It was another one of those strange Decepticons, obviously infected with something but at least he wasn’t at risk of turning into a Terrorcon at any moment. He vaguely remembered this one from Flatline’s visit, which made the approach all more ridiculous--and probably dangerous.
“You know, you should at least order something--sitting in a bar isn’t exactly fun unless you’re drunk,” the minicon pointed out, lingering just out of the assassin’s reach. “How about I grab us both something and we sit down and talk shop?”









