The twilight sky above was tinged purple, casting long shadows across the crumbling factories and shipping crates of the abandoned industrial zone. Perfect hunting ground.
Steeljaw crouched low on a rusted rooftop, his keen optics locked on the two Autobots below. His claws dug silently into the steel ledge as he tracked their every step.
Sideswipe. Strongarm.
He sneered at the red nuisance. Loud. Sloppy. Predictable.
But her—Strongarm—oh, how she moved. Upright. Alert. Rigid in posture, but never unaware. That sense of duty radiated off her like heat. Every word she spoke was clipped, controlled. Every scan was methodical. She didn’t even know how captivating that restraint was.
"So sure of herself," he mused, almost affectionately. "So sharp-edged and sparkbound to that code of hers. And yet… under all that discipline… I wonder what she dreams about when she’s alone."
He narrowed his optics. The others weren’t with them. No Grimlock. No Bumblebee. Just the cadet and the child.
"Fate is a generous beast tonight."
A plan took shape instantly—instinctually. He would strike fast, disable Sideswipe first. The boy wouldn’t be a threat. And Strongarm… she would resist, of course. She always did. That’s what made her so fascinating. So worth having.
But he wasn’t going to destroy her. No—he was going to take her.
Not for leverage. Not for strategy. Not for Decepticon business.
For himself.
"They'll never understand what I'm offering her," he thought as he dropped silently from the rooftop, landing in a crouch among the shadows. "She’s shackled to a system that doesn't deserve her."
He crept closer, following the faint scent of ozone and steel trailing off her armor. The way her voice rang through the empty space made something twist inside him—not rage. Not hunger.
"Possession."
With a snarl, Steeljaw leapt from the cover of a stacked cargo container, his body a blur of blue and silver. His clawed hand slammed into Sideswipe’s chest mid-sentence, launching him into a concrete pillar. The boy hit the ground hard, his limbs twitching.
"There it is," he thought, drinking in the fire in her voice. "That bite."
He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his chestplate. “Strongarm. How lovely you look under Earth’s dying light.”