I cowered in the freshly emptied toolbox, now being carried down the long metal halls. Looking up I could see the lovely underside of Misdirect's chin, as well as the very top of the fascinating joints that connected his neck to his head. Footsteps rattled my brain, a pair of them in fact.

"Don't you want to see where we're going?" Misdirect asked, looking down. It was weird to be addressed by a giant face from above.

I was huddled along the wall of the toolbox, bracing my arms and legs against the walls as best I could. It was much shakier than I anticipated. Each step jolted the box, not to mention the small motions his hands and arms were adding: the whole ride was disorienting. Better than riding in a hand though, like he first suggested.

"You're missing out on quite the tour," He said.

How he could act so casually while a behemoth of a robot, the Lieutenant, walked next to us, I had no clue. But, I nodded anyway. Fine, maybe standing would be better after all. I moved to the other wall, slowly reaching up until I could grab the edge, then finally moved up to stand. He tilted the box a bit, so I could lean easily against the wall of the toolbox, and I gripped the edge tightly. It felt rather secure and if I positioned myself right, the only parts peeking out were my head and a bit of my chest. No risk of falling. Surprisingly, the whole ordeal had me feeling out of breath. I didn't think I was that out of shape.

The floor swept under me, doors flew by. Maybe he had a point: it was actually kind of fun, how fast we were going, like a weird carnival ride. We'd been walking for at least ten minutes now, a few elevators had been taken, and I had even heard other robots walk past us —hence my reluctance to peek from the safety of my box. Though some conversed noisily as they passed, no one had bothered us. Our surroundings weren't so blank and dirty anymore, and some color was actually present. Blues and oranges streaked along the wall, forming patterns around the bulkier and far more styled door frames.

The Lieutenant walked next to us.

I snuck a look. He strode forward rigidly, positioned ahead just enough to make it clear that he was the leader of our small party, but close enough that I could still see just the corner of his glowing blue eyes: no doubt he was keeping a careful eye on us. Or specifically me, for that matter.

The Lieutenant had made quite the first impression. Back at the room, the door had opened before either Misdirect or I had been able to properly react, and so for a good second the Lieutenant had just stood there, boring holes into our disorganized state. And, to my shock, I recognized him. He was the same behemoth who had crossed the hallway in front of me when I had still been convinced I was merely in some secret government base. I was almost certain it was the same robot. He was largely blue and red, with unmistakable tall white pillars on top of each shoulder. Personally, they struck me as a bit ridiculous, but I couldn't argue how much more imposing it made his frame

His first words were a boom of jarring cybertronian, but upon seeing me his frown had grown somehow even deeper, "You both were to report to Ratchet." His voice was much older than Misdirect's and heavy with authority.

I didn't get the feeling he liked me. During our mad scramble to explain the situation and pull ourselves together, he had stood in the doorway like some impassable barrier. And, other than his disapproving glances at the messes littering the room, his attention had not budged far from me.

"Any better?" Misdirect asked, and I tore my eyes off the Lieutenant.

I nodded. "Hey, why'd he say ratchet earlier? Is that a name? Is that his name?" I whispered.

"Designation: Ultra Magnus," The commanding voice boomed before Misdirect could even open his mouth, "Lieutenant to Optimus Prime and Chief of Security."

My heart jumped to my throat. Dear lord, how good was their hearing? And Ottimis Prime? "Whose-?"

If he heard me, he didn't pay any mind, "Ratchet is the name our chief medical officer has chosen. By direct order, you've been placed under his charge."

A sudden bump made me nearly lose my grip and I tried my best not to slide. "Hold on, in charge of me?"

"Like a guardian," Misdirect peered down, "I guess he'll be the one making decisions for you. He'll probably want you to stay in the medbay: keep a better optic on you."

"But I get a say in this though right? You said it would just be a quick visit."

"It was a direct order," Ultra Magnus said.

"But I already have Misdirect," I looked up in a panic, "What is he like? Is he mean? He wouldn't put me in a cage or box or something, right? Misdirect?"

"If that is what he sees fit," Ultra Magnus said, being very unhelpful.

"I'm sorry Fella," Misdirect said, and my box shifted, "I didn't know Optimus would make the order. I guess it makes sense though: Ratchet's got the equipment to take care of you."

"You said you wouldn't leave me."

"I won't," he reassured, "But you didn't think we'd just leave you to camp out in the maintenance tunnels, right?"

Fair point.

"Besides," he said, "If we get you back to your home, you won't have to stay anywhere at all. I know you're worried, but I trust Ratchet. And if it means anything, Prime trusts him too."

"He ordered it directly," came Ultra Magnus again.

Frustration and panic prickled up, I gritted my teeth, "Look, I'm sure this Ottimis Prime guy is great and all, but I should at least get a choice, right?"

