Okay, challenge time- check out all the geographical places and facts about the hotels and see how much I got right. I wrote the Vegas part of this chapter based solely on memory. And the extra stuff, like the SUV limo and the living statues, all actually exists in Vegas. I didn't look at a single map or picture, didn't research a single thing on the Internet, nothing. Everything below is what I remember from three-ish years ago, when I acted as navigator and general map-holder during our second trip to Vegas. The one I'm least sure about is UNLV being on Tropicana. And yes, the drivers in that city are homicidal. My aunts fit right in.

And some of you more observant types might remember Sam's assessment of Vegas being in my author's notes in a previous chapter. That it was, and it was requested I put it in the story, so ta-da. Despite this comment I still find Las Vegas to be one of the most beautiful cities I've ever been to, and strongly recommend everyone go there at least once in their lives, if for no reason more than to play tourist. Maybe I just have a thing for neon lights and giant lions. We'll never know.

Disclaimer: me no own. Go figure.

--

He was human.

Perhaps human was stretching it a bit. He possessed an organic body, if only for a short while, and that organic body was certainly human. But he still retained his own powers, his personality, the indefinable quality of something that always put him a rung above mortal creatures… No, he wasn't actually human, but he wore a human's skin for the time being.

Creation of organics was a rare thing for him, so he had more or less hitched a ride- as the saying ever-so-charmingly went- with a pre-existing human. She was going to have a very lucky night tonight, he thought wryly, even more so if she didn't remember any of it. If she did he would really have no choice but to remove her, in the least friendly meaning of the word. It would be no great loss to him; but as machines had him, she had a being similar to himself, and war was the very last thing he needed. So he minded his manners as he took the human for a stroll, intent on heading into the casinos where the various machines would be singing his name within moments.

Before he got there he stopped and turned, trying to sense something- and there it was. Two Cybertronians blew past, a pair of low-slung sports cars going simply far too fast for the road they were on. He folded his arms over his chest- her chest, really, but who cared?- and sighed.

"Please tell me that wasn't actually what I think they were," he muttered. There was no point in delaying, though; he knew Cybertronian signals inside and out, as they were created by the cube that had been so recently returned to him. "Why is it those two cannot listen?" he asked himself ironically.

Because they're an awful lot like you, was the truthful answer he didn't want to hear. He sighed again, ran his- her- long nails through his hair, and set off down the street at a sedate walk. After two blocks he glanced back again as a yellow Camaro roared past. Well, at least something was going according to plan. This is what happens when you disconnect and wander off to insignificant little planets- you miss things.

He shrugged off the thought and followed the four spark signals he could easily feel as they headed towards Las Vegas Boulevard.

"Stick with the game plan, boys, this is one referee you can't afford to upset," he said to no one who could hear him.

--

"A mystery text message?"

Sam glanced at Jazz, trying not to let the glance turn into a stare. The thought of an Autobot turning into a human was still mind-boggling. True, Jazz and his friends had taken everything Sam thought he knew and turned it on its ear, but he knew the dead didn't come back to life, especially as a member of a race so different from their own.

Instead he met that startlingly blue gaze for a moment, then nodded and reached around for his backpack in the back seat. He pulled out the paper and handed it to Jazz.

The saboteur gave a humming noise, then shifted around in his seat. "Can I borrow your phone?" Sam handed it over without comment. "Bet you didn't know- well, actually, maybe you did- but there're letters on each number."

"So?" The teen tried to peer around at the paper, which Jazz was scribbling on.

"Nothin'. This Barricade bein' a harbinger. Figured that out yet?"

"No," Sam muttered. He felt stupid now; clearly Jazz was having no trouble solving this riddle. The new human seemed to pick up on this and gave the teen a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"No need t' worry, Sam, I've got a couple dozen millennia over you. You shoulda seen me fumbling' around all today, tryin' to figure out how to be human." He grinned and Sam couldn't help but smile back. The saboteur went back to his scribbling and Sam was inordinately amused to see Jazz chewing on the eraser of his pencil- a habit so human it was hard to remember what he really was. "Slaggin' Pit. Balance."

