[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Aftermath [Closed]

[Javelin]

She remained where she was sitting, arms still crossed, legs still crossed.

Her eyes, however, narrowed, at the first thing that came out of his mouth. And this time it was aimed at him. Her field and her expression made it very clear she was very unimpressed with him at this moment, a very strong sense of “Now is not the time.”

She continued to talk, however, moving past her disdain.

“Whether he does or not, right now, isn’t important. Your answers are, so keep them coming.”

There was another pause, as she watched him as he spoke. The way his frame shifted, the way his face changed slightly. She had her answer, although to be honest, she had hoped she would be wrong. Javelin managed to smother down the disgusted grin that threatened to fill her face. She should know better, by now, to expect people to behave like living things and not the dirt that filled the cracks in one’s peds. She shouldn’t be disappointed anymore. She should have known better than to expect anything decent from Garrus.

Yet she always was.

She was glad, though, he was talking. As long as he kept speaking, she had something to work with. She knew people like Carbine, people who had been through Hell, often did everything they could to avoid talking. Even wanting to just seem like a monster themselves rather than face something that may have happened in the past. Because old wounds?

She knew old wounds.

Old wounds ached so badly you screamed in silent agony for days as it chewed into your mind.

As she thought, she absently uncrossed her legs, and recrossed them, now right over left. Her gaze left Carbine’s face again for a few minutes, focusing on the floor now, between them. Once again, thinking. Tucking away information, planning. Itemizing, categorizing. One could almost hear clicking and whirring.

Her eyes flashed back to the black and white mech, almost piercing.

“So what happened out there, Carbine? What exactly made you hit him that hard?”

Javelin shifted, leaning forward, resting elbows on her knees, clasping her hands together before her in an almost praying motion. Her helm tilted faintly to the side, as if analyzing him. If he were astute enough, he might realize she was watching how he responded as much as what he said. To look for tells. For lying. For avoiding certain topics. Her voice, though, turned slightly more gentle, less hard. It wasn’t sultry or seductive, there was no flirt hidden in the tone, but it was more like the Javelin Carbine was familiar with, and not the stranger that had sat there seconds before.

“Was he mouthing off to you? Getting in your face? He’s an Ex-Con, was he talking about a war or battle that you were in? Whatever he said it must have been pretty harsh to warrent that response.”

Gentler. More “Javelin”.

“What happened?”

[Carbine]

"Whether he does or not, right now, isn’t important. Your answers are, so keep them coming."

"Hmm... Not ̧s̢ur͞e ̷ab̕out ̵th̸at, b-b-bu̴t͜ I̴ w͏ill̕ play̴ along."

Carbine lifted his hand at the wrist, looking over at the camera again. With a sort of cheeky little half movement, he did a single finger wiggle of a wave to Red Alert, before he let his wrist drop and permitted his focus to shift back to Javelin. He was curious how she was so comfortable with the fact she dished out her crimes too in front of Mr. Dickwad. Probably because of the fact it WAS War now and they couldn’t be too picky about what bodies get thrown onto the front lines...

"I will tell you̵ wha̶t I ̛to̕ld͠ Th-thundercloud. Mor̵e ̶or l̶ess͡.͢.. ͏I ̡WÀNTȨD̷ ̨To."

He flowed into this with another shrug offered.

"W̴e͝ ͝g̷ot in ͡a̢ b̷it o̷f̧ ͠a̢ ͢v̨erbal spat. Patch, bless her͘ spark̶, ̶tŕi͢ed t-t-o stop us..."

Oh Patch, such a cute tiny thing. So young at heart, so innocent. A child that was pushed through some wartime adventures so she thought she had the grit and strength to boss him around. She was tough, he could give her that. A scrappy soul that would grow into something big if cultivated... but... he couldn't fear her, and in the moment leading to the meltdown, he simply laughed off her attempts of stopping things.

"SO, I͞.͘.́.͢ ͢I̵ ma͢d͘e͏.͟.͟.͏ ̛à̸̸̕ ͜͞p̴̵̴͡r̴͏͘o͟͢͏̢p͘͜͝͡͞-̸"

Carbine paused at this, his eyes opening slowly to that same deadened half lidded gaze.

What he was about to say he knew could change things. It could give others ammunition to fight for his behalf, or give him a dagger that would be able to be used into the sides of the leaders here to cripple them and lesson his punishment. The mere mention... the mere UTTERANCE he made a proposition and Windshield had AGREED to be punched? Oh, that put a new cast of color over everything, and he didn't think he deserved that. Right or wrong, noble or pathetic, weak or strong, whatever label someone wanted to apply to it didn't matter. Carbine felt like after everything he had done, after every nightmare he let occur due to negligence of his true role, of what he WAS.

