Well Shagged Breakdown

* * *

Drag Strip found Breakdown spilled on the deck, limbs a'splay. His armor didn't show the mauling he must have gotten, but Drag Strip could read it in the streaks of grey paint mixed with the Lamborghini's cream-and-blue. He nudged Breakdown with his foot; the only immediate response he got was a flicker of his optics.

"Got you good, didn't he?"

[Mmmm.] Breakdown's reply came as faintly as if he was another solar system. He didn't sound unhappy, though.

"Want to stay here?"

[Mmmmmmm!]

"... Got you *real* good." Drag Strip nudged him again. "You sure you want to stay in a public corridor like this?"

[Mmhm.]

Drag Strip shrugged. No rubber off his tires to leave him here.

That part of him that he blamed on Dead End, the part that could look at a situation and say he was going to lose, started screaming when he heard a door open behind him and a familiar tread stomp out.

"Drag Strip," Motormaster rumbled. That was not the sound of a happily sated semi-truck, as he well knew from experience. That was the tone Motormaster used when he was still in the mood, and he'd damn well better get some or everyone would suffer.

Drag Strip took off at a dead run anyway. He got halfway down the corridor before Motormaster tackled him.

End

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