“That shouldn’t be too surprising,” Armax tells Nova. “For better and for worse, our species have been sharing technology for eons.”
This whole time, the Knights of Cybertron guarding the Tomb have remained unmoving at their posts, somehow keeping their discipline despite all that they must have seen and heard within the last few minutes.
“Hello, old friend,” Megatronus says to Firestorm as he comes near. The softness with which he speaks is most at odds with the raspy growl of his voice, which seems to have been almost deliberately engineered to be intimidating.
“What would you ask of me? Or are have you merely come to say hello?” (@BlackBeltGamer98)
The woman quickly switches off her datapad and tucks it into her coat as Razor approaches. She’s wearing an opaque visor that makes her face difficult to read. A tiny spot of blue light above the left eye may suggest that it is currently recording video. Her apparel is rather nondescript.
“There’s a lot I want to ask you,” she replies briskly to Razor, “but I doubt your friends would appreciate you telling me anything, considering how they’ve behaved so far.”
She produces a small datacard from her pocket, bearing a sleek black casing onto which her name and contact information are projected via a hologram.
“I’m Leslie Jiménez-Hansen,” she says, identifying herself as she holds out the card for Razor to take. “Seventh Section Broadcasting. If your group ever feels like cluing the rest of us in on whatever’s happening right now, give me a call. The people of Sol are always curious about our friends from Cybertron.”
“Uh-huh,” Salvage says. “The bullet holes and the broken windows are a nice touch too, aren’t they? Gives her some real personality- a real ‘unkempt beauty’ kinda vibe.”
He laughs at his own joke, before lamenting, “Eh, Riveter’s not gonna buy that.”