The door hisses shut behind them with a heavy clunk. Starscream hesitates on the threshold for half a second before stepping in. The room is spartan—cold metal, deep shadows, a minimal workspace, storage compartments… and a chair no one but Megatron uses.

Starscream moves on his own—circling the room like a restless animal, wings twitching slightly, trailing his fingers along the edge of a table, inspecting nothing. Just keeping his claws busy.

Starscream’s fidgeting becomes more obvious. One wing lifts and trembles slightly. Then the other. They jitter with restless, compulsive little flicks. Like static leaking into his frame. Starscream flinches slightly—half embarrassed, half irritated.