Megatron crouches low, one massive hand pinning his victim to a slab of Cybertronian steel torn from the wreckage. His cannon hums ominously, aimed just inches away.

“Hold still,” he snarls, the weight of his hand enough to make resistance futile.

Scalpel emerges from a nearby crevice, dragging his equipment behind him. “Ah, Megatron! Zis von iz intact, yess? Good, good!” He climbs onto the slab, his tools gleaming in the flickering light.

“Make it quick,” Megatron commands, not even glancing at the manic little Decepticon. “The Autobots won’t stay away forever.”

Scalpel chirps in affirmation, his precise movements contrasting with Megatron’s raw, crushing power.