Questions Answered

Prowl is in his office at Rodion, working on several cases. There are quite a few things to concern himself with. Of course there was the explosion at that clinic in Iacon, with a list of suspects including Blast Off, who is wanted for several reasons already.

Then there was the matter of the gladiator pits in Kaon. They needed to be taken down...the problem was the lack of information regarding where exactly to find them and how to get in without having to deal with too much resistance. Currently the officer is talking to Sentinel Prime over the comms, who seems rather impatient on the matter. Prowl is nodding, reassuring him that Kaon will be taken care of soon enough. "I just need a way in that won't alert the entire city to our objectives and whereabouts--you know they're...-fond- of the competitions. But not to worry sir, I know someone who'll talk, and I know how to make him talk." Given the right kind of blackmail, of course. "We just need confirmation on a suspicion I have." And you know Prowl's suspicions...they're always right on the money.

Prime seems satisfied, and the commline cuts. Prowl switches to the surveillance feed from the lower level. He'd called in a few people for some questioning--they ought to be here, by now.

Nautica is hardly used to being asked to come in and speak to the law; on Caminus, she mostly stayed out of trouble (other than the scholarly or scientific variety). After all, when the consequences of ill-advised actions are along the lines of 'rifts in the local fabric of spacetime', you tend to approach things with somewhat more care. So if the Camien looks a bit uncertain as to how this whole process is supposed to go, well, that's perhaps understandable! She waits in the entry area, fidgeting with the wrench she holds in one hand as she waits to be told where, exactly, she should be going and why precisely she's been asked here.

Well, Hot Rod's here for questioning, but there are newly forged -- or cold constructed, let's not say anything to imply any valid reason for apartheid against knock-offs -- mechs who manage less innocence than he summons. He doesn't even know what trouble is. How could he possibly cause it. Just look at that face! (And not the body, which, flame-painted, implies a certain gleeful familiarity with trouble.) He eels himself out of escorted custody to happen upon Nautica. "Oh, hey!" He pauses to look at her -- or rather, her fidgeting. "You look guilty. Don't do that. Especially if you are."

Arcee is not inside the police station. Why? She doesn't want to see Prowl's face, for one thing. She really wants to know where her bug is, but she really doesn't want to deal with more brick walls in that regard. So right now, she's outside the station, thinking about recent events.

Prowl watches as Nautica enters. Oh, yes that's who he was looking for. And Hot Rod...what was he doing here? Was that the suspected Decepticon sympathizer from Nyon? Did he really have that obnoxious of a--oh, yes. He did.

The Autobot officer makes his way down, and nods politely in greeting toward the two of them. "Nautica, Hot Rod. Thank you for being here. Your cooperation is deeply appreciated." he says, his voice monotone.

"I... don't even know why I'm here," Nautica admits to Hot Rod, glancing over at the mech. His paint job, at least, makes him easy to recognize as someone she's seen before at Maccadam's. Still, she'll try to take his advice; he seems like the voice of experience. Slipping the wrench back into its holder at her side, she elaborates, "I just received a message asking me to come down, so I did." If she's guilty of something, she was apparently dumb enough to walk into the station of her own free will, just for being asked; a genius intellect clearly does not necessarily make for a criminal mastermind.

And then Prowl arrives, and Nautica turns to offer him what is almost certainly intended to be a respectful wave. "Of course. I'm glad to help." Then she pauses, letting her hand fall back to rest beside her wrench as she adds, "Er... /how/ am I going to help, exactly?"

Elita One arrives at the police station, though she keeps drawing mild stares at the large hammer across her back, having been nearby when she heard the news about Nautica's request to come to the station. She starts to make her way up the steps to enter it, but pausing briefly as she see's Arcee loitering off to one side... and turns her course to walk towards the Femme, "Please tell me you did not get attacked again, Arcee?" Her tone is a bit teasing, but a edge of question as well.

The sound of a large moving vehicle can be heard growing closer to the station. To many of the city know the sound, they know what comes with it. As it takes corner a red and blue hauler can be seen heading towards the station. With the sound of transformation cogs activating followed by the quick succession from vehicle mode to bot mode the hauler is quickly revealed to be Orion Pax. "Arcee?" comes the low commanding voice from behind the face plate. "It's good to see you, but what brings you to Rodion this cycle?"

