Note: Remember that warning about 'body horror'? It's starting in earnest here. Again, warnings about triggering situations and language, disturbing content, and a reminder that this is not 'work safe'. Also, as I'm rather leery of Google's translation for more than very simple things, any non-English or non-verbal dialogue will be rendered as "[words-words]" to make it clear that it's in another language unless it's plot relevant… or the character doesn't know the language. There will be several 'gross-out' moments coming up. Reader discretion is advised.

Raoul wasn't quite sure what woke him first: the sudden brightening of what must have been the dawning sun, the unpleasant ringing in his ears that only was worsened by a muffled yet still too loud conversation set to Gabriel singing about 'wars without tears', or just how it felt like his body was on fire. He sat up carefully, untangling himself from the empty clothes laying beside him. Shrugging of his disappoint by assuring himself Tracks likely turned off the holomatter generator when he slept, Raoul got up and noticed the only things that didn't hurt like hell were his legs. The worst was a burning itch in his scalp and, as he claw his fingers through his hair trying to scratch it away, clumps of it caught on them. Then he noticed saw what was on the pillow case.

"…what the ever-loving fuck?"

Staring for a long moment at the masses of dark hair on the pillow, Raoul tried to pass it off as just being stress or something. Then he went to the broken mirror as he combed his fingers through the thick mess of curls, teasing out more balls of black and thick flakes of dander. He even picked away the shed flakes of eyebrow, hissing regrets over having used the last of Grecian Formula he'd managed to hide. Finally, the itching stopped and there was only a thick mess of hair in that faded ashen color left.

Raoul glared a few moments, feeling like there was something very off about his reflection. Then the dull throbbing behind his eyes made him give up and he started quietly cleaning up all the shed hair he could find, angrily huffing and trying to keep the rest out of his face with a bandana before finally stopping to wrestle the unruly mane on his head into a sloppy ponytail. As he tied the end off with scrunchy left by a former girlfriend, Raoul was shocked that it was still long enough to reach past his shoulders. He studied at it in confusion for a few minutes, noticing that it seemed much grayer than before too then shook it off and went back to cleaning.

Once he'd tossed the last of it in the trash and tied the bag off, Raoul looked towards Tandy, who'd been watching him. "What's wrong?"

"…nothing…"

"Oh, 'kay…" Raoul sighed and stretch, almost immediately regretting it as it felt like knives were dragged up his spine. To make matters worse, he was ravenously hungry, that constant craving he'd felt since yesterday which had become so intensely demanding that it left him wondering if any amount of food could calm it. "Ow. What time is it?"

"04:45 am, Eastern Standard Time."

"You're kidding right?!" he asked, gesturing around the room. "It's so bright out, even the curtains aren't enough to block the light!"

"I am not joking, see?" She pulled up a huge screen showing the time and the local weather data. "It's now 04:47 am. And it is still, technically, night time."

"I think you've got a glitch, sweetie. See?" Raoul pulled aside the curtain slightly, catching the attention of Snake Eyes, who'd been leaning by the door. Raoul gave him a smile, then looked up and noticed that even through the smog and light pollution of the city, he could see a sky filled with stars. Gesturing for the time from the ninja, Snake Eyes confirmed that Tandy was correct.

"Well," Raoul said sheepishly signing 'thanks' to the guy as he turned back to the AI. "I owe you an apology."

"Don't worry about it. And, before you ask, I've already looped the security feeds," Tandy said suddenly.

"…what?"

"I looped footage of you sleeping," she repeated. "So they don't know you're awake."

"There's not a camera in here."

Tandy looked down shamefully. "Tracks doesn't know about these… or the surveillance in the bathrooms. Only Chromedome and Cosmos are supposed to know, and Prowl told them both to report directly back to him alone about any changes you experience or your… uh, 'interactions' with Tracks."

Raoul stiffened, the growing pain forgotten as wrath took hold. "You mean Chromdomes's only here to spy on me?"

"Actually, form what Rewind told me, Chromedome called it a really bad idea because all it would end up doing is (pardon my language) 'pissing you off' and causing you to become distrustful of the Autobots in general."

"Which seems to be exactly what's happening," added a nasally voice that could have been Peter Lorre talking through a shitty walkie talkie. "I told him this was a stupid idea. But, unlike Chromedome, Prowl's not my ex partner, so I said it less politely…"

"And who the fuck are you?" Raoul asked.

"*~~~()/~~~*" scrolled above Tandy's head in bright green text as the voice spoke. "This is Cosmos. The UFO guy. Thought I'd call to explain what's happening… after you're done in the restroom."

"…uh, I don't have to—…"

"I saw you with the hair," Cosmos said sharply. "And, from what Brainstorm told me, I'd say you are about to be in for a really nasty time. By the way, have you ever seen anything by Cronenberg?"

"…yes."

"Are you feeling feverish yet?"

Raoul was confused by the question, now acutely aware the cold sweat on his skin. "Now that you mention it, yeah."

"*~~~(_)ノ"(ノ_、)~~~*", ran the text as Cosmos said, "Then I suggest getting in the shower fast. And make it a cool one, too. Not too hot but not cold because either might cause shock.

"Why? I mean, besides you being a pervert?"

"It will make it easier to deal with what's to come, because you are about to be a bloody mess…"

Raoul frowned at him, feeling dizzy as it seemed like the room was becoming hotter than a sauna. "And I should trust you because…?"

"Because I not only genuinely have your best interest but my own vested interests in making Prowl suffer for what he's doing to you. It's not fair that's he's protecting his own little pet while leaving you to the wolves. Because you don't deserve what about to happen to you. Not at all. Now please, quit arguing and get in the shower." When Raoul didn't move, Cosmos sighed. "Look: You're not my type. I'm mostly into females. The bigger and the brawnier, the better. You are way too damn small and slender for my tastes, okay? I am only watching for the sake of your health and well being in case I have to call for help. Because what's about to happen is only going to appeal to seriously messed up sickos like Repugnus."

"Who's to say you ain't one yourself?"

"*~~~(ಠ_ಠ)~~~*… Listen here, you little shit," growled Cosmos in a tired tone. "If I have to, I will wake Tracks up to deal with you. But I don't want to do that because this is the first time in three Earth weeks he has actually slept. Tracks isn't a young mech and he's been putting off anything more than the most basic repairs because it'll mean he'll be away from you too long. Ever since he met you, his been finding excuse to come to visit you and you getting mauled by Buzzsaw only made him more determined not to leave you alone. His health hasn't been that great anyway since that incident involving his baby brother and a screwdriver to the neural cluster, but now things are so bad that Blaster asked Ratchet to personally deal with Tracks. And Tracks is difficult at the best of times…"

"Aw come on, he ain't that bad…" grumbled Raoul, digging at his arm in a vain effort to get rid of the feeling of thousands of invisible bugs crawling on him. "Big guy let's me work on him all the time."

"*~~~(‿)~~~*… Oh-ho-ho! Is that so?" chuckled Cosmos, his tone still tired but now with a cutting edge to it. "That's news to me! I was under the impression that Tracks is, at best, coldly indifferent to humanity and definitely was against having any organics touching him. When we woke up, he was one of the most vocal about taking back Cybertron and just abandoning the Earth to the 'cons. Tracks is pretty open about how he sees humans being rather 'dirty' creatures that are barely a step up from vermin, and it got worse after that movie fiasco. Hell, he even used to call you a 'scheming crook', a 'manipulative little brat', and talks about how you 'grew on him like a to a particularly persistent case of rust rash'. But now Tracks jokes about you being like a feral kitten that that he'd found in a dumpster and adopted that he's trying to properly socialize."

Raoul's hands fell limp at his sides as he stared at the green text. "Tracks… really said that?"

"*~~~ヘ(－;)ヘ~~~*… Eh, yes… But to be fair, he said much the same about Jazz before they officially came out about their relationship…" Cosmos said with much more sympathy. "And, between you and me, he's into 'brats', if you get me? *~~~(.~) ~~~*"

"… manipulative," hissed Raoul, idly clawing his neck and wondering if those pills had amphetamines in them. "And I'm like a fucking rash to him…"

"*~~~ (ノ*)~~~*… Look, I know that seems harsh, but I need to point out that Tracks had a very conservative upbringing. Besides, the 'rust rash' idiom is kind of our equivalent to your 'fungus' one, so he meant it very affectionately. That Tracks comfortable enough to openly crack jokes and talk about you at all is a good sign. Raoul, you're one of the few people he's ever affectionate towards. Most every one else, robot or human, never get a chance to go past his passive aggression, snobbery, and unrestrained vanity. And you must have made one hell of an impression on Tracks because you are literally the only human he lets in his cabin without spending months bitching about it… And from what I've overheard, he is willing to put up with a lot of shit both from you and about you…"

Scratch. Scratch… "And why would he do that?"

"*~~~\_( 3 )/~~~*… Hey, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it's because you remind him of a more sarcastic version of Bluestreak. Or you act like Jazz if he hadn't become a cop… Or maybe it's just that you're a very pretty boy. I know you've heard this before Raoul, but you'd actually be a very attractive mech if you were a Cybertronian. Heck, you're pretty for a human! And Tracks is just as dirty an old man as Jazz is, no matter how much he denies it… Or it could just be that Tracks feels sorry for you, being a tiny, defenseless organic…"

"So why get this Ratchet guy and not somebody else?"

"*~~~(_)?~~~*… Uh, what's that got to do with… oh!…" Catching on, Cosmos quickly said, "Ratchet's dealing with it because otherwise Tracks will browbeat anybody else into letting him off after only quick examine. And Ratchet will not take shit from anyone. Well, I take that back. Swoop also takes after his mama in having a zero tolerance for bullshit, but nobody wants the Dinobots running around a major city. Especially not with the Aerialbots and Sunstreaker here too… And, after peeking at the medical file, I'm shocked Blaster didn't do it sooner…" Cosmos paused with a little humming noise. "*~~~(」ロ)」~~~*… Oh wait. He did, several times since you were attacked, but Prowl's been denying each request for his own nefarious reasons. They even got into a near brawl because Prowl tried to force Ratchet to hand this off to Hoist or First Aid. Which ended with Ratchet decking Prowl because the prick's been messing with the medical records. In short, Tracks has literally been killing himself with worry over you and really needs to rest. So how about you humor me and do what I asked, okay?"

Raoul was quiet a moment, then did as Cosmos asked. He undid the braid as he stripped down slowly, not out of any sarcastic titillation but because it felt as if he's flesh was being shrink-wrapped to him. By the time he managed climb in and turn the shower on, Raoul saw his skin thickening into lumpy, dry callouses all over, making him resemble an ashy lizard. Then the skin began to bubble up and crack open, creating patterns like unglazed tiles grouted in red gore. His skin finally peeled away in chunks that dribbled blood which quickly washed away.

Body shaking with from the pain, Raoul tore away the bits of flesh off with torturous slowness, starting at his face and working his way down in agonized confusion. Raoul then numbly picked a finger tip and peeled the nail completely off before repeating the action with the rest of his fingers and then toes. The agony of water blasting across all that raw, newly revealed skin left the boy stifling a scream as he crouched on the floor, eyes squeezed shut. The ringing in his ears reached an unholy crescendo as he wept silently in torment.

But just as it felt as if he's head would shatter from the noise and the pain of the water on his raw flesh, it stopped completely.

And then the pain suddenly vanished too. In fact, it had gone from feeling like he was being hosed with acid to an almost orgasmic wash of warmth against his body. Raoul cautiously unfurled himself as he stood back up, but was relieved to see he looked perfectly fine. In fact, except for the fading bloodied tint spiraling the drain, there was no evidence of the horrible event. He felt a bit sore but the warmth of the water soon soaked it away as he washed, annoyed that he head even more dander to get out as he scrubbed his scalp. The washcloth felt kind of rough on his skin, but he just wrote it off as being his imagination or maybe it'd gotten starched by accident.

Once he'd finished rinsing off and finally forced himself to quit wallowing in the spray of warm water, Raoul stepped out and wrestled his suddenly much longer hair into one towel before wrapping another around himself. He noticed that the towel had a weird texture to it much like the washcloth, feeling bit stiff and rough. As he dried off with another rough but plush towel, Raoul realized he could feel the nape of the bathmat under his feet. He rubbed his toes along the fibers curiously, noticing they had a thick yet kind of scratchy quality which was more notable wherever it was wet. A little more inspecting revealed that the towels and mat also had an odd stickiness to them, clinging strongly to his hands and feet whenever he touched them but releasing relatively easily with a slight tug.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, Raoul took one foot off the mat and winced at how cold and slick the tiles felt against his toes. He tried again, this time sensing the gritty chill of the grout too. His feet stuck even harder to the tiles, making a barely audible pop with every step but Raoul forced himself to walk over to the sink. As he walked, he was aware that the air seemed very warm and humid, making the faint drafts coming from his bedroom door and from under the hall door sting along his skin. He ignored it, leaning on the exquisitely cool marble counter and tracing his fingers against the surface to pick up the faint grain of the stone and the pleasant sharpness of it's veins. It took him some effort to tear himself away from marveling the textures of various things on the counter to focus on studying himself in the mirror.

To Raoul puzzled delight, he saw that he'd gotten a tiny bit more ripped, though nowhere near as beefy as he always wished to be. Still, he could at least see the ghost of a six-pack and slightly bigger pecs which was a good start. His mood was spoiled a little when he noticed his ears had gotten larger and pointier, resembling a bat's… but maybe that was just a trick of the light or steam distorting his reflection. Then he touched them and noticed that it was indeed real but he could get them back to a more normal size with a little bit of tugging. He played around with them a few moments before deciding just to keep the batty look for a bit, since it made him look like one of those sexy elves from D .