"Optimus Prime." A voice corrected.

A new robot had stepped into the hall ahead of us, with a frown that could compete with Ultra Magnus. He was mainly white with reddish-orange sections along his head, arms, waist, and legs, including the entirety of his hands. His head looked helmet-like, and above his eyes was a large white and pointy piece resembling a brow.

Did all the robots here have intricate designs? Even Misdirect, who was mostly navy blue, still had silvery accents, not to mention how his armor curved more than the other two. His thinner frame looked just a touch pointier. Aerodynamics? Or was this how they personalized themselves?

"Ratchet," Ultra Magnus greeted.

The robot that was apparently Ratchet, beckoned curtly for our small group to follow before he disappeared back into the large doorway.

His voice carried from the room, "By the sound of it, introductions have been handled? You're late by the way." He sounded aged and self-assured, but his voice was not as harsh as his appearance seemed to suggest.

The doorway was an arch and far bigger than usual. Inside was massive. Circling the room, metal slabs perched up from the floor like large tables. Counters with drawers and shelves packed the walls. A large screen and workspace sat at the far end of the room, facing the entrance, and other smaller doors peppered the walls. It actually struck me as a clinic in its own way: the lighting, the sterile smell, and how clean and impersonal it felt.

"You can set her over here," The disgruntled robot pointed to a metal slab at the far end of the room. A bright light illuminated its surface. A second look found the medic no less intimidating. His attention felt piercing. A fleeting glance was enough to make me want to duck from sight. He had refrained from staring at me, but this was somehow far worse. I felt as if I had entered his territory.

When Misdirect tilted the box, I unsteadily hopped off onto the new surface. The least I could do was face my fate with dignity. The light above me felt hot.

"I'll take it from here," Ratchet said.

Without so much as a second look, Ultra Magnus nodded and turned away, "When you're ready I'll be back with Prime."

Misdirect huffed, "So he'll wait when you're ready, but not us."

The medic didn't seem impressed.

Something nudged my back and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I swatted Misdirect's hand away as his voice came from above, "You going to introduce yourself?"

Was he enjoying this? Too nervous to properly glare at him, I turned back. Ok, just a quick check-up, then we're gone. In and out. "I'm, um, Kathrine."

"Ratchet," he responded, "It's a pleasure."

It didn't feel like a pleasure. Equipment had been placed near us, towering to my left and right. It looked awfully intimidating, and faintly I realized I had begun backing up. Screw dignity, I wanted out. My back hit something and I flinched, it was Misdirect's hands. Leaning against the table, with his arms resting in front, he had clasped his hands behind me as if to discreetly stop my slow retreat.

"You alright?"

What did he expect me to say? Especially when in the corner of my eye the looming presence of the medic stood. I could feel myself sweating under the light, and the strong smell of disinfectant made me light-headed.

A blue grid swept over me from behind, and for a brief moment, I saw my frozen silhouette shadowed against Misdirect's chest.

"I believe it's me," said Ratchet, "So, Magnus she's ok with, but it's me who's the frightening one?"

"Nah," Misdirect said, "I think Magnus did a number on her too."

"Yeah, and You did a number on me," I grumbled under my breath.

Misdirect gave Ratchet a nervous glance, "I kept you in one piece, fella."

But for how much longer? Who knew what plans Ratchet had. Especially since he apparently had full say in what happened to me. Dissection? Experiments? Misdirect had said it would be a quick examination, but what if Ratchet chose to keep me here?

"Your report was interesting," Ratchet said, "Do you have any proof the generators are involved, or is this just a sad attempt to cover up kidnapping one of the locals?"

"I wasn't kidnapped," I said, hardly keeping the tone out of my voice, "I'm not a pet either. How much of an issue is this? Are you guys just snatching people left and right?"

"That's not what he meant," Misdirect said hastily.

From the corner of my eye, I could see that Ratchet had not so much as blinked.

"And regardless of that," Misdirect added, "She has a device with her. There are pictures and messages from only a few of her planet's hours ago. She said her creator had some machine they were testing."

"Evidence can be fabricated."

Misdirect's nervousness was in turn making me a bit jumpy. He gestured to me, "Look at her, have you seen any organic like her before?"

Glowing eyes fell on me again and now I resisted the urge to look away, " I just want to go home," I said, "See my dad again, my brother."

Ratchet's serious expression didn't break, but his voice belied surprise, "So you're not trying to keep her?"

"What?" Misdirect exclaimed, "No, of course not."

With eyes narrowed, he studied us. The silence stretched, and I found that impatience was starting to flicker in my chest again.

"Cool, alright," I clasped my hands together, speaking with more confidence than I expected, "Now that that's squared away, you wanted a quick exam right? And then we can get right out of your hair."

