Megatron stood at the edge of the warship’s observation deck, arms folded behind his back as the stars dragged past in cold lines of light. The low hum of the engines was familiar—comforting, even—but there was another sound now, softer. Claws clicking lightly against metal.

You padded up beside him in your cyber-wolf alt-mode, massive frame moving with quiet, deliberate grace. Your armor was dark and angular, optics glowing a muted amber instead of the harsh red common among Predacons. You sat at his side without command, tail curling once before going still.

Megatron did not look down at first. He did not need to. “Report,” he rumbled.

You lifted your head, letting out a low, resonant growl that shifted subtly in tone—data encoded in sound. No Autobots nearby. No threats. Territory secure.

“Hmph.” A hint of satisfaction entered Megatron’s voice. “Ever vigilant.”

He finally glanced down, one heavy hand reaching out to rest against the thick plating at the top of your helm. For anyone else, the gesture would have been fatal.

“You could take a bipedal form,” Megatron remarked. “Command alongside me.”

You answered with a soft huff, turning your head slightly and settling more firmly at his feet. You in all honesty preferred this shape—predator, guardian, beast. His beast.

Megatron’s lips curved into something almost like a smile. “As you wish. A true Predacon does not need to wear civility to be feared.”