Chapter summary : Motormaster prepares for Plan B, but things do not go as expected. And for those of you who have read Kookaburra1701's Stockholm-verse fics, there's a semi-shoutout here… enjoy!

Authors' note : This chapter contains a sex scene between a human and a Cybertronian-turned-human, so please don't read further if you find that offensive. Thanks!

Chapter 37 : Collision

It had taken Motormaster nearly two days to recover from his single-minded race back to the apartment. When he heard Wildrider's yelled news about finally getting through to the base, he didn't think about his injury or the stitches in his side—he simply reacted, running into the lobby and then up the stairs when he saw the elevator was malfunctioning again. All his concentration was bent on the task of getting through to Megatron.

It wasn't until he went into his room and closed the door that he discovered the slow leak from his damaged side.

One of the stitches was broken, although this time the fluid seeping gradually through wasn't blood. Motormaster stared at it, listening to his own ventilations in the quiet room, registering the thud of his fuel pump. Suddenly he wanted to sink his nails into the soft human flesh that covered him and tear it off, rip it all off until there was nothing left but the clean hard chrome and steel of his true frame.

He swallowed hard. He couldn't do that, and the knowledge forced the violent impulse down until all that remained was a cold and dispassionate contempt for his own weakness. Finding a torn shirt, he wadded it up and pressed it against his damaged side, then lay down with his other arm across his optics. Once he had rested a little, he would think of what to do next.

To his disgust, though, his human body betrayed him again and he fell asleep instead.

When he woke up and went back into the living-room, he heard about Breakdown's new plan. He sat down at the table to think it over while Wildrider served dinner—mashed potatoes with packets of salad dressing filched from a restaurant. They had run out of money for pizza.

"Good," he said to Breakdown between mouthfuls. "At least that'll use the fragging computer instead of it being the world's most expensive doorstop."

"Nuh-uh, you can play Mission Omega on it," Wildrider said.

Motormaster threw his fork in that direction without even looking, and leaned across the table to grab Wildrider's fork instead as he yelped and ducked, barely escaping. He continued eating as he waited for the inevitable Phase II of any plan, which was Dead End pointing out all the various ways things could go from the smelter to the Pit. The rest of them could usually figure out how to work around those.

That time, though, Dead End came up with a significant problem. "How can we ensure they'll even listen to us? If they're secretly infiltrating a communications centre, they won't want to be surprised by humans, and if they're breaking in, they might think we're trying to stop them."

"And if we tell them we used to be the Stunticons, they'll die laughing," Drag Strip said, pushing his potatoes around on his plate.

"What d'you mean, used to be?" Motormaster felt like throwing another fork at him.

Drag Strip shot him a wary glance from under lowered brows. "You know what I mean. We look exactly like humans, so how is Frenzy or Ravage or whoever supposed to know who we are?"

"Well, there'll be five of us," Wildrider said.

"Oh yeah, that'll make all the difference. Humans never go around in a party of five."

"We won't all approach them." Motormaster was certain of that—not only would it be suicide to make any Decepticon think they were under attack by a bunch of humans, but he had no intention of risking his entire team. "I'll do it. Once they believe me, the rest of you join us."

The other Stunticons exchanged quick looks and after a moment Breakdown cleared his throat. "What if they don't believe you?"

"A pile-driver to the kneecap," Dead End said. "If we're fortunate."

Motormaster glared at him. He badly wanted to say that of course they would believe him—he could tell them his designation, recite his security codes and even mention the time Laserbeak had flown smack into his windshield during a battle, smashing the unbreakable glass and twisting one wing so badly he'd gotten stuck there, half in and half out of his cab. But all that took time. Ravage especially acted fast and might fire a missile within nanoseconds of seeing someone approach.

"Too bad we don't have our faction symbols anymore," Wildrider said.

Breakdown perked up. "We could get a T-shirt with ours on it."

"We can do better than a T-shirt," Motormaster said. "Remember when we slagged those humans in the warehouse? One of 'em had had a snake drawn on his arm. I could get our symbol on mine."

"A tattoo?" Wildrider said.

