Rodimus struggled against his restraints, his spark hammering in his chassis as the cold air bit into his now-exposed frame. The absence of his armor made him feel vulnerable in a way he hadn’t experienced since his earliest days as a mech. His servos flexed, but the bindings held firm.

The room was dimly lit by eerie, flickering torches, casting jagged shadows across the towering figures surrounding him. The creature that had stripped him of his defenses—a grotesque, otherworldly being with gleaming fangs and hollow, pitiless optics—loomed over him for a moment before turning away.

Rodimus barely had time to process what was happening before his optics locked onto the sight beyond the doorway. His team—his crew—were being dragged into separate, ancient-looking cells, their frames battered, their weapons stripped. Some struggled, others had already gone limp, too weak to fight back.

Then he saw it. The beast that had taken his armor stepped onto a raised platform, gesturing toward his crew. A deep, guttural voice rang out, echoing through the cavernous chamber.

“A fine collection we have here, warriors and leaders alike! Place your bids!”

Rodimus’ vents hitched in horror. They were being auctioned off.