Discombobulated protest yielded to newly acquired sub-routines, and Violet modulated the flow of fuel, adjusted the air intake manifold, and smoothed the transition into first gear as her friend cranked the throttle. Her friend? What sort of friend would trap her in a transforming scooter, and a pink and lime one at that. She hated pink and lime.

They sped out of the garage, tearing off to the left towards the main drag. Violet’s consciousness spun as foreign, mechanical thoughts invaded her thinking. She couldn’t help but sense traction, monitor pressures, and scan for traffic hazards. It felt wrong; it felt right. She wanted to cease existing; she wanted to rev the motor high and own the road.

Before she could formulate any of this into words, a click and static came into her mind, followed by Rae’s voice, “You there, Violet? This com working? Hello?”

“Rae? Um, yeah, I hear you, in my head. Uh, do I have a head? Watch that pothole.”

“Thanks, and course you do, silly, once you transform.”