“Easy, easy! You’re not helping me when you bust my arm!”
The speaker was sprawled on the floor of a mining station, surrounded by shattered chairs and a table that had a knife sticking through it.
“You. You tried to escape Lord Megatron. You stole that item you were sent for. And you claim to be a Seeker.”
A Cybertronian, armed with a Gatling, kicked the figure on the floor. It let out a pained noise, then spoke:
“I don’t serve your blasted scrap heap of a dictator, lunkhead! I’m a Seeker, I serve the– gaahh!!! Stop!”
The taller one laughed, enjoying the prisoner’s pain.
“So, you and your friends turned soft, Firecatcher? In that case, let’s just see how soft you got…”
He drew his arm back, the cannon aimed at the Seeker’s head.
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the building, sending metal fragments everywhere. As the dust settled, the Seeker stood up, a glowing liquid dripping from her arm.
“You will not see the end of this, Megatron. I swear this by Primus himself.”
She grasped a symbol on her shoulder and ripped it off, flinging it into space. The last thing her assailant saw was her standing, a great bow drawn, flames surrounding her.
“Die, traitorous scum!”