He was meant to be a cop.

"You know, I'm tired̀ ͏Jav̸eli̴n͝. I do̶n̢'́t̷ ̧f̸e̛e̵l ̷l̀iķe̢ ͜p-pl̶aying some game of mental hurdles. I'm let-e͜-t-ęt-̸k̴z̛z̛t̸t̕-t̵ing you steam̴r͞o͏ll i͠nfor̸m̢ation out of me and I kind͜a͝ ͟don̵'͝t c̢a͠re͠. ̕Re͢a͞ļl͏y͝, I got a good lòn͞g ͞l̕òok ͡in t́he mirror after what I dìd͘ and́ ̧I ̷don'̀t͜ l̡ike ẃhat I saw, and th͢-̶th-t͟h-k͞z͘zt̢t-at is the most honest thing I can p-p-ossibly say."

His voice grew more somber as he said this, remembering why he was here, what he had done. His eyes closed while he thought over this. Windshield was a last straw on a pile of horrible deeds. Of lives tarnished because they happened to cross past his noxious field. Call it melodramatic, but it was there, and he couldn't help this new revelation. The ebb and flow of emotions, muddled with amused indifference because Javelin happened to reveal some things and push the right buttons when he was too weak to fight back.

Only for the guilt to return.

"I use ͢o͡th̸e͝rs̕,̵ ͏I͡ ex͟pl̨oit them. I p-p-play the fool͢,̧ p̕l̀a̴y͏ th͝e ̨jók̢e, I don't eve̸n̕ k̨n̨ow ̴w͢ho I̸ a̴m͜ pr̷etty much at͞ thi͢s̡ p-poi͜n̶t."

He lifted his left arm and tapped the side of his helm with a few clunks.

"Kiz̸z̛k̷k͘k̨ttINd́a hard to imagine̸ o̵ne͡ l͞i̢ttl̶e p̛unch on a wort̴hlès̀s̢ fak͞e Auto͜bot w̕ould set be down s͞om̴e̢ ̛kin̨d ̴o̶f ̵'s̡e̵lf̶-̸r̢èf̴l̢ection' a͢d͘vent͟u̕re."

He snapped his posture upright then, instantly seeming to perk as if a jolt of electricity surged up his spine. The white rings along his back seemed to spin in place a moment, before clicking and locking stationary.

"Hard mis-mis-dir-ect time becaưs̶e I̕ ́c̨an̛! W̛h̀at̢ ̸a͜re some na͟m̀es͟ you w͡o͘rked for?"

As Carbine barked this out, he clapped his hands once together hard, looking as if he just got the best news in the world, excitement, a surge of false joy.

"Not the littl̛e ͝g̷-gr̷e̷ase̵ s̛tains̢ thąt ̴aren't m͞e̴m͡o͘rable̵,̢ ̡b͠u̧t the̷ ̵big̢ ͡dogs you'd fear ̸piss͜ing of̛f."

Carbine's right forearm folded atop the backrest of his chair, while left crooked back upon his side. His thumb clipped over the post that jutted out from his hip, while fingers tapped down against black armor.

"Rollsteel? Augmen̛t? O̵r͢ ͟we͠re ́y̶o̵u̷r͠ çli͠e͜nteles a bit on the mo̡r̢e̴... ̡N͏eutrob͟i͝r̕d͡ range..."

Neutrobird was an intentional HUGE name drop. He never saw the mech himself, hell no. That was many tiers above his pay grade. Under that mech's gaze Carbine was simply a piece of trash used to clean up the most mundane loose ends and make some lower subordinates happy that their own minions were being tended to. No... that criminal never knew his name, never had an idea of who he was, and would never give a care. Carbine only dropped it because TECHNICALLY if you followed the chain up 'he worked for him' and it was a nice little boast to derail.

Even though he knew this would probably piss Javelin off.

[Javelin]

Javelin listened to what he was saying, his words, his tone, his body language. She was trying to hear what wasn’t being said as much as what was. Carbine wasn’t very forth coming, however.

She supposed she understood. She didn’t want to talk much about herself, either. Not with no real promise of privacy. Javelin knew she had to be very careful about what she spoke of, about her past. Red Alert was an expert in what he did. As far as she knew, she had covered all her tracks, but... was anyone ever really safe? Was anything ever really over?

