Heh. Hi guys.

I started writing this back in… hell, October I think, on LJ. A good chunk of you have probably read it already either there or at transfictions, but I thought what the hell, might as well have at least ONE finished fic on FF, eh? I haven't even edited it much since, if at all.

Disclaimer: I don't own TF or any recognizable characters, songs, movie quotes, video games or food I might mention. I own my OFC though. She's my bitch. :)

Characters: pretty much everyone, but Mikaela-centric

Feedback: Not required but appreciated. I hate it when authors beg, makes me NOT review. LOL Flames will be used to light cigarettes.

Warning: I cuss, I blow stuff up, and I'm blunt… and the fic is rather strange. Just enjoy it for the fun, and don't take it seriously. I write for entertainment only. :D

Oh, and half the summary is courtesy of Vixensshadow and Conna. You bastards. :P

I'll shut up now.

If my calculations are correct, when this baby hits eighty-eight miles per hour ... you're gonna see some serious shit. Dr. Emmett Brown


"You know what? Kiss my inferior human ass, the lot of you."

I gave the group one final glare before turning away and stomping down the highway. I could walk home, I'd done it dozens of times, and quite a few of them in the past three weeks, since the battle in Mission City. For a bunch of peace-loving sentient robots and an ex-geek turned hero, they sure knew how to piss a girl off. Funny thing is they didn't seem to know what the hell they did to piss me off so much. Must be a common male deficiency, hard wired into them no matter what the species.

For a woman like me, one of the biggest crimes in my book was to claim ownership over me. I thought Sam knew better, having more or less asked me why I hung out with assholes like Trent who constantly claimed I was 'his', and the Autobots? I recalled Prime, on more than one occasion, claim that 'freedom was the right of all sentient beings', but in the same breath called me and Sam 'our humans', and restricted our movements. Bad thing to do to a wandering and free spirited teenager like me. Sam didn't seem to mind though, as he was used to restrictions, but I would NOT stand for it.

Then Hide's habit of bringing down the entire species in one nasty comment… usually involving one of the words 'inferior', 'primitive', or 'weak'… made my blood boil.

So I left for the umpteenth time that month, near shaking in affronted rage, desperate to get away from them before I said something that could potentially damage what little was left of their good will. That, and… Sam.

Sam, Sam, Sam.

I felt like a bitch. A shallow Bitch.

It wasn't that I didn't love him anymore; we were great as a couple, never mind an odd one… for the first little while. Then things, first small, then gradually larger, made themselves apparent to me. First it was the whole 'car theft' thing back before Mission City even happened. Sam's reaction was understandable, but it still got to me, the, what do you call it… holier than thou attitude that rolled off of Sam, up until I told him off, pointed out how very protected he was from the real world. What hard decisions has HE ever had to make in his life? To wear the brown shirt or the red one? Oooooooooooooh. Life-threatening.

I scoffed and kicked a rock.

Things hadn't gotten any better really. He was a sweet kid, but under experienced, too hyperactive, over-reactionary, and, well, much too in love with his car. Not in the 'I want to hump you every which way possible' kind of love, but the 'hetero life mate' like Jay and Silent Bob type of way, which really didn't leave much room for paying more than passing attention to the brunette car-buff 'evil jock concubine'.

And he chewed with his mouth open.

And he had very narrow tastes in music.

And though his mom was sweet, Sam spent way too much time sucking up, lying, and generally bending to their will instead of exerting that strong, brave, and independent attitude that guys at Sam's age usually developed by now. If there was anything that I admired about people it was independence and a strong will. Sam's simpering sometimes just drove me up the wall. In my head I recalled Sam's 'Whiny Voice':

I gotta go my dad's gonna kill me if I'm late for curfew oh man Bee hurry!

The fake voice got whinier and more child-like as I stomped on:

I'm going to be late for the big important Autobot meeting, I have to replant the flowers Prime stomped or mom will take away my computer.

I nearly laughed remembering this real life gem:

I can't go out tonight, I'm grounded. No I can't just sneak out the window. Yes, even if Bee helps. No, it's not because I don't want to miss Sam's Happy Time. You two are perverts.

