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Considering Foxtrot’s circumstances- spending the Seekers' annual day off in an Insecticon hive with a psychopathic mercenary- it wasn’t actually her fault when an Insecticon got the jump on her. She chokes back a screech as talons sink into her arms.
“Scrapscrapscrap-”
Crunch. Foxtrot whipped around to see Deadeye’s fist punched into the Insecticon’s chest, the bolt from her gauntlet impaled through the Insection’s spark chamber.
“...whew, close one. Thanks for saving my bumper.”
Deadeye yanked her arm away. The Insecticon twitches lifelessly on its skewer. “You’re a jet.”
“...sure am. Let’s bail ‘fore we really cock up this mission.”