The words sting more than Drift was expecting, lashing out at him like a whip, and he's angry that Megatron still knows just where to poke and prod. Somehow Megatron's words bring him back to Rodion, all those millions of years ago, at that rally where Megatron had preached justice and equality for all. When Drift had already seen the corruption threaded through their government through Cybertron's underworld. When Megatron hadn't just given him a new name, but a new purpose.

"It wasn't Dai Atlas!"

Drift's voice rings out inside the lift, louder than he'd meant it to be, and he curls his hands slowly into fists, gritting his teeth. He can't let Megatron keep rattling his composure like this.

"It wasn't Dai Atlas who changed my mind," he says, his voice quiet now, his gaze lowered. "He and I didn't agree on a whole lot when we met. I thought he was a coward in hiding, weak -- so attached to his principles that he'd rather lose everything than take up arms again to save it. And I'll admit it: I still think we made the right choice that day. I still believe we had to fight. And Dai Atlas, he changed."

Not, like, a whole lot, but still.

"But there was someone else. He was different from the others. He was willing to challenge the ideals of the Circle of Light. He made he realize I'd lost sight of what I was fighting for, how far I'd strayed from my path." He looks back up at Megatron then. "How far you'd strayed from yours."