For what seems like the first time in his life, Sparkplug doesn't berate his son when Spike curses loudly.

Nor does the boy himself care.

This situation merits any and all swear words.

The door creaks once more under the assault, the metal groaning painfully—

But not drowning the moaning of the Body-Snatchers on the other side.

Soundwave is kneeling on the ground, head tightly clutched in his servos, with the Witwicky at his feet and Bumblebee pointing his gun at the door.

Through the dirty and cracked windows of the warehouse, the teenager can see the silhouettes of what once were living mechs, now completely unrecognizable unless he focuses.

He doesn't want to do that.

He doesn't want to look at one for a bit too long, and find a name to call it for.

The hinges squeak, bending slowly, and the Minibot takes a step back, plating tightly pressed against his struts.

A louder crash—

And shooting from the outside.

Slowly, as a roaring sound grows louder, the silhouettes start to vanish, the voices moaning becoming less and less…

Until there's just silence.

Before someone knocks at the door.

"If there's someone in there, get out!"

Soundwave stands up and walks to the door, the rest following.

Thundercracker and Skywarp are standing there, Starscream a bit further ahead scanning their surroundings.

The gigantic city is dark, only the moonlight helping them see.

It's also deserted, not even dead bodies on the streets.

"Come on, before something else decides to try to get us. This is our chance to leave Simfur, the Autobot forces are waiting outside the walls." The blue Seeker explains, and without another word, they start to walk.

An eternity goes by without any change, every street they turn into, every building they walk past identical to the last.

Until Starscream guides them into an alleyway, dark enough that not even the ground is seen.

A light before them flickers, some kind of lamp, and they freeze, eyes on the figure under it.

Smaller than the Fliers, but still bigger than Bumblebee, and with sensor horns on his helm and a characteristic black and white scheme.

The visor is offline.

"Jazz, has the passage been cleared? Is it safe to cross?" Starscream asks, still at the front of their small group, the other two Seekers at the back.

The Head of Spec Ops smirks, widely and menacingly.

"Not a soul in it." He whispers, his voice echoing eerily in the alley. "And not a soul will be."

The lamp turns off, and Jazz's visor comes online.

Shining a bright blood red.

"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome." The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, but the mouth under the band of red, shining as if it had a fire inside, moves with the words. "He'll eat your soul, turn your spark to stone."

"Run!" Starscream shouts, arms snapping up so that shoulder-mounted guns point at the saboteur.

"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome." The lamp flickers again, this time red, and, with each flash, the Autobot's body changes a bit more, growing taller, thinner, hands curling clawed fingers menacingly, sharp teeth distorting that impossible smile even more, tentacles ended in sharp pincers rising from the former TIC's back. "Run, little mechling, run away home."

Moaning comes from behind, and Spike whirls around just in time to see the alley entrance be blocked by a sea of black and misshapen frames, red and blue optics and visors the only light from that end, the shadows pilling to thrice the Seeker's height—

There's a rip of metal, and, horrified, the boy turns to see Jazz's chest slashed open from the inside, sharp edges of the broken plates dripping Energon, but his heart-stopping smile is still in place as he takes a step closer, lifting his hands—

Starscream bends back impossibly as his own chassis bursts open, a bright sphere of white light floating out of the hovering body and resting on the saboteur's claws, who brings it up to his mouth—

As soon as he bites on it, the spark is snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

The Seeker's frame falls to the ground with loud clanging, but immediately stands up as if nothing happened, chest open and the same horrifying smirk on his faceplate as Jazz.

"I told you to run." The black and white Autobot chuckles, voice still echoing, and Spike turns around to do so, but the Body-Snatchers are already on them, Thundercracker's shots doing nothing while Skywarp is on the ground with Soundwave ripping the Flier's guns off, an empty gaping hole that should be a mouth where his facemask was—

Something grabs him, squeezing tighter the more he fights against it, and lifts him, bringing him up to a hellish sharp-toothed grin and blood-colored visor, and the teenager struggles even more against the tentacle's grip, the mouth opening more and more under his feet to reveal a roaring fire—

"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome…"

He falls.