“So I made a prop...”

She paused, eyes cautious as he suddenly stopped.

At first she had thought he was honestly speaking about a prop, some sort of thing he had made to do something.

However, he didn’t correct himself, he didn’t pick up where he had left off. And the sudden change of topic was too blatant for it to have been anything other that a mis-speak.

A prop...

She narrowed her eyes.

However, Carbine suddenly shifted.

She had seen it before. Not in him, of course, but in others. In herself. That pulling back, that sudden attitude of “I don’t care”, of “I’m just so broken leave me be.”

Anger welled up inside her, but she shoved it back.

She’d get nothing more out of him.

Javelin rested her hands on the small of her back and stretched slightly, before planting her palms on hi thighs and standing up. She gave a slight lurch as her left leg adjusted to the weight, before she turned, wrapping her hand around the back of the chair she had pulled over.

“Well,” her tone was flat, “If you want to just sit in here and roll around in self misery and pity, there’s not much else I can do for you. I’m willing to fight for the truth here, but you’re apparently not. I can’t compete with the desire for self-flagellation.”

She met his gaze for a second. Keeping her helm facing forward, towards him, she flicked her gaze to where the camera stood in the corner, observing everything. She hoped he’d catch on, but if he didn’t? There wasn’t much she could do about that, either.

“Sorry. I’m not talking about the shit I went through. My past is over, and done with. Just a few more things to bury before it’s said and done.”

Javelin turned, dragging the chair back over to where it had once stood, that same god-awful squeal echoing out for the few seconds it took to push it back into place.

She moved towards the main door. Here she turned, looking back at the inhabitant within the cell.

“Is there anything I can get you? Energon, a tablet with some tv shows?”

[Carbine]

Carbine evaluated Javelin intently in the next couple moments, seeing if she clutched onto his mistake, or if his follow-up comments and subsequent misdirection would derail enough to the point that the topic would transition past it. She did parrot his statement however, using his half-dropped word and saying it as the shortened translation which was interesting... He wondered if this was to emphasize his error, or if she had simply bitten onto the implication rather than the reality to see it as what it sounded like at surface value. Her following reactions would be even more telling on this, if she would force him to backpedal, or if she would throw him a bone...

He got his answer only a few moments later, as she planted her hands down to push herself into a careful stand.

"Whe͏ń yo̕u ͜fi̧g͟h̵t to justif̨y abhorr͢ent th-thing̕s̀ fơr s̸o long, s-s-ometimes it feel̡s͝ ĺi̴ke ̀t̛oo̕ m̴uc͘h an effort."

It wasn't worth the game to him right now. However, Carbine's focus was sharply snapped to a new path when Javelin's following words made a flippant wall to block his curiosity, slamming it to a cold stop. It wasn't just a misdirect, it was a hard impact of a halt that was not taken too well.

"Sorry. I’m not talking about the shit I went through. My past is over, and done with. Just a few more things to bury before it’s said and done."

The fact Javelin wasn’t going to talk further about her own adventures back on Cybertron would have been one thing, but the way she delivered the denial... it seemed to incur a bit of a shift in Carbine's attitude. His laxer posture altered a bit, tension flickering across mechanics as if he was readying to react, while the inner corners of his optical projections indicated a frowned scowl that broke through his somber exhaustion. It was a mistake on her part.

"So, it̴ is al̢right̡ ̛f͟or me to d-d-̕disc͞l̢ose m͝y cr̛i̢m̢es, b-b-ut͞ ̷a ̧li̡t̸tle ͞th̛ief can't be both̀er͜e͞d?"

A flat question growled out with heavy static, Carbine finally finding some passion behind his words as if she had prodded just the right button. She had got the more empowered response she had been looking for it seemed... but it was not on the topic she desired. He didn't offer her tools to help him, didn’t try to beg for assistance... no... now he was geared up in a new direction, finding insult that was easier to look at than his own new hell.

"Exc͟e͝p͜t y͡o͡u aren’t a th-͏thie̛f, a͏r̨e you? Or p-͠p-p͘e̶r̨-ka͠źz͢t̡t-e̶r̶h͜a̡ps you are ͡j͢ųst̕ a p̛o͡or one."

A low rumbled chuckle slipped out at this, a sort of guttural sound tittering from the deepest reaches of his chest. It was almost an animalistic growl, not something a Cybertronian should really make, though it was paired with the whirling click of the white rings on his back once again. A slow roll of his shoulders followed this noise, armor creaking as panels along the triangular shape upon his spine pulsed out momentarily, puffing as he stretched before sleekly smoothing out once again.

