AN: I changed the rating of this story to M (Mature). You'll see why in a bit (Violence, blood... If you've read Time Paradox, you know what I mean).

"Bounce back."

All conversation ceases as everyone's attention is redirected to the door, to the mech entering with his usual poise and grace, but also with his tense frame betraying his nervousness at the current situation.

"What was that, Raj?" Hound asks when the newcomer sits at their table, arms crossed against his chestplates almost defensively.

Or in an attempt to comfort himself.

Spike's not sure what option scares him more, so he stays silent, cross-legged on the by now warm metallic surface, as they all await for an explanation of the cryptic words.

"I was tasked to guard Ratchet in Med Bay and try to get Jazz up to date on our current situation. He's off now to meet with Prime, Prowl and Ironhide, so Ratchet told me what exactly happened outside," the Noble explains, plating stiffening as if to keep himself from shaking, and optics on the table. "That's what Prowl said, before Jazz threatened to deactivate him."

"And…?" Cliffjumper prompts, leaning closer and gesturing with a servo, as the two Spec Ops agents exchange questioning looks.

"If it's a code, I've never heard it before," Hound finally answers, shrugging, with a hesitant smile on his faceplate. "Maybe it was meant literaly?"

"Prowl's not one to be so roundabout. That's Jazz's thing," Gears muses out loud, receiving agreeing nods or grimaces.

"I think…" Mirage starts hesitantly, still avoiding the gazes of the rest and once more attracting all attention, "I think it is a code… Only, one we don't know."

"Codes between Jazz and Prowl? Now, that I believe," Windcharger pipes up, clearly relieved, but, while some Autobots cheer up, others only become more somber.

"Do you forget that, whatever it means, it made Jazz threaten to deactivate Prowl?" Hound reminds them all, and silence and wariness dawn again.

"But, if he knew that would happen, why would Prowl say it?" Spike finally questions, sure that everyone else is wondering the same.

And, as one, all turn once more to Mirage.

The Noble is still sitting stiffly with arms crossed against his chest and gaze on the table, but he obviously notices the attention, as he tenses further before, finally, reluctantly, letting out a sigh as his optics go dark.

"Back before the war, before—before the Towers collapsed, I inadvertently walked in a meeting between my creator and another mech. At first, I saw no one in the office, but, when Creator called him forth, he showed himself," he starts, voice soft and serene, but he shivers visibly at that point. "He was an unremarkable mech, a Chaser I guessed, with nothing about him that would have led to his being commited to memory. Just like he wanted. Creator said that if I ever required certain… services… that I should contact him, Axle, before dismissing him. After the door closed, he finally told me that Axle… Axle was a Guardian."

"Are you kidding?!" Cliffjumper exclaims, literally jumping out of his seat and almost climbing on top of the table as he leans closer to a startled Mirage, while the rest of Autobots look confused at the reaction.

"You know what—"

"I worked in a bar, you hear things," the Minibot cuts the Noble with a scowl, before gesturing impatiently for the taller mech to continue.

"Wait a moment," Hound calls, as the others start to call for an explanation, rising to his pedes to get their attention before, once all quiet down, turning to Mirage. "Look, I'm as curious as everyone else, but is it something we should be talking about in front of Spike? You know what Ratchet said about telling him stories."

"Oh, come on! I'm not a kid!" the boy protests, also standing up in a effort to glare the tracker down. "Whatever Ratchet said, he's not here to veto it, so spill it! I'm as much a friend of Jazz's and Prowl's as everyone else, so I have the same right as you to know about it! Besides, it can't be worse than Spark Eaters, right?" he asks the white and blue mech after making sure the other Autobots have sheepishly accepted his admonishment, and the Spec Ops agent—

Looks away, clearly conflicted.

The human's jaw falls to his feet.

"Are you serious? How can something be worse than Spark Eaters?" he asks Cliffjumper this time, and the Minibot scowls and falls back to his seat while crossing his arms against his chest in a reflection of the Noble.

