I must really love you guys. Either that or I'm the world's biggest sucker. I typed this up on a ten-year-old desktop PC that doesn't even have Word. I ended up using Notepad, which was a lesson in anger management as well as an eye-opener on how much I rely upon auto-correct.

And I broke a promise to myself: I tried to write that psycho muppet Frenzy. I don't know how I did, honestly, because he's so weird and very few others have written him. Still, that part had to be done, not only because I love Barricade, but also because there's an annoying little requirement in stories with plots called setting the stage. The play ain't much fun if it's only got one actor, even if that one is Jazz.

Just so y'all know, I haven't got the faintest idea what a number four at McDonald's is, as I rarely eat there. Or even if the number four in one place is the same as in another.

Disclaimer: This is getting old, especially since the message never changes: I own nothing.

--

She'd given him money.

Jazz was still having a hard time understanding all of this. About a month ago he died as a mech and about an hour ago he woke up as a human. He was on the roof of a building he'd never seen in a city he'd never been in. Then a human had helped him as requested by the voice in her head, a voice he also happened to be hearing. Now she had given him money, and he could easily guess how important this odd green stuff was to humans.

When he left the apartment building he had decided to get something to eat, then find someplace where he could plan out his next actions. He settled on a library, a place where the humans compiled information. Libraries were open to the public; plus he could access the Internet there through one of those awkwardly primitive computers. He could easily hack any firewalls between him and his goal- he had lost his technological advantage but not his intimate understanding of the digital realm. Even as human, armed with only a mediocre machine, he could have the world on a platter.

His plan, such as it was, started with finding Sam. Bumblebee was probably still acting as the boy's guardian, so from there it would be easy. The main problem was in traveling- this corner of the country had an environment that was not exactly friendly to humans.

Still, the more you planned in advance the greater the chances of something going wrong, as Jazz had cheerfully said several times. He couldn't help but smile as he thought of how Prowl twitched whenever he heard something like that.

And then it had occurred to him that he couldn't do anything if he couldn't pay for it.

So he had headed to a library, stopping and asking people along the street. Most didn't know but one pointed him towards something called UNLV, saying it had a library with public access. And Jazz found himself walking in a heat that made him feel like he had doubled in weight, stumbling over his flip flops almost as frequently as not. The hunger was growing to painful proportions as his throat began to ache with thirst and his skin was secreting a liquid that itched in uncomfortable places and plastered his hair and clothes to his body.

Humans are fragile, Jazz, they need a lot o' maintenance, he reminded himself. Not nearly as resilient as mechs.

His eyes were burning, a deep throbbing pain he recognized, and he started to look for shade. When he'd been a sparkling he'd spent most of his time hiding in dark corners, and every time someone forced him out he kept his head down and would repeatedly ask if they could turn the lights off. It hadn't been until he became an Autobot that someone bothered to question this; in fact the first 'bot to care had been Ratchet. The medic had run scans and found the problem- Jazz's processor had a glitch that caused him to experience light and bold colors at several times the normal intensity. Rather than try anything complicated and risky Ratchet had simply given him a visor that protected his optics and toned down the light's impact. Jazz had always worn one since. Apparently that glitch was hard-wired into his being, because it was presenting itself again.

Trying not to wince with the pain Jazz slid into a store where the cool air and soft lights instantly made him feel better. He glanced around and took note of all the various useless little gadgets. A tourist shop, then, and he probably wouldn't find anything- hello, what's this?

"For a 'bot that s'posedly adapts to other cultures real well I can be kinda stupid sometimes," he muttered as he picked up his find.

Sunglasses. The ones he was holding were the wrap-around kind, with a highly reflective finish on the lenses, and he decided instantly that he liked it. Too bad he still couldn't buy anything. He put them back and slid his hands into his pockets, trying not to stare at the display case since he appeared to be making the clerk nervous. Then he frowned and pulled his left hand back out, several folded papers between two fingers.

Money. Three bills, one with a fifty and two with twenties, and one slip of paper upon which someone had written, you seemed to need this more than me so don't even try to give it back.

And now he was there, having a crisis of the conscience. The note and his basic necessity said to keep the money, but his inner Autobot wanted to return it. Finally the first side won and he picked the sunglasses back up, reminding himself that they were only optional as long as he didn't mind going around blind.

"'Bout how much would it cost t' get to Los Angeles?" he asked the clerk. The man stared back at him dully.

