A beat. Then, shrill and almost angry, loud and screechy enough to rival a certain AI, "2548!? I've been floating in space for 540 years!?" His engines rev dangerously, and his vents cycle- Five hundred and forty years wasn't much in the life of a transformer - it was barely seven vorns that had passed in their own reckoning, after all - and yet so much could happen in such a short amount of time! Where the frag were the Autobots, the Decepticons?

His kind had been losing. Had they finally lost? Had they been ground under the Autobot pede for good?

His weapons whine as they fire up in his anger, but- He forces the null rays to quiet, to cycle back down. If anything, he could be even more on his own. Even more without anything to return to. "Seven vorns. Those idiots have probably blown themselves up by now!"