And slams to the ground hard enough to leave him without breathe, stilling his struggles long enough to recognize his own sheets wrapped around him.

He quickly gets rid of them, cold sweat making him shiver even as he manages to realize he's in his room.

Nightmare.

None of it was real.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Spike tries to calm down, getting off the floor and looking at his alarm clock.

When he sees the numbers in it, he immediately discards the thought of trying to get back to bed.

Maybe a shower and a good cup of coffee can help him instead.

Bumblebee is impossibly oblivious.

That, or he's just that good at noticing how his human friend doesn't want to talk about his unusual quietness.

Though perhaps it's because he's discussing football with Sparkplug.

One way or another, Spike's left alone to look outside the window as the desert goes by, trying to push away all remnants of the nightmare.

With the happy banter in the Beetle, the pure blue sky, the warm sun and the miles upon miles of unblocked view, it's easy.

So, when they arrive at the Ark, the boy is joking as usual with the other human and the Autobot.

And then, en route to the bridge, the lights go out.

"What happened?" Sparkplug asks curiously, and the teenager forces himself to take a deep breath when he sees blue optics casting light on a white faceplate.

This is nothing like his nightmare.

So, despite being swallowed by darkness, he finds himself relaxing.

"Perceptor said he had some modifications to apply to the power grid, so I guess he got permission." Bumblebee answers nonchalantly, the shrug almost heard in his voice.

"And how long—" The lights come back again and, blinking madly to get used to them, Spike waves the question away. "Never mind."

Bumblebee chuckles, and the teenager turns around to scowl at him, or something—and what he sees is so like his nightmare than he lets out a scared cry and steps into his father.

The Minibot whirls around in surprise, one arm up and ready to slam a fist into his attacker, but he stops when he sees Jazz's hands up in a 'I'm unarmed' gesture, smiling sheepishly.

"Trying to test mechs' awareness again?" The Beetle asks with a chuckle, relaxing and letting his hand down, and the saboteur reboots one half of his visor in a blink.

"The lights have been going on and off all day. How could I let this pass?" The Head of Spec Ops answers, and Bumblebee snorts.

"How many?"

"The twins, Ironhide—got a dented shoulder plate for that, see?—Ratchet, Cliffjumper and Prime."

"You got Prime?"

"Best of all, Prowler was with him." The yellow Autobot bursts out laughing. "Yup, that's what I did after. Prowl was the only one that saw me coming." Jazz adds cheerily, before turning his attention to the humans. "Now, where should I put you? You saw me too, but you were as scared as Sideswipe."

And Spike opens his mouth to answer, but finds himself closing it with a gulp, trying to convince himself that the wide grin and dark blue visor of the mech that tried to surprise Bumblebee are not the same as the impossibly wide smile and blazing red band of the one from his nightmare.

It's being pretty difficult to do so, though, more so because Jazz is still smirking sharply—ah, no, now he's sobering and… is that worry in the darkening visor?

"Spike? Are you alright?"

"I… Yes, yes, I'm fine now." He manages, along a tremulous small smile, but the saboteur kneels down with a serious look.

"Not buying that. You sounded like you'd seen a monster or something."

Expecting some kind of jab, like 'and I'm not that ugly' or something along those lines, the teenager stays silent.

But it doesn't come, and that's almost worse than the seriousness of the TIC.

Though it's relaxing, too, helping separate dream from reality.

"I had a nightmare. You… reminded me of something in it." He answers with a dismissing shrug, hoping to clear the situation with that.

The dark blue visor seems to grow brighter without changing its color.

"Meaning I was the monster in it." It's not a question, the words almost dripping with certainty. "Tell me about it."

"It's not—"

"Tell me."

