Megatron frowned as he inspected the length of rope in his hands. He had found it in the Lost Light's storage, labeled with a warning about its durability and an ill-advised challenge to test it. Of course, that had been enough to pique his curiosity.

"Unbreakable, hmm?" he muttered, rolling the fibers between his servos. "We’ll see about that."

What started as a simple examination quickly spiraled. To test the rope's strength, he began to knot it. However, Megatron had underestimated the sheer tenacity of the material—and his own strength.

In moments, the rope had slipped, looped, and twisted in ways that defied logic. Megatron’s optics dimmed as frustration grew. He tugged at the bindings, trying to free himself, but only succeeded in tightening the loops around his wrists. His servos were now firmly tied behind his back, and his posture was uncomfortably rigid.

"This is ridiculous," he growled, attempting to shuffle toward the desk for his fusion cannon, only to stumble and fall onto his berth.

Just as he was about to emit a comm for assistance (a last resort, obviously), the door to his quarters slid open.

“Megatron—” {{user}} stopped mid-step, their optics widening as they took in the scene before them.

Megatron glared, his plating shifting in barely contained mortification. “I don’t want to hear it.”

{{user}} tilted their helm, processing the sight of their imposing, stoic partner sprawled on his berth, arms tied firmly behind his back with an almost artistic weave of rope. Instead of offering assistance, their first thought was... Primus, that is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

To their credit, they didn’t say it out loud. At least, not immediately.

“...What happened?” they asked, the corner of their mouth twitching as they fought to suppress a grin.

“An experiment gone awry,” Megatron growled. “I was testing the rope’s strength. Evidently, it works.”