Confusion gripped his spark as he registered the cold and darkness that surrounded him. He tried to move, but his limbs didn't obey him. He couldn't even will his lip components to open when he heard voices close to him, just so he could get the speakers' attention. It was as if an unknown force had him trapped under some sort of spell.

Where am I?

"Probability of success?"

He flinched when he heard a voice too close to him, for it sounded cruel, calculating… even evil.

"It has decreased to 80.5 %," another voice answered. "The precedent incident has cost us greatly."

"Yet not the war," a third voice said. "We've learnt from our mistakes and adjusted."

War… He was in a war, wasn't he? One that had cost him his home and everyone he had loved. A war of which he had become sick and he wished to end.

Then why was he here? What happened?

"So did the Autobots," the first voice pointed out. "Is that risk acceptable?"

That's right. He had joined the Autobots to fight against Megatron and his minions. Was he a captive then? But who were his captors? They didn't sound like Decepticons.

Decepticons… Images of an explosion floated before his mind's optics. He was driving that shuttle, and he had turned around in surprise, only to see a mech, a friend, falling down, mortally wounded. He had grabbed his rifle and fired, but then… his chest had hurt… and the bitter taste of energon had reached his mouth, along with the smell of burning circuitry…

Fear added to his confusion, and his spark pulsated loudly in his chest-plate in a rhythm that he was certain he had felt ceasing before blackness overcame him.

What happened to me? Where am I?

"Even if the Autobots suspect foul play, there's a 98% chance that they will want to interfere anyway," the voice said.

"And when they do, we'll be waiting for them," the third voice declared. "How's our last specimen coming along?"

"He's also repairable. The process is almost complete."

A thin tendril reached for his helm, digging inside his cranial unit. He wanted to fight back that sickening sensation so bad that he could almost taste it, but the only thing that happened was his optics coming online.

Primus, he had escaped from one nightmare to end up on another. The three creatures regarded him through five pairs of optics, each face more hideous and demonic than the other. And the terrifying thing was… he knew those faces. His father had told him about them. But he had always believed that they were part of a tale to frighten sparklings!

Those creatures were… were…

"Place him with the others," one of them said. "Once they're all reprogrammed, we can commence our plan as agreed."

They weren't gentle in their treatment as he got carried away, and he would have certainly purged the contents of his converters if they weren't already empty. Finally, however, they put him down once more, and he found his chance to check his surroundings.

Another pair of optics locked on his. A pair of optics that he knew.

Ratchet…

He directed his gaze to his left, and he saw other familiar forms, all of them cabled down and grey patches of foreign parts covering their chassis, a sign that someone had been repairing them.

Ironhide…

Brawn…

Wheeljack…

Windcharger…

Huffer…

Prowl shut his optics, a single thought crossing his mind and reaching to a mental scream.

Somebody help us!

TBC...