AN: A very quick and very IMPORTANT note before we begin: The story has turned Dark, as in blood and injuries and war, and all that comes with it.

Read at your own risk.

The door opens, and, hidden in the shadows, he finally smirks.

"Skywarp…"

The mech turns as he steps inside, unimpressed despite all his preparations for this display, for this very moment, but he's not worried, because soon…

"Come… Come to the Dark Side…"

The Seeker is pushed aside by his blue Trinemate, but, unlike Thundercracker, he doesn't give him a glance before looking away, instead keeping his optics fixed on his dark orbs, listening, interested, and, smirk widening, he tightens his grip on his hidden ace—

"We… have… cookies!" Spike proclaims happily, finally pulling the large copper-grayish lump he was hiding behind his back out in the open, the green and pink chips that remind the human of candied fruit seeming to glow under the Repair Bay's lights—

Red optics pale for an instant before, without apparent thought, Skywarp makes a beeline away from his way to his Trineleader's berth towards the table the boy is standing on.

"Coming over to the Dark Side!" the mech announces cheerfully, snatching the cookie and moaning in delight as he bites into it. "Never leaving the Dark Side."

Hook grumbles, Mixmaster stares, and Spike laughs, before extending a hand towards the cement mixer with what could maybe be called an innocent grin.

"Pay up, boys," he singsongs, and, after exchanging a look, the Constructicons finally give the human the tiny tools used for precise work that are just the right size to be used by a teenager such as himself, alongside the implied authorization to help around the Repair Bay.

Starscream, grudgingly allowed to sit up on the berth as long as he doesn't move his newly repaired side too much, snickers softly at the lime mechs' defeat against a 'fleshy', while Thundercracker, who did get to his Trineleader, looks at Skywarp's almost obsence eating with interest.

"Can we get cookies without coming over to the Dark Side?" the blue Seeker asks, and, craddling his price close, Spike shakes his head cheerfully, to what the mech turns to the prone one with all seriousness. "Sorry, Starscream. But they have cookies." And, without another word, Thundercracker deserts his sputtering Trineleader's side to offer an empty servo to the amused teenager. "I came. Cookie now, please."

Trying to breathe through his loud guffaws and wipe away the tears of mirth running down his cheeks without letting the tools in his grasp fall, Spike points both eager—puppy-like eagerness—Seekers to the inconspicuous box Mixmaster stored the rest of treats in.

"Hey, just one each!" Hook protests, snatching the cookies away before the other mechs can get to them. "We didn't want to let him make too many in case they didn't turn out good, so just one each!" he growls, glaring a put upon Skywarp down as he hands Thundercracker his own and his younger brother slips his out from under the distracted Constructicon's metaphorical nose.

"Rejected in favor of a human-made cookie. Of all things…" Starscream grumbles, glaring at the bickering mechs, and, using their distraction to make his escape down the quickly put together ladder, Spike jogs to his berth to be stared at in grudging respect and disbelief. "Just what did you put in those cookies? Mixmaster and Bonecrusher have been making good mixes for vorns, but never before has anyone reacted like that," he questions while pointing at what is starting to look like a possible fist fight for the cookies jealously clutched in Hook's arms, and, snickering softly, the boy shrugs.

"Don't know. I mean, Mixmaster did most of the job, anyways. Shouldn't have made much of a difference."

And the lead Seeker mumbles grouchly under his breath some more, before, with a soundless snort that kind of sounds like a petulant sniff, he leans down to snatch Spike up in his good servo, ignoring the startled squawk from the human at the sudden movement.

"Hey! You shouldn't be moving around!" the boy chastises as soon as he's left to stand on his own two feet on the berth, the Decepticon Second once more returning to his 'behaving' position and completely ignoring the indignant teenager.

"What, you'd rather be down there to be stepped on? And, by the way, you still have to explain about the whole 'Dark Side' thing. I thought we were already 'dark', being the bad guys and all that," he muses, more curious than annoyed, as he looks at the human's large pleased smile.

"Always wanted to say that," is Spike's answer, and all he's going to give, which, judging by Starscream's defeated sigh, he knows too.