Arms still crossed, Ratchet's frown faltered, "You'll do what?" The question was quickly dismissed with a sigh and he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Misdirect, I sincerely hope you've got better evidence than pictures. If we find out you took a native, Prime will not take it lightly."

"I know, and I do," Misdirect reassured, "besides, you know me, I'd never."

"He didn't," I nodded.

"At any rate," Ratchet huffed, "it's not my problem. Misdirect, fetch a special kit from storage for me. I'm sending you the location."

"Gotcha doc." He seemed remarkably unbothered by the small interrogation. He moved away from the table's edge as he turned towards the door. By the time I realized what was happening he was already across the room. Stunned, I watched as he exited the room, and turned briefly with a wink, "Hang in there Kathrine, be back in a sec."

Then he was gone.

What about his promise? I stared at the empty doorway, feeling Ratchet's eyes burning into my back. My throat was suddenly unbearably dry.

"Ok," he said, "Now, the truth."

I braced myself for the squeeze of a large hand or the slam of a cage around me.

There was a whirring noise, "Kathrine, please look at me," He was speaking quieter, with an earnestness that surprised me. I turned. He had either crouched or gotten on his knees because his head was now closer to eye level.

"This is between you and me. Do you need help? Is anyone forcing you to be here?" The weary and irritated expression had completely dissolved, and in its place was concern.

I shook my head, and this time the motion made me feel dizzy. When had I gotten so tired?

"Did anyone threaten you?"

I faltered in my attempt to clear my throat. Was this a trick? Was he trying to gain my trust? "Well, I mean the Mags guy, the big one. He seemed kinda upset that I was here. But no threats."

"Think of a word," He said, "One you'll remember."

I could only stare at him in a blank panic.

"Something from your planet perhaps, or from a strong memory."

"Darkness," I blurted out, "The first thing I saw when I came here." I picked at the edge of my jacket sleeve, "No, wait. That's stupid."

"Darkness it is," He nodded, "That's our code word, tell no one else. If you need help, say the code word and I'll get you away from whatever situation you're in, no matter who you are with, or what's going on. Do you understand?"

"I do." It didn't feel like a trick.

"Good," he slowly stood and moved away from the table. A large tablet-looking device was grabbed off another surface, and it flickered to life in his hands. He turned back to me, but kept his eyes on the screen, bits of blue light reflected off his metal chest.

"Your vitals have suggested alarm since you arrived. Is everything ok?"

I considered lying, but in the end, I shrugged, "No, not really. I'm pretty stressed out. I'm still not convinced you guys won't just up and kill me," I managed a laugh, "But other than that I'm dandy."

"Unless they want their spark surgically removed, I doubt anyone will make an attempt," came his nonchalant reply, "And I'll keep the stress in mind."

I had no clue what that meant, but the threat sounded reassuring enough. I shifted on my feet, still keeping a careful eye on his hands, "What is Misdirect grabbing for you, exactly?"

"Oh, I got what I needed ahead of time, when the report came in. I just wanted to speak with you privately," He hummed at the screen in his hands, "The kit I have just has medical supplies I've collected from other carbon-based life. Of course, there's a chance none of it might be usable for you, but it's the best we've got."

"You've met other aliens?"

"You're surprised by this?"

"I guess not, I guess Misdirect already mentioned it. I don't think it feels real yet, just like the rest of this."

He glanced at me for an explanation.

"Like I still can't believe it," I explained hastily, "I'm still not convinced this isn't some coma dream, and I'm not passed out in some hospital."

There was another hum and he returned his attention back to the tablet.

"I mean, that's not crazy though, right? I wake up and I'm on some spaceship? And apparently aliens exist, and they're also robots. But not just normal ones, giant robots. And no one really knows why I'm here, and I'm millions of miles from home, and I might not ever get back," The twist in my stomach felt like an all-out punch, "I'll never see my dad again. Or my brother. Or my friends. Or-" I stopped.

Why was I doing this? What was the point? A drowsiness was creeping in, and reality was feeling a bit hazy. Maybe I had reached my breaking point at last.

"I'm confident we can figure out what happened," Ratchet said.

I sat down, feeling a bit unsteady on my feet, and rubbed my eyes with my palms. Any chance they had beds? I doubted it.

"This what you needed, doc?" Misdirect's voice popped in from across the room. Using both hands he was holding a dark blue box with a removable lid.

"Yes," Ratchet said, "Set it by the interface."

Misdirect made his way across the room, "You holding up fella?" he asked as he passed by. The box was deposited on another counter, next to the central computer screen. The monitor was unsurprisingly huge, maybe half the size of a movie theater screen. Blue graphics sprinkled across, and I watched as the strange flurry of symbols jumped around. It looked like some kind of complicated datasheet.