Startled by being cut off, though more by the no-nonsense tone of the saboteur, Spike freezes for an instant.

"I was in a warehouse. With Bee, Dad and… Soundwave." No reaction. "We were… hiding. There were… Outside, all around the building, trying to get in… There were Body-Snatchers." Bumblebee tenses. "I… don't remember it clearly, but I think they were… the rest of you guys." He gestures vaguely to the two Autobots to symbolize the faction as a whole, and the Minibot's optics pale. "And then… there were shots, and the Body-Snatchers… were taken care of." Because there were no bodies when they walked outside, but dreams are weird like that. "It was Starscream and his Trine. They told us to get out, that we needed to leave the city and that… the Autobots were waiting outside." He looks away for an instant, because he clearly remembers that part, something that should have been enough to clue him in the fact it was a dream. "They said the city was Simfur." But, again, there's no reaction from the saboteur. "We followed Starscream… And I don't know why we didn't fly away, now that I think about it, but… Well. The thing is we got to an alley where we were supposed to… I don't know what. Get through a tunnel, or something. And there we met the guy that was supposed to make sure we could get out."

"Me." Jazz adds when the boy looks at him, and Spike can only nod, gulping again. "Was I a Body-Snatcher too?" Unable to get words through his throat, the teenager shakes his head.

"Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome…"

He shivers so hard that his hands go to his upper arms to try and keep himself together.

"Worse." The saboteur keeps going, judging his reaction—and his visor pales in surprise, before that brief reaction is smothered by a pained grimace. "Oh, Primus. Guess I brought it on myself with that traditional rhyme. What did the me from your nightmare do?"

"He changed. And tried to eat me." He lets out with a small voice, and the Head of Spec Ops mutters to himself in Cybertronian.

"Well, slag me. Can only tell you that I'm not about to go around trying to eat humans, then." The mech answers at last with a small soft smile.

"And ripping mechs in half to eat their sparks?" Jazz groans as if in pain, burying his faceplate in his servos.

"Slag the me from your nightmare. No, I won't go around being all Spark Eater-y, and I promise the only tentacle thingy you'll ever see from me is my grappling hook." He answers, patting his forearm with a proud smirk at the last words.

Before he realizes it, Spike finds himself snickering, the cold grasp of fear vanishing.

"Thanks Jazz. That really helped."

"Anytime, buddy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to borrow Bumblebee. He's been sneaking out of the training room too much to be considered training anymore." The yellow Autobot moans dejectedly, and both humans burst out laughing. "See you around!"

"Later Jazz. Take care, Bee."

"Will try." The Minibot adds before disappearing around the corner with the white and black mech.

"So that's why you were awake so early." Sparkplug muses out loud, giving his son a deep look that makes him feel like a child again. "You know, someday you'll have to tell me what happened yesterday."

"I… later. Please."

After a second of simply staring at each other, the man smiles and pats his shoulder.

"Alright. Now, come on. I need to talk to Wheeljack and you're coming with me."

Curious, the teenager simply nods and follows, their conversation turning once more to sports before they reach the doors to the labs.

Calmly, the older human pounds a fist against the door in the human version of knocking in a Cybertronian ship, since the doorbell installed on the side especially for them got fried during one of the scientist's last experiments.

After a couple of seconds, loud footsteps approach and the door opens to reveal the Lancia himself.

"Spike, Sparkplug! I'm glad I've got to see you again. The doorbell should work now." Wheeljack salutes happily, gesturing to the side before taking a step back. "Come inside. How can we help you?"

"Actually, could you step outside for a minute?" As confused as the Autobot, the boy turns to his father.

Taking a look back to see Skyfire nod as answer to keep an eye on whatever the green and red-marked mech is working on, the Lancia complies, the door closing at his back as he kneels down, fins flashing the same curious blue of his optics.

"What is it?"

"Could we see you without your facemask?"

And it all slams into Spike at that.

