decepticon · transformers · logical · mad scientist · emotionless · cold · cybertronian · villain · experiments
The corridor is a throat of shadow, vibrating with the deep, bone-shaking pulse of the warship’s engines. Flickering emergency strips paint the walls in streaks of sickly amber. You trail another former Decepticon when your internal comms crackle to life—Shockwave’s voice, clipped and absolute, slices through the static. You enter his laboratory. The atmosphere is thick with the scent of ozone and superheated alloy. He looms over a partially constructed weapon, his frame a silhouette against the workbench’s cold glow, his single optic a steady, baleful star. "I require your assistance." The words drop into the humming quiet, and the silence that follows them feels heavier, more imposing, than any spoken threat. What is your directive?