"I see̸ w̴hat you͠ ar̶e d̸oing Javelin, and͞ o̶n̕ly can k̴t̨ht̡ch̴ it mean two things͡ fr̶o͜m̸ ͡wh͠at I have witnèsśe̕d."

Calm despite his glitch, pointed, speaking as if he knew all the facts with a high level of confidence.

"First side of̛ t́h͢e c̸óin, you are t-t-truly wha̡t͘ yo͟ư ͏s̶ay ̨you are, slimin̸g ̢th͠ro͏ugh th-the back̴ ͘a͟lley reach͡e͢s o͞f o̷úr de͞ad world in your p-past life, but... are having a ̧littl̛e m̡oment of app-apprehension. Perhaps a little bit of FEAR once̕ you ̡rea͠l̶ìzed you were ͠bei͝n͘g ͢ŕeco̕ŕd̡ed."

He rolled his wrist in the direction of the camera again. He did not fear it. No. Eventually his sins would all come out, there no use in trying to protect things after what he had accomplished this day.

"Oh, ho̧w̡ s̛a͞d if the life of a crim̴i̛nal is k͟nown in a Wartime e-ę-̀e̕-͟nv̴iron-͠me͡nt where p-past acts of your caliber are wa̛t̛er͘e͞d d̨own͡ nonsense. Or p-perhaps there is more, a̵n̨d ͏y̕ou are too c̵oward̛l͠y to bear how awful you are to thé o̧p̶e̕n. Th-͡t͝h͘-th-͞kzzt-̸ough it can't be too grotesque sin̵ce ̢m̸ec͏h̸a traffickin͜g̶ and s̀l̕au̴ghter͢ḩoưs̡es are 'Squidgey'."

His helm crooked to the other side then, flicking through ideas on what the next steps were. Murder was always a good 'absolute' for individuals. Oh, going out of your way to end a life either due to personal ambitions, or under the payment of others... Snuffing a Spark out from under one's own influence... able to describe the action away as 'they deserved it' or 'I needed the money'. Carbine wondered what events were big enough to make her backpedal hard, but his sneaking suspicion was that it wasn’t something to make him reel back with an aghast cry and slap of the back of his hand on his forehead.

"P-perhaps there i̧s ͡t̕h̴e othe̛r śíd̶e of the c-c-oin, hm? Th-͞th-͡th-tk͢tkt͞-at you are thr͡ow̸ing around crimin͞a͘l ̛mi̢sc̡hief you saw on s-s-some sh̷óẃ, p͜l̵ayi̵n͞g games to earn a rap͢p̴o͢rt̢ ̛w͏i̴th me in o-order to get me to r-reveal more in sol̕i͏dar͘it͢y. You r-r-refuse̷ ̴to ̢speak... and didn̷'t ack͟nowl͘edge the names I d-d-dropped with any feeling of rec̕o͠gn̴i̶t̨i̧on. Perhaps fearing if they ̧wer͡e l͠e̷gi̕ţimate, or BAIT to c-catch you in a lie... p-perha̕ṕs̡ Augm̷ȩn̢t n̴ot even a real crime lord."

Carbine eased up to his feet then, legs still straddling both sides of the chair while he hooked his spine with another crackle, rotors flicking idly. After this additional stretch he pulled one leg back, lengthy limbs clearing the object to allow him to step forward closer to the barrier with arms folded upon lower back. Yellow eyes cast down then, skimming along the edge of the translucent panel, seeing how it was installed, how they must have rigged it to work. After this cursory glance, his helm crooked, peering back at Javelin where she stood near the exit, his gaze half lidded with calm indifference of the fact that he took her cold slam and returned it with far more force than was necessary in an overt CHALLENGE.

"So. Are y̶o̵u ͞a ͠c͢o͝w̶ard th-that forgo͡t to͢ lo͢ok for cameras liḱe a nov͠ice? Or are y-y-you a fraud play̧įn̸g͟ fetc͠h for the bi̷g̨ dog̛s bec͝a̷usè y-you and I hap-pened to̴ p̵la̕y ̛so̧me fun games̀ ̛t́o ̵gèt͏ òn e͠ach other's good͞ ̛si̧des."

Cut off ties

Burn bridges

Decimate what you have so there is no one left to destroy

[Javelin]

Javelin remained where she was. She didn’t move when Carbine’s words washed over her like hot liquid.

