(A/N: Holy crap guys, chapter 10! A nice, clean, round, number. I can't believe this story has been going on for over a year now, you guys have literally been fantastic, thank you so much for sticking with me this long! I can't tell you how much all the support means to me. Also, I'm sure you've all noticed my horrible update schedule, I'm getting married in a few days, so I haven't had a ton of time for hobbies/fun stuff like this. Super excited and all for the wedding of course, but you would not believe how much planning this sucker has required. At any rate, I really hope I'll be able to get back into this project soon, I've been missing it for sure.

You all be well, ok? See ya in the next update!)

"Any chance we know where my backpack went? Did we leave it back in the room?" I asked. We had been hanging around for a bit. I wasn't really sure how much time had passed, but I did know I was starting to get bored. Misdirect was right though, it was nice to have a break from everything. No eyes examining me, or scary tools around, or giant robotic strangers…

"I have it right here," Misdirect said.

I expected him to reach somewhere and grab it, you know, like a sane person would. What I didn't expect was for his chest to start moving. Pieces unfolded and slid across one another, and a cavity in his chest was revealed, with my backpack slumped haphazardly inside. He plucked it out and his chest shifted closed. My backpack was held out for me to grab.

"So we're just going to pretend that that wasn't insane?" I said after my stare failed to produce any sort of reaction from him, "We're just ignoring that your chest popped open like a tin can?" I looked at him. He looked back.

"Yeah, ok, whatever," I snatched the bag from him.

"It's just my subspace, fella. Like a pocket," he shrugged.

"Oh yeah," I retorted, "I also store junk in my ribcage. Totally normal. Why don't I hand you a lung and my beating heart while I'm at it?" I unzipped my backpack and found myself suddenly a bit disconcerted; resting innocently inside the bag were my school notebooks. I guess I didn't have to worry about doing my homework here, but I wasn't sure if that was really a positive trade-off, all things considered. I shook my head, "I'm going to see if I actually have any food. Here's to hoping I don't starve," I intended to laugh, but I couldn't quite get it out. He was silent.

"Junk," I pulled out my spiral notebooks, school folders, and my skinny pre-calc textbook. I sorted through the pockets.

Three granola bars, a protein bar from god knows when, and a crunched-up bag of chips I had leftover from the cafeteria that day. The rest I shoved back in. I guess I had my water bottle too, but I had a feeling water was the least of my worries. What sort of alien spaceship could break physics, change their air almost instantly, and somehow not have water?

"Is that food?" Misdirect asked.

I looked at my small pile, "Could be worse I guess."

"Is it supposed to look so shiny?"

"They've still got the wrappers on," I eyed him, "Y'know, plastic?"

His nose scrunched in clear distaste, the expression looked rather comical on a giant robot, "You know that stuff never goes away right?"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"It just gets smaller," he said, "It doesn't go away."

"What? Like microplastics?"

He looked at me in disbelief, "You guys know about that, you gave it a name, and you're still using it?"

"There's no way you don't use plastic too," I couldn't believe I was receiving a talk about pollution, here of all places, by a giant robot, of all people.

"We use plastic, just not that kind of plastic. It's almost entirely different," He paused, "But you have food though, so that means you'll be ok?"

I felt hopeless just looking at the tiny pile, "It's really not that much."

"You have enough for us to take a sample, I'm sure we can fabricate something for you."

"Fabricate food? All this stuff comes from animals and plants," I swept a hand around me, "It's not metal or plastic, or whatever you guys eat."

"Whatever we eat?" He scoffed, "Yeah, give me a klik, I need to take a bite from the ship's hull," he leaned back, "No, better yet, let me chew on my arm, it's very convenient."

I opened my mouth to say something, but closed it on second thought.

"We don't eat metal," he said flatly. "Why would we build things out of the stuff we eat? I doubt you make your ships out of shiny little rectangles," he poked my pile.

I snatched up the bars he had pushed away, returning them to their neat pile, "All I'm saying is that even we haven't figured out how to fabricate food. We have this whole ongoing world-hunger thing."

"You guys haven't figured out a lot of things," he stood up from his chair, "I'll send something to Ratchet," He leaned over the desk and tapped something on the wall. A panel slid open and he pulled out what looked like a glass tube with thick metal caps on either end.

"Does everyone have one of those?" I asked, "You can just send stuff wherever?"

"Mhm," He popped one side open and leaned it down to me, "You have a preference?"