They're giant sentient robots made of technology far more advanced than anything on Earth. If they want to know about the Dark Side, Soundwave can easily—

Spike sobers immmediately at that thought, and, despite the no longer aggressive bickering still going on in the background, it feels like he's been immersed in a bubble of complete silence.

Soundwave. Megatron. Mirage.

War.

It doesn't hurt as much now, not after resting some and forgetting the world as he baked cookies, of all things, with Mixmaster, but the thought of them still makes his insides twist with unease.

War.

He said it before, back with the Autobots, back in the black and white world, that he hated the war despite it having brought him some awesome and unique friends and adventures, but, now that he's no longer there, when he's finally realized everything's gray instead of the extremes, he realizes just how wrong he was.

Now he can truly say how much he does despise war.

A nudge at his side, and, suddenly, the world comes back into focus as if not a second had gone by.

"What're you thinking so hard about?" Starscream asks, head tilted to stare at the human, and, sighing almost sadly, Spike sits back Indian-style against the Seeker's warm plating.

"I don't like war. At all," he answers in a low voice, staring at his hands, resting on his crossed ankles.

"That's good," the Decepticon whispers back, staring at the mechs now grudgingly submitting to Hook's reprimand about their cookie-stealing attempts. "Like I said, if you have a spark, you don't get used to war and deactivation."

And there it is again, like the first time those words were spoken. The emptiness of repeating something you don't believe, a sentence that has grown meaningless but that still holds truth.

Only, this time, Spike is not shocked enough to dismiss it as he did before.

"Did you?" he asks instead, voice soft, as he looks up at Starscream.

The Decepticon returns the look—and gives him a small and rueful and hollow smile back.

"I'm a Seeker. I am war."

The door opens.

All optics—and a par of eyes—turn to it, and frames—and one flesh and bone body—tense and straighten into respectful and ready—and wary—stances.

Megatron analyzes them all for but a moment, while Soundwave immediately zeroes in on Spike, before focusing on his leader when the larger mech turns to the human at last.

Holding his breath, the boy presses closer against Starscream's side and waits, never looking away from serious red optics.

"You said you wanted to bring the truth of our war to your fellows. Are you still willing?"

Megatron, Soundwave and Mirage.

Spike can't forget, won't forget, but he can't push aside the real world any longer.

There's no black and white. Everything's gray.

Mechs will die, no matter how much that revolts him. But, if he can make the government, the rest of humanity, see the truth…

He's not naive, not anymore.

"I am."

But he still hopes that will help keep everyone alive.

There's a Decepticon raid on a power plant.

The Autobots' human allies aren't allowed anywhere close to the battlefield, not after Spike's capture and brainwashing.

Still, Chip's not the only one annoyed when they find they can't even be in the bridge, but are confined to 'their room' instead.

"You can't do that! Come on, guys! You can't just leave us here!" Raoul shouts at the door, practically steaming in anger, but, by the slump of his shoulders, he knows as well as the rest that his efforts are futile.

The door is locked, and, if there's someone guarding it, they're ignoring the humans with masterful ease.

No spectating for them today.

At least, Chip muses as he digs out the laptop he keeps at the Ark, and that the Bots gave to him as soon as their 'sleepover' began, they won't be doing so from the bridge.

Carly immediately picks up on his intentions, and takes her own computer to help, so, in minutes, all of them are clustered on one of the beds behind the disabled teenager's chair, observing unintelligible lines of code fly through the screen before, with a couple quick reboots and static crackles, they finally manage to connect to Teletraan and the live feed from the battlefield.

It helps, that they know how the AI works, and how to merely tap into the feed instead of modify something, which would immediately alert whoever's on watch duty—likely Blaster and Red Alert, at the very least—that someone's just slipped into their computer.

But Teletraan knows Chip's and Carly's style, and, since they're tampering with nothing, lets them watch.

Raoul and Sparkplug, until then talking lowly about something or other that the two hackers didn't care enough to listen to, fall silent as the image appears.

As usual in this kind of situations, the Autobots are using whatever security cams are in the attacked area, an oilfield this once, alongside the sky spy or Cosmos' feeds to keep an optic on the battle, and this time is no different.

Except for one teensy tiny detail.

