The night air was cool and dry, if a little dusty. It had been too long since the last meager rainfall, and there was no humidity to keep the sand from spiraling up into the parched air.

It was hell on Knock Out's finish.

Still, the empty roads and miles of black highway managed to distract him from the horrible pitted state of his paint. Pits that were practically chasms, and would flake and chip and who knew what horrible disease would hide itself away in a crack and wait there, festering, until an errant touch spread it onto a bench, and Primus knew the Vehicons didn't know anything about contamination, and it would spread and stifle—

Knock Out revved his engine. Well, there went his inner peace. He should have expected as much; it was too good to be true.

He flipped on the radio instead. Talking heads always claimed him down; probably because they reminded him of Megatron's speeches. Speeches were always relaxing, unless you had done something wrong. Then, they were painful. Knock Out privately speculated that the most casualties in the war actually resulted from Megatron's temper.

The station he was previously tuned to (a wonderfully infuriating human man who complained about contraceptives, whatever those were) was static this far away from Las Vegas, so he picked the first signal that came through clearly.

"—has officers baffled. Travellers are reminded to drive carefully, and report any suspicious activity to police. Forecast for tonight is in the low seventies, with a high of—"

Knock Out flicked through the stations, but no one else was talking about the delightful mystery that was an unsolved crime. He turned off the radio and plugged 'nevada crime driver unsolved' into Google. He expected a page of nonsense speeding tickets and the odd hit-and-run, but the first ten results were about the mysterious death of a police officer. Knock Out opened the first link.

Some police officer had been killed late last Thursday during a routine traffic stop. Something about license plates. Typical stuff. What wasn't typical was that the body had been, in a word, crushed, and the cruiser was strangely dented along the front and back bumpers. They hadn't found him for at least a day, which meant he hadn't called in for back up for whatever had killed him.

The internet was rife with conspiracy theories, from hitmen (outlandish) to drunk drivers (also wrong, but sensible), to aliens (that made Knock Out laugh).

To a human, it was an odd and probably tragic incident that would go forever unsolved. To Knock Out, however…

"Breakdown," he commed, "you left a mess."

"I'm working," Breakdown's voice came back irritated.

"Oh? During the night cycle? I didn't know Starscream had it out for you."

Breakdown snorted and a burst of feedback blared through the comm. "Starscream hardly knows I exist."

"To be fair," Knock Out took the turn onto a fun looking overpass, "you're neither Megatron nor his reflection."

"You're one to talk."

"Ahah, but look at me," Knock Out preened.

"Can't. I'm on a spaceship."

"Well, all the more reason to blow off work and come visit me, hm?"

"Knock Out—"

"Besides, I have something important to discuss with you. Regarding subtlety, or your lack thereof, with regards to the local wildlife."

"Ah," Breakdown sounded slightly cowed.

"Mmhm. Bridge to my co-ordinants. That sheepish drone, XRL-55, or whatever is on groundbridge duty. Just tell it to let you through. It won't fuss."

"I'm busy, Knock Out."

"Too busy for little old me?" he pouted, "I'm hurt, Breakdown. Well, if you hate me that much I might as well stay on Earth. Park myself in a resale lot. Maybe I can get myself bought up by some CEO—"

"Knock Out."

"—I mean, if I'm not too ugly. I'll just end up in some junk yard, surrounded by Azteks and minivans. Perhaps one of their canines will take to sleeping on my hood. Maybe I'll get scrapped for parts—"

"Knock Out."

"—I'll just die lonely and rusting, surrounded by greasy organics and wondering why? Oh, spark of my spark, why have you abandoned me—"

"Okay, okay! You win!" Breakdown interrupted him. Someone who didn't know him as well as Knock Out might have mistaken his mood for irritation, but Knock Out could hear the humor lacing his tone. "Send your co-ordinants."

"It's for your own good, dear," he cooed and sent a data packet.

"See you soon."