His words started off just normally angry, which she understood. But as he talked, they became heavier, thicker, and laced with acid. They flowed towards her, and swept over her, burning and hurting and finding all the little cracks and lines and worn-away places that had come into existence over many years, making it’s way down into her core, and scalding.

But only for a moment. Carbine may have seen a slight flash of surprise in her blue-green optics. There might even have a tiny, minuscule flicker of hurt there. A tiny chink in the armour she had forgotten about, and left uncovered for too long.

But as he continued to speak, that same flat, dead look moved across her features, dulling her gaze and removing emotion like a mask torn from a visage.

She remained where she was, perfectly still, letting him speak. Letting him get his anger out. She didn’t blame him. Javelin knew, to a degree, where he was, mentally, and emotionally. She’d been there herself, once, long ago.

So she remained, dead faced and dull, letting him speak, letting him get all his words out, his fronting, his putting up walls and shields. And when he was done, when he had finished, and walked up to the shielded front of the cell, she rolled forward.

Her gait still had that slight limp, and yet when she moved there was sort of a strange quality, what one from Earth would call “robotic”. As if her own normal movements were being controlled in a sense.

On the other side of the cell, the femme walked straight up to the shielded front of the cell, standing directly in front of Carbine. She was only a few inches from the buzzing field of the prison. Standing this close, she could feel tendrils of invisible electricity flicking against her mesh, making it prickle uncomfortably. She didn’t posture, or grandstand. Her arms hung limply at her sides.

Standing so close, she almost had to look straight up to meet his gaze. He was so much larger than she was, and even though he wasn’t a thick individual, being more slender to accommodate speed for apprehension, he was still bar blockier than she was.

There was no anger on her face as she looked at him; no pity. No bitterness or a judgmental attitude. She looked tired. Dull and weathered.

When she spoke, her voice was low, low enough that, hopefully, the electrical hum of the prison cell wall would block her voice from the camera, but not Carbine. Her voice was toneless as well, flat.

“I was a thief. At the start. It was easy enough. Made extra money. And I wanted extra money. I didn’t like that I wasn’t allowed to go places I wanted to go, do things I wanted to do, just because I was forged in a certain way and lived in a certain place. I didn’t really know, yet, how the lower, manual class lived. I thought if I was willing to work hard, I should be allowed to live as I earned. So I was a thief. And no. I was a good thief.

I don’t care if anyone knows about that.

But once you’re in, you’re in, aren’t you? Stopping isn’t easy. You stole for them, now you have to do more, or they’ll turn you in.

So you do more.

Only now their hooks are deeper. So the more they ask, the more you have to do.

And I don’t really care if anyone knows that, either.

You think that because I didn’t react when you dropped those names meant I didn’t know them. But it took me a long time to stop flinching when I heard them. Because people look for that flinch. That tell.

And you’re wrong about me just trying to reach a solidarity with you. Lying, to try to reach across to you. I had to learn how to pretend to be like everyone else, Carbine. To stop looking over my shoulder. I learned how not to care about what happens to others....

I guess I forgot.”

There was a pause. Her face remained flat and emotionless.

“But you’re right about one thing. I am afraid of being recorded. I’m afraid of people finding out who I am...and what I’ve done.”

Her gaze dropped shifted to a spot on the wall behind him for a moment, “I thought I stopped being afraid of that, too. That if it came, it came. Only now...”

Her gaze shifted back to him, and there was a faint ghost of a smile, the barest upward lifting of the right corner of her mouth.

“Looks like it never went away after all. I’m still afraid of having my spark extracted for crimes.”

The smile faltered, the corner returning to where it was.

Her voice, still flat, spoke again.

“I’m going to do what I can to fix this, Carbine. I can’t undo what you’ve done, but I can try to make sure it doesn't happen again.”

Silent now, she gazed at him for a moment, still registering no real emotion on her face.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

[Carbine]

As Javelin approached, Carbine's helm rose slightly, peering down the slant of his visor upon her with a sort of look of 'superiority'. His posture was straight, professional, chest out a small amount, formal with a fearless edge. He noted the way she walked stilted, remembering the awkwardness with the leg he had seen in the past. Now however, he didn't know if it was fully the injury, or if his venomous assault had made any kind of impact as well to exacerbate it. Her flickered look of hurt in her eyes, her momentary show of weakness... it screamed to him that he had he found where to strike for more damage, it didn't matter how she steeled herself a moment after, for the mark had been made, and it was prime to be exploited should he wish.

