The presence of another Cybertronian is unmistakable, and this particular presence is one Drift instinctively recognizes. He knows even before he turns around, even before he hears a name long dead, that it’s Megatron. Megatron is here.

Deadlock. From anyone else, it might not have gotten a reaction, but in Megatron’s voice, hauntingly familiar — Drift flinches even as he rises to his feet on a sharp turn. He’d come to the courtyard to sit in peace, a change of scenery from the comforting familiarity of his biome. Being around people, even organics, is still wonderfully refreshing — this place is so full of life — and he’d fallen into a pleasant state of almost-tranquility. He could practically feel his aura growing lighter along with his spirit. Until now.

“Megatron.”

Not Lord Megatron. It’s been a long time since Drift bent his knee to the Decepticon. His usual cheerful energy is muted, almost gone entirely, his optics flat and his expression guarded. The first Cybertronian Drift’s seen since his exile, and it’s Megatron. Why does it have to be Megatron? Drift tenses slightly, but his hands stay at his sides. They’re in a room full of organics — he’s not going to jeopardize their safety if he can help it.

“My name,” he says, optics narrowing slightly, “is Drift.”