"How you gonna get there?"

That was a good question. Due to the insecure nature of their world the humans had gone paranoid, requiring small mountains of paperwork simply to prove they existed. They had an individual number assigned to them, records of when they were born, where they went to school, where they worked… If it wasn't so similar to Cybertron's war-time society Jazz would have found all this slightly invasive. Unfortunately for him he hadn't existed before today, at least not as a human, so he needed to find some way that didn't include providing valid identification.

"Not by plane," he answered as he tried to remember what options there were. While they had been orbiting the planet, waiting for Bumblebee's sign, Jazz had used his spare time to study the humans and their vibrant culture. However, it wasn't like he could've known to plan for something like this. His knowledge of the more mundane parts of human life was incomplete at best and so he kept getting caught up by it.

The clerk rang up the sunglasses and Jazz slid them on while the man snatched up one of the twenty bills. The saboteur rested one elbow on the counter and smiled at him, feeling immensely grateful for his education-via-television. Had it been Ironhide or Ratchet in his place they would have been doomed from the get-go. Prime had a way about him, a sort of quiet self-confidence that simply wouldn't let anything go too horribly wrong. People just wanted to like him, which would have been extremely useful. Bumblebee would have had it easy enough but he'd also been on Earth longer than the others. He already knew this planet and its inhabitants' odd customs.

"Bus, maybe," the man muttered. He dropped a bill marked five and a handful of change onto the counter and eyed the pile of money. "You might got enough."

"And this bus… would I need ID to get on?" Jazz gathered up his money and slid it back into his pocket. He would need to be careful of thieves, but he didn't want to spend any more.

"You get busted by the casinos?" Jazz blinked and frowned. The clerk grinned at him toothily. "Lose yer false ID or something?"

"False… ah. And how old d'you think I am?" That age thing again. False ID's were generally used by young humans wanting to appear older. The clerk studied him and grunted.

"Nineteen?" Give or take a couple dozen millennia. Jazz merely shrugged. "Yer gonna need something, most of 'em don't take cash anymore."

Wonderful. So now his only hope rested on somehow getting a hold of Bumblebee and convincing him to take a side trip to Vegas in order to pick up his once-dead-now-human teammate. This was going to be a little harder than he had first thought. He thanked the man and left the store, grinning as the sunlight filtered through the glasses. Much better.

Then he spotted a familiar sign, a pair of golden arches recognizable from countless commercials, and his stomach growled. He paused for a moment, reminding himself that he wanted to save his money for when he needed it. Then he asked himself when he would need it more than now. Humans were living balancing acts; if he didn't take care of himself he was gonna be in trouble in short order.

Which was why he found himself in the McDonalds' lobby three minutes later, sunglasses slid down just far enough for him to look over them and read the menu. From there, though, he was a bit lost. Cybertronians didn't have food; they didn't even have something resembling it. They had energon and that was it. He had never before had to choose the manner in which he regained lost energy. But humans seemed fond of fast food, and really, it wasn't as though he could find anything cheaper or easier.

He patiently waited his turn in line, still trying to figure out what he wanted. By the time he reached the counter he had decided on a method that had worked for him previously: he leveled a brilliant smile at the clerk and asked.

"So what's your favorite?"

The girl stared at him in response. Just as he was beginning to wonder if he'd said something wrong, she answered in a highly insulted tone.

"I don't eat here," she said, enunciating each word carefully. Jazz leaned slightly away from her, the venom in her voice advising him to not ask why.

"Okay then," he drawled, refusing to be cowed. "Then how 'bout I just get a number four?"

She rang up his order, took his money, gave him his change, and plopped an empty paper-like cup in front of him all without saying another word. The novelty of being human had not yet worn off, so Jazz maintained his good mood despite her. He smiled at her again and snatched up the cup and the receipt and turned away.

His determination faltered when he saw the selection at the soda machine. There were eight different types of soda, and Jazz once again found himself feeling like he'd just been tossed into the deep end of the pool. He considered the various stories he'd seen on the news channels- Optimus had made him watch as much CNN as MTV, which had bored him right out of his processor, but at least the big guy hadn't outlawed the hijacked signal altogether. Jazz found himself caught in an internal debate- diet was healthier, but he didn't plan on staying human for too long and wanted to enjoy it while he could. Finally he decided that there was time enough for caution later and went with the classic Coke. He took a cautious sip and, having not even the faintest idea what to expect, nearly spat it back out.

