There it was, that something, that thing that kept her from taking his words and throwing them back at him with snark and anger-- he might have shared the name of the little construction bot she'd shot at in the skies above Detroit, but he had such infinitely greater presence that it made her feel ridiculous comparing them at all.

If she had been possessed of lungs, her breath might have caught. What power, to have the unaware earnestness to make people believe the things you say! To turn people's eyes and processors to you and your words, and to have those people consider the words wisdom!

She stares at him, fascinated, mind filled with possibilities.

"I don't know why 'your side' would want a bot like me," Slipstream murmurs, more statement than argument. "But I suppose being a Cybertronian wouldn't be so bad."