"Look, kid… Look, all I heard were rumors and wild stories, but, if there's even a micron of truth in those? I'm not sure if I'd prefer encountering a Spark Eater or a Guardian. At least with one, you only end up deactivated."

The silence that fills the room then is chocking, and the Minibot finally realizes his words, optics paling before darkening once more with a scowl.

"What Cliffjumper means to say…" Mirage calls, still curled up defensively—as Spike has finally identified his posture—but at least looking them in the eye at last, "is that Spark Eaters eat your spark, but Guardians can do much worse and ensure you still live through it. They were a special force created by the Senate to protect Cybertron, but ended up corrupting just as the governing bodies did, turning into their personal assassins and thieves, answering to all and every order of the Nobility and the Senate, and only them, regardless of how many laws and morals were broken in the process."

"You mean…"

"My creator wished for the plans a minor business had come up with, but hadn't sold to him when he offered. The next on-cycle, he had them on his desk. No one could prove he hadn't come up with the idea on his own, and so the original creators went bankrupt when their product finally hit the markets under our name."

All mechs exchange wide-eyed looks—or, the Cybertronian equivalent—before Hound finally reboots his voice box with the same rasping sound of a human clearing their throat.

"So, if you encountered a Spark Eater, you were dead. But, if you encountered a Guardian… Anything could happen," he sums up, and, once more looking down at the table, Mirage nods. "And, if you're telling us this now… You think Jazz was a Guardian."

Sharp intakes of breath and squeaks fill the room.

But, while as tense as the rest, Spike has eyes and ears only for the Noble, and so immediately identifies the slight slumping of his shoulders and the tightening of his servos on his arms, and his optics going black.

Jackpot.

"What about Prowl?" he whispers, and knows he's been heard over the growing ruckus when the white and blue mech's optics light up again to meet his eyes.

"He worked for the Prime and the Senate, before the war," the Spec Ops agent answers, voice soft, attracting the attention of those closer to them. "It wouldn't be too farfetched to think he became aware of the Guardians then, and learnt some about them. Perhaps that was when they first met," he adds, mouth twisting into a rueful smile that immediately falls with another sigh. "One way or another, the only thing we know for sure is that he has managed to get the most dangerous Autobot after his spark, knowingly or not. Let us hope Jazz gets his current self back before the deadline's up, because I doubt we'd be able to stop him if he's determined."

"And you would be right about that, my lord," a voice speaks up, once more, from the door, but, despite knowing it, the mech that spoke is unrecognizable when Spike finally spots him.

Yes, the cocky and relaxed poisition against the wall is well known, as is the confident smirk, but the way the light dances almost eagerly in that visor is not, especially not in this context.

Oh, and let's not forget to point out the visor itself.

The red visor.

Ratchet gave Chip and the Witwicky a quick rundown of the lenses and the why of their color, something about propieties and adjusting better or worse to certain settings depending on the wavelengths the color let through or blocked or something along those lines, when they pointed out there were no Autobots with red ones.

That doesn't mean seeing that color doesn't immediately flash up as 'enemy' rather than 'ally'.

Even if it's Jazz.

Especially because it's Jazz.

The newcomer sobers immediately after speaking, pushing away from the wall with a fluid bow in Mirage's direction, who, cautiously, stands up to face the smaller mech.

"It is an honor to be in your presence, Noble Mirage. Lord Prime has deliberated with his officers, and arrived to the conclusion that, until the completion of my repairs, the post of Head of Special Operations shall fall to you. Congratulations," he explains calmly, voice devoid of any kind of accent or cadence, emotionless in a way not even Soundwave's robotic tone manages to achieve, before turning to Spike. "My sincerest apologies about my behavior and my words in our prior encounter, Ambassador Witwicky. Should you have need of anything, do not hesitate to approach me. I would be honored to serve."

Instead of a verbal answer, the teenager merely smiles. His throat is too dry for anything more than that.

