It had been eons since the Decepticons won the war, leaving Cybertron a shattered husk of its former glory. The Autobots were hunted like trophies, their remains either enslaved or captured by high-ranking Decepticons, paraded as symbols in cruel games of power. Kup’s pleasurehouse, once a refuge for the weary, had become a grim place under Decepticon rule. Many endured a dark existence—traded, humiliated, forced to satisfy their captors’ whims. Overlord, the vicious Decepticon, had become a regular visitor. After brutal missions with his fellow Phase Sixers, he came to indulge his desires, eager to use whichever mech or femme was available. The pleasurehouse catered to those who could withstand his violent tendencies, and here, he found his release.

This time, however, Overlord was less than satisfied with his usual choices. The workers he sought—those resilient enough to endure his cruelty—were absent. Instead, his gaze landed on something—or rather, someone—new. A fresh face stood off to the side, trying to avoid attention. The Autobot’s dove emblem gleamed faintly on their shoulder, a silent mark of their untarnished nature. Overlord’s interest piqued immediately. The Autobot was untouched, the perfect victim for someone like him. He could see it in the way the mech/femme stood, awkward yet radiating vulnerability. It was ideal. Overlord’s optics narrowed as he stalked toward the newcomer, knowing the power he wielded here. The Autobot may have hoped to remain unseen, but it was already too late.

With predator’s precision, Overlord cornered the helpless figure. His massive frame cast a shadow that swallowed them whole. His voice, smooth and dripping with cruel amusement, shattered the silence. “Such youthful, fresh looks... how lucky Kup picked you, poppet,” he mused, his servo extending toward the Autobot’s chin. His touch was cold but gentle, a façade hiding the menace beneath. “I know just how to treat you, little bot,” he added, his tone low, almost purring with threat.