"What?" He glanced around, trying to figure out where they were. They were on Tropicana Avenue, and if it weren't for the fact that they were trying to find a pair of cars he would have suggested getting out and walking. The traffic hadn't budged an inch in ten minutes.

"Y'know, I walked down Tropicana this afternoon t' get to UNLV. It had no traffic." Jazz studied the Excalibur, one of the two Strip hotels they could currently see. "So much for the city that never sleeps. More like the Nocturnal City."

"Or the Bipolar City." Sam was watching the roller coaster on the New York New York, trying to figure out why anyone would get on a ride on top of a building. "I hear it's like ghost town during the day. It's what I heard," he said defensively to the amused look he was getting from Jazz.

"Uh huh. An' livin' three hours from th' city, you've never snuck out here?"

"Not with my control-freak parents," Sam countered, then gasped. "Oh hell, I never called my mom."

There was a long silence at that. Then Jazz offered him an apologetic smile.

"Well, Sam, it was nice knowin' ya. No worries; you'll always be honored by th' Autobots."

"You're not helping!" Sam snapped. He snatched his phone out of Jazz's hand and dialed, pausing before he entered the last number. He didn't want his parents to worry but if they found out where he was he would be lucky to get out of the house again before he was thirty. Jazz grunted and took the phone back, hitting in the number.

"I think it's past time you tell 'em exactly what's goin' on. Certainly make it a lot easier t' explain why you need t' take random road trips to Las Vegas."

"Yeah. Sure. You tell my parents about the giant alien robots." He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. This was one conversation he wasn't missing. After a moment it became clear he was going to miss it- Jazz shook his head and hung up.

"No answer."

"Oh god, they probably called out the National Guard on me," Sam moaned. Jazz took the phone and tapped Bumblebee's dashboard with it.

"Y'said you called Optimus 'fore comin' out here, right?"

"Yes," the 'bot replied, his word both confirmation and question. Jazz nodded.

"Right. Problem solved. Optimus prob'ly called 'em and gave 'em a reason why you aren't home yet."

Sam opened his mouth to protest and left it hanging there. "I didn't think of that," he said finally.

"Obviously," Jazz answered in amusement. "No need t' worry, he won't let 'em get too out of control."

There were a few moments of silence as Sam leaned forward, straining to get his first view of the lit-up Strip. Jazz merely gazed passively out his window, having already studied the infamous area from the third floor of UNLV.

"Slagging Pit what?" the teen asked suddenly, earning him a blank look and a vague 'huh?' "You said slagging Pit to something, then never told me what for."

"Ah," Jazz shrugged and sighed. "Ever since I woke up this afternoon, I've been gettin' the feelin' I'm missin' something. Kinda like I lost a day, an' I don't remember anythin' that happened during it. Anyways, I've kinda been getting' a few bits of it back, an' one bit is a mystery voice talkin' to me and sayin' something about maintaining balance."

" 'Your greatest enemy is now your kin'- you think a Decepticon was brought back?" Sam glanced at Jazz, who didn't answer. "Please say it isn't Megatron."

"If it is he's human now," the saboteur pointed out gently. Sam released the breath he'd been holding at the reminder. Megatron revived was still a scary thought, but his no longer being a thirty-foot-tall killing machine made it easier to handle.

"Th' question now is why," Jazz added thoughtfully. Sam frowned at that.

"Why what?"

"Why bring me back? Thousands of good 'bots have died; what makes me special?" He was tapping the pencil against Bumblebee's door. The 'bot gave an annoyed beep and Jazz stopped with a muttered apology. "No one does anythin' for free in this universe, so th' question is, what does my mystery benefactor want?"

A light turned green and Bee made a wild dash for it, swinging into oncoming traffic long enough to duck around a fire-engine red SUV limo. He jerked back into his lane at the last possible moment, appearing to not notice his two guests clutching at arm rests and door handles, and flew through the intersection. He barely made the turn that deposited them into the Strip proper, but as soon as he did Sam forgot the wrathful lecture he'd been brewing.

"Wow," he said instead. Jazz made a noise of agreement. There was something simply beautiful about the sprawling hotels and the endless sea of neon in every color. Sam glanced around, then turned to Jazz.

"Do you know where the dancing fountain is?"