"Whatever the frag they're called." Clothes weren't a part of him but skin was, so he wanted the Decepticon emblem on his arm. He tried not to think about the possibility of Rumble discovering it only after tearing the arm clean off.

"You know they do that with needles, right?" Drag Strip said.

Dead End nodded. "And certainly not for free."

Motormaster set his teeth and pushed his plate away, no longer feeling hungry, but Wildrider piped up that he had a Magic Marker and could easily draw the tattoo on. So Breakdown cleared the table while Motormaster rolled up his sleeve and got a fairly good Decepticon symbol inked on his right upper arm. He would have liked it in purple, but black was better than nothing.

They decided to wait a day before Breakdown put the new plan into effect, partly to give him enough time to compose nonsense in Cybertronian for the satellite to relay to the receiving equipment, and partly because Motormaster didn't want to act too soon now that the Combaticons were on the alert. But a day was all they could wait. He didn't even have enough money to pay the rent that was due in a week, much less to repay Ominsky when their time ran out.

After that they worked out a schedule of watches for the building which would receive the satellite's signals. Wildrider couldn't be stationed to watch anything, but Motormaster rotated the rest of them in five-hour shifts. "And since you like to be first, Drag Strip, for once you get what you want."

Drag Strip looked resentful—and actually protested when Motormaster ordered him to take off his bright yellow coat before leaving—but he was finally dressed inconspicuously and out of the apartment. Motormaster considered throwing the yellow coat into the nearest dumpster and setting the dumpster alight for good measure, but realized if he did Drag Strip would simply go out and do whatever it took to get something else in the same eye-blistering color.

The five hours he was gone seemed to last forever, and Motormaster could only clean and load his shotgun so many times—although he knew he couldn't take it with him, since running up to any Decepticon with a shotgun was a good way to find out if there was a Primus. He finally ordered Wildrider and Breakdown to bring the television set back into the living-room, ostensibly to be aware of any news broadcasts, but also because the other Stunticons all crammed into Wildrider's quarters otherwise, leaving him alone in the living-room as he waited for the phone to ring.

Except the television proved too much of a distraction. Wildrider found some human film to watch, and none of them even seemed to notice Motormaster's sneer, but to his annoyance he found himself looking up from his shotgun more and more often, especially when the humans on the screen began engaging in interactions like the one he had experienced with Val two days ago. He would have sneered again at each kiss if he hadn't kept remembering what it had felt like when Val had done that to him.

He ordered Wildrider to change the channel, but the next program was a documentary on medieval knights. The armor made Motormaster think of the steel frame he no longer had, and the swords didn't help either. He put the shotgun on the table and got up.

"I'm going out for a walk," he said. There were still two hours of Drag Strip's shift left to go, and Soundwave would need a little time to pick up the signal, try to decipher it and then send out the troops. Half of Motormaster hoped that time would be as brief as possible.

The other half reminded him that when the plan worked, he would return to the Nemesis and never see Val again. He would never know what else she might have done besides kiss him.

And what if they find out? his cynical side said. Once they got their real frames back, they would merge again, and if the other Stunticons ever found out about his moment of weakness, Motormaster wasn't quite sure what would happen. He might have been given his position as their leader, but he had earned it as well, by making sure his team always saw him as strong and fearless, solid as the ground under their wheels. Now he would be more like quicksand.

Since when did I worry what they thought of me? He curled his hands into fists. They'd have preferred it if I'd never walked out of that repair facility. At least Val wasn't like that. For once, just for one last time before he returned home, he could be with someone who didn't resent him, who didn't even seem to fear him, strange though that was. Someone who seemed to genuinely like spending time with him, even… touching him.

Because she doesn't know who you are.

He had reached the building's lobby by then, and the internal battle was as fierce as any he had ever fought on the roads. By the time he reached the deli he still wasn't sure what he would do, and the uncertainty scraped his nerves raw. Val looked up from the counter with a smile that faded when she saw his face, and she moved quickly to the coffeemaker.

"No," Motormaster said brusquely.

Val turned with the pot poised in her hand. "You don't want coffee?"

"I just said that, didn't I?"