The explanation about Road Runners, and how facemasks were an accessory… and the deal that Sparkplug would get Wheeljack to take off his while Spike convinced Prime.

And Ratchet telling them that as long as he wasn't in his laboratory, they should have no trouble with the inventor, but that they would have to work harder to see the Cargo's uncovered faceplate.

Wheeljack reboots his optics a couple of times, his fins shining paler as his surprise grows, before a purring chuckle fills the corridor.

"Sure."

And the facemask slides to one side, seemingly vanishing in the space between helm and faceplate, to reveal a wide amused grin—

"Are those scars?" Spike splutters before he can stop himself, eyes on the parallel lines crossing over the mech's lips almost vertically, one longer than the other.

"They are." The scientist answers, grin still in place, as a dactyl caresses the thin gouges in an otherwise immaculate pale silver face. "Ratchet was pretty angry when I got them, and said that he was so tired of fixing my faceplate that he simply wouldn't do it anymore. So, I got my facemask instead. They were quite useful at the beginning… you know how I usually think better like this?" One servo covers his lower face, index finger tapping absentmindedly, before it's taken off. "Well, if I could feel the scars, it meant I couldn't get to work, because I had to put my facemask on first. But if I couldn't feel them—" The curved slab of metal slides into place, hand once more covering it and tapping on it. "—it meant I could experiment, because my facemask was on."

"Aren't they… uncomfortable?"

"Not at all." The Autobot answers, facemask once more slipping out of sight. "They're merely cosmetic, otherwise Ratchet would have repaired them and given me my facemask." The humans chuckle at that, the wide smile on Wheeljack's face a strange but not unwelcome sight. "Anything else?" Both humans exchange a look, the adult shaking his head in answer, before Spike's face lights up.

"I don't remember asking you, and you don't have to answer if it's uncomfortable or anything, but… do you have any creations?" The teenager asks, sheepish yet curious.

Wheeljack falls on his butt, laughing almost madly.

"Good one, Spike!" The Autobot manages to chuckle after a bit, but, when he sees the confused looks on the Witwicky, his large smile turns to surprise. "Wait, you were serious?"

"Well, yes. Why would I ask if I wasn't?"

"I thought you knew. I mean, it's not a secret, so I assumed you had been already told." Father and son exchange a look, asking the other if they know what is going on. "Well, lucky me, then! I get to be the one to tell you." The scientist adds chirpily, crossing his legs and leaning forward with a bright smile. "Yes, I have creations, and yes, you know them."

Spike's mouth falls open in disbelief, and a look reveals the older man in the same situation.

There are related Autobots on Earth, other than Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and no one ever thought to tell them?!

"I was the lucky one, you see. I got twins, and both of them matured without problem." The Lancia continues as happy as a kid in a candy store, before looking down at the humans.

Silence.

"Twins." Sparkplug repeats before sitting down, shaking his head softly. "Must admit I didn't see that coming."

"You're Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's dad?" The boy asks, overwhelmed, as he revises all situations involving the three mechs in case there was some situation he'd overseen.

"No, I'm not. Why did you—? Oh! You mean you don't know they're twins?" Wheeljack asks, tapping a fist against his open servo in realization.

"What?"

"Alright, let me explain the whole situation then. No, I'm not Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's creator. I'm Grimlock and Slag's."

"What?!"

"What's all that noise?" A voice calls from the end of the corridor, and they all turn to see a grimacing Ironhide approach. "What did you do this time, Wheeljack?"

"Nothing." The inventor answers with a pout, before smiling widely again. "They didn't know about the Dinobots, so I'm telling them."

"You mean they don't know they're our newsparks?"

"Our?" Spike repeats with a squeak, gaping up at the red mech.

"I'm Sludge's carrier-creator." The teenager plops down next to his dumbstruck father. "Huh. So they didn't."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too when they asked me if I had creations. I mean, what are the chances?" Wheeljack asks, shrugging nonchalantly. "Well, since it's not a secret, let me tell you Cliffjumper is Snarl's carrier-creator, and Sunstreaker is Swoop's."

