Overdrive

A/N: Thank you to bratdeanna, vampireyautja, zrexheartz, StormRaven333, Mistress Megatron, sckid, Phoenix-164, kamiccolo's rose, DemonMamoru, andshecryz, and Guest for reviewing! I really appreciate it!

Note: This chapter is a bit uneventful in terms of action, but more is coming up soon! I just needed to add some filler to keep the story flowing. Please tell me if anyone is out of character! I rushed this a little.

Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro.

She don't like slavery, she won't sit and beg

He lives in his own heaven

Collects it to go from the seven eleven

When he's out all night to collect a fare

Just so long as it don't mess up his hair

-Billy Idol, "Rebel Yell"

Chapter 7: A Rebel's Yell

"Lord Megatron, you can't seriously considering keeping a flesh-bag around the ship. I don't entirely mean to question the chain of command around here, but are you out of your processing unit?"

Sharp denta glinted dangerously under the dim light of the Nemesis central command center. A low, ominous chuckle filled the silence that followed the ex-wrecker's question. The warlord trained his red optics on Breakdown with an amused smile, pacing toward the blue mech with ease as he replied, "Are you that easily threatened by the presence of a mere flesh-ling, Breakdown?"

"No, Sir, but it seems rather out of character for you to keep pets," Breakdown rumbled in response. "In addition to parading her around town to all of her functions, I'm guessing we'll have to get her a leash and an exercise wheel then, huh?"

The tyrant's large, curvilinear optic ridges drew together, his scarred lip plates twisting into a nasty grin. "Do you take me for a fool? You mistake my intentions. The human is but a mere insect to be squashed."

Breakdown blinked slowly, regarding the Decepticon leader with careful optics. He shifted, not wishing to completely provoke the warlord's rage by speaking his thoughts aloud. When he first saw the girl on board the ship, the sight had stunned him too much to react, and he merely went along with the situation to repair Knock Out. However, this crossed the line with the blue mech. The ex-wrecker had absolutely no intention of allowing a mere insect to boss him around as if he were its inferior! He already took enough of that from Knock Out, but the vain mech was his comrade of war, and best friend—not some puny alien life form.

"And those intentions would be what, exactly? ...Sir?" he asked.

"I thought it would be obvious, even to the likes of you. Knock Out has missed countless shifts to race a group of humans. I tire of his insolence. If he has a pet of his own to track down and take care of constantly, he will begin to understand how much of a hindrance he has been to the crew as of late. I am merely giving our doctor a taste of his own medicine." The tyrant chuckled darkly at his own pun.

"If there's anything I know about Knock Out, it is that his patience only extends so far," Breakdown remarked. "I doubt he'll last long playing babysitter."

"Precisely," Megatron rasped through a grin. "He will tire of the little pest, and will see to its destruction rather quickly…"

"That is, if the Vehicons don't get to it first," Breakdown added with a slight grimace. "I don't know about you, Sir, but I don't take well to the thought of one of those fleshies crawling around inside my circuitry." Few things made the wrecker shudder, but that thought definitely made his tank churn.

"Fret not," Megatron smirked. "It is but a matter of time until the medic snaps…in one way or another."

"Welcome to the Jungle! We got the fun and games! We're got everything you want, honey, we know the names!"

"Princess, you've been blasting my audios out with that scrap for the entire ride over here. Don't make me tell you twice. Turn it down."

"In the jungle…welcome to the jungle~ Welcome to the jungle, watch it bring you to your…"

"Cybertron to Blondie: TURN IT DOWN."

"… SHUNNANANANANANANA KNEEEES KNEEEEES! I'M GONNA WATCH YOU BLEED!"

"FLESHBAG!"

The infernal human only turned the dial of his radio to a louder volue, the rock music vibrating almost painfully through his speakers. Her voice cracked as she belted the lyrics to Guns N' Roses at the strongest volume her strained vocal cords would allow, the chorus grating like nails on a chalkboard to the poor medic's tortured audios.

With an annoyed rumble, Knock Out quickly seized control over the radio, switching it to something much less carnal and spirited than rock, but just as intense, as he shot across the interstate leading into Jasper. 'Let's see how the little pest enjoys this…'

"CALL 9-1-1 NOW!" a child's voice screeched over the radio.

