eugenesis-text

‘I told you to leave this!’ he shouted, running towards Rodimus Prime’s medi-vault.
Kup leant into his drill. The rest of his team huddled around him, chipping at the cracks. The far end
of the corridor was starting to glow. The Quintessons were nearly inside.
‘We’re beating a retreat,’ said Prowl. ‘We don’t have time for this. You’re not going to break
through.’
Rephlex stopped. Crossblades stopped. Slapdash stopped. Kup screamed for them to continue.
Prowl shook his head.
Rad stopped. Triniad stopped.
‘Anyone who deserts will be court-martialled!’ Kup yelled, not looking up.
‘I’m in command here. Everyone leaves. Now.’ The excavation team deserted their tools, slipped past
Prowl and sprinted off.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ said Kup, his forehead damp with lubricant. He lunged forward,
snapped the drill bit, screamed and threw the tool aside.
‘Do you want me to beg Do you want me to beg you to come with me’
‘I’m not leaving him. Not for you, not for the Autobots, not for anything.’ Kup picked up another
drill and resumed his attack. A fresh layer of shielding split and crumbled, slipping to the floor in a
miniature avalanche.
The explosions outside suddenly stopped. Prowl leant towards the medi-vault door – so close that the
grit dashed his bodywork – and studied Kup’s face with a mixture of sadness and sympathy. ‘Very well, I’m
begging you. Let’s go.’
Kup started screaming.
Prowl turned to go, froze, picked up a piece of vault door and brought it down hard over Kup’s
neural cluster, flooring him instantly. He dropped low and fumbled the nape of his neck, struck by the
colossal silence. There was the wound - minor, as intended. He slung the robot over his shoulders, took
one last look inside the vault (‘I’m so sorry, Rodimus’), and jogged towards C33.
The entrance to AMC1 exploded behind him. Flames roared across every surface, lining the walls like
velvet. He felt the heat lapping at his heels and lunged into a connecting corridor.
If he’d waited until the flames had subsided, if he’d waited until the smoke had cleared, he’d have
seen that the medi-vault door had a hole - a pinprick - at the bottom of its deepest, newest crater.
Chromedome hovered near F Ward, a weapon in each hand. In one direction he could see Perceptor
standing alongside a hole in the wall, bundling escapees into the utility duct. In the other, there was just a
stretch of empty corridor.
‘Where’s Prowl’ called Perceptor, ferrying Throwback through the hole.
‘Good question.’ Chromedome expected a pack of Quintessons to come charging around the corner,
all claws and molars and emerald eyes, with Prowl’s dismembered corpse bobbing above their heads like
gravel in a sieve. His trigger fingers started prickling.
Perceptor jogged to his side. ‘Everyone’s through except Prowl and Kup. Given their proximity to
the entrance and the Quintessons’ method of entry… ah. There they are now.’
Prowl ran towards them, Kup wrapped around his neck. Chromedome snatched the body and passed
it through the escape hatch, no questions asked. Prowl and Perceptor followed, jumping into thick sewage.
Nosecone, Pointblank and Getaway pushed them aside and began sealing the hole.
Prowl pushed his way through the crowd and looked around. They were standing on the baseline of
a semicircular junction, with eight ducts leading in eight different directions.
‘We’re sealed,’ said Nosecone, folding his blowtorch into his wrist.
‘It’s not going to fool them for long,’ said Perceptor. ‘They’ll know we’ve escaped somehow.’
‘Then let’s go!’ Prowl splashed towards the nearest tunnel.
‘You’re just taking your pick, right’ Chromedome jogged to the mouth of another tunnel. ‘Because
if we go this way…’ He pressed his hand to his mouth. ‘Let me see. We’re outside the north face of the
AMC. If we went down this duct we’d be heading towards Stanix… The Institute of Higher Programming
is on the southern border of Korten, about 60 miles away. It’s deserted, it’s safe, it’s—’
‘Where we’re heading,’ finished Prowl, defecting to Chromedome’s corner. ‘We should be out of
sight before they trace us.’