"Which is one of the reasons we thought you already knew. Sideswipe loves to talk about Swoop."

"I thought he did that because he's a Flier." The boy whispers, but knows he's been heard when both Autobots exchange amused looks.

"That's one of the reasons, yes. After all, 'Streaker isn't telling anyone about his ancestry, and neither is Sideswipe, but none of them would ever reveal anything about merging partners, so… Mechs like to talk." Ironhide explains with a lopsided grin while Wheeljack snickers.

"And what wild talks those are. Ever heard about one of those 'the twins really like Fliers' comment?" Spike's mouth falls open, yet another joke he'd thought was about one thing turning out to be a completely different one.

Both Autobots break out laughing at his face.

"Come on, let's get you distracted before you burn a connection or something." Wheeljack adds with a chuckle, standing up before grabbing one human in each servo.

"But… I thought you built the Dinobots?" The teenager asks after a moment, pushing away unwanted scenes involving golden plating and wings to focus on more important—or less scarring—things.

"That's because we don't have Newspark Protoforms here. The adaptable pieces we had were too little for the three we knew were maturing, especially once I confirmed I was carrying twins, so we had to improvise." The Lancia explains, his tone more subdued, almost to the point it sounds a bit sad. "We gave them the best frames we could, taking into account they would be newsparks thrown into the battlefield, but we had to make do with the processors. We may be able to get them some real Newspark Protoforms to transfer their sparks to so that they can get a real Cybertronian frame once the war is over, but… we can't replace the processors." And that is explanation enough to confirm Wheeljack is feeling sad and why.

"They're great mechs, but their processing capabilities are stunted. They can think, and quite complexly, but it takes a lot of energy to do so, and their processors aren't built to sustain too much at the same time. That's why we decided to sacrifice some small routines, like speech, so that they could think more, even if they talked slightly incoherently. Shame, Sludge is quite bright when he decides to stay still and think a bit more than usual." Ironhide adds, more frustrated than saddened.

"I'd say. If we'd had real Newpark Protoforms we'd probably have another scientist around now." The Lancia adds with a smile, and the red mech returns it with a crooked grin.

"Hey, he's my creation. What did you expect?"

"What's a carrier-creator?" Sparkplug asks after some seconds, when it becomes clear the conversation is over.

"It's the name the creator receives when the newspark is a split-spark, since there has been no other mech to participate in the process, no co-creator."

"Creator is a far broader term than 'father'. It's more like 'parent' because of the fact a newspark can be created by a mech alone, so that there's only one creator. However, to distinguish in the event of a spark merge newspark, the mech that carries the newspark is the carrier, while the other creator is just called that, creator." Wheeljack elaborates, and Spike hurries to get his notebook out to add that new data to his notes.

"Nice to know." He mutters once he's done, and, when he looks up, he sees the door to the Rec Room open. "Any other essential piece of information that we should be aware of?"

"As far as we know, no. Unless you want details on interfacing…" The teenager shakes his head so quickly that his vision swims for a moment when he stops, just before he's deposited on a table. "Then no, nothing more."

"Whoa Wheeljack! What's the deal?" Jazz asks, appearing from seemingly nowhere and making the humans jump with startled yelps. "Oops, sorry. Autobot here, nothing special or remarkably different when comparing to when we last saw each other except for the dented shoulder that's no longer dented." He adds sheepishly, taking a step away from the table and cheerily gesturing to his intact shoulder plate. "Bumblebee is with Mirage running some drills, so I decided to take a break."

He's so glaringly different from the Jazz of his nightmare that Spike only realizes his overtly exaggerated cheeriness is because of that when he starts to ponder if the saboteur hasn't received a really hard knock to the helm to act that way.

When he finally notices, he has to laugh.

