Megatron prowls forward despite the fact that Drift was the one armed here. As Drift knew all too well, he didn't need to have weapons in his hands to make another Cybertronian's day remarkably unpleasant.

He looks down at Drift, at the ex-Decepticon's tense hands, at the barely contained expression on his face, and most importantly, at the empty patch of armor where his badge used to be. A look of cruel understanding crosses his face.

"Ah, Deadlock," he says with mock sympathy. A huge hand reaches forward to rest on Drift's shoulder in a perfectly amicable fashion,"You're being far too bothered by what organics think of you, don't you agree?"