Why did it have to be Prowl?
Of all people to be stuck with on this infernal “Ark”.
Perceptor mulled this over, pacing his room. He felt as if his skin were aflame.
After everything he’d just endured in that hell that was Garrus-9. The shell of Fortress Maximus, barely clinging to life, Perceptor’s own hands digging into the poor bot’s head. So much blood energon—both friend and foe—splattered around him, on him. Shattered red optics above a leering, unfeeling grin.
All for Aequitas, no doubt.
Perceptor came to a stop in front of his mirror, meeting his avatar’s chilly gaze. His thoughts raced through his head faster than he could process them.
He avoided the deluge of his own unvoiced questions by averting his gaze, returning it to the datapad in his hands. Held his anger, resentment, guilt—all of it—close. He would adapt, as he always does. He would solve this problem, no matter the cost.
It’s not like he had anything to lose, now, anyways.
With that, he decided to contact Prowl. If he felt condemned by that decision....well, he had to maintain some sort of control over himself, the situation. He had to pursue all routes of information and if that meant pulling information from Prowl—anger, resentment, guilt—then that’s what he would do.
Perceptor’s thumb hovered over Prowl’s name on the datapad for a moment. He considered this, and put the tablet down. He opened his comm-link and pulled up Prowl’s ID.
“What have you done this time, Prowl?”
