Maximum Overdrive
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A/N: Hey! Nostalgia brought me back to TFP after a decade. This is a 2024 rewrite from my old FFN account, KrazyMusician. Unfortunately, I lost my old email and can't access my original story, so I'm posting here! I've reached out to support as well.
Please note: My car and racing knowledge is limited to forum research. If you do find the old fic, be aware it has even less car knowledge, and some immature comments toward Knock Out's preferences. I started that story at 18, and now rewrite it at 30 as a queer trans man.
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Pedal to the Metal, Face to the Floor
…
Nothing quite sent sparks through Knock Out like the feeling of hitting maximum speed. The rest of the world stripped away until nothing lingered between him and the asphalt. Of course, the ambitious fleshbag racers were a bonus. Unlike his fellow Decepticons, they never seemed to grow bored of competing with him. Breakdown had long since stopped racing with him many vorns ago, leaving a void for the medic to fill.
Street racing risked everything–blowing his cover, drawing unwanted attention, creating a lead for the Autobots–and that was precisely why he loved it.
"Knock Out, come in," a deep voice cracked through his intercom, shooting straight through his focus.
He only faltered for a second at the sound of Breakdown's message, but it gave one car enough time to shoot past him, taking the lead. With a sigh, Knock Out worked his way to the inner lane of the circuit, gaining dangerously on the driver. The human's vehicle nearly nicked him on his front right side with that maneuver, and the medic made a mental note to scrap the pathetic life form later for daring to threaten his paint.
"I'm kinda busy, Breakdown. Can't this wait?"
"Out racing the flesh-bags again?"
"Hey, I don't intrude on what you do in your free time, big guy."
A sigh on the other end of the line came as his only response at first. "Megatron's going to pound you into scrap metal if you keep sneaking off like this on leisure trips…"
"Hold that thought–"
Knock Out smirked inwardly as he caught the vehicle in front of him at just the right angle, sending the car fishtailing off the track. "As you were saying?"
"Just watch out for yourself, Knock Out."
The sports car emitted a sarcastic huff. "Yes, dear."
Although he couldn't see the blue 'con's face, he could practically feel Breakdown rolling his eyes over their comm link.
As he shot across the finish line for the fifth time in a row that night, euphoria flooded his processor. His energon burned near boiling. Some of the human onlookers cheered, while others started on a mix of awe, envy, and determination. Knock Out couldn't care less what these puny fleshlings thought of him, as long as they continued to feed his need to compete.
The other Decepticons criticized his alt mode, associating his ground form with an easy target. However, none of them ever seemed to fly for enjoyment, or travel. And a vehicle mode got one further on this planet. Years of endless war proved painfully monotonous; Knock Out wondered how the Eradicons coped with it. Megatron had a legacy of power, Starscream had his schemes, Soundwave had unwavering loyalty to the cause… Primus, the medic needed some escape from the daily demands of serving in Megatron's forces. The constant surveillance wore at him.
What was the harm of a little thrill-seeking between missions, anyway? The average unsuspecting human hardly posed a challenge to a Cybertronian. They only gathered out here in the middle of nowhere at night to gamble, race, and engage in a bit of fun they otherwise lacked in their lives. Everyone stayed out of everyone else's business–mostly. Much to the medic's liking, there wasn't an Autobot in sight.
By the time Knock Out returned to the Nemesis, no one besides his medical assistant would even realize he had left.
Or so he thought until the Autobot's scout made a personal appearance.
…
At first, Avery thought she'd imagined the light show: a bright yellow Camaro bolted down the track, chased by a sleek red vehicle firing lasers. Speeding down dark asphalt at ninety-plus miles-per-hour tended to obstruct one's vision.
Suddenly, sparks flashed in her periphery. The car beside her careened toward her passenger side, drifting with a blown-out tire. With a yelp, Avery slammed down on the accelerator and willed every bit of strength into her Trans Am; and by divine intervention or dumb luck, she cleared the path just in time for the other driver to veer off the track. They slowed to a stop in her rear view mirror. Smoke billowed from under the hood. The startled driver's silhouette was a shadow slipping away into the night. But they lived.
What the–.
Avery's heart slammed violently against her chest, her insides tangling together as she gained on the red and yellow cars.
Lasers?! That looks military-grade. Where in the world did this guy get that as a car-mod?!
Whatever she'd just witnessed, Camaro guy needed help if they didn't want to risk getting flipped. Or worse.
Avery would tell herself later 'never again'-that playing the hero yielded ugly results. However, she didn't think twice in the moment. The red car's display risked everyone here; one, he'd practically flashed a beacon for any cops in the area; and two, he'd screwed Avery out of winning any bet money on tonight's race. She was pissed.
Taking a deep breath, Avery revved her Trans Am and punched the gas, gaining on the tail end of the Aston Martin.
"Here goes nothing…" she grumbled. Buckle up, asshat.
Without a second thought, she deliberately swerved toward the red car. Red killed his lasers and swerved to avoid her, but the screech of metal-on-metal cut through the air. Avery grimaced, but held strong, veering the red car off course long enough for the Camaro to get ahead. Teeth rattling from impact, Avery continued to invade Red's path, shoving him away from the track.
Something seemed…off about the red car. When Avery managed to glance over at the driver, her stomach dropped. From her line of sight, the front seat appeared vacant. Of course, the dark window tint could have blocked out the driver at such high speeds, but dread nagged at her.
