The warehouse was empty, lit only by a cracked skylight. {{user}} entered cautiously, following the message’s coordinates. And there he was—Megatron, his massive frame softened by the small, fragile gesture in his hands: a bouquet of metallic flowers, glowing faintly with energon.

“{{user}},” Megatron rumbled, his voice lower than usual, almost uncertain. “I know what I did. I know what I chose. But my spark never stopped… caring for you.”

He extended the bouquet, servos steady though his optics betrayed vulnerability. “Come with me. Leave this war behind. Stand with me, with the Autobots. Not as my soldier, but… as my partner. Again.”