Pinstripe sits in recharge sleep at the copilot's helm of the Sanos Traco, with his feet kicked up on the dash. His troops had regrouped, many of them had taken guard or patrol stations already, except for Fleetside, who sits quietly with his back against the wall, thinking quietly to himself, and still shaken by the events in the Kaon city state. Out of the blue, the broadband frequency interceptor crackles to life. Pinstripe jolts awake.
Alright, Pinstripe. This is Blackjack. I'm here and I'm looking to do business.
Well, well. This could be a turn of a friendly card, Pinstripe says as he jabs the nodding Deuce to snap him out of recharge.
This is Pinstripe. I'd be much obliged if you'd approach slowly with your primary weapons systems deactivated, though I'll understand if you keep your sidearm. I'll see you outside shortly.
Just then, Tux bursts in.
Boss, deah's somebody out there, and dey got dat big Autobot tank. What do we do?
Simple, Tux. We play the game. Let him approach, and make sure the main cannon isn't charged.
Pinstripe walks out of the hangar, Chopper in his storage compartment, quickly deducing the tank's direction through the thick shadows by the sound of it's howling turbine and clatter of its treads as Blackjack edges closer. Pinstripe stands confidently as the lime light of the Flush's headlamps wash over him, flooding his optics. He smiles.
Welcome, Blackjack! Would you like some refreshments, or he stretches his finger linkages, causing them to click and reset loudly shall we get right down to the business you've come to do?