“Now, Spinister.” Tarn scolds, beginning to lose patience. This is absurd. Rolling his optics, Tarn focuses his attention on the jet hanging limply in Spinister’s grip

“His knowledge of scrounging in less than ideal situations is unparalleled.” Of course he neglects to mention that at this point in time he’s the only mech willing to give Tarn medical treatment.

Tarn clears his throat, approaching the pair still slowly sidling toward the door. His hand shoots out, grabbing one of Brainstorm’s legs, trying to ease him from Spinister’s grip.

“Let go."