"I'll try to contain my excitement." Knock Out considered for a moment, then gave into impulse. After all, what was the use of downloading things you saw in commercials it you never used them?

A pause.

"D-did you just send me an emoticon?"

"Kisses to you, too."

Regardless of Knock Out's ire, Breakdown still took a half-hour to arrive. The groundbridge whirred to life in a flash of swirling light, and Breakdown stepped out of the vortex. He looked a little tired, a little worn, but then who didn't, after so many years of war? Besides, himself, of course.

Knock Out was tempted, just for a moment, to speed away, to draw Breakdown into a chase. A pulse of octane thrummed through his system, in anticipation of the long stretches of black road, the hot friction of his tires, and the thrill of another engine just behind his bumper, almost close enough to touch…

"Hey, Knock Out," Breakdown said. Knock Out forced his engine to quiet down.

"Took you long enough. Why, I was practically left waiting at the altar, for shame Breakdown. You gave me the fuzzy end of the lollipop," he chastised, wagging a metaphorical finger.

Breakdown gave him a blank look. Knock Out transformed into root mode and patted him on the chest.

"It's a cinema reference," he explained, "from a film about two humans fleeing a crime syndicate after witnessing a 'clean up'. It's very funny."

Breakdown smirked. "You xenophile."

"Well," Knock Out pressed a hand to his chest, "I did see the most lovely Bentley Continental the other day. Stunning paint job. Subtle blue detailing, nice pinstriping… But don't worry; I've been faithful."

Breakdown snorted and ran his knuckles down the side of Knock Out's helm. "Wasn't worried."

"You smooth talker," Knock Out ducked away, "don't forget, I called you here to lecture you."

"Yeah?"

"I may be a touch too acclimated, but you are well on your way to blowing your cover." He tapped Breakdown's lower back, just above his rear bumper. "You've been driving a plateless vehicle."

"Plates?" Breakdown looked over his shoulder, as much as he was able..

"License plates," Knock Out flipped into altmode and pulled a smooth three-point turn, displaying his back plate, "humans require them for vehicle identification."

"Pretty stupid," Breakdown snorted.

Knock Out returned to root mode. "You'll have to remember their vehicles can't very well stand up and introduce themselves."

"Still pretty stupid."

"Agreed. But you," Knock Out nudged Breakdown, "seem to have run afoul of their rules."

"Ah, I got a call from some Vehicon squad jumping at shadows. Went to go check it out. Some human flared his lights and told me to pull over. Told me I was driving erratically. Got pissed off when I didn't open my door; what was I supposed to do? Let him call more of them?"

"Well, you've become a bit of an enigma," Knock Out bundled his search results and sent them to Breakdown.

Breakdown groaned. "Starscream is gonna be pissed."

"I'll keep mum if you do. Besides, it's not like he'll notice."

"Yeah? What about Soundwave?"

"Unless he's monitoring every Earth news broadcast and can put some very esoteric clues together, he won't be able to tell."

"And you could?"

"I am very familiar with the dent marks your fingers leave. Besides, a crushing death? Strange for a human to go out like that, or for another human to do that, but you? Why, it's your modus operandi, my dear Breakdown."

"You seem very enthusiastic about this," Breakdown observed, privately amused, "anything you want to tell me?"

Knock Out swatted his arm. "At least I didn't have to squish a fleshie. A little enthusiasm for blending it might have kept you out of trouble."

"Hmph. I don't understand you," Breakdown took his head.

"Oh?" Knock Out shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was getting twitchy—too much time standing around and chatting. It was the idiosyncratic symptom of being a sports car. You needed to move, and if you couldn't do that, you needed a project. It was why Knock Out had so many little hobbies. And why Knock Out abandoned so many little hobbies.

"Yeah. You hate this place. Why are you so interested?"

"Pft," Knock Out waved a hand dismissively, "I couldn't care less about the squishies, but their culture, Breakdown! It's—"

"Messy?" Breakdown guessed.