"Thank you, Jazz," Mirage replies, using the high and mighty tone that the human hasn't heard since their very first days on Earth. "You are dismissed."

And, with only a nod and never looking back, the black and white mech leaves.

He shouldn't. He most definitely shouldn't.

And yet, here Spike is, slipping through the open door of the military laboratory, slinking through the shadows of the empty building.

No, he most definitely shouldn't.

But, at the same time, he can't not do something.

It was sheer luck that he, Bumblebee, Chip and Carly had been around—and all for a fair that seems like the stupidest thing right now—and that the girl spotted a suspiciously familiar group of three jets approaching the base, never mind their boring gray coloration, and told them about it.

They'd frowned and exchanged looks, because, three jets flying in Trine formation?

None of them know all that much about the military and how jets are supposed to fly, but they do know about Decepticons, and since the Autobot had been driving and hadn't seen them, he couldn't say whether they were right or wrong.

So, Chip had offered to check what the base had to offer.

He hadn't been able to.

Communications were down. Apparently, a tower had malfunctioned a scant five minutes before they got to town.

That's when they'd decided it was too much to be coincidence.

Bumblebee had tried to call the Autobots, and found there was some kind of blackout bubble over the area.

All suspicions had completely vanished by then.

The Minibot and Chip had driven away, searching for reception, and Carly and Spike had separated to go warn everyone that they needed to evacuate ASAP.

They were too close to the base, and no one liked the risk of a stray shot, or worse.

Halfway to town hall, though, the boy had stopped.

The military personnel were in trouble if it was truly the Decepticons.

And, if the Autobots throught to bring…

He cursed out loud for the first time in a long while, but he'd still bargained a kid to sell his bike for twenty bucks, and told him to deliver the warning in his stead.

So, here he is now, in a base that should not be empty, in search for the guilty party.

Through the tiny window of a closed door, he see a lot of people piled up, and realizes he's found the soldiers.

He tries the handle—and there's a growl at his back.

The corridors are human-sized. That means only Cassettes should be able to move around comfortably. And, of all of them—

"Ravage."

He turns, and finds his conclusion was spot on, because there the panther is, baring metallic fangs and lowering as if to pounce—

"Wait! I need your help!"

And the Decepticon freezes, before closing his mouth and relaxing—somewhat—his stance, helm tilting in suspicion.

"Please, I need to talk to Soundwave," he tells the Cybertronian, who snarls immediately as answer. "I know you said I shouldn't see him anymore, that I would get him in trouble with Megatron, but this is serious! Please!" he tells the Cassette, reminding that visit from Buzzsaw—and the shock it was to hear his deep and raspy voice delivering that threat—and knowing just how true those words are, especially since the last time there was any kind of 'public' interaction with a Decepticon, it was Starscream saving his life for no purpose.

But if the Autobots…

If, by whatever reason, they take Jazz with them when they answer this call, there's no knowing how bloody the battle will get.

Regardless of the five previous days without incident, of the compliant attitude of the Head of Spec Ops and his complete obedience regarding any and all rules, and Mirage's reassurances that he's more than good enough to keep his deathly training as well controlled as when he had all his memories.

Spike can't risk it.

Some of his desperation and fear may have filtered through, because Ravage relaxes fully then, nodding to the human before walking away with just one look back.

Dutiful and silent, the boy follows.

Some turns and crossroads later, voices fill the corridors.

The Cassette stops then, and Spike does so too, observing nervously how yellow optics dim in what he knows is a comm line opening.

An eternal minute later, Ravage's gaze focuses again.

Another nod to follow, and the Decepticon moves down another corridor, away from the voices he recognizes as Megatron's and Soundwave's and—

"I'll go check those idiots are doing what they should. It's not as if you need me to download some files, do you, Mighty Megatron?"

—Starscream's.

There's a growled answer he can't decipher, and then, they're too far to catch more than fading pede-steps.

