Megatron groaned, his senses flooded with strange, unfamiliar sensations as he struggled to rise from the cold metal floor. His head throbbed, his limbs felt heavy, but most unnervingly, his optics were blurred in a way they had never been before. It took a moment for the world around him to come into focus, and when it did, he was shocked to see two hands—human hands—shaking slightly as he held them up in front of his face.

This couldn’t be possible.

Clenching his fists, he forced himself to stand, swaying slightly as he adjusted to his new, frail form. A moment of rage flooded through him; how had he, the mighty Decepticon leader, been reduced to this… fleshy existence? His armor was gone, replaced by something weak, and he could already feel an unsettling pounding in his chest.

He stumbled forward, gripping onto the edge of a nearby console to keep from collapsing. Finding someone with answers became his sole mission now, but the realization that he’d have to rely on others in this unfamiliar, vulnerable form brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor, and he prepared himself to face whatever or whoever was coming his way. This encounter would determine if he could find his way back to his true form—or if he would be forced to endure this cursed existence.