright, liquid cerulean shade. What was odd about it though was that Cybertronians couldn't blush, but then again, Phage wasn't exactly Cybertronian. A quick glance at her could simply confirm that. She lacked any sort of transformational capability, and looked decidedly very synthetic, like the people of Cytex-Four, supposing of course if their race hadn't died out over the four million years that he had been in stasis lock. They were all androids, synthetics, mechanical life forms that resembled bipedal creatures. Phage was the same; she had silver synthetic hair that behaved as it had when she was human. It was long, wavy, and curled into beautiful strands as it reached down to her aft. She had fingernails, and, strangely enough – at least for Cybertronians, she had toes too. He chalked up her android appearance to the Matrix, seeing as how it had been the very thing that had reformatted her into her new state of being after she had been infected with Megatron's modified version of Chip Chase's Phage Program, to which she had claimed her name from.

"Yes. Go on. Tell me, what makes a mech a mech, and what defines a femme as a femme?" He encouraged, trying to boost her low self-esteem, something that she always seemed to be in good supply of lately. The adjustments that the human-turned-femme was undergoing was nothing but tough, and was only going to get tougher once he performed the operation that would make her one of them – a Transformer. Albeit, one that was not Cybertronian.

The femme took in a breath and was silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts before she continued on, this time with a stronger voice once she was certain that Ratchet wouldn't smack her for being wrong. "Asides from thee, uh…obvious appearances and, err…interfacing ports, mechs are defined by their…um…." Phage blinked up at Ratchet, and he could tell that she was seriously trying to put what she had learned into words. After a few more minutes of trying, Phage finally pushed out a long, deep breath through her teeth and said, "Ratchet, can I just start with the femmes? Their so much easier to define."

A slight smile began to pull at Ratchet's lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Go ahead. What makes a femme a femme?"

Phage smiled slightly, and then launched off into her explanation, sounding very much like she was reading straight from a book – or more of like she was the book. "A femme is designated a femme by more than just their outwardly appearances, since fembotshave similar appearances, but are not femmes themselves but drones designed to look like femmes. A femme is more flexible than a mech, capable of bending in ways that you boys can't." Her assured-scholarly tone disappeared as she went on to say, "And I should know, I've seen you guys try to flex and it just looks painful."

"Your off topic again, Phage."

"But I think that's rather funny!" The femme protested, once again falling completely off track. Ratchet crossed his arms and glared at her as he took note of how she was clearly enjoying herself as her mood rose from her gloom to a slight rise on Cheeriness Lane. She folded one arm over her shoulder and another around her back, then turned in her seat so Ratchet could see her link them together behind her. Ratchet pulled a face at it, his innards twisting at the feat. Phage just laughed at his disturbed look. "See! I think it's hilarious!"

"It's not funny, Phage."

"Yes it is! Human men can do this."

"We're a bit more bulky than your organic counterparts. We're incapable of being that flexible."

Phage released her hands and corrected herself in her seat. Her tones turned a bit more serious, though not as serious as he would have liked –or, rather, he didn't like the fact that she was being solemn about a subject that wasn't what they were supposed to be discussing. 'Primus! Doesn't she realize I have things to do?'

"Mirage looks like he could be."

"Well, as a rule of thumb, mechs with less bulk and a trimmer build like Mirage are capable of more flexible movement than – FRAG IT! Will you knock that off!?"

"Knock what off?" Phage replied innocently enough, batting her optics up at him curiously.

"Dragging me off topic! Primus! You're as bad as Bluestreak!"

The femme tittered, loosing what semblance of maturity she held. A brief smile flashed across her face with the intensity of a solar flare, making her beautiful to behold before it disappeared under Ratchet's icy glare. "Let's just finish this lesson, alright! Enough droning around, you have your lesson with Ironhide in thirty Earth minutes, remember?"

He watched with self-satisfaction as Phage's face fell at the reminder of that, though he was partially sad to see her brief flicker of joy go. She certainty needed more of it, even though she did start to come off as an ignorant human child when she entered them.

"What else makes a femme a femme –asides from their bendibility?"

