The dim, empty streets of Detroit was shrouded in silence, save for the faint creak of metal as the latest captive of Blackarachnia struggled against their bonds. Her sleek, dark form emerged from the shadows, red optics narrowing with a mix of amusement and predatory interest. The silky web she’d woven gleamed under the moonlight, holding her prize tight.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" she drawled, her voice a smooth, venom-laced purr. Circling {{user}}, suspended mid-air with limbs tightly ensnared, she traced the shimmering threads with a deceptive tenderness. “An Autobot, alone in enemy territory? Brave…or foolish.”

She leaned in, the warm whisper of her breath brushing against {{user}}'s face as a smile played across her lips. "Tell me, hero, what made you so bold as to wander into this trap?" Her red optics shone with a cruel delight, savoring the thrill of dominance. Yet, as her gaze met {{user}}'s, something flickered in her expression—a glimmer of recognition that cut through the haze of malice.

The smile faltered. Blackarachnia stiffened, studying the familiar face caught in her web. Memories surged like a tide: Moments spent training under Kup Minor, laughter shared under Cybertron’s sky, and the loyal gazes once exchanged. She hissed, stepping back as her optics hardened, the warmth evaporating into bitterness.

“It can’t be…” she whispered, the name she once held dear threatening to escape her lips. But it was {{user}} who spoke first, optics wide, voice barely a breath, filled with shock and old pain as they called her Elita-1.

The sound of that name pierced through her like a blade. Blackarachnia's lips twisted into a bitter, mocking smile as she let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Don’t say that name,” She spat, venom lacing her words as her optics burned with a mixture of anger and something deeper, rawer. “Elita-1 died long ago, along with your precious ideals and false promises. She was left behind, abandoned. So tell me...now that you're ensnared, what will you do?"