"Are they… talking in Cybertronian?" Sparkplug questions barely half a minute into the feed, once it becomes clear that it's not just a slip of the tongue brought about by the fighting frenzy.

Both Autobots and Decepticons are more vicious than usual, shots leaving dark scorch marks behind and even overheated and bent plating, and physical hits deforming armor instead of merely denting.

And any and all insults and taunts and accusations are but chirring and clicking and engines growling to the humans' ears.

Cybertronian speech. Something that, around the native species, is rarely, if ever, heard.

And, since no one in the bridge knows they're listening in…

"Great. How do we put subtitles on that?" Raoul questions with a scowl, and Carly and Chip exchange a grimace.

It's one thing to merely watch what they're already seeing, but to actually tamper with it…

"We do that, they find out we hacked them," the girl explains, earning some more grimaces and disappointed looks from the other two, but, at least, they don't protest anymore.

"This is ridiculous," Sparkplug hisses after a moment of watching Prime and Megatron circle each other while growling like two fight dogs—or two angry bears, Chip can't decide which scares him more. "We shouldn't be here, watching this like kids a scary movie at night, without their parents knowing. We should be in the bridge, with Blaster and Red Alert and the rest, with subtitles. We shouldn't be hiding."

"I agree," the bespectacled teen answers, giving the older man a sad look over his shoulder. "But they're doing this for our own good. If this was just a distraction, to draw the Autobots out, the bridge would be the first place any Decepticon infiltrators would think to look for us."

"And if this isn't a distraction, but just another of Megatron's crazy schemes?" Raoul questions with a scowl, hands clenched into fists. "How do they know—"

"Soundwave's not there," Carly cuts, not looking away from the laptop's screen, and so attracting everyone's gazes back to it. "And neither are any of his Cassettes. Don't you think it's too much coincidence not to be a distraction? What other Decepticons have managed to get inside as many times as they have?"

The New Yorker curses under his breath, but says no more.

Carly makes a good point, after all.

And, besides, it wouldn't be as farfetched an idea, not when compared to other far crazier schemes the other faction has pulled over their time on Earth.

Megatron punches Optimus hard enough to send the Autobot leader rolling a distance away, facemask painfully bent inwards, and lifts his alight fusion cannon.

As one, all humans hold their breath, hoping for someone, for any of the other red-branded mechs they can see dealing with their own battles in the background, to realize the Prime is down and in need of help—

With a roar so full of pain that the spectators jump back with their own shrieks, the Slagmaker falls to his knees, servos tightly clenching his bucket-shaped helm as he grimaces in what they can only call agony.

He's not the only Decepticon that does so.

And the Autobots' only reaction is to step away from them in surprise as they analyze their surroundings warily, searching for whatever disabled their enemies so quickly and thoroughly—

Prowl stumbles with a chocked cry and falls down, doorwings pulled back and shaking harshly, as some others—the Terror Twins, most visibly—flinch back.

But Optimus stands up, tall and firm and staring down at the prone Megatron with too cold optics.

Chip sucks in a startled breath that doesn't get past his closed throat, and hears the others also suffering the same problem as they try to breath again.

Prime lifts his own gun, light filling the barrel—

With optics white, Megatron springs towards the opposing leader with an animalistic roar, crushing the weapon with a clench of a servo, delivering another punch with the free one that manages to rip the facemask off Optimus' faceplate before his fusion cannon's barrel is literally pressed against his enemy's chest—

A knife buries itself hilt-deep into the weapon, the charge dissipating with an electric jolt that sends the Decepticon stumbling back with a crackly gasp and the Autobot falling on his back—before Jazz jumps over his leader's fallen frame, faceplate serious and visor dark—not black, no matter that it looks so with so little light in it—to deliver a kick under Megatron's chin, making him step back even further and allowing the saboteur to rip the knife out of the fusion cannon and slash at the exposed throat—

Energon flashes as it sprays out of ripped metal and cut lines, but Megatron's frame hits the floor unharmed.

Jazz rolls under the large frame now on top of his, dislodging it with more kicking to crouch threateningly with a snarl on his faceplate.

Starscream stands tall instead, wings clicking out of place and spreading menacingly as Energon drips from the slashed open arm he used to push his leader away from the knife's path.

