Transformers Prime: Fractured Futures (#3)

Chapter 5

Evan was silent as they put us in separate police cars. I caught his eyes once, just before the door closed, and the look on his face broke me. He was scared—for me, for what had happened. But I could also see the guilt. He thought this was somehow his fault, that he couldn’t protect me from whatever had just taken over my life.

As the car started moving, I rested my head against the window, staring blankly at the blur of lights. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but it still blurred the world outside, matching the fog in my mind. I tried to make sense of what had just happened, but every time I thought about the café—the gunshots, the blood, the bodies—my chest tightened, and I had to force the images away.

The voices had returned, quieter now, lurking at the edges of my consciousness. *Power. Destiny. Shadows.* They whispered like ghosts, reminding me of what I had done, of what I was becoming.

By the time we arrived at the station, I was too exhausted to feel anything. Two officers guided me inside, where they placed me in a small, sterile interrogation room. The lights were too bright, and the silence was suffocating. I sat there, hands folded on my lap, staring at the table, waiting for whatever came next.

A few minutes later, a detective walked in. He was tall, with graying hair and tired eyes that had seen too much. He sat down across from me, his expression unreadable. He glanced at a file in his hand—my file, I assumed—and then leaned forward, folding his hands on the table.

"Erin, I’m Detective Sanchez. We need to talk about what happened tonight."

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say, or even how to explain the events that had unfolded. How could I tell him that the darkness inside me had taken over, that I’d felt something unnatural guiding my hand, that I had... enjoyed the power for a fleeting moment?

"I know this is hard," Sanchez continued, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But we need to know what happened in that café. We have witnesses who heard gunshots and saw what you did to those men. Now, I want to believe it was self-defense, but there’s something... off here. The level of violence, the way you fought back—it’s not normal for someone in shock."

I looked up at him then, meeting his eyes for the first time. He wasn’t accusing me—not yet, anyway—but there was a weight behind his words. He was trying to understand, but how could he? I barely understood it myself.

"I didn’t want to hurt them," I signed, my hands shaking. "They were going to kill us."

Sanchez nodded, watching me closely. "I get that. But the way you did it... Erin, one of them had his throat slashed. Another’s skull was crushed. And the last one, well, you shot him point-blank. That’s not just self-defense—that’s... something else."

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. He was right, of course. It hadn’t just been self-defense. It had been something darker, something I couldn’t control. But how could I explain that without sounding like a lunatic?

Sanchez leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, Erin. I want to help you. But you need to be honest with me. Is there more to this than you’re telling me? Is there something... supernatural going on here?"

My breath hitched at the word *supernatural.* He couldn’t possibly know, could he? But then again, after what had happened, maybe he wasn’t ruling anything out.

I hesitated for a long moment, my mind racing. Should I tell him? Would he even believe me? Or would he just think I was making excuses for what I’d done?

Before I could answer, the door to the room swung open, and another officer stepped inside. "Detective Sanchez," he said, "we have an update. You need to see this."