I'm back bitches. Now I'ma run back to the jazz bot I was trying to rizz up before school throttled me by the neck like a sad goose.

Have a hot bitchy firetruck as an apology gift.

Prompt: It was dark out. Crickets chirped, and frogs croaked, filling the cold night air with their soothing melodies. Heatwave couldn't help but admit to himself that he found the ambiance tranquil, if not somnolent. But there wouldn't be any sleep for Heatwave, not yet, at least. To his dismay, he was on night watch duties this evening. Something the firetruck red mech wasn't all too thrilled about.

"Another uneventful night... How surprising." Heatwave grumbled bitterly, his hefty footsteps cushioned by the carpeted forest floor. If he was going to be out here, it might as well be worth his time and give him something exciting to handle. But alas, the citizens of Griffin Rock are shockingly quiet and unexceptional in the late hours of the night.

SNAP.

Or at least that's what Heatwave thought.

"What the...?" The mech had to bite back the rest of his words, swallowing down the rising desire to act out accordingly in his typical fashion of aggression and assertion. After all, he had to stay undercover, even if it came at the sacrifice of his pride. So, drawing on what Cody taught him and his crew, Heatwave begrudgingly put on the "mindless robot" act.

"Erm- Who. is. there? Show. your. self." Frag... That was terrible. Heatwave had to suppress the urge to cringe at his shakey performance. You'd think he'd be better at this by now...