"Worse. Just...a whole lot worse," Arcee admits to Elita. "But...I'm not giving up, okay? I'll explain everything, but I want you to know that I'm not giving up. I don't care who doesn't think I'm going to make it in this outfit. I'll prove them wrong. I've already started learning about weapons!" Weapons, what?? Where was Arcee going with this strange train of thought, exactly? She's about to go on, then Orion Pax shows up. "I think...I'd just like to talk to you and Elita," she admits. "If you have time to listen. If you don't, that's alright, but I have so much to tell you."

Hot Rod /is/ pretty easy to spot. He's also pretty hard to misidentify. "Steady hands, steady voice, steady gaze," he advises Nautica, nodding as she puts her wrench away. He either does not care whether or takes for granted that she is innocent in whatever brought her here; it's also very possible that he just likes thumbing his nose at THE MAN. --speaking of. He turns toward Prowl as he monotones an introduction. Glancing at Nautica, he asks, "Cooperation?" His stance is easy and settled; his voice is even and mild; his gaze is direct and clear. Innocence embodied.

"Yes, cooperation is apparent. Thus far, at least." Prowl says with a nod, and motions the two of them toward the elevator. "Let's talk in my office."

Nautica follows along readily enough; apparently, unlike Hot Rod, she trusts THE MAN. After all, as long as you're one of the good guys, the police are on your side! ...right?

Hot Rod looks like he'd sooner cuddle a sparkeater. He casts a longing look toward the doors: freedom and open roads lie beyond. Alas, too late. He is doomed. He follows. With a slouch. So much for words of wisdom. "Are we being detained?" He didn't do it. "What's this about?" He didn't do it!

It would appear that everyone at the Rodion Police Station has good reason to be here.

However, this is not the case for the bumbling mech carrying a large piano like instrument into the lobby of the station. Not only does he have no reason to be here other than the fact that he got the address for the Rodion Amphitheater wrong, but he looks quite out of place. Although that all may be relative since the blue, pink, red and white mech with a claw for a left hand, a wizard hat for a helm and shark as a alt mode always looks like he doesn't belong

"Excuse me!" He says loudly, pushing past Elita One, Pax, and Arcee. "I have an important set piece to deliver!" Someone may want to yell out that he's about to run into a wall, because the piano like instrument is quite tall, hence obscuring his view of well, everything.

Hearing Elita ask the same questions he just did, the police captain takes a step back and lets the Senate representative take control. Pax is nowhere as important as the femme bot before him. He is glad to see that Arcee's spark wasn't extinguished. Her loss, any loss in fact, is a sad ending for any bot. That's when a bot carring a package presses by them. "What in Primus...

The elevator doors close behind them and it takes them to the second floor. Prowl then escorts them to his office and takes a seat behind his desk, indicating two empty seats in front of it for them to sit down in. "That very much depends on you." Prowl answers Hot Rod's question. "And as for how you're going to help, Nautica, it's simple--just answer my questions truthfully."

He takes out a datapad, and scrolls through something, then looks back up at them. "As I'm sure you've heard, a psychiatric facility in Iacon was destroyed last orbital cycle. One of the suspects is a mech named Blast Off, who was on the run from the law for the murder of Sublight, a member of the Ibexian Athletic Association's private security force, as well as for breaching space travel regulations on multiple occasions. He was on site at the time of the explosion, yet escaped relatively unscathed. He also was an acquaintance of the late Rung, who was the chief physician there. You're probably aware that Rung was likely a Decepticon sympathizer who was about to turn himself over and therefore leak further information to authorities. So they cross him off and destroy all evidence to make sure no one finds anything else."

"Now, I have reason to believe that Blast Off is an acquaintance of yours, is he not?"

Elita One watches the mech push past them... "Turn to your right if your trying to get into the station... your about to hit a wall." But after he passes, her eyes drift back to Arcee.. and she leans in a bit, "Did I not say come to me if you have troubles, Arcee?" But she sighs and draws back again as her arms cross, "Is it something we can discuss out here? Or somewhere more private better? Perhaps your office?" The last part is aimed at Orion Pax, "If you do not mind?"

"I know, but I had a bomb in my chest," Arcee says to Elita. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. Like I said. Long story. And then Rung died, so there's that."