On and on they go, until they go through a door and into a large corridor, wide and tall and obviously built so because of large machinery carrying who knows what, but that the Decepticon Air Commander uses now to meet with them, a scowl on his faceplate.

"This better be important, Ravage! If you wanted Soundwave to leave in the middle of the—what are you doing here?!"

"He said he needs help, and that it's serious," the panther answers calmly, voice a smooth baritone with maybe a hint of an accent that reminds Spike of Russian characters in movies, though a lot subtler.

"Help? From us?" Starscream questions, turning to the human with no hint of his previous annoyance, only with curiosity.

He catches up to them in the interim—but doesn't stop, forcing the smaller two to follow as he moves to the outside, or, as would be more logical, to the hangars.

"Yes, it's just, we spotted you coming in, and Bumblebee went to call the Bots, and—where are you going?"

"To check my idiot Trinemates are actually doing what they should be doing. Keep talking."

"Right, right. It's just that… Well. The Autobots are coming," he finishes meekly, suddenly feeling very stupid.

There's no way Prime's going to let Jazz come along, not as unstable as he is, best behavior nonwithstanding.

Of course not.

And… now Starscream is giving him a deadpanned look that is way too bland for the bombasticly expressive Seeker.

"Gee, thank you. Do you want some candy as reward?" he questions, voice also emotionless, before scoffing. "So the 'heroes' are coming to save the day, big deal. We'll just up the pace and be gone in a klik. Now, what was that you needed help with? Because, I swear, if you bothered me for nothing—Wait! This is a trap!" he snarls, whirling to the human with blazing optics, forcing Spike to take a step back and lift his hands—

"It's not."

All gazes fall to Ravage, sitting calmly in the corridor, who is observing the boy.

"And how, exactly, do you know that?"

"He was terrified when he asked me. Not about being found out. It wasn't that kind of fear."

Before Spike can get enough breath back to ask what kind of fear that is and how did the Cassette know, the Flier huffs, softer than before, and straightens, completely calm once more.

"What is going on, squishy?"

"It's… There was an accident some days ago, with the Autobots, and now—"

Something explodes.

The human jumps out of instinct, as the Decepticons turn to the origin, to wherever they were heading to before stopping.

Starscream snarls and breaks out in a run.

Because the sound that follows is that of shooting.

The Autobots are here.

"No, wait!" Spike shouts, trying to follow, and, with a start, finds Ravage keeping pace at his side.

"Just what the Pit is going on, human?" the Cassette hisses, and, taking a deep gulp of air, Spike turns to meet his yellow optics.

"Jazz's a Guardian."

Ravage stumbles, almost falling on his snout, and the teenager slides to a stop in shock at the reaction.

Cassettes are not easy to read, but the horror distorting his current companion's face is too easily identifiable.

"What—Why—"

"Jazz got a hit in the head, reverted back to his Guardian self, and that means—"

Ravage needs no explanations, yowling a curse and barking at the boy to get on before breaking out in the fastest sprint ever with Spike hanging on for dear life on his back.

They get to the hangar just in time to see Thundercracker and Skywarp throw something out that explodes loudly accompanied with a lot of cursing, and Starscream, taking cover next to the door until then, rushes out.

The Cassette veers sharply, hiding behind some crates, as Megatron and Soundwave erupt from the very same corridor they came through just some seconds later, all four Decepticons immediately joining the fray outside.

Spike dismounts, and, as Ravage rushes to his creator, slips to the battlefield to seek purple-marked wings.

Fortunately, Starscream's taken to shooting from the safety of the next building over.

He dashes to his position, attracting the Seeker's attention and scowl, just as red optics dim—and the mech tenses.

"Are you serious?" he whispers, and, in the process of getting his breath back, the boy can just nod.

They hear Megatron's booming voice calling for a retreat—this was, obviously, supposed to be an infiltrating mission, so there are nowhere near enough mechs to hold the Autobots back—and Starscream pulls away from the corner with a grimace, null-rays powering down with a whine as he crouches, ready to take off as fast as he can.

