I'm trapped.

I'm buried alive.

I feel the walls around me, closing me in, so close, sealing me in my coffin. The darkness is absolute. The only sound is my own fuel pump hammering within me, till it seems it must tear itself free, burst forth from my chest.

My scream strangles in my throat. My fingers claw the unseen wall before me. My fists beat upon the inside of my pitch-black tomb in a frantic staccato of helpless terror. The fear is a physical thing, crushing my chest, squeezing my mind in constricting bands of agony. I'm alone in the dark. They've abandoned me, forgotten me. I'm trapped. Trapped. Trapped forever, forever...

...I wake with a choked sound, a dying creature's final gasp. I'm in my recharge bed, in my own chambers. I'm safe. It was only a dream.

Only a memory.

I curl up like a wounded animal, hiding my face in my fists. Though there's no one else to see, I stifle my sobs, hiding my cowardice, my shame. Never show pain; never show fear. That was the first lesson I ever learned. But it would not be the last.

My sobs quiet. I roll over on my back, and lie for a while in silence. The memories come again, unbidden, as they always do; rustling through my mind like dry leaves in an autumn wind. Every night, the same dreams, the same memories. I lie gazing up at the light above me, drawing strength from the comforting brightness.

I am Nightbird.

I sleep with the lights on.

The lab was cold, austere. It showed no traces of the personality of the man to whom it belonged. That was how he wanted it.

"Nightbird, activate."

The white-coated figure was dwarfed by the mechanoid that stood before him. However, he showed no fear as the golden optics of the dark, graceful figure flickered on. She--he preferred to think of his handiwork as "she"--stood silent and ready, waiting obediently for his command.

He'd always valued these nights alone with her, felt a kind of paternal pride as his creation went through her paces. As he'd order her through fighting techniques, she would move with flawless precision, with a dancer's grace. But those times were over, now.

As if in confirmation of his silent musings, a voice crackled over the lab's intercom. "Doctor Fujiyama, please report to the communications station." The voice repeated its message, then died out in a burst of static. Even the poor quality of the transmission couldn't hide the foreboding implicit in the brief message.

The scientist stood in silence for a moment. Then he turned his expressionless gaze to his creation. "Are we ready for them, do you think?" he softly asked.

The mechanoid made no reply. Fujiyama lowered his eyes. "What will become of you now? And more, what will become of me?"

At that, he gave a mirthless chuckle. "Ah, I indulge myself. I ask you questions because I know you cannot answer." Once again, he looked up at her blank eyes. "And because the answer is something I already know."

Then his eyes narrowed as he ordered, "Nightbird, deactivate." Her optics flickered out. Briefly, he amused himself with the thought that she would be puzzled by his actions: why had he woken her for no reason? But he knew in his heart that such thoughts were mere self-indulgence. Nightbird couldn't wonder, or question, or dream...she felt no sorrow, no anger, no fear.

Fujiyama envied her that.

Moving like a sleepwalker, he turned and walked away. As he left the lab, his footsteps echoed down the deserted half-lit corridor. As he entered the communications station, his assistant startled at his approach, even though she'd been expecting him. For a moment, he met her gaze, her dark eyes wide as a frightened deer's. Then he gave a curt nod, and she hurried gratefully from the room, her tattered lab coat swishing behind her as she closed the door.

Fujiyama sat down at the battered, cobbled-together computer station, and his fingers danced across they keys as he punched in the code that only he knew. The machine sputtered to life as he leaned forward to speak. His face betrayed no emotion, and his voice was calm and measured, showing no trace of the fear in his soul.

"Fujiyama to Autobot Headquarters. Come in, Autobot Headquarters."

Standing at the entrance of the long, wide corridor, the two mechanoids provided a study in contrasts. Prowl stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest, his expression neutral. However, the stiffness of his stance, and the way his optics periodically flickered away from the scene, indicated his barely-concealed impatience. Wheeljack, on the other hand, was practically abuzz with enthusiasm as he gleefully expounded on the finer points of his latest security system.