Lightning crackles through and over his null-rays, and his optics shine white as he shrieks a challenge to the suddenly apprehensive saboteur, who lowers himself further and clutches his knife tighter and steps away.

Cliffjumper lifts his gun, and shoots.

One of the null-rays explodes, and, at the backlash of energy, the other immediately follows.

But, rather than use the chance, Jazz shouts franctically at the rest of mechs as he steps even further away.

Wary and worried, the Autobots obey, even as Starscream recovers his footing and shrieks again, fanning wings that shouldn't be moving and ignoring the threads of energy now running all over his frame, lifting off the ground with a flash of his turbines that turn the ground to glass.

And strikes.

Still combined into Superion despite the unknown shock, the Aerialbots throw a hand out to stop the attack, to give the rest of red-branded mechs more time to pick their stunned companions up—

And Starscream crashes into it with so loud a clang that the humans wince despite themselves, going too fast despite the small distance to stop.

Doesn't mean he stays down.

Superion presses his hands together to trap the Seeker in his grasp, but the Decepticon is faster still, despite the impact, despite the cracks in plating and the patches of gray where paint has been rubbed off and the arm he can no longer move, and so shoots out of the grip before it can tighten, aiming for the helm—

The combiner jerks back as the Seeker's functional arm is buried in a giant optic, servos flailing and reaching for the attacker before more damage can be wrought—

But his movements are slowing down faster and faster as his whole gigantic body turns gray, tilting back—

When Superion hits the ground, fully gray, it breaks apart.

And not into the mechs integrating him, but into literal pieces.

Like a porcelain vase.

And, from the remains, a gray wraith rises, lightning rushing out of cracked armor and wrapping around pink-stained clawed servos and blazing in completely white eyes—

And marking black and white plating with scorched patterns as he's tackled out of the sky.

They roll a bit before disentangling, both standing tall and with wings spread in an intimidating display and with clawed dactyls curled threateningly as they snarl silently at each other.

Chip lets out the breath that got stuck in his throat with a rush that is immediately followed by a tiny terrified gasp, because, imposing as he may be, Prowl had never looked threatening before.

He does now.

Fortunately, Optimus and Megatron, each with their corresponding faction, whirr orders for retreat, if the others' actions are telling, and, after a tense eternity, the standoff ends as each group goes their own way.

The feed cuts.

None of the humans speak.

"Is Superion… the Aerialbots…" Raoul finally manages to let out after who knows how long, after everyone has finally recovered their breath but not yet their thoughts, and so Chip can only shake his head, eyes still wide.

"That… that never happened…" Carly whispers brokenly, voice chocked, but, despite not ending the sentence, they all know.

Before.

That never happened before.

There's a tap at the door before they can consider this further, making them jump and whirl around just as it opens.

Jazz smiles tiredly down at them.

"Hey, guys. Watcha doing?"

"You—But—You're back already?" Chip splutters, closing his laptop and abandoning it on his bed as they all rush to the saboteur after he enters and closes the door at his back, neither having realized just how long they'd been lost in thought before.

"But we just saw—What the Hell was that?! You tried to cut Megatron's throat open!" Carly shouts, attracting everyone's slack-jawed and wide-eyed stares at the out of character cussing.

"How did you…?"

"We hacked Teletraan to see what was going on," Chip explains, shaking himself out of his stupor before the others. "We couldn't just sit here and—"

"You did what?!" Jazz shouts, face distorting into a snarl that makes the humans step back in fear. "Are your processors rusted?! That was not a few chips short of sane, that was flat out suicidal! What if you'd been found out? What if they'd thought it was the Decepticons? What if they reacted before realizing it was you?!" he roars, turning with an arm lifted as if to hit the wall but freezing at the last second, frame shaking so harshly that the clanging of metal against metal fills the room. "You were brought here to protect you. And you go and…" he whispers, the shivering increasing for a second before stopping.

Suddenly.

As if the motor controls had been disconnected, which, if it's true, can't be healthy. At all.

Slowly, the lifted arm is lowered at the mech's side, and, equally calmly, he turns around to give them all a serious look that almost terrifies Chip more than the previous loss of control.