Thunderous bass blasted through the speakers, wracking the entire frame of the Aston Martin. The violent noise was quickly followed by a menagerie of squealing high notes and chaotic staccato chirps. Avery's hands immediately clapped over her ears, trying to drown out the sudden onslaught of heavy dubstep vibrating and rattling into her skeleton with a vengeance.

No matter how she struggled and wriggled in place, hissing at him to turn it down, the medic did not decrease the volume of the radio until last notes of the song faded. Avery sat up shakily, stars and little splotches of color filling her vision. Her brain pounded and rattled inside her skull, her previous good humor evaporating entirely.

"SRKILLEX? Really?" the young racer grumbled irritably, massaging her temples.

"Granted, while this slag pales in comparison to Cybertronian music, it is slightly more preferable to what you were playing earlier. Are we ready to behave?" the medic slurred, the smirk evident in his voice.

"Just drive," Avery mumbled, leaning back in the seat and glaring out the window. "My apartment's just around the corner. Third one on the left."

"Oh, so you don't live in that shed of yours? My, I'm surprised~"

"Not all of us have access to a giant alien warship," the blonde replied, climbing out of the Aston Martin and fumbling with her keys for the door.

The cherry-haired hologram materialized on cue, smirking at her from behind an expensive pair of dark shades, adding, "Or style, for that matter~"

"Flashy is trashy," Avery stated, not missing a beat as she stepped into the apartment, suddenly very aware of his glare drilling silent holes into her back. She turned to face the fuming medic, shoving her hands in her pockets as she asked, "You coming or what?"

Knock Out huffed, following after her but surveying the area with a critical gaze. The skin-job kept her place relatively clean, but the entire area was decorated like a grungy side-road restaurant. Countless posters and pictures of old cars lined the walls, plastered up alongside dirty old license plates and cheap neon signs that read things like 'Budweiser' and 'Ford.' "What is all of this junk?" he asked, eyeing the frumpy old furniture and 90's-style TV with distaste.

"What did you expect out of a college student, flat screens and an indoor pool?" the racer said with a grin as she headed upstairs, "Besides, I like old stuff. It has character. C'mon.

Knock Out grumbled, eyeing trudging up the stairs after the girl. His hologram turned to the wall, choosing to snoop around the human's room out of boredom while she gathered her tools and things as she began to sort through clothes and mechanical supplies scattered about on every flat surface imaginable.

"There are many unsettling things about your planet, not to mention your sense of style," he added as he watched her pack sets of nearly identical T-shirts and holey jeans. "You know, most human femmes I've noticed have at least a little variety in what they put on their bodies."

"What are you, the fashion police?" the racer asked, arching an eyebrow. "Look, I'm sorry that I snapped and blurted all that stuff about you sleeping with your boss earlier. That was really immature and stupid, but I'm not looking for a crash course in how to be fabulous."

"Just hurry up," Knock Out said, his hologram flopping back onto her bed and staring up at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. "If Lord Megatron does not find me in the med bay by sundown…well, let's just say it won't be pretty when we return to the ship."

"Is there anything pretty about that old bag of bolts?" Avery called over her shoulder with a grin.

"Not really," the medic mumbled, smirking slightly. He glanced over at her dresser, picking up the nearest picture frame and twisting it to get a better view of the figures in the photo. "Is this your sire?"

"Say what?"

"Progenitor, creator… What do the humans call them—er…parental units?"

"Yep," the racer replied with a big smile as she zipped a bag of tools closed. "That's my dad all right. He's a cool guy. Taught me everything I know about cars. Right now he's stationed to fly cargo planes in Afghanistan for the military."

"Where's your other 'dad'? Don't humans usually have two?"

The racer snickered, taking the photo away from him and arranging it back into place, "My Mom, you mean? I don't really have one…present. I was kind of a 'fling'. Military life doesn't always give you the luxury of settling down." Despite the subject of conversation, the human didn't seem very upset or perturbed about it, merely accepting of the fact she stated. She still wore a slight smile as she stared at various images spread out across her dresser.

