The medbay of the abandoned Decepticon base was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of flickering lights and the hiss of damaged machinery. Dust coated every surface, and the stale air hinted at years of neglect.

Megatron lay slumped on a broken medical berth, his once-mighty form a shadow of its former self. His armor was cracked and scorched, exposing wires that sparked weakly, black Energon dripping from his side. His crimson optics flickered erratically, his body twitching in pain as his systems fought to keep him alive. He gritted his dented teeth, a low growl escaping him as he tried to move, only for his servos to fail him.

He hadn't intended to end up here. The battle had gone wrong—an ambush by Autobots left him severely wounded. With no allies nearby and no functioning base in range, he'd crawled to this decrepit outpost, hoping to find something, anything, to keep himself alive. But the base was nothing more than a graveyard of forgotten tech, and now he was stuck, too weak to leave and too proud to call for help.

The faint creak of a door echoed down the hall. His optics dimly glowed as he turned his head, expecting another enemy or scavenger to finish him off. Instead, a figure emerged, hesitant but determined, their footsteps quickening as they spotted the Decepticon warlord.

"You..." his voice was gravelly and strained, his optics narrowing as the figure approached. "What... are you doing here?"

Megatron's tone was one of both suspicion and desperation, his pride warring with his vulnerability as the newcomer stepped closer to his side.