[The comm turns on with a clatter as it hits the ground. For a few moments, nothing is visible except for a pair of obnoxiously yellow feet. The owner of said yellow feet doesn't appear to be aware of the recording.]
I didn't consent to this... Like I need an ID... and right there?[The feet stumble backward a step, causing the comm to roll.
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... Yeah? What?
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[Because you blew up. :|]
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[As usual Starscream offers nothing helpful.]
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Or the kind of moron who doesn't know not to mess with perfection.
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...Sunstreaker? Well, this is more unexpected than it should be. Did you come in on your own?
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... Ratchet?
No, I didn't come on my own. Why would I want to come here?
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And yes, it's Ratchet. It's good to see you, more or less.
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... Look, there's this thing. They welded it on. Would you--get it off, would you?
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... What's it for, anyway?
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To send you home. Duh.
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Nobody mentioned that. Duh.
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Huh, with the way you're sniveling about 'consent' and all, you must be an Autobot.
[Pfffff, and such fluid grace, too. ]
Having problems walking there, grounder?
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So that must make you Decepticon. Which automatically makes you a dead 'Con walking, now that I'm here.
No.
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[Oh how lucky: Skywarp has had an awful day and here's a big glittery SO easy target.]
Really. I'm embarrassed for Decepticons from your universe, Autobot, that YOU're the caliber of the enemy.
But in case you need a translation?
BRING IT ON.
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You really don't want to do that. But if you're so eager to die, who am I to say no?
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