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“…We need to talk.”
There had been a jolt at his wrist, and everything had gone black.
As Lord Megatron became aware again, he remembered that jolt with a cringe, not for the pain, but for its familiarity. Stasis cuffs, he remembered with a creeping dread. How could he have been so careless? Now he stood against the wall, held fast to it by restraints normally meant for heavy cargo. He could break through them, but it would take a few moments, and in that time, he was vulnerable. He was almost impressed. Sharp optics took stock of the room before locking onto Datastream and the weapon in her hand with a smirk. The comm channel was still open.
“I applaud you, Datastream. Soundwave had his suspicions, but even he could not prove your treachery.” The little grounder bristled, hiding fear behind that mask of determination. Determination for what, exactly? If she’d been planning on killing him, she would have done so when he was defenseless. He carried on, confident in his safety.
“You must be one of the most clever little operatives I’ve ever seen. Pity you weren’t genuine or we may have won this war much faster than we did.” That touched a nerve. Good. He was getting to the root of the issue, then. “So tell me, Captain. What exactly made you think that in order to talk to me, you needed to stage this elaborate and untimely farce of a kidnapping?” Her doorwings drooped a measure, and it was clear that the fear had come back.
Good.
Megatron's back up 