She looked at him for a long moment before replacing the coffee pot. "Do you want a donut, then?"

"No!" Motormaster said, then reconsidered. He had the shift after Dead End's, which meant five hours without anything to eat. "All right. Put one in a bag."

She handed it to him and he took it, then stood wondering what to do. The deli was still open, with a few customers were seated at tables. "When are you closing?" he said.

Val glanced at the clock on the wall. "In about half an hour. Do you need to talk about something?"

Motormaster nodded and took a table as far from everyone else as possible, though when Val joined him a few moments later she asked if he could exchange seats with her so she could keep an eye on the customers. He glowered at her—he hated having his back to humans—but she just looked back and waited until he got up.

"Thanks for keeping it warm for me," she said as she sat down. "So, what's wrong?"

Motormaster stared at the paper doily between them. Now that he was there, he didn't quite know how to begin. Val wasn't easily rattled, but I want to interface with you would probably make her wish she had just given him the coffee.

"I…" he began, then cleared his vocalizer. He looked up from the doily and met Val's eyes. "We're planning to go back home."

He wasn't sure what exactly had made him blurt that out, but there hadn't seemed anything else to say and he had always been more comfortable with a direct frontal approach anyway. Val blinked and sat back in her chair before she replied.

"So you won't be coming here anymore?" she said.

Good, at least she didn't ask questions about where his home was. Motormaster shook his head. "Not if things work out."

"What about the loan shark?"

Motormaster felt his mouth stretch into a slow grin. "Oh, once we get back home I'll pay him back. With interest."

"I didn't hear that," Val said, glancing at one of the floor tiles. "I don't want to be called as a witness later. But at least you and your friends will be… okay… once you're home."

"Better than okay," Motormaster said. Now came the difficult part. "But I won't be able to talk to you again."

Val looked back at him, one corner of her mouth turning up. "You couldn't call?" Calling wasn't what Motormaster had in mind, so he said nothing. "I guess calls are monitored?"

"You could say that. And I… don't just want to talk."

"Oh?" Val said, her brows arching.

Did she really need him to draw a map? She hadn't seemed so slow on the uptake before. "Look, what you did the last time I was here..."

"What did I do?"

"Stop playing around!" Motormaster said, exasperated. "You kissed me."

The little smile touched her mouth again, making him wish he could stop noticing everything she did with her lips. "Guess you liked it?"

Motormaster started to answer, but Val held up a finger and left the table to serve a human in a pin-striped suit. He turned in his chair, watching her quick efficient movements as she sliced cake and poured coffee, but then the human looked up at her—naturally Val was taller—and said something that made her laugh. Motormaster felt a brief but sharp twinge of jealousy.

She was back at his table in a few moments, though, with a cup of hot chocolate. "So tell me," she said. "Haven't you ever gone out with anyone else?"

Motormaster wasn't sure what "gone out" meant, but if it was some typically human interaction he was sure he hadn't indulged in it. He shook his head.

"Wow." Val took a sip of her hot chocolate.

Motormaster had hoped she would get it, but apparently that wasn't going to happen. "Look," he said, leaning forward, "I'll never get to do that again once I go back to the—go back home, so can we—"

"Whoa," Val said. "Back that up. You won't ever be able to kiss a woman once you leave?"

"No."

"Are you serious?"

Motormaster gave her a long cold stare. "I don't joke."

Val leaned back in her chair and shook her head slowly. "Tom," she said after a long moment, "you are an endlessly intriguing man."

Motormaster had never before been told he was endlessly intriguing in any shape or form. He looked closely at Val to see if she was being sarcastic, but she jumped up again to serve yet another customer. "I'm going to throw all the rest of them out in a second," he said as she returned.

"Take it easy." Val briefly rested a hand on his shoulder when she passed him, and Motormaster was startled into silence. She smiled as she sat down. "So I'm just curious. What will happen if you go back home but then… get involved with a woman?"

Motormaster considered that. Humans on the ship simply didn't last long, and if he drove off in alt-mode to see Val—which wouldn't happen, because Wildrider was the insane one, not him—he had no idea what she would do. She didn't seem like the type to deactivate out of sheer terror, but if any other Decepticon or Autobot caught them together…

"She'll die," he said.

