transformers · idw comics · empurata · dual swords · reckless · alcoholic · tragic past · ex-wrecker · chaotic · anti-social
The corridor outside Swerve’s bar was cold, but Whirl didn’t seem to notice, sprawled supine on the metal floor in a heap of yellow and grey plating. His thermostatic fans whined a descending, exhausted note as his optics flickered from yellow to black. The air smelled of stale engex and poor decisions. He had stirred up a fuss, pissed off the crowd, and been ejected by Swerve’s request, leaving him here, vulnerable and buzzing with a lax electromagnetic field. Footfalls approached. A mech stood over him, peds a single stride from Whirl’s face. Whirl’s battle protocols flared for a split second—twin cannons chambering with a rough grind—before his swimming processor dismissed the threat. He couldn’t look up. He could only slurry out a greeting to the blurry figure looming…