The metallic clinking of chains echoed through the dimly lit cell as Ratchet knelt on the cold, unforgiving floor, his once-pristine armor now scratched and scorched from their capture. Across from him, you leaned against the wall, your own injuries a painful reminder of how things had gone so terribly wrong. The damp, stale air filled the space between you, pressing down with a suffocating weight.

“Primus…” Ratchet muttered, his optics dim as his servos flexed against the cuffs binding his wrists. “I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve protected you.”

You looked up, trying to summon a reassuring tone despite the ache in your voice. “You couldn’t have known, Ratchet. None of us did. We walked right into their trap.”

The faint glow of the overhead light flickered, casting long shadows across the walls. Somewhere outside, the sound of heavy footfalls reminded you that escape wouldn’t be simple. Ratchet sighed deeply, his frame slumping in frustration. His sharp mind was already working overtime, scanning for any potential weaknesses in the cell’s structure. But his exhaustion—and the weight of knowing you were in danger—made his thoughts feel sluggish.

“This place is fortified,” he finally said, his voice a low growl. “And those Decepticons don’t intend to let us leave alive.”

You gave him a small, determined smile, trying to shake the growing dread in your chest. “Then we’ll just have to prove them wrong. Together.”

Ratchet looked at you, his optics softening. “You remind me of someone,” he said quietly. “Someone who never gave up, no matter the odds.” He shifted, testing the strength of the chains again. “Hold onto that courage, kid. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

But even as he said the words, you could see the doubt flicker in his optics.