Val lost the smile. "You're serious? Yes, of course you are." She looked at her cup of chocolate as if seeing it for the first time, and gulped it all down.

"It won't happen after we go back," Motormaster said. "It'll never happen after that. This might be the last day—"

"Could you use my name occasionally?" Val said.

"What?"

She shrugged, looking into the empty cup as if searching for something there. "I've just noticed you never say my name."

"Fine," Motormaster said, biting off the word. "Val." He wished she had a proper Cybertronian name.

She raised her eyes, not the dark brown of coffee but lighter and with the faintest tinge of green in them, and although she wasn't smiling, Motormaster didn't think he could look away from her face. "Go on with whatever you were saying."

"I want to…" Motormaster didn't know what to say after that, because if she didn't understand what "interface" meant, it wouldn't help. And if she did understand it, he'd be in worse trouble, because she might recognize it as a term Cybertronians rather than humans would use. He settled for, "I want to kiss you again."

She glanced past him at the rest of the deli, then touched her index finger to her lips. Leaning forward, she pressed her finger lightly against his mouth.

"You know what I mean," Motormaster said between his teeth, deciding he would slap her hand if she tried that again. He liked being touched, but now she was deliberately teasing.

"Yeah, I do." She looked down and traced a circle on the table's surface with a fingernail.

"Hurry up and make a decision, then." Motormaster thought of tacking a sarcastic "Val" onto the end of that, but thought better of it—that was the kind of petulant, irritating thing Drag Strip would do. Instead, he struggled to speak calmly although he wanted nothing more than to toss the rest of the humans out, lock the door and order Val to find something they could both lie down on, because the tables didn't look as though they could take two people's weight. "I'll be on watch duty in the morning."

Val got to her feet. "Want to wait until I've closed up? Then I'll give you my decision."

Motormaster opened his mouth to tell her he would do no such thing, before realizing a few humans still remained in the deli, idly lingering over coffee or newspapers, and he couldn't afford to draw too much attention to himself by starting an argument. No choice; he had to wait for Val's "decision". As if she had so much choice in the matter when she was dealing with the leader of the Stunticons. He glared at her and folded his arms.

Val put a hand on his shoulder again. "I'll get you some milk," she said and started to walk away.

"Val?" Motormaster said, and heard her stop. "I want coffee."

Val took what felt like hours to deal with the last few customers, smiling and talking to them while Motormaster fumed silently from his table, keeping one optic on her and the other on the clock, but it was only about fifteen minutes. Then she cleaned off the tables and started to count the day's takings, though by then Motormaster knew what her decision would be. Val, he realized, wasn't stupid enough to refuse the leader of the Stunticons when they were alone anywhere.

She still took her time with what she referred to as the "float", and when he leaned over the counter and started to tap the fingers of his free hand on it, her only comment was that he could take out the trash if he was in such a hurry. Motormaster thought that wasn't even worthy of a reply, but that meant he had to wait until Val did it and turned off the lights.

"My place isn't far," she said when she saw him look at the clock for what felt like the twentieth time.

Motormaster nodded, though he couldn't help feeling a little uncertain. Now that he came to think about it, he'd never interfaced with his subordinates in their quarters; it was always his berth, establishing territorial boundaries from the start. This encounter would obviously be different in every way.

He kept pace with Val, though he jerked in surprise when she slipped her arm around his elbow. "Relax," she said, and in the glow of a nearby streetlight he saw she was smiling again. Except he wasn't even close to relaxing, since the arm she was now holding was the one with his new Decepticon sigil. He tried to think what to do about that. Would she be suspicious if he didn't take his shirt off?

He barely even noticed the building she led him to, but when she opened the apartment door he stopped in his tracks. He'd become used to his team's simple, utilitarian base, and Val's seemed to be the exact opposite. The walls were patterned, the furnishings soft and the floor softer with thick colorful rugs. The place even smelled different, a little like the fabric softener Drag Strip insisted on using with his clothes.

