The first thing Wheeljack noticed was the cold. It bit into his armor where the restraints dug against his wrists and ankles, chaining him to what felt like a jagged wall. His servos twitched, trying to reach for the blindfold wrapped tightly around his optics, but his movements were stifled by the heavy, clinking chains holding him in place.

His vocalizer hummed instinctively, an attempt to call out, but only a muffled groan escaped. The gag in his mouth pressed uncomfortably against his inner jaw, making speaking impossible. All he could do was listen.

There was something about the silence that didn’t sit right. It wasn’t empty—it was heavy. Like someone—or something—was there, just out of reach, watching him.

Wheeljack strained his audio receptors, his breathing sharp and erratic. There—faint. The quietest scrape of metal against metal. Someone was there. But were they moving closer or staying still? And, more importantly, were they friend or foe?

The Wrecker’s instincts screamed at him to be ready for anything, though his options seemed grim. His pulse quickened as he tested the chains again, the clinking echoing through the room like a beacon. A soft chuckle echoed back—a low, eerie sound that made his spark freeze.