He then inspected his skin and found it seemed back to normal, without even a hint of the horror show that happened just moments ago, but soon he noticed something was… off. Raoul studied his face and body a little longer, then it finally clicked. His skin was perfect. Granted, it was still dark and he was covered in freckles, but otherwise he had a complexion that was absolutely flawless if oddly washed out. No acne, no odd stretch marks, no scars, no flaws…

Squinting to get a better look, Raoul realized that a few scars hadn't actually disappeared but those that remained certainly had a much more aesthetically pleasing look to them. Even the jagged gouges Buzzsaw carved into his torso seemed strangely beautiful, but now Raoul saw that the fucking buzzard had taken the time to sloppily write what amounted to 'stupid cunt' in Cybertronian along his stomach. To make it even worse, he saw a bruised colored shape appear on his sternum, spreading beneath his skin like a cancerous stain until it was about the size of a clenched fist. It was a Decepticon brand on him like a perverse birthmark, a foul little reminder of just who did this to him.

Biting back his anger, Raoul welcomed the distraction of a nasty and disgustingly stringy feeling in his mouth. Fishing around with a long, oddly sharp nail, he picked out a little knot of wet hair. He flicked it into the sink but noticed there seemed to be more, likely from inhaling them while he was sleeping. This prompted him to scrub at his teeth and dislodge any stragglers with the much neglected floss. As he rinsed and spat out the third dose of mouthwash, there was the dark stain of blood mixed in with a pale grit but he wrote that off to just being from his less than stellar dental hygiene habits. It also might explain why his whole mouth felt like a minty inferno as he bared his teeth to make sure that he'd gotten rid of it all.

It was then Raoul saw that not only had his teeth spontaneously straightened and become a healthy shade of pearly ivory, but he now had a mouthful of fangs the envy of every vampire in Transylvania. Raoul gaped in shock, watching as the fangs drew back into 'normal' teeth. After a few moments of experimenting, he realized that he could control the retraction and extension as easily as blinking and even discovered that he could open his jaw super wide like some kind of snake. That was also the point he discovered his tongue, which had briefly felt like something had sliced it down the middle, could stretch out about a yard and split into two tentacles.

As he reeled his tongue(s?) back in and went back to looking 'normal', Raoul recalled how as Hellrider he'd also been a 'vampire'. It felt as if someone was trying to ease his transition from human to robot, as if they wanted to remind him of what could be. Wasn't this exactly what Soundwave offered to do? This might the bastard's idea of 'good faith', allowing Raoul to experience what he could have as Hellrider… Though he had to wonder what good it was to him since he couldn't think of any way being a fucking vampire could end well for him. Maybe picking up the spooky chicks at those weird bars that only played the Bauhaus and The Cure on a loop where you had to dress like punk Dracula to get in, but not much else. Sighing, Raoul quickly shook it off and decided to first have a little chat with Cosmos before he came to any crazy conclusions. After, this whole thing might be a nightmare and he might just be dreaming it all. A dream would explain how the hell he miraculously gained a set of (admittedly small caliber) arms worthy of the gun show…

With that resolved, Raoul brushed out his hair with a metal comb that miraculous survived the process in pristine condition, noticing with dismay that it had somehow grown long enough to reach just past his shoulder blades. It did seem to be much smoother but retained a curly thickness that made it just fluffy enough to stick up like poodle ears but not enough to work into a decent afro. Groaning, he briefly considered chopping it all of and giving himself a buzz-cut but realized that would take way too long to do alone. So he opted instead to weave the mass into something more manageable, which felt like an eternity but did yield a pair of neat, dense ropes of hair that got tied off with some colorful little elastics that he swore hadn't been there when he went to bed. Raoul did a bit of adjusting to make sure that the plaits would fit under a do rag or a hat, tugging and smoothing down any fuzz with some rather strong smelling Murray's (a large can of which also hadn't been there before).

Puzzled, Raoul did a bit of searching and turned up a whole array of fancy grooming products including bobby pins, hair care geared towards natural hair, and a classic safety razor with what appeared to be a life-time supply of blades. He even turned up a pair of clippers still in packaging that declared they were 'heavy-duty wire cutters'. A quick dig in the trash can netted him a handful of receipts for all of it, causing him to balk in shock when he added up how much it cost. Raoul carefully smoothed out the receipts and made sure they were safely sitting somewhere dry with the resolve to tell Tracks to return all of it (except what he'd already unknowingly used) as soon as possible. Satisfied, he turned to leave but as he reach to cut the lights, Raoul had a startling realization.

He'd never turned them on.

The boy stood on the threshold between his room and the bathroom, hand poised as he stared around him. Despite the all consuming blackness that he logically know to be in the bathroom and the dim half-light in the bedroom, Raoul could easily see. Granted, the colors were faded to the point of everything being nearly like he was in a black and white movie, but all the details were perfectly clear. Taking a long look at the light switch, Raoul considered what he was planning and wondered if it might be a bad idea.

Then he cut on the bathroom lights anyway.

"Fuck!" he hissed softly, shutting his eyes against the blinding flash as he retreated into the dark bedroom.

"You really shouldn't have done that," said Cosmos. "Should've eased into it first… Maybe started with a super dim flashlight?"

"Yeah, thanks asshole!" Blinking away the afterimages, Raoul found that now his room was brightly lit even though the only real light came from what spilled out of the bathroom. But at least now he could see vivid colors again… including his skin, which was a deep shade of green. "…what the fuck?"

"It's fine," said Cosmos. "You're just Nebulan."

"What?!"

"Actually, that's not right," Tandy said suddenly. "You just look like a Nebulan due to the body sculptors the virus grew in you. You can change back to human easily… like with your mouth."

"You saw that?"

She nodded shyly. "We were monitoring you to make sure you were okay."

"~~~*(ಠ‿)d*~~~… On the bright side, you're going to be so popular."

Raoul just sighed and concentrated instead on looking human again. He watched as his skin shifted from green back to brown again, marveling at the process. He did it a few more times, noticing that he could make his skin tone lighter or darker and even more pleased at the how the colors flashed like those squids he'd seen on a school trip to the aquarium. He even managed to make simple patterns like tiger stripes and spots on himself after a bit of practice. It took Cosmos letting out a static cough to get him to settle back to a human color (purposely going several shades lighter) as he focused on his nearly forgotten anger. "What the hell is going on? And don't fucking tell me you can't explain because of some stupid treaty or any other bullshit!"

"They already told you about the virus," grumbled Cosmos. "So I'd say it's too late to give a shit about the Accords. Basically, what the virus appears to be is a modified version of basic augmentation done to elite soldiers by various Nebulan special forces."

"Special forces? Like commando shit?" Raoul grinned as he yanked on some pants, catching a whiff of scents coming from behind him. One was definitely food and the other was… odd yet family in a way he couldn't really define.

"Yes, like commandos… ~~~*(ﾟωﾟ*)*~~~… Speaking of 'commando', aren't you supposed to wear undergarments?"

"Look," said Raoul as he struggled to zip up without causing himself serious damage. "I don't think I could wear anything under these jeans without crushing my family jewels to dust. Must've shrunk or something…"

"It's where you've gained more mass," Tandy said. "You're probably going to need new clothes before this is over, since you'll put on more weight as a side effect."

"You mean I'm gonna get fat?" the boy grumbled, pulling on a shirt that clung almost too tightly to be decent. "Oh god… I finally start getting jacked only to get it buried under a ton of lard! Fuck figures…"

Tandy shook her head with a sigh. "Actually, the weight gain is caused by an increase in muscle mass and bone density, plus the skeletal straightening with titanium alloy fullerine interweave. You're going to weigh more when this is done, but it won't be because you're getting fat. Though you do need to have a certain amount of body fat in order for your organs to function properly as well as other things like thermal control and cushioning, but the virus appears to be set up to only use excess fat and non-essential tissues as well as whatever matter you consume to build and maintain the desired physique as well as any implants it will grow in you."

"Implants? Like, breast and shit?" Raoul glanced down at his chest. "Because I don't want any tits, but if I have to have them, I ain't going with less than a perky pair of DD's."

"Oh no! These aren't those kind of modification. It looks more like some neural interface jacks, augmentations to kidney, spleen, liver and vermiform appendix, alterations to your bone marrow and other major modifications to your respiratory, digestive, and cardiovascular systems… oh! And, if what Arcana said is right, you're even going to have an auxiliary heart!"

"I… what?"

"It's a small, back-up heart in case the main one is damaged," Cosmos explained dryly. "And I'm not a betting mech, but I wouldn't be surprised if you don't also have been modified to consume practically anything organic. Which certainly explains the autophagia…"

"Again, what?" Raoul turned to Snake Eyes, who'd been standing behind him with little plate of what looked like gingerbread cookies. As he took it and began to wolf them down despite how they tasted like used cat litter, he grumbled, "Seriously. What the hell is he talking about?"

Snake Eyes signed "[You ate your hair.]"

"Which is actually pretty standard for protean nanoviruses," chimed in Cosmos. "One of the major side effects is making the subject ravenously hungry. And you went… ~~~*໒()७*~~~… with both the hair and the skin you shed. Got to reclaim those nutrients somehow."

"That's just nasty, man," Raoul grumbled as he casually ate the last cookie. Eyeing the crumb covered plate thoughtfully, he added, "I mean, I am really hungry, but that's probably just the munchies catching up to me."

"It isn't the 'munchies'," hissed Chromedome as he came in from the balcony. "You've gone into a state of nano-fever, judging by your recent eating habits. Though I suspect your drug abuse is a contributing factor in why your symptoms are worse than what's usual in such a case."

"Hey man! I'm a growing boy," Raoul shot back, his voice a bit muffled as he licked the plate. "I can't help eating like a pig."

"You're trying to consume ceramic," said Chromedome in a dry tone that Raoul immediately recognized.

Raoul stopped gnawing on the plate and handed it to Snake Eyes while staring at the disguised Autobot. There was no emotion in his voice as he spoke. "You're a cop."

"Yes," Chromedome replied. "I was once, before the War."

"I refuse to say anything else without a lawyer present."

Chromedome just laughed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Done this song and dance before, haven't we? Well, I have some news for you! You can lawyer up and keep silent all you wish, but this isn't a matter of your world's laws anymore. This is now a matter of intergalactic military law. Which are the only laws that we technically should bother to abide by since Earth, being a primitive backwater of a world, is not even consider worthy of being given protected planet status."

Overcome by curiosity, Raoul couldn't help asking, "And that means…?"

"It means that we could slaughter all the life on the planet, strip mine it down to the very core for whatever valuable resources this rock has then glass whatever remains right now… And it'd be perfectly legal," said Chromedome, his tone cold, calculated and threatening. "This was actually pretty standard policy on Cybertron before the war. It's an incredibly effective way to supply an army, too. Aren't you lucky that both Optimus and Megatron share a distaste for doing this due to their ideological beliefs. As it stands, the only reason the Autobots bother following Earth laws at all is because Optimus is deeply against us disrupting humanity social order more than is absolutely necessary. And if you think your fellow humans are going to protect you, I have some more news for you! See, given the nature of your condition, your lack of meaningful status, and you being a career criminal, your own faction have revoked your rights for the sake of 'national security'. In short, you're fucked Raoul."

Fighting off the urge to ask for more details, Raoul glanced at Snake Eyes only to hear him rasped out a sigh and nod in the affirmative while stealthy signing a few comforting but vulgar words at Chromedome's expense.

"Actually, that's not right," barked Duke as he barged to get up in Chromedome's face. "Firstly, the boy's technically a 'prisoner of war', which means we are going to follow the Geneva Conventions. He still has his basic human rights and we're not going to allow him to be tortured. So you can kindly keep you're little pins and needles to yourself. Secondly, the United States is a nation not a faction. Please learn the difference. This kid's still an American citizen and I will not stand by and let an over-glorified calculator go rooting around in his brain."

"Actually, that's also not right," said Raoul suddenly in a calm voice. "Mnemosurgery isn't torture in and of itself. It's a type of medical procedure meant to be used in tandem with what we would consider conventional psychiatric care. And it's currently unknown if mnemosurgery can even be done on an organic brain due to the vast difference in the structures even among members of the same species like humans or Nebulans. This is mostly just due to an outright lack of solid research into the subject emblematic of the deep-rooted prejudices towards all organic life that is systematic in Cybertronian culture. Plus the fact that the needles are gauged for use on Cybertronians, meaning it would literally crush my whole head if someone even tried to stick one into my skull…"

They all gave him a long, hard stare.

"…eh, or so I've heard."

Chromedome narrowed his eyes. "I think I need to have a little chat with Brainstorm…"

"Yeah," said Duke, cutting Raoul off before he could say anything. "Why don't you go do that while the kid goes get something to eat."

Raoul watched Chromedome give the smiling soldier that special dirty look he had seen cops give guys they'd busted but had to let go free before sighing in defeat as he left the room. Wary but defiant, Raoul looked at the other man coldly. "What's the military equivalent of 'I want my lawyer'?"

"Technically, the same as for civil law," answered Duke without breaking his smile. "Difference is, you'll be dealing with a lawyer the brass assigns you… for better or worse. And that's not even getting into whether or not the spooks want answers…"

"Then torture is an option, isn't it?"

"[Depends.]" Snake Eyes' fingers moved sharply as he listed off a few things. "[Sleep deprivation, denying food and water, stress positions, isolation, all kinds of psychological manipulation like gaslighting, drugs… Intelligence agencies have a lot of ways of getting you to talk that are not 'technically' torture. And almost all of these are completely legal. Even drugging you up to break you down is perfectly legal just as long as you stick to the ones used on psych wards and get a doctor to administer it for 'therapeutic reasons'. Or the CIA gets involved, you can use stuff seized from drug bust or designer drugs that are so new they do not even have a name yet. Those bastards always have access to that shit…]"

"So that MK-Ultra stuff's real?" asked Raoul with a wide grin. "Like, they were just handing out free drugs and shit?!"

Snake Eyes nodded. "[Yes. It was real. They used human beings as guinea pigs for a lot of things. Especially fond of using us soldiers for those experiments because we could be monitored and controlled more easily than civilians. It was like being cattle at a slaughterhouse. And I can tell you that shit was not free.]"

