"What in Primus' name is wrong with them?" Optimus thundered as he roared down the highway, Prowl racing along at his left. "Do they think, for one moment, that they are acting like the Autobots they profess to be? I mean, are they kidding?"

"I told you," Prowl snapped in an uncharacteristic temper. "I told you from day one that something was wrong with them."

"Well, nice time for an I-told-you-so moment, Prowl," Prime retorted.

"Well, I did!" Prowl barked. "But you wouldn't listen, because you thought the most elite unit in the Autobot army ought to include a couple of clown-pants-wearing criminal morons. And now that you got your way, who gets to deal with them? Me!"

"Oh is that so?" Prime gunned his engine, picking up speed and sending up clouds of dust in his wake.

"Yes, it's so," Prowl snapped back, surging forward at a nice clip, and edging his nose just out in front of Prime's bumper. "They're in my office more often than I am, Primus-frag it, and they have been since the day you brought them into this outfit. Do you remember the time they tried to sell Cliffjumper on the Iaconian underground? Primus almighty! They almost managed it, too!"

"Oh, you think that's bad?" Prime shot back, angrier than he remembered being in a long time. Deep inside, he secretly thought the attempted sale of Cliffjumper was sort of funny, but right now Prime was seeing a film of red, and if those two bloody useless Lamborghini twits had been present just now, Prime was sure he would throttle them until their heads popped off. As it was, he could hear himself hollering at his XO the top of his vocalizer, and no matter how he tried, he just couldn't bring himself to stop.

"You think that's bad?" he heard himself hammering away. "Try the time they started their own version of Fight Club, and nearly lost me half my unit in one night. As if this boring little war wasn't exciting enough for them! And not only that, they couldn't even manage to bang up a bunch of Decepiticons, oh, no! No, they organized a Fight Club with other Autobots, and damn near whaled the tar out of the entire northern front, the sodding little bastard glitches."

"Rotten little slaggers," Prowl snarled, and sent a rock flying up behind him as he uttered a rare curse, all in a fit of froth. "Do you realize that I was twice elected Preeminent of the Iaconian courts? Twice! Primus, I drafted the second and fifth Articles of Accord during the last Golden Age. And what am I now? A glorified cop and a babysitter for the two most morally challenged slots I have ever seen."

"Oh yeah?" Prime shot back. "Well, try being hand-picked by Alpha Trion himself to be the leader and moral paragon of the almighty Autobot Way. I'm a Prime, dammit, a Prime! And how do I spend my time? Defending humans and Autobots alike? Fighting the spread of evil? No! And why am I not doing these things? Why? Because right now, I'm on my way down to the Oregon State Patrol Headquarters to explain to the Chief of Police just exactly why those two slagging monkey-aft degenerates decided to make it their goal in life to earn their one-thousandth speeding ticket in the state of Oregon alone. Do you know they're wanted in four other states?"

"Five, if you count Idaho, but so far they aren't pressing charges," Prowl fumed. "I swear – I swear – I have never seen two more morally bereft beings in my life. For Primus' sake, Grimlock has a better grasp of ethics."

"Slag has a better grasp of ethics," Prime growled back, "and I'm not talking about the Dinobot."

"I swear," Prowl railed on, fairly skimming the pavement now, "I don't know how they can even call themselves Autobots, the morally decrepit little rodents. Because between you and me? They're more trouble than half the Decepticon forces put together. Autobots," Prowl ranted, really carrying on and sounding (if it were possible) quite nearly at the point of a tantrum, "Autobots stand for what is right! We have a moral code, and we uphold it! We don't break the law! We –"

"—we sacrifice ourselves for the greater good," Prime broke in. "And we do not, for the love of Primus, break every traffic law in the humans' book simply because we are bored and stupid!"

"We don't sell our fellow Autobots on the slave market!"

"Or redivert supply lines to fuel an all-night rave!"

"Or home-brew field stims and sell them to new recruits!"

"We don't cheat!"

"Or indefinitely borrow!"

"Or tell creative interpretations of the truth!"

"And above all," Prowl shouted, his frame all but radiating with untold fury, "an Autobot does not – under any circumstances, barring loss of life or limb – break the Primus-sodding speed limit!"

"Well, this does it," Prime seethed, rocketing down the freeway and sending up angry belches of exhaust. "I have had it up to my stacks with these ludicrous slagging monkey-shine antics, and I am laying down the law. As of this morning's memo, the very next Autobot – or his pigslag of a brother – to get a speeding ticket is going to find himself grounded in the brig. And that is the end of THAT."

And with that, the sirens wailed to life, as red and blue lights began to flicker in Prime's rear view mirror.

Back at the ranch, Grimlock leaned in toward the monitor, the small fingers of his Tyrannosaurus clicking together in glee. "What you say?"

The stocky human on the other end uttered a short, sharp sigh. "I said," he repeated, "they were going in excess of 135 miles per hour, which is, of course, reckless driving, and will mean a court hearing. Look, isn't there someone there who's…in charge?"

Grimlock smiled, teeth glittering widely under the Ark's internal lighting. "Grimlock in charge today."

Wilting, the officer on the other end gave him a rather incredulous look. "Are you sure?"

"Oh," Grimock nodded, his saurian grin stretched wide, "Grimlock real sure."

"Well," the officer shrugged, and hitched up a shoulder, "I guess…" He trailed off, scratching his head and peering at Grimlock as though he were trying to figure out why someone's pet was running the Autobots' show. But at last he just sighed again, relented, and said, "Look, just send someone down to sign for them and escort them back, will you?"

"Oh, Grimlock do that," the Dinobot commander canted his head, his optics glinting bright and jolly. "And you no worry – me, Grimlock, know just who to send."