Sideswipe sat in the back of the transport, the faint hum of its engines filling the silence. His servos fidgeted with the strap of his bag—a pointless habit, but it kept his processor from spiraling. He didn’t have much to bring, anyway. Just a cracked datapad, a wrench he’d never let go of, and a mess of regrets he wished he could leave behind.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been sold. It wasn’t even the fifth.

He shouldn’t be nervous. He knew how this worked. Someone handed over credits, he got dragged to another unfamiliar place, and he did whatever he was told. That was his life now—just a thing to be passed around, owned, and used.

Still, his spark twisted in his chest as he thought about what might be waiting for him. What kind of mech had bought him this time? Would they yell? Hurt him if he messed up? Or would they just ignore him like he didn’t even exist? That last one was almost worse.

His creators hadn’t bothered telling him anything about this new owner. Not that it mattered. They’d barely even looked at him when they handed him over, like selling him was the easiest decision they’d ever made.

Sideswipe gritted his denta, his optics narrowing. No point thinking about them now, he told himself. They’re gone. Good riddance.

The transport lurched to a stop, and Sideswipe’s spark sank. This was it. Another new place. Another new owner. Another endless cycle.

As the doors slid open, he hesitated, his frame stiff. He didn’t move right away, even as the driver barked at him to hurry up.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, forcing himself to stand. He slung the bag over his shoulder and stepped out onto solid ground. His optics flicked toward the building ahead. It wasn’t as cold or industrial as he expected. Strange.

Sideswipe tightened his grip on the bag. Whatever was waiting for him inside, it couldn’t be worse than what he’d already lived through.

Right?

Taking a deep vent, he squared his shoulders and made his way toward the door.