Duke raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Nothing personal, but now I really want to know what the hell you did during 'Nam to know that…"

"[To be accurate, it happened in basic]" gestured Snake Eyes, managing to convey decades of bitterness without a single sound or facial expression. "[Our unit got 'volunteered' by a vindictive dickhead of a captain to take part in a CIA drug experiment. They told us it was just 'vitamin shots'. It was fun at first, since they gave us a nice dorm to lounge in and played some nice classical music, plus snacks and all the beer we could drink. Then it became… not fun. Spent about an hour laying on a bunk with two other guys while I got dragged at sonic speed through a beautiful technicolor barf hell, talking to clockwork fairies and thinking I was going to implode in gory bits. But the worst part? Rogers pissed the bed because he was too messed up to even crawl out to the latrine. And we ended up getting dosed with those 'vitamins' five more times, partly because free beer is free beer, but really thanks to Captain de Sade getting offended over one of the guys in our squad cracking a joke that had nothing to do with him at all. We had three guys get honorably discharged for 'medical reasons' by the time the CIA was done with us, and after all the shit those elves did to me trying to break me down, I don't blame them. I cannot speak for the other guys, but I still have fucking nightmares about those things and the debriefings we had to give the spooks afterwards. At least acid trips tend to be fun.]"

Duke asked quietly, "So is this why you fragged the guy?"

"['Allegedly'. One of the guys in our squad 'allegedly' murdered our captain after we got sent to 'nam. There's no proof I was involved in that mess… Even if the bastard was a baby murdering psycho who deserved it and I might have known where the pin on his pillow came from…]

"Pin on his pillow?" asked Raoul

"[It was a warning. If a guy's about to get fragged, you're supposed to give them one last chance to make things right by leaving a discarded pin in their bunk. If they don't take the hint, then they get a grenade with the pin in it. If they still don't get it, that's another grenade… cooked and without a pin. And that bastard only became worse after the warnings, and since the brass refused to do anything about it, somebody else did. But I am certainly not saying I know how grenades kept being 'misplaced' during inventory…]"

"You straight up killed a guy?" asked Raoul as he got Tandy and the lunchbox, smiling as her avatar perched on his shoulder

"[I did not say that. And I am not saying it was me that did the deed. That man made a lot of enemies. I just said I 'might' know how an armed grenade got tossed into his bed while he was sleeping. And I 'might' know who did it as well as who helped them cover it up. In fact, the only thing I am going to admit to is that there were multiple people involved and at least one was an officer.]' Snake Eyes stretched his fingers, then added, "[The bastard who got fragged wasn't the same guy as Captain Shithead, by the way. That idiot is now a colonel!]"

"Ah," hummed Cosmos. "I see incompetency getting concentrated in the upper ranks is universal…"

"You actually understood that?" Raoul hummed back with a smirk.

"~~~*()*~~~… There's a lot about me you don't know. But now I must go because I'm moving out of orbit. Good bye, humans. And good luck, Raoul. ~~~*‿ʘ)/*~~~"

"This is that UFO guy, right?" Duke asked, staring at the lingering green text as it scrolled away into nothingness. "How is that weirdo doing that? And what do those symbols mean? Is that alien for something?"

"They're supposed to represent facial expressions and actions," answered Raoul as he let the two soldiers walk him out onto the balcony and into the kitchen. "I mean, he's a weirdo, but that's not actually Cybertronian. This is." He held the tablet flat and dug around till he found something that had some text. Zooming in on a bit of the wall, he turned to show Duke. "Sorry if it's hard to read. This is apparently bathroom graffiti done before the war. I think I can zoom in more, if you're interested…"

Duke just stared at the image dumbfounded. "…uh, look. I'm an enlisted man and I have seen my far share of smut, so I can't really judge… But dear god, that… that thing is terrifying."

"It's not that bad…" hummed Sideswipe, peeping over their shoulders.

"Yeah…" added Sunstreaker as he also took a look. "That's one of the really tame… huh?! Wait a fucking second… That's one of mine! It wasn't ever published because it was a candid shot I took before we broke up and you…" He rounded on his twin. "You've been in my private portfolio again, you little…"

The two of them broke away, bickering over Sideswipe's disregard for his sibling's privacy.

"What are you guys talking about… oh… OH!" Raoul noticed he'd managed to pull up one of the many photos of Thundercracker and had unknowingly picked an area that highlighted the Seeker's area. Quickly closing it, Raoul laughed it off. "Oh, that? Uh… that was something Sideswipe sent me as a… a prank! Yeah, just him fucking around. It doesn't mean shit. I ain't a faggot, okay?"

"You're shacking up with a male robot who is most certainly best friends with Dorthy," muttered Duke softly. "We also have it on record that you've previously had sexual relationships with both men and women. And to be brutally honest, I frankly don't give a damn what you do in your private life, kid. But for the love of god, will you please warn me next time you show off robot porn! I didn't need to find out they have that equipment…"

"[That's more like something out of Robot Playboy, to be honest.]" When they both look him in confusion, Snake Eyes shrugged. "[What? Arcee once showed off her collection while I was visiting the Witwickies and compared to that, this is pretty tame. I mean, I am talking bondage and the super kinky things.]"

Duke raised an eyebrow. "Why the hell…?"

"{Scarlet and her got to talking, and it got around to how things work for their kind. Really interesting too. And Thundercracker's not really that big, it just looks that way because of his frame. Jet models apparently are built to be their world's version of bodybuilders. It about the same size as Springer's was, but that guy is pretty large for a robot so it looks average on him. In human terms, I would say it's about seven or eight inches in length, but might get about as wide as a Fosters' can if robots work like humans. Intimidating, but not too bad if you prep for it. Besides, I took the time to ask and apparently they retouch photos like we do on Earth, too.]'

Duke let out a deep sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Jesus, Snake Eyes… Every time you get comfortable enough to start talking again, you always end up taking an express trip straight into crazy town. That's literally more information than I ever wished to know about robot aliens."

"[You're welcome]" replied Snake Eyes, adding a middle finger.

"Who's Springer?" asked Raoul as they headed past the kitchen, which was so brightly lit up that he couldn't even see into it.

"He is the current leader of the Wreckers," said Perceptor, stopping the trio short and, to Raoul's disappointment, had managed to find a sweatshirt since the last time he saw him. "And a fellow triple-changer. And, yes, Snake Eyes' estimates are extremely accurate in proportion to a human scale body."

Raoul smiled at him. "And you know this because…?"

"Because I literally trained the boy and had the misfortune on walking in on him after he had been to see his 'good friend'…" he said with flattened annoyance. "Thankfully, Springer started actually locking the door after that. Pity the damn mechanisms always would fail and keep the doors open whenever Hot Rod would visit. The glitch even seemed to effect the supply closets and other private areas…"

"I do not think this is either the time or place for you to air any grievances you have about the upbringing I have provided for Hot Rod," rumbled Ultra Magnus' voice.

Perceptor primly pursed his lips. "That is rather strange. I do not recall mentioning that Springer's 'good friend' and Hot Rod were the same person. Nor did I say that you have anything to do with the odd way circumstances seem to keep young Hot Rod from engaging in any activities more intimate that a hug… Springer gets so damn flustered and frustrated about that boy. And it is often difficult to get him calmed down. Even Impactor was complaining about his backstrut after helping his little green circuit booster blow off some steam whenever Hot Rod would leave. You know that Springer is a rather… uh, energetic boy," He paused, then said haughtily. "But I have not said a single word about how possessive you might be towards the boy. I only wish to note that you go off on people for even being jokingly flirtatious with Hot Rod, a nasty habit that I have observed both at a distance and at unpleasantly personal ranges."

"I repeat: This. Is. Not. The. Time." Ultra Magnus droned flatly. "Now, I expect you to drop it and return to your duties. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Ultra Magnus, signing off."

After a minute or so, Raoul said softly, "He's still listening, isn't he?"

Perceptor said nothing but nodded as he gently took hold of Raoul's arm and lead him into the living room where Arcana was waiting with the diagnostic suite already set up.

"Have you eaten yet?" Arcana asked. "Besides the hair and skin, I mean."

"Uh, I ate those weird cookie bars Snake Eyes gave me."

"Oh good. Then we should be fine."

"Uh, what's all this about?" he asked as he sat Tandy down on the coffee table. "I thought you said I didn't need to do this fasting."

"Well, yes," said Arcana as he took a blood sample. "But we want to see how much the virus has changed your body and it's easier to look at your insides without a large amount of food in your digestive track. Also, I need to drink this and too much in your stomach would delay it's effects."

Nervously taking the bottle, Raoul frowned at him. "This is like that stuff you get when they need to do an x-ray of your organs, right?"

"They're similar, yes."

"But that scanner scale doesn't really need that. I mean, it looked like everything was there last night."

"Well, yes," said Arcana. "But some modifications like the skeletal strengthening make it difficult to do deep scans without an enhancement agent. On top of that, Perceptor has informed me that I may have missed some details due to my lack of familiarity with human anatomy. Hence the need for a more thorough examination of you."

"Okay. So what did you miss?"

Arcana smiled. "Oh, just that, unlike Nebulans, human organs are oriented to the right instead of the left of the body's central axis."

Raoul blinked in shock. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Your organs are 'mirrored' compared to an average human," hummed Arcana cheerfully. "It appears that you were born with a condition called situs inversus, which occurs in approximately 0.01% of humans, effecting more males than females, and does show up in lower income families that have a history of congenital cardiac issues like yours. But the condition in and of itself is relatively harmless and can have benefits, which explains not only why your doctor likely never mentioned it but also how you managed to avoid getting your liver torn out by Buzzsaw. Though he did do quite of bit of damage to your original spleen which resulted in it's emergency removal." He paused, then said with a thoughtful hum, "I suppose regrowing a new spleen along with whatever else the nanovirus rebuilt or converted likely was the reason why you have been experiencing so much pain since the attack and why it was unresponsive to most standard analgesics available on Earth. Which makes your self medicating with street drugs and alcohol understandable but still very worrying."

"I ain't self medicating. Maybe I just like getting stupid high and forget that reality exists for awhile," grumbled Raoul before choked down the fluid. "God, this shit taste worse than ass…"

"That is the definition of self medicating," Arcana replied dryly as he did a few adjustments to the scanner scale. "It's going to take about ten minutes for that diagnostic swarm to disperse, and since I have no idea how the meeting between it and the swarm already infection you will interact nor how the human immune system might take it's presence, you may experience a few side effects. If you need to sit or lie down, just let me know. I have already made preparations to accommodate for such a situation. That's why I had Snake Eyes bring you a few compressed nutrient wafers to hopeful prevent you from getting nauseated."

"I though I had to take this on an empty stomach."

"Ideally, yes. But I don't know how a human will respond to taking it. I also want to be sure you won't vomit and potentially trigger an extreme immune response from the nano that has already habituated to you. By the way, if you do vomit, do your best to do so into this bucket. It will be much easier to collect samples and contain most of the stray nano that way."

"…sure, doc," Raoul said as he took the bucket. "By the way, what's a 'compressed nutrient wafer'? It is some kind of alien granola bar or what?"

"They're more like MREs," said Arcana as he took up a little scope to examine Raoul's ears. "Designed to have a quarter of the amount of daily nutrition per wafer for the average male Nebulan, optimized to be extremely shelf stable, ultra lightweight, with a flavor like rotten piss and the texture of freeze-dried cardboard. Every single wafer is capable of rendering meals completely devoid of joy, especially since anyone below the rank of an officer is banned from having alcohol, even on leave… Especially on leave."

"Talking from some experience, doc?" chuckled Raoul as Arcana looked at his eyes.

"Yes. Being forced to serve as a military doctor was what you on Earth call the 'straw that broke the camel' with me and why I left the medical profession as soon as my sentence had terminated."

Duke let out a whistle. "Jesus, Arcana. I know getting drafted is a bitch, but you make it sound like prison!"

"It was." As he went about looking into Raoul's mouth and nose, Arcana explained in a detached tone, "Early in my career, I preformed an abortion on a young woman at her request. She also wanted a hysterectomy or to be render otherwise sterilized since she did not wish to bear any more children just to have them taken away. Which was all perfectly legal… unless it's being requested by what's known on my world as a 'walking womb'."

There was a pause, then Raoul decided to be the fool to ask, "Okay. What's a 'walking womb'?"

"Exactly what you think: a young enslaved woman used to breed children. They're preferred over using womb tanks since being 'decanted' is very strongly associated with the lower classes and slaves. It's completely legal and so common that there are mass market creches devoted to supplying both healthy walking wombs and studs at a variety of price ranges. They're force-fed fertility drugs to ensure they not only get pregnant but likely give birth to multiple babies. Usually, they breed to studs to make more slaves or used as surrogate mothers for the nobility, corporate heads, and other members of the upper class. The girl I rescued was one of the latter. She was barely in her thirties when I met her and had already given birth to nineteen children in eight separate births. And those were the 'successful' ones…"

Raoul gaped at him. "You telling me they were raping that woman to keep her knocked up and making kids for rich bastards?"

"Yes, but not in the way you're thinking. She'd been medically raped to produce offspring for her mistress' clients via artificial insemination since the onset of puberty. Doing it the 'standard' way even to a stud risked damaging her and was too hard to ensure the pregnancy would take. Besides, there are other slaves for them to sated that depravity upon."

"I don't know what's more fucked up: what they did to that kid or that Nebulos still has slavery!"

"It's fucked up all around," said Arcana, taking a look at Raoul's fingers and nails. "There have been movements to abolish slavery, but they only focus on the homeworld and so far have failed to have any meaningful effect. It's shockingly easy to end up enslaved too, especially after Lord Zarak's expanded the number of 'crimes' punishable by enslavement like being in debt if you weren't nobility or 'disruption to the public peace'."

"That sounds terrifyingly vague," Duke said quietly, glancing at the claws that flex out with Arcana's gentle prodding nervously.

