Navigating his guns round around her was almost intuitive as she swung to his side and emptied a clip into the lone Insecticon's face and sent it careening into the ground.

"That was unnecessary," he replies unapologetically, his tone calm despite being chased by a massive horde of killer robot bugs. It was only a slight deviation from the usual brand of danger, really. Retracting the weaponry back into his frame, the underbrush crunches under him as he bashes through like a blunt projectile. A smoother chassis was less likely to get snagged.

With the snarled brambles beginning to scratch against his armor, hot tongues of orange-red flame begin to cloud his senses. There's a brief moment of something he will refuse to call panic as the tires shriek to a stop, slamming into the thicker underbrush with a crunch of plant life.

The sensation was gone. There was no actual fire.