Overdrive

A/N: WOW! I was not expecting this story to get much attention! Thank you to the wonderful Copyright-Prime, Grievousorvenom, vampireyautja, Rat001, Nidia . Ceylon , animeloser101, EHSparkwoman , Camigirl215, Anonymous BW FG, and Guest for your reviews and feedback! Special thanks to my new friend andshecryz for critiquing me on this before I posted! You are all appreciated and are what keep me writing! :D

Note: I do switch the focus of the third-person perspective a few times so that Knockout and Avery each get airtime. This fic is not intended to be OC-centric only. I like writing from both. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. It belongs to Hasbro. Oh, and the idea of Eradicon Steve/ST-3V3 belongs to EnvySkort on DeviantArt. He'll show up in various places throughout the story because he's awesome.

I'm a street-walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm

I'm a runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb

The one who searches and destroys

Baby, detonate for me

Soul radiation in the dead of night

Baby, penetrate my mind

Look out, honey, 'cause I'm using technology

Ain't got time to make no apology

-Iggy & the Stooges, "Search and Destroy"

Chapter 2: Detonation

"Cybertron to Knockout; hello? Anybody left in that empty processor of yours?"

"Huh?" Breakdown's sudden comment startled the medic out of his routine, nearly causing him to sever his patient's main energon line. The poor eradicon flinched, letting out a high-pitched whimper as the fusion tool clanked around mercilessly in his circuitry.

"Sorry, Steve," Knockout mumbled, only half-sincere as he sealed the wound shut.

"T-Thank you, Sir," the eradicon replied, sliding off of the medical berth, "Allow me to let you get back to your work-…"

Knockout gave a dismissive wave in response, running a hand over his tired faceplates as the soldier left. Another dozen eradicons awaited him in other areas of the med-bay, sporting everything from slightly fractured plating to deep gashes and internal energon-line ruptures from their last battle. Even with Breakdown at his side it was overwhelming; they had spent most of the last two cycles repairing wounded soldiers. Not to mention the hulking mass of an unconscious Decepticon leader in the next room that required a daily checkup due to the illness claiming his processor…

Primus, he needed a break.

"Knockout?" Breakdown said again, louder, his voice rattling around in the medic's processor.

"What is it? We've got a whole squad of eradicons and a Decepticon leader to repair. Can't it wait?"

"We've handled most of the serious wounds already. You look like you could use some high-grade," his assistant commented. "I'm sure the others could wait a few joors for you to refuel. No one wants a half-conscious doctor working on any injury, for that matter."

"Just a few more, and I'll go," Knockout replied, moving onto the next soldier.

"You've been pretty distant and distracted lately," Breakdown pointed out. "Need to talk about it?"

"Heh. You noticed?" Knockout grinned as he sealed another wound closed, "I never struck you as the touchy-feely type, BD."

"Can you blame me? Frag, normally you're showing off your latest paintjob or bragging about your newest upgrade. It's kind of weirding me out," Breakdown said, "Seriously, is something on your mind?"

"It's nothing," the medic responded. "I'm just tired, is all."

In truth, anxiety had eaten away at him for weeks over many things, primarily Megatron returning to consciousness; he had promised Starscream his aid in betraying the Decepticon leader, and had never really been confronted about it by the tyrant other than a few threats here and there. Anxiousness coupled with large amounts of duty and little recharge had left him an overworked, paranoid mass of machinery.

Breakdown's yellow optics fixed on Knockout for a few moments before he dissolved back into his work. Knockout hated to blow off his best friend, but rarely did they ever acknowledge personal troubles out in the open. No matter how flamboyant others considered the red medic, he was still a mech, and mechs just didn't do things like that. Especially Decepticons.

He needed to get out of here for part of a cycle, or face losing it. How sad that competition with a flesh-bag was the only thing he had to look forward to this week.

"Hey! I asked for no pickles on my sandwich, and what do you give me? Pickles! This burger meat looks like somethin' that came out of the wrong end of my dog. Look, toots, I don't know what kinda operation you're tryin' to run here, but this just ain't gonna work—" a heavy New York-style accent cut through her daydreaming, snapping Avery back into reality.

"Sorry, Sir. We'll take care of that right away!" she interrupted, flashing the customer a big cheesy smile as she took back his tray of food, "Only the best for our customers at KO Burger, where every burger's a knockout!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the guy waved her off. "I know the drill."

