With a flicker of fingertalons on the edges of the holographic display tables, Fusillade is half leaned over, peering at the current state of the main Cybertronian Highway. "Sweet Primus, what have I gotten myself into?" she half-groans, furrowing brow. "And what in the smelt should I choose as what *I* want to do that will concide with bigger plans. Mneh...." She half flicks her optics, and then once again stands, squaring her shoulders and taking in a draught of air over vents to 'cool her jets' as it were. * clickclack-clickclack-clickclack-clickclack...* --End--