Breakdown emerged from under the bench. He really wasn't keen on Vortex; there was just something about the mech that made his paintwork crawl. And there was Drag Strip darting off after him like the unintentionally suicidal chipless moron he was.
"Hey!" Breakdown yelled, although admittedly not very loudly. "Drag Strip!"
"No time!" Drag Strip called back.
Breakdown sighed. Evidently not. After a moment's hesitation, he commed Dead End for backup, then slunk off along the corridor after his team mate.
.
"Thrusters! Let me the frag in!"
OK, so Vortex hadn't vanished into his recharge yet. That was good. Drag Strip paused and poked his head around the corner. The copter was leaning with his palms and helm against a door. Drag Strip could just about make out Blast Off's voice from inside.
"Slag. Off."
"Seriously, Blast Off, open the door." Vortex gave the metal a solid kick. "We need to talk."
"No." Again, the same muffled voice, the same dry, emotionless tone. "We don't."
"We slaggin' well do!" Vortex snarled. "Open the slaggin' door or you're not gonna have a door left to open!"
Drag Strip huffed. What did Blast Off have that he didn't? Nothing, that's what. Sure, he could fly in space. Boring. And leg-mounted cannons? Pah! Drag Strip had a cannon, and it was a far sleeker design too. And he had shoulder tyres. Nice, perfectly round and tastily bouncy shoulder tyres. Wildrider liked his shoulder tyres, and Vortex was kinda like Wildrider in the crazy stakes, so it stood to reason that Vortex ought to like them too.
But had he noticed? Slag, he didn't even notice when Drag Strip stepped confidently around the corner, and leant up against the wall in full view. He cocked his hip, crossed his arms, and lifted one knee, his foot flat against the panelling. Damn, he was hot. But no, a reaction was not forthcoming.
"Frag you, Blast Off! I'm coming in whether you like it or not!"
Drag Strip glowered; stupid shuttle. It grated that captain monotone was the focus of the copter's attentions, when it should so obviously have been him.
The Stunticon comm. channel opened just as Vortex started punching the door.
/Dead End to Drag Strip, you're going to get yourself killed./
/No I'm not./ Drag Strip adjusted his pose to display his spoiler to its best possible advantage. He didn't need a mirror to tell how good he looked, he'd practiced in front of one often enough.
"Come on, Thrusters, please?" Vortex began to pace, three quick steps either way. "Let me in! I just wanna talk to you. Seriously." There was no response. "For frag sake, open up! This is your last warning, Blast Off, let me the slag in!"
/Yes,/ Dead End said. /You are. We're over here./ He sent a quick triangulation pulse; they were in the same place Drag Strip had been before he decided to make himself more conspicuous. /And we can hear him. That is inot/i a healthy team dynamic./
Drag Strip shrugged. Those doors were solid, Vortex wasn't about to get through. Sooner or later, he'd get bored with his stupid, dumb-aft team mate, and notice the incredibly stylish and attractive speed racer down the hall.
"I fraggin' mean it!" Vortex snarled. He gave the door one more heavy thump, and Drag Strip was horrified to see that the metal actually bent. Then he started kicking.
Drag Strip stared. OK, the Combaticon was strong; doors really shouldn't bow like that. Not on the Nemesis anyway. He winced as the glass in Vortex's foot shattered, but Vortex didn't seem to notice.
/That doesn't sound good,/ Dead End commented over the comm-link.
Drag Strip pursed his lips and refused to respond. How the frag long was this going to take anyway? Sure, he could win at it, but as far as competitive sports went, the waiting game was the one he enjoyed the least.
Then the door opened. Drag Strip gaped. Stupid defective shuttle, why in the name of Sigma did he have to give in! What was wrong with him?
The muzzle of a plasma rifle emerged from the gloom. It stopped about a meter from Vortex's chest plates. The copter's visor gleamed.
"All right," Blast Off said. "Talk."
Drag Strip's engine revved, and not in the good way. This wasn't how it was meant to go.
"Not out here," Vortex said. He flicked his thumb at Drag Strip. "We've got an audience."
Drag Strip gaped. He had noticed! The slagger had seen him and… and ignored him! How in all the universe was that even possible? No one ignored Drag Strip!
The gun juddered. "Get in," Blast Off rumbled. "But talking is all you're doing. Try anything else, and I mean anything, and there won't be enough left of you for Hook to piece back together. Understand?"
"Sure, sure," Vortex said. He pushed past the gun and vanished from sight. "For frag sake, it was only an interface cable."
The door closed and Drag Strip glared. Only an interface cable? So, it was like that then, was it?
"Well." Dead End rounded the corner, followed closely by Breakdown. "You're not dead."
"Don't sound so surprised," Drag Strip growled.
"You've seen what he's like," Breakdown said. "Pick someone else, yeah?"
Drag Strip shook his head. That sounded far too much like giving in, which was the same thing as losing. "No," he said. The game had changed, but the goal was still the same. Sure, he had competition now, but there was no question about it, he was going to win.