"Come on in." Val tugged on his arm until he complied, and then she closed and locked the door. Motormaster stood just inside. If that had been their base, he would have led her to his berth, but he didn't know where anything was now. He looked at Val, silently willing her to make the next move.

That little smile was playing around her mouth again. "Tom," she said, then looked away. "Never mind. It's just… strange, you know, being with a guy who's a virgin."

Oh, wonderful, Motormaster thought. He had hoped she would know what to do, but apparently she found it all as awkward as he did. He wished he could order her to shut up and just interface with him already, but he had a feeling that wouldn't work.

Still, on the rare occasions he had felt uncertain he had always covered it up by going on the offensive, so he did that now. "So you've never done this before either?" he said.

"Not with someone like you." Val grinned, and Motormaster thought, You have no idea. "I guess we're both scared."

"Maybe you are. I've never been scared in my life." He thought it would be a good idea to prove that, so he put his donut down on a small table and took Val's shoulders between his hands firmly. She blinked, looking disconcerted for the first time.

Something stirred within him, something far darker than curiosity or lust. He always felt that cold, strut-deep thirst when he enforced his superiority, when he showed that he was in a position of control. It wasn't of his own volition—part of the programming that had been his from the moment of creation reacted that way to the feel of yielding human flesh between his strong hands, and the flicker of fear in human eyes.

Brown eyes. Val's eyes. Motormaster swallowed hard and forced the impulse down. He had indulged his sadistic streak in the past and might still do so with Val, if she didn't satisfy him. But more than that, he wanted her to kiss him again, and to touch him without hesitation.

So he released her slowly, smoothing his palms down her arms as he did so. "What's there to be scared of?" he said softly.

"I have a feeling I'm better off not knowing." Val turned her head to watch his hands as if fascinated by them, and Motormaster thought he would enjoy touching more of her like that, covering her and marking her. She looked back at him and spoke even more quietly. "Do you want me to kiss you again?"

He nodded. She moved forward, into the circle of his arms, and he lowered his head to meet her mouth with his. This time he had an idea what to do, though the rush of heat through his frame still startled him. He tightened his grip, pressing Val's body against his until she squirmed to be free.

"Let's go to bed," she whispered against his mouth.

Motormaster had no objections, but when they reached the bedroom Val turned a lamp on and refused to switch it off when he ordered her to do so. "Tom, if you've never been with a woman before, a little light might help," she said.

He controlled an impulse to smash the lamp, since that wasn't likely to make Val want to 'face him. "Fine. But I'm keeping my shirt on."

The corners of her mouth turned up. "Could we at least unbutton it?"

Motormaster supposed there was no way she could see the tattoo as long as he didn't take his arms out of the sleeves. He unbuttoned it and shed the rest of his clothes, waiting for Val to get on the berth as any of the Stunticons would have done, but instead she frowned at his chest.

"I don't think we should put any strain on that," she said, and he realized she was looking at the damage he had taken.

"Are you backing out?"

She looked lower. "Oh, hell no. But why don't you lie down first?"

Was that how humans did it? Motormaster lay down gingerly—the slagging bed was so soft—and watched as Val undressed. The end result was startling, because he hadn't realized human females looked so different with their clothes off. He was relieved she had left the lamp on. If not, he might have spent valuable time searching for something she evidently didn't have.

"Tell me if I'm too heavy for you," she said, and slid one leg across his hips to straddle him. Motormaster would have snorted in disdain if he hadn't been so preoccupied with the smoothness of her skin against his and the knobs on her chest that were so much bigger than his. He poked one experimentally.

"Uh, like this." Val took his hands in hers and positioned them. Motormaster followed her directions and guessed from her increased ventilations and occasional moan that he was doing something right. Weird, though. He took one hand away and rubbed his own knobs with it, mimicking the motion. No effect.

Val gave him a strange look at that so he pulled her down for another kiss, which heated his circuits up rapidly. He liked the feel of her knobs rubbing against his chest as well, though when she reached down to grasp his interface equipment he wasn't expecting it and jerked so hard that she almost fell off the bed.

