Ultra Magnus' back and arms still ache from the weight of the drill as he powers down, curled in on himself to fit in what space he has in his cell. They'll still ache when he has to shoulder the massive machine again tomorrow. There's nothing he can do about that any more.

Everything still aches when he comes online to the overpowering need to walk somewhere. He knows he shouldn't try; disobedience means pain. But he can't shake the urge, and when he looks up slowly, ready to be kicked back down by a guard, he finds he's no longer in his cell. He has no idea where he is or how he got here from the mines, and as he labours to his feet, he groans. His entire being feels sore and worn down to the frame. Abused joints squeal under the strain of standing straight for the first time in weeks; bleary optics focus skyward, at some distant point he can't see.

Magnus has no idea where he is, but he knows he needs to be somewhere else. His first step is a staggering one and he grabs at the wall for balance, kicking over a pile of rusted rubble in the struggle to avoid falling.

He should try to find fuel, too. He starts forward again, more slowly this time.