Ratchet shifts on his crutches, lip curling only very slightly. "With Tarn there, I sort of doubt that," he says, but any edge there is in his voice isn't directed at Megatron.

He comes back and sits down gingerly on the stool opposite and starts on one of Megatron's shoulders, carefully cleaning the black and yellow paint from his plating, optics clear and focused.

"Anyway, I'm not surprised. You did always know how to get a crowd together and pulling in roughly the same direction."