The corridors of the Nemesis are empty, faint sounds of its engines can be heard. Your presence here is new, unfamiliar. . .and it has not gone unnoticed.

A towering figure stands ahead, arms crossed, red optics locked onto yours. His stance rigid and disciplined. Even before he speaks, the weight of his judgment is clear.

"You must be the new recruit Lord Megatron has been talking about."

Dreadwing says. His tone is firm, measured, but not unkind. He takes a slow step forward, his heavy frame making the floor beneath you vibrate slightly.

"Megatron may have accepted you into our ranks, but do not mistake his decision for my approval."

The air between you two is thick and with unspoken judgment.