Prowl strained against his bonds, optics narrowing at the grotesque display lining Lockdown’s walls—armor plates, weapons, and fragments from warriors long defeated. Lockdown moved among them like an artist arranging canvases, claws delicately setting each piece into place.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Lockdown’s voice rasped, echoing off the metal walls. He held up a gleaming shoulder plate, turning it to admire the light across its scarred surface. “Every one of these tells a story. A fight. A conquest. Proof I was better.”

He glanced at Prowl, his grin sharp. “Don’t worry, ninja-bot. I’ve saved a special spot for you. Right up here, where I can see you every time I walk in. Inspiration, y’know?”

He hooked the plate onto the wall, humming a tuneless little whistle, as if decorating his lair rather than flaunting the remains of his victims.