"Fella?" He asked.

I looked up. When had he walked over?

"Kathrine?"

My eyelids felt heavy, "What?"

Something was wrong.

I tried to speak but my thoughts got in the way. Why was I so tired? This wasn't normal.

Ratchet was suddenly next to Misdirect. His mouth was moving and I stared, transfixed. Something about something respiratory? Watching made my head spin. The word 'breathe' floated down. My heart was in my ears, pounding with my lungs.

Crack.

Pain blossomed on the back of my head. My vision jolted, spirals of light twisted above.

…

…

…?

What?

What? I blinked. Voices were speaking around me. Why was I lying down? Did I fall? I squinted against the light.

"She's stabilizing," came Ratchet, his words assembling in my ears at a sluggish pace.

"Kathrine? Can you hear me?" Misdirect asked. The blurry blue smudge above slowly transformed into a familiar worried face.

"Wha?" I rasped

"Oh, Primus above," he sighed with relief, "How are you feeling?"

Weak and my chest ached. Scratch that, my entire body ached, "Fine."

"Don't get up," Ratchet's firm voice commanded just as I started to move. My muscles weren't really cooperating anyways. On the other hand, the world wasn't jumping around so much, I was feeling better by the second. That was crazy...

Holy crap, what had just happened? I tried to jolt upright, but in the same instant, a large red hand flew into view, blocking out the square lights above. A single finger, bigger than my entire arm, gently pushed me back down, gingerly holding me there for a second before retreating.

"Try to stay still," came Ratchet's voice.

I made no second attempt.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Don't panic," Misdirect said, looking panicked himself, "Ratchet has it all fixed for you, right?" He looked past me expectantly.

"I've sealed the doors. What they call oxygen and nitrogen are now at a 50-50 mix," Ratchet's voice came from out of sight, and I craned my neck to no avail, fearful of budging an inch least the hand return.

Oxygen? Did something happen to the air? I didn't notice anything changing. How would that even happen?

"The dictionary listed 20-70 as the ratio, but I wanted to be safe. I'll adjust it soon," Heavy footsteps vibrated up through my surface as Ratchet walked calmly around the table and into my view, arms tightly crossed, his eyes did not leave me.

Before, I had felt like a bug under a cup, but now it felt like a proper dissection. I had never been more aware of the position of my body, my worn jeans and faded dark green jacket open to all judgment. That, and the expressions on my face. How did one behave normally while every tiny movement was under examination?

"It's not going to happen again, is it?" Misdirect asked.

"I should have accounted for it sooner, this was my fault, I'm sorry," Ratchet said.

"But what happened?" I asked.

"The room lost its oxygen," Ratchet answered, his expression having slipped into one of pure business. No doubt ready to jump in the moment something else unexpected happened. "You should count yourself very lucky. We don't usually use oxygen in our ship's atmosphere mixture, it's too reactive. But it's a perfect addition for repairs, better performance overall for the plasma shears and welders."

"You don't breathe?" I felt like an idiot the moment the question formed: they were robots. I quickly tried to recover, "Sorry, that's a no, right?

He nodded, "If my guess is correct, our section of the ship just wrapped up repairs," He flicked on the tablet again, "They've been filtering back our normal atmosphere for the past 15 of your minutes."

"And you figured all that out from her personal device?" Misdirect asked. He still hovered over me. "How did you even know what was happening?"

"With all the organics we've met: if they have a respiratory system it almost always takes priority. It was one of the first things I checked. And yes, I got everything from 'Oxford English' as it is labeled in her phone. It defined everything, atmosphere, air, molecular makeup of oxygen and nitrogen, even how they categorize their known elements."

It was incredibly resourceful. Thank god I had been a book nerd as a kid, having gone on enough secluded hikes and camping trips to require something I could use offline for whatever word captured my interest. I guess I never bothered deleting it.

"I almost died?" It felt surreal.

"Yes," Ratchet said, "And I won't let this mistake happen again."

He continued talking, now barking commands to Misdirect, probably going through whatever 'organic' checklist he had.

Air had not even been a second thought. But of course it was a factor: it was an alien ship for christ sake. If they didn't even have my air, would they have food? Drinkable water?

What would have happened if they weren't doing repairs today? Or if they had finished just a few minutes quicker? The lights above me grew blurry once more. I was lucky, wasn't I? An image popped into my mind, of a dark room filled with the beat of a machine, and a girl on the floor, drowning in her own air, alone. Or a crumpled figure, having fainted from atop an oversized toolbox, her strange new robotic friend calling out her name, long past when her lungs had given up.

I closed my eyes against the light.

I knew exactly what was going on: I had landed myself in a death trap.