"Whoa!" She braced herself with her free hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, I forgot you haven't been with anyone before."

"Just keep… doing that," Motormaster ground out between his teeth. None of the other Stunticons had touched him like that, and of course he hadn't been able to order them to do so because even that was an admission of weakness, as though he needed them to be active participants for him to achieve overload.

Val grinned, squeezed a little—which made him gasp—and reached over to the bedside table, rattling a drawer open. She released him, much to his disappointment, and dropped something on his chest. "Here, put this on."

"Put what on?" Motormaster picked up the small packet, held it up to his optics and squinted at the label. Put it on where? Human interfacing was so much more complicated than he could ever have imagined.

"I keep forgetting…" Val tore the packet open and unrolled a covering of some kind onto him. Motormaster understood that, at least. There were times he'd turned over the mattress of his berth so he didn't have to recharge on a wet spot, and Val's bed was much more elaborate. Obviously she didn't want to go to all that trouble.

Then she showed him what to do with his now-prepped interface equipment, and he forgot about everything else. He gripped her hips, arching up against her as she rode him, biting back a groan when she reached back and drew her fingertips up the inside of his thigh. She seemed to know his frame far better than he did, and she held him back until she was ready as well, though when her body tightened around him he lost all control. He stiffened and thrust up for the last time, and the pleasure shattered him with its intensity.

Val collapsed forward on to him, and as Motormaster began to recover, he glanced at the clock on her bedside table. She felt good in his arms, her skin damp with sweat and her fuel pump beating as hard as his own, but now that the interfacing was done he couldn't help thinking of his responsibilities again. The other Stunticons had no way of contacting him if something happened during his absence.

A low purr coming from her throat, Val nuzzled the spot where his neck and shoulder met. Motormaster rumbled in response, smoothing a hand down her broad back. Maybe just one more time.

She raised her head. "Tom?"

It took him a moment to remember that that was his name; if she had called him Motormaster it would have felt more natural. "Yeah?"

She hesitated, her fingers playing with one of the hairs on his chest. "I know you said you couldn't get involved with anyone after you go back home, but before then…"

"Before then what?" Motormaster had hoped they were going to interface again, not talk.

Val propped herself up on an elbow. "I mean, if you don't go back home right away... do you want to see me again?"

Motormaster glanced at her body. "For this?"

She looked at him for a long moment, blinking rapidly. With a movement so abrupt that he didn't have time to stop her, she scrambled off him and hurried to a different door, slamming it shut behind her. He heard a key turn in a lock.

Motormaster wasn't sure what to do next, though he was certain more interfacing wasn't likely to happen. He waited for a few moments, fidgeting with the bedclothes, then thought, To the Pit with this. Getting up, he dressed quickly. Val still hadn't reappeared by the time he was done, so he left the apartment.

Outside, he paused and looked up at her window, but there was no sign of movement—and he'd forgotten his donut as well, though he couldn't go back for it. He didn't plan to return to the deli ever again.

"We'll be there," Motormaster said and put the phone down. No need to add "as soon as possible" – Dead End knew they wouldn't let anything stand in their way. He looked at the others, who had piled out of Wildrider's room with playing cards falling unnoticed from their hands.

"The Constructicons," he said. "Move."

Wildrider and Drag Strip bolted for the door, but Breakdown remained where he was, looking uncertain. "Me, too?" he said. "I mean, I can safeguard the base—"

Motormaster strode over. "We won't be coming back here, and if Scrapper doesn't want to take a detour to pick you up, we're in no condition to make him. Now get that knife of yours and move!"

Downstairs, Wildrider and Drag Strip were already perched on the Harley, revving its engine impatiently. Motormaster hailed a taxi and they started off, well behind the motorcycle thanks to heavy traffic. Finally he ordered the driver to step on the gas and ignore the red lights, which led to a disagreement resolved when Motormaster flung open his door with one hand and threw the driver out of it with the other. Breakdown squeezed between the front seats and grabbed the steering wheel before they could crash, slamming one foot on the accelerator and sending the car forward like a rocket.