"Just installed it this morning," the battered inventor enthused, with a sweeping gesture that sent a barely-attached arm panel flying across the room to bounce off the wall and clatter unceremoniously to the floor. Prowl shot an irritated glance at it as Wheeljack heedlessly went on, "This baby'll stop anything the 'Cons throw at us. I'd stake my reputation on it..."

Prowl's mouth quirked in a humorless smile. "And that, of course, is such a significant wager."

The other Autobot paused in mid-spiel. "Huh?"

"Never mind. Have you tested this system yet?"

"Not yet. But I will, right now." Wheeljack extended his communicator, then paused, seeming to vaguely recall some notion of protocol. "Er, I mean, with your permission, Commander?"

Prowl shrugged. Wheeljack prudently interpreted that as both a 'yes' and a 'don't press your luck'. "Brawn," Wheeljack ordered into the communicator, "report to Corridor 79B immediately."

A surly mumble sounded in reply, but in short order, the Autobot in question came stomping into view. He nodded respectfully to Prowl--Brawn was scarcely a diplomat, but he wasn't stupid--then demanded of Wheeljack, "So whattaya want now?"

"Nothing much," Wheeljack replied. "Just need you to walk down this hall."

"That's it?" Brawn looked perplexed, then he grunted. "You lab geeks just get off on wastin' everybody's time, don't you?" However, a cold glare from Prowl made it clear that he was to comply with the odd request. Brawn shrugged, indicating the whole affair meant nothing to him, then started down the corridor. He took one, two, three steps, his heavy footsteps clanking loudly against the plate metal of the floor.

Then there was a sudden, loud SNAP-KSHING noise. This was followed by a brief silence, then a soft, almost gentle sound of dripping liquid.

"Yes!" Wheeljack pumped his fist, and seemed about to backslap Prowl, but quickly thought better of it. "You see?" He pointed. "Each of those spikes is twenty feet long and pure titanium. There's two hundred of them altogether, evenly distributed across the entire length of the floor," --the dripping had become more of a steady gurgle now-- "and the response time is so fast it's barely measurable. What did I tell you?" Wheeljack put his fists on his hips and nodded in satisfaction. "I'd like to see the mech that can get past that."

"Brilliant," Prowl observed, in a decidedly arctic tone. "Except that you've managed to cost us one of our warriors in the bargain."

Wheeljack blinked. "What?" He seemed only just now to notice the figure transfixed between floor and ceiling, skewered by half-a-dozen long spikes and coursing fuel from multiple jagged wounds. Brawn's sightless optics were round as saucers, and his mouth gaped open in what appeared to be a mixture of shock and utter chagrin.

"Umm..." Wheeljack turned to meet his commander's gaze, and flinched at what he saw there. "I think he's still alive..." Sheepishly, he extended a panel on his wrist and punched in a code that caused the rows of spikes to jerk sharply in their housings. Slowly, they began to retract, and Brawn's many-punctured body thudded unpleasantly to the floor. Wheeljack scurried down the corridor towards his latest victim, hoping that this wouldn't be the one incident where Prowl's legendary patience finally ran out. Meanwhile, the Autobot lieutenant cocked his head slightly as a summons came over his private communicator.

"Prowl here." He listened, then nodded sharply. "Yes, Lord Prime. On my way." He glanced towards Wheeljack. The inventor was struggling to lift the stocky Brawn; the Minibot was small, but heavy. Also, Wheeljack's task was made more difficult by the fact that the body was now quite slippery with its own vital fluids.

"Wheeljack," Prowl ordered. At this, the mech in question startled and dropped the body with an unceremonious crash. "Get your latest casualty to the repair bay, then report to the main hangar. We depart at 0800. Don't be late."

Wheeljack nodded vigorously and made a clumsy salute as Prowl turned away. Preoccupied with the struggle to sling his burden over his shoulders, the inventor failed to hear Prowl's final words, spoken to himself in a tone of quiet satisfaction: "This should be amusing."

Prowl strode away without a backwards glance. The painfully hunched-over Wheeljack waited till he was out of view, then made an exasperated noise and let Brawn crash back down to the ground. He grabbed him by one ankle and dragged him along like so much dead weight, Brawn's head bouncing along the edge of every floor panel, till they disappeared around a bend in the corridor and passed out of sight.