The air was thick with the stench of rusted metal and stale energon. Every step the Autobots took echoed through the hollow remains of the abandoned facility, their optics scanning the darkened corridors lined with lifeless husks—Cybertronians frozen in their final moments, their metal bodies corroded by the plague that had long since consumed them.

But something was wrong.

This place was supposed to be silent.

Then came the sound.

A slow, dragging scrape against the floor.

Arcee froze mid-step, her optics darting toward the shadows. “What was that?” she whispered, her servos gripping her blaster.

The others were still. Listening.

Another noise—this time a wet, rattling breath. Something in the darkness was breathing.

Bumblebee let out a sharp beep, his door wings rising in alarm. Bulkhead’s optics flickered toward the movement, his plating shivering. “I thought everything in here was dead,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

A sudden, inhuman gurgle echoed through the chamber.

Then the shadows shifted.

Something—someone—was watching them.