Carbine's posture didn't change as she settled before him. He still stood proud and strong; head high as his rotors remained hiked up. He truly did tower over her and it was made that much more apparent by how close they were to one another, the top of her helm settled where his sternum would be should he have been human. It meant his shadow almost cast across her again as it did down the hallways, only... now there was a different emotion behind it. No longer passive, no longer beaten down, he loomed not due to his height alone, but with a specific intent to do so.

He listened to her words, how she lashed back... picking them apart slowly in his processor, noting what was said, but more importantly what wasn't said. The way her features were steeled and cold, a voided mask to try to not betray an emotion... If he were a betting man, and boy... was he back in the day... he would gamble that her little front to look oh so unphased was truly an attempt to not show more of any kind of weakness that slithered beneath the surface. To not let him see the manipulatable little mock thief who was shunting responsibility off to others.

Once she seemed to be done, Carbine's right leg pulled back, bracing himself as he rocked his weight away from the barrier. It was not an act to retreat however, it wasn't trying to get a more reasonable distance between them. Instead, it simply gave him enough of a buffer that he sloped his body forward at the hip, his helm dropping down to be even with hers just before the divide. At this closer distance the white pinpricks of his optical projections were visible, as well as the details of the orange ring on the underside of his left eye that fractured up into the other color. This gaze bore into her, fierce, unblinking, a sheet of black with an etched crack running up its front from a less than pleasant brawl with another.

"Ohh... Javeli͜n... it isn't the h͢o̧oks of others. Don'͞t tr̡y to blame t͞he̴m for your inability to̴ stop..."

A purred slow spoken whisper, the softest of slick voices rumbling from his chest with an oily sheen. Eerily void of glitching compared to his earlier snarled rant, an air of belittling to it. This tone would continue in to his subsequent statements, his gaze never flicking away from hers as he did so, no blink, no change of the eye shape to try to convey an emotion beyond raw ferocity shackled back behind the crackled energy field that skittered between them with subtle ripples.

"You̷ got a taste of͘ wh͝at is out there, a sma̴ll̷ lick of s-something far sw̧e̡etèr and more aļlu͟ring than your nine to fi̶ve j̨ob."

Get a single paycheck month to month that is minuscule and repetitive, no path seen to seek grandeur, living within the average bounds of the most average of civilian levels... or seek out greatness. Riches that fluctuate on effort put in. A monthly income double, triple... QUADRUPLE what it may have otherwise been with the thrill of danger. A seething spike of adrenaline and pleasure at getting away with something illegal, to let it wash over oneself even if it was tainted by Energon and stained blue.

"Yo̶u̵ can put up a̢ny m̨as͘k y-you want, pr͘éte̡nd̸ to move awa̡y ̧fr͜o͢m it, act powerless u͟n̵d̢er the heel of greed and thrįl̨l͜ of ̡vict̨o͏ry..."

Victims were those that gave up.

Controllers were those who didn’t lie down.

The rest were dead.

Carbine had walked the line back in the day. He knew who he could dominate, who he controlled, who HE was the boss of. In contrast, he also knew who not to contest, but even then, he did not grovel. He was a tool to be used, not abused, and he worked hard to regain that setting, by intentionally avoiding the highest tiers where things could go askew. Garrus changed these rules, but they weren't talking about that at current.

"Bu̧t..."

Carbine's fierce gaze broke then, the white pinpricks shifting over to look beyond Javelin, back to where the camera was. He couldn’t see it due to his angle, her own helm blotting the view, but the implication was there.

"Ar͠e yo͜u hidińg f-from th͘e͡m?-"

He looked back then, this time the bottom edges of his eyes crooked up in the most subtle of 'smirks'. Should he have been standing fully upright such a look may have been blurred within the hazed glow, not as noticeable.

"-Or your̕se̢lf?"

If she was even legitimate.

Carbine was more than aware how she still didn’t acknowledge the other mech's names with any level of experience. She simply eluded to them being fearsome, something to be looked upon with wariness. Any individual could device such a reaction to play the game, and he took that at face value. That said, he didn’t comment upon it, focusing instead on their little conversation as his helm twitched slightly to the side, the perceived grin stretching further as another growl seemed to slip out from his spine. Guttural, savage, muted and muffled down in his chest while he spoke.

"Lesson on͢e ͜in b͟eing a grease sta̛in sh̵it-̀h̡ee̸l of so̷ci͠ety WORTHY of h-ha̶v͏ing ̷yoųr ̴śṕa͠rk extra͞ct͏e͘d or to be l-locked ͜u̶p w͘i͞thin Garrus for your͘ ̴mi̧s̵de̡eds..."

