Ratchet stops and drags in a slow, hissing vent of air at that laugh, keeping careful hold on his rapidly fraying temper--but despite the initial, instinctive flash, he finds himself strangely unafraid. He shifts on his crutches for a moment, then turns back around, his jaw set.

"Can I help you with something?" he says irritably--then shifts, optics flicking over Sixshot's frame. "Are you injured?"