Unfortunately for all involved, Whirl has a tendency not to let a little thing like, you know, ballistic trauma slow him down. You might have shot his aft, Perceptor, but he still has his vocalizer.

"No need to thank me for, you know, taking the worst of that fall or anything." Really. Ingrate.

He rolls his optic over to Perceptor, as he pushes to his feet, wobbling on his leg. You know, the one that's been SHOT?

"Me? Lessee. I was getting shot out of the sky, but right now? Right now, kinda planning your imminent demise." He snickers. "It's pretty gruesome."