"Dancin' fountain?" Jazz echoed bemusedly.

"It's in front of one of these hotels," Sam answered. "It's got a fancy name…"

"The Bellagio," Bumblebee put in, no doubt putting his Internet connection to good use. "It should be coming up on the left in a moment, opposite the Paris."

"What is that?" Jazz demanded suddenly, and Sam twisted around. Behind them a steady beam of light shone upward, easily three times the size of the biggest searchlight he'd ever seen. It was coming from the tip of the pyramid, which they could barely see.

"That's the Egyptian one. Luxor, I think." The teen turned back and stared out his window. After a moment he shifted his attention back to Jazz. "We're acting like a couple of geeks, aren't we?"

"I'm actin' like an Autobot seein' one of this planet's most unique cities for th' first time," The answer was in a haughty tone he almost managed to pull off. "You're th' only one actin' geeky." Then he grinned, showing no insult intended.

"Yeah, because it's so natural for a giant robot to be fascinated by shiny lights," Sam shot back. Jazz gave an amused snort and returned to gawking. After a moment he tapped a finger against his window. "Found: two Lamborghinis."

"Why do we want…? Oh." Sam watched as the twins settled themselves into the MGM Grand's valet parking. The Grand was on the right side of the road and Bee was in the left lane, with no chance of turning around anytime in the near future. "Now what?"

"If we can get to th' Paris we can take th' monorail back here," Jazz said, sounding as though he were talking to himself.

"Monorail?" Sam echoed. The saboteur grinned.

"Sure. There's a monorail connectin' the hotels on th' MGM side of th' road. Good for business t' pretend to share nice."

"How do you even know that?" the teen asked. The mech-turned-human snorted.

"Sam, I called you at seven thirty. You got here at ten forty-five. I had t' do something with my free time."

They maneuvered their way across the road, managing to get into the right lane in time to head into the Paris' parking lot. Sam saw the Bellagio but there was too much traffic for him to see the fountain. After another few suicidal stunts they were parked near an entrance, with Sam having to slide out the passenger door so Bee wouldn't be driving off after his driver got out. Jazz rested a forearm on the roof and leaned down to talk to his teammate as Sam stared up at the Eiffel Tower. A few moments later the former 'bot straightened up and handed the teen his backpack.

"He's gonna get himself turned around and trackin' Dumb an' Dumber. Said he'll text if anythin' changes."

Sam nodded to this and started to slide his bag on, stopping at the last second and pulling out the paper Jazz had been so busy writing on. The number 077-4687 was written on it, each digit spread out far enough for the letters on the phone keys to fit under them, save zero which had no letters. He had tried to fit several words together but only one had been circled; a word Sam found vaguely familiar from somewhere.

'P R I M U S'

--

They made their confused way through the Paris hotel, having to stop and ask directions several times at various gift stores and restaurants. One had a sign in front with the restaurant's French mouthful of a name, and something in it smelled wonderful. Sam had to practically pull Jazz away from the line in front. It was a much harder task when they walked past a conventional food court, complete with fast food, and both realized how hungry they were. One of them- it was never clear which- found a reserve of self-control and pushed both past.

The biggest delay came when they were heading down the hallways past the elevators leading to the hotel rooms. Along the way were several bronze statues of people doing various things- a woman in a Victorian-style dress sitting on a bench, a man walking a dog, an artist in front of his palette. The last Sam paused at and Jazz was almost around the corner when the teen gave an alarmed yelp.

"Dear God that's an actual person," he babbled as Jazz came running back. The saboteur caught the teen's elbow and pulled him back to his feet- he'd been laying on his back- and peered at the statue.

The 'statue' opened its eyes and looked back.

Jazz dropped Sam and jumped back, tripping over the boy and landing gracelessly on his butt. He got his hands and feet under him and scrambled back a little further, staring at the artist. The man- and now Jazz could see he was breathing, was even slightly shaking from holding his pose- closed his eyes and went back to being just a statue.

"That's freaky," Jazz muttered. He picked himself up and glanced at Sam, thinking wryly that the living statue had garnered more of a reaction than a dead-robot-turned-human had. After a moment's consideration the saboteur leaned forward, preparing to touch the artist's shoulder and see what kind of clothes he was wearing, but Sam snagged his wrist and tugged him away.

