Lap 10.

All of the racers, human and Autobot alike, are settling into a groove and starting to really enjoy themselves. Someone is keeping track of overtakings and the tallies for each lap are really starting to get amusing, especially since some humans participating are actually professional racers and are better drivers than the Autobots themselves! The participating Autobots are even forgetting the entire situation involving the Matrix Protocol and are truly having fun for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

About halfway through Lap 11, the golden six-wheeled Formula 1 car begins to drive far more aggressively. As it whips past Jazz, the Autobot officer notices the driver frantically trying to control his vehicle to no avail. Furthermore, he swears he can hear a faint cackle from the golden racer, and it has nothing to do with a bad engine.

Slag.

Jazz hits the gas, triggering an override on the Public Announcement system that negates the commentary and instead broadcasts a prerecorded message: "Decepticon activity on the track. I repeat, Decepticon activity on the track. Spectators, please evacuate the grandstands in an orderly fashion. Racers, please exit to Pit Road immediately." The automated message continues to repeat itself and the effect is immediate. Racers duck into pit lane as requested, abandoning their cars and leaping over the wall to safety and the grandstands are quickly abandoned. This finally allows the Autobots to increase their speed and try to catch up to the runaway six-wheeler.

Unnoticed to all, a black semi with purple tinted windows and a gunmetal-colored trailer pulls onto Pit Road and makes its way onto the track itself. The back doors swing wide open, and a few new cars roar out, pop a 180-degree turn, and disperse some distance behind the rumbling semi. The golden six-wheeled car skids around the final corner and bolts for the finish line, followed closely behind by all but Wheeljack-who had elected to risk going down a lap in order to block the track at a particularly narrow point between turns 2 and 3, hoping to force the golden car to go off the track into the rocks on either side.

Unfortunately, nobody-least of all Wheeljack-had accounted for the semi to get there before the yellow car. "Outta my way!" Motormaster's unmistakeable snarl accompanies an ominous growl in his engine, bearing down on Wheeljack's exposed left side.

"Wh-?!" The Lancia is caught completely flat-footed like a small deer in very big headlights. Tires squeal and smoke, seeking traction and finding none, costing him the instantaneous timing he otherwise needed to get clear.

The semi barrels through the Autobot, nearly tearing Wheeljack's vehicular mode neatly in half upon impact without slowing down. Jazz sees the crash happen in slow-motion and isn't really sure what is worse: the sickening sound of metal crushing and tearing as the Lancia is T-boned, or the engineer's unearthly scream as he's flung tumbling into the rocks off-track.

The scanner clatters to the ground as Ratchet almost crumples inwards, arms wrapping around his torso with his expression frozen in sudden pain and gaze distant. To compare his sudden action to a human being punched in the gut and getting the wind knocked out of him would be a severe understatement. Prowl's attention is drawn to the CMO for only an instant, his sights drooping away from Optimus Prime, but that is an instant too long.

Optimus snaps his arms out from behind his back and lunges at Ratchet, grabbing him by the throat and pinning the medic flat on his back against the ground. Still stunned and legs tangled underneath his body, Ratchet can only feebly grab at Prime's wrist with one hand but is otherwise rendered helpless.

Prowl re-corrects his aim directly to Optimus' helm, only to find his leader's Energo-axe aimed at his face, humming threateningly just in front of his nose. "I'm tired of waiting." The Prime's blue optics glitter coldly, his head canted in an implied sneer. It is a strange impression, one that drops easily into the Cybertronian Uncanny Valley. "You should have evacuated me when you had the chance."

Prowl is the epitome of calmness, impassively staring past the golden energy crackling squarely in the center of his vision. "There is none here to evacuate. You are a fraud, a copy. We are only searching for the /real/ Optimus Prime."

The Prime's optics narrow, his head canting even further, before he starts to chuckle. The sound is not the rich, deep-chested amusement Prowl is used to-no, this is a higher-pitched cackle that sends a revulsed tremor through his doorwings. The axe cants slightly and lowers to the side of Prowl's neck, just under the jawline, but the tactician's aim does not waver.

"You will never find him... /AUTOBOT/."

Glass shatters above them as blurs of red-and-black and yellow-and-black fall between Prime and Prowl. A black hand grabs the Prime's extended forearm towards Prowl and tosses him to the ground, clear of the two officers. Optimus Prime twists, shifting onto his back before a flash of yellow pounces him and slams him firmly onto the ground and a glimpse of red pins his legs. One yellow hand pins the Prime's wrists above his helm, Energo-axe searing the Prime's own hand, while the other holds a small Energo-blade just under the edge of his helm.

