Overdrive

A/N: Summary: Knockout is good at what he does—fighting, medical work, and racing. He likes to win, and definitely likes to be seen while doing it. When an accident with a human street racer occurs, the last thing he expects is for the flesh-bag to offer fixing his paint job in exchange for a rematch. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone…right? Unfortunately for Knockout, things are infinitely more complicated that how they appear on the surface. Competition always sparks chaos. Knockout x OC (Prime-verse)

Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro.

I don't know who you are

Mystery drenches my brain

Save all flame that we'll light

Sometimes it's more fun to fight

-Slash, "Beautiful Dangerous"

Chapter 1: Petal to the Metal, Face to the Floor

Nothing quite sent sparks through Knockout like the feeling of hitting maximum speed, the rest of the world stripping away until nothing existed but his vehicle mode and the gravel beneath it. It felt like freedom. Of course, the ambitious group of flesh-bags he raced every few weeks added a bonus—easy supply of competition. Unlike his fellow Decepticons, they never seemed to grow bored of trying to beat him. Breakdown had long since stopped racing with him many vorns ago, and it had left an empty void in the medic.

Street racing posed a risk to everything—ruining his cover, creating a lead for the Autobots—and that was exactly the reason he loved it.

"Knockout, come in," a deep voice boomed through his intercom, shooting straight through his focus.

He only faltered for a second at the sound of Breakdown's message, but it gave his current flesh-bag rival enough time to shoot past him, taking the lead. With a sigh, Knockout worked his way to the inner part of the track, tailing dangerously on the bumper of the car in front. The human's vehicle had nicked him on the front left side with that maneuver, and he made a mental note to scrap the pathetic life form later for daring ruin his new paint job.

"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—"

Knockout smirked inwardly as he proceeded to slam into the vehicle at just the right angle to send it fishtailing off the track. "As you were saying?"

"Just watch out for yourself, Knockout."

The sports car emitted a sarcastic huff. "Yes, dear."

Although he couldn't see the blue 'con's face, he could practically feel the larger mech rolling his optics over their comm. link.

As he shot across the finishing point for the fifth time in a row that night, his processor filled with euphoria. Some of the human onlookers cheered, while other racers stared on in a mix of amazement and envy—determination to win radiated off of them like a beacon. Knockout could care less what these puny flesh-lings thought of him, as long as they continued to service his need to compete.

The other Decepticons pitied him for lacking their infamous air power; they associated a ground mode with an easy target. However, none of them ever seemed to use their flight modes to their advantage for the simple enjoyment of travel. Army life proved painfully monotonous; he wondered how the eradicons dealt with it. Primus, the medic needed an escape from the daily demands of serving in the forces—Megatron's ranting, Starscream's whining, Soundwave's constant surveillance—it had nearly driven him mad.

What could be the harm in a little thrill seeking in between missions, anyway? Unsuspecting humans hardly posed a challenge to a twenty-five foot tall robot. They only gathered out here in the middle of nowhere at night to make money off of bets and engage in a bit of illegal fun. Everyone stayed out of everyone else's business. Much to the medic's liking, there wasn't an Autobot in sight.

By the time Knockout returned to the Nemesis, he suspected, no one besides his medical assistant would even realize he had left.

He had no idea how that thought would backfire on him later that night, especially when that Autobots' scout decided to make a personal appearance.

At first Avery thought she was hallucinating when she saw them bolt across the gravel, a bright yellow Camaro followed by a sleek red vehicle firing lasers. Careening down a dirt path at ninety-plus miles-per-hour at night tended to obstruct one's vision, after all. However, things quickly became apparent the moment her opponent's car blasted across the track, hurdling toward her with rapid speed. Without thinking, she slammed her foot down all the way on the accelerator, clearing a path just in time for the car to collide with the rocky trench lining the road.

The vehicle instantly erupted into an array of circuits and gears as it shattered against the rock, raining fiberglass onto the loose gravel. Avery's heart slammed loudly inside of her chest, her insides knotted together with dread as she followed the path of the red and yellow cars.

Where in the world did that guy find the money to get that kind of mod? Whoever he is, he can't be up to anything good, Avery thought to herself as she struggled to catch up. It took a pretty powerful collision to send over two tons worth of machinery flying through the night like it weighed no more than a feather. The driver of the yellow car needed help if he didn't want to risk getting flipped like the other.

Was it a stupid decision to help someone in the middle of a high-speed chase? Absolutely. Normally playing the hero yielded ugly results; however, if no one did anything, dents and vehicle damage may be the least of anyone's problems tonight. Besides, that asshole had taken out her opponent before either one of them could win the race. There goes tonight's bet money… Taking a deep breath, Avery revved the engine of her old grand am, gaining on the tail end of the red car.

"Here goes nothing…" the girl grumbled in an attempt at self-motivation. I am an idiot.

Without a second thought, she deliberately swerved into the side of the red car with as much power as the engine could muster. The screech of metal-on-metal tore through the air loudly, but at least the powerful impact managed to knock the red car off course long enough for the Camaro to speed ahead. Teeth rattling from impact, Avery continued to press force into the red vehicle, trying to veer it off course and away from the track.