Ugh…I can't wait to get out of here, Avery thought as she tossed out the food and went to retrieve a fresh hamburger. Despite the fresh batch of patties simmering on the grill, every single one looking like something from Mystery Meat Monday in high school. She prepared the food quickly and returned to the counter as a horde of customers poured through the doors for the late-night dinner rush.

Two hours—just two short hours and soon the sweet taste of victory would be hers. Despite the fact she'd challenged a potentially dangerous opponent on a whim, Avery felt confident enough in her ability to win this race. Flashy guys with pretty cars never lasted long; they showed up, won a few rounds, and then had their asses handed to them on a silver platter within a matter of weeks.

She had witnessed it dozens of times; a glamorous rookie would bet too much money or rub someone the wrong way, and would end up in a bloody, fleshy mess behind the nearest alleyway with their car either trashed or stolen. Avery had learned that very quickly after too many nights of keyed doors and slashed tires. From that point on, she showed up, stated her conditions, and collected her money at the end of the night—short and sweet, no strings attached. She wasn't a showoff, just a bit of an adrenaline addict… Okay, more than just a little.

Avery had a bad habit of throwing herself into things without thinking of the consequences; even the fact that losing would cost her double on paint supplies for the next month would not deter her, and she could hardly afford her rent as it was. Her pride and stubbornness alone had already landed her an overload of college hours, a crappy part-time job, and an illegal hobby. What damage could one match cause?

Seeing the look on that asshole's face after she wiped the floor with him and his pretty Aston Martin would totally be worth it.

With that thought in mind, she barely lasted the rest of her shift without fidgeting and checking the time every few seconds; the minutes slowly ticked away until the clock finally reached eleven PM, and finally the manager let her off the hook. Avery bolted outside, a blast of cool autumn air whipping her hair violently about her face. This was certainly a night to race. She threw open the door of her Grand Am and climbed in, revving the engine.

"Just you wait, pretty boy. You're going down," she mumbled to herself, taking off toward the outskirts of town.

Human holograms could be so troublesome. They drained energon and wasted spark energy—however, if Knockout had to walk around in a virtual fleshy prison, at least he would look good doing it. He materialized it at the last second as he arrived on the circuit, a beacon of red amongst the rough group of scruffy flesh-bags looming around the area. His holo-form stepped out of his alt. mode, scanning the track for potential opponents.

"Hey! Took you long enough to show up. Having any second thoughts?" a deep femme voice called in his direction.

Sure enough, there it—she—was, the flesh-bag that had trashed, repaired, and challenged him last week. The lanky human's eyes narrowed and a smile twitched at the corners of her lips when he glanced in her direction. Everything about her matched her scrap heap of a car—quirky, worn, and outdated. Her faded jeans, torn leather jacket and Led Zeppelin shirt blended in perfectly with the dulling black paint of the 1975 Pontiac Grand Am behind her. This poor meat-sack had the audacity to believe she could actually win against him with that junk heap.

Knockout couldn't decide whether to feel amused or insulted as he surveyed the scrapped vehicle behind her. A quick Internet search provided him with the information on the engine and model. It was almost laughable—this couldn't even come close to matching Cybertronian technology. He approached her, cocking one hip to the side and crossing his arms with a smirk. "I'm surprised you actually still want to do this. This is your last chance to back out, princess."

"Not a chance, pretty boy," she replied smoothly, but not without a catch in her voice.

Knockout grinned back in response at that; he almost pitied her—it wasn't surprising he could still have an affect on organic females. "I'd love to stay out here and chat all night, but I have a race to win. You ready?"

"You know it," she said back, twirling her keys as she slid into her vehicle. "But before we start—there are two things I need to make absolutely clear. One: no lasers allowed."

"Obviously. You aren't exactly what I'd consider a threat. What about the second?"

"Try not to get too offended when it's you eating my dust at the end of the night. See you at the finish line," she quipped, flashing him a slag-eating grin as she rolled up the window to her car and drove to the starting point.

"You know what they say about assumptions," the medic smirked to himself as his holo-form climbed into the driver's seat of his alt. mode. 'They make an aft out of you.' He rolled up beside her on the gravel, leveling his vision straight ahead. Her engine rumbled to life next to him, parts clanking loudly around within.

'This will certainly end quickly. Best of luck, flesh-bag.'

A slender human masked by a dark hoodie stepped between the vehicles, nodding to both opponents. Wordlessly he raised one arm, waving a flashlight up into the air. This was it. With that passing signal of light, the entire night exploded into chaos.

