eugenesis-text

‘Assumed responsibility You make him sound like a pet! He’s my best friend.’ Kup clicked his
fingers. ‘You and Optimus! He was the only person you’ve ever been close to! Imagine it were him in
there.’
‘Optimus would’ve begged me to remove the Matrix. Hell, I’d have torn it from his chest!’
‘You know what I believe you. You’d have taken the Matrix, and then stepped into his shoes.’
Prowl felt his fingers fold and nestle in his palm. ‘You’re not thinking straight. 50 Autobots, Kup. 50
Autobots who don’t deserve your stubborn, pig-headed refusal to accept what’s happening.’
‘I don’t care. No one touches him.’ Kup quickly looked behind him, half-expecting Prowl to have
arranged for others to have broken in and snatched the Matrix while they were arguing. ‘I’ve protected him
this long. I’m not going to sit back and let you murder him.’
‘I wanted to discuss this with you reasonably. You obviously don’t understand. At the end of the day,
I’m your commander. I heed no higher authority. With or without your consent I’m going to remove the
Matrix.’
‘Over my dead body,’ said Kup, retrieving his drill and jabbing it in Prowl’s direction.
Prowl looked around for a weapon and saw Rev-Tone and Quark running down the corridor.
‘We’ve found a way out!’ yelled Rev-Tone. ‘The ward extension! They were a hair’s-breadth away
from breaking into another set of utility ducts!’
Prowl wanted to hug them but couldn’t even muster the energy to smile. Once again, his world had
been reshaped in an instant. ‘Did you hear that, Kup We can escape.’
Kup’s reply was smothered by an explosion. The corridor shivered and regained composure.
‘There’s someone at the door,’ said Rev-Tone.
Kickback and Ramjet huddled in opposite corners of their cell and watched droplets of grease slide
down the walls, grubby nosed and silver tailed. They talked in Kledji language, a ragged patois coaxed from
the back of the throat.
‘Dead Maybe yes.’ Ramjet rubbed his eyes. ‘Quint said all resistance crushed.’
‘Sixshot No no no.’
‘Perhaps they bombed the Leagus. Wipe out.’
‘Stop. Don’t talk like that.’
‘If Sixer and rest still out there, why haven’t they attacked’
Kickback’s brain felt cloudy. He started banging his head against the wall. ‘Wish Soundwave was still
alive.’
The electro-bars slid open and the guards threw a slab of wet metal onto the floor. It had arms, legs
and a misshapen head. It stank: roasting copper, top-heavy chemicals and melted rubber.
The Decepticons fell upon Sunstreaker, prodding and poking him with scabby fingers. The Autobot
rolled over and left half his chest on the floor. His face was stripped to the basics: scaffold and primarycoloured
wiring. Two silvery craters dented his forehead like oyster shells.
Slamdance hung in the neighbouring cell, eavesdropping as always. He heard the grunts and fumbles,
the obscenities, the slippery drip of grease on grilling.
That was it. That was the final straw.
It was time to go.
Hundreds of Quintessons stood outside AMC1 and raked the waters with laserfire, setting the slop
alight. Stray shots caught the curve and bounced around the ducts, trapped in an infinite prism of ricochet.
A customised path-blaster filled an entire utility duct, its reactor coils pumping engex into the core as it
prepared for the opening shot.
Prowl raced through the med-centre barking orders into wards and offices.
‘We’re not fighting them! There’s another way out – corridor C33!’
He ducked into E Ward and took one last look at the dead patients, stacked like foldaway chairs. He
started moving his hand over their cool bodywork - Ammo’s preposterously thick forearms, the locus curve
of Warpath’s spine, Rescue’s slender hands – and was brought back to reality by a sound more frightening
than the mini-blitz outside: the sound of drilling.