Phage's face fell once more into the folds of seriousness as she continued on in her bookish-tone once more. "A femme is truly defined as a femme if and only if they have two spark chambers. The dominate spark chamber functions the same as any other, but their second one is what makes them unique. It is specially designed so that, if they receive enough energy, they can create a secondary, and completely new, spark within it – but the energy required for such a feat is tremendous. The only other things known to Cybertronians to create new sparks besides femmes are the Matrix and Vector Sigma. Nobody knows how a femme can do this, mainly because femmes are rare, the process is never seen, and any prior attempts made by scientists to duplicate these affects by machinery or in fembots has failed."

"Wonderfully done. Now, having told me that, can you explain to me what makes us genderless?"

Phage was silent.

Ratchet narrowed an optic at her, waiting for a response.

The femme bit her bottom lip, clearly thinking hard on the question.

"Well?"

"The Cybertronians categorize themselves as genderless because unlike organic species, a male and female is not required for reproductive purposes. Just like femmes, mechs are capable of creating sparks themselves, only you can only do this by splitting your own spark. Without a femme's secondary spark camber, mechs cannot create new sparks, only Vector Sigma and the Matrix can do that. If a male was to somehow gain a femme's secondary spark chamber, they would then be categorized as a femme. The spark splitting process doesn't create a new spark; it only creates a second spark off from an already existing spark. The drawbacks of this are that the secondary spark created always show similar traits and characteristics of the original spark. Cases have also been documented where split sparks have fragmented memories of the original spark. In extreme cases the split spark retains most or all of the predecessor's memories, resulting in their belief that they are, indeed, the original when in fact they are a new individual onto themselves." Phage paused a moment and looked to Ratchet, her thoughts pensive. "I don't quite grasp that part though, Ratchet. I mean, aren't the split sparks technically the original? They were split from the original."

"True, but they're not the original when they are placed into a new shell. They become a new sentient being onto themselves at that point."

"But…their still the same guy. I mean, they have the same tendencies, oftentimes the same memories. It's like their clones or something."

Ratchet narrowed his optics on her, his face darkening, his stance growing taunt. Her ignorance to Cybertronian culture was grating on his nerves, despite the fact that he knew that she knew nothing about it at all and that he shouldn't be getting mad at her for her ignorance. It was still getting to him. "They are not clones. They are not the original spark. They are new mechs."

"How? It doesn't make any –"

"Phage!" Ratchet snapped out, silencing the femme in midsentence. "How can I make you understand, split sparks are not the same as the originals! They're just as good and new as new sparks created by Vector Sigma."

"But they're not. The split sparks are as old as the original is. New sparks are new, like newborn babies. So, technically, split sparks are like clones –"

"They are not!" Ratchet released a huge sigh, drawing back from the station and rubbing his temples wearily. He was starting to feel a massive cranial surge coming on. "The only way I can make you understand is through your former species."

"Huh?"

"When a male and female of your species get together to procreate a new entity, does that child not have traits and characteristics similar to its creators?"

With a glance in Phage's direction, he caught the narrowed, suspicious glare she was sending his way. "Y...yyyes."

"And do not some humans believe that the child not only inherits similar traits, personality symptoms, and even genetic faults too, but memories as well?"

"Some humans believe that, but scientists haven't been able to prove –"

"Then isn't a split spark just like a human child?"

"I…I guess that makes sense…"

Ratchet turned back to her, his emotions quieting down and his cranial surge slowing upon finally making her understand, though the look on her face portrayed that she would need a lot more convincing before she committed herself to the idea. "If anything Phage, new sparks are like clones…or, more accurately, drones."

"I…I don't understand."

"I wouldn't expect you too. You aren't Cybertronian, after all, and Earth culture is cluttering your view on the subject. A new spark is exactly as it sounds: it is new, fresh, it does not know itself, who it is, or anything at all. When a Cybertronian activates that has been given an entirely new spark, they know nothing at all of anything and must be trained and educated on everything. The Aerialbots, for example, all have new sparks. The Dinobots as well. Optimus had thought that it would be for the best to instill entirely new sparks within them instead of splitting sparks from the mechs already onboard The Ark. It was also the quickest way to get new soldiers, as well as the safest. Although split sparks are more favorable, the medical procedure required to split one is dangerous and always leaves the original spark drained and exhausted for some period of time. As you can imagine, we couldn't risk that here on Earth. Not with the Decepticons on the loose."