Both cars lurched forward across the gravel, blasting into the night. Loose pebbles and dirt scattered behind them, creating clouds of dust in their wake. The Pontiac's engine rattled loudly as the human slammed down on the accelerator, gaining distance behind him. Knockout could practically feel her determined glare on his bumper.

What fun would this be if he beat her in only one move? He wanted to enjoy himself tonight, after all. The medic decided to make things interesting, slowing his pace by only a minimal amount and working his way toward the outside of the track. As predicted, the girl took the bait, using the opportunity to bolt ahead of him and into the inside lane of the road.

Knockout gained speed, trailing on the tail end of her car just to aggravate her. Sure enough, the human's eyes widened in her rear-view mirror, glaring back at him in annoyance. They continued this for a while, him following closely behind; after a few minutes, the flesh-bag finally figured out he was toying with her. Without warning, the human slammed on her breaks, colliding into the metal of his front bumper.

The sudden screech of metal-on-metal was deafening. Knockout cringed—the race had barely started and already he had new marks. If this cheeky meat-sack wanted to play rough, he would oblige.

No longer holding back, the medic darted up beside her. He made sure to catch her attention, hologram giving her a pretty smirk before he collided into the left side of her vehicle. A slight pain exploded on his right side from contact, but Knockout forced his alt. mode harder into the metal anyway. His little opponent was obliged to fix every small scratch and smudge after tonight; he had nothing to lose.

The Pontiac slammed into him with equal force, trying to veer him off the road to no avail. His strength outmatched hers at this angle, and within moments he had sent his opponent fishtailing to the left.

"Sorry, princess. No hard feelings," he chuckled to himself, bolting toward the finish line.

Careening, twisting, turning, Avery held on for dear life as her car swerved across the gravel. It felt as though someone had torn the earth from its orbit, sending it tumbling through empty space. Colors flashed across her vision, the track blurring into nothing as she spun out of control.

Please don't let me die please don't let me die please don't let me die!

Fingers digging into the leather, Avery jerked the wheel into the direction of the spin, slowly guiding the car back onto a straight path. Her heart pounded in overtime as she slammed on the accelerator once more, taking off after the Aston Martin. No way in hell was she going down tonight—not after that charade!

Loud rattling filled her ears as the engine pushed its limits, but Avery ignored the sound. She knew she was pushing the old car, but pride prevented her from doing the rational thing and slowing down. "If that's how it is," the girl hissed, "Two can play that game, prissy pants."

The speedometer's red dial began to twitch, hitting sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety miles per hour, and continued to climb. In the distance the bright red taillights of her opponent came into view, getting closer by the second. He wasn't even trying to win, so confident that she would crash and burn. In a swift movement, the girl glided past her opponent, driving just close enough to scratch the paint. The satisfying sound of old, real metal across a fancy red and silver fiberglass finish brought a wide, manic grin across her lips.

Adrenaline caught fire in her veins, blood boiling like gasoline as she shot past him. Knockout reacted immediately, reclaiming the inside lane of the circuit before she could make it too far ahead. She growled, crashing into his fender as she forced her way in front of him. The two swerved into and around one another, bashing and gouging into the other's vehicle to take first place.

Never in any of her experience did she have to work so hard to simultaneously keep the front place and safety of her own body in tact. Pitting herself against a fellow road maniac was probably not the best idea after all. Just as her strongest hit sent him veering off in circles, the dizzy, disoriented human decided to make a break for the finish line. That blessed row of cars, people and lights in the distance awaited her, signaling the end of this crazy battle. She now only remained about two hundred feet away from victory—!

When something crashed into her so hard it knocked the entire world off its axis. Impulsively, Avery gripped the wheel, turning it hard to the left and starting to serpentine in the process. No, no, no, no, NO! The blow to her side took away her speed and, despite the aerodynamic shape of her car, caused her to fall back from ninety to fifty miles per hour. She slammed down on the accelerator again, trying to make up for lost time.

To make matters worse, a red shape appeared in her peripheral vision, adjacent to her vehicle. Knockout drove backwards, not even bothering to look behind him as he zoomed past her. The egotistical bastard had the nerve to bolt across the finish line first in that manner, spinning three or four times across the gravel for show before finally coming to a stop. Avery shot over the line just moments afterward, her breaks screeching loudly as her car halted. She had only missed first place by about five seconds!