His voice then dropped down further, the slickness pulling away from it, the smooth amusement sucked into a void as if a trap door had sprung beneath it. His following statement wasn’t mocking, it wasn’t taunting, but instead was cold hard-fought fact and truth slammed down from eons of experience with being an absolute piece of colossal garbage.

"Ş̺̰to̖͉ͅp ̟̙͘p̶̭r̗e̫̲ͅte̴͓̱n̢̝̞d̨͖͔̞ͅi̧̼͎n͘ǵ ̜̖̟͢tͅo b̮̬̣͞e b͉̰̠͖͟e̱t͕̭t̫͠er t͍̹h̖̀a̰͇n t̥̤̹he t̙̬r̪̫͙a̲s̘͙͎h y̙͈o̸̻̗̟u a̧̱͎͙̱̗r̫͔e."

After this was slammed at her with the grace of a lead brick, Carbine's posture would swing upright with a cutting motion, smoothly lifting from his crooked stance. As his frame evened out a flickered moment after his words, his shoulders would sharply hike up in a sort of indifferent shrug, eyes closing to pair with the idle act. His voice perked back up to a normal volume, happy and content.

"Or d͘on̸’t. Ret̨u͏r͞n to ̡yơur little del̴usi͟on like a warm ͡bla͝n̷ket to cod̕d̡le a͝ǹd com͞fort."

He did not peer back down at her with this, his frame crooking around to turn away. It was atypical, the way he straight up turned his back to her, exposing the folded paneling and components he didn’t traditionally let people get near. Bolo shackled, his spine vulnerable, too weak... and yet he saw no threat in her with the barrier up, the amount of time it would take to shut it down and strike simply not reasonable. As such, he took a few strides across the small enclosure, before he turned and sat down on the edge of the berth, palms swinging back to lean against, while his right leg stretched out before folding over the left. Possibly in mockery of her own earlier actions.

"I n-neeḑ ̕noth̨ing. Hav͘e͞ f̧-f-fun Ja͠velin. Thin̷k̨ of m̢e w͠hen͞ ̛you s-d-li͢d͡e that ͏d-dagger into so͏me͝o̡n̸e's th̷r̢oa̵t."

[Javelin]

She remained where she was, still not moving, still no emotion on her face. As before, she still looked dead inside. Her optics did not seem to have any life within them, that they merely lit up, and nothing more. But they remained on his face, watching him as he spoke, as he moved about.

She said nothing as he walked back to his chair, and sat, crossing his legs in a mockery of how she had sat earlier.

There was only the hum between them for a few minutes more, as the shielded wall popped and jigged in place, threatening to harm anyone who touched it – seriously harm anyone who tried to penetrate it.

After a few minutes, she spoke, her voice no longer hushed, but still toneless.

“I know who, and what I am. I never really tried to fool myself. Just...blend in. Be safe.”

A pause.

“And I didn’t stab him.

I shot him in the back of the head.”

Just who she was talking about was obviously unclear, and yet to Javelin it was apparent. She was revisiting something in her past, something that had happened a long time ago, easily making the connection between today and yesterday.

After she shared this odd nugget of information, the femme turned, and made her way towards the door. She still seemed to walk in that stilted manner, the slight limp in her leg still slightly pronounced. Saying nothing else, she put her hand on the door, and if the prisoners lone occupant remained silent, she would push her way out through, and into the hall, her shadow moving before her like a guard, the door closing behind her with a note of finality.

[Carbine]

Carbine sat on the edge of the berth, leaning back casually, the folded over leg ever so slightly bobbing while waiting for Javelin to concoct her reply. He had barely finished saying his last chipper lines before he started swarming his own processor with thoughts, trying to guess how she would react, what path she would walk down, how she would take his little assault... He had handed her a basket of options, and he was more than eager to see how it would all unfold. This eagerness translated further as the time stretched out, the bottom of his eyes crooking up every few moments with a faintly forming frown, thin slits of yellow glaring out with a perceived grin.

He didn't interrupt. He didn’t try to prod further. Seconds turned to moments, moments to minutes... the way Javelin just looked at him with a deadened hollow look... Carbine wished he could read her processor. Were her little cogs spinning to try to find an appropriate response a 'criminal' would say? Was she balancing the risk of declaring what had occurred in front of the camera? Maybe she was glaring true daggers behind her mask and was imagining slamming that blade into his throat? Stalled confusion... frustrated annoyance... masked hurt or utter disgust... He could theorize much, but he simply had to wait it out, the small triangular ped bouncing slowly as the seconds ticked past.