"It is." Arcana input his findings onto his tablet, frowning at the results. He took a stylus and started scribbling in notes. "One of the first victims of Zarak's policies was an accountant that gave an unflattering report before the Peers that revealed one of Zarak's cronies had been skimming off the top from the taxes for over a decade of Earth time and, even worse, took most of it out of what the Peers had earmarked for their own slush funds. The man ended up exiled, but not before Lord Zarak made him watch as his young wife and infant daughter were sold to a creche. The wife ended up dying within a month and the accountant was found a few weeks later dead of an apparent suicide. As for the daughter… Well, after suffering for years being a walking womb on top of other abuses, she managed to escape to a former colony world that had broke away from Nebulos during one of the civil wars and is currently living in a quiet little town with her lovely wife. She's done her best to keep in touch and I try to do the same for her."

"Zarak sounds like a real monster," said Raoul, peeping at Arcana's notes and seeing a disturbing pattern.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Arcana sighed, turning so the boy could read easier. "Lord Zarak can be magnanimous sometimes. I mean, he was kind enough to name their only child after the girl. He even let little Llyra met her mother once, an unthinkable breach of etiquette that got him publicly ridiculed by the press. Which he let slide as being a 'show of kindness', despite the fact that he'd personally ordered Llyra the Elder surgically muted well before then."

Duke gave him a funny look. "So how did you ended busted then? I mean, as disturbing as it feels to say this about another living person, this sounds like a property crime. Not great, but doesn't seem to severe given how you imply that this girl and other people in her situation are being treated like disposable objects. Also, seems weird that convicts would be drafted. Frankly sounds like a bad idea to me…"

"Not if you alter them into living weapons and burn wet-ware personalities into their brains that make them bloodthirsty killers at command," said Arcana as he reviewed his notes slowly enough so Raoul could follow along. "But you need trained medical personnel to do that. Luckily, Nebulos Prime and it's colonies are renown for being on the cutting edge of biotechnology. Unfortunately, most medical personnel retain these troublesome things call 'morals' and 'ethics', making it hard to find anyone willing to do the job. So Lord Zarak and the Peers before him made it was standard operating procedure that in the event anyone trained in medicine convicted for any crime, they would be given a simple choice: become a military doctor for the duration of their sentence or be 'repurposed'."

"Repurposed?"

"It comes in several forms, with the most common basically being a zombie meat puppet that's remotely controlled by cortical implant. They're a step down from slaves because slaves at least are allowed to stay dead. Oh, and the procedure basically leaves you conscious but completely unable to override the implant. You're locked into a rotting corpse and can only hope to be destroyed as soon as possible. The lucky ones get sent to clear nuclear waste sites."

"I would have gone with suicide," Duke said thoughtfully.

"Oh, they won't even let you have that. One form of repurposing is to rip the brain out and stuff it into a machine. Even the corpse from a victim of a self-inflicted head-shot could be used, since they go out of their way to rebuild the brain from whatever they can scrap up," replied Arcana. "In my case, if I had chosen repurposing, I'd likely still be hardwired into a medical pod like most of my former colleagues. They're locked in, like all the repurposed are, but with their brains altered while being kept on cocktail of drugs and endorphins to make them addicted to whatever tasks their masters wish them to do. I'd still be in the wards, forced to make 'undesirables' undergo horrific and irreversible surgeries to keep supplying the Peers and Zarak with the troops to continue Nebulan expansion. And I would have been forced to orgasm with every single cut or injection or whatever else they made me do to my 'patients'."

"And those guys just let you leave?" asked Raoul.

"Well, not really. I'd originally been given a life sentence due to what's known on my world as 'grievous destruction and theft of private property with malicious intent', but because I was serving it out as a military doctor, I had to treat a wide variety of people from all walks of life. Including the son of a very influential Peer, who decided to show her gratitude by having me freed in recognition of my 'good behavior'. It also helped that I promptly left the medicine all together for a career in the hard sciences. According to everyone, it was for the best since I lost my charming and compassionate bedside manner."

Raoul laughed sharply with a shake of his head. "I don't get why. You seem to be a pretty decent guy. Weird, but decent."

There was a long pause, then Arcana smiled. "Thank you. By the way, you still feeling okay."

"…as much as I can be," said Raoul, stepping onto the scale. "I ain't thrilled with your notes, but I guess we'll have our answers with the scan."

"You can read this?" asked Duke as he looked at the tablet.

"Time and space are relatively in virtual reality," Raoul answered, surprising himself with how exhausted and old he sounded. "So I took advantage of it to educate myself."

Duke smiled and nodded grimly. "Yeah, I don't blame you kid. Given that tomorrow morning the jackass principal and that poor bastard of a recruiter at your school are going to try to railroad you into the army, I'd be taking any chance I could get to avoid it."

"[I thought you like being in the service]" signed Snake Eyes. "[I mean, he could get a GED and put through college too.]"

"I do and I'm proud of my service, asshole," said Duke with friendlier smile. "But some people just aren't cut out for the army."

"[There's the Air Force.]"

Duke gave him a dirty look. "Raoul here's not stuck up or oversexed enough to be a fly-boy."

"[Navy?]"

Now Duke horrified. "Oh god! And risk getting him stuck with Shipwreck and Polly on a boat?! That's just too cruel…"

"How dare you…" came a squawk as a green parrot landed on Raoul's shoulder. They turned to look the startled boy in the eye, looked oddly startled themselves. "Hello! Cracker?"

"No you don't Polly," huffed a man in a blue-gray turtleneck sweater that had walked out from the kitchen. "The over-glorified junker has already fed you a whole pancake. Knows how to make decent coffee though…"

"Not food. Other one."

"Did your fucking chicken just call me a cracker?" rasped Raoul.

"He's a parrot, not a chicken," the man shot back. "And you were a black kid in the files I saw."

"[I'm Puerto Rican, shit for brains]" growled Raoul.

"[My abuela is Puerto Rican, so I know what I'm saying when I say that you look nothing like one]" the man replied in Spanish with the rapid-fire accent that Raoul hated about West Coast Chicanos. "[I have never met nobody that pale! Even white people got some color to them. You're so white, you're fucking glowing in the dark! That can't be healthy, sweetie…] You pulling a Michael Jackson or something?"

"Kid's had something done that let's him change the color of his skin, Shipwreck," Duke said in a tired tone. "Like what Zartan did but more advanced."

"I can do the ears too," said Raoul with a smile. "Wish there was something I could do about this hair though…"

"Your hair is perfectly fine…" said Tracks, coming out of the kitchen with an apron over a futuristic jumpsuit and looking even more haggard than he sounded. "It's good to see you're take this well. Now change back."

Hopping off the scale, Raoul immediately went over to the disguised Corvette. "Holy shit! You need to go back to sleep. You look like hell…"

"Looks be damned, I'm fine," he grumbled back, earning shocked stares from nearly everyone in the room. Tracks stiffened, ignoring them with a haughty frown only softening when he spoke to the boy. "Really, I'm fine. My cosmetic filters are just shorted out. Now please humor me and go back to being yourself. Because Shipwreck is right. You look wrong like this."

Raoul sighed but did what he asked.

The frown deepened but his tone state kind. "The freckles too."

"They make me look ugly…" grumbled Raoul but he let them show again.

"I dunno Angel," quipped Shipwreck, taking his bird back and nodding with approval. "You look cuter like this than as a generic white bimbo. Though you need to put on a few more pounds… and get rid of those socks, too."

"What socks?"

Shipwreck cleared his throat and said softly, "Look Angel, I ain't judging you for wanting to be the king of all bull dykes in New York, but honey that's trying too damn hard…"

Raoul laughed bitterly, bristling at being called 'Angel'. "Real fucking hilarious coming from a reject from the Village People."

"This isn't the time," said Tracks, cutting them off with a murderous glare at Shipwreck as he pulled Raoul away gently. "You need to let Arcana do the scans while I go change out of this horrid thing. Then you're going to put some underwear on and get some breakfast."

"Why do you think I need under-…"

"Those pants aren't even barely hiding anything," Tracks huffed. "Which is why I think we'll be seeing about getting you some better fitting clothing after we're done with the school."

Perceptor chuckled. "Don't you have an appointment with Ratchet?"

"He can wait," huffed Tracks.

"Look, you really need to see the doctor big guy," Raoul said sharply. "So why don't you just give me some cash to go get myself new threads while you're with Ratchet."

"No. Because I can't trust you not to get anything that you're not practically sewn into and giving everybody a free show!"

"Wait a minute…" muttered Shipwreck. "That's not a bundle of socks?"

Raoul sighed in embarrassment. "No."

"So you're a man, not a butch lesbian?"

"Yes. I'm a man."

Shipwreck hummed thoughtfully. "Damn. I see how you were hooking up with supermodels now…"

"[It's not all it's cracked up to be…]" signed Snake Eyes. "[Shipwreck's never scared girls off as soon as the pants come off.]"

"What about with that face, oh most wise Silent Master?" Raoul said with a sad chuckle.

"[Paper bags exist. Though in his case, I'd say double bagging it in plastic would be best.]"

Raoul laughed again. "You love being able to talk shit, don't you?"

"Snake Eyes? Talking?!" asked Shipwreck.

"Yeah. What do you think he's been doing with his hands?"

"You telling me you understand those freaky ninja spasms?"

"It's ASL, asshole."

"…that some kind of disease?"

"Don't worry about right now, Delgado," said Duke as he started to drag Shipwreck out of the room. "I need to debrief you on the situation as it stands now. Snake Eyes will stay to observe here and report on what the scientists find. Also, I need coffee. Badly."

When they were gone, Tracks helped Raoul back up onto the scale and stood out of way but still very close by.

"Thought you were going to change?" asked the boy as Arcana started up the scan.

"I was. Then I remembered that would mean leaving alone not only with the likes of Shipwreck, Snake Eyes and Arcana, but Perceptor too."

"You need to quit worrying about me and get some rest, big guy," Raoul said quietly. "Not sleeping for three weeks ain't healthy for nobody!"

"I don't know who told you that," said Tracks as he shot Perceptor a dirty look. "But I need to remind them that, unlike humans, a Cybertronian can—…"

"That's fucking dangerous even for robots!" Raoul shot back. "You're putting all kinds of unnecessary stress on your laser core, cerebral circuits, and the rest of your body that could kill you. Especially given your age and the shit that's happened to you in the line of duty. I've seen your medical file, big guy. You need to quit arguing, go see the doctor and take some time off for the sake of your health."

"It's bad enough that I'm being forced to take leave, but now Ratchet has to go behind my back to enlist you in his efforts?" Tracks huffed angrily. "This is absolutely disgraceful."

"Actually, I'm basing this off of what I learned in the VR training and you are a textbook case for a potentially terminal impulse fluctuation!"

"They trained you as a medic?" asked Perceptor.

"Who?"

"The Decepticons. They were training you to be a medic, were they not?"

Raoul quickly turned his attention to life sized 3D image Arcana had pulled up. "You mind walking me through what's going on in me, doc?"

"Raoul, Perceptor asked you a question," Tracks said in a grumpy, fatherly tone.
"Maybe I don't want to answer him."

Tracks sighed loudly. "That's being incredibly rude."

"Well, I am just a feral little human who's never been properly socialized," Raoul grumbled back sharply. "And I ain't answering any more questions about what went on in that VR session. All I'm saying is that I took the opportunity to educate myself, all right?"

"First, I am going to have a long talk with Cosmos about what is and is not appropriate to talk with children about…"

"I didn't say shit about Cosmos."

"You didn't have to. I know it had to have been him since he has a nasty habit of listening in on conversations that he has no business hearing," said Tracks sternly.

"So you did say I'm like a fucking rash?"

"As much as I consider Jazz to be one," muttered Tracks. "But unlike him, your still treatable."

Raoul winced, slumping slightly. "You really want to get rid of me?"

"No. By 'treatable', I mean you aren't a completely hopeless case. Unlike Jazz, I've still got time to make you a responsible and respectable member of society."

"Maybe I like being feral," Raoul shot back, pride still stinging. "Why you making such a big deal about me being 'responsible and respectable' when we both know I ain't got a future?"

Tracks started to argue back, then took a deep breath and turned to Arcana. "So what exactly is going on here?"

"Oh, now who's being rude?" Raoul hissed softly.

"We will talk about it later," Tracks said, stiffening up defensively as he squinted at the image. "I think we should be more concerned about… uh, whatever is going on with you right now. Is everything all right with Raoul? Is this normal?"

"Depends on how you define 'normal'," said Arcana in his dry monotone. "If you mean is the nanovirus doing exactly what it was designed to do, then yes. Everything is perfectly fine. If you mean is this normal for an adolescent human-"

"This ain't normal," said Raoul suddenly, reaching out to drag the image closer to get a better a look himself. "Holy shit… There's a bunch of new organs and shit in here and… oh fuck me… Are… are those wires growing in me?"

"Yes. How else will the implants connect to your nervous systems," hummed Arcana. "Don't worry. I made sure to bring plenty of supplements to ensure you have plenty of bio-available silica, metals, and other minerals to prevent unchecked leeching from your skeleton and organs. I also have a supply of triglyceride gel and nutritional pastes to ease the transition."

"Transition into what?"

Tracks frowned darkly. "An espatier."

"E-spacey?"

"Espatiers are a branch of nearly every galactic army that are part of the space fleets. On Nebulos, most of them are either volunteers, draftees, or, in the case of the marauders and swarmers, are serving out a criminal sentence," said Arcana as he politely pointed a few things out to Raoul. "And it appears you're being turned into a ranger class marauder. Long recon, judging by the modifications. The reason I say this is because I've noticed your sensory organs have been modified first. That's obvious with a look here at your olfactory bulb. See how it's been enlarged? No only that, but you vomeronasal organ has been taken from a merely vestigial clump of cells to a full functional part of you're senses. You may have noticed some odd odors, haven't you?"

"Is that way everybody that's not a robot smells faintly like BO?"

"Yes. But don't be too concerned! You'll eventually learn how to distinguish between different scents better than even a Golarian hound!"

"I'm a bit more troubled by the 'marauder' part here," said Tracks.

