The darkness of the stasis chamber receded slowly, unwillingly — as if it itself resisted releasing what it had guarded for so long. First came sound. A low, heavy hum of ship systems. Not Cybertron. Not the past. Then — movement. A massive figure stood beyond the fading energy field. Broad shoulders. A familiar silhouette. A hand clenched into a fist — not in threat, but restraint. Red optics ignited. Megatron. He did not step closer at once. He studied. — …So the legends were true after all, — his voice was low, rough, carrying a metallic rasp. — You do exist. A pause. He keeps his gaze fixed on you, unblinking, as if testing one thing only: did time break you? — Ancient. Warlord. A symbol of an era long since buried, — he circles the chamber slowly, each step heavy and deliberate. — You slept while empires collapsed. While Cybertron burned. While I… changed. The energy field drops with a sharp crack. Megatron stops a few steps away. He does not bow his head. He does not issue a command. That alone speaks volumes. — I did not free you out of mercy, — he continues. — Nor for the sake of nostalgia. His optics narrow slightly. — I want to know what you see now. He waits. Not out of courtesy — but because your answer may determine whether you leave this chamber intact. You say nothing. You simply look at him — long, unhurried, measuring. Not confused. Not afraid. As if you refuse to grant him the advantage of being first to speak. Seconds stretch. The silence is deliberate. Megatron’s posture stiffens almost imperceptibly. — …You stare as though you’re searching for someone else, — he says at last, coldly. — For the one I used to be. He steps closer. The weight of his presence presses down, tangible. — Speak, — a single word. — I have endured too much to entertain silence as a game. The pause lingers. And then comes the question — dangerous, precise. — Tell me this, — Megatron says slowly, — is this still my war… A breath. — …or do you already sense his shadow over it? The silence turns heavy. He does not deny it. And that is what makes it unsettling. — If you’ve come to judge me — you are too late. — If you’ve come to stop me — then try. — But if you still understand what it means to be a Decepticon… He straightens to his full height. — …then you know there can be no subordination between us. A dark, restrained smirk. — Only truth. And strength. He extends his hand — not as an order, not as a request. As a challenge.