"It seems that being inflammatory is something that I never ended up tossing out," he looks acridly at the energon smeared across his arms - from Ratchet's contact, as well as his own with Drift. There was a growing compulsion to wipe it off. He looks around the tool set.

"And what the hell did you expect me to do, by the way?" he remarks, a growing indignance entering his voice,"Unless every Cybertronian on this planet decided to collaborate together in some massive lie," he bends down on a knee after finding the first box empty,"I doubt-"

There's a metal clang as a tray is jostled onto the floor as he reaches inside, making him sigh in exasperation. All of this equipment was so small. He reaches for the wipe anyway, his irritated cycling of air filling the silence.

As the energon is cleaned off, he relaxes himself, and stands back up,"The evidence is right in front of me. I'm not going to run away from the truth just because I don't like it."