Death.

You imagine it so much that it feels more like a memory.

Although, to be fair, you haven't died yet. You just know that there's no way out of this predicament, and your life is flashing before your optics.

It's been long, but not as long as you'd like.

The arc of blinding light that promises to vaporise your frame slows to a stop, and distantly, you're aware that it's not because time has slowed, it's because your thoughts have become quick.

And then, a servo grabs your wrist and yanks you backwards, but that's impossible, you're the only one in the blast radius and then you're falling and it feels like you're falling even longer than you are and when you hit the ground, you feel the urge to purge your tanks and then-

Looking up from your position on the floor, you freeze.

The bot looking down at you is tall and thin and looks just as surprised as you. "Oh my... Usually, the time travel mixed with the teleportation messes with a bot's systems so much so that I must put them stasis to recover. You're certainly very odd, aren't you?"

But the words don't register as your optics fly over his frame.

The briefcase, the teleportation, and the time travel mention... This is the Necrobot! Which means...

Oh, Primus, you're dead.

He seems to realise the look of horror on your faceplate as he immediately crouches down, looking a little flustered. "Please don't worry! You're not dead! You're very much alive!"

After you've calmed down a bit, the Necrobot introduces himself as Censere and explains that no, he is not actually the one who lets dead Cybertronians into the Afterspark, and no, he's not some mythological mute being.

Censere is just an archivist, or a forensic pathologist to be more exact. Performing autopsies and listing every dead Cybertronian, as well as the one who caused their death, in the form of blue 'flowers' outside of statues of the murderers, purely for archival purposes.

"Hm? Oh, the flowers..." Censere glances outside. "They are pretty, aren't they?"