It was a little disconcerting looking into a container, very similar to a glass jar, that looked big enough to fit me in, even if it might be a squeeze. Maybe it would be like a roller coaster. I imagined zooming around in a tube in the dark, squashed against the glass. On second thought, maybe it wouldn't be so fun. I tossed the protein bar in, "This will probably keep me alive the longest." The tiny package slid pitifully down to the bottom of the tube.

He held up the container and replaced the lid, giving it a little shake, "Don't need much do you?"

"It's a protein bar, so it's meant to be… like condensed food," I mimed with my hands as if I were squishing something between them, "But compared to you guys, I guess not, yeah."

He placed the tube back in the wall and the panel shut with a click. There was a muffled fwoosh.

"We use those at banks you know," I said.

He sat back down, "You're species never fails to impress."

I shoved the rest of my food back into my backpack. I was feeling a little hungry, but no way was I going to waste what I had, so I took a swig of water instead. "So that chest-pocket thing you have, it's just no big deal that you can root around in your body? Isn't that gross?"

"I don't think 'insides' and 'outsides' really mean the same thing for us," He rested his folded arms on the desk, "And for all you know we actually eat organics like you. You ever thought?"

Spotting a pen inside, I snatched it up, then zipped up my backpack, voice monotone, "Oh the humanity. Please, I'll do anything. Spare my life."

"Your performance earlier was much more convincing," He picked up the tool and twirled it in his hand, "And our subspace is like a pocket, it's not like our spark is just dangling around."

"Spark?" I said, clicking the pen once.

He raised a brow.

"Spark-plugs," I blurted, in a brilliant moment of word-association.

"Spark-plugs…?" he frowned.

"Ignore me," I said, "But is that one of your robot organs? Parts? You got others too?"

"What do you think?"

I continued to click the pen. He shot me a glance.

"So is a 'spark' like a battery?" I asked.

"Maybe? It's not electricity though," He traced his thoughts in the air with the glowing tip of the tool, "Think of it like a ball of energy that keeps us alive. We can't make sparks, they come from this whole process with the planet and the Allspark. It's like its own kind of thing."

I didn't realize I was still clicking my pen until I received another glance from him. I put the pen down, "Is it your brains?"

"No, no, we have a brain module and all that. A spark is like-" He struggled, "Our sparks are us. My spark is me. It's like my alive-ness."

"A soul?"

He paused, "Yeah, actually. That sounds right."

"So is this like a religion? What makes you guys think that?"

He frowned at the piece, applying the glowing tip to its surface. He was so close to it that a few flying sparks bounced off his cheeks and nose, "What do you mean?"

"What makes you believe in having a 'spark?' If that's not rude or anything. I mean a ton of our religions believe in having souls and all that too."

He paused from his work, still frowning. Then he smiled. "Ah, I see. Hold on." He set the tool and the piece down and turned to me.

When his chest started to shift and open again, I found myself only slightly more prepared for the bizarre sight. But the motion didn't stop when it had before, and instead more and more pieces unfolded and moved aside, and to my amazement, little cracks of light were slowly shining through.

This was normal to them? I suppose it probably made surgery much easier. Easier repairs? Pieces continued to shift, and more chunks of light were revealed. Everything went still. Directly at the center of his chest was a bright blue light. I had to trust that it was indeed the shape of a ball, because it was a bit hard to look at.

I squinted. Of fucking course he was being literal. A literal ball of energy. Who would have thought? Definitely not me. I was getting tired of how predictably amazing these robots continued to be.

He of course had a smile plastered on his face, "No belief required." Then the pieces started to fold back. I blinked as the last pieces of his chest shifted into place, the glow had left little dots in my vision.

"A visible, actual, soul. Right there in your chest. You're literally killing me right now."

He laughed, "You haven't even seen me transform yet."

"You literally just did."

"We're not talking about subspaces or sparks, fella. But I'd say it's time for a break," He stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders back. "Time for a bit of cybertronian-cultural-studies, cultural immersion? Oh and engex, lots of engex."

"The bar? Wouldn't that take too long? Won't Ratchet be upset?"

"Quick visit, in and out. Besides, I have a feeling that a long time for you is very different than a long time for us," he winked.

Begrudgingly, I nodded. As I collected my stuff, something caught my eye. Across the room, between the slats in a vent, it looked like two red dots peering out from between the bars. I squinted. The dots shifted, then suddenly dashed left, out of sight.

I glanced at Misdirect, who was leaning over his desk, it didn't seem like he noticed. Apparently, he was far too busy trying and failing to tidy up his desk.

Were those eyes? Was something in the vents? For a second I considered asking Misdirect.

It was probably nothing though. Probably just some high-tech-alien-spaceship vent cleaner. Yeah, I thought, Yeah that was probably it.