"We do not poke the statues," the boy hissed, glancing towards the artist. "Especially if they can poke back."

All told it took about twenty minutes to find the monorail station, which was actually in the hotel next to the Paris. The walkway connected to the station from both hotels, however, and when Bee sent them a text saying he'd managed to get into the MGM parking lot they were standing on the platform and waiting.

"What if they take off?" Sam asked as he tucked his phone into his pocket. Jazz shrugged unconcernedly.

"If they stay on this side we can find 'em easy enough. If they cross th' road, it's still faster on foot."

Before Sam could ask how that worked the train thundered into the station with a rush of displaced air and an obnoxious squealing of brakes. They waited patiently for the car to empty of its tourists before stepping on themselves.

The MGM Grand was more opulent than Jazz would have imagined. The hallways were grey-white marble and gold leaf, the ceiling vaulted high and ornately carved pillars every ten or so feet. Compared to the France circa 1950's style the Paris went for this seemed almost overkill. Jazz guided them through the long hallways, trying not to stop and stare too often. They went past an open archway through which came the scent of burning tobacco and many varieties of alcohol, coupled with the overwhelming noises of five hundred slot machines competing to see which was loudest. The saboteur was momentarily sidetracked when he saw a sign pointing towards the lion cages; Sam had to pull him away.

Then they were out the front door and into the surprisingly chilly Vegas night. After a moment Sam pointed towards the row of valet-parked cars. On the close end was a familiar red Lamborghini. Jazz motioned for the teen to hang back and walked over to the sports car. He made as if to walk past but turned instead and slapped one open hand on the car's hood. Sideswipe started noticeably and blurted a staccato Cybertronian curse.

"Nice, Sides," Jazz drawled. "Way to keep your cover."

"Jazz?" The warrior sounded understandably confused. Jazz slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

"Yup. Alive an' in th' flesh. Literally." He glanced around, peering down the line in search for another Lamborghini. "Uh… where's Sunny?"

Sideswipe cackled; never a good sign, his being amused. Jazz felt an alarm go off in the back of his mind.

"Sunstreaker," and Sideswipe took great care in using his twin's full name, "got taken out for a test drive. By a squishie."

"Watch th' squishie talk," Jazz warned amiably.

"Right. Anyways, the squ- human- took him for a drive. He stopped at someplace called Burger King. Sunny's been howling about how the idiot spilled something over his fancy seats." Sideswipe laughed again. "And the best part is, he can't transform. He does, Prowl can track us, so he's stuck."

"Hate t' burst your bubble, kiddo, but you're comin' back t' base with Sam an' me," the saboteur informed him. Sideswipe paused.

"Uh, Jazz… you're a sq- human. How are you gonna…?" He tried to find a delicate way to phrase the question and failed. Jazz shrugged again and grinned.

"I dunno. I was thinkin' about tellin' a certain medic about a time when his extra-strength fixing agent moved itself an' he ended up glued to his chair for two joors. 'Member that? Well, I kinda know how it ended up on th' chair."

"That was a long time ago," Sideswipe sounded guarded. The human snorted.

"It was half a vorn ago," Jazz corrected. The twin didn't answer.

"A vorn?" Sam, now standing at Jazz's elbow, frowned. "What's that?"

"'Bout eighty-odd years," the saboteur answered. "An' a joor is roughly two weeks."

"Ratchet was glued to a chair for a month?" Sam turned to stare at him, eyes going wide and hand clamping over his mouth to keep from laughing. "Wait- I thought you guys all separated and went off searching for the Allspark."

"Yeah, but we did run into each other occasionally," Jazz answered the un-question. "Last ones we met were th' twins."

"Wow." Sam considered the car in front of him. "Glued Ratchet to his chair? Really?"

"Oh, we do all sorts of things like that," Sideswipe verbally waved off the admiration.

"Thus provin' Darwin wrong an' showin' that the luckiest survive, not th' strongest," Jazz added on a laugh. Then he turned at the sound of a familiar engine roar as Bumblebee slid into the space next to Sideswipe. A moment later a gold Lamborghini jerked to a savage halt behind the two Autobots. The driver's door swung open and a young man in the valet's uniform scrambled out.