"Enrapturing! Do you know how many films they have? Thousands, even millions! How does an organic species manage to be so productive?"

"Besides population?"

Knock Out snorted, rather unattractively. He glanced up at Breakdown, solid, dependable Breakdown. His spark did a foolishly twitchy thing, and he absentmindedly pressed a palm over it.

"Come with me," he said suddenly, "I'll show you."

He chose his favorite drive-in theater, a small, kitschy place full of hipsters and long-suffering old couples. It also had the benefit of an electronic ticket counter, which was child's play to hack and allow them onto the lot.

"You'll have to shut down your engine," Knock Out explained over the radio, "so the humans don't get irritated and touch me."

Breakdown obliged with a snort, and Knock Out settled into the parking space next to him.

"So what's this about?" He asked, sinking down on his tires. It put him half a foot closer to Knock Out.

"It's a human classic. Can you believe it? They consider a film from 1931 a classic. Anyways, it's adapted from one of their stories, some old paper datapad. And—oh, it's starting. I'll explain later."

The film whirred to life, opening onto a grim mountainous landscape.

"Where's the color?" Breakdown whispered.

"Shh," Knock Out hissed at him, "humans couldn't see color until recently. They're primitive."

"Weird."

Breakdown was quiet after that, but occasionally made some noise of interest as the plot unfolded, and confusion and mild disgust every time the humans did something, well, human.

He seemed to be entertained, at least. Knock Out found that he spent most of the runtime watching Breakdown watch the film. It was surprisingly entertaining. It was also surprising how much he wanted Breakdown to enjoy his hobbies.

The movie stuttered to a climax, then to a tragic end, and the screen flickered back into darkness. Knock Out's engine turned over, and he pulled out of his parking space, Breakdown trailing close behind him.

They were silent until they reached a deserted section of highway. Knock Out spun into root mode and commed the Nemesis.

"XRL-55," he snapped, "I need a groundbridge at my co-ordinants."

He cut the connection before receiving an affirmative. Breakdown idled up behind him and transformed.

"I didn't know humans could do that," he tapped his neck, "seems creepy."

"No, no," Knock Out batted his hand, "it's fictional, made up. Humans can't really turn into mist, or hypnotize each other, or—"

"Do they really drink energon from each other?" Breakdown cut in.

"Humans have 'blood', and no. It's just a story; some dead human made it up."

"They make movies about stories? That's… weird. Why not just report on real things; it's what we did."

"It bothered me a bit, too. The first time I came across one of these places, I saw a movie about giant ants, as big as you!"

"Seriously?"

Knock Out nodded. "Disgusting creatures, but it was fake. Humans make so many fake things. I suppose it's because they're so pathetic; they live short, miserable lives, and use any means they have to ignore them."

"Hn," Breakdown hummed. The groundbridge opened in a dazzling flash of color. Breakdown stepped through, and Knock Out followed him.

"Hey," Breakdown looked down at him. He was silhouetted by the light, and it made him look nearly attractive.

"Hm?"

"That licence plate thing… you want to help me out with mine?"

Knock Out reached up and patted him on the shoulder, and let his hand linger until they stepped back onto the bridge of the Nemesis.

"Of course. For you? Of course."

Breakdown laughed.

The title today comes from Stevie Wonder's Superstition.

The irritating political man complaining about contraceptives is a reference to Rush Limbaugh, who in 2012 (when Prime was airing), made degrading comments about a college student's use of birth control.

'Fuzzy end of the lollipop' is from Some Like it Hot, which is an excellent movie.

The 1931 classic they watch is meant to be Dracula, starring Bela Lugosi. I was considering using Bringing Up Baby (also excellent), but it's been years since I've seen it and I don't remember the plot.

Knock Out's first foray into human movies is Them!, a movie about giant irradiated ants.

Thanks for reading!