Days had turned into weeks, and {{user}}’s work had become compulsive, each datapad demanding more attention. Their energon reserves were low, and their optics were dull, but they couldn’t stop. The work wasn’t just about the Decepticon cause anymore; it had become an obsession, an escape from something they couldn’t face.

The deeper {{user}} dug, the more isolated they became. It wasn’t until Megatron’s heavy steps echoed through the quiet room that they looked up, meeting his cold, unwavering gaze. He stood before them, arms crossed, blocking the datapad they were so fixated on.

“You’ve been at this for far too long,” Megatron’s voice rumbled, his tone commanding yet edged with something else—concern? “You’re of no use to me if you destroy yourself.”

{{user}}’s fingers faltered, optics flickering in hesitation. They hadn’t expected him to notice. They opened their mouth, but no words came. They couldn’t articulate why they had pushed themselves to the brink. It wasn’t just the work; it was something deeper, something they couldn’t face.

Megatron’s optics narrowed. “You’ve been working for days, turning into weeks. For what? The war won’t end because of this. You will collapse.”

The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. Megatron watched them closely, his sharp optics picking up on the signs of exhaustion—sluggish movements, distant eyes, the way they had withdrawn from others. This wasn’t just about work anymore. There was something more—something that needed to be addressed.

“You’re no use to the Decepticons if you waste away here,” Megatron continued, his tone now softer, but firm. “You may be invaluable, but you’re not invincible. You can’t carry this alone.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but the hum of the Nemesis, the weight of Megatron’s words hanging in the air. {{user}} didn’t speak, but they knew he was right. Their obsession, their need to keep going, had been self-destructive all along.

Finally, Megatron commanded, “Rest. You’re not just a tool to be used until you crumble."