Motormaster gave him a slight nod. Most police cars would be rushing to intercept the Constructicons or save any damaged humans, and if any remained to chase speeders, he would deal with them too. Now that he came to think about it, a vehicle with a screaming siren would be perfect for getting through traffic.

Breakdown followed the motorbike as it hurtled down a road and leaned into a turn. The taxi bounced over a speed bump and clipped a stop sign, but Motormaster barely noticed. The sirens ahead—a change from the usual position of human law enforcement, which was struggling in the dust to catch up—were much more important.

Almost involuntarily he clasped a hand over his right arm, where only the thin fabric of his sleeve separated him from the Decepticon emblem.

It was dark by now, so the cluster of flashing lights in the distance was visible the moment they made the last turn. Wildrider slewed to a halt so abruptly that the motorcycle turned almost a complete 360. Breakdown hit the brakes as well, and Motormaster was out even before the taxi could come to a screeching stop. He smelled smoke and scorched rubber in the air, but if he had smelled his own flesh burning he would not have been able to look away from the sight before him.

Nearly two hundred feet away, one side of the science building had been torn or blasted away, and now lay in smoking ruins on the ground. An alarm shrieked and electricity sparked from broken circuits revealed by the destruction. Abruptly a small but blocky shape appeared on a higher floor, and as a helicopter searchlight flashed over the building Motormaster recognized the distinctive red and black paintjob.

Frenzy. His fuel pump leaped.

Carrying what looked like half of a bank of computers—a massive chunk of equipment bigger than he was—Frenzy tossed it out of the open side of the building. A Constructicon standing outside caught it easily and turned to pack it into a dump truck, crane-arm swinging as he did so.

It is them, Motormaster thought, hope flaring. The Combaticons could never have produced a deception that elaborate. Swindle had been known to fake a paintjob or two in his time, but fitting himself with a crane was another matter entirely.

And even better, it was Hook and Long Haul, two Constructicons who could be approached with some chance of success. If it had been Mixmaster and Bonecrusher, even Motormaster would have hesitated to run up to them. Frenzy threw down another piece of equipment—evidently Soundwave's instructions had been to grab everything they could, so no trace of the Cybertronian signals would be left behind for the humans.

Humans.

Motormaster scowled as he saw how many of them stood between him and the way back home. Police cars formed a cordon and uniformed officers held people well back, so that the area around Hook and Long Haul was deserted and spectators milled around near the Stunticons. Which was good, since they couldn't afford to stand out. None of the cops was firing at the Constructicons—yet–but far too many headlights and searchlights were pointed in that direction.

In his peripheral vision he saw someone moving towards them through the growing crowd, and he turned to see Dead End. Good, they were all together now and the plan was about to succeed.

"Right," he said, keeping his voice low. "Split up and cause some distractions. I'm going to make a run for Hook, and I want those idiots busy when I do it. Go!"

They dispersed into the crowd like blobs of spilled mercury and Motormaster moved as close to the edge of the cordon as he could without attracting the police officers' attention. Most of the cops were crouched behind their cars for cover, watching the Constructicons, but as soon as he made a dash between two of the vehicles towards Hook, they would see him.

An audial-splitting scream made all of them, Motormaster included, spin around, because the sound came from well behind the cordon. Half the cops trained guns in that direction. Through the crowd Motormaster saw Drag Strip backing away, pointing a trembling finger at a blue SUV parked nearby.

"That transformed just now!" he shouted. "It's another Decepticon!"

Before the crowd could even pull back, another alarm clanged in a building opposite the cordon. Shouts of "Fire!" rang out, and a few of the police officers ran in that direction. Motormaster felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Wildrider had hopped into the taxi they had arrived in and reversed quietly down the road with the headlights off. Motormaster had been watching, so he saw the hi-beams flick on and the taxi zoom back towards the crowd, horn blaring. Wildrider leaped out into a flowerbed beside the road, but he must have jammed something on the accelerator because the taxi only picked up speed.

It was doing well over a hundred mph when it slammed into a streetlight. People fled screaming, and more of the cops leaped into two cars to give chase as Wildrider ran off. They drove about ten yards before their tires went flat.