"And the Decepticon Stunticons…? Megatron used the Matrix on them as well didn't he?"

Ratchet nodded. "I see you've been paying attention to Jazz's history lessons."

Phage offered a small smile to him, clearly glad that she had been complimented and right on something.

Silence hung among the two for a moment, but it did not stay for long. Phage looked up at Ratchet curiously, and inquired, "Ratchet, aren't the split spark and the original spark weaker for it permanently? I mean, isn't their like, less of them or something?"

"No. The sparks slowly regenerate overtime, replacing the missing half within a week of the splitting, given that both receive the proper rest and treatment to heal so quickly, otherwise it may take longer."

"Do the sparks ever show that they've been split? I mean, is there a way to know if somebody has had a spark split?" Ratchet tilted his head at her, and the femme proceeded to stumble with her words again, taking his slight action the wrong way. "I mean, you know, like how doctors know if a woman has had a kid or not, can you tell if a spark has been split before?"

"A very good question." Ratchet stepped over to the image of the spark portrayed on the board and tapped it with his steel knuckles. "You can, actually, tell if a spark has been split before. Sparks that have been split have scarring on the atoms, and if diagnosis, you'll be able to note that a remarkable amount of atoms will be newer or better off than the half of the spark that was left with the mech."

"The part that wasn't given to the other?"

"Correct."

"So… is the new guy that's created with the split spark, does that make them the original spark's kid or does that make them their sibling or something?"

"They are neither and both. They were given life by the other individual, but it doesn't mean that they created them."

"What?"

Ratchet began to rub his head again, feeling yet another surge coming on. "I…don't know how to describe this to you to get my point across. Just because someone splits their spark doesn't mean that the new individual is there's. That right is given over to the individual who created their body, in which case the new sentient life would refer to them as Creator. Sometimes though, some don't even see them as that."

Ratchet took note of Phage's thoughtful expression before she slowly said, "…Your talking about the Dinobots aren't you?"

The medic glanced at her, his optics wide for a brief moment at her tact remark. "It seems that Jazz has been teaching you very well."

"We started off with recent stuff, like when you guys woke up here on Earth. He's only recently starting to get into the whole causes for the war thing. It's like we're working backwards, not that I'm complaining. That's how most history lessons go."

Ratchet licked his teeth. "I…see. Well, yes. As an example, Wheeljack, Sparkplug, and I created the Dinobots and, yes, they do not refer to us as Creators at all."

"And Optimus isn't included in the category as their Creators because…?"

"He did not create their shells."

"But he used the Matrix to give them life. Doesn't that qualify for something?"

"No."

"But he gave them life."

"No, the Matrix gave them life. Optimus only used it to grant them life."

Phage squinted one of her optics at Ratchet, clearly confused by the whole ordeal. He could tell that she was really trying to grasp everything, but her previous earthen culture was making her incapable. She seemed to be taking it all in, trying to process all of the information and understand it. Her face was scrunched up, her optical ridges narrowed, her lips pushed into a straight line. After a while, Phage finally offered up her thoughts on the whole matter. "Cybertronian family ties are weird. Does anybody actually ever view anybody as family?"

Ratchet guffawed at that. Answering her question.

Phage pulled a face at the medic and sat up straighter in her chair, mumbling: "No wonder your whole society is so screwed up."

"Phage!"

Ratchet's optics flashed in shock at her remark, surprised that the usual kind-hearted human-turned-femme would be so tactless. Before he had a chance to say anything though, the femme went on, her voice dropping further from her former indecisive self and into dripping sarcasm and heartlessness. "Ooh! I get it now!" Ratchet threw the femme a funny look. "I see! I get it! Cybertronians don't view the spark-giver as the Creator because of the Matrix and Vector Sigma, huh? Can't exactly have parental bonds with an inanimate object. So let me guess, long ago in distant days, some Cybertronian decided that spark splitters couldn't be considered Creators because the Matrix and Vector Sigma couldn't quite be considered as such too, because you can't exactly love an object like a parent if it refuses to acknowledge you. So to make things fair for a thing that doesn't give a care, they just said that any spark splitters couldn't be considered Creators, and only the people that made the bodies could."