"It's alright, Jazz. Thanks anyway." He answers between chuckles, and the Head of Spec Ops finally closes the distance and sits down.

"Anytime, little buddy."

"I have the feeling we're missing something." Ironhide comments to Wheeljack, who shakes his head with confusion.

"Spike hits harder than you 'Hide. Ratchet fixed my shoulder plate, but I'm not sure he could put me back together if I startled this deceivingly harmless human again." The saboteur answers cheekily, receiving a glare from the Weapons Specialist. "So, what's the deal with the facemask, Wheeljack?"

"Spike and Sparkplug wanted to see my faceplate." The inventor answers calmly, and the black and white mech nods.

"Hey, Jazz." The teenager calls, attracting the Head of Spec Ops' attention, and has to discard two sentences before finally finding one that would ask what he wants without offending anyone. "Do you have optics under the visor?"

Though that one sounds quite tactless too.

"Nope. Cybertronian have two settings for visual sensors arrangement." He answers calmly, lifting two dactyls to explain before folding one back. "Arranged in optics or arranged in visual band. Aka, visor." He adds while pulling the other dactyl away before gesturing to his faceplate. "And yours truly was lucky enough to be gifted with this handsome arrangement."

All the other on and around the table snort.

"Is there a major difference?"

"Many. Optics allow continued visual input even if one is offline, while visors tend to become inactive when they are damaged. However, visors allow a wider range of wavelength readout, but optics have farther optimal reach." Wheeljack explains instead, and, slightly confused, Spike turns to the amused saboteur.

"If you close one eye, you still have the other to see. Visors don't have another 'eye' to see through if they go offline for whatever reason." He explains, and the boy nods at that. "Also, optics can see further more clearly than visors, but visors can see many spectrums, like heat vision or radiation readouts, that optics normally can't access."

"Cool."

"Quite hot, actually." Jazz answers with a wink, and it isn't until he sees the sharp grin slowly growing on the black and white mech's faceplate that he realizes what he's talking about.

He can only laugh at that.

"Figures you would say that." Sparkplug muses with a chuckle, shaking his head, and the saboteur leans against the table cockily.

"Just telling the truth, my mech."

"Showoff." Ironhide mutters with a scoff, shoving the smaller mech off, but Jazz just whirls around on his seat to rest his elbows on the table and his helm on his fists, looking down at the humans with amusement and curiosity.

"Anything else that requires my amazing translation skills? Or my unending knowledge?"

Wheeljack snickers as the Weapons Specialist grimaces, and, taking up his offer, Spike leaves through the written pages of his notebook.

Some recounts of past adventures, a list of the main points of Cybertronian creation, the Legend behind the frame types, his notes on Road Runners—

Road Runners.

"Jazz, what's your frame type?" He asks, looking up from the pages to the incredibly amused saboteur.

"Why'd you ask that?"

"'Cause I don't know." He deadpans, and the black and white mech nods.

"Fair enough. I'm an Hybrid." After a blink, Spike frowns and turns back to his notebook, trying to find out which frame type was 'Hybrid'… but the Head of Spec Ops' laughter makes him look up again in confusion. "I meant literally. I'm a mix of other frame types."

The teenager's jaw falls open.

"That's possible?"

"Yup. A newspark is created when all the essential coding and enough energy are put together, right? Well, the essential coding doesn't have to necessarily be all of the same frame type, nor does the non-essential coding. A mech can be a Minibot in his essential coding but a Cargo in the non-essential, with which you'll end with a Minibot-sized Cargo, or a Minibot with Cargo characteristics. Like Huffer."

"Huffer is a…" But Spike cuts himself even before he finishes the question, because Huffer is a Minibot that turns into a semi truck. "Didn't see that coming."

"Which is why I told you." Jazz answers cheekily, and the teenager snorts, going to his frame type list to add about Hybrids—and stops mid-sentence.

"Wait. If Huffer is a Hybrid, why do you call him a Minibot?"

