"A driveway," he confirmed, seeing the two-rut gravel track that crested the same hill the house sat on. It was smart of Rogue to bring the suggestion up; he hadn't considered it, having gotten perhaps too complacent in his status as an imPort where he was admittedly an oddity among them, but a recognized one.
Knock Out stops at the edge of the field, casting his sensors around before determining there was no one in the area, and then stepped out of the corn to fold down into his alt mode, his bold red paint a vibrant contrast to the ocean of growing green behind them.
The house seems quiet with no one about. It's weathered with age but looks well-loved, with a wrap around porch and a garden patch to the side.
"Rogue," Knock Out says after a moment, having rolled forward to situate himself properly on the driveway. His turn signal blinks twice, indicating the direction for her to look: an old farm truck, wheels flat and rusted out. "The truck has Iowa plates."
no subject
Knock Out stops at the edge of the field, casting his sensors around before determining there was no one in the area, and then stepped out of the corn to fold down into his alt mode, his bold red paint a vibrant contrast to the ocean of growing green behind them.
The house seems quiet with no one about. It's weathered with age but looks well-loved, with a wrap around porch and a garden patch to the side.
"Rogue," Knock Out says after a moment, having rolled forward to situate himself properly on the driveway. His turn signal blinks twice, indicating the direction for her to look: an old farm truck, wheels flat and rusted out. "The truck has Iowa plates."