Having never tasted anything before, he could by no means describe the experience. Instead he took a longer drink, holding it in his mouth for a few seconds until his tongue began to tingle oddly. He convulsively swallowed, then peered down at the cup full of bubbly brown-black liquid.

How could humans be so fond of this stuff?

Still he continued to take occasional sips of it as he waited for his food, and eventually realized it was growing on him. By the time the girl set his food on the tray the cup was half-empty. Jazz refilled it and picked up his tray, shooting one last cheery grin at the clerk just to see her glare at him, then sauntered over to the tables and sat down. The cheeseburger he'd ordered was wrapped in paper; he peeled it off and stared at the thing. With more than a few misgivings he took a small bite.

Less than a minute later, the whole thing was gone. The French fries were rapidly following suit. He was thinking about getting something more when he noticed an odd feeling, a sort of pressure low in his abdomen. Gnawing absently at a French fry, Jazz replayed all the episodes of House he'd watched- the closest thing he had to a how-to manual on organic bodies. He didn't like the conclusion he drew.

What goes in must come out.

He steeled himself, reminding himself that he had to take the bad with the good , and headed over to the bathroom. When he walked in, he found himself to be immensely grateful for the sunglasses that hid his eyes, allowing him to stare around the smelly place. He watched as a man came out of one of the stalls and left, not even bothering to wash his hands. Then he imagined what would happen if he walked out now.

This… was utterly disgusting.

--

If anyone in the town of Cavalier ever noticed the Los Angeles police car sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned construction site, they never mentioned it. They certainly never went near the car, as even law-abiding folk were hesitant to approach a cop without good reason. Mostly it was assumed to be a joke, an old clunker given a face lift and positioned to scare the teenage vandals and the homeless drifters. And no one ever listened to the boy who insisted that when he went to spray-paint the side of the car, the damn thing stood up and almost stepped on him.

This was exactly how Barricade wanted it.

He had chosen this place called North Dakota because it was a fair distance from the Autobots' new base but still close enough that he could keep watch over them. In fact, the parking lot straddled the line of his sensor ranges- one stride in one direction and he could no longer scan the Autobots' signals, meaning they couldn't scan him. Thus he remained there, mostly sitting just under the line, although occasionally he would step out of range and put out another call to his fellow Decepticons. He had not yet received any answers, but there really was nothing else he could do, so he persevered.

He hated this planet, really he did. As a scout it had been his job to come here first and see how well the Autobot scout Bumblebee had fared in his search for ladiesman217. During his stay here he had lost track of his partner twice, sorely underestimated that slagging Autobot scout and got slagged for it, watched his fellow Decepticons get slaughtered by a bunch of fleshlings, and lost both the Allspark and his leader. Then that coward Starscream had just taken off, leaving him to sit here and rust.

"Nnnnnn barri-barri-cade! Openopenopen!"

And this had to be the biggest reason of all. His partner had never been the steadiest of 'cons, but as he'd had his circuits scrambled three times since landfall, he had gone from twitchy to outright dangerous. The little mech was now dancing by Barricade's passenger door, his feet sliding as though he were standing on ice. When the bigger mech failed to react within a tenth of a second the hacker gave a shrill screech and stabbed one of his digit-blades into the keyhole.

Barricade roared and his door exploded open, swatting Frenzy with ridiculous ease. The hacker sailed through the air, trailing a line of curses and threats that probably would have been impressive if his words hadn't tripped over each other and become one big static-riddled pile of gibberish. After a moment there was silence, then the scout's sensors picked up the clattering noise of Frenzy approaching at full gallop. He waited until the last possible moment, when the little mech had launched himself into a flying leap, before slamming the door shut.

The following impact undoubtedly left a few marks on both of them.

There were a few minutes of confusion afterward, as Frenzy's new viewpoint allowed him easy access to Barricade's undercarriage. The scout, for his part, tried to avoid the quick little monster's attacks without doing any real damage to either of them, as neither remotely passed for a medic and any injuries they obtained had to be suffered through. Finally he lost his patience and transformed, snatching the smaller 'con up and dropping him into his anti-Frenzy tube.

It had originally been a large metal pipe, possibly intended for a sewer according to the Internet. Barricade had stood it on end, one hole pressed against the gravelly ground, with the intention of dumping the little hacker into it when he got too annoying. The pipe was too tall for the 'con to scramble out, too thick for him to stick his blades through and climb up, and too heavy to knock over. The best Frenzy could do was run himself repeatedly into the metal side, jabber angrily over the Decepticon internal line, and generally create more noise than Barricade would have believed possible for something so small.

