Pointer gave BBQ a quick salute, before signing <CT-2323, Sir. Or Pointer, if you prefer.> Despite the speed and precision of his movements Pointer didn't make a sound, it was almost disconcerting how quiet he was as his gloved fingers signed his response.

||: God I hate this hellsite. All of my replies from CT-8093 // BBQ vanished from my @'s tab, and I was immediately horrified that I'd done something awful and gotten blocked. Nope, they're just hiding the replies/RTs. -_-

Tired from a long day of training Pointer crawled into his usual air duct, into the nest he'd made for himself. It was cramped and confined, but it made it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on him while he was sleeping. Ahhh, safety.

It seems people still have not learned lessons.

Sitting in the mess hall Pointer had his helmet tilted just enough to get food in his mouth, his chin barely visible. It was the most skin he'd shown in public in ages. He must be slipping.

A lot of Clone Force 99 is around, Pointer may just make himself scarce. They're... Intimidating.

With surprising silence, given he's in full armor, Pointer pulls off a vent cover and slips inside, pulling the cover back on behind him. It's his favorite hiding spot.