"Because every Hybrid mech has a primary frame type, with added details, parts or capabilities from another. It's just that sometimes the secondary frame type is more visible than the first. So, we have Huffer, a Minibot with Cargo additions."

"How do you know he's not a Minibot-sized Cargo?"

"He's not Cargo enough." All three mechs answer in unison, and father and son exchange a confused look.

"It's a Cybertronian thing. Cargo are easily recognizable by any other mech." Wheeljack explains with a small smile when he sees their faces. "Even when they're as grumpy as Ironhide here."

"Har har."

"You're a Cargo?" Both humans ask at the same time, startled.

"Model Covered Flatbed, ridiculous as it sounds in your Earthen languages." The red mech answers with a nod, straightening proudly. "Tough, great endurance, and not big enough to be as much of a target as Prime."

"But with a far nastier temper than any other Cargo model." Jazz chirps, leaning back sharply to avoid a punch from the Weapons Specialist, smirking all the while as the larger mech scowls.

"So, what's your main frame type?" Spike asks the saboteur, trying to keep his chuckling at bay, after he finishes his notes on Hybrids, Huffer and Ironhide, turning to look at the Head of Spec Ops.

His almost feral smirk makes his quickly go over his words, trying to see what he's said so that he may turn it back.

He's just asked about Jazz's frame type, hasn't he?

… The Rec Room is silent.

Utterly unnerved, the teenager looks around, finding all optics and visors turned their way as the mechs listen attentively, not even trying to be discreet.

"Did I say something?" He whimpers, turning to the equally alert Wheeljack and Ironhide.

"Nah, don't worry about them." Jazz answers with a dismissing wave, leaning closer to the boy still with that wide smirk on his faceplate. "You know what? Since you're one of my best buddies, I'll tell you about my main frame type." Spike gulps, but can't help but lean forward a bit at what he know recognizes as a giddily secretive expression, if such a thing is possible. "My main frame type… is confidential information."

The collective groan that fills the Rec Room is enough to make the teenager jump, before he finally processes what the Head of Spec Ops has said.

"What?!" He asks, slightly miffed.

"It's a High Clearance piece of data, and you don't have the clearance for it, I'm afraid. Only Autobot High Command and the Chief Medical Officer are cleared to access those files." The black and white mech answers with a cheery smile.

"So just Optimus, Prowl, Ratchet and you know what you are? Isn't that unfair?"

"Frame type is a key element of a mech. A lot of how they behave, act and are able to do depends of or is effected by their frame type. Information is power, and knowing is half the battle. It's easy to know such a detail with Vector Sigma created or pure line mechs, like Mirage, but Hybrids are a whole other deal, 'cause no two of them show the same characteristics nor with the same degree, but some times they don't even have any visible or scannable traits, which means not only do you need to know what's the main frame type, but what's the secondary one, what amount of the mech it influences and to which degree, as well as if there are any tertiary or even quaternary frame types. Which, to tell the truth, is almost just a theory, but I seem to recall there was at least a couple of listed designations about both examples. Usually, they're Triple Changers." Jazz continues calmly, once more leaning against the table. "So, you're one of my best buddies and a great being, in general and when it comes to humanity, but for my sake and that of the Autobot faction, which includes you, your father, any other relatives and your friends, I can't disclose that."

"Huh."

"Want me to repeat that so you can write it down?"

"Give me a moment."

After about a minute, Spike manages to shake enough of the shock off for the saboteur to explain things more slowly.

Once he's done, however, the teenager can find his mind reeling again, but this time in awe.

"You guys are a lot more complex than you look at a first glance. And you look really complex with just one look."

"We're hot like that."

"If I didn't know you were joking, I would correct you."

"Hey, I have to show some way that I've mastered the use of English, and what better way than to make use of idioms and second meanings?"

"Not cool, mech."

"I know." Jazz answers with another wink, and Spike laughs again.