The humans, a race that was a good deal more clever than the scout had credited them for, called it 'time out'.

Barricade was walking away when Frenzy's unintelligible shrieking became very understandable. The scout stopped and half-turned, studying the vibrating pipe as he considered its inhabitant. When Frenzy had touched the Allspark it had undone all the permanent damage and unscrambled his circuits. Then the little glitch had gone and nearly taken his own head off, causing the damage to return with interest. Before then he had been twitchy; now Barricade couldn't trust the scrapmonger with even the most basic tasks. After a moment the scout decided to at least hear the hacker out. If this turned out to be another false alarm he could simply cover the open end of the tube with plywood and head off to the other end of the parking lot.

"What did you just say?" he asked. The hacker stared up at him, standing still and quiet- a rarity even before his crash-landing on Earth.

"Wantout." Frenzy glowered at his large partner, all shades of sullen temper. "Getout and I tell."

"Tell me and I'll let you out," Barricade countered. The hacker didn't like that but he had no real choice.

"Sp-sp-sp-spark signal, northeastheadinghere," Frenzy said, in between a long string of random words that had no bearing on the conversation. Barricade ignored it.

"Spark signal? Autobot or Decepticon?"

"Nonononono. Just thumpthump."

"Thumpthump," Barricade echoed tonelessly.

"Thumpthump. Goaway comeback. Goaway comeback."

Idly Barricade wondered if anything Frenzy said made sense to the hacker himself. It certainly didn't translate well to stable CPUs. As there was simply no way they could communicate without data transfer- which Barricade had forbidden after Frenzy tried to send him a couple hundred viruses- the scout resigned himself to doing his own scan. He took a few steps away from the pipe and transformed back to car mode. From there he nudged his way beyond the Autobots' sensors and readied his scanner.

A few moments later he grabbed Frenzy's pipe, lifting it and tossing it aside casually. The hacker scrabbled over to him and began to beat rhythmically against his foot, an irritant he barely ignored.

"Wegoget goget?"

"No," Barricade answered and continued over the agitated chatter. "We no go get, we go follow- Primus frag it, now I'm talking like you!"

Frenzy cackled obnoxiously, then returned to thumping his bladed hand against Barricade's foot. The scout stepped aside and transformed once more, opening one of his rear doors in invitation. As soon as the hacker bounced in he slammed the seat back, sliding shut a compartment door and locking a loudly protesting Frenzy into his trunk.

Then Barricade pointed himself northeast, heading towards a spark signature that faded and reappeared in a rhythm eerily similar to the beating of a human heart.

--

Deep within the well of space, lost somewhere in the overlapping folds of various realities, a strange being sat on an even stranger object.

Technically the being could not sit, for it had no physical form. However, it could create and temporarily use one. It had done so now; it was easier to focus on the individual details and tune out the distraction of the bigger picture this way.

The object was a simple cube, returned to its place of creation by means of being almost completely destroyed. It was staggeringly big, taking up most of the room even in this odd place, and hummed with a bizarre energy.

The being- who called itself 'him' because it was easier- ran his fingers over the dented corner of the cube, feeling the ragged edges where a small scrap was missing. He didn't like the incompleteness. It bothered him in a way he wouldn't have imagined. If the cube could be destroyed, even briefly, then he wasn't nearly as immortal as he had thought. And that it remained damaged was an ominous sign, a warning of changes to come.

To an eternal being, change was never really a good thing.

But he had taken steps; started the ball rolling, as it were. He would restore the cube to its proper form soon. All he needed was for Jazz and Megatron to not completely fail at their appointed tasks.

He brought up their images and watched them, feeling frustrated. He couldn't help them anymore; his was the realm of machines and they no longer resided in it. Even more upsetting was the fact that he had actually come to care about those slaggers. Then again, most everyone liked Jazz. It was his growing soft spot for Megatron that surprised him.

Maybe it's simply because all my hopes of a secure, and elongated, future rest on those them.

He groaned and cradled his chin in his hand. "Good luck, boys," he muttered. "I hope you don't fail, for your sakes as well as my own."

And then he released his hold on his form and dissipated, causing the image of the small planet to fade away as he shifted his attention back to the universe at large.