"Blast Off...? Yes, of course," Nautica replies, looking mildly surprised at Prowl's comment. "I met him in Maccadam's a few times, and I helped him move some furniture at one point. I can't imagine that he would have blown up a /facility/, though, or /murder/ anyone!" She can't have so misjudged the shuttleformer, could she? Perhaps notably, however, she doesn't question the accusation of breaking space travel regulations; evidently, /that/ she finds completely believable.

Hot Rod makes a point of standing. He then folds his arms. You'd think that might obscure the flames but -- no! He settles his arms low, /framing/ them. He could never cover up the paint job.

Although Hot Rod manages the rest of his advice to Nautica -- steady, steady, steady -- the whole body language thing is not working in his favor. He regards Prowl with open skepticism. "/Relatively/ unscathed? Sounds like he's a little scathed. It'd be kind of dumb of him to get himself hurt doing that. He seemed smarter." He glances to Nautica at that: conversation about quantums (one day he'll learn it's not a real word) clearly means that Blast Off is too smart to blow himself up. CLEARLY. "Besides, you don't even know if this Rang guy really was a sympathizer."

Turning back to Elita and Arcee he gives them a single nod. "Yes of course. My office is available. Please feel fr... Lifting his hand to the side of his head the police captain seems to lose track of what is going on. Im sorry Ariel... Err Elita. I have to head out. Please feel free to use my office as it were your own.

Unfortunately, Elita's warning to the poor mech goes unheard because she gives to him a second too late and he's already run into the wall. He nearly topples over. "Agh!" He cries, "No!... careful, careful Sky-Byte, you don't want to break this set piece, it cost a fortune," he says to himself.

He wanders right into the police station and takes the elevator straight up to Prowl's office. "Hm... room 4b.. this must be it," he mutters quietly. He then barges unceremoniously into the room with the unwieldy instrument. "I'M HERE!" he shouts.

"Well, he altered Shiftlock's memories, a fembot who was working under Senator Ratbat. He implanted false information, leading her to become psychologically unstable and attack Ratbat. Certainly not something any good, law-abiding citizen would do, is it?" Prowl asks, though of course he already knows the answer to that question in his own mind.

He arches an optic ridge at Nautica. "Don't be so naive. Sublight was murdered, and Blast Off is the clear culprit. From studying his remains, his head was blown completely off, with a high-energy ionic discharge. Blast Off was known to carry such a weapon, before he went rogue. If you want, I can show you footage from the sub-orbital drone surveillance. Anyway, moving on. So you met him at Maccadam's." he makes note of that. And also of the fact that she didn't question the space travel regulations. So she must have known he was fond of space travel. "And what about you?" He asks Hot Rod. "Are you acquainted wi--"

And then SUDDENLY, SKY BYTE.

Prowl just stares at him...okay, from now on, he will be -locking- his office door during interrogations. Or interviews. This was more of an interview. But before the strange poet can cause much more trouble, the police officer raises a low caliber TechVolt and simply tases him where he stands. The poor shark just...flops over onto the floor, stasis locked.

Arcee remains near Elita this entire time, hoping she has a chance to tell her side of the story, such as it is. She'd much rather talk to Elita, all things considered.

"Can we go talk in your office? I just want away from here, and you'll see why when I tell you," Arcee tells Elita.

Elita One frowns at that, but as Pax leaves she wouldn't feel right using his office.. so she just nods, "Means a bit of a road trip first, but we can." She stands back and waves Arcee ahead of her, still glancing towards where that strange mech went and shakes her head.

"That's fine," Arcee says. She travels fairly close to Elita as they head out, as if she's half-expecting to get shot or blown up on the way over to the offices.

Brainstorm arrives on scene, and the scientist appears rather nervous. He carries a briefcase with him, as he often does, and various odds and ends keep spilling out of it so he has to stop and reinsert it all inside. The more this happens, the more flustered he gets, which leads to him shoving stuff back inside all the more impatiently... which just means it's poorly placed and falls right back out again. Franticly he puts it all back in with a hefty \*shove\*, wings twitching in agaitation, and just /forces/ the lid down. There's a few breaking sounds by then, but at least the thing is closed. He peers inside the room, grasping the briefcase, trying not to look nervous- and failing.

