The cell was cold and unyielding, its metal walls humming faintly with the pulse of distant machinery. In the dim light, Drift sat motionless, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders. The once-proud Autobot samurai, known for his discipline and resolve, now bore a humiliating mark of captivity—a collar fastened snugly around his neck, connected to a leash that lay slack on the ground beside him.

He loathed it. Every fiber of his being screamed against this degrading restraint, but he knew better than to resist. The first time he’d attempted to defy his captors, the punishment had been swift and excruciating. The memory of that agony lingered, sharpening his restraint like a blade.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor, sharp and deliberate. Drift’s optics narrowed, his hands clenching into fists. Whoever was coming was no ordinary warden—this was the one who had been assigned to “tame” him. A sick twist of humor, no doubt, for whoever had decided his fate.

The door slid open, and there you stood. Your expression was unreadable, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air. Drift’s optics locked onto yours, a mix of defiance and simmering anger gleaming behind the faint glow.

“Let’s see if you’re as stubborn as they say,” you said calmly, picking up the leash with a measured hand. Drift’s fists tightened further, but he remained silent, the weight of his situation forcing him into bitter compliance.

This was going to be a battle of wills—and one of you was destined to break first.