The human took a few moments to calm down, breathing heavily. Her hands still clung to the wheel, tightening in rage and alarm when she caught sight of the smoke billowing out of her hood. Oh no! Avery practically kicked open the door to the driver's side, jumping out of the car and quickly taking inventory of the damage. Numerous dents and scratches littered the frame of the car, though it thankfully retained its basic shape; however, the smoke was concerning.

She popped the hood immediately, checking for damage. A black buff of toxins practically swallowed her whole. She flew back, coughing and gasping for air. When the smoke cleared, she could see the more serious internal damage to the engine. Shit. This would take a while to repair…

"Well, that certainly doesn't look good. What a shame," a deep voice purred behind her. Avery stiffened immediately, whirling around to face a very smug Knockout. Her fists curled in anger, but for the moment she could only glare back at him. "What do you want?"

"Have you forgotten already? You lost, fair and square, and now you have to hold up your end of our little bargain~"

"It'll have to wait. Thanks to you, I'm going to have to call out a tow-truck. There is no way I can drive back with my engine in this condition without becoming a living shiskabob. It's leaking from a main fuel line," she explained begrudingly.

"Add in a polish and detail-work on my rims tonight, and I'll be your ride," he smirked, placing his hands on his hips.

"No thanks." Before she could turn away, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist. Shit.

"I never said that was a request, now did I?" The red tint to his irises seemed oddly bright tonight—it disconcerted the girl.

"Look, I'll get to you first thing tomorrow evening. I have school and a job, you know," she ground out carefully through her teeth.

"You challenged me. And you lost. I don't see a logical reason to leave until my chassis is positively glowing. Careful who you mess with, sweetheart," he said dangerously, yanking her toward him. "You play with fire, you get burned."

"All right, all right," Avery said quickly, putting her hands up defensively, "But you are not going to make this a habit. You see me on my time after this, understood?"

Knockout chuckled, releasing her wrist. "You seem to have me mistaken. I'm not coming to you because you're good. I'm coming to you because you're free."

Despite the way his tone set her nerves on edge, Avery's blood boiled with anger and humiliation. He had said this clearly enough for everyone within a ten foot radius to hear, and those who eavesdropped clearly took away a different meaning from the comment about her being 'free.' A few other racers snickered, and one largely muscled brute wolf-whistled in their direction. It didn't help that her cheeks had begun to reflect the same shade of red as Knockout's fancy car.

"Not in THAT way," she exclaimed loudly for emphasis at the others, taking a step back to create space between them for good measure.

"Come again?" Knockout questioned. When the girl shook her head and glared out into the distance away from the catcalls made by other humans, he caught on quickly. How disgusting, that these pathetic flesh-bags actually thought he would get involved with such a lowly creature! If only they knew.

The medic only smirked and patted the human on the cheek with mock-affection. "Not to worry, princess. You're not really my type."

"Yeah; you seemed like the type to go more for pork swords anyway," she replied, flashing him a slick, smarmy smile right back.

'Pork swords?' As always, the wonderful World Wide Web had provided him with everything he wished to never know about the human race. So, she pegged him as what the humans referred to as 'gay'. Not entirely false, not entirely true: Knockout had no preference for either mechs or femmes like most Cybertronians, but even then, gender was a relative term based upon frame model only. It said nothing about their actual reproductive capabilities or forms of interfacing. Still, given the context, the Decepticon officer did not appreciate being referred to as a frivolous, feminine weakling. He smirked darkly, glaring right back at her. "Do I sense a bit of jealousy? At least I have the capabilities to attract both. You, my dear, have no taste."

Light brown, almost gold eyes hardened, glaring daggers right through him with the petty comment. Primus, this organic was so childish. Her clenched hands trembled, and in a swift movement a bony fist came flying directly toward his holo-form's face. Knockout sidestepped the punch with ease, catching her fist with an open palm. "Really, a fist-fight? I honestly expected you to have more dignity than that. There's no point in being a sore loser~"

The human growled again, breathing hard as she fought to calm down. A quick bio-scan indicated high blood pressure and adrenaline levels; his new flesh-bag had quite the temper. How troublesome. Oh well, at least she was somewhat compliant.

"…let's just go," she said finally, voice coarse.

Knockout opened the door for her to his alt. mode, grinning in her direction. "Ladies first."

A/N: Please give me your feedback; I appreciate every comment, no matter how small or long, positive, or negative. Even if you just click the review button to shout, "PREPARE FOR SURGERY!" ;) Chapter 3 is mostly written and coming soon!

-KM

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