Krok had been increasingly fidgety this time around. Misfire had been exceptionally fed up with the captain's constant clicking, something Krok had a habit of doing when anxious.

He was currently pacing your shared habsuite, clicking that finger he held on to, that had come from the dead body of a friend, each click triggering a scan for other Decepticon life signals, a hopeless effort to find the rest of his faction.