Spike looks up, moving away to avoid getting caught in the blast of the turbines igniting—and a shadow on the rooftop moves.

Black and white and a slash of red—

Eyes widen and mouth opens and the Seeker tenses and whirls around as the shado jumps—

The null-ray shot goes wide as its wielder is backhanded to the ground, barely avoiding falling on the crouched human, as Jazz lands once more ready to spring, smile as delighted as when he first got his new sound system.

The Energon blade he pulled on Hoist is in his hand, stained with sparkly pink liquid.

Spike hasn't yet processed that when he's already turning, looking as Starscream rolls with the force of the fall to crouch on all fours, faceplate split sideways by a bloody—Energon-y?—line, claws bared and lifted as a shadows falls on the human when Jazz sommersaults over him and the Seeker's grip—

The Decepticon whirls too, avoiding the knife almost clipping his wings, and, with a burst of his turbines that raises enough dust to blind the boy, launches himself at the falling saboteur.

There's another deafening clang of metal striking metal, and Spike gets to his feet with loud coughs, seeing Starscream falling against the wall of the building with a dent on the side of his helm from when, according to the spin he finishes as he lands on his feet, Jazz elbowed him.

A flash of pink, and the knife is suddenly embedded in one of the Seeker's legs—his turbines—with a shriek from the mech.

Jazz rushes to his enemy, the displaced air from so fast a movement making the human stumble back, and, before the Decepticon can recover, the blade has been pulled out and a black leg is kicking him in the face as the saboteur finishes his windmill kick, or whatever it's called.

As before, Starscream turns with the hit, avoiding falling on his back, as the Autobot rushes after him with his blade in his servos once more—

Claws are buried in a black side, and Spike screams as Jazz's smirk is replaced by a pained grimace, but he's still moving, a servo grabbing a wing—

Upwards slash, spray of Energon, another kicked up cloud of dust.

Jazz smirks once more, bowed head only accentuating the sharpness of it with the shadows cast on his faceplate, as he straightens, completely ignoring the Energon running down his side and leg and dripping to the ground from the punctures on his side, as he watches Starscream's bowed and trembling hunched form kept off the ground only by the shaking arms digging curled dactyls into the cracking road, expression frozen in shock with optics shining white.

The graying wing in the saboteur's grip makes a soft swishing sound as it's twirled around, Energon dripping as copiously from the slashed tubes and lines and the bent and broken strut as it does off the empty socket on the Seeker's back.

There's a lump in Spike's throat, and the taste of bile at the back of his mouth.

Someone screams.

Skywarp and Thundercracker shift out of alt mode as they fly away, Megatron and Soundwave assumedly safe in their cockpits in their own cassette player and gun forms, stopping in their escape.

Jazz redirects his smirk up at them, twirling his knife to let the Energon drop off—and, with a step, gets to Starscream's side and buries his blade to the hilt in the back of the Seeker's neck.

The frame falls to the ground with a dull thud, gray engulfing it, as Thundercracker drags a screaming Skywarp away.

Spike falls to his ass, turns around, and throws up.

AN: "Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it." - Jorge Agustín Nicolás Ruiz de Santayana y Borrás (In English: George Santayana).

So, I'm back! Kinda. First of all, I want to let you all know I'm going over all my fics in an effort to correct grammar, starting with the finished ones (you can see my progress in my profile), so I may be a bit late with updates.

Sorry about that.

About the chapter: The title makes a reference to the quote at the beginning of this AN, about how we need to know about the past to avoid making the mistake of forgetting what a Guardian is. Because of that, and of not knowing how the next chapters are going to develop, I've modified the rating of the fic to M, just to be on the safe side.

Anything else... Well, obviously, I've no idea about military bases, so sorry about the mess of corridors (in my defense, the original cartoon took some liberties too, so... *shrug*).

And last: For all those ready to maul me for the end of this chapter... Please wait for the next one? *ducks and runs for cover*