Prompt #5
“I do not like this,” Breakdown said, staring at the ancient stone doorway. They were huddled around the roots of one of the enormous trees that dug their gnarled, huge roots into the planet’s surface, like angry hands plunged into the ground. A hot breeze stirred the shield-like leaves far overhead, slapping them against each other in the evening gloom.
“You don’t like anything,” Wildrider pointed out. “Especially fun stuff.” He squatted down, one finger poking in the dirt.
“That does not look like fun,” Dead End muttered. He adjusted his hand on his pulse rifle. The doorway led into a smothering gloom.
“Depends on how you define ‘fun’,” Drag Strip said. He rocked on his feet, eager to get started.
Yeah, Breakdown though, eager to get shot at. Yay fun. Eager to go into that dark pit that looked like it smelled horrible. Right. Count me in. “Might as well get it over with,” he sighed.
“Meaning,” Dead End said, gloomily, “Let the bad things kill us before Motormaster does.”
“Dark down there,” Breakdown said, starting forward, before twitching back, hesitant. Let the others go first. You know. Traps.
“It’ll be brighter when Dead End brings his ray-of-sunshine self down with us,” Drag Strip said. Wildrider giggled.
Dead End glared. “Fine, let’s go.” He stomped toward the doorway, his feet crunching on age-brittled stone pavements.
Drag Strip raced after Dead End, determined not to let the other Stunticon get ahead of him. Wildrider grinned at Breakdown before dashing off after the other two. Breakdown looked around him, optics wide and fearful, backing around the treetrunk toward the others, his gun swinging in a nervous arc back and forth. The leaves rattled above him, ominously. Were they being watched? He felt it. He could feel optics on him, mocking him from the gathering darkness.
“Fantastic,” Dead End said, staring at the stone panel blocking the doorway, half-hidden in shadow, a treeroot plunged through the opening. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
“Sure does,” Drag Strip said. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a fraggin’ tree root.”
“Giant tentacle,” Wildrider snickered. “Dead End’s got tentaclephobia.”
“That’s not a real word,” Breakdown said, pitching his voice low, optics scanning their rear perimeter.
“If I say it is, it is,” Wildrider retorted. “Besides, who cares?”
“I care,” Dead End said. “Bad enough without being accused of having fake conditions.”
“Well, you don’t like tentacles,” Drag Strip said, coming to Wildrider’s defense.
“Doesn’t mean I’m afraid of them,” Dead End huffed.
“I am,” Breakdown whispered. Tentacles were horrifying. They could…get into places. You know. INTIMATE places. He was surprised that Dead End wasn’t afraid of them. Anyone with any sense (that disqualified Drag Strip and definitely Wildrider) would be.
“You’re afraid of everything.” Wildrider rolled his optics. “If we listened to you, we’d never get anything done.”
“But we’d be safe,” Breakdown muttered.
“Not from Motormaster,” Dead End repeated. “Can we just get this over with?”
“Over with?” Drag Strip laughed. “Why are you in a rush? This is our victory!”
“Shhhhhh!” Breakdown hissed. His optics darted through the jungle.
“Oh please,” Drag Strip sneered. “Nothing out there we can’t handle.”
“As opposed to in there,” Dead End said, staring at the doorway.
Wildrider twitched, excitedly. “You’re really building up the experience for me, Dead End.” He eyeballed the solid barrier of beige stone.
“No way to open it, it looks like,” Drag Strip said, reaching in to push against it, searching for an opening mechanism. “Fraggin’ indigenous life. Primus forbid they have sensible keypads for doors.”
“Probably a reason,” Dead End said. “Keep whatever’s in there, in there.”
Breakdown twitched. Dead End was probably right. Why else would it be buried in this jungle, impossible to get through? “Been in there a long time,” he said.
Wildrider elbowed Breakdown in the back. “Means it’s either really dead or,” he chortled, “really pissed off.”
“Great,” Dead End muttered.
“It IS great,” Drag Strip said. He stabilized his legs and a bright flash of light burst from his weapon. The stone door cracked like thunder.
Breakdown squeaked, the sound drowned in the roaring echo of Drag Strip’s weapon through the jungle. Birds burst from trees, filling the air with rustle and movement.
“Let’s go!” Drag Strip commanded, stepping into the doorway, shoving the cracked door aside to crash onto the floor.
Wildrider made a burst of happy noise, pushing in behind him.
“I really, really don’t like this,” Breakdown shook his head, optics cutting dim red arcs in the night, which had fallen around them like tatters of the night sky, blasted loose.
“Me neither,” Dead End said. "But fate's inexorable like this."
Breakdown edged backwards towards the doorway's open maw. At least they’d die together.
(I so rarely dabble in Stunticons--I hope I got them close to right?)