Megatron had not made the choice to leave the Decepticons lightly. The weight of his past still clung to him, every decision shadowed by what he had once been. Yet under G.H.O.S.T. and beside Optimus again—if not as partners—he’d chosen to protect rather than destroy.

A rogue Decepticon signal flared across the comms. Optimus called him without hesitation. They moved fast, boots striking the ground in sync, until the sky cracked with the sound of collapsing stone. Dust spiraled in the air, chunks of rock suspended unnaturally. Traffic froze.

Megatron’s gaze cut through the haze—then caught. Soundwave. Standing in the chaos like the eye of a storm, lithe armor gleaming, visor aglow. And those thighs. Frag, they’d always been there, sculpted and powerful, the kind you could—

Megatron’s spark lurched. Ex-wife. Enemy. Memory.

“Soundwave,” he said, low and rough, unsure if it was a greeting or a warning.