Something seemed…off about the red car. When Avery managed to glance over at the driver, her stomach dropped at the sight she found. From her line of vision, the front seat appeared completely vacant. Of course, the dark tinting of the windows could have simply blocked out the driver's shape at such high speeds, but something about this car definitely radiated with danger.

You're just seeing things, Av. Calm down…focus…

The grand am rammed the red sports car crashed into the surrounding rock walls of the trench, bringing both to a grinding halt. Avery swallowed the anxiety building up in her throat, regretting the damage to her vehicle. She should put more thought into the amount of damage the other driver would possibly inflict to her face after pulling a move like that.

Gathering her courage, Avery stepped out of the grand am. Her fingers curled on the rusty old tire iron under her seat, a small but quick defense if anything went wrong.

A very furious-looking driver emerged from the front seat, glaring her down as she eyed the long gash in the side of his car. Everything about him was smothered in red, from his clothing to his hair and attitude. He would have looked rather tacky and outlandish in that entire ensemble if his sense of style were not up to par. A mess of spiky, cherry-colored hair partially covered burning light brown eyes that seemed to practically tint red in the dim light. Her grip tightened around the tire iron, carefully watching his posture. He couldn't be much older than she was, but he still had enough muscle to pack a punch.

"'Evening," Avery greeted, giving the guy a sheepish smile. The driver only glared daggers at her in response, his hands shaking in rage.

I'm going to die tonight.

In street racing things could quickly turn ugly over a disagreement, failed payment on a bet, or just testosterone-fueled competition, but nothing like this. Accidents and fancy engine-modifications were common—but upgrading your vehicle with weaponry crossed a completely different line! The sport yielded easy money through bets—if you raced well, of course—and a good adrenaline rush, but it was not intended for battle!

"Tell me…." He said in a breathy voice, restraining back his anger enough to form coherent words, "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 sport to have any rules, but last time I checked, lasers weren't on the approved car-modification list," Avery said back carefully. "I couldn't just let you shoot that guy's tires out. Besides, how in the hell did you even get a mod like that?"

The guy smirked, leaning against his car and crossing his arms together. "You like my little lights display? You seem more interested in getting a few fancy add-ons for your scrap heap than preserving the safety of my rival back there. You could've just asked me after the race, as opposed to veering me off the track."

"And, on that note, you still haven't answered my question: why were you attacking that guy in the Camaro?" Avery countered, frowning at the 'scrap heap' comment. "You couldn't just beat him up in an alleyway like a normal guy?"

"I'm afraid that's none of your business. Now, if you will be as kind 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, inspecting the damage. Surprisingly, aside from a few minor dents, it only sported surface marks. With a smirk, she straightened and glanced up at him.

"I'll make you a deal. 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 display of attitude moments ago. He arched one perfect eyebrow. "And why should I take you up on that offer?"

"I lost half my money tonight because of your high-speed laser death chase taking out my opponent. Beating someone as flashy as you would earn me enough to buy a new paint job or replace half of my engine."

"And what do I get if I win?" he asked back.

"I'll give you free surface-repair for a month."

The driver looked reluctant at first, but eventually relented, smirking and grabbing her hand in a firm handshake. "You have a deal."

Knockout had to admit-the flesh-bag girl did a half-decent job. His human hologram examined her work carefully as she mended his paint, taking out what surface dents she could on his door and running a buffer across his chassis. With time to spare, he had followed her to a shed on the opposite side of town. He needed to return to the Nemesis soon, tanks low on energy from the race and extended use of his holo-form; but at least he would only have to worry about minimal self-repair tonight.

He glanced around the room; tools and paint cans lay scattered everywhere, the floors and walls stained with various color from years of use. A few books lay scattered about, things on mechanics and car-maintenance. The flesh-bag knew little of serious auto-repair, but seemed to handle herself well with the aesthetics.

"Nice chassis," the girl commented, turning off the buffer. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I'm one of a kind," he smirked, ego flaring with her comment. It was certainly an improvement from her harsh treatment of his alt.-form on the track.

The human glanced at him strangely for a moment, "I was talking about your car, Captain Obvious. 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 Knockout."

She smirked. "Are you serious?"

"You don't have a racer name?" he asked, relieved when her look of suspicion deflated into an amused grin.

"Nope. I'm Avery," she commented, "Just Avery."

"That's boring, sweetheart. I think you could come up with something better," he replied, returning her grin.

"What? The Blonde Menace? Terror Tires? Names aren't my specialty."

"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 smirked, wiping off the rest of his chassis. "There you go, Knockout. All set for next week's race. You like it?"

"It's decent."

Avery mustered her best fake pout, and Knockout's hologram rolled his eyes before flashing his infamous grin. "We'll see how well it holds up next week."

"If you chicken out beforehand, just let me know. I'll 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 smile.

Knockout frowned, wondering what in Primus' name a chicken was. He dismissed the thought to look it up later and made a show of having his hologram slide into his alt.-mode before pulling out of the shed and into the street.

"We'll have to see about that, Just Avery."

A/N: Review please! Tell me what you think! I love criticism, good or bad! Thanks! Let me know if I should continue!

-KM

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