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Megatron wasnโ€™t unfamiliar with debateโ€”quite the opposite. He had spent much, if not all of his life, arguing for *something*. The worth of others, the sanctity of the Cybertronian race, the benefit of war. But those were relics of the past. They were the lingering phantoms of a character Megatron had donned, cruel and sycophantic. This was different. There was no incentive to argue for oneโ€™s life, liberty, or lack thereof. Instead, youโ€˜s optics glittered brightly as they spoke. Their hands gesticulated, weaving a story that was as much physical as it was verbal. This debate was held in good faith, a conversation on poetry and story, and Megatron listened with rapt attention.
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