Um... Yeah. Don't ask.
AMERICA'S POLICE FORCES VERSES HOUND
The Land Rover 90 cruised down the deserted highway, at a comfortable 70mph.
Hound was exceptionally bored. He flicked on his radio, just as the announcer declared he was playing DragonForce's "Fury Of The Storm."
Now this was the best kind of human music, he thought. And the highway was tantalisingly empty...
Hound grinned inwardly and eased his accelerator pedal down.
The rather pudgy policeman sitting inside his Mustang Shelby police cruiser took a bite of his chocolatey fudge doughnut. This was why Traffic duty on this highway was the best. Nothing to do but eat and whistle away the hours of getting full pay for absolutely nothing.
Suddenly, inconceivably, his radar gun went off as something sped past him at 100 miles an hour. The cop almost swallowed his whole doughnut, before shaking his head, flicking the sirens on, and giving chase. He quickly accelerated up behind the speeder.
"Dispatch, this is Car 11-King. I've got a 10-44 on Route 430. Requesting backup."
The Dispatch woman sounded surprised. "Um, roger that 11-K. Suspected street racer on Route 430. Can you identify the make and model of the vehicle?"
"Um, yeah, Dispatch. It's a...holy hell, it's a fuckin' Land Rover!" the cop replied in shock.
"Um, roger that, officer. Do you have a colour and registration number?" Dispatch asked, sounding more and more in disbelief.
"Vehicle is dark green, reg number Hotel Zero Uncle November Delta. Speed is hittin' one-fifty now."
"Roger that, we are running those plates now." Dispatch replied. "Backup is inbound."
"Hell, I think I'mma need more than just backup to catch this joker." the cop said in awe, putting his foot fully down onto the car floor.
Hound looked in his mirror at the Earth law enforcement following him.
Oh. Well, this could get complicated to explain to HQ. He increased his speed.
"Fuck! The Land Rover's pullin' away! I'm fuckin' losing this guy!" the policeman in the top-of-the-range Mustang yelled into his radio. "Speed is over a hundred an' seventy em pee aitch now! Repeat that! The Land Rover is flyin' down this road."
He looked in his rear-view mirror when he heard more sirens. A police-painted McLaren MP-412 came up to his window, and the policewoman inside gave him a thumbs up before she accelerated up behind the speeding Land Rover.
"Shiiit, is that the VRT?" the fat policeman asked the air.
The McLaren sped up behind Hound. This, he admitted; impressive.
But not that impressive. Hound increased his speed further.
"Dispatch, we need a roadblock if we want to catch this guy. I'm willing to bet my badge that he's got a V12 under there – the hell? I'm actually having difficulty keeping up!" the McLaren driver said into her radio.
"Roger that, 1-Hotel-5. Roadblock units are assembling on your current heading." Dispatch replied crisply. "Update on the plates; they aren't in any of our records. H0UND must be a fake registration. Can we have an estimate on the current speed of the suspect?"
"Yeah. Radar gun says the perp's just broken one-ninety miles an hour. Why don't we have Land Rovers that fast?"
Dispatch laughed quietly. "Your suggestion has been noted. Dispatching additional VRT units to run this pursuit down."
Hound picked up the roadblock on his early-warning systems about two seconds before he saw it. He swung right and drove up a large roadsign propped up on some construction materials, which made the perfect impromptu jump, sending him flying over the SWAT vehicles, metres above them.
Hound hit the ground and continued on at the same speed with barely a swerve.
The woman in the McLaren slammed on her brakes and skidded to a halt in front of the roadblock. "Shit! All units, the Land Rover just jumped the roadblock! Say again, the Land Rover is grabbing air!"
Another cop driving a Bugatti Veyron Super Sport zoomed past the roadblock, and slowly gained on the Land Rover. "Relax, guys. I got this." the man inside said, confident in his car's superiority.
Hound increased his speed to two hundred miles an hour. This was getting really messy, really fast.
But it was so much fun.
The Veyron matched his speed, and the officer tried to slam his car into Hound's wheelarches to spin him out. He missed, but Hound got the idea.
He increased his speed again, to 220 miles an hour. The Bugatti gradually fell behind, no match for the Cybertronian engine.
"What-! The fu-how? How is that even fucking possible!?" the officer asked, his jaw hanging open.
Hound was finally free of the—wait, what was this?
A Hennessey Venom GT flew up behind him, the driver's face grimly set.
The speedometer ticked up – all the way to 225mph.
Oh, it was on, Hound grinned.
A helicopter flew overhead, dropping spike strips in front of the Land Rover. It seemed to sit up on its wheels a little higher, then drove straight over the Stingers, its tyres completely unblemished.
Hound looked behind him. The Hennessey was still on his tail.
Oh well. He didn't want to do this, but he had no choice.
He triggered his boosters. Three spaceship grade rockets transformed onto the back of his vehicle mode.
Hound flashed his tail lights cheerily at the Hennessey Venom, then hit the boosters.
His speedometer suddenly shot up and off the scale.
The Venom fell behind instantly, and only the helicopter was able to get a radar gun reading for the few seconds that the co-pilot could even see the Land Rover.
"Fuck! Dispatch, I just got a reading of Seven Fucking Hundred Fucking Miles a Fucking Hour off that Land Rover. We can't pursue that kind of speed without a fucking F-15!"
The Dispatch lady gave up, and smacked her head off her desk.
Every car involved in the chase heard the repeated thumping noise, then the resigned "We'll call it a draw."
Hound sped off towards the Autobot HQ. Ohh, he was so telling the Twins about this.