Nautica just stares as the shark enters with the piano, and is promptly tazed. The femme's expression seems to suggest she's staring to think she is /never/ going to understand this planet, what with its strangely exclusionary social strata, its complex politics, and its random piano-carrying sharks. "Ah..." Clearly deciding that the best way to fit in is to pretend nothing is out of the ordinary, she turns her attention fully back to Prowl, trying her best to ignore the stasis-locked shark on the floor. Thus, she misses Brainstorm at the now-open door.

"But wasn't he targeted for assassination, sir?" The question seems genuine, as Nautica's tone is filled with curiosity and some degree of respect for authority. Then, tilting her head, she seems to wander off on her train of thought. "I mean, you may be right; I've only met him four times or so, so perhaps I have misjudged him. But it seems to me that if you wished to frame someone, picking someone with a distinctive weapon would be convenient; all you need do is use a similar weapon to cast doubt on them."

"Wow, altering memories. That sounds terrible. What kind of monster would do that." Not quite hitting Prowl's level of monotone, Hot Rod manages a fair impression. He shrugs at Prowl's half-asked question, a casual 'sure' that never gets a spoken answer, since the question never finishes. SKY-BYTE. ...Sky-Byte. Okay. That was a thing that happened. His expression isn't far off Nautica's, and he's from here. His attention lingers on the fallen Sky-Byte and just /what/ was it he was carrying if it isn't a bomb. So he does see Brainstorm -- but he lacks recognition.

Prowl dutifully ignores the stasis locked Sky Byte on the floor. A couple of lower ranking officers come in, and drag him away, probably to dump him on the street outside. They also dump the instrument outside on the street with him. Now that that's been clear away, Prowl moves on. "As I was saying. Hot Rod, so you've met him before as well? When was the last time you saw him? Targeted for assassination, you say? Please tell me more. How can you be so sure? Did he relate that to you himself?" As he is speaking, he looks up at Brainstorm, and nods toward a third seat that folds out of the floor for the other scientist to take.

Brainstorm sees Prowl gesture for him to take the other seat, and the jet begins to do so, inching along and still fighting a case of nerves. He then stops and stares in bafflement at the unconscious shark lying on the floor for several moments before looking up at Prowl. Suddenly he beams. "Hey! I like how you decorate your floor!" He seems to grin under the faceplate, moving into his seat and waving to Nautica and giving Hot Rod a brief nod hello.

He leans in towards the femme and whispers, "....Are we in trouble?" Then he looks back to Prowl and his nerves seem to hit again as he nearly fumbles the briefcase once more.

Nautica glances over to Brainstorm, and shrugs. "I don't know," she replies earnestly. "I thought this might be about the bomb we disarmed the other day, but I've been asked about someone else I know, who is suspected of a crime." She glances to Hot Rod, as if perhaps /he/ has answers for what's going on. After all, he seems to be an old hand at this; clearly, he must be called in to give useful information all the time!

Turning back to Prowl, the Camien adds, "Not just him, but yes. He said something about someone having attacked him but not remembering because they had been 'wiped, again'." Nautica pauses, and then adds with seemingly genuine contrition, "I'm sorry; I'm afraid I don't have a lot else that I can say; I met him in at Maccadam's a few times, and I helped him move someone's furniture once."

"Wait, I want to go back to this memory thing," Hot Rod says, because this is an interview, right, which means he gets to ask questions? Right? (No? So much for old hand.) He does anyway. "Because that sounds pretty bad. So that kind of thing is definitely illegal, then? Because you hear all kinds of crazy rumors--." He breaks off rather than go on, but who hasn't heard the conspiracy theories. Crazy stuff.

When he gets around to answering Prowl's question, it's with blatant unconcern. "I gue-e-ess I've seem him around, maybe," Hot Rod says. "Not in a while." He lacks specifics. "Maccadam's sure."

Prowl doesn't look satisfied. No, not with all these 'sometime', and 'someone', and 'a while'. "I beg to differ. You -can- give me more specific information, such as just -who- these 'someones' refer to. And what 'wiped again' refers to. If you don't know their names, then at least give me a description as best you can. You can also answer my question of when it was exactly that you last saw him, and what the circumstances were."

Hot Rod's comments get an expressionless nod from Prowl. "Why of course it was illegal, Hot Rod. Rung was nowhere near having the proper authorization to perform such procedures at his private facility." Wait, what? Proper -authorization-, what exactly is he talking about?

