King of the road

Top Gear Magazine Destroyed the Mazda Furai

There aren’t many details yet aside from the merged together before & after photo and a brief statement from the Top Gear team; 

Slowing to a halt on the side of the road, the frontliner tries again and again. If the large semi isn’t chasing him, he’s fairly certain that he’s still dealing with Blue. He’s just hoping that he can at least get something through to figure out where Bluestreak is and what’s happening.-

Hearing Motormaster’s taunts, he only gives a louder rev of his engine as he kicks things up a notch; driving faster and silently telling the Decepticon to “eat his dust". He’s getting close to his way out and once he gets there, he can focus on meeting back up with Sides. 

As an incoming ping comes onto his comm. lines, he opens up the private comm and hears static along with Sideswipe’s broken words.

:: Getting Motormaster off my tail. I should meet with you soon.::

Turning off the comm, he hopes that gets through. With the way the ‘con is driving through everything, he’s getting dangerously close. When the Datsun finally spots the tunnel he’s been heading for, one too small for someone like Motormaster to go through, he wastes no time in speeding up more and going through it. Even if the ‘con did try to continue to chase after him, he’d have to take another route to get to the same path as him and Blue’s more than sure the ‘con wouldn’t be able to catch up to him.

When Bluestreak disappeared into the narrow tunnel, it was too late for Motormaster to break in time.He transformed and spun around, digging his sword into the ground to stop his trajectory. With sparks flying and scraping all the paint off his knees he finally came to a stop, with the overhead archway of the tunnel gently bumping into the back of his head. 

He turned around and yelled at the disappearing tail lights 'SLAGGER'. 

He transformed back into truck mode with a painful rattle and clank as his outer plating had shifted out of place. He moodily went back along the path he'd come down, following the trail of destruction and looking for sideswipe, but unable to find any sight of him.

Sensors re-aligning themselves to a higher functioning status, the red frontliner is able to finally transform and drive off.

When Motormaster yells out his name, he glances over at Sideswipe for a moment to see the frontliner starting to move before switching his attention back to Stunticon.

"Took you long enough to figure it out, Motorbreath"

He transforms and revs his powerful engine angrily, kicking up a cloud of dust as he heads after Bluestreak, barreling straight over any obstacles in his path. 

He’s pleased to see that Motormaster has swallowed his yarn about being spikeless. Let’s see how long he could make the other mech believe that (the answer would likely be until he lost interest). “Hey, my legs are plenty stable. More stable than yours.” He leans back further, lifting one leg and wiggling the foot back and forth. Under different circumstances, his posture would be quite provocative, but seeing as how he’s being an annoying little shit, it’s highly doubtful the thought ever enters into Motormaster’s mind. 

"So the 'cons in your verse are made of tinfoil and wishes, hm. Only way a mech with so many lose screws like you could survive."

Motormaster finds Whirl about as alluring as a kitchen drawer full of scissors, rusty knives and robo-syphilis. To his optic, Whirl's physique looks weirdly fragile but above all else, awkward.

"So some mechs don't like the the shape of my helm." He shrugged.

“Give the mech a prize,” Whirl reached up and began to clap, stared at his claws in mock astonishment, and then simply clicked them instead by way of applause. “You’re Motormaster. I take it you’re some sort of alternate version of our Motormaster, though. For one, you don’t sound like someone being held prisoner.” 

The second clue was that he didn’t know who Whirl was. 

"There aren't enough Autobots around to even try to take me prisoner." he answered flatly. He was a little disappointed to hear his counterpart wasn't dead; he would never surrender to a so-called Autobot victory and suspected his counterparts wouldn't either. Being locked up, that was just embarrassing.

"I can tell you're not from around here, too." He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Whirl a cool look.

‘Every mech I’ve met must’ve had real undersized ports then.’ Motormaster’s engines rumbled low in annoyance. ‘And least I got equipment, unlike you poor drones. The Autobots couldn’t even spring the cash to give you fingers? Sad.’

“Nah, it’s better this way. Interfacing equipment is distracting. Besides, fragging isn’t nearly as fun as eviscerating. Or dismembering. Or shooting. Or dropping someone from the sky, that one never gets old, especially if they can’t fly—or burning, or bending, or melting, or decapitating, or any of those things,” Whirl replies airily. 

He’s lying, of course, about the state of his equipment. Whirl has a perfectly normal set under his panels (ironically, one of the few normal things about him) but he’s content to pretend otherwise for the moment. 

“Oh, my hands? I used to have hands. But they had to take them away from me because I was so deadly with them I violated seventeen subsections of the Autobot Code using them. Then they gave me these.” He clacks his pincers. “And now I violate twenty-six.” 

Pressing a palm to the side of his helm where Motormaster’s fist met it earlier, the red twin grits his dentae. His left sensor horn hurts like hell. Then hearing the large Decepticon shout out at his assailant, Sideswipe gives a small chuckle. He didn’t hear anything but clearly, Motormaster did to make him yell that. And that, for some reason, is funny to the downed mech.

He picked up his sword with his other hand and subspaced it, summoning a length of chain instead.

'I don't need a weapon to rip you apart, Autobot. But it makes it more fun!'

He began to walk forward slowly, one careful step at a time, listening and watching for any movement. The blast hadn't come from the direction he'd heard movement in, so he started advancing on the spot where he thought the shot had originated instead, eyeing the rocky ridge suspiciously.

He caught a glimpse of doorwings and red chevrons; he hadn't heard of Prowl's return, so that meant....