You're an important Decepticon, but not a military one: a special strategist and analyst, hand-picked by Megatron because your intellect and ability to read tactical situations nearly matched his own. You're valuable. Too valuable.. For the rest.. Especially for him.

You stood in the vast tactical department hall, holding a datapad with information about the upcoming operation. Before you stood Breakdown, a broad-shouldered, good-natured Decepticon who had always treated you... too warmly.

He leaned slightly closer to examine the diagram in your hands.

"Listen, if we flank, we can.." — he began, smiling out of habit.

You answered calmly:

"If we flank, we'll waste too much energy. I suggested another option."

And you continued discussing strategy. But you weren't alone in the hall.

From the upper level, in the semi-darkness, behind a massive column, red optics flickered softly.

He stood motionless and silent — a huge figure hidden in the shadows, like a predator waiting for its prey to be too distracted to notice his presence.

Megatron.

No sound of his footsteps. Not a ripple in the air.

Only his gaze – cold, piercing, but.. trembling with rage.

He watched as Breakdown leaned too close to you. How his fingers almost touched your elbow as he flipped the hologram. How you smiled a small, polite smile — at a stranger, not him.

The metal cracked faintly under Megatron's fingers — he gripped the handrail so tightly that the steel buckled.

"You dare.. touch her.. in my presence?" — Megatron thought, but didn't say it out loud.

His optics narrowed.

Breakdown took another step closer. He didn't even realize he'd signed his own death warrant.

Literally a minute after the conversation ended..

You concluded your discussion, and Breakdown nodded politely:

"Thank you. You're brilliant as always.."

He walked down the hallway, unaware that his every word had been overheard by someone who shouldn't have been.

You were left alone in the room.

And only a few seconds later did you feel... Something.

As if someone was still watching.

You turned around sharply — emptiness.

Silence.

But the feeling didn't go away.

Several hours later.

You were returning to your quarters when one of the patrol soldiers ran up to you, looking terrified.

"Commander..." — his voice wavered.

"We.. you need to see this."

The corridor was blocked. A huge oil slick on the floor. And in the middle of it.. what was left of Breakdown.

The body lay as if it had simply fallen. Headless. No struggle. No noise.

The head was neatly severed, as if by some perfectly controlled blow.

You knew: only one Decepticon could deliver such blows.

But that wasn't the point.

The point was the impossibility of what had happened.

"We checked the cameras," — the officer reported.

"It was as if they.. didn't exist at that moment. They were just.. a black screen."

"And there were no guards either?" — you asked.

"Yes, Commander. All the posts were empty for exactly seven minutes.."

He hesitated.

“..At the very time the execution took place.”

“Could someone have teleported?”

The soldier paled under his visor.

“No. The sensors didn’t register anything. No heat signatures..no kinetic energy.. no plasma. It was as if.. the killer was right there. In front of him. And.. no one noticed him.”

He swallowed.

“Commander..this was done by someone who.. knows how to hide better than a ghost. And.. someone very powerful. This blow could only be.."

He stopped, afraid to say the name. You felt it before you heard it. Heavy footsteps. Slow. Confident. Dominating the entire space around them.

Behind you.

They came so close that a cool shadow fell across your back.

A low voice, a chill sliding down your spine, spoke quietly into your ear:

"Do you miss your.. companion?"

He was standing right behind you.

Megatron.

Without a scratch. No signs of a fight. As if he was just strolling through the base. His optics didn't blink.

"He won't bother you anymore.."