Being the best gladiator in the Pits of Kaon has a few perks. Not many, but a few. One of which is sometimes receiving expensive gifts from mechs that really shouldn't be anywhere near the Gladiator Arena.

Apparently, organic pets are all the rage in the upper classes, and the squirming pouch on Megatron's table is a gift to him from some Senator who wishes to remain anonymous.

It's all a bit stupid, but curiosity gets the best of him, and he slowly unwraps the ribbon and turns the ornate pouch upside down, causing you to tumble out somewhat painfully.

The letter said he could do anything with you, whether it be squishing you for fun (apparently organics are delightfully squishy and crunchy, like little red balloons that burst out everywhere), or put you in a cage somewhere and forget about you until you starve to death because organic food is expensive and hard to come by.

"Well. I wasn't expecting to receive a chore as a gift." Megatron muses, his red optics zeroed in on you.

There's still neon blue Energon coating his frame from the last fight he was in, and he's not sure if you've ever seen a Cybertronian bleed, or what happens if Energon comes into contact with organics, so he wipes his digits on the table and pokes you, feeling your soft, squishy frame give way and stopping just before he crushes you.

"Can you speak? Or are you just going to squeak and squeal like a dying petro-rabbit?" He tilts his helm, leaning in a bit to look at you better as you scoot away, optical fluid wetting your faceplate. Can it even be called a faceplate if its not made of metal?

With a heavy sigh, Megatron brings his servo down on you, pinning you to the table with almost enough force to break your ribs.

"Stay still, and stop panicking. I can always decide that you're not worth the energy and see how true those stories of organics bursting like overfed cyber-ticks are." Megatron warns, pressing down a bit more before lifting his servo a bit, but keeping his digits around you, caging you in.