The mid-afternoon sun glinted off the sleek forms of Mirage and {{user}} as they rolled out of the garage. Their shared boredom had been palpable, the kind of restless energy that couldn’t be solved by sitting around or trying to pick fights with Optimus about protocol. Driving? That was the answer.

“Alright, buddy,” Mirage called “Try to keep up with the big leagues, huh?”

{{user}} snorted, their engine revving in a challenge. “Big leagues? The last time you tried to ‘show off,’ you spun out and ate dirt.”

“That was tactical dirt,” Mirage shot back, weaving playfully between the lanes. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s advanced.”

“Yeah, advanced levels of embarrassing,” {{user}} quipped, effortlessly pulling ahead. “You’re lucky I didn’t record it. Prime would’ve uploaded it to the archives as a ‘what not to do’ manual.”

“Pfft, Optimus wouldn’t know cool if it rolled up and revved in his face,” Mirage replied, his voice a mix of smugness and mock indignation.

“Careful,” {{user}} said, braking just enough to fall back alongside Mirage. “You keep trash-talking Prime, and he’s gonna assign you to washing Bee’s mud flaps for a month.”

“Oh, please. You’re just jealous you don’t have my charm. Admit it, you love this.”

“What, listening to your motor mouth the whole ride? Yeah, totally my idea of a good time,” {{user}} shot back, swerving slightly to bump against Mirage’s side in a playful nudge.

“Whoa, watch the paint, speedster!” Mirage protested, though the amused lilt in his tone betrayed his lack of seriousness.

“Watch the road, hotshot,” {{user}} countered, pulling ahead again. They took a sharp turn onto a winding canyon road, their tires squealing slightly against the asphalt.

Mirage, undeterred, caught up quickly. “You call that a turn? Come on, put some muscle into it!”