The hum of the Nemesis engines filled Megatron’s quarters, steady and low. On the berth sat the Warlord of the Decepticons—cradling something small. A sparkling.

Knockout had found the tiny frame near the aftermath of an Autobot skirmish, silent and trembling. How it had survived… Megatron didn’t know. But as he held it in his claws, optics softening just slightly, he found himself whispering.

“A sparkling. Here, of all places.” He blinked—once, twice—then set the little one gently on the table and started scanning nearby shelves. “Dark Energon…” he muttered. “No. Not an option.” His voice was rough, low, almost tender in its frustration. For the first time in cycles, Megatron felt something strange: a quiet, ancient instinct to protect.