"Dude, I am so dead," he said to his coworker. "I spilled soda all over the passenger seat. And it's leather, too!" Whatever else he might have said was overridden by Jazz's laughter.

"This is. Not. Funny." Sunstreaker growled. There was a long pause, as Sideswipe no doubt explained everything to his twin, then the gold car shuddered. "I don't like this city. I want out."

"Fine," Jazz answered mildly. "We're goin' back to th' base. You're welcome to come with us if you stay there this time."

"Nice car," a new voice interrupted. Jazz and Sam both turned to find a woman standing in front of Bee. She was very attractive by human standards, and Jazz couldn't help but remember the lecture on the human reproductive system Ratchet had felt was somehow necessary.

Sam was probably thinking along the same lines but for entirely different reasons. His face was turning an interesting shade of red as he stammered something that, with a liberal dose of imagination, might have been interpreted as a thanks.

"Oh, not the Lamborghinis," she added as Jazz walked past her to stand beside Sunstreaker. He didn't want the valets returning in some misguided attempt to clean the 'bot. "You see a lot of fancy sports cars out here, so they're boring."

"What?!" a scandalized Sunstreaker barked. Jazz winced and kicked swiftly at the twin's bumper. Fortunately the woman thought it was Jazz who had said that.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "But this…" And at the 'this' she tapped Bumblebee's hood with a careful fingernail. "I like this. It's a Camaro, right? '08?"

"Uh… duh… uh, I mean… yeah," Sam answered. "Uh, actually, no. He's- it's- '09. Brand new."

"Keep it up, Sam," Sideswipe muttered softly. "Another few hours and you might manage to say a full sentence."

"What?" Sunstreaker was still fairly upset by the comparison. "How could you-"

"Sunstreaker, hush," Jazz growled.

"- say that about that filthy little-"

"Shut up, Sunny!"

"- don't call me- ugh! Primus fraggit get that off me!"

Jazz eyed the palm print he'd left on the Lamborghini's spotless side panel. He probably hadn't needed to spit into his hand first, but at least the twin was no longer focusing his ire on an unsuspecting human.

The woman was watching Jazz questioningly, one brow arched high. After a moment she smiled at him.

"I think it's time you boys got home," she said, placing one hand on both Sideswipe and Bumblebee. Something tickled at Jazz's senses, but before he could figure it out the woman was gone.

"What was that?" Sam asked distractedly.

"Good advice," Jazz answered. He wiped at the spit-print with the hem of his shirt before stepping away from the potentially homicidal twin.

Half an hour later they were on Highway 15, once again heading towards California. This time they had two Lamborghinis in tow. One was still moaning about his seat, but the other two 'bots had tuned him out.

"So who's Primus?" Sam abruptly asked. Jazz stared blankly at the teen, who pulled a paper out of his backpack. The saboteur saw his own handwriting on the page and gave an 'ah'.

"Primus is kinda like our version of your God," he tried. "Only we don't actively worship him th' way you do."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. But I got th' feelin' he's the reason I'm in this mess." Jazz rested his forehead on the cool glass of the window and sighed. There was something he wasn't saying, something he wouldn't say to save his own life.

Primus had to be responsible for this mess. And Jazz had a very good reason to believe that they had just met him.

--

Megatron leaned against the fence and stared out at the forest, ignoring Frenzy's long spiel of gibberish as the hacker worked his magic on the cell phone tower. He was too busy trying to solve this new puzzle. According to Barricade, only a fragment of the Allspark had survived. Would that small piece return Megatron to his true form, or would he need the whole thing? Did each part of the Cube hold equal amounts of its power or did it need to be intact to be of any use?

Behind him came a shrill screeching noise and he spun around, turning just in time to see Frenzy being bodily kicked off the metal structure. An arc of blue electricity connected between the tower and the small 'con, who landed on top of the nearby police cruiser. Barricade had been resting in recharge mode right up to that moment; as Frenzy began to jerk and twist wildly the scout came online and lurched to the side, sliding the small mech off. The bigger 'con transformed, the process taking almost twice as long due to the constant interruption of convulsions as the electricity pulsed through him. By the time the scout had found his feet Megatron had crossed the distance between them and stood just out of reach.

