Prime was bombarded. Between the soccer balls and the constant blows from the Nova Corps constructs, he was temporarily occupied.

"But you're not a teenager. And why are you missing an arm? And why do you have a sidekick now?"

The questions were petulant and whiny, like he was a child begging for ice cream after being told they weren't allowed to have any.

He didn't seem to be gunning for them heavily yet, but he was momentarily confused -- and curious. As if, just for a moment, he wanted to understand instead of destroy, like he was hoping to get an answer he didn't actually hate.