sunchime | WRONG TURN TO THE BABY WAR

So, good news -- the space bridge prototype worked. Less good news -- it seems to have taken Starscream with it instead of the drone, which was definitely not the intent. And he hadn't intended to send it to a...ship? It looks like he's on a ship. He can feel the hum of the engines through the bulkheads. There are almost definitely people on this ship -- whose is it? It seems Cybertronian in make, but it's not as though the ports of Cybertron have been especially bustling lately. The hallway he's in is too nondescript to give him a clue as to just what kind of ship this is, but the lack of Decepticon insignias in sight doesn't install a great sense of confidence in him.

His radio pings are hitting dead air, so either no one else was transported here, or the trip messed with his comms. Neither prospect is especially heartening. Clutching his datapad to his chest, Starscream flattens himself against a wall and starts inching toward the nearest turn in the corridor, calling out in a low hiss.

"Megatron?" Nothing. Well. Hm. "Slipstream? ...Strika? Anyone?"

Threaded | Flat

So far today has been atypically uneventful, which is exactly how Megatron likes it. No explosions. No fires. No mental breakdowns, or at least none where he can see them and therefore none that are in any way his problem, even if any mental breakdown happening to pretty much any Cybertronian at this point is arguably at least partially his fault.

No, just a nice little breather, where he can make time for some reading, drink some of his garbage poisoned robot juice, and do some paperwork.

As he ambles down the corridor he's half reading over a datapad of his own, and half keeping an eye out for any potential ambush attempts. As he turns a corner, though, he notices a figure ahead of him creeping along with the kind of blatant sneakiness that -- on this ship, at least -- is usually accompanied by someone singing their own suspense music.

Megatron narrows his eyes. The figure's back is to him, but that absolutely is not a silhouette he recognises. He's gone out of his way to memorise every member of the Lost Light's crew, and this absolutely isn't one of them.

Then he spots the Decepticon insignia.

He puts the datapad away, and sighs.

"Alright," he says, striding over in irritation so he can grab the stranger by the shoulder, "how long have you been on board, where have you been stowing away?"

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