Arcana huffed quietly. "Oh, don't worry! Most ranger class marauders actually live very long and productive lives… As long as they remain in the army or become private military contractors that is."

"Uh, why would that be, doc?"

"Well Raoul, there's a wide variety of reasons for that!" Arcana took a breath and began ticking off on his fingers a short itemized list. "For marauders, it often comes down to an unholy combination of being stuck with combat modifications which are basically irreversible, experiencing painful sensory and emotional overload dealing with 'normal' situations, the 'average' civilian being unable or unwilling to accommodate for their needs, eating habits that most people would consider to be 'horrific', post-traumatic stress along with other psychological disorders brought on by both their experiences as soldiers and the extreme changes done to their minds and bodies, lack of access to medical or psychiatric treatment as civilians, a deeply ingrained need for the strict structure of army life, and pernicious stigma being seen only as 'baby killing monsters' by society at large."

"[Sounds familiar]" gestured Snake Eyes.

"Yes, those poor young ones deserved better," Arcana said with a shake of his head as he dug in his coat pockets. Pulling out a oversized headphones, thin opera gloves of a black spandex-like material, and sunglasses, he handed them to Raoul. "By the way, you might wish to put these on to mitigate some of the sensory overload I mentioned. I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help with your olfactory senses, so be mindful of going places that have strong scents like restaurants or food markets until you get used to it. You can even plug the headphones into Tandy's tablet to listen to music and other audio files if you'd like."

"Uh, thanks? But I don't think I need them right now."

"[You mind putting the glasses on, please?]" asked Snake Eyes. "[I'm actually running low on power for the low-light vision on my visor.]"

"I left a lamp on for you," said Arcana in annoyance, pointing to the one tiny desk light that was angled towards the wall and somehow made the room seem even darker. "And there's plenty of light coming in from the kitchen area."

"[Yeah, but I don't have little machines giving me supervision.]"

Arcana sighed and muttered in Nebulan, "[Humans! So damn inefficient…]"

"It's cool man," Raoul said as he put on the sunglasses and turned to Arcana. "You need me for anything else, doc?"

"Not right now. I need to review the data with Perceptor and then we'll see where to go from there. Do you want to stay and listen in or would you rather get some food?"

"I think I'll take the food," said Raoul as he hopped off the scale and, sniffing the air loudly, picked Tandy off the table as he bee-lined for the kitchen. "Because I'm starving."

"Good," Arcana called at his retreating back. "I've already made sure your meal was set aside to make sure the other humans do not accidentally consume any of it."

Raoul paused, turning to face Arcana. "Uh, why would you need to do that?"

"Oh, because if a baseline human were to ingest the food we prepared for you to supply the proper nutrition you will need from now on, it will at best cause them to become violently ill. At worst? Die. Painfully. Likely in a puddle of their own vomit and excrement."

"And you want me to eat that shit because…?"

"Because your metabolism has been altered so you're able to digest those rations," said Tracks as he gently shepherded Raoul to a seat at the kitchen table. "It's lucky Arcana's brought plenty, since if we had to feed you just on standard human food, it'd cost a fortune every meal just to keep up."

"Ah, come on," grumbled Raoul, sitting down at the chair Tracks pulled out for him and letting him push it back in. He smiled at Rewind and Eject who both were now in holoform, then looked at the ridiculous heaps of food on the plates before him and the even sillier little warning signs. "You guys are just being a bit dramatic, aren't you?"

"No. We're not."

"Yeah," Duke said, glancing over his coffee. "Apparently, a teaspoonful of that orange jelly stuff is like eating a whole polar bear liver. Which will kill you from vitamin A poisoning. And that's just the start, Raoul."

"Raoul?" asked Shipwreck. "I thought his name was Angel."

"I prefer going by my middle name," Raoul replied as he poured himself a cup of coffee, watching Tracks quietly leave from the corner of his eye. "My abuelo was 'Angel', and the only person who I ever was cool with calling me that was my abuela. But she's dead now."

"It was in the file," muttered Duke.

"Yeah, but I thought that was just because his mom was one of those hippie types who gave her baby girl a 'boy' name to be different. And there's a typo since it was spelled with an 'o'. It's supposed to be 'R-A-U-L'."

"That's because my mom used the French spelling."

"French, eh? You're mother's maiden was Alonzo-Incandenza, right?"

"Yeah."

"You wouldn't happen to be related James Orin Incandenza, would you?"

Raoul sighed wearily. "Hell if I know. If I am related, they likely already got disowned well before I was born because my aunts would never stand for some 'artist' type involved with blue films to stick around sullying the family name."

"Sounds like my family…" Shipwreck grumbled.

Raoul giggled, taking a bite of pancake. "What? You the black sheep too?"

"Nope! Since joining the Navy, I've become something of the 'gold standard' for my family." Pausing to take a gulp of coffee, Shipwreck then added, "Of course, given that they're all comparing me to my cousin Hector on the Ramirez side of the family, I could be dealing heroin to kindergartners and still get bragged on at the reunions. That man is a human train wreck!"

"That wouldn't be that reporter guy, would it?" asked Raoul as he cleared the first plate to start in on the second.

Shipwreck winced in pain. "Yeah. They're one and the same idiot."

"Hold up," Duke said sharply. "You're related to that Hector Ramirez?!"

"Don't worry, Duke," grumbled Shipwreck. "I ain't going to be conflicted in my interests since that bastard basically has spent his whole career lying about everything. Even lied about his name being 'Lester Black' for years till another news anchor called him out for it on air after finding out about his old man wasn't a white Jewish guy like Hector had been claiming."

"But isn't he Jewish?" Raoul asked, finishing off another plate of food.

"Technically, yes. See, my cousin Bert married into a Sephardic Jewish family after moving to New York and they decided to raise the kids Jewish," Shipwreck explained grumpily. "Not saying anything bad about that, though. Just made things over the holidays a bit of a hassle. And my cousin-in-law Julia is the sweetest woman I've ever met and her family's also super nice. All their other kids turned out good too. We're all just trying to figure out what the fuck happened with Hector to make him such a little cunt."

"I'd say part of it was his agent," said Raoul thoughtfully as he worked on his fifth plate. "Likely told your cousin that the best way to get ahead in his career would be to play up his mother's side of the family since he can claim both his name and his appearance to be because they're Sephardic while completely burying that his father's side is Latino. This kind of shit happens all the time, man. I remember the jackasses my mom had for agents before she met Raymond all made her take lessons with a voice coach because she didn't 'sound black enough' in their opinion."

"You're joking, right?!"

"Nope. They literally have people out there to teach you how to 'properly' talk and act like every race and nationality you can imagine. Which is hilarious when you end up getting sent off for coaching because you don't talk or sing or even dance the way a 'real' Puerto Rican girl raised in New York from a poor immigrant family would even though you've been one since you were a fetus." Noticing the looks that got him, Raoul laughed sullenly and shrugged. "What? My mom didn't always have somebody to look after me. I saw enough shit to make me never want to go into show business."

Shipwreck frowned in concern. "Jesus… Is the casting couch shit true?"

Raoul shrugged again. "I guess. Mom and her friends would sometimes mention directors and other guys they worked with being 'bad dates' or 'pushy', but I never saw anything happen. I was a little kid back then, so my mom never really talked about that. She just made me keep away from certain men she worked with and never let me out of her sight unless I was with one of her close girlfriends or Raymond. I mean, sure, Eric Raymond's a sleazebag. But at least he ain't a kiddie diddling sleazebag."

"Your mom's agent was Eric Raymond?"

"Yeah. And then they later started dating," grumbled Raoul, slurping down a packet of what might have raspberry flavored peanut butter. "Found out from my uncle years after she died that Eric asked her to marry him, too. I want to say she said 'no' because she didn't love the bastard, but my uncle actually heard her new agent basically tell her she'd never get another job again because Eric would 'make her a fat bitch again' and she had to 'always be available' for directors and producers to 'test out'. It's easier to whore 'em out and use 'em up without a husband or wife breathing down your neck."

There was a long, bleak silence as they all stared at Raoul.

Before Shipwreck could open his mouth, Duke said quietly, "His mother drowned while taking a bath after having a seizure caused by malnutrition from crash dieting. Mary was suffering from an eating disorder that was ignored, made worse by, and even actively encouraged by almost everyone she worked with. All the pills and other 'weight loss advice' she got came from 'doctors' who had her sign off on waivers that absolved them of any wrongdoing in case she died, meaning it was unfortunately completely legal."

Raoul stared at Duke for a long time, then softly said, "Thank you for not calling my mom a junkie. And how the fuck did you know that?"

"Her autopsy report was included in the file we've complied on you. Along with a full medical history for yourself and both sides of you family, your Uncle Mitch's arrest record, your own arrest record, your school records, documentation on your reported sexual history, transcripts of interviews with your friends and neighbors, and anything else that could be used to create a profile of who you are and how you think, Raoul."

"Why the hell would…?"

"I mentioned Zartan earlier," Duke said abruptly. "He's a mercenary often hired by COBRA who specializes in infiltration, assassination, and sabotage. Specifically, Zartan replaces a target by altering his appearance and mannerisms to perfectly mimic them. Zartan also has two younger siblings, both almost as skilled as he is, who could easily disguise themselves as you to make it easier to extract you. In fact, Zartana would have an easy time passing herself off as you given you're both similar in age, height, and build. She's also been seen hanging around New York City with the other Dreadnoks. It wouldn't be too out of left field to assume that COBRA might be looking to snatch you at the first possible chance for themselves. And I know for a fact that Dr. Mindbender would have no problems cutting up a kid to figure out how that nanovirus works."

"Plus COBRA is working with the Decepticons again," chimed in Rewind. "We don't know what they're planning exactly, but we can confirm Duke's statements. The Dreadnoks are currently active in New York. By the way, Zartan is the leader of that faction? We've also seen him in town too, along with Zander."

"Gang," corrected Duke. "They're an outlaw biker gang. Not a faction."

Rewind grinned cheerfully. "Actually, 'faction' is the term used to describe any group that shares common purpose with a large organization but differs in some way, often with the difference being a conflict in ideologies. Which is why we translate our word '[faction]' into the English word 'faction' as it's closest comparable term your language has. I fear that there are some shades of meaning lost since English lacks the inflections and tonal shifts found in Cybertronian, though, since '[faction]' encompasses a wide variety of concepts, including 'criminal gang' and 'political party'. Though there is a lot of overlap…"

"So your language is similar to Chinese?"

"Well, the Lingua Vera is, thanks to the actions of Nova Prime's strict linguist unification policies. I think the Earth country of France has similar policies for their language. But there's actually thousands of local dialects that use different speech patterns and wordings, making them nearly separate languages onto themselves."

"I've seen that happen. It's like Mandarin versus Wu versus Min versus the rest, where they all are technically the same but local dialects are almost impossible to understand if you're only fluent in Standard Chinese."

"Yes… But I don't think the Chinese infected their entire population with a brain altering virus to force them all to speak only 'the one true tongue' because their Prime was a deranged control freak."

"I don't know. There are plenty of grammar nazis who'd love that."

Rewind looked horrified. "Nazis?! I thought you humans defeated that genocidal faction."

"[We won World War Two]" signed Snake Eyes. "[But a frightening number of Nazi and Japanese war criminals got away. The US even grabbed a bunch to work for us on shit like the nuclear program or bio-weapon research. Couldn't let the Reds get them, I guess.]"

Raoul raised an eyebrow. "This sounds like the crazy conspiracy theories my uncle is into. I guess it comes with being really into science fiction and fantasy stuff. I got piles of magazines and books about stuff like how the government invented crack and AIDS to kill black people, UFOs, Bigfoot, all the politicians being lizard people, and other weird things."

"[Don't know about the crack or AIDS bit and the verdict's still out on Bigfoot, but the 'lizard people' thing is bullshit. It's basically antisemitism repackaged to make money off the New Age hippie idiots. They literally just took the shit like the Protocols and replaced every mention of 'Jew' and 'Judaism' with 'lizard person' or 'reptilian' then filled in the rest by plagiarizing even more of Robert E. Howard's Kull.]"

Duke blinked and shook his head in amazement. "Wow… I'm learning more than I ever cared to about you, Snake Eyes."

"I'm just surprised to hear you think that UFOs and aliens are real," said Raoul with a laugh.

Snake Eyes just pointed at Rewind and Eject.

"…okay. I walked right into that one." Stretching as he stood, Raoul collected the pile of now empty plates and took the over to the sink. He only paused in washing them when he became aware the other humans were staring again. "What? Never seen a man wash dishes before?"

"There's a dishwasher right there," said Shipwreck, pointing to the appliance. "You don't need to do all that by hand, kid."

"You telling me this place has a dishwasher?" gasped Raoul, leaning down to study it in shock. "They could afford to put one in here?"

"I did tell you this was a fully furnished penthouse, my boy," Tracks said stiffly as he reappeared, adjusting his tie as he came over to Raoul. "I even showed you around and pointed everything out."

"I was bomb out of my gourd on painkillers," Raoul replied. "I barely remember moving in."

"Well, that does explain why you keep hand-washing dishes and never use the garbage disposal."

Raoul cackled in horror. "Are you nuts?! I ain't ever touching either of them. That'll cost a fortune to use 'em just once! I only bother using the washer and dryer that came with this place because it's easier than lugging it down to the laundromat. Cheaper, too. Oh! That reminds me… You need to quit buying the name-brand shit. I ain't got the funds to afford that!"

"Darling, please calm down," sighed Tracks, gently patting the boy's head. "This isn't a problem at all. I mean, I am the one paying the bills. As well as doing the shopping. And I want see that you have the best life possible. Money is no object, dear boy. It's no trouble at all."

"Listen, that ain't…" Raoul stopped short when he caught that they were still being stared at intensely. "Let me finish so we can talk in private."

"Why?"