Being so absolutely pinned in such a manner with the equivalent of a switchblade pointed at the base of one's skull would usually be enough to stop someone in their tracks. Instead, the Prime stares at Sunstreaker dead in the optics, a cruel gleam in the blue lenses, before he jerks his head back, driving the Energo-blade into his CPU. Almost immediately, the Prime's body spasms once before going completely lax, only occasionally twitching due to abrupt loss of signal.

The yellow Lamborghini stays crouched over the Prime's body, frozen in place with a quickly-growing expression of shock, fear, and horror dawning on his face. Sideswipe rocks back on his pedes, a similar expression beginning to take hold as he, too, begins to realize what has just happened. Since they clearly did not hear the conversation nor see how things came about, they start to believe they had actually killed their own leader.

Prowl drops his weapon with a loud clatter in the otherwise-still room and kneels, grabbing both of the Twins by the shoulder. They're so rattled they don't even try to shrug him off, instead turning their fearful gaze to him. Prowl immediately pulls them close, not quite an embrace or a hug but as close as the tactician will get.

"Listen to me." His voice is firm but surprisingly gentle, gaze shifting from one Lamborghini to the other. "That was /NOT/ Prime. Do you understand?" The Twins' optics flicker, the words not quite penetrating their deep shock, and Prowl emphasizes the point. "You. Did. Not. Kill. Our. Leader."

Slowly, understanding brings blue back to the Twins' grey lenses and the horrified shock drains from their faces with a faint shudder through their frames. A groan from Ratchet snaps their attention back over to the CMO and the duo rip free from Prowl's grip, almost skittering to the medic's side.

Ratchet curls onto his side into a fetal position, arms still tightly wrapped around his midsection. His optics are blanched and his energy signature is wildly fluctuating, but there does not appear to be any injuries that would indicate his change of condition. It's only when Prowl kneels down next to him that the medic seems to pull himself out of his shock. All he manages to bite out is a single name: "...Wheel... jack..."

Prowl's spark freezes, dread growing in his core as dismay shatters his stoic demeanor. "The race."

The golden six-wheeled car cackles as it swerves through corners, the remaining Autobot racers in hot pursuit. "Hey, Autobits! CATCH!" Drag Strip ejects his driver/hostage from the driver's seat straight up into the air.

"I've got him!" Smokescreen shouts, transforming and leaping up into the air to catch the poor driver. "Keep going!"

Jazz and Mirage hit the gas, emboldened by the final remnants of human safety being secured, and soon start gaining on Drag Strip. However, a turn into a long backstretch straightaway reveals Motormaster rumbling along in front of them with a ramp down and trailer doors wide open. The other Stunticons swarm around them from behind, creating a loose box formation channeling them right to the ramp. It doesn't take a huge leap of logic to piece together the Stunticons' intentions.

The saboteur checks options and clearances, finding little in the way of either for himself-no way he can slip through, but Mirage still has time if he moves quickly. "Get outta here, Raj!" He tightbeams to the Ligier keeping pace next to him.

Mirage is silent, evidently making his own calculations and decisions before his engine revs. It almost sounds as if he is building his courage along with his horsepower. "I am sorry, sir. I cannot obey your order."

The Ligier suddenly and sharply turns into Jazz, front tire slamming into the Porche's air splitter on his front bumper. The rubber shreds to ribbons, slamming the tireless rim onto the ground and scraping across Jazz's side before catching on the exaggerated rear wheel arch. The control arms for that tire bend and shatter from the force and Jazz starts to spin out in front of Mirage-

-Only for a Stunticon to swerve in and ram the Porsche away from the formation, tearing the entire front tire assembly off of Mirage's frame in the process.

The Porsche spins out into the loose rock, one side digging into the semi-soft surface in a spray of gravel and threatening to flip him. Jazz uses the momentum to transform instead, but the loose footing and his momentum offset his balance and he tumbles backwards to slam his back against the tire wall. Left somewhat stunned from the impact, Jazz can only watch as Mirage is shunted into Motormaster's trailer and the trailer doors slam shut once he's fully inside. The ramp disengages, falling away as the convoy bursts through concrete protective walls and escape the race circuit.

What does not help one bit is the echoing words on the wind, Drag Strip crowing in his triumph: "I win!"