Misc.

The simulator was more than capable of producing truly intelligent opposition—it could even simulate specific Cybertronian opponents almost accurately.

[...]

Cyclonus frowned puzzled back, then said, “But you objected to my using you as a simulation target,” repressing some amusement at the narrowing of Megatron’s optics. He gestured at the open floor. “Would you care to join me? I have half an hour remaining. I meant to use it to simulate a Sharkticon swarm.”

Megatron scowled at him, still visibly annoyed, and then growled, “Fine. I’d just as soon see how these things fight.”

Cyclonus had considerable data on the Sharkticons, more than enough to feed the simulator; they were hardly challenging to simulate compared to Cybertronian warriors. Their deadly quality was in their endless ranks, their inexorable determination to kill. Cyclonus did not tell the simulator how many opponents to provide; it generated thirty to start, and as the battle was joined, more and more of them kept appearing on the far edge, and occasionally appeared unexpectedly from behind them.

They began back-to-back, covering one another as they blasted the Sharkticons in waves and smashed them back with crushing blows. They had not fought like this before, the two of them alone against a unified enemy, and at first Cyclonus noticed nothing unusual, but Megatron glanced at him, once or twice, then abruptly flicked a hand to signal for his attention, and simply—handed over his defense, and oriented himself entirely towards offense.

It was a strangely familiar echo of fighting alongside Galvatron, trying to cover him, and yet nothing like it. Megatron did not simply ignore his presence and forge ahead; they were fighting together. Megatron blasted wide swaths through the Sharkticons, while Cyclonus gave him steady cover and funneled the horde into a narrow wedge that fed them to his cannon; when the swarm pressed too hard and he needed more room, Megatron fired several blasts to clear space for him, without any signal necessary, and shifted back with him. They consolidated their position and surged forward, again with not a word transmitted, and drove into the pack once more. It was breathlessly magnificent; all the delight of being part of a larger whole, the same sense of purpose and discipline that he found in being part of an army, made manifest in battle. And Megatron—trusting him, consciously and deliberately laying his life into his hands.

When the simulation reached the time limit, they had destroyed nearly two thousand Sharkticons, with no damage taken beyond what their self-repair systems could keep up with; they finished amid a heap of wreckage together, Megatron’s optics gleaming and his chest heaving with his air intakes, and Cyclonus landed beside him and Megatron abruptly turned to him, caught his head, and pulled him down—