Dead End, after a recently concluded mission and by order of Motormaster, is taking advantage of the poorly illuminated city to hide in plain sight. Fortunately his paintjob hasn't suffered any damage (his plating is just dirty) which, unlike Megatron's latest plan, is something he would call a victory.
He won't move from that spot, if possible, until morning; there's been enough fun for the night, and judging by the radio silence from Wildrider and Drag Strip, the others seem to agree. He wishes that silence would extend to what until now was a lonely alley.
Footsteps. Human's, if he had to guess. Noisy, like all humans in this city and coming closer. Although bothersome, Dead End won't acknowledge the human's presence with a reaction of any kind. That's the plan until the footsteps stop close to his rear and a whistle he recognizes as a catcall breaks the silence.
"Aren't you a beauty?" the human, young and vulgar, Dead End realises, calls him. More of an statement than a question. For Dead End, it's a fact.
