“WHOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Hot Rod whooped at the top of his voice chip as he zoomed around the perimeter of Autobot City in vehicle mode. People screamed and rushed to get out of his way. Hot on his heels were several fellow juvenile delinquents that he had fallen in with once more.
“Oh YEAH! This is more like it!” he hollered, just glad to be alive. Racing always made him feel good. He felt all of his problems drain away. Right now, he wasn't the former Autobot leader, the Chosen One, heir to the Matrix, or son of the almighty Optimus Prime. He was just Hot Rod, a bright orange streak, and that was how he liked it. He could just shut out all the thoughts that raced around his head and drive.
“What the?!! HOT ROD!” an all-too-familiar voice yelled. He tried to put on his brakes, but it was too late. He burned large streaks of rubber into the pavement, then transformed and flung his arms out, trying to slow his momentum. He collided with someone with a loud clang, and the two fell down in a tangle of metallic limbs.
“Whoa, sorry about that!” Hot Rod rubbed a bruised arm sheepishly. “Good thing you were there to catch me….” His voice faded out as he gaped in horror at a steaming mad Optimus Prime knocked flat on the ground. He could see several visible dents in his leader's exostructure, and a few bright orange and yellow paint streaks etched on the formerly red chestplate.
“Uh-oh!” he heard his so-called 'friends' exclaim as they transformed and sped away before they too got the reaming of their lives.
“Oh, slag!” Hot Rod cried, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Swearing wasn't exactly the best way to make this situation better. Optimus didn't openly scold those that swore, but his disapproving glances always got the message across. As the Autobot leader, he tried to set an example to others, and it was rare indeed that a rude word crossed his lip components. He had once stopped a battle cold with an inadvertent curse – even the Decepticons were shocked that he had sworn.
Hot Rod desperately thrust out his hand to help his fallen leader to his feet. He was reminded, quite unpleasantly, of the scene several years ago when his interference in Prime's battle with Megatron had cost the Autobot leader his life. Optimus pointedly ignored the proffered hand and pushed himself up on his own. “Hot Rod,” he growled, rubbing at the scratches in his finish, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”
Hot Rod scuffed a foot against the concrete, unable to meet his father's eyes. “I'm sorry, Prime,” he sighed, wondering how he always allowed himself to get in these situations. It always seemed like a good idea at the time…. “I just wanted to burn off a little steam, you know?”
“That's still no excuse,” the elder Autobot scolded. “You need to take your youthful exuberance somewhere else, where you won't risk harming others. What if you had hit a human? In one moment, you would have ruined all of the work we've both done in winning over the human race. It's the responsibility of every Autobot to safeguard this planet and its inhabitants”
Roddy clenched his fists, feeling his frustration mount once more. He fought it down, stomping on it until he felt in control of himself again. He knew that an outburst would only make things worse. 'To the pit with responsibility!' he thought angrily. Aloud he said, “Okay, I'll try to take my racing elsewhere. Are you satisfied?”
Prime put his hands on his hips and seemed to scowl under his battle mask. He was obviously not satisfied, but decided to drop the matter for now. “Fine. I'll take you at your word. If you are caught racing on the base again, you will be put on suspension. Now go get yourself cleaned up,” he gestured to Roddy's new collection of dents and scrapes of Prime's own red paint on the adolescent's chassis, “and I'll have to do the same.” Hot Rod tried not to look at the damage he'd inadvertently inflicted on the normally immaculate Autobot.
He breathed a sigh as Optimus stalked back into Metroplex. 'Now how am I supposed to face him on Friday?'