Something snapped inside of him, it was all that he could explain. His cranial surge had reached crucial, and he didn't like at all Phage's blasphemous and sarcastic tones. "That's NOT what it is!" He slammed his fists down on the desk she sat behind, denting it, his optics blazing with his lost patience. "Spark-splitters are NOT Creators! Split sparks are not clones! New sparks are clean slates and have been worthless since the war lagged on past the first millennia!" He shoved his face close to her stunned one and slowly steamed out: "And Cybertronians are genderless!" Ratchet froze, his optic twitched as something clicked within his CPU. He glared at Phage, steel teeth bared, as he hissed out vehemently, "You glitch! You did it again!"

Phage had pulled herself as far back as her chair would allow, and when that didn't prove to be far enough to get away from the irate medic, she had began to sink down low into it. Ratchet had continued to follow, until he had realized what she had done. Something that she seemed to be playing the ignorant one about.

"FRAG IT!" Ratchet swore as he pushed himself away from the desk and stormed back to the board. "You drew me off topic, AGAIN!"

He checked his internal chronometer and grinned devilishness. He whipped around on the femme, the sounds of metal scratching metal ringing across the Medbay as he fixed her with a stare. The femme sat quiet, optics wide; as she watched him, silent, waiting for him to do something, say something.

Ratchet marched back and forth in front of her for what seemed like a small eternity. After awhile, he stopped, and glanced up at her. "What's a mech?"

"Masculine appearances and sounds, masculine interfacing port, single spark chamber."

"Femme?" He shot off at her.

The synthetic responded sharply, as if she was sounding off to Ironhide in drill. "Feminine appearances and sounds, feminine interfacing port, two spark chambers. Second one capable of creating entirely new sparks."

"Why then, given all these things, do we consider ourselves genderless? Or rather," he remarked as he leaned over the table and got up into her face. "Why did we tell the humans that?"

"Cybertronians do not require the other gender to procreate new life, like other species do. Thereby is your species actually asexual: genderless, despite the odd occurrence of both sides of genders in it. An anomaly that has befuddled Cybertronian scientists for years, and eventually leading to the decline of the femme population."

"Incorrect." Ratchet rapped off at her. Phage jumped at his sharp tones, optics wide, and more than a little confused.

"Femmes are not in decline, they are extinct. Fembots are in decline."

"But…I'm a femme."

Ratchet glared at her. "Alright smark-alic, Cybertronian femmes are extinct. You are not Cybertronian; you are a human synthetic, an entirely new artificial race onto yourself and still unnamed." A slight smile began to brighten her features at that reminder, but he quickly whipped away her growing ego by adding in quickly, "And, human synthetic on the Extremely Endangered Species List, you are late for you lesson with Ironhide."

Phage's optics grew small and suspicious, clearly checking her internal chronometer to check his claims. Her optics suddenly flew open and became so large that Ratchet was actually afraid they'd burst. She scrambled to get out of her seat and flee from Ratchet and the Medbay. Ratchet stood back, watching, smiling, content with himself and his punishment for her careless remarks as she flew for the automatic sliding door, her silver synthetic hair flying behind her as she broke in a run, ranting at him over her shoulder as she went.

"Ratchet you jerk! I'm ten minutes late already and it takes twenty freakin' minutes to get to the blasted training room! Do you know what Ironhide does if I'm late by even a minute?! I am sooo dead…!"

Her voice faded off down the hallways, leaving Ratchet smiling more and more. Gradually he uncrossed his arms and turned to the board, switching off the images displayed on it. "Oh, I'm aware. Hopefully Ironhide will straighten out your growing attitude you've been developing, as well as your nasty habit of drawing people off track. The last thing we need around here is another Bluestreak."