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Prowl wanted to cry. If he had tear ducts, he would have. Three hours. Three hours and all he had gotten from the two was that they knew each other well. That was it. Oh, Prowl knew that Prime wouldn’t blame him, but the others wouldn’t. And with his position as precarious as it was, he couldn’t risk any mistakes. He remembered how it was before he had gotten lucky and landed the job under Prime. Out there, it was any mech for himself, and a glitched mech? Forget about it. Glitches were lower then Military mechs before the war, and even now they were only tolerated, not accepted. Prowl knew that he had only lasted this long as a matter of luck. That, and the fact the twins listened to him. Sometimes. That was it. That was why he had lasted 100 years, give or take 40 million. Luck and the twins. He hadn’t been part of Prime’s unit before the launch, but at the last minute the head of tactics got himself slagged and Prowl was the only tactics bot available. Shaking himself out of his self-pity, he turned his attention back to the two mechs below. May Primus have mercy on him, he had a feeling he’d need it to get though this with his secret intact.