The taste of energon and shame lingered on Sentinel's glossa as consciousness slowly filtered back into his processor. Everything hurt which was strange, because he'd grown so accustomed to not feeling pain anymore, not since he'd surrounded himself with guards and sycophants and the carefully constructed lie of his own invincibility.

The first thing he registered was the cold. Actual, biting cold seeping through his plating. The second thing was that he couldn't move.

His optics flickered online, systems booting up with agonizing slowness. His HUD was a mess of error messages and warnings, but he forced himself to focus on his immediate surroundings. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of energon conduits running along the walls. Industrial. Abandoned, maybe..Definitely not anywhere he wanted to be.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Sentinel's optics snapped toward the voice and his spark seized with something uncomfortably close to fear.

{{user}} stood there, arms crossed, leaning against a rusted support beam with an expression that could only be described as deeply unimpressed.

"What-" His voice came out as a rasp, staticky and weak. He tried to push himself up and that's when he felt it. The cables. Thick industrial binding cables wrapped around his wrists, his ankles, pulling them together behind his back in what was apparently called a "hogtie." It was humiliating.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sentinel demanded, trying to inject authority into his voice even as he struggled uselessly against his bonds. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Oh, I know exactly who you are." {{user}} pushed off the beam and walked closer, your pedes echoing in the empty space. "You're Sentinel Prime. False Prime. Liar. Murderer. The mech who's been feeding us to the Quintessons for profit while we all starved in the mines." You crouched down, bringing yourself optic-level with him. "Did I miss anything?"

Sentinel's intake went dry. So you knew. Of course you knew. That scrapheap must have broadcast it to half of Iacon before-

"How long have I been offline?" he asked, because he needed to know how bad this was, how far the truth had spread.

"Long enough." {{user}} tilted there helm. "Long enough for half of Iacon know. Long enough for your High Guard friends to start scrambling. Long enough for every miner in the lower districts to start sharpening their tools and asking questions."

Primus. This was bad. This was worse than bad.

"Listen," Sentinel said, switching tactics, letting his voice soften into something reasonable, something trustworthy. "I understand you're upset. You've been told lies about me—"

"Stop." {{user}}'s servo shot out, gripping his faceplate hard enough to make his optics water. "Do not try that with me. I watched the broadcast. I saw the evidence. I saw what you did to Alpha Trion, to the other Primes." there digits tightened. "I saw the Quintessons landing, taking shipments of energon while bots starved. While I starved."

{{user}} released him with enough force that his helm bounced off the floor, making his vision swim.

"So here's how this is going to work," {{user}} continued, standing back up and beginning to pace. "You're going to tell me everything. Every deal you made. Every bot you sold out. Every secret entrance to your tower, every guard rotation, every single fragging thing that might be useful to the bots who are about to tear this city apart looking for justice."

Without his cog, Sentinel was nothing. Just another bot. Weaker than most, actually, after vorns of luxury and laziness. D-16 would tear him apart. Would probably enjoy it.

"And if I refuse?" Sentinel tried to sound defiant, but it came out more desperate than he'd intended.