I made a face and kicked the rock again, watching it soar and disappear over the edge of the drop-off. Shit. Now I gotta find something else to kick around…

Where's that spazzy little Frenzy when I need him?

Decommissioned and likely has bits of his wiring used for toaster repair, hopefully.

I cackled, finding a torn up pop can and proceeded to kick that for the next quarter mile.

As the can sailed over the median I realized I'd demonized poor Sam in my mind, conveniently forgetting all the good stuff he'd done over the past three weeks, and the fun guy he was BEFORE I bothered getting to know him. Fondly I remembered the day I got a ride home from him (in what was at the time, a piece of crap Camaro), when he outright told off Trent. Mazes, colouring pages, what else?? Oh yeah, pop up pictures. Stroke of fuckin' genius there… I giggled remembering how Trent's face turned red as a tomato and myself admiring Sam's guts for spouting those insults despite being surrounded by 'brain damaged' jocks. That was probably the first time the unremarkable Sam Witwicky impressed me, and he didn't slow for a few days, coming up with more balls and guts and witty remarks than anyone I'd known for years in school, next to my own dad (who was stupid enough to get caught)…

And he wasn't half bad looking' either. For a skinny guy.


I screamed before I could stop myself, leaping what felt like a foot in the air before spinning to confront who I pretty much knew was a either an obnoxious yellow or 'playa' silver Autobot…

Instead, a gunmetal grey 1973 Chevy Nova SS inched closer and closer to me, engine purring like a lion, dark tinted windows and moonless night preventing me from seeing the driver (if there even was one)…

Suddenly, a scratchy masculine voice reached me ears, and I cringed. Not a mech… a pervert. Wonderful.

"Hey babygirl! How much for a lap dance?"

Kill. Smash. Destroy.

"Fuck you." I spat. Maybe if I asked nicely Prime would run him over…

"I'll take that too!" The man's voice cracked, then overridden with a spattering of too-feminine giggles.

Realization hit me the same time the Chevy's driver door swung open and the now expected big black boot hit the roadside gravel. Malena! I laughed and wanted to strangle her at the same time. "You Bitch!"

"You totally fell for it! AGAIN!" Mischief filled eyes peered at me over the door.

Malena's 'truckstop bastard' voice 'got' me a grand total of 4 times this year, whether over the phone or in person, and I felt a little dumb for falling for it a fifth… and I knew Malena would never EVER let me live it down.

I nearly booted her in the shin for the trick, but hugged my giggling older sister instead. It was good to see her. I'd get vengeance later…

Our conversation consisted of mostly interrogation.

"What the fuck are you doing home?"

"What the hell are you doing on the highway at night, doofus?"

"Where'd you get this car?"

"Could your skirt be any shorter?"

I wrung some information out of her, like she was home because she dropped her ass out of college and wanted to come back here, and she got the car out in the east. I told her my bullshit story of fighting with my boyfriend (which was half true) and yes, my skirt COULD get shorter thankyouverymuch.

"Full story when we get home?" She asked, casting a concerned look at me. I nodded, relieved I'd have more time to come up with more bull. Though, I was sort of looking forward to a good mothering after months of being more or less alone.

I grabbed the 'gonnapissmyself' handle as my sister roared through the third red light in as many miles, badly singing along with classic Pink Floyd and grinning like a maniac. As much as I loved her, this woman was insane. She took the familial love of cars to a whole other level, not stealing them, but driving them all like she was a demolition derby contestant. It would be a shame if she ruined this beast.

It was only that once, you exaggerator!

Wait. Twice. Remember your 15th Birthday?

Then there was the time with that dude in the 'Cuda…

"Fuuuuuuuuuck me, look at that!"

My sister's lust-filled purr stirred me from memories of that hulking hairy 40-something year old guy threatening to kill her for scratching his car, only to see a familiar silver Pontiac Solstice glide past us, put on the brakes, and pull up even next to us. I glimpsed the man in the driver's seat, holographic face looking a little worried. I waved with a wary smile.