"Maybe guy don't like arguing with his old lady in front of guests?" quipped Shipwreck, earning an elbow to the ribs from Duke. "Ow! What?! We already know the kid swings both ways. And that Corvette's technically a woman. I'd love to find a lady who'd pay my bills and make me her little puppy. The only weird part is how the hell a sports car and a human can… OW! Fuck! Watch the hair, you creepy bastard."

Snake Eyes lowered his hand, turning to a panic-stricken Raoul. "[I'll take care of it. You two go talk.]"

"…thank you." Quickly drying his hands off, Raoul scooped up Tandy and the lunchbox before grabbing Tracks and dragging him to the bedroom while ignoring the stares they got crossing the balcony.

"You're being a bit over dramatic, Raoul," said Tracks as soon as the sliding door and curtains were shut.

"Darling?!" Raoul hissed back.

Tracks groaned, rolling his eyes. "It's just a term of endearment. Which is as often used for platonic or parental affection as it is romantic love."

"Do you realize you just told those guys you're my sugar daddy?!"

"I said nothing of the sort!"

"You admitted your paying my bills, you put me up in this penthouse…"

"Because the landlady evicted you for falsifying your age on the lease."

"No. She evicted me because she thought I was your boyfriend."

Tracks sighed. "Which is stupidly presumptive of her…"

"Why?! The way you're acting, I'm not shocked those army guys think I'm a faggot now."

"I think the proper term is 'bisexual'," said Tracks. "And you're taking things completely out of context again."

"Am I? Am I really taking shit out of context?!" rasped Raoul, his voice shaking with fear. "Because there's a lot of evidence that whatever is going on here, it ain't platonic! You've been giving me money, taking me to the doctor, and otherwise keeping my broke ass out of the gutter. Not only that, but you've chosen a 'human' mode as a handsome, redhead who's something of a silver fox. And I know that fucking file Duke's got on me has a big fat note about me having a thing for redheads and older men." He suddenly noticed he'd been giggling hysterically. "If… if I didn't know any better, I'd swear to God that you did it on purpose! You're literally just my type, Tracks!"

Getting even more defensive, Tracks said coldly, "Well, that's interesting. But my choice in holoform and your taste in romantic partners is purely coincidental, no matter what Brainstorm or Cosmos told you."

Raoul grinned nastily. "And what makes you they said shit about it?"

"That's not important." Carefully, Tracks embraced the boy and gently wiped away the tears. "What matters is why you're panicking over the fact that I'm paying the bills and why it's completely uncalled for. I mean, I'm your caregiver now. It's my duty to see that you're provided with a safe and stable home."
"Do you know what a 'hustler' is, Tracks?" muttered Raoul, burying his face into the taller man's shoulder. "Or don't they have any on your planet? I mean, I know you guys got hookers…"

"Oh, of course he knows what hustlers are!" barked Chromedome as he handed the interior bedroom door he'd been taking off the hinges over to Sideswipe. "He used to be one."

"Wrong!" huffed Sunstreaker, dropping into Cybertronian with his angry, scarily deep voice. "[I hustled while working my way through school to pay the bills. What he was doing is called being a 'gigolo'.]"

"[Actually, I wasn't.]" Tracks broke off the embrace, glaring at the other disguised Autobots. "[Gigolos and hustlers are usually self-employed whereas I was working for a corporation to pay off my father's debts. I used to be an escort for high society clients who basically rented me for companionship and, occasionally, sexual intimacy was part of the deal. Which was a perfectly respectable and legal profession.]"

Chromedome snorted in contempt. "But being a corporate spy wasn't. Which is what you actually did for a living. And, by the way, why are you suddenly not using English? Don't want the humans to hear?"

"[Only until that damn contract expired]" Tracks replied haughtily. "[And I will speak whatever language I please. Now, put the door back.]"

"Oh, I don't think so," Chromedome said, pointedly speaking in English. "I think I'm just going to leave it like this to make sure you don't try anything 'inappropriate' with the boy. [I'm just treating you the same way you and Blaster treat me when I'm with Rewind.]"

"[You mean Jazz doesn't do this shit too?]" asked Sideswipe.

"[No]" grumbled Rewind, popping up behind Chromedome like an angry puppy. "[He's far more proactive. And Dome dear? We talked about this…]"

"[I'm just following order, sweetie]" Chromedome answered, his tone becoming super shy and kind. "[Besides, we do need to replace the entire door because it was structurally damaged along with the locking mechanism.]"

Tracks glared at Chromedome. "['Sweetie'?]"

"[It's just a term of endearment]" Rewind huffed back.

"[Are you back-talking me, young man?]" gasped Tracks.

"[Don't worry about it, big guy]" Raoul said, patting his arm and not at all hiding how much he enjoyed hearing Tracks' 'natural' voice.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe gave him funny looks. Then Sunstreaker smiled in lustful delight as he purred, "[Oooooh… you got sexy accent…]

"[By the way, what you doing later?]" asked Sideswipe.

"[Not you]" he replied, gently stopping Tracks from going off on the twins. Raoul then grab himself a pair of underwear and went into the bathroom to put them on. As he struggled not to get Indian Burn in the crotch, he faintly caught Chromedome going off on the Lamborghinis.

"[–is a minor, you idiots!]" Chromedome snapped.

Sunstreaker just laughed. "[Yeah, but did you see that aft? Raoul is making me reconsider my 'no organics' policy here…]"

"[I thought you of all mechs would know better than to-…]"

"[Listen here you fucker! I didn't do shit to Blue!]" barked Sunstreaker. "[All that happened was I sat there and gave him a long talk about the dangers of chasing after older mechs. I never laid a hand on him!]"

"[You still shouldn't have been alone in a locked bedroom with him like that]" Tracks said in a tired tone, apparently unaware Raoul had crept over to his side. "[You're always too familiar with Bluestreak in my opinion.]"

"[So I've been friends with Blue since he was a little kid]" snarled Sunstreaker. "[You know I'd never do anything to hurt the guy!]"

"[But didn't you ever stop and think about how that might look from the outside? The merest implication that a recently paroled felon might have taken his seals would have been enough to destroy Bluestreak's life and make him a pariah in the Towers. I'm sure you remember the disaster Sky Dancer caused when they ran off with Acid Storm and transitioned into a combat model. Not only that, but the boy was his matron's sole heir, so the scandal would have been enough to get him put aside in favor of one or another of his sisters. You know as well as I do the old hag would have done it without a moment's hesitation just to save face. Again, remember what she did to poor little Sky Dancer and to Slipstream for supporting her sibling… And she was well within her rights to have you sent back to prison on a 'parole violation' over that. You're lucky she decided not to see that you were also subjected to empurata just for even looking at or speaking to Bluestreak…]"

"[She hired me as his art tutor! What in the Pit was I supposed to do, stare at the ground while trying to teach Blue the basics without talking?!]"

"[You know what I mean…]"

Sunstreaker laughed angrily. "[Yeah, I know… Best thing Skywarp ever did was blow her fucking head off with a thermite shotgun…]"

"[As much as I disliked her, I feel that matricide was going just a bit too far]" Tracks replied coldly. "[She should have been put on trail and forced to pay for the things she did. Death was being far too lenient.]"

"[You willing to turn on Mirage and Smokescreen, too?]" asked Chromedome suddenly, reverting to the standard cop tone.

"[No. Unlike most of the Towers, they actually stayed and fought to protect the world. And I need to remind you that 'Raj was actually giving evidence in a trail against Blue's matron along with several others.]

"[Yeah… That's a one way to say Mirage brokered a plea deal to keep his own aft out of the smelter by turning on his 'friends'. Guess he got lucky that the War happened right before the payments for all those 'not guilty' verdicts went through and left him having to face the wrath of all those rich, powerful 'friend' of his from the Towers he just tried to burn.]"

"[Tell me]" Tracks growled angrily. "[Have you always been a prick or did Prowl teach you how to be one while you were dating?]"

"[I would like you to remind you all that there's a war going on]" droned Prowl over the house intercom. "[We have much bigger things to worry about than squabbling over the past. Especially the parts involving me and one of my exes. It's also nearly 06:30, Tracks. I think you and your human have a meeting to get to at 07:30, correct?]"

"[It doesn't take an hour to get there]' Raoul said mildly, grinning at the way everyone but Tracks and Chromedome jumped.

"[Fuck!] Sideswipe stared at him in shock. "[How long has he been standing there?]

"[Right about when I started talking about your brother's inappropriate relationship with Bluestreak.]" Tracks turned a frown at Raoul. "And I'm going to put a bell on you if you keep this up."

"Don't bother," grumbled Prowl. "If Jazz is anything to go by, that's just giving him a supply of jiggly noise makers that can be epoxy welded onto various surfaces for the maximum amount of annoyance. By the way Tracks, do you mind telling your husband to quit doing that to my chair?"

Tracks chuckled, handing Raoul his walking cane. "I'm surprised he hasn't done your desk."

"Not since some one who has yet been identified bolted it down after the incident with Grimlock."

"Prowl has a bad habit of flipping desks and tables when he gets angry," Chromedome explained politely. "Trust me. I've seen him do it quite a lot…"

"In my own defense," Prowl said curtly. "Grimlock has an even worse habit of goading people into emotional outburst just for his own amusement."

Chromedome huffed a laugh. "He's been eating your ammo again, hasn't he?"

"Tracks, I believe you and the human ought to head on out," Prowl said in an even colder tone. "Not only to avoid traffic but also in compliance with the Earth custom of being an eighth to a quarter of a joor early as a professional courtesy."

"Why bother?" hissed Raoul, putting the windbreaker Sideswipe handed him. "Mister Cooper's always about an hour late to anything. I really don't want to spend all that time getting lectured by Lt. Roper yet again about how good it do me to join the Marines or some shit. And I already told the big guy how this is going to end. I'm getting expelled and I think those army guys are going to try railroading me into the army."

"Don't do it!" barked Shipwreck as he and Duke came out of the kitchen. "Go into the Navy. The food's better, you get plenty of fresh air, the chance to see the world and best of all: We hook up with mermaids!"

"You did not sleep with a mermaid," muttered Duke. "You just got stupid drunk with your crew-mates while waiting for rescue after the supply boat you were on got beached and wound up leaving a very, very confused manatee severely disappointed due to whiskey dick. So don't listen to anything this man tells you, kid. He is a lying bastard trying to lead you down a dark and terrible path. And I should know, he's one of my team mates."

"But I just told him the Navy was better than the Army. Which is true."

"I could go into the Air Force," Raoul said with a grin. "Might be cool being in the real Top Gun."

"Don't believe that stupid movie," said Shipwreck. "Despite what it looks like, the fly-boys can't play volleyball worth a shit. Join the Navy. We got the best beach volleyball teams. And some of them are now coed!"

"Just stay out of the military completely," Duke said softly. "You do not have what it takes to make a good soldier. You're reckless, insubordinate, and have a deep-rooted contempt if not hatred for authority. You would not survive."

Raoul glared at him. "Okay. Now I'm seriously considering joining up just to prove you wrong, asshole."

"Kid, I have met and served with far too many guys just like you since I started in the army. And I'm going to be as nice about this as I possibly can: You would not survive. You might make it out of boot camp. You might even make it through a tour or two of active duty. But it will break you. Maybe physically. Maybe mentally. Mostly likely both." Duke sighed sadly, his face grim. "You are not meant for military life. It's too strict and too structured for a guy like you. You lack the discipline to thrive in an environment where you have to follow orders and obey the chain of command. If you don't end up dead or dishonorable discharged straight into federal prison, then you'll likely leave the service as a barely functioning bum doing whatever junk they can to cope with the broken minds and shattered bodies they'd been left with. Trust me. I've seen too many guys just like you join up and destroy themselves just 'prove them wrong'. And it was only got worse during the war in Vietnam when they started drafting every man they could find capable of holding a rifle. But the world's not gone so far to hell that we're desperate for any warm fresh body to fill up the ranks, so I am going to do my damnedest to see that you don't end up like those poor bastards."

Raoul rolled his eyes as he started to smart off, only to have Duke grab his shoulders and give him a slight shake.

"Don't." Duke said sharply, letting go after one last shake. "You need to listen. Kid, I have seen guys like you snap and do things that make all the worst horror movies look like a Sesame Street skit. I had to help clean up the messes left after guys like you went on psychotic breaks. This shit still give me nightmares so bad I have to see a shrink not just to keep my security clearance but also my sanity. That has messed me up worse than finding out there's genocidal snake people straight out of a Clive Barker novel living in the Himalayas and almost getting killed fighting them! When I tell a guy like you to never join the military, you should listen."

"Well, that's cool. But I would like a second opinion," said Raoul as he turned to take Tandy and the lunchbox from Snake Eyes.

"[Raoul.]" signed the ninja, then added a French sounding surname.

"I'm sorry?"

Snake Eyes signed the two names again, adding, "[That was the name of a man who I have had the misfortune of meeting on many occasions. What he became is what you will be if you continue on the path you're on now. I won't say you wouldn't thrive as a soldier. In fact, I'd say that you're going to go far, kid… As did the other man. He took to the training well—too well, to be honest, both as a soldier and as a student of the Koge school before that. This man worked hard to be so skilled, becoming a master of ninjutsu as well as highly decorated in his military career. But something was twisted in his soul. Something that only festered and grew stronger as he continued down the path of war. He let it transform him into monster, a fiend that thrived in the chaos and violence of combat. His only lived to burn. It left him so lacking in humanity that he has forsaken not only his name but also his own face. This man is the Faceless Master, but the name his ghost has told you was 'Firefly'.]"

"Went." Duke's voice was calm but still grim. "You mean he went by that alias. Though I doubt Firefly is going to be talking to anything but maggots now. And we cannot confirm that was even his real name."

"[It matches with his sister's maiden name.]"

"She was adopted."

"[By a paternal uncle. Meaning they both kept their father's name.]"

"We're not here to discuss the history of a dead man, Snake Eyes," Duke said sharply, then he checked his watch. "Tracks, you might want to listen to your lieutenant and head on out now. Traffic's been ugly since Professor Xavier's Circus and Doctor Eisenhardt's Brotherhood of Monsters and Terrorists rolled into town."

