The sudden movement cost him, the pain of his injuries coming to new life and at least one poorly clamped fuel line leaking anew. He takes a knee rather than rise, trying to stabilize and conserve energy, a hand pressing to his side where the fresh energon slips out a gap in his plating. It's deja vu all right, some other fancy white and red mech said the same thing to Deadlock just recently. When are they gonna get the picture? Deadlock has no friends.

"Tch. You sound like that other guy. He said he was alone. Fraggin' liar." Deadlock spits energon on the ground, his tone derisive. It's easier to focus on that contempt than the list of error reports or the the various pains in his body. His red optics narrow at the last question. He'd given his old name to the first mech - Wing? - because his current name certainly wouldn't gain him any favor if his reputation was known here. But it felt wrong, triggering old memories he'd long since wanted to forget, to put behind him. It was an ugly truth though: he was without a home again. It all felt so unfair, that after all his hard work and die hard loyalty these past millennia, to be shunted back to being that worthless loser and with no real progress to show for it.

"How's asking?" he growls bitterly after a long moment, reticent to accept that fate, hands clenching into fists as if he could fight it off with his bare hands.