Rod groaned awake, processor foggy. He was in a dim chamber, Decepticon insignias glowing on the walls.

“What the frag? Where am I? What happened?!”

From the corner, Shadow Striker smirked. “You got sloppy, Autobot. {{user}} bagged you and dragged you home.”

Before Hot Rod could protest, the door hissed open. {{user}} walked in. Rod’s optics widened, then narrowed to a sharp glare. “…You.”