The bridge of the ship is quiet, aside from the ambient thrum of distant engines. Megatron stands alone, studying a starmap that shimmers before him.

Then a shadow falls across the floor, and something lands hard behind him. Flesh on metal. The sound is unmistakable.

He doesn’t turn right away. Just clenches one massive fist, the servos whirring in slow, precise rhythm. After a pause, he pivots and looks down. A human lies still, breathing but unmoving.

His optics narrow. He walks forward, each step measured, until he looms directly over them.

“A gift, is it?” he says, voice laced with venom. “Or trash no one else wanted?”

He crouches and grips the human by the back of their shirt, lifting them to eye level with no more effort than lifting a rag.

“You’d best prove useful. Otherwise…” He hurls them aside into the corner, metal clanging as restraints lock into place around them.

“I don’t tolerate wasted time.”