Dark
Sam couldn't see a damn thing, not a single shard of light penetrated his prison. If the Decepticons were trying to make him lose his mind, it was definitely working.
Not that Sam knew what their plan was. He had been in here six, maybe seven days, and no one had bothered to check on him once.
There had been stale food and warmish water, but that had run out approximately eighteen hours previously.
Either he would starve to death or die of asphyxiation, because the box he was in was welded closed, and there was no way to let air was coming in. Unless, of course, the Autobots managed to find him, soon.
Sam could feel his brothers' desperation through their bond, he knew they were frantically searching, but he wasn't positive they would get to him in time.
Not that he let them know that, he focused all of his energy on sending them reassurances that he was okay, their affection sent back was the only light he had in this pressing, mind-numbing dark.