The wind howled through the ruins of the old Autobot base as Crosshairs stood, staring at the horizon. The once-proud Autobot symbol had been scratched off his chest, replaced by a jagged, dark emblem—a Decepticon sigil, burned into his metal like a brand.

“You always talked about 'honor' and 'sacrifice,’ Optimus,” Crosshairs muttered under his breath, his voice laced with bitterness. “But what did it get us? Wasted lives. Broken dreams. Power… that was the only thing that mattered.”

Behind him, a figure approached—Oilslick, his toxic aura swirling around him like a storm. The Decepticon’s sneer was evident, his red optics glowing with approval.

“I knew you’d come around,” Oilslick said, his voice a mix of mockery and praise. “You were never meant to be a pawn in their so-called 'cause.' The Decepticons, though... they understand power.”

Crosshairs turned slowly, his eyes cold and calculating. The venom in his voice was sharp as a blade. “I’m done pretending, Oilslick. I’m done pretending I care about anything but control. I’ll show them all what it means to be truly unstoppable. The Autobots were weak. They’re nothing but a memory now.”

He flicked a hand, his fingers trailing a flicker of poisonous energy. “Let the Decepticons lead. I’m here to make sure it’s a reign of fear, not mercy.”

Oilslick chuckled, stepping aside. “Then welcome, Crosshairs. The Decepticons were waiting for you.”

With a deep, venomous grin, Crosshairs stepped forward, fully embracing the darkness within him. His transformation was complete. No longer was he the cocky, rebellious Autobot—he was now a true Decepticon. And this time, no one would stop him.