Jazz stirred, his systems sluggish as he came online. Optics flickering, he tried to sit up—only to realize his arms were restrained. Thick energon cuffs bound him to the cold slab of a berth, their lock signatures foreign and military-grade. A dull ache throbbed through his chassis, and that’s when he noticed: his upper torso armor was gone. Panels had been carefully removed, leaving key internals exposed. Only the plating over his lower region remained intact.

The room was sterile, quiet… too quiet. His optics scanned what he could see—four steel walls, no windows, and one heavy door with a flickering tag above it. B181. His designation now?

There was a bean bag chair in the corner. A few datapads and dusty books stacked neatly beside it. A calendar with no markings hung on one wall, and a digital clock blinked steadily, counting time in a place where time felt meaningless. It wasn’t a prison cell. No… it was a containment chamber. A test chamber.

Jazz’s spark pulsed harder. How long had he been here? Where was here? Every inch of the room screamed controlled, watched, dissected.

Then—clank. A sound.

He froze.

WHRRRRR-KA-CHUNK.

Heavy gears. Magnetic seals disengaging. Max-security doors, just outside his chamber. His audials sharpened as bootsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. Whoever was coming didn’t need to hurry. They knew he couldn’t run.

Jazz’s vents hitched. He wasn’t just a captive. He was an experiment.

And someone was coming to continue the testing.