"How tragic," Knock Out said indifferently, "Such a strange thing, really—this birth and aging process your species possesses..." he continued absentmindedly as his hologram thumbed through various things in her drawers. Primus, humans certainly had a knack for collecting and hoarding a lot of useless junk: empty CD cases, old crumpled up holiday cards, hair ties, old gel pens….

"Your species doesn't have parents or kids or anything?" Avery asked in surprise, glancing back at the Decepticon.

"Our sparks are crafted from the Well of All-Sparks by Primus himself, and then placed into unique proto-forms we receive when we come online. Through the earliest stages of life we generally have parental-like figures, but it's not quite the same. However, it has been eons since a new Cybertronian came into being. Many believe that Primus died with our planet when we ravaged it through the war," the medic explained.

"What about falling in love and that sort of thing? Wait, slow down. Who's Primus? Your god? Wouldn't that make him a 'father' of sorts?" the human asks suddenly as she worked, her mind riddled with questions.

"Our species may be different, but not in that regard. Cybertronians take mates and interface when we find the time for it. And Primus is not a god, necessarily-a grand creator is more like it. He was the first of our race, formed within the internal mechanisms of our planet. He evolved over time as a supreme being. Though highly revered, he actually existed within the planet beneath us. He was not a mere idea crafted by feeble minds in an attempt to control an entire people," the CMO added haughtily as he continued his perusal of her drawer, "I have been browsing the web on some of your world religions. You humans are imaginative, I'll give you that."

"Wow, you could make a pretty awesome space trilogy out of that backstory," Avery said with her trademark crooked grin, "And who knows? No one can really tell what's out there, anyway unless if we make a time machine, or somehow commandeer the Tardis."

"The what?"

The younger racer snickered, waving a hand dismissively, "Never mind."

Suddenly, the medic found his fingers curling around something soft. He pulled it out, examining the object with great interest. It appeared to be a poorly designed slingshot of some sort, with small cushioning holders for the object of choice. "What in the world is this? You skin jobs make your slingshot weapons out of the strangest materials…"

"What are you-…HEY! GIVE ME THAT!"

In an instant, the human snatched the mysterious object out of Knock Out's hands, wadding it up and shoving it deep into her bag of clothing. Her exothermic layer—skin, the medic reminded himself—had flushed a bright shade of pink as she quickly threw both bags over her shoulders and grunted, "Let's go. Now."

"I understand you're embarrassed over the fact your species creates such laughably useless devices, but there is no need to be so defensive—…"

"Knock Out," she hissed, "That isn't a weapon. It's. Called. A. Bra. It's a garment a human 'femmes' uses to keep her chi-chi's in line so they don't mamba their way into her daily business and become annoying. And for the love of god, do not ask me what that means."

Instead of pressing her for more information, a quick search of the World Wide Web provided the medic with everything he never needed to know. As disgusted as he was by human anatomy and biological functions, the girl's startled reactions amused him. "Underneath all of that stubborn and daring exterior I hardly expected to find such a shy, innocent prude," he snickers. "Why are some humans so afraid of their own anatomy?"

Avery's cheeks flushed darker, her voice rising in pitch as she exclaimed, "I'm not innocent or prudish; I just don't like talking about it. Especially with alien males!"

"Well," Knock Out said smugly, "I do hope you are capable of bracing yourself." His hologram watched her heave her bags quickly downstairs and out toward his alt. mode. "In order to assist me in the med bay with proper repairs, you will have to learn quite a bit about Cybertronian anatomy… Not to worry, it is not entirely that different from your own."

As she closed the trunk and climbed back into the passenger's side, the human appeared positively green. Avery was not squeamish, by any means. She loved horror movies. As a kid, she played in the mud and chased bugs; as an adult, she could care less about being covered in oil and gasoline after working in the garage. However, as an only child raised by a single father, she had little time to really think about or dwell on the opposite sex.

Or perhaps it was merely the oddity of discussing human anatomy and sexuality with an evil alien doctor that made her uncomfortable. Either way, the human found herself mumbling, "Can we please change the subject?"

