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Earth is, by all accounts, a universal backwater. A slagged up, backward little hovel where the dregs of the universe suffer to settle because there’s nothing there worth settling it for.
Knock Out cruises down the road, the sleek lines of his Cybertronian alt standing out among the clunky, ugly things that populate this planet. He saw a drone with a chassis so square and squat he was half sure they’re more meant it to be energon cubes than a transport drones. He sneers at them as they pass, actually adhereing to this planet’s speed limit in order to avoid attracting this planet’s version of the enforcers. It makes Knock Out chafe, even if Breakdown seems content enough to drive down the road at a pace that isn’t dangerously fast.
“I can’t believe they’re making us choose our new altmodes in a night,” he complains, spoiler wiggling in frustration.
“It’s not like we’ve ever had a chance to spend much time finding out new frames.”
“But we’ve never had to do it in the middle of the night, in the dark, on a weird organic world without any idea of what they have to offer -“
“And you’ll look amazing in whatever form you choose.”
“You have to say that - you picked yours on the way here, you’re done and ready to head back to the ship.” Knock Out grumbles, engine revving as they approach the same area Soundwave had sent the Vehicon scout to find the drone’s altmodes. The scout had put it forth as some sort of Mecha for vehicles where the Nemesis had broken through the atmosphere, and the long rows of cars visible from the road support that.
Knock Out makes them stop at the first autobody display they see. The drones are being kept outside, under awnings to keep their paint from fading under the desert sun. If Breakdown didn’t know they were drones he’d feel bad; he still feels a little bad, even if he won’t admit it, for whatever sentience is left in their CPUs. This can’t be a pleasant existence.
His mate only sees a fancy new frame for him to take on.
The first one Knock Out decides to try out is a sleek little model, low to the ground, in a bright cherry red with silver detailing. Breakdown watches as Knock Out runs the tips of his claws along the elongated headlights. “Look at those side vents.” He motions towards the long, crescent shaped cut-outs near the aft. “Wouldn’t those just look fabulous on me?” He strikes a pose, hip cocked, and runs a hand from his own sharp shoulder down to his thin hip. “I’d be delicious.”
Breakdown sighs. He can see Knock Out gearing up for what is doubtlessly going to be a long night - he hates double headlights. “It would look very nice on you, dear.”
Knock Out scans it gleefully, frame shifting and plating pulling into new shapes. The sharp chassis area, with its doubled oblong lights along the sharp raised edges of the hood give his chest a wide, flared look. Knock Out wanders over to the window-covered wall of the dealership and twists in front of it, staring at the way those vents he was so admiring before force bulky altmode kibble to his thighs. “Do you think this makes me look heavy?”
Breakdown leads against some small, boxy little car not worth looking at, not caring how the roof buckles under his weight. “You look good no matter what alt you’re wearing. You could be a beast former and still look good.”
“Would I ever. I’d rather end up a minibot!”
“You’d still make a good minibot, even if I’d have less to hold.”
Knock Out rolls his optics hard enough to make his entire helm loll. “Ridiculous and wrong.”
Breakdown crossest is arms. “I’m the ridiculous one? Go find another alt. You don’t like that one.”
Knock Out looks down at himself, hands on the flaring armor of his hips. “You’re right, I don’t. Go bring me another one.”
“I have to find you one?”
“You know what I like.”
Breakdown rolls his optics, standing and tromping off to find a new droid for him to scan. There was a reason his alt was found within the first fifteen minutes of being told to find one. His tastes are not nearly so developed as the medic’s. The worst thing is that he does know Knock Out’s style, and he picks up something small and sleek and long in frame for him. He drags his optics over the open area of the lot, and spots another candidate. This particular dealership seems to deal with multiple... ethnicities? Origins? Brands? - with cars grouped under banners displaying this world’s text and images.
Each grouping only has one or two models that he thinks Knock Out would even consider. In the end he only drags two over with him - a speedy looking thing that’s all sharp edges, and a boxier, plainer one with a spoiler that seems to promise decent armor in root mode.
