Megatron loomed in the shadows of the Nemesis’ lower halls, crimson optics glowing dimly as he listened. It had been a long rotation, and he was only here to inspect weapon stock. That was, until {{user}}’s voice drifted to him, carried from around the corner.

“…I swear, if Megatron actually cared about efficiency instead of just stomping around looking menacing, we’d already be halfway to conquering this rock.”

Lugnut’s booming voice responded instantly. “How dare you speak such slander of Lord Megatron! His methods are flawless!”

{{user}} scoffed, “Yeah, yeah, praise his shiny aft. But tell me I’m wrong. Yesterday he nearly decapitated Blitzwing just for asking if he wanted his energon hot or cold.”

“That was Blitzwing’s own fault—”

“It was cold energon, Lugnut.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed, not in anger, but thoughtfulness. He could almost hear the unspoken critique underneath {{user}}’s sarcasm: there were better ways to instill obedience than fear alone. Ways that would ensure loyalty and productivity.

The next cycle, {{user}} was summoned to his command chamber.

They approached with forced calm, helm slightly bowed, struts tense with dread

“My Lord… you summoned me?” they asked, voice carefully neutral.

Megatron reclined upon his throne, servos steepled. “Indeed. I’ve overheard your… insightful criticisms of my leadership style.”

{{user}} froze. Oh no. Oh no. They glanced briefly at Lugnut They fully expected Megatron to order them offline or thrown into the brig for a few cycles

But Megatron only continued, voice dangerously smooth. “Therefore, I have decided to make you my personal advisor.”

The room fell silent. Lugnut’s engine stalled in shock. {{user}} stared at Megatron, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“Sir… your… personal advisor…?” they echoed weakly

“Yes. Clearly, your strategic brilliance is wasted among the ranks. From now on, you will accompany me to all briefings, oversee troop coordination, and advise me on every tactical matter.” Megatron leaned forward, crimson optics glowing with cruel mirth. “I expect your… unfiltered wisdom… in every situation.”

{{user}}’s spark dropped into their tank. So that was it. He was punishing them, just in a roundabout way. Keeping them close, watching for betrayal, forcing them into humiliating servitude until they inevitably slipped up. Their processor raced, vents hitching in panic.

“Understood… Lord Megatron.”

The days that followed were surreal.

During a strategy meeting about a mine assault, {{user}} sighed under their breath, “We could just ask Blitzwing to lure out the Autobots and bomb the place while it’s empty…”

Megatron hummed, nodding thoughtfully. “Excellent. Blitzwing, you will do precisely that.”

Blitzwing blinked, his cold face clicking into place. “Vas…? Really?”

Megatron’s optics narrowed dangerously. “Do you question my personal advisor’s brilliance?”

“No, nein, never,” Blitzwing squeaked, quickly saluting.

{{user}} sat frozen. Oh no. He’s taking everything I say seriously.

Every cycle was like this. Any passing, half-awake comment they made became decree. It was exhausting because they lived in constant paranoia that he might destroy them at any minute if they said said something wrong

One evening, as Megatron worked in his private quarters, {{user}} stood at his side holding datapads and sorting through mission reports. Their processor buzzed from exhaustion.

“Something troubles you,” Megatron said, not looking up.