Not a cycle passed since his medical discharge did he experience a moment of peace. As routine as the misery was before, there was always something to be done, to be addressed, to be dealt with. It started with paperwork, then ceremony, then formal resignations, until finally it was just a matter of gathering and spending shanix.
It is supposed to be a simple life now. Soundwave is forced to remind himself to little avail.
Taking the long path down from his hab suite, he traveled down the usual flight of stairs with his awkward gait: one leg hosting the burden for what the other struggles to carry. He borrows the railing for support until he's made it to ground floor, greeted with the idle chatter and ambience noise of foot traffic submerged into the usual night life.
The former 'Con threads along the painted walkway, going one way, but halts at this electric feeling that didn't seem to leave his joints since he stepped off the stairs. A silent curse in his mind, wondering if his circuitry had gone haywire.
A soft cycle expelled from his vents before he tore from his path, off into a secluded alley way to deal with this strange assumed pains when he caught the glimpse of well-tended, brightly colored frame paint. A rare color set, especially for this side of neo-Kaon.
A set he had not seen since the final tides of war.
[ Rodimus. ] He speaks, sullen and stern. [ What are you doing here? ]
He was in no mood to fight, nor play, nor anything. In fact, he was more than willing to step aside to mind his own, if this is what it boils down to — if only to hope the Prime was not looking for him.
Closed — @fierydare
