What, Slipstream, energon isn't pink in your universe? There's something to be said about painting yourself the color of what comes out of you when you're dying. But Arcee can't help but smirk at that, letting her sword flare into life - the orange flames casting a sinister glare over her face.

"Why don't we find out?" She should know better, really. She should. But she's dealt with too much, needs to work off steam and there's really no other available outlet. "Unless you're just another 'con who won't put their shanix where their mouth is. That's okay though, it won't make a difference."

Fight her, Slipstream, please. It's been so long since she'd had a proper spar that she feels as if she might have forgotten how. As if she could. She'd killed plenty of bots who've tried to keep her from Jhiaxus, and then she killed him for six years. That sort of thing leaves a lasting memory of how to inflict a certain amount of pain.