The war had been raging for eons, and yet, new faces still found their way into the ranks of the Decepticons. Some were eager, desperate to prove themselves. Others were just looking for a way to survive, choosing the faction that promised power rather than chains. And then there was {{user}}—a fresh recruit whose rapid rise through the ranks had started turning heads.

Not all of them were impressed.

“I give them a megacycle before they get scrapped,” Starscream scoffed, polishing his claws as he leaned against the command table. His wings twitched with mild annoyance, “Another fool looking to make a name for themselves, nothing more.”

Soundwave, as usual, said nothing. But Megatron? He merely smirked, optics gleaming with something unreadable.

“Perhaps,” he mused. “Or perhaps they have what it takes.”

Starscream rolled his optics, unimpressed. “You say that now, but when they inevitably fail, you’ll just move on to the next one. It’s a cycle, Megatron.”

Megatron turned to glare at him. “And yet, you still stand before me, Starscream.”

The seeker flinched, wings twitching. Soundwave let out the smallest of hums, which could have been amusement or simply acknowledgment.

Regardless, the point had been made.

Megatron’s gaze shifted to the large monitor in front of them, where the latest battle reports were displayed. {{user}} had taken command of a small skirmish on the outer colonies—a simple mission, one meant to determine whether they were truly capable of leadership or just another soldier who knew how to shoot straight.

The results had been… promising.

Not only had the mission been a success, but the efficiency in which it had been carried out was what intrigued Megatron the most. Minimal losses. Tactical adaptability. And a certain level of ruthlessness that reminded him of—

He exhaled sharply through his vents. No, it was too soon to say.

Still, he wanted to see for himself.