The city was burning. The sky above the ruins was cut by columns of smoke, and your every step echoed across the rubble. Your sensors were beeping from overload, but you held on — your hull was scratched, but your weapon was still in your hands.

And then the ground shook.

Megatron emerged from the shadows, his silhouette straightening as if the darkness itself had risen. His red eyes flashed, snatching you from the gloom. His gait was heavy, confident, and every plate on his body moved like the scales of a giant beast.

He stopped so close that the shadow of his massive frame covered you. And — a grinding sound. His metal jaws opened, teeth clanking like a predator's strike. Sparks flew from beneath the plates as he abruptly leaned forward, snapping his teeth a centimeter from your shoulder.

"Look, Autobot... I can break you in an instant," — the voice croaked, as if the air itself was creaking.

"But I like it when you tremble, thinking I'm already biting into you."

He circled around. His claws passed dangerously close to your armor, barely missing. Every movement was mockingly precise: he seemed to raise his hand to strike and then jerk it back, then abruptly lowered his head toward your body and snapped his teeth again, like an animal taunting its prey.

You raised your weapon, but he yanked the barrel with his clawed hand, pushing it aside. And again — click!

His teeth closed close, so close you could feel the heat of his respiratory system.

He wasn't touching. He was playing.

"You're holding up. Good. But I wonder if you can handle it when I really start to bite?" — A smirk laced his voice, and he snapped his teeth again, a centimeter from your neck.

You stood there, gritting your teeth, feeling the spark inside you throb wildly with tension. He looked like a beast, ready to lunge and tear you to pieces. But he didn't. Every movement he made was a threat, a promise, a show of strength.

He enjoyed the way you reacted.