Mistletoe and the Seeker
Not unlike the beating of a drum, Megatron’s steps echoed down the hall with singular finality. An impending doom which could not be escaped. They promised violence, they promised death, they promised...
Humiliation. For himself, and for the mech he was in search of.
Each step of the way was hampered by individuals who got too close. He would be forced to stop and free himself momentarily from the curse’s hold. Each time he would seize a little gray organic, or grip a fellow Cybertronian by the shoulders, and promptly shove or toss them aside (with a few exceptions). He had already wasted enough time with the little medic, now he was in a foul temper and wished to be done with the ridiculousness of the situation.
His target was close, but his anger continued to boil and, as it so often had, it boiled over.
“STARSCREAM!”
@tyrantofthefirmament