- Motto: "Transform and smoke 'em!"
- Weapon: Twin Shoulder-Mounted Rocket Launchers
Smokescreen chuckled under his breath when Tracer expressed her uncertainty that there was such a thing as good synthetic energon. From her own experience while assigned to the Guardian, the troubled femme had never tasted decent energon that wasn’t the real deal. The diversion expert couldn’t rightly argue with her, either, as he had only heard stories of the Ark-22’s artificial derivative and how smooth it tasted. Smokey couldn’t say for sure how accurate those accounts were as he had not yet tried it, himself.
“Well, I’d normally have to agree with you, Tracer. The slop on the 19 was terrible, as well. But, who knows? Maybe the 22’s synthetic dispensers are higher quality machines. I guess we’ll be the guinea pigs when we arrive in the mess hall,” Smokescreen replied, utilizing another of Earth’s metaphors. He had been assigned to this tiny blue world for so long it was hard not to pick up some of the language. Of course, his knowledge of human slang and terminology did not even come close to rivaling that of Jazz’s internal database. If the rallybot didn’t know any better he’d say that the Special Ops Director had been an actual human once or perhaps had the brain of one installed within his cranial unit. That thought made Smokey chuckle again, but he quickly suppressed it and returned his attention to the troubled femme, who had stopped when she mentioned having to force feed Razr. Apparently, she had forgotten about the little turbofox.
“Oh, yeah, we don’t want to leave him behind,” Smokescreen said with a smile. “Wheeljack would have our metal hides if he had to take care of a pet on top of everything else he’s dealing with. I’ll go back for him if you....” The rallybot’s offer was cut short when Tracer let out a loud whistle that brought Razr to his master’s side. Smokey watched as the femme spoke to her pet in a soft, comforting tone. It appeared as though she forgot all about her problems, if only for a short time, when she interacted with the small turbofox. Razr was almost as good as the Syk in handling Tracer’s mood swings, but the little creature was unfortunately no substitute on his own. That would’ve been too easy.
“I’m sure you two will be able to go scouting soon enough,” Smokescreen assured Tracer as they continued onward through the corridors of the Ark-22 again. “Just be patient, Trace. Your skills and abilities are too valuable to leave you sitting idle for much longer. I have every confidence that Axle will give you the all clear within the next cycle or two. So, chin up!” With those last words spoken, the rallybot lead the drug-addicted femme and her pet around another corner before arriving at the entrance to the mess hall.
As the double doors parted down the center, Smokescreen crossed the threshold and entered into the large room where several other Autobots were currently relaxing and getting adjusted to being transferred from the Guardian. The diversion expert knew some of them by name while others he had never seen before as they had likely been assigned to the medical frigate before arriving in the Sol System. Regardless, Smokey nodded to everyone who made optical contact with him as a friendly display of respect, keeping his grip on Tracer’s hand secured so that she felt safe in a much more crowded environment.
“It seems that most have been reassigned to the Ark now,” Smokescreen commented as he lead Tracer over to a series of energon dispensers located against the far wall. “I guess this is Prowl’s doing or perhaps even Ultra Magnus. It makes sense considering that the 22 is much bigger and was built with housing a large number of mechs in mind. It’s certainly not a virtual ghost ship like it was just a few cycles ago.” Motioning for the troubled femme to take a seat at a nearby table that was far enough away from the other 'Bots to give them some privacy, Smokey grabbed two glasses and placed them underneath a pair of dispenser nozzles. Within moments, fresh energon derivative poured fourth into the containers, filling them to the brim.
“There we go,” Smokescreen muttered as he grabbed both glasses in each hand and placed one on the table directly in front of Tracer. He then took a seat across from her and peered down at his own glass. “All right, it’s the moment of truth. Is this the best substitute in the galaxy or have I been mislead? I’ll go first.” Without wasting an astrosecond, the diversion expert lifted his container up to his mouth piece, pausing only briefly to look over the brim at the troubled femme. “You do know how to revive me if I pass out, right? Heh. Kidding.” All jokes aside, the rallybot took a small gulp of the energon substitute, swishing it around in his mouth before finally swallowing it. His stoic facial expression revealed little as he did not appear pleased nor repulsed by the glowing purple liquid.
“Well,” Smokescreen started to say as he placed his mostly full glass back down onto the table top. “It’s not great, but it’s not terrible, either. I’ve had much worse. Still, I think some of my fellow comrades may have over-embellished the actual quality of the 22’s dispenser system. In the world of energon derivative, I must admit that it’s the best I’ve tasted thus far, but that’s not really saying much. Nothing will compare to the real thing, but I can live with it I guess.” The rallybot paused for a moment and locked optics with that of the drug addicted femme. “Go ahead, Tracer, give it a try. It won’t kill you. I promise.”