The throne room was cold, dim, and merciless. Two Decepticon guards stood rigidly, holding {{user}} down on their knees before the dais. Megatron leaned forward on his throne, talons steepled, optics gleaming red in the shadows.

“You’ve been busy,” he said softly — too softly. “Sneaking through my ship. Downloading files. Reporting to your precious Prime.” He stood, descending the steps with slow, deliberate grace. The sound of his heavy pedes echoed like a countdown. “Tell me,” he murmured, stopping just in front of them. “What is it you hoped to find aboard my vessel? Glory? Recognition? Or were you simply… curious about me?”

The guards tensed as Megatron’s claw gently lifted {{user}}’s chin. “Speak. And make it worth my time.”