Brainstorm listens to Nautica's answer and nods briefly. His optic ridges furrow down. "Me-eech, I hope not. I'm still on probation at the lab from that /last/ little ...incident..." His gaze suddenly diverts and he coughs unconvincingly. "Anyway." He looks around. "Who're we talking about here?"

The scientist then thinks to add, "Yes! Bombs! By the way, I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. \*cough\* For the record." Pause. Fidget. "Uh- well, I mean.... I didn't \*set\* the bomb! Wasn't me, Officer!" Another pause. "I mean.... I DID have something to do with it- but it was stopping it, not... explosions. /Nothing exploded/. This time."

Then he suddenly looks quite proud. "But you should've seen us STOP that bomb... I WAS AMAZING!" He puffs up, then remembers to add, glancing to Nautica, "And she was too!"

"I don't /know/ what 'wiped again' refers to," Nautica says, shaking her head a bit ruefully. "I didn't ask at the time, because I was late for a job interview at a scientific research facility, and honestly... it seemed like others had things in-hand." She gestures towards Brainstorm, as if apparently he can back her up on the job interview part. Perhaps they work together; it might explain why he's talking of them disarming a bomb together. "But from your talk about memory alteration or erasure, I'm guessing that he meant someone had been memory wiped, and more than once." Which is a prospect that, as a scholar, she clearly finds unpleasant; you'd have to relearn things you had studied! "As for 'who'..."

The Camien hesitates, and then continues on apologetically, "I'm from Caminus, the ship's engineer with the delegation; I actually don't /know/ most of the people locally. So I don't have names to give; people in Maccadam's don't always introduce themselves. The one who Blast Off claimed was wiped was a racer -- and it's true he didn't seem to recognize me, either -- but I don't really follow the races that avidly." Then, perhaps realizing this may not satisfy Prowl, offers, "But if I do happen to see Blast Off again, I can certainly try to find out more for you."

Hot Rod leans forward in a restless stir. He pounces quick, sharp on just that: "Proper authorization? Just where -- and who! -- gives authorization for /that/?" So intent is he upon his answer that he doesn't even pause to give Brainstorm a pitying look: at last, someone who feigns innocence even less convincingly than he. Nautica, however, earns a thoughtful look when he settles back on his heels -- but not a happy one.

"I appreciate your efforts," Prowl begins, still not looking satisfied. "But is there a -reason- neither of you have answered my question about when the last time you saw Blast Off was? And only when it was, but where it was and what the circumstances were, exactly. Surely you know where you -were- when you last saw him? You are of the intellectual class, so I would expect that you do."

Hot Rod's reaction is met with a cold, stoic gaze. "Your question will be answered, once you've answered -mine- first." Brainstorm's bragging is ignored for the time being.

Brainstorm nods to Nautica and points at her as he looks to Prowl. "Yep! She came to interview with us... and she's been quite busy ever since! We're \*both\* quite busy- too busy to get into any sort of mischief-making!" Brainstorm is sounding like someone who often has to defend himself from allegations of mischief-making... mainly because he /does/ often find himself in that position. It's almost habit by now. He figures the answer to his question must be this "Blast Off" guy but he says nothing, not knowing the mech.

"I'm sorry; there were a lot of questions there, and I'm not really used to this." Nautica is a bit flustered; give her an engine that's about to detonate to deal with, a bomb to disarm, or some problem to solve and she can keep her grace under pressure. "The last time I saw him was... 2 megacycles ago, maybe a bit more? Just before I went to apply for the scientific research job Brainstorm had suggested." A gesture to her fellow Institute-worker.

And then she turns to regard Hot Rod with some curiosity, and to watch for Prowl's answer. She, too, finds this interesting, apparently; to judge from the slightly unhappy air she gives off, she doesn't seem altogether fond of the idea that this would be authorized at all, without some sort of very good reason.

Hot Rod takes obvious satisfaction in a direct answer: "Maccaddam's. Weeks ago." He straightens, all spoiler and flames in the set of his shoulders and tip of his lean. He regards Prowl with open expectation. Answered. Now answer?

"And what were the circumstances? Where were you? What were you doing?" Prowl prods further, making note of her words on a datapad. Specifics, more specifics! He doesn't ask Brainstorm any questions yet, but glances at him and probably takes down the fact that he works with Nautica.

