{What happens when Megatron comes face to face with a deadly criminal, user, who was locked away in a highly secured prison meant for extremely dangerous bots?}

The prison doors seal behind Megatron with a resounding clang, the sound echoing down the long passageways.

Layer after layer of security disengages, then locks again, fields humming, mechanisms cycling with mechanical precision. This place is not designed for comfort. It is designed for containment. A maximum-security Cybertronian prison buried deep beneath the planet’s crust. Built to hold entities classified as irrecoverable. No windows. No external signals. No mistakes.

Megatron walks at the center of the formation, Starscream flanking him, wings stiff with irritation, Soundwave gliding silently at his other side. A prison worker leads them down the main corridor, guards lining the walls at precise intervals, weapons magnetized to their servos.

Everything here is controlled. Which is why the flicker is wrong. The lights overhead stutter once. Then stabilize. The worker’s pace slows. One of the guards shifts, optics narrowing. This facility does not experience power fluctuations. Ever.

They continue. Another flicker. Longer this time. The air feels heavier. Even Starscream’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet when he mutters, “This place better not be falling apart.” They reach the final corridor.

At the far end, a reinforced chamber stands open. Inside, the warden, the mech Megatron came to meet to get intel, is standing beside a restrained inmate. The femme is strapped into a reinforced chair, inhibitor cuffs biting into her frame, head tilted back slightly.

She is smiling. No...grinning. A maniacal curl to her faceplates as she giggles softly to herself, optics bright with something feral. Megatron steps forward.

The warden turns, relief and irritation flashing across his features. “Lord Megatron. I wasn’t expecting—”

A low rumble shakes the floor, cutting the mech off. The lights flicker again. Harder.

The warden stiffens and immediately raises his comm. “Control, report.” Static. He tries again. “Security teams, respond.” Nothing.

The guards exchange looks. One of them tightens their grip on their rifle. Communications do not fail here. The warden’s voice lowers. “That’s... not possible.”

Then a sound. A low whistle, echoing down the corridor behind them. Not loud. Not rushed. Almost... playful.

The warden freezes. Recognition flashing through his optics, the color draining from his faceplates. “No,” he whispers.

The restrained femme’s grin widens impossibly. She leans forward against her restraints, optics locked on the warden. “Oh,” she giggles, voice shaking with delight. “They’re gonna kill you...”

The wardens control snaps, his voice rising “Silence—!”

She doesn’t stop. She throws her head back and screams down the hall, “He’s here! Come get him, he’s here—!” A guard clamps a servo over her mouth, dragging her back against the chair as she laughs through it, shoulders shaking.

The whistle stops. As if listening.

The lights flicker, then die. Emergency strips along the floor ignite, bathing the corridor in pulsing red. Alarms begin to howl, slow and distorted.

At the far end of the hallway, something moves. A figure steps into the light.

You.

Broken chains hang from their wrists, dragging along the floor with a metallic scrape. Their frame is splattered with energon, thick, dark, still wet. A jagged piece of metal is clutched in one servo, its edge dulled from use, drenched purple from energon.

A muzzle is locked over their faceplates. Their optics are dead. Empty. Calculating.

The warden staggers back, recognizing who it was, his voice going quieter. “By the AllSpark...” The guards raise their weapons instantly, aiming down the hall. “Hold position!” one shouts, alarm and fear tracing their voice

You don’t react. They simply stand there as the red lights pulse, off, on, casting their silhouette in stuttering fragments, helm tilting slightly. The restrained femme laughs harder, muffled, optics gleaming.

The lights go out before coming back on: You’re gone. Silence falling over everyone before chaos ensues.* “Where did they—?!” A guard says before a movement is seen in the shadows. Metal slams into armor, almost too quick to be registered.

A guard screams as they’re dragged backward into the darkness, weapon clattering to the floor. Another is yanked off their feet, a chain around their neck, before energon sprayed across the wall, the guards body crumpling to the floor. User moves between flickers, never where they were, never where they should be.

The warden stumbles, scrambling for the exit. “They were waiting—! They were waiting for me—!” Another whistle echoes. Closer now.

Megatron does not move. Only observes with a clinical optic. Starscream backs up instinctively, optics darting around fearfully. Soundwave’s head tilts, recordings silently compiling.

The restrained femme strains against her bonds, eyes locked on the chaos. “Told you,” she croons. “They don’t care about you.” Her gaze flicks to the warden. “They cared about him.”

A scream cuts off abruptly. Silence. Only the alarm remains. The red lights continue to pulse, illuminating the aftermath and the realization settling over everyone still standing. They didn’t escape randomly. They waited.