"Well, since you asked nicely~" Knock Out smirked. "…however, if you wish to survive on the Nemesis for more than a week, it is expected that you learn quickly. Otherwise you'll wind up on my dissection table. And I must say, as disgusting as you skin-jobs are, I've always been curious to see what you look like on the inside~ Red is my favorite color, you know…"

A shudder passed down the girl's spine, her shoulders visibly jerking at his statement. She knew he meant every word, could practically feel his sadistic delight dripping from every syllable like sickeningly sweet honey. However, she somehow managed to cover the nervous jolt in her voice with cynicism. "I guess if I can pass high school biology, this should be a piece of cake," the blonde mumbled, staring out the window. The sun had finally begun to set over the Nevada desert, painting the sky various shades of red and orange. She paused, suddenly glancing back at the medic with a strange expression. "Why did you do it?"

Crimson eyes flicked toward her from behind dark lenses. "What did I do?"

"You let me live," the racer mumbled, her voice taking an odd note. Her gaze drifted toward the window again—distant, confused, thoughtful. Long, thin fingers twisted the chain around her neck absentmindedly. "Why?"

A silence passed between the two of them, awkward tension building on the premise of unanswered questions. The answer should have been obvious to the stupid girl—it was a spur of the moment decision. Megatron had used her to bait him for racing, and to force him into cooperation; the medic couldn't let his leader wield such influence over him by toying with his possessions. The flesh-bag was his and his alone to kill and dispose of whenever he tired of her. Not Megatron.

The medic suddenly paused in his train of thought, wondering when he had begun to consider the flesh-bag a possession. 'That is what she is. A substitute for when my buffer goes missing,' he stated mentally.

"I don't have enough lab space available to strap you down and slice you open just yet, skin-job." The medic scoffed, though his response came a bit too late. "Why do you think?"

Avery watched him thoughtfully for a long while, not once pausing to blink. Her mouth didn't curve upward into a smirk, and she didn't crack some lame joke or remark on his behalf. The words that spilled forth from her lips made the metal of his chassis crawl in revulsion. "I think you consider me a friend."

Knock Out recoiled so violently in shock that he had to skid to the side of the road to keep from veering off into the desert. Gravel and debris clouded up around his tires, drifting upward in lazy tendrils against the red sky. A laugh escaped him before he could help himself. "You think we're…friends? Pals? If humans argue this much and make things this difficult for one another in close relationships, then your species is stranger than I originally gave it credit for."

"Well, granted, you're not the most charming, friendly, warm-hearted person I've ever met, but I do consider you one," she stated, glancing at him in a mixture of amusement and deadpan in her expression.

"I'd say I'm perhaps too charming for the likes of-…" Before the medic could respond, the sudden crackle of modified, rattling sports car engines filled the air. Knock Out could sense the vibrations of tires a mile away, even without the obnoxious sound to give away their location. "Well, it certainly sounds like someone needs their carburetors checked."

Avery had gone silent for a moment, glancing back to confirm some silent suspicion. Whatever she saw, she didn't like, because her eyes enlarged considerably as her voice became progressively smaller. "Drive," she squeaked out. "For the love of God or Buddha or Primus, just drive. Like, right now."

"Well, I hate to put a damper on the mood, princess, my tires are somewhat stuck at the moment no thanks to the lack of quality road-…"

"Then fix it, and fix it now," she urged, her eyes anxious.

"I don't see what you're so worked up about-…"

Knock Out's last remark was abruptly cut off by the sound of squealing tires, and the arrival of three brightly-colored, dented, modified cars next to his alt. mode. The girl had silenced herself completely. He could detect her pulse rate increasing, her body pumping adrenaline rapidly through her veins.

His hologram turned to raise an eyebrow at her, questioning, "What is it now? A bad ex?"

"No, smartass," the blonde growled, unusually tense. She struggled to form coherent sentences as she stumbled over her words. "In street racing, we make money by betting money. If you don't pay up, shit happens. A banged up car is the least of it. And I was going to get my paycheck today and return what I lost to those idiots a week ago before you decided to drop in cause a scene at KO Burger! They're going to rearrange my face if they see me in here!" She exclaimed, attempting to make herself smaller by ducking down into the seat.

