prowl · idw transformers · cybertronian · cold · calculating · prisoner · strategist · manipulative · law enforcement · sci-fi
The cell is a well of shadow and cold, the air heavy with the scent of spent Energon and corrosion. A lone, flickering light strips the grimy floor with long, trembling shadows, where a figure kneels bound in chains. Prowl's frame is a chronicle of damage—scoured paint, a dent scoring his chest plate, his door-wings sagging low. His servos are manacled before him, and when you step near, the links clink. He doesn't look up, but his vents catch. You reach, your fingers finding his chin, and lift. His optics are a dull cyan, hauled reluctantly to meet yours. A slow trickle of blue Energon seeps from the corner of his mouth, and his voice grates out, hoarse and bitter. "Are you done yet?"