eugenesis-text

‘Forget it! We’ve just detected a fleet of ships over Lonium, and they don’t conform to any Decepticon designs. I
think the Quintessons are about to make a house call.’
Prowl’s body felt heavy, impacted like a dead star, and the floor flexed to support his crushing weight.
Focus. Focus!
‘How many ships’
‘Two thousand, Prowl! Two thousand!’
Nightbeat broke the warm membrane separating Past and Present and imagined the fabric of
space/time being worn that little bit thinner. He felt 2012 ripple and roll, accepting his intrusion.
Nothing much had changed, thank god… There were the upturned pews, the excavated floor, the
crack across a windowpane. This was ‘his’ 2012, superficially at least. But perhaps… perhaps the mist was a
darker shade of umber, perhaps the columns were a tad thinner than before – perhaps he would step outside
and see hundreds of miniature cyberworlds filling out the sky, as if Cybertron’s orbit was covered in
bubble-wrap.
This was stupid. He had to relax. He felt tired – a clammy lethargy he couldn’t explain. Optimus
Prime’s weight, perhaps Bog-standard mental exhaustion Or some as-yet unnamed side effect of holistic
time travel
‘Get a move on!’ called Sunstreaker from the other side of the wormhole. ‘Prime’s leg is denting my
shoulder plate!’
The four Autobots placed Optimus on the altar and arranged his limbs like tableware.
‘You really think we can revive him, Hoist’ asked Grapple.
‘Hey, if the Ark can do it, so can I. Besides, he had a thorough maintenance check before Arklaunch.’
Hoist squeezed his fingers through an opening in Prime’s rib, flipped the chest plate and assessed the
damage. He touched the Matrix shield; it was red-hot. ‘This shouldn’t take too long.’
Grapple looked up sharply. ‘Can you hear that’
Nightbeat pressed a finger against his lips. ‘What’
‘A humming – and it’s getting louder.’ The architect walked to the nearest window.
‘I hear it now,’ said Nightbeat, crouching to watch Hoist at work. ‘An engine’
‘Maybe.’ Grapple wiped the plexiglass and saw thousands of Trident Attack Craft flying in tight
formation.
‘See anything’ called Nightbeat.
‘He just wanted an excuse to study the temple,’ said Sunstreaker, inspecting his fingertips for dirt. ‘Eh,
Grapple’
Nightbeat turned around. ‘Grapple’ The architect’s body fell from the ceiling and snapped in two as
it hit the floor.
‘No one move,’ said Nightbeat, reaching for his weapon.
Guardian dropped to the floor, dispersing mist. His head sloped to one side, stray support struts
poking through an entry wound, and Nightbeat saw that half his scalp was missing, clawed away by a
mechanoid trying to stop the pain in his brain.
/// i am the way ///
‘Now Guardian, I thought—’
/// the truth ///
‘—we had an understanding. This isn’t going to solve—’
/// and the light ///
Guardian raised his hands and fired the blasters in his palms. The Autobots were lifted off their feet as
the shots raked the floor. Nightbeat’s finger jammed on the trigger and he sprayed laser through a plexiglass
window. He landed hard and heard his ambulatory joints slip out of alignment. He was paralysed.
Hoist’s body skidded across the floor like a broken toy. More gunfire, and Sunstreaker joined him.
Nightbeat flopped onto his belly and started crawling for the door. He could feel the wormhole breathing
down his neck.
/// your disciples are dead /// i see you child /// i see you ///
Ignore. Crawl. Hand over hand over hand over hand.
/// i will cast out your demons ///