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Guard duty. Primus alive, how he hated it, but it was an assignment he had been given. Orders were orders and he could no more change that than he could stop the cycles from passing, but that didn't mean he had to like it. The halls of the storage warehouse were silent at this time of the stellar cycle, as they had been for the past few shifts, and Delta Sept had expected no differently this time around. It gave him something to do, something to keep his mind off whatever lows it might dip itself down to while he let it wander. He liked it about as much as he liked a probe in his systems, but at times, it felt as though he was about as much in control of his own processes as he was in control of those same stellar cycles he worked. In truth, joining in with the service was one of the best decisions he could ever have made, outside of his "accident," of course, but it still gave him one of the best remedies for that nightmare than he could have ever hoped for.

For work as simple as this was - and truly, how much effort did it really take to walk the halls of this place cycle after cycle, scanning for intrusions that rarely, if ever, happened - it was unsurprisingly dull. It was distracting, to be certain, but only in the way that he had learned to count and recount things. His steps, the doors he passed in a certain hallway, the number of times his pistons fired as he purred. So distracted was he that he almost did not notice the little flicker of a shadow in the corner just out of the edge of his vision. Taken out of his thoughts by the change in his norm, Delta turned his gaze and focused his sensors in the direction of the shadow, curious.

In a word, he was - shocked at what he saw.

Slowly, very slowly, Delta shifted an arm into his cannon and leveled it at the intruder. "Stop right there."

From the getgo, Delta felt sure this one would pose no small threat, but he could not help a minute flare of confidence in himself, one that shot up not long into his chase. He had seen Decepticons before, albeit on a far different scale than this. Veteran of the Great War, he was not, but the scars that crossed parts of his chassis were not given to him by his hand, nor by those of any other Autobot. He knew of their cruelty, of their cowardice, and he knew it well. In this one, it was clear there was more weakness than strength, if her body language had anything to say about it. The limbs moved too quickly, the motions were too jerky and automated - the flier was not controlling herself so much as was her gut instinct. Or at least, that was how it seemed. She moved down hallway after hallway, still blindly in the same dead end directions. Had Delta thought she had any idea where she was going, he would have considered the possibility that she might have been leading him into a trap. That thought was not lost on him, and again he called for backup over his comm lines. Still en route.

Finally, she ran herself into an empty storage chamber, one void of any exits but for the cargo door at the far wall and the smaller portal through which she had entered. Delta halted his pursuit abruptly at the doorway, one foot inside the room, the other rooted to the floor on the outside, cannon trained on his target with every intention to make full use of it if he needed it. One quick glance aside assured him the cargo door was closed and secured, and even if it had not been, he was not worried. Beyond that, there was an elevator which led to the docks and the rest of the city, but management never left those shafts open, and the elevators were never left below the dock. She could have taken to that tunnel as an exit, but it was a dead end up there all the same as it was down below. Unless she could get past him and back into the passages he had just spent the past few cycles chasing her through - IF she could find her way back - she had no way out.

Delta let the energies within his cannon hum as he charged them, readying himself for a fight, if that was the way she wanted to go. "Give me a reason, Decepticon," he challenged her. Femme, mech, big, small, they were all the same to him. He had not been spared his scars, and it was only as per his orders that she would be spared hers. "Give me one. good. reason why I shouldn't rip you apart where you stand."

Though it did nothing for his anger toward her, something about this struck Delta as odd. This, he could not deny. That she fled from him on first seeing him meant nothing to him. That she turned and would not fight now that she was cornered, it hardly made sense to him. Everything he had ever been told, everything he had ever seen led him to believe that all Decepticons were vicious and merciless and would stop at nothing to end the Autobots as they were - or make slaves out of them at the very first chance they could. This femme, she did not appear to be of the fighting type, but looks were always deceiving when it came to the Autobots' age old foes. She could have had any number of reasons for not taking the fight to him immediately upon realizing he had her trapped - and she did.

Give him any of them. Delta would believe it, and he was not entirely certain she meant to keep things as they were either. At any moment, she might turn on him with a weapon he could not see yet. The cannon continued to resonate threateningly as he considered a bluff. "You don't have a reason, do you?" he all but growled. "Maybe I should just eliminate you now, save myself the trouble."