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    Summary

    “You look alike to him.”

    A flicker in their dull optics indicated their curiosity of whom the war—tyrant? Megatron. Who Megatron referred to. Oberon’s optics locked in with bright glaring red ones, deeply narrowed down with a hint of mild distraught. Or perhaps annoyance, Oberon couldn’t tell as it flashed by too quickly.

    “Optimus Prime,” a low growl escaped past the silver mech’s lips, sharp denta plates out on display. Oberon wondered if the tyrant ever accidentally bite himself.

    Oberon ran his glossa through his own denta plates, the sharp edges pricking them.

    “…You look like that wretched Prime.”

     

    First 2 chapters are being rewritten, I promise this is somewhat decent to read

    Chapter 1 has been slightly altered.

    Language:
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