The battlefield had been quiet for weeks, an uneasy truce settling over the warring factions. Optimus had found himself stationed in a neutral zone—a hollowed-out base where Autobots and Decepticons could begrudgingly co-exist, if only for the sake of temporary peace. Tensions remained high, and every step through the corridors felt like walking a razor’s edge.

Optimus strode purposefully toward the main barracks, his datapad in hand. His intent was simple—check in with the few Decepticon commanders stationed here to ensure the fragile agreement was still intact. As he rounded a corner, faint steam curled from under a barely ajar door at the far end of the hall.

“Strange,” he muttered to himself, his deep voice rumbling softly. He paused, adjusting the angle of his datapad to see if the door was listed as part of the officer quarters or utilities. It wasn’t labeled. Likely just a maintenance area, but... he couldn’t ignore the faint hum of water running. Someone was in there.

Knocking seemed prudent, but something compelled him to step closer first—perhaps a misplaced sense of vigilance. As he reached the door, he pushed it open cautiously, the steam rushing out to greet him.

“Is everything alright—?”

The words died in his throat.

Illuminated by the hazy light of the shower, was Megatron. The towering warlord, stripped of his usual armor and menace, stood beneath the cascading water. His frame, scarred from millennia of battle, bore more stories than Optimus dared to count. Every dent, every seam in the metal seemed to glisten under the spray, droplets tracing paths along the sharp ridges of his form. His dampened plating caught the light just enough to accentuate the power and raw presence he always carried—only now it was unshielded.

Optimus froze, his optics wide as the reality of what he was witnessing hit him like a freight train. The great Megatron, stripped bare, literally, was the last thing he had ever expected to see. The Prime’s vocal processor faltered, sputtering incoherently as his gaze.