"The Decepticon attack was a distraction. Spike went to his home. We had planned for that as soon as we detected them moving, so we sent Bumblebee, Hound and Bluestreak to intercept him. We failed. The Combaticons had been sent as escort, and they didn't find out about them until it was too late. Bluestreak died, and the Cons got away with Spike. I'm sorry I snapped at you, but until we know what the Cons are—"

"Wait, you saw Spike?!" Sparkplug interrupts, worried and expectant, as he takes a step closer to the saboteur. "How is he? Did he get hurt?"

"Bluestreak's dead?" Carly whispers, broken voice loud in the silence that follows the older man's outburst, and finally delivering the painful sting that should've accompanied those words the first time, chocking Chip and making his eyes sting.

Bluestreak. Cheerful and talkative and always helpful Bluestreak.

Dead.

And Jazz stays immutable.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait for Bumblebee and Hound to return to hear the details of the mission, but yes. Bluestreak deactivated and Spike escaped."

"You couldn't get my son back? Despite everything, you couldn't?" Sparkplug whimpers, tears shining in his eyes as they do everyone else's.

"We did all we could."

"That isn't enough!" the man roars, slashing a hand as the tears fall down his cheeks, and, finally, Jazz reacts.

By flinching.

And twisting, slightly, so that the arm that was being repaired when Chip and Carly went to get the dividing curtain now around the girl's bed is kept out of range of a possible attack.

Sparkplug is frozen in place, startled at the uncharacteristic movement, and so are Raoul and Carly, but none seem to notice what the bespectacled teen has.

Maybe he's imagining it?

"I know," the saboteur whispers, head bowed and faceplate distorted with pain. "I know. It won't happen again."

"Jazz…"

"I have work to go back to. Please, excuse me," the Autobot answers instead, once more firm and emotionless, as he turns to the door and opens it—

And pulls a knife to a startled Windcharger's neck.

Before Tracks, just behind the Minibot, can react, the weapon is gone as fast as it came.

"State your intentions," Jazz orders in a low hiss, and, immediately, Windcharger steps back to stand at attention next to his fellow Autobot, both revealing the duffel and travel bags in their hands.

"We're here to deliver the humans' personal items, Sir. Second in Command Prowl asked us to retrieve them for their comfort," Tracks explains, visibly relaxing when Jazz nods and goes away without another word. "Holy Primus. That was scary."

"You have no idea," Windcharger whispers in agreement, rubbing his throat, before they finally notice the humans. "Hey, everyone. I think these are yours."

Raoul leaves with Tracks after that, while the Minibot accompanies Carly and Sparkplug to the lab so that they can distract themselves while doing something of profit, but Chip refuses, mind still running too fast to focus on anything else, so, instead, he checks the bag his parents prepared for him and sent with the Autobots, and arranges its contents in the small cupboard each of the humans has for themselves.

And, in doing so, a book falls down.

One of his coding manuals.

He can't help but smile softly when he sees it.

Chip has learnt far more than any human could about tecnology and coding just by being around Cybetronians, he doesn't need that kind of books anymore. But, still. He has to appreciate his parents' efforts to make him feel at home, even if it's just with one of his advanced coding manuals instead of the shelves full of them he has back in his room.

So, it is with fondness that he picks the tome up.

And freezes.

Because the book fell open, and so he has managed to catch a glimpse of its pages when he picked it up.

There was only text.

There should be images, lines of code, statistics.

He didn't see them.

Thus, Chip leans against the back of his wheelchair, wondering if he shouldn't take a break from everything if he's so far out that he can't recognize coding anymore, opening the book from its beginning.

And, hidden behind his round glasses, his eyes widen in shock at the only sentence in the otherwise blank page.

After the Ark: Nominus Prime and the Illusion of Progress.

AN: Whoo! Back at last! Took me waaay too long.

Sooo... Yep. That.

I can only say that next chapter will cover Spike's part of the events, plus maybe a bit extra, as well as, perhaps, some explanations about this chapter as well.

And, yes, the 'come to the Dark Side, we have cookies' thing actually happened. Couldn't be stopped.

Also, anyone still harboring hopes that this story won't keep on walking the Dark Road can forget about those, 'cause, as Spike said, this is War.

War's not nice. Ever.

That said, hope to read you all again soon!