You're just seeing things, Av. Calm down…focus…
For a moment, she expected him to retaliate. Instead, the red sports car slowed to a grinding halt along the outer track. Avery swallowed the anxiety building up in her throat. She lamented the damage to both vehicles. This was foolish. Worse than foolish. She should have put more thought into the damage the other guy could possibly inflict on her face for that stunt, but it was too late to back down now.
Gathering her courage, Avery stepped out of the Trans Am. Her fingers curled around the old tire iron under her seat, a small but quick defense if things went south. She kept the door open, engine running. Just in case.
A furious-looking driver emerged from the front seat, glaring Avery down as she eyed the long gash in the side of his car. Just surface damage. Good. Everything about him was smothered in red, from his clothing to his hair and attitude. Red and white jacket, joggers, sneakers. A mess of spiky, cherry-hued hair spilled over eyes that seemed to tint crimson in the dim light. The guy matched his ride. Avery would have laughed aloud if this rich boy didn't have weapons modded into his vehicle.
Avery tightened her grip on the tire iron, carefully watching his posture. He couldn't be much older than she was, but he carried enough muscle to pack a punch. She didn't budge.
"'Evening," Avery greeted. She flashed the guy a sheepish smile. The driver only glared daggers in response, his hands curled into fists.
Hereeee we go, she thought. I'm going to die tonight.
In racing, things could turn ugly. Disagreements, failed bet payments, or just plain old testosterone-fueled competition. Accidents and brawls were common—but modding a vehicle with weapons crossed a completely different line. Just who was this guy?
"Tell me…." He said in a breathy voice, punctuating each word, "What…in the slag were you thinking?! The damage your little stunt cost me is going to take ages to repair!"
"Look, I know this is the last place to enforce rules. But last time I checked, death lasers weren't on any approved car-mod list," Avery said carefully.
"So you ran me off the road?!" He took a step forward.
She braced. "I couldn't just let you shoot that dude's tires out. You couldn't just beat him up in an alleyway? Besides, where and how in the hell did you even get weapons installed?"
"They're not lethal." The guy smirked, leaning against his car and folding his arms. "You like my little lights display? You seem more interested in getting a few fancy upgrades for your scrap heap than preserving my rival back there."
Avery frowned at the 'scrap heap' comment, but ignored it. "You still haven't answered me. Why were you attacking that guy in the Camaro?"
"I'm afraid that's none of your business. Now, would you be so kind as to move your rust-bucket so I can leave, sweetheart? I'd love to stay and chat….but I have somewhere to be," he said curtly.
Who does he think he is, anyway? Avery took a step closer to his vehicle, once more inspecting the damage. Just scratches. With a smirk, she straightened and glanced up at him.
"I'll make you a deal. Look–I…work for a garage. I'll fix your paint job tonight if you meet me back here next week for a race," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Same time."
That seemed to catch his interest, despite the fury moments ago. He arched one perfect eyebrow. "And why should I take you up on that offer?"
"I lost my money tonight because of your stunt. Beating someone as flashy as you would earn me enough to buy a new paint job…or upgrade my engine."
"And if I win?" he asked.
"I'll give you free surface-repair for a month."
The driver looked reluctant at first, then relented, smirking and grabbing her hand in a firm handshake. "You have a deal."
…
Knock Out had to admit—the flesh-bag did a half-decent job. His human hologram examined her work as she mended his paint, treating what surface dents she could on his door. With time to spare, he had followed her to a garage on the opposite side of Jasper. Knock Out needed to return to the Nemesis soon, tanks low on energon from the race and extended use of his holo-form. However, at least he need only worry about minimal self-repair tonight.
He told himself the trip was worth it. He couldn't kill another human in plain sight without drawing the attention of more than one Autobot. Bumblebee was tomorrow's problem.
While the human worked, Knock Out glanced around the room. Tools lay scattered everywhere, filling every surface and shelf crammed too tightly together. The walls bore stains from various paints over the years. A few books lay scattered on a work table, things on mechanics and maintenance.
"Nice chassis," the girl commented, setting aside her tools. "I've never seen anything like it."
"I'm one of a kind," he smirked, ego flaring. It was certainly an improvement in the treatment of his alt form on the circuit.
The human glanced at him strangely for a moment, "I was talking about your car, man. Speaking of which, do you even have a name?"
Glancing over at her, the medic hesitated. The girl knew nothing of Cybertron, Autobots, or Decepticons, but he didn't want to take any chances. When she stared at him expectantly, he finally let it slip, "The name's Knock Out."
She choked. "Are you serious?"
"You don't have a racer name?" he asked, relived as her look of suspicion deflated into an amused grin.
"Nope. I'm Avery. Just Avery."
"That's boring, princess. I think you could come up with something better," he replied, returning her smirk.
"What? The Blonde Menace? Terror Tires?"
"Well, "Just Avery" isn't going to send terror through anybody's transistors. Appearances are everything, my dear."
"I'll keep that in mind." Avery murmured, wiping off the rest of his chassis. "There you go, Knock Out. All set for next week's race. You like it?"
"It's decent."
Avery scoffed, and Knock Out's hologram rolled his eyes. "We'll see how well it holds up next week."
"If you chicken out beforehand, just let me know. I'd be happy to take your sweet ride off your hands for a few weeks. It's as good as any bet money," she replied with a grin.
No way in the darkest slag pits of Cybertron.
Knockout frowned, reminding himself what in Primus' name a chicken was. Instead, he dismissed it and made a show of his hologram sliding into his alt-mode. With a halfhearted nod, he backed out of the garage and into the street.
"We'll have to see about that, Just Avery."
…
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Your reviews and thoughts mean the world to me, and inspire the story to continue! Have a lovely day (or night, or time of your pref!)
-KM (2)