Deadlock's optics flick over at his unexpected companion, his gaze uncertain and wary before they shift back out the window. This guy doesn't look like a medic but that didn't necessarily mean anything, even he himself had a few battlefield triage skills. It was just a basic survival skill in a war that lasted this long.

He holds his comments though, focusing instead on lowering fuel pressure and pressing down on that ruptured fuel line. His one working optic dims, diverting power to his autorepair, the weariness overtaking him.

Deadlock jerks back to attention when Drift speaks, cursing softly, because he'd never willingly go into stasis in a periless situation such as this, which means he's on the edge of his body forcing it. He turns a shocked look onto his 'rescuer', caught out immediately by the reaction, a flicker of panic surging in his field.

"How the-- What!?" He's not sure what's worse, being so predictable, being caught, being trusted despite being caught, or that this mech seems to know exactly what he's thinking. Deadlock bristles with discomfort, huffing and looking steadfastly back out the window. "Whatever! Shuttle looks like garbage anyway!"

Because damn...that thing's been around the galaxy block a few times.