we all work for someone.

* VIOLENT ACTION STARTERSSend me a NUMBER for your muse to : 038. — Crack my muse’s head against a wall.

A resounding crack echoed through Ironhide’s helm as he found his helm being slammed against the wall of a deserted building. His vision grew in static as he landed on his hands and knees, vents panting harshly as he revved up his canon in order to fight back. He had been hiding on the outskirts of an abandoned town. He wasn’t sure how the bounty hunter found him, or how anyone had. Ironhide had managed to escape death but his distrust of the humans grew as he heard that they were now hunting them. 

The old mech had admitted to himself that the only way to survive was to kill first and ask later. Not an autobot frame anymore. Quickly he made a decision that would and probably could hinder him. He found the two lines of missing code; that lowered the autobot side and turned off his EM field to any bot. rewriting that his cyan colored optics changed back to their normal red. “Scrap.” he growled out as he scrambled to his feet, albeit shakily. “

                        What do you… want with me? 

” He groaned out, red optics raising to look straight at Lockdown. Ignoring the energon that started to trail down his right optic, Ignoring the minor wounds on his large frame. He was not going to die here!

Venting heavily he glared at the bounty hunter, a reply quick to be on his glossa. “When you die for five years and is suddenly revived… it does things.” he snapped back, trying to put distance between Lockdown and himself. “Prime is off world, that is all i know; last time we talked- I yelled at him for protecting the fleshbags of the humans.” Ah, there is that sneer that Ironhide seemed to have perfected. “I answer to no one; not Megatron, Not Prime.” Glaring with his good optic he let out a deep rumble of his vents.

“If you want to get under prime’s skin, get his Human, Cade Yeager… He guards that fleshie with his life. I don’t expect to live long, not while I’m injured like this.” he spat out, feeling his audials press against his helm.

                              HIS HELM COCKS TO one side briefly, curious and amused in one clumsy swoop. He remembers the reports given to him, mindlessly drivel from a mindless species who thinks too highly of themselves. Yet here stands a presumed dead mech, confirming he’d been dead. Oddities everywhere he looked, more so that this mech has freely given him information.

                              THE HUNTER STEPPED FORWARD wordlessly with dimmed optics, the sharpened blades that had took over the form of his servo clicked together. He seems to consider, study, the other mech--his EM field tight around his frame && crackling with unexpressed excitement.

                              “I am AWARE of this ORGANIC. However, I was under the impression it was no longer IMPORTANT to the PRIME or anyone for that matter. How interesting. This conversation has been RECORDED for personal use.”

                              HE BRINGS FORTH THE WEAPON, his helm tipping forward && optics giving an eerily calm glow. There’s a surprising respect to his tone, an unnecessary reassuring hum to his systems.

                              “You sound as though you expect to die soon; are you in pain, IRONHIDE? I could HELP with that, to show my GRATITUDE && APPRECIATION for your assistance on this day. I could make it CLEAN, PAINLESS--you do not need to SUFFER.”

                              HIS TONE DROPS A few pitches, a quiet && respectful rumble that echoes through his chassis. He motions with his servo to the centre of IRONHIDE’S chest, where the SPARK CHAMBER resides. 

* VIOLENT ACTION STARTERSSend me a NUMBER for your muse to : 038. — Crack my muse’s head against a wall.

A resounding crack echoed through Ironhide’s helm as he found his helm being slammed against the wall of a deserted building. His vision grew in static as he landed on his hands and knees, vents panting harshly as he revved up his canon in order to fight back. He had been hiding on the outskirts of an abandoned town. He wasn’t sure how the bounty hunter found him, or how anyone had. Ironhide had managed to escape death but his distrust of the humans grew as he heard that they were now hunting them. 

The old mech had admitted to himself that the only way to survive was to kill first and ask later. Not an autobot frame anymore. Quickly he made a decision that would and probably could hinder him. He found the two lines of missing code; that lowered the autobot side and turned off his EM field to any bot. rewriting that his cyan colored optics changed back to their normal red. “Scrap.” he growled out as he scrambled to his feet, albeit shakily. “

                        What do you… want with me? 

” He groaned out, red optics raising to look straight at Lockdown. Ignoring the energon that started to trail down his right optic, Ignoring the minor wounds on his large frame. He was not going to die here!

                              GENUINE SURPRISE RADIATED THROUGH his EM field briefly, but was ultimately shut down before it could truly be exposed. Of all the things he’d expected when attacking an AUTOBOT, this wasn’t among them. And while such would discourage him normally, he wouldn’t stand for cannons aimed anywhere near him–the servo that had lashed out to begin with folded and rearranged itself, becoming that of a weapon. Sharp and ready to pierce through armour should the mech physically. Preparation for the worst was always important.

                              “How unfortunate.

                                                            You are more USELESS than I had originally imagined. In the very least, I had THOUGHT you would know where I could find OPTIMUS PRIME, but no–a sickening little TURNCOAT never holds INFORMATION of VALUE.”

* VIOLENT ACTION STARTERS Send me a NUMBER for your muse to :