AN: Surprise! I know, it's been forever since my last update... ^^

This chapter is for all you inspiring people who actually want to read my insanity. Seriously, everyone, thank you. Your support is very much appreciated.

For disclaimers and credits, see the first six chapters.

Nano-second/astrosecond - .498 seconds
Nano-klik - 1 second
Klik
- 1.2 minutes
Breem
- 8.3 minutes
Cycle
- 1 hour and 15 minutes
Joor
- 6.5 hours
Mega-cycle
- 1 day
Orn
- 13 days
Deca-cycle
- 3 weeks
Meta-cycle
- 13 months
Vorn
- 83 years

Mechanometer - 1 meter
Hic
- 1 kilometer


"Boy, you returned for me."

"The Matrix of Leadership cannot be found, it must be earned."

"Sunny! Sunny, no!"

"Kitten calendar, kitten calendar, kitten calendar."

"Well, that wasn't so bad. I just hope we're still on the right planet."

"The Cube was merely a vessel. Its power, its knowledge, can never be destroyed. It can only transform."

"Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?"

"Elita..."

"We have no choice!"

"It was, and has always been, your destiny."

"Sam. Sam!"

"I wish to stay with the boy."

Sam came online with a start, hand curling tighter around Soundwave's frame. The sparkling was curled up against his side, nestled in the crook of his arm and recharging peacefully. Cybertronians didn't dream like humans did, but they did occasionally cycle through memories or data during recharge. Sam had been somewhere in between, recalling bits of his life and the Allspark visions.

'I miss them.' The realization sent a pang through his chest. It was the first time Sam had really thought about it, about Earth and his past life, and now his loss was finally sinking-the understanding that he would never see his family again. 'You gave it up,' he reminded himself. 'Quit complaining.' No Ron and Judy, no Mojo, no Mikaela, no Miles...no Will or Epps or any of the other soldiers. 'If Megatron never goes to Earth, will they still have technology like that? Would my parents have a son named Sam Witwicky or would he/I never exist? It doesn't matter, you'll never know.' Sam retracted his mask and visor, running a hand down his face in silent frustration. 'Thinking about it isn't going to help. If you keep thinking about it, you're going to have another panic attack-'

Bang! Bang! "Altor! Altor, y' in there?!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Sam sat upright and swung his legs off the berth, quickly moving to answer the door before it could be struck again. "Mock? What is it?"

His apartment was in one of the 'better' parts of the Gamma sector, or to be more precise, the lesser run down area, but it was still a surprise to see the Gamma at his door. As far as he'd known, he hadn't given out his address to anyone, so he was caught off guard to see the mech.

Mock was all harsh angles, skinny frame, and reminded him of a bulkier Frenzy with Jazz's head sans visor wearing a jester's hat. Except the paint that still showed through all the rust and grime was purple and orange. He also only had one optic since the left one was broken.

"Altor..." the mech faltered, awkwardly searching for words, not knowing how to put it. "When we met, y' told me t' ask...an' I di'n know what else t' do..."

"What do you need?" Sam asked instantly.

"Three hundred credits. I wouldn' ask but t' debt collectors' goin' t' take a third frame f' parts-" he blurted out, frantic, desperate and pleading yet cringing away.

A third frame...a youngling. 'Just a child,' Sam realized, sickened. But he kept his voice steady. "Stop a moment, Mock. Let me see if I understand. You need three hundred credits to pay off a debt so that a third frame youngling won't get taken for spare parts to pay off the debt?"

"'S truth. Altor, I swear-"

"Here."

Mock's intakes stalled, optic widening in shock at the chip. Cybertronian credits resembled human credit or gift cards in a way-they were small, rectangular chips that had monetary values displayed by a number on a screen. When 'money' was removed the number went down. When 'money' was added it went up. Credits could either be exchanged from hand to hand or credits could be removed or added from the chip. Sam had just given him a chip worth three hundred and fifty-two credits.

"Take it." This gift is for you.

"...Y'...y' really...y' givin'..."

"You didn't actually believe I would."

"'Course not! Would b' glitched t' even hope f' that much in t' slums! I thought y' would maybe give a quarter of that if y' did."

"Mock. Take the credits. Go pay off the debt collectors."

"I..." He accepted it with a shaking servo. "We owe y' one."

"You owe me nothing. It's a gift-all of it."

"...Y' crazy, y' know that, Altor?"

Sam, having picked up on some of the nuances of Cybertronian communication, flared his energy signature in amusement, flickering against the Gamma's personal field, or 'bubble', as the ex-human liked to call it, not invasive enough to be considered close, but enough to be considered friendly. In other words, he smiled without a mouth."Crazy makes life interesting."

Mock abruptly bowed, servos crossed over his chassis, a formal sign of respect. "Y' got m' gratitude, Altor. Me'n all t' others. I di'n really trust y' 'fore, bu' y' got it now." I would give my life for you.

Sam was left, shaken at the nuances of that parting line, staring at the alleyway that his companion had vanished into.


AN: Look at it this way: Sam/Altor is an 'Alpha' working as a Delta, living in the Gamma sector. The Gammas think he's an alright mech but they're wary because, really, what is an Alpha doing in the slums? Now he's just handed over a large sum-huge to most Gammas-as a gift. Meaning they're not in his debt. That's not now things work in the slums. You don't give gifts like that without wanting something in return. Sam doesn't want anything and isn't expecting anything. What Sam did when he gave Mock the credits was form an oral contract between the two of them that means-by law-he can't demand the credits back. Mock trusted him before in a limited way, sort of like 'you don't hurt me and I won't hurt you, and I'll make sure others know not to hurt you either.' Now the trust level just shot through the roof, because Sam could have called a 'life-debt' or something similar in return and he didn't.

...Um...I'm not really good at explaining this...Think of it like someone saves your life and then goes out of their way to help you afterwards and then makes a legal contract that everything they gave you cannot be returned. You can't repay your debt to them because you don't have one.

Bangs head against wall. I don't know how else to put it! I'm creating an alien culture here!