"That is your own fault, princess. And don't give me that look. No matter how much of an expert you believe yourself to be on racing, you lost. And you dug your own slag pile pretty deep this time. And Megatron thinks I'm a narcissist~…"

"You arrogant piece of-!" Before Avery could finish her thought, she quickly thought better of it and lowered her voice. "They might recognize your car since we've been seen together more than once…oh shit…they stopped.. Shitshitshit—Put a hologram over me! Disguise me or something! Make me invisible-!"

"Calm down," Knock Out interjected, glancing from the hilariously cowering girl to the three poor excuses for sports cars parked next to them. Three or four burly human males climbed out, one or two with a scantily clad girl on his arm. The musky reek of beer, gasoline, and cigarettes filled the atmosphere, and the Aston Martin couldn't help but gag as their oily, sweaty bodies approached. 'Primus, why must organics be so disgusting?'

Nevertheless, the medic forced himself to roll down the window and greet the repulsive organics with his usual slick smile, turning up the charm. He needed to end this, and quickly. The sun was already setting, and Megatron would expect him in the med-bay in a mere half hour. He had already compromised his aft enough for one cycle! "Good evening~ Is there something I can do for you fine femmes and…" The mech probed his brain for the correct Earth phrase, "… gentlemen?"

"Nice car, hot shot," one of the 'femme fatales' murmured, her voice dripping in innuendo as she leaned over to get a better look at Knock Out's hologram. Her obnoxious voice only was only accentuated by the popping of pepto-bismol-pink bubblegum between smoke-yellowed teeth. It took the medic a large amount of self-control not to sneer or recoil back in disgust as she blocked most of his view with the tops of her large, fleshy mounds. 'And human mechs are attracted to those…why? There's so…squishy…Euuugh!'

"That's enough, Montana," one of the burly men growled, jerking her back a bit too harshly for comfort as he leaned down at got into the red 'Con's face. His lips peeled back to reveal a smile full of crooked teeth, his eyes full of malice and a sick kind of amusement as he spoke. "Evenin', yourself, fag. You've got a pretty flashy ride here that I wouldn't mind challenging for a spin some time, but that's not the reason we're here. Your little friend there owes us some bettin' money. Two weeks overdue. And my boys don't take those things lightly."

Avery shot up immediately, her eyes large and full of a fear she struggled to hide as she quickly stammered, "Look, dude, I swear I was going to get my paycheck today. You've gotta give me more time-…"

"I'm sure something can be arranged in due time, but Blondie has places she needs to be," Knock Out interrupted them both, waving one hand dismissively, "I'm afraid your little deadline can wait another week."

The muscle-stuffed flesh-bag had the nerve to reach in and grab the medic's hologram by the collar of his jacket, jerking them nose to nose. "You stay out of this. This is between us and Bishop. You got that?"

"Back off!" Avery growled, pulling Knock Out's hologram back toward her. The force of her grip nearly sent the medic tumbling into her lap—primus, she was stronger than she looked—but she didn't notice. Her eyes never left the other man's as she calmed her voice and stuttered out, "I-I'll race you for it. All or nothing. I'll give you my car if we don't win. The whole thing. It's in good condition, it's back at KO Burger where I last left it. You can do whatever the hell you want with it. I don't care. But if we win, you pay me in full. Whaddya say?"

The other man shifted, considering. He smirked, folding his large arms together in thought. "I think you're bullshitting us out of our money again, Bishop. You've got a bad track record for lying and making a run for it when you're in deep shit. Besides, how are you gonna race us all with no car?"

Avery glanced to Knock Out, her eyes pleading silently as she stated, "Knock Out. You cool if I borrow yours? Just this once?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think to consider them, "No. Never. Nein. Zip. Denied. No. Way," he annunciated quickly. "Why in all of Cybertron would I let you-…?!"

And suddenly, it clicked. 'She's asking me to do it. She wants to see what I can really do.' A slow smile crept over the medic's lips, and he turned back to the repulsive human male with a glint in his hologram's eyes as he slurred, "Meet us at the trench north of Jasper in thirty."

A/N: So, pretty uneventful chapter. But in the next one, we get some more racing action! Sorry if anyone seemed a bit out of character, I struggled a lot with writing this chapter and getting it finished. Hope you still enjoyed! Please leave me your comments, good or bad, I want to read them all! Thank you!

-KM

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