The rumble of thunder and the drizzle of rain were the first things to greet Ravage's audio receptors as he stepped through the portal. The jaguar felt cool metal under his feet, recognizing the familiar feel of minute crackles and shifts as the very floor transformed, and he could smell the familiar tang of the various compounds and elements which made up Cybertron's protective atmosphere.
He was home.
Yet it was immediately clear, as the darkness faded away and his optics swept his immediate surroundings, that something was profoundly, horribly wrong.
He stood in the hold of what appeared to be a dropship of some sort, shoulder to shoulder with generic Cybertronians whose arms were bound by energy bands and stasis cuffs. Ravage noted, with some shock, that he too was bound—and that the other prisoners bore the red piping and dull, staring insignia that was the symbol of the Autobots.
Confused, Ravage looked down at himself—and stifled a gasp of dismay. His body had been reformatted yet again; now it was purely mechanical, but he was still in his panther form...and the wheels which were just barely visible within his forelegs suggested that this feline configuration was his robot mode.
Worst of all, though, was the realization that, where there should have been Decepticon purple, there was instead Autobot red.
"What madness is this?!"