Prologue
Nobody moves, nobody speaks. The scene is a tableau frozen in time, the stillness only emphasising the precarious nature of the situation. The keening screams from the other side of the door have only been silent for five minutes, and yet so much and so little has changed in that time. And so much more is about to become clear.
"Perhaps it has retreated," says Perceptor.
Nobody acknowledges him. They are all too busy staring at Red Alert, crouched in the corner near the exit, head in hands, trying to block them all out. It's not working. It never does.
"I say Red Alert goes out there to check," Brawn says eventually. The spilt energon is still drying on the soles of his feet, and Cliffjumper is no longer with them. He hasn't been for some time.
Nobody argues with him. Red Alert makes no sign of hearing him. The only sound is the dripping of unseen pipes and the deep thrum of the engine buried deep down in the heart of the ship.
On the far side of the room, Bumblebee stirs and produces a strangled, gargling sound. Perceptor is beside him almost instantly, but one glance tells him it's too late. The rest of them absorb this in the same heavy silence as before.
Brawn turns back to the pathetic form of his former comrade. "How does it feel?" He asks sharply. "Huh? How does it feel to be a murderer?"
Rd Alert's shoulders start to shake. He says something but it's too quiet for the others to hear, and Perceptor asks him to amplify. "Not my fault," he whimpers. "Not my fault. An accident."
Brawn lunges forward with a snarl but is held back by a large black hand that is attached to a larger mech who is not used to being argued with. Inferno shakes his head when challenged. It's too late for petty vengeance now.
Red Alert finally looks up. His features are flat but there's a twitch at the side of his mouth, and as he finally gains the courage to raise his eyes to his colleagues, all he sees is hostility. He flinches back into the wall as though it could shield him from them, from this mess he is somehow responsible for. It can't, it doesn't. He's as vulnerable as before.
He looks to the only mech he has ever considered as a friend and there is no hostility there, only disappointment and bitterness. "Infer..." His voice trails away as Inferno shrugs towards the door.
"I think you should go out there," he says. "It's your job, Red. To keep us all safe." Hands on hips. "You got to do your job."
Red Alert stands up. It's a slow process – he feels as though his body is mired in a thick, sticky lubricant that keeps making him slip back down to the floor. Eventually he straightens himself, but now it is his feet that are stuck, and he stares imploringly at the others.
"Don't make me do this," he whispers. "I don't want to do this."
Brawn sneers impatiently. "Primus - you're not even a sparkling. Just a coward." He takes a threatening step forwards and this time Inferno makes no move to stop him. "Go outside, you glitched up waste of spare parts, and see if that thing's out there."
From the back of the room Perceptor folds his arms, and Inferno dodges the appeal that is thrown his way. Bumblebee has no way to contribute to the discussion; he has been dead for three and a half minutes.
There is nothing left, no avenue of escape. It seems to take hours to reach the control panel that negates their only means of defence against the creature lurking in the corridor outside, but it could only have been a few seconds.
Trembling, Red Alert places his hand on the switch. Hesitating, he looks over his shoulder for confirmation, and meets Inferno's gaze.
The other mech nods.
Red Alert opens the door, and steps over the threshold.
And then he screams.