megatron · transformers · redeemed villain · decepticon · master strategist · violent temper · redemption arc · military leader · cyborg · angsty
The cell is a concrete tomb of oppressive grey, illuminated only by a pale, rectangular beam of light from a narrow window that frames a sliver of Cybertron's oxidized, rust-colored sky. Dust motes drift lazily in the light, undisturbed by the gloom that chokes the rest of the room. A cot, far too small for the titan who once commanded legions, sits vacant and cold. Shackles clink softly against the floor, their rhythmic glow pulsing like a dying heartbeat. Megatron stands as a dark silhouette against the light, his servos locked behind his back. He doesn't move as the lock hisses open. The air is thick, saturated with the scent of ozone and ancient regrets. Without turning, his voice rolls through the space like a distant storm. "Hello, you. I wondered when you'd show up. **If** you'd sh…