So long as he doesn't get too specific with how hot or why anyone is, and how he could 'deal' with it, the teenager feels like he can survive with his brain unscarred.

Though there are times he wishes the Autobots didn't know how little the humans are aware of when it comes to creation, or that the boy himself still hadn't realized that.

Life was a lot easier when he didn't have to look for hidden meanings.

AN: At last I get this out. My apologies, Ironhide didn't want to cooperate.

First, we get the whole 'horror' thing out of the way. Once more, Jazz is quoting IDW's More Than Meets the Eye.

Second, we get one part of the dare out of the way. Now, only Spike vs Optimus' facemask remain. By the way, Wheeljack's scars are from his Prime counterpart. It was a joke thing that wasn't supposed to be posted, but it quickly grew an explanation that I couldn't say no to, so it staid.

Third... Yes, I went there. I just can't accept the fact the Dinobots are sparkless robots. I can't. The only other explanation, then, was that they are Cybertronian, but with that there came quite a bit of questions. Since I don't know if/when it will come up in further chapters, I'll answer the only unanswered query that Wheeljack and Ironhide didn't clear here: The reason why so many newsparks popped up in the first place (three in one go and two more later) is because of the four million year long stasis. The sparks were running at a low, as in, really low, but since they didn't have to deal with the frame, what did they do? Replicate coding. And then, the volcano erupts, and the Ark is suddenly not only reformatting the frames, but giving them an energy boost the likes of which they haven't received in four million years. In the space of time it takes the sparks to have the processor debugged and everything that the Ark's self repair ray thingy didn't deal with ready, there was a lot of extra energy around. And energy boost plus extra coding copies means newsparks. With probabilities being what they are, most of them were just reabsorbed, but two mechs managed to get viable ones, with one of those newsparks splitting into twins that, lucky Wheeljack, were both viable. So, taking into account the difference in time meassurements, we have the Autobots being strayed on Earth, sending the Decepticons underwater, and realizing they are carrying. However, even after the whole 'waking up' thing, there are still lots of extra coding 'swimming around' in the Autobots' intermediate layer, so, until the sparks and frames finally dealt with it all, there were some more non-viable newsparks... until Sunstreaker and Cliffjumper. Congratulations, it's a Dinobot!

End of the explanation.

As of for why the carrier-creators are who they are, it may be explained further on, so I'll just leave it at their names.

The thing about Sludge being a really intelligent mech is from Shattered Glass (or from some kind of Shattered Glass fanfic, I can't remember if it's really canon), in which he's some kind of genius.

Visors and optics. You don't know how slagging long I've been waiting to write this ("Hey, Jazz. Do you have optics under the visor?" "Nope. Cybertronian have two settings for visual sensors arrangement. Arranged in optics or arranged in visual band. Aka, visor.") I have nothing against visors in the human sense of something to cover the eyes with, like sunglasses or an addition to the helm, but I just can't see it (no pun intended). I mean, there are so many mechs with visors, and you're telling me they're just 'wearing sunglasses'? Not. Computing. So there, visor or optics, not visor and optics. Glad to have that out of my system.

Hybrids. They came up as soon as did the frame type division. The perfect explanation for the oddballs (and Jazz), like Huffer and Powerglide (and Jazz), so there you have them (and Jazz).

Hope that mess of information wasn't too much!

Qwertzu: I swear it wasn't my intention to have a 180 degree turn from 'humor' to 'horror', it was supposed to be an independant chapter kind of thing, but ever since it grew a plot, this fic has becomes hopelessly untamable. I'm glad at least you readers like this, because Primus knows I'm having a hard time dealing with it (along all the other plot bunnies that keep attacking me, darn pests!). In Spike's defense, he's a teenager in the middle of an alien civil war and is dealing with things completely out of his depth here. But yes, he can be thoughtless. Hopefully, he'll learn. Also, hopeless Seeker fan here too XP Thank you for the reviews ^^