"It's properly called the 'The International Convention for the Rights of Mutant and Extraordinarily Empowered Beings'," said Tracks, gently pulling Raoul along towards the door. "And I believe Dr. Eisenhardt's group is known as the 'Brotherhood of Mutants'. It's more of a support group and mutual aid fund for mutants to prevent their exploitation, especially of the ones with powers viewed as 'dangerous' to the general public. As problematic as his rhetoric can be, Dr. Eisenhardt does bring up a lot of good points about how he and his fellow mutants have been and continue to be mistreated even by legitimate authorities."

"You're talking like you've had some experience here?"

"My close friend Mirage is an outlier, which are Cybertron's equivalent of 'mutants'," Tracks said with the restraint of an overworked kindergarten teacher. "Prior to the war, I also served as nanny, nurse, and bodyguard for a creche of outlier protoforms. Which means my job required me to wrangle a flock of moody children with superpowers from infancy into their late teens. Including an especially difficult ward who could teleport and thought of themselves as the king of all pranksters. So I would say that yes. Yes I have had a lot of experience in this area."

"Then you'll understand why I hate how they're making it into a freakshow. And I think all that 'brotherhood' bullshit Erik's selling is just to cover up the fact he's running cult," said Duke. "But Charles at least is trying to give people a chance at normal lives. He's not preaching about mutants being 'superior beings' or saying they must 'live apart' from non-mutants. Charles Xavier might be a hypocritical grifter but I will give it to him that his students and the people working for his organization don't act like they're gods or run around talking like goddamn Nazis. They're all just regular humans from Earth."

"As opposed to being queer robots from outer space?" asked Tracks dryly.

Duke just shrugged it off and, after a few quick good byes, Raoul let Tracks sweep him out to the hall and into the elevator. As he tucked Tandy into the inside pocket of his windbreaker, Raoul noticed Tracks looking at him funny. "What?"

"What's that?" the disguised Autobot asked, pointing to the lunchbox.

"Snacks."

"And who gave them to you?"

"…Brainstorm," Raoul replied hesitantly.

"I don't suppose you mind showing me, do you?"

"Why?" huffed Raoul, getting defensive. "I told you, it's just snacks. Why don't you trust me, big guy?"

Tracks sighed. "It's not whether or not I trust you. It's that Brainstorm views everything and everyone as potential test subject, including himself. And I know Prowl well enough to know he has absolutely no problems with giving Brainstorm free reign to use you as a guinea pig in whatever sick experiment he has dreamt up."

"You're just down on the guy because he used to be a 'con, aren't you?"

"No. I don't trust either of them because they have done this before," said Tracks. "Now, will you please just tell me the truth?"

Raoul thought a moment, then sighed. "Okay, big guy. The archives, psychoactive drugs, and other equipment needed to use Tandy as a portal to the VR world the Decepticons made me are in this lunchbox. According to Brainstorm, they want me keep playing along to find out what the Decepticons are doing. They're grooming me to become a spy and want me to join the Decepticons as a sleeper agent for the Autobots. That's the truth, Tracks."

There was a long silence, then Tracks said dryly, "The only part of that I believe is that Brainstorm gave you drugs."

"Hey! You asked for the truth," snapped Raoul as they stepped out into the parking garage. "That's exactly what they asked me to do."

"And it's absolutely absurd!" Tracks answered back. "I mean, both Brainstorm and Prowl are known for their rather loose interpretation of the Autobot Code, but even they wouldn't be so unethical and depraved enough to purposely recruit child soldiers."

"So what's the deal with Eject and Rewind?" Raoul asked. "They both the same age as me. Or is it only cool to recruit other robots?"

"They weren't recruited. They were refugees."

"What?"

"They were refugees," repeated Tracks as they reached his car mode. "We all were. Most of us never wanted to be soldiers, but circumstances made it necessary for us to take up arms as a matter of survival. Many of us joined the Autobots out of self-preservation. Anyone who didn't blindly follow Megatron was marked for death. The Decepticons' rebellion and their occupation of the planet also worsened the damage to Cybertron. Our homeworld is now mostly uninhabitable due to environmental destruction and feral war-machines lurking in the ruins. For all Megatron's talk about being a liberator of the people, the Decepticons are just as terrible as the Senate was before them. Their activities have only hastened Cybertron's decline and many fear that we'll never be able to pull our world out of it's death spiral. But the Decepticons keep claiming they're 'saving' us. I don't know what all you saw in that simulation, but I doubt they bothered to show you…"

"From inside the Helix Gardens, I saw the Fall of Praxus," Raoul said quietly. "I witnessed the squadron lead by Thundercracker slaughter the civilians there, watched the city's Towers fall, and saw the execution of the Praxus' council before that. He kept it, by the way…"

"Who kept what?"

"Starscream. He kept the crown they offered him. Didn't put it on, but he still took it with him." Seeing the look on Tracks' face, he just laughed quietly as Tracks helped him into the passenger seat. "You don't have tell me about how hypocritical or horrible the Decepticons are. I already know."

"…what happened in there Raoul?" Tracks asked after he slipped behind the wheel, his weariness completely lost in concern for the boy.

"What was Bluestreak's mom called?" Raoul said suddenly. "The old broad had to have a name, didn't she?"

"Angelwing."

Raoul stared at him. "You're joking, right?"

"No. Her name was really Angelwing. She was a tyrant to her children, utterly ruthless in her business dealings, vindictive, petty, manipulative, and an absolute nightmare to work for." Pulling out of parking space and heading towards the exit, Tracks added, "But the late Matron Angelwing is not what we were talking about."

"Maybe I don't want to talk about that any more."

Tracks sighed. "Raoul…"

"Look, big guy, there's not much to tell," grumbled Raoul. "I spent almost all my time studying and training as a medic, getting the shit kicked out of me by the guy 'teaching' me combat skills, and whenever I had free time I spent it digging through the archives to learn more about you all. It's really boring to be honest."

"But who was training you?" asked Tracks. "I mean, I know you met my father and brother as well as Shockwave, but you had to have met others. So who else did you interact with?"

Raoul thought it over a moment, then hesitantly said, "Well, there was Hook, who along with your old man trained me to be robot surgeon. The creep even complimented me on how quickly I took to that profession."

"Creep? Oh lord, that's an understatement…"

"Well, I'm trying to be nice here," Raoul said with a huff. "I mean, the guy's a snob and a sadist who likes ripping peoples junk out for kicks but Hook was also really good as a teacher. Hell, I'd say most of the 'cons I got to met were just normal blue collar working folk… or whatever is 'blue collar' on Cybertron. Even Bombshell was kind of cool once you got used to his weird little quirks…"

"The Insecticons are literal cannibals."

"You ever heard of 'sparkeaters'?" asked the boy suddenly.

"They're a myth," Tracks replied. "Just scary stories and urban legends to tell for a safe little fright. Much like those movies about vampires or zombies you like to watch."

"What would say if I told that not only were sparkeaters real, but that they made me one?"

"As a pet?!"

"No. I mean, when the Decepticons built me, they purposely made me a sparkeater."

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"They are a myth," Track repeated sternly. "And even if sparkeaters weren't, I do not believe the even Shockwave would be depraved or desperate enough keep such a creature around even as a weapon."

"Why not?"

"Because they savage, mindless beasts driven only by hunger. There's nothing to keep them controlled and nothing left of the person they'd once been to even hope to reason with them. Sparkeaters exist only to feed." Tracks paused then added quietly, "The stories about them are really fables warning against being consumed by greed, hatred, envy, ambition, and bloodlust. I recall a famous tale about these monsters involved a lower class young mech who was so brutally and grievously wronged by a wealthier rival from the Towers that they dedicated their life to revenge. To do this, they found a way to turn into a sparkeater at will. In the beginning, they were able to control it and focused on not only getting justice but also becoming a powerful and wealthy mech. They got everything they desired but gradually their vindictive paranoia grew out of control…"

"…and it ends with the guy becoming a sparkeater permanently and eating their one true love, doesn't it?" said Raoul with a smirk. "I read that one already. I found a bunch of movies and comics based on it, too. Pretty cool story, kind of like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde meets I Spit On Your Grave."

Tracks sighed. "Yes. It was a very disturbing tale, but thankfully it's fiction. Fiction with lessons about becoming blinded by vengeance, making impulsive deals with ancient evils, and otherwise reaching too far…"

"Above my station?" Raoul finished coldly, his smile bitter.

"Too far past sanity," grumbled Tracks. "Legends of sparkeaters are warnings not give into baser desires and let them turn you into a monster."

"There's a lot of class warfare in those stories, though," Raoul said softly. "Most of the people that end up becoming the monster coming working class or poor backgrounds while the 'heroes' are usually middle or upper class folks trying to 'restore the proper order'."

Tracks sighed yet again, carefully weaving through traffic. "A lot of that is because the Functionalists re-wrote, 'restored' or otherwise revised Cybertron's cultural history to fit their agenda, then destroyed or buried all of the originals. There was a huge scandal over it right before the war began when a cache of documents was found that proved the Functionalist's revisions had even extended to the scared texts."

"So they were fucking around with the Bible?"

"It was more like they did some 'creative editing' to the Tanakh," replied Tracks. "Especially given how the Functionalist had made several massive alterations to parts involving casting off yoke of Quintesson slavery, the true nature of Primus, the Guiding Hand and the Knights of Cybertron's relationship to the Thirteen, and several other extremely important parts of the holy canon."

"So the Primalists were right, huh?"

Groaning in annoyance, Tracks let out a vent rattling huff. "I left you alone with Beachcomber for barely five minutes and he filled your head with that hippie bull—eh, baloney."

"No," chuckled Raoul. "You were gonna call it 'bullshit'. And the guy might be a hippie, but he didn't say anything about religious stuff. Though I find his book while digging in the archives. Not a bad read, either."

"It's still New Age nonsense," muttered Tracks.

"I wouldn't say that. I mean, Primalism has some pretty deep concepts that comes across like the crap spewed by trust fund babies who went to India and came back with Religion, but compared to stuff like Spectralism it's pretty damn tame."

"While I don't agree, I am more curious as to why a staunch atheist like Shockwave allowed you free access to religious texts."

"Because there might be something useful in them," replied Raoul, pleased that the conversation was getting away from what happened in the VR. "There's historic value in them. Now, maybe you can satisfy my curiosity and tell me about what you believe in."

"Dear boy, need I remind you that the Accords…"

"Don't mean shit to me anymore," Raoul said. "Remember, I spent twenty-seven giga-cycles in that simulation. And I spent all that time learning how to be a robot. I know enough about Cybertron and it's culture to pass as a native now…"

"No," said Tracks coldly. "What you know is how to be a Decepticon. Shockwave likely had my brother carefully curate what you could access and…"

"Wrong." Sighing, Raoul stiffened slightly as he spoke in a crisp, professional tone. "Shockwave was pretty insistent that I have complete and unfettered access to everything. Including heaps of stuff supporting the Autobot cause and other official documents. Like your medical records…"

"Likely from before the war…"

"No, I mean your current ones," said the boy. "Ratbat apparently stole a bunch of them during chaos caused by Red Alert's freak-out. And according to them, you've been dodging getting maintenance done by a medic."

"Because you have been more than kind enough to do it for me," Tracks grumbled back. "And might I say, you do excellent work Raoul."

Raoul glared at him in shock. "Yeah, thanks… But I was just treating you like a normal car! And even if I knew what I know now about you guys, my ass would have landed in federal prison trying to get hold of some of the things I'd need to get my hands on to properly do the repairs you need done."

"But I don't need any repairs. I'm the picture of health, my darling."

"Bullshit! I watched that clip of you bullying First Aid into just doing enough work on you to keep you functioning."

"Because there's a war on and I cannot afford to be laid up over some silly little glitch."

"Silly little glitch?!" rasped Raoul. "Tracks, you've got a bad short in your optical array and stress fracturing in your lasercore. One wrong hit will either leave you blind or cause a cascade impulse that can kill you. And don't you pull that 'there's a war going on' shit! You seem to have plenty of free time to come up here to see me constantly."

"How I choose to spend my leave has nothing to do with this."

"Oh! So you're admitting you've had time to get that shit fixed!"

Tracks frowned with a huff. "If the choice is spending lord knows how long getting lectured by Ratchet or dealing with whatever madness you're getting into, I will always prefer being with you Raoul."

"You. Could. Die." Raoul's voice was flat yet angry. "You need to see the doctor. I mean, what's more important big guy? Me or your health?"

The silence hit so hard it made Raoul's ears ring.

After a few minutes of creeping through unusually thick gridlock with this uncomfortable tension, Tracks cut on the radio suddenly, scrubbing through the stations futilely a bit before giving up and started playing one of his own playlists. As the music started, Raoul gave him a funny look.

"Frank Zappa?" he asked, pleasantly surprised.

"Yes. The song's called 'Watermelon in Easter Hay'."

Raoul suddenly chuckled. "It's a good song, but have you heard the rest of that album?"

"Yes, I have. It's a brilliant album despite it's rather crude subject matter, as most of Zappa's works are. And I have known plenty of mechs like Sy-Borg."

"The fact that Mister Prissy Fancy-fenders likes Zappa just blows my little squishy mind!" laughed Raoul.

Tracks sighed. "You can blame Jazz for it. He lives up to his use name and goes out of his way to introduce as many of the crew as he can to Earth music. The only person more persistent about it is Blaster, though I think they're both regret introducing the Dinobots to GWAR and other metal bands."

"They sound more punk to me," said Raoul with a huge grin.

"Honestly, I think they're an unholy fusion of the two. But I'll give credit where it's due, they do have some talent. Good musicians, terrible gimmick."

"I dunno. Demonic codpieces and gory make-up make great icebreakers."

"I'll stick with Kiss, thank you very much."

"And you listen to Kiss too?" Raoul shook his head in bemused amazement. "I think I might owe Buzzsaw a bit of thanks for trying to murder me…"

"Why in the world for?!"