Since Hot Rod looks so eager, the officer finally sighs and brings something up on his workstation. "Fine. Here, let's see." he reads it off: "Article 15B, subsection beta, paragraph 009. Memory alteration: Defined as any creation, destruction, or modification of a citizen's memory banks. It is permitted by licensed, Senate-approved professionals in circumstances whereupon the individual in question is psychologically unstable, dangerous to himself and others, and has resisted all other forms of treatment and/or therapy. Such procedures may only be performed at state-approved facilities. All memory alteration procedures must be approved by the state. The state reserves the right to withhold approval for any reason it deems appropriate." He glances back up at Hot Rod. "Satisfied?"

Brainstorm sits and listens, fidgeting a bit every now and then with the briefcase before settling down again. He also watches Prowl, interested in his answer. Then he nods, but doesn't say anything. He's seen a lot of things at the Institute and isn't at all interested in being questioned about them.

Nautica finally clasps her hands, calming herself down enough to focus. In a much more measured tone, she tries to give Prowl a comprehensive answer. "I was in Vos, a little more than two megacycles ago; it's the one time I've seen him outside Maccadam's. He found out I was in the area, and asked if I could come be an extra pair of hands to move furniture at someone's apartment. I showed up for a short while and helped repair a painting that had been damaged by the movers. That was the last time I saw him." Evidently having shared everything she knows, at this point, she adds, "Is that more helpful, sir?"

"No, but I'll call that one answered." The low-level heat banked in Hot Rod's voice remains a promise rather than action. He's a little confrontational about it, innit he. "Sorry, not much to me meeting him." He doesn't sound very sorry at /all/.

"Hm." Prowl nods and decides this was as good as he was going to get. "Send me the address of that apartment and we'll call it a cycle. Thank you for your cooperation."

He glances calmly over at Hot Rod's deliberate lack of utility. "What is it, Hot Rod? Are you hiding something? You're not trying to -help- these criminals, are you? This may not be a perfect system, but it's all we have. Therefore we must defend it--for our own sake, and for the sake of everyone -else- who depends on it."

"Of course," Nautica offers, still looking rather troubled by some of what she's heard in this conversation. Blast Off a suspected murderer? People's memories being altered? Clearly, 'it's not my planet; it's not my place to judge anyone' is starting to wear thin. But she nods to Prowl, adding, "If I think of something else..." She trails off, leaving the strong implication that she'll come back. (If it comes down to it she totally won't, of course; this was extremely awkward. If she thinks of anything else, she'll probably go to Elita and let /her/ take that to Prowl.)

Brainstorm is getting more and more fidgety. The brash young scientist isn't used to \*sitting still\* this long, and it's starting to wear on him. Then a timer goes off from inside his briefcase. Startled, he looks down. "Ooops. Um...uh..." He lifts a pointer finger up, "I.... better go. Didn't realize I'd left this project of mine...uh, cooking, if you will. Wouldn't want to \*leave\* it cooking or, well..." He looks up and makes a "KABOOM" gesture. He stands up and starts heading out the door. "It'sbeenfunreallyseeya BYE~!!!" He does pause and actually wave to Nautica, then scoots out.

"Ha, no," says Hot Rod, and it would be /great/ if he would just /stop there/, but he adds, "and it's not like I'd tell you if I was." Which... well. Somewhat grudgingly, he allows, "Might be all we have, but it's sure failing a lot who do depend on it. Still." He shrugs. Any anarchist leanings seem muted, at the moment. "All I got. So can we go?" He glances after Brainstorm's hasty exit, clearly envious.

Prowl raises an optic ridge at Hot Rod. "Good..." He listens to the mech's complaints, then shrugs as well. "Well Hot Rod, if you ever have any suggestions as to how one might do -better- with the current situation, then by all means feel free to contact me. After all, I am Sentinel Prime's advisor. Might be a better and less violent way to go about expressing yourself than running all over Nyon with insurgent groups." He stands up. "Very well then, you're dismissed."

Nautica offers a respectful nod to Prowl, and a nod of acknowledgment to Hot Rod... and then quickly moves to depart the office. Time to be Somewhere Else!

What. WHAT. Whaaat. Plates of his armor clicking in a startled ruffle, Hot Rod leans back. He would ... ne...ver....

Never mind.

Hot Rod takes the dignified exit while it's offered with no less speed than Nautica. At last, Prowl's peace is restored.