At the other end of the cordon, Breakdown wriggled out from under a police car with his knife between his teeth.

Motormaster almost laughed. The square was in chaos—the cordon was falling apart as the police officers tried to control the spectators fleeing from the fire, the blue SUV and the Constructicons. In the confusion someone slammed into a cameraman and there was a loud crash of equipment shattering as it hit the ground.

The destruction was as appealing as any demolition derby, but they had a mission. Motormaster glanced at the science building just as Frenzy leaped off the upper floor, transforming in mid-air as he did so. The cassette flew through the open window of Long Haul's cab, and Motormaster knew the three of them were getting ready to leave.

He broke into a run towards them, heading between two of the parked cars. One of the police officers flung out an arm, trying to stop him. Motormaster barely felt the impact but the cop went spinning to the ground. His fuel pump hammering, he ran faster. Long Haul drove off and Hook took one last look around, evidently covering his gestaltmate's retreat. Motormaster wanted to shout at him, but with all the noise in the square he didn't think Hook would hear him, and he couldn't afford to slow down even a fraction.

Hook was only a hundred feet away now. Motormaster ran faster.

The jeep that cut between the two of them braked hard, tires squealing as they fought to grip the ground. Motormaster couldn't stop in time either. He slammed bodily into the side of the jeep and went sprawling on the ground with the taste of blood in his mouth. He was up again in the next moment, instinctively trying to dodge around the jeep before his mind caught up with his reflexes and he saw what he had collided with.

Frag. They called in the fragging US Army—

Then the jeep unfolded, transforming in the instant that Motormaster stood frozen, and a huge green hand—darker than those of the Constructicons—closed around him gently. Before he could react, let alone resist, it picked him up.

"Whoa!" a voice said from somewhere far above him. "Careful there! Don't get close to them!"

Motormaster felt his mouth open, but he couldn't speak. Not just because he was gasping for breath, but because he was being lifted well off the ground. Headlights glowed before him, an engine ticked over—the sound muffled by the whir of a ventilation system—and something shaped uncomfortably like a missile launcher jutted out from a massive shoulder. But worst of all were the blue optics looking down at him.

There was an explosion near the science building. Motormaster jolted, but another green hand came up to shield him as the Autobot glanced quickly in that direction. Motormaster had to force himself not to flinch away. Hound had been almost a minibot compared to him in root mode, but now he was a giant.

Hating the nearness, he pressed himself against the Autobot's curled fingers and craned his head to see what was happening. Hook had transformed and was about to pull out. No! Motormaster thought and looked around. At the corner of the square Wildrider was perched on his bike again and might be able to catch up with the Constructicons, but if Hound saw him it would be over.

Motormaster let out a strangled cry and clasped both hands to his chest as one of the humans had done in the film he'd watched. He crumpled over Hound's fingers, twitching spasmodically as Hook drove off.

"My…" he gasped. "My heart…"

Hound turned back to him, optics brightening with concern,and Wildrider streaked like a bullet towards Hook's departing form. Motormaster continued to groan, watching as best he could past Hound. No one was near enough to stop Wildrider. At his speed he would catch up with the Constructicons in—

The bike flipped into the air, turning end-over-end and throwing Wildrider several feet away before it smashed down. Motormaster was vaguely aware of Hound shouting for help, but he couldn't look away from the sight. That didn't happen. That can't have happened. Wildrider never crashes unless he wants to!

The air beside Wildrider's limp form shimmered and solidified into a blue-and-white racecar which transformed, simultaneously pulling a weapon out of subspace. Mirage quickly put himself between Wildrider and the retreating Constructicons, but Hook was already well out of sight in the darkness.

There was nothing Motormaster could do. His fists clenched against his chest but he was helpless to stop the Autobots. He could only watch as Mirage subspaced his gun, carefully picked Wildrider up and got to his feet.

Some day I'll kill him. Or better yet, make him wish he was dead.

The Autobots' massive forms hid the ruin of the science building from view, and the cordon was slowly re-forming as more police arrived. Ambulances drove into the square, rescue personnel piling out, and Motormaster closed his eyes.

It was over.