A/N: I don't own anything pertaining to Transformers. Or Half-Life. The idea of a giant headcrab Volvo Decepticon, though, was all me.

This isn't supposed to be in any specific universe, so yeah.

R & R greatly appreciated! I don't usually upload stuff, and I like honest critiques. So if it's just completely awful, let me know. I can't get better if nobody tells me that it's crap.

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Cars aren't supposed to die like this.

My piece of shit Volvo is supposed to die inconveniently on an interstate, not inconveniently in a giant robot battle of epic proportions. And especially not when I have to work 6-11 pm tomorrow and need a car to drive to work.

Then again, most Volvo S70s didn't transform into giant robotic parasitic hackers.

Most Volvo S70s weren't Decepticons with foul missions and even fouler mouths.

I suppose that I should be happy. After all, the Decepticons are the bad guys. My mild-mannered Volvo did everything in its power to kill me regularly, for Chrissake.

But it's hard not to cry as I watch Override being dashed to pieces against the side of the office building, claws waving madly about as the Autobot released him and allowed the robot to fall heavily to the ground with a tremendous crash that makes my ears ring.

Guess I'll be taking a taxi to work tomorrow.

Optimus Prime lumbers over to me. I smile weakly. "Thanks." My quiet words are drowned out by the screaming of panicked masses and approaching sirens.

He simply nods before leaving again. His job here is done.

Once Optimus Prime is gone, I completely disregard my personal safety and walk towards Override. The fall nearly tore my Volvo-Decepticon apart entirely. He and I both know that he has very little time left here.

With some effort, he shifts so his glowing red visor is facing me. And then, after a moan of pain, he speaks. His low, gritty voice is slurred. His words come out in a thick mumble.

"Fuck you, human."

I feel my face grow hot. He's minutes from death, and yet still runs that foul mouth of his. The foul mouth I taught him as I swore like a sailor at the assholes that cut me off while I was driving.

Over the next minute, his visor darkens and he begins to stop twitching. I put my hands in my pockets, and stare at the ground.

"Fuck you, too." I say softly. I don't know if he hears it or not, because when I look up, the visor is completely black; he's dead.

I hope he hears it, because it was the nicest 'fuck you' that I would ever give.