Jazz was the only one of that entire group that I could stand. Discounting the first time I met him when he addressed Sam and I as 'lil bitches', he was pretty cool. He never insulted humanity, instead revelling in it. He never made me feel inferior, rather flattered me beyond what most guys would bother with. I could be myself around him. He was like a robotic big brother. And hell, his car-form was hot.

"You know this guy?" Malena jammed her thumb in Jazz's direction, eyebrow quirked. This was her sisterly way of asking "are you boning this guy?" which at any other time would have me in giggling fits.

"Yes, I know him, and no, I'm not boning him, so don't even ask." I smirked.

Since his 'resurrection', Jazz'd taken it upon himself to guard me nearly as hard as Bee guarded Sam. Given that I could never realistically afford to drive a hot-ass piece of machinery like that, we didn't pair up like they did, but nonetheless he was nearly always around, in the background watching, or sometimes driving me places with his hologram sitting proudly in the driver's seat (made for difficult explanations to my friends). He never told me why he felt he needed to guard me like this, but I had a feeling it was because I helped to bring him back. Minor repair, whatever Ratchet would allow (which wasn't much considering he was one cautious guy), but I had a small part in it. Maybe it was his way of showing appreciation, but I never asked.

Boning him was not an option.

"Well if you're not, I sure as hell will!" Malena waggled her eyebrows.

The silver Solstice swerved and I started laughing.

At the next red light, my sister, in a near unfathomable show of respect for the law, actually slowed to a stop. Jazz, after regaining control of himself, pulled up next to us again, engine revving in what I learned to interpret as hysterical laughter. The hologram itself was just smirking like mad, nearly preening. Yeah, he knows he's hot.

Making a show of it, he pulled out a cell phone and dialled, and a microsecond later mine rang. I dug through my purse, hunting for the sound of "oh yeah, press my buttons" in a deep Isaac Hayes-like male voice coming from my phone. Malena snorted and turned down the music.

"Christ, Mouse, I can roll down the windows if you wanna chat…" she muttered, exasperated at me.

"What can I say; I'm a high tech girl." I paused. "And don't call me that."


Siblings… "Light's green."

She shot off so suddenly that I slammed back into my seat with a squeal, nearly dropping my phone. Jazz's laughter rang out from the speaker of my phone and I had to hold myself back from telling him to stuff it up his tailpipe. Instead I pointed at Malena: "Fuck you," then pointed at Jazz, "and fuck you too for laughing."

"Y' love me, y'know it." Jazz's smooth metallic voice sang.

Looking pointedly over at the driver, I replied haughtily, "I love her too but she can still go fuck herself."

Malena swatted me one-handed for the remark. "Skank."


"Would it be redundant to ask if she's safe?" He asked in his 'All Business' voice. So that's why he's calling instead of just yelling across…

"You could say that…"


"How can you tell?"

"Y' talk ta each other like me an' Bumblebee do."

I'd caught them tormenting each other a few times and I couldn't help but agree. Only they added stun laser-fire to the equation and drove Ratchet mad from repairing fried circuitry.

"…and you look alike."

"We do NOT!"

"Do too." Jazz's voice was teasing now.

"Do not!"

Malena's gaze was shifting from me, to Jazz's holo, to the road, to me, and back again, looking very entertained. "You sure you're not boning him?"


"I'll leave you gals to it then. I'll be back at the base; Ironhide owes me a few shots of high grade. You'll be okay til tomorrow?"

"I'll be fine." I assured him. Goofy or not, he was protective.

"Alright, be safe." The line clicked and Jazz made another show of flipping his phone closed before winking slyly at my sister and making the next left. Malena groaned and commented on the Solstice's 'ass' as it disappeared.

Be safe.

A black and white observed the entire exchange, visually and electronically, hidden in dark alleys and shadows wherever he could find them, shifting the fine points of plans already in action. Once the protector abandoned the organics, the Mustang rolled from its cover, taking his time, considering his options. He knew where they were going. No rush.