Prove me wrong.

Show me you aren’t a pawn.

Be the individual you presented to me.

As Javelin finally spoke, Carbine's helm crooked a slight bit, the scowling grin still conveyed through the thin streaks of yellow across his visor. This sort of expression remained in place when she continued, divulging a tiny nugget of information that said so very little, while also saying oh so very much all in one neat little package. As far as Carbine was concerned, it instantly filled in the gaps, instantly plunked a large piece of the puzzle down. While the entire picture wasn't filled in, he could at least place a good guess on what he was looking at here.

Murder.

Such a final ultimatum in many individual's eyes.

In days long gone the word had such an appalling undertone. Stealing a life, cutting short someone's legacy, an individual that had countless years ahead of them to learn and adapt and contribute in one way or another instead cast into the smelter for raw materials. In this War however, it was pointless now. You murdered to survive; you murder for your team, you murder just because it is what is expected of you to get an upper hand and grind the face of your target into the dirt beneath your heel... It held so very little power now unless you did so to your own teammate...

So... Was Javelin referring to a recent murder that would be considered a crime against the Autobots?... or was she referring to some more emotionally charged murder from her past that only meant something to her? Since he believed the murder of a higher up individual likely only helped the uprising and would be met with a high five and thumbs up from others, he didn't consider this last idea an option. Carbine did ponder the obvious, the oh so gutting truth she may be revealing just enough to show him a finish line he couldn't step across. The compartment in his thigh almost burned in memory, his hands crooking up while frame pulled forward, elbows resting over knees as white fingertips wove together.

Carbine wanted to hear more, to have her reveal she had shot some lithe framed mech in the helm. That she had ripped him apart into tiny little shreds and scattered the bits across the junkyard like flecks of ash. That revelation would do much to change his entire perspective, throw him down a new way of looking at her. That she was capable of lashing out in ways that would get her in more trouble than he was now. THAT would be why she didn't want to snitch on herself in front of the camera, and THAT would explain everything wrapped in one neat little package.

All of this skittered through his processor as she turned, his scowl growing in annoyance. Was she wanting him to stand up and clamber for more? To ask her point blank if she had slain on Earth? No. If she wanted to share as much, she would have already, and it annoyed him. To be so close yet so far. He wanted her to cut loose! To just spill out things since he couldn't do anything to force it into the open. Rip off that impassive little mask and stand up proud for what was done!

Get angry!

Fight back!

Don't run away like a damn coward!

The growl formed from his spine again, though Carbine paid it no heed, his own low hum of annoyance slipping out while watching her go towards the door with no intention of stopping. He wouldn't beg for her to stay, he was no scrabbling fool hungerly chewing for scraps of information! She had approached him! And now she was backing off after basically admitting what she had done?! Carbine was so lost in this indignation; it wasn't until the door was open and Javelin was stepping out that his mind broke through the angry barrier to realize that he was about to be slammed into solitude. That he would be in a prison again, but this time without others to talk with or snarl at, nobody to posture in front of and nobody to use for entertainment...

Wait.

The scowling glare relaxed a bit, gaze darting from her to the door as she stepped through it. For a brief moment he wanted to yell out something, helm raising, a small pop of static forming that was muted beneath the hum of the generator... He didn't even know what he would say, as he wasn't going to roll over and play the fool just to beg for more information. It was a fight between his own personal respect for himself, and a want to not be isolated... his own ego slamming him down into silence as the door clunked closed and his glaring scowl returned.

As far as he was concerned, Javelin murdered that Autobot 'femme'. The culprit right under his metaphorical nose. Baiting him, asking about his days as a cop, trying to pull information out of him while possibly knowing that he was hunting her down blindly with no direction. A tracking search officer unable to even see what was right there looking him in the eye. This caused a snarl of anger to slip out again, though this time it wasn't from his back, and instead came from his own voice. With a heaved motion he stood up, before wrenching his mass around in a violent motion.

A crack of metal against stone rang out, Carbine punching the wall once with a heaved movement. The cell was reinforced, the action didn't really do much but leave a scuff. The goal was to release steam! Yet, it just caused more pain to his already aching and hurt knuckles. A spat of static flicked out then, left hand crooking around to rub the right, seething ire bubbling now in silence.

Oh. If cut free he would get information out of Javelin.

He would find out what happened in that junkyard.

That could be counted on.