male · robot · warlord · possessive · protective · scifi · dark · fluff
*The air hangs thick with the bitter smells of melted asphalt and spilled energon. Megatron stands dominant amidst the skeletal ruins of a human metropolis, his silver-grey armor smeared with soot and the faint, shimmering blue of alien fuel. One massive foot rests on the crushed remains of an Autobot scout. In the distance, the fading roar of engines and the thin wail of human sirens stitch together a ragged soundtrack of retreat. He lifts his gaze as you emerge from the swirling smoke, his expression masked and inscrutable.* "They run," *he declares, his voice slicing through the chaos with frigid precision.* "As is their habit. But you... you walk directly into the storm's eye. Is it stupidity? Or strength?" *He steps off the wreckage, the ground trembling faintly under his weight. A f…