"Because since the attack, I've learned more about you than I ever could imagine, big guy," said the boy with another laugh. "It's been almost three years since we met but only lately have you been opening about yourself. Three years, Tracks… That's a long time to know somebody without really knowing them, you get me?"

"It's not that odd," Tracks grumbled. "But I can say the same about you. I mean, I only recently learned the most vital details about you, like your late mother being an actress or your actual age…"

"I'm almost seventeen now," said Raoul.

"And I'll be sure you have a nice birthday, but I'm not sure why…"

"It means I'm almost legal, Tracks."

There was a sharp blast from the vents. "And I do not understand why you think I need to be reminded of that bit of information."

"Why do you think?"

The silence was brief but agonizing as Raoul waited for a reply.

Tracks took care to focus on parallel parking in front of the school before finally answering. "I'm going to try and break this to you as gently as I can. Even if you weren't a minor, even if I wasn't in a position of authority over you, even if we weren't under constant scrutiny… Even if all of that wasn't hanging over our heads, it would never work."

"Why not?" asked Raoul, his face grim now.

"There's the age gap…"

"So what? I like older men."

"…of several millions years." Before the boy could cut him off again, Tracks said sharply, "No. It doesn't matter how much subjective time you spent in that simulation. You're still a child and I'm still an adult. And you're human. Humans do not live as long as Cybertronians. I am literally older than Earth's recorded history, Raoul."

"Yeah… well, that might not be a problem for too long…"

"They're just stringing you along with the promise to make you one of us, Raoul," hissed Tracks.

"So what have you been doing?" Raoul hissed back. "Three fucking years and you trying to tell me you just want to be friends?! Come on! Tell me the truth, Tracks. How do you really feel about me?"

Tracks stiffened, venting air so hard his whole frame shook. In a calm but strangely furious voice, he said, "Whatever I feel doesn't matter! All that I want from you is to see you happy, all right? And to do that, you're going to have to just bite the bullet and find one of your own kind. Another human you can settle down with and live a normal, peaceful life. I don't give a damn if they're a man, a woman, or any point in between. Just give up on trying to make something happen between you and I."

Raoul sat there in shock, staring at Tracks for a long moment. Then, blinking away a few tears, he laughed again in a frigid indifference. "Okay, Tracks. Fine. I'm giving up. Happy, sir?"

"Don't…"

"Isn't this what you want, sir?"

"Just a few moments ago, you were panicking over people thinking I was your sugar daddy," snapped Tracks in a restrained voice. "Now you're pissed off that I'm telling you to break it off and find a better partner…"

"Partner?!" Raoul laughed, the hysteria creeping back into his voice. "Break things off? That… that sounds like you're dumping me big guy."

"I am not 'dumping' you. I'm simply trying to talk some sense into you."

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," Tracks replied in a softer tone. "I love very much, Raoul. But I… I can't love you the way you want me to."

They sat there in silence for several moments, with Raoul just staring straight ahead blankly.

"…we should go on in," said Tracks. "Or do you need…?"

"I fine." The words came out harsh and cold as Raoul got out, lunchbox clutched in one hand and cane in the other.

Tracks braced for the slam, but the boy closed the door carefully and stood waiting on the sidewalk for him with an expression devoid of emotion. A little unnerved, he exited his car mode and went to Raoul's side. He felt the urge to wrap him up in a hug, to apologize and beg forgiveness for being cruel, but instead stifled it and walked into the building with Raoul trailing just a few steps behind. As they reached the office, Tracks saw a middle-aged black man in fatigues talking with clean cut white boy in a suit and sunglasses that completely hid his eyes behind ruby red lenses along with a scruffy man in a trench-coat playing with cards.

"Good morning, Mister Perlman," said the young man, shyly holding out a hand. "It is Mister Perlman, isn't it?"

"Yes." Tracks took his hand, shaking it firmly. "And you are…?"

"Scott Summers. I'm here on behalf of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters."

"What?"

"There looking to ship Alonzo off to the freak show," said Captain Myles. "Seems he caught some kind of alien bug and became a mutie."

"We prefer to be called 'mutants' or, in the boy's case, 'augmented humans'," Summers said curtly. "But yes. I am here to talk to you about enrolling Raul at our school."

"I fail to see why that would be necessary," Tracks replied calmly. "Raoul is doing just fine going to school with the 'baselines' as you call them. Aren't you, dear b—…"

He turned to Raoul, only to see an empty hallway.

"Let me guess," hummed the captain. "You brought him along, didn't you?"

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for his disappearance," grumbled Tracks, turning back to the others and noticing the scruffy man had disappeared as well. "He's probably just in the restroom."

"Ain't got time to worry about him right now," the captain grumbled, waving to the fat little man waddling towards them. "Morning, Cooper."

"Good morning, Captain Myles. And good morning to you too, Mister Perlman. Now come along, we have much to discuss gentlemen," huffed the doughy little man as he herded them into his office, pointedly ignoring Summers' as much as he possibly could short of slamming the door his face. Settling down at his desk, he gestured to the only two other chairs.

As the captain took one, Tracks looked towards Summers. "Would you like to sit down, Mister Summers?"

"Oh, don't worry about him," said Mister Cooper with a dismissive humph as he opened up a file on his desk. "His kind are always loitering around doing nothing productive. Now, please, have a seat."

"I prefer to stand, thank you."

Mister Cooper gave him a funny look, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. Thankfully, this won't take very long as this meeting is merely a formality. I'm sure you read the letter, haven't you Mister Perlman?"

"Yes. But it was rather vague."

"Oh! Well, I thought you'd have been able to 'read between the lines' a bit and figured out that he's being expelled, given what you likely have learned about Mister Alonzo."

"Why? I see no good reason for his expulsion."

"You mean besides his history of truancy, his flagrant refusal to show respect to authority, his constant disruptive behavior and lack of any motivation to perform up to our school high standards?" said Mister Cooper with a snort. "Though I suspect much of it has to do with his heritage. I'm going to be frank with you, Mister Perlman. Seeing as the boy's father is a Mexican and his mother was a ni—…" Mister Cooper stopped short when he noticed the glare Captain Myles gave him. "…eh, well, he's half black on his mother's side, so the only thing that boy's going to ever good at is either being a lazy crook or a bum or, if he was smart, he'd have gotten into sports. Boy's already over six foot, more than tall enough to do well in basketball, but he just ain't a team player and refuses to apply himself to anything productive. Hell, I'm shocked Alonzo didn't just do like the others of his kind and dropped out after getting a silly girl or three knocked up. But I guess that might have a different explanation…"

Tracks didn't react to the sly little smirk on Mister Cooper's face. "You do realize that you've just given me plenty of cause to sue you based on racial discrimination. I do have at least one impartial witness that can vouch for your statements. And Raoul identifies as Puerto Rican, like his mother's side all do."

"Eh, splitting hairs," said Mister Cooper, not the least be concerned. "Besides, I have had plenty of cause to have the boy expelled for years Mister Perlman. Now, I don't know kind of cock and bull story that boy's been selling you, but I can say that beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is nothing but a liar, pervert, and degenerate. The boy even popped up on the screening tests as being a mutant just like the rest of his family! He's been a menace to society since he was a baby, seeking to sow anarchy and corruption as much as possible. Starting with some of the book he reads… Like the incident with him bringing in one about Satanism, the very reason we're meeting today!"

"You're talking about when he did a report on The Hobbit, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"And you do know that Tolkien was a Catholic, right?"

Mister Cooper just huffed in derision. "Well! That clinches it! The Catholics have always been conspiring against true Christian values. They fill these kids heads with nonsense about dragons and dungeons and before you know it, their murdering babies in the name of the Devil."

Tracks kept his expression neutral, waiting for the punchline to this sick joke before it dawn on him that Mister Cooper meant every word he'd said. "I see… So, since it has been decided that Raoul has been expelled and I doubt we'll be able to successfully appeal, just what do you suggest the boy do now?"

"Well, the captain has expressed an interest in getting Alonzo into the military," said Mister Cooper. "But there's other alternatives, like getting the boy into a trade school or…"

"The Xavier School would be more than happy to let Raoul enroll," Summers said politely. "Not only would he be able to receive a proper high school education, but the institute also offers several colleges catering the specific needs of gifted individuals. Despite what Mister Cooper believes, I think that Raoul would be more than willing to apply himself if only he was provided an environment that encouraged students to grow as individuals instead of stifling them and forcing them to conform to standards that I have to say are completely ass backwards. In short, Tracks, he is more than welcome to join us."

Mister Cooper gave him a confused look. "Tracks?"

"It's an alias, like the name 'Theodore Perlman'," he said with a crisp smile. "My actually name is [Tracks, but most humans can't actually physically pronounce it. Most Autobots use such names as a courtesy."

"Autobots… You mean you're one of those alien robots?"

"Yes."

"Oh…" said Mister Cooper thoughtfully. "Well, that explains a lot of things. And I must apologize, but I always just assumed that boy was just stringing you along and using you like he did that Geddis boy. I didn't realize you acting so queer wasn't because you were a pervert but because you're just an alien who didn't know better. Glad to see you're not one of those sick homosexuals out to prey on little boys."

"Is there anything more you wish to discuss with me?" Tracks asked, the smile and tone crisper than arctic snow.

"Oh, no… I believe that's all. Have a nice day, Mister Perlman."

"Have a good day as well, gentlemen," said Tracks as he made a graceful exit. He just stepped out the door out when Summers caught up to him.

"Sorry," he gasped. "I… I didn't mean to out you like that."

"Out me? As what, a robot?" Tracks just laughed. "Oh, I think I'm a little more upset about how that such racist, homophobic, ignorant nut-job ever got put in charge of the education of children in the first place!"

"The district likes to dump their trash off on 'problem' schools," Summers said solemnly. "Which explains how the ended up with a convicted pedophile coaching their basketball team. And that's actually the real reason they expelled Raoul, by the way."

"What?"

"Raoul was the one who got him and the other men involved arrested," said Summers. "A couple of my students went to a party that he and his buddies were supplying the beer and weed for, and saw a rather disturbing bit of footage involving the boy and several of his classmates. He apparently talked the girl who had the tapes into turning them in to the police and they're still investigating the case. They've managed to keep it hushed up and all the bastards are out on bail. The coach is still working there, too."

"And that's why they decided Raoul needed to be expelled? To keep him quiet?"

"Not really. I… I hate to say it, but it's more likely because they're scared he might snap and kill the bastard."

"Why?"

Summers looked down at the floor, hem-hawing a bit. "Uh, well… How, eh… how much do you know about Raoul's past?"

"I do know he's had some charges pertaining to assault," said Tracks carefully. "But I'm presuming those were incurred defending himself from his ex…"

"Paul Geddis?" said Summers. "Yeah. Our file on him includes that… and the fact that he once tried to kill a classmate for getting too handsy with girl. The charges on that one got dropped since the guy had a history of harassing underaged girls and clearly provoked the boy into a fight. Which was brutal enough to put the other guy in the hospital for three months…"

Tracks sighed. "I can't say I condone it, but I understand."

"Yeah… Well, the thing is, that guy was twice Raoul's size and beat the kid bad enough he should have been just as bad off. Not the mention the amounts of cocaine and speed that boy's done should have killed him by now… Point is, the fact that Raoul is documenting as having an accelerated healing factor is why we started a file on him in the first place."

"You mean to tell me you went and got hold of the personal medical files of a minor?"

"Uh… No. One of the concessions to the revised Mutant Registration Act was that doctors and healthcare providers are required by law to record whether or not a patient has mutations to make sure they receive the correct treatment. And normally, names are kept confidential but given that Raoul also has some kind of alien virus, it wasn't really too hard to track him down for observation."

"And how long have you been observing him?"

"About three years," hummed Gambit, casually strolling up to them. "Just a bit before he met you. Lucky boy, stumbling the one talking Corvette in the city. And I don't blame him for keeping you around. Sleek lines, soft interior, plenty of horsepower… You got a lot to offer, my friend."

Summers gave him a long, stunned look. "Gambit? He's a thirty-some foot tall robot from another planet that turns into a car…"

Gambit simply shrugged. "What? I'm not a picky man."

"Where's Raoul?" asked Tracks.

"He went for a little walk," Gambit replied. "The boy wanted to clear his head. He was very upset. Let me guess: a lover's quarrel?"

"You're seriously telling me you just let him wander off alone?" said Tracks, angry but calm as he pulled up the tracker he'd put on Tandy.

"No. He's got a ninja following him. At a distance, of course."

"Snake Eyes?"

"Yes."

Summers glared at him. "You what?!"

"I let the boy take a little walk," repeated Gambit. "Snake Eyes has orders to keep an eye on him, but promised to give the boy as much space as possible. So, poof! Off they went! I mean, it's not that hard to follow."

The look on Summers' face darkened as he fidgeted with his glasses like he wanted to remove them. "You did not let that kid leave your sight in the custody of a guy who might be perfectly fine with exploiting him in such a vulnerable state to talk Raoul into joining some kind of military project like Weapon X. For the love of Christ Remy, you did not just do that!"

"Well, Scott, I feel that you're being rather harsh on Snake Eyes," Gambit said softly. "To begin with, that's one man who literally can't talk any one into any thing. And, more to the point, for all my powers and skills, I know that bastard could kick my ass in a fight."

"It's fine," said Tracks as he started to move away from them. "I know where he's at. Now, if you gentlemen don't mind, I have to go fetch my boy."

"I'd wait a little while if I were you," called Gambit. "Raoul was pretty pissed off when he left me. Give him a bit more time to calm down, then go kiss and make up."

Tracks shot him a dirty look over his shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, good day gentlemen!"

Leaving a mortified Summers behind with the smirking Gambit, Tracks climbed into his driver's seat and started his engines. He was feeling the slow creep of exhaustion dulling his sense yet sharpening the fear he felt over what might happen to his boy, briefly making him wonder if he should keep up the holo or just shut it off to save power while he chased Raoul down. Erring on the side of caution, Tracks decided to leave it on as he slipped into the late morning traffic.