Knock Out croons over the sharp one, shoving the other one off and out of the way. “Too round.” He scoffs, “It looks like it belongs to an Autobot.”
Breakdown thumbs the little star pattern on the front, then shoves it next to the drone he was using as his seat. It makes a decent ped rest. “I like you a little round.”
“Yes, dear, you do, but I do not like being round.” He scoffs, scanning the sharp little sports car. The armor it provides his root mode is... skimpy, to say the least. And not attractively so, even if Breakdown liked the look of vulnerable, thin plating barely covering protoform. He doesn’t; they’re at war, and seeing such thin plating on areas where a puncture would might mean he bleeds out before Breakdown can get to him is... uncomfortable.
Knock Out is twisting in front of the windows again, using them like a mirror, hands running over his barely armored abdomen. Breakdown can see how much the mech likes the clean lines it gives him.
“No.”
“You can’t just -“
“You’re picking something else.” Breakdown reaches out and pinches the rounded edge of his new shoulder fairing. “I ain’t letting you walk around an easily offlined target. The least you’re getting is something combat-ready.”
Knock Out sighs dramatically, driving his ped through the roof of a car with a huff. Breakdown watches the metal cave in under his ped, noting how it’s just hard enough for Knock Out to look visibly frustrated by the effort necessary to commit wanton destruction. “I don’t see why you get to veto my decisions, when you’re going to choose something bulky and awful.”
“Because my choices won’t get me offlined by a stray shot.”
“Hmph. Well, there’s nothing else here worth trying on. And I’m wearing this to next lot.”
Breakdown can’t ruin all his fun. “To the next lot, and then you pick something with more armor.”
Knock Out transforms down, high-performance engine rumbling. “I can feel how much faster I’d go if I opened up my engine.”
“And the first time you got shoved into a wall you’d crumple something vital, and then you’d complain to me that your plating’s slagged too easily.”
“... touché, my dear.”
The next lot is full of the sporty frames Knock Out prefers. They’re sharp or thin or round or bulbous, but they’re all tight little shapes with covered wheels and a sleekness to them that Breakdown knows Knock Out likes.
The first one has yellow highlights. Knock Out calls it garish, even as Breakdown’s optics follow the swirling patterns on his plating with interested optics.
The second is an elegant little thing with a sunroof. It leaves a window in his chassis that’s almost scandalously close to his spark, with just the tiniest of cut-ins keeping everyone from seeing his chamber. That look gets far too much consideration by Breakdown before Knock Out changes form to something topless but, at the least, less scandalous.
Even Knock Out is getting frustrated by the seventh form. Most planets don’t have as much choice as this one does - he’d often settled for the best of the limited choices he had, even though on Cybertron changing his alt could mean days or weeks of testing out different forms, different shapes, feeling out the new armor and the way it affected his driving. That sort of luxury isn’t one he’s had for a long time - not since before the rebellions had started, and the energon had started drying up, and fighting had become more important than anything else.
He stretches his arms out, feeling out a frame far bulkier than his last one. There’s even armor on his thighs, now, and the plating on his arms and shoulders is thick and heavy, and he’s attempting to relearn how to balance with the weight of new spoiler wings on his back. He runs his claws over the edges of the lights on his chest, frowning. He’d be far too heavy like this.
Breakdown sighs as he picks out another car for his mate to try, in-tune enough with him to know when he won’t take something. He casts an optic towards the horizon - dawn is still hours off - and shifts on his peds again. “You look good in that one. Has a warrior’s feel to it. Won’t be so afraid of you crumpling something important if you take it.”
Knock Out wraps his hands around the armor on the outside of his thighs. “Too bulky. I feel like a warpwhale with all this extra mass.”
