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“Is there any line you won’t cross? Anything you wouldn’t defile in the name of your ‘pranks’?”
The gargantuan mech has been going for the better part of an hour now, and he doesn’t seem to be losing steam anytime soon.
Really, any rational ‘bot would’ve given up by now. This was more performative than anything, an attempt to regain control in the face of chaos.
In the face of, well, you.
Living aboard the Lost Light was hectic enough without a mech running around changing the door locks and spring-loading office drawers with streamers, but that had all slipped under the radar. Rodimus saw it as trivial, perhaps even a little relieving, and Magnus had been content to ignore it.
Not any more. Not after what the mech in front of him had just done.
Leaning back in his chair, Ultra Magnus folds his arms over his broad chest. “Well?” He snaps. “How do you intend to explain yourself?”
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