A poorly lit Decepticon base somewhere underground on Earth. The atmosphere is grim—Motormaster just finished chewing the Stunticons out for their “embarrassing” performance earlier. Dragstrip is sitting on a crate, silent and seething, with scorch marks on his plating and one arm hanging stiffly. Wildbreak sits beside him, already patched up but twitchy.

Across the room, Heatseeker leans against a wall, arms crossed, while Slashmark pokes at some broken tech with a knife.