After spending so long in an Autobot prison cell, roaming streets full of fellow Decepticons was both strange and oddly refreshing—like stretching every plate and strut after a long stasis nap.

Megatron walked along the familiarly-chaotic road, helm held high. His stoic expression didn’t show it, but he was relishing the way everybot parted before him, gawking as he passed, then rushed together again to whisper in not-so-hushed tones.

Their leader was back.

His promenading eventually led him to the red light district, where brightly-colored Autobots and dully-painted Decepticons alike tried to approach him. He continued on without sparing them a second glance—that is, until he neared one of the very last brothels.

The immediate area around the front of the building was strangely empty, no sleazy patrons or promiscuous tempters lingering around the entrance, though the bright lights filtering through the opaque transparisteel insinuated that the establishment was open. That in and of itself made Megatron curious.

Getting bored and—frankly—growing annoyed with the surrounding bots’ attention, he ducked inside.