He nudges his new choice towards Knock Out. It’s a tiny little car with a woven material for the hood and a white interior visible through its wide windows. If he’s right, his altmode will translate the clothe into steel silk, which is both durable and meets Knock Out’s standards for attractiveness.
Knock Out side-eyes it and snorts. “I am not transforming into something like that. It looks like it’s built for flighty little Autobot.”
“You’re going to have to choose something.”
“And I will choose the best form for myself.”
Breakdown sighs. “There’s another lot just down the street.”
“They’d better have a better selection than this place did. Heavy armor and canvas hoods!” He sniffs, stomping out of the lot. Neither of them blink when his ped caves in the hood of an expensive-looking car, oil pooling under its crushed chassis. Just another casualty of the night. Breakdown follows him out to the street and admires the way the extra weight makes his hips swing. The wide aft of his altmode wiggles at him as they take a steady pace down the street.
Breakdown revs his engine helplessly, but Knock Out is transforming before he gets a chance to enjoy it too much. The new lot is fancier than the last few, even Bulkhead can tell that, with more sports models than any other type.
He watches Knock Out transform, the artful turn and twists of his frame, before doing so himself. “This looks promising.”
Knock Out hums, optics sweeping over the collection. “Far more promising,” he agrees, picking his way through the narrow aisles. His optics cycle wide as he takes in what appears to be the lot’s most impressive car, on a raised dais near the back of the lot, up against the building that seems to be in the middle of all the drone dealerships.
Just the look of it there, lording itself over the others, tells Breakdown that Knock Out’s going to pick it. He isn’t surprised at all when his mate pivots in its direction, stepping over the rows of cars towards it. His pretty mech takes it in hand, studying the way the streetlights reflect off the polished plating. “Oh, baby,” he croons as he scans it, the faux spoiler wings on his shoulders shivering. “Look at those curves.”
The car’s a sweet little ride, with cherry red plating and black paneling along the sides. The top slopes down, a smooth line from roof to windshield to hood, with fully enclosed wheeled that give it a smooth silhouette. The defensive grill along the bottom of its headlights and the solid shape gets Breakdown’s nod of approval. The narrow aft gives it all a perfectly streamlined look and ties it together - it works in a way he didn’t expect these organics would be able to manage.
He can feel his mate fall in love with the form. His shoulders slump in relief as Knock Out scans it, trading mass for sleek lines and pretty covered wheels. Knock Out is always breathtaking no matter the alt, but the one he’s wearing now truly does seem to suit him.
“Oh, look at me.” Knock Out admires himself in the mirrored glass of the dealership, smoothing his hands down his sides and cupping his aft. “Breakdown, darling, doesn’t this just look fabulous?”
“Amazing.” Breakdown is just happy to be done. “You ready to head back to the ship?”
“Mm... well, why don’t we take these new alts of ours out for a bit of a spin?”
“You know Starscream -“
“Isn’t Megatron. We can take a bit of time to get back to the ship. What’s he going to do? Declare us traitors?”
“He could decide to cut our rations -“
Knock Out scoffs. “He won’t, though.”
And they both know he won’t. Starscream’s not the same kind of leader Megatron was - not so cruel, not so good at inspiring loyalty as their former commander was. They don’t need to worry about him slagging them for being a few hours late back to base.
Besides, Knock Out is beautiful when he’s driving, and the new alt suits him. Breakdown just enjoys watching him drive.
They takes a meandering route to test out their new forms. They meander their way right on past the prettiest damn car either of them have ever seen just off the road, not even a mile from where they’d stopped for their last marathon reformatting.
Knock Out is already stomping his way up to the window; his fist goes through the glass easily, and he tugs the car out onto the concrete to scan it properly. “Oh, baby.”
“I thought you’d found the perfect alt mode?”
“And this one’s more perfect.” He shifts forms one last time, frame settling into a shape that just feels right.
“Now can we go back to base?”
“Mm. A bit of a drive, first.”
“... yes, dear.”
They make it back before morning. At least Megatron wasn’t there to slag them.