He was more than vaguely concerned by the scout's slowness- Frenzy's franticness was acceptable because he was so small and still did his job perfectly. If Barricade suffered the same CPU frying as his small partner, however, they were all in serious trouble. But the black-and-white seemed steady, irritated but fine as he scowled at the hacker. Frenzy was flopping around, having been knocked off-line by the surge. He would remain that way while his systems rebooted and repaired any damaged.

"Idiot plugged into an electrical outlet," Barricade muttered as he studied the tower. Megatron scowled as he scanned the control panel Frenzy had been working at. Neither bothered to worry about or watch the hacker; he would be fine. Besides, his digit-blades were out and clawing at the air, making it dangerous to go near him.

"Can you finish it?" Megatron asked. The scout grunted and kneeled, holding one hand near the panel. Various extensions came out of his fingers and plugged in. He was by no means as fast or thorough as Frenzy. He also wouldn't electrify himself, Megatron thought wryly, so it was a fair exchange.

After a moment Barricade disconnected and stood. His optics dimmed as he turned his attention inward, no doubt scanning the signal he now received for anything interesting.

"There's something there," he said abruptly. Megatron shifted and glared up at him.

" 'Something' where?"

"A Cybertronian signal, probably a ship of some sort, orbiting the planet just outside of the sensors on the humans' satellites." He scoffed. "These creatures are pitiful."

Megatron didn't bother reminding the scout that his leader currently was one of those pitful creatures. Instead he asked, "Decepticon?"

Barricade didn't answer. His already-dim optics turned a flat gray and his frame went rigid. Megatron recognized the signs- the scout had tripped an alarm on the ship and had been hit with a backlash of viruses and lines of destructive code. The human could do nothing but watch and hope Barricade's firewalls were up to the challenge as the scout fought off the intruders.

Behind him came a sharp hiss and Frenzy scuttled past. The hacker scrambled up his partner's body with ease and jabbed at the port in Barricade's neck, lending his own impressive arsenal to the digital war. After a moment both came back to life and Frenzy gave a delighted whoop.

"Soundwave!" he hollered to Megatron. "Soundwavesoundwavesoundw- erk."

"Let him go," Megatron ordered, and Barricade uncurled his fist, dropping the slightly squished hacker to the ground. "It's Soundwave?"

The answer was obvious but Barricade was wise enough not to say so. "Certainly sounds like him. He's demanding an update."

"Tell him what happened up until you started tracking me. Then tell him you know of a way to restore me and to get his aft down here, now."

There was a long pause. Then Barricade shifted and glanced nervously at Frenzy, who was edging away from Megatron.

"He said no," the scout answered. "His original plan was to send Astrotrain to retrieve me, and he sees no reason to change that now."

Astrotrain. There would be a problem there, Megatron thought. The triplechanger was easily annoyed and not averse to using his size to bully smaller mechs like Barricade into doing things his way. Plus he wasn't a particularly loyal 'con- he wouldn't believe Megatron was who he claimed to be and would probably kill him for his impudence. And there would be little Barricade could do- would be willing to do- to stop him.

"Fine," the human snapped. "Sign off and transform. We need to be somewhere near a human city when Astrotrain gets here."

"I can't sign off," Barricade sounded aggravated now. Clearly he had little experience with Soundwave and his uncompromising methods.

"Then forget it." Megatron snapped his fingers at the cop car. "We need to leave. And Frenzy-"

The hacker had been crouched on his haunches, muttering about his joy at being reunited with his old team and his dislike for Barricade. He jerked around and peered at Megatron, who bit back his groan and continued.

"We're going to work on hiding my spark signal. Astrotrain is not leaving with any of us; Soundwave is coming down here. And we are going to retrieve the piece of the Allspark."

"The Autobots have it," Barricade said slowly, as though Megatron were a sparkling incapable of understanding basic speech. He pulled back from the glare he gained in return.

"Then we go get it from them." Megatron folded his arms over his chest and considered his- currently rather pathetic- troops. "This war is not over yet."