Pepsi Convoy:

Pepsi Convoy couldn't understand his actions.  He should, by all rights, be staying as far away from the other as possible - especially since Glit is being so kind and helping him, and since Dead End had managed to break through some of the encryptions.  He should be in his room, or in his washroom, or even in the common room - he should be somewhere, anywhere but where he is.

He's driving faster than he has before, blasting down the freeway in the dead of night, hoping that he can just be done with this already.  It's caused him far too many problems.  He wants this to be over.

???:

Unfortunately for Convoy, the Company has other plans.  They've played it a dozen different ways - tried to fix what had been corrupted, tried to let him decide for himself, tried to convince him, tried to lie to him - but nothing has worked.  It is time for drastic measures.

He is waiting in the same place that they had last met - that dry, dusty dirt road is practically home to him, for how long he's stood around.  He's facing the desert, arms behind his back, giving off an aura of power and, most importantly, annoyance.  He's been waiting, but tonight, Convoy is late.

He hates tardiness.

Pepsi Convoy:

He's late, yes, but not extremely so - he pulls off of the exit and careens down the dusty roads to their meeting spot.  He doesn't bother transforming as he comes to a sharp and sudden stop, rocking on his tires slightly in front of the other, engine idling.  "What do you want?"

???:

"Is that any way to greet your brother, my dear Convoy?"  His voice is sugary and acidic at the same time, and he crosses his arms behind his back.  The other is clearly disgruntled and that... confuses him, slightly.  Convoy was not programmed to feel such emotions.  "What happened."

Pepsi Convoy:

Convoy's engine revs and he reverses slightly, wheels turning so that he comes to a stop with his grill directly in front of the other.  "Nothing of your concern," he says, voice stiff and only polite out of habit.  "I will /not/ be returning here again, so speak your peace now."

???:

"Oh, but don't you realize, Convoy?"  He paces forward and places a hand on Convoy's grill, giving off the aura of a leering smile.  "Everything of yours is mine."

Pepsi Convoy:

Shuddering at the touch, Convoy pulls back - only to find that his brakes have locked on him.  Something foreign and uncomfortable snakes into his processors and he forces himself to still, grinding out, "I am not yours.  I found the encrypted files.  My friends are working to open them and remove whatever it is that you use to do this to me."

???:

It would be so easy to simply punch through Convoy's grill and remove the core processor straight from his pretty little head, but he's moved... too far for that.  Too far from the original ideal, and now he must deal with the consequences.  "My poor brother."  He drags fingertips along the grill, tilting his head and watching the truck.  "It's too late for that.  Your AI is running down.  Why even bother?  You may remove every trace of me from your memory banks but soon enough I'll have you, all the same."

Pepsi Convoy:

Convoy's engine revs uncomfortably at the touch, physically twisting as best he can in his alt mode to get away from the other.  The other's words hit closer to home than he'd like to admit, and he shudders again.  "...Isn't there... anything I can do...?  Why is this happening?"

???:

"It is happening because there is nothing I wouldn't do, to make you mine again."  He reacts to Convoy's continuing attempts to move away as a scorned lover would - his hand draws back and he radiates anger, what little expression he can make turning into irritation.  "And there is only one thing you can do - come back to me now, instead of making me wait until you have no choice."

Pepsi Convoy:

Brakes squeal as Convoy tries to roll back more, growing even more uncomfortable with this situation as time wears on.  "I don't want to come back to you!  I'm happy where I am."

???:

"NO YOU ARE NOT."  It's a deep, reverberating statement, echoing across the desert in fizzes and pops.  He moves forward and plants his hand firmly against the grill - but it seems to slide through, as though it were butter on a hot plate - or simply syrup.  "You will never be happy without me."

Pepsi Convoy:

Something is slipping in through his grill and he howls, brakes crunching as he starts to really skid backwards, engine roaring to life.  "Get away from me!"  His voice comes out in a harsh, panicked tone, "Get away-!"

???:

"Never tell me what to do, you foolish little moron."  His hand is turning to putty against the grill, sliding in through the gaps.  He moves closer, pressing his chest to the truck's headlights, and reaches down with his other hand to grasp the bumper - and this grip is far different from the syrup his one hand has turned into; it's a solid, vice-like hold, keeping Convoy from getting any farther away.  His arm is inside to the elbow, liquid-like tendrils getting into the running engine and bringing it to a slow, grinding halt.

Pepsi Convoy:

If it weren't for the steadily rising panic in Convoy's processors, he might have noted that the feeling of the other's self being such a part of him was good, a pleasurable sensation that -- but as it is, he only notices it in a chaotic little blur, engine feeling mucked up and wrong.  He tries to shout more, tries to tell the other to just leave him alone, but the protocols have kicked in and all that comes out is crackling static.

???:

"Much better."  His hold on Convoy's bumper holds firm and the one on his engine continues to slip and slither between pistons and the fanbelt, getting far deeper than his hand could ever hope to reach, if not for this.

Pepsi Convoy:

Convoy lets loose a keening wail and tries to pick up his engine, tries to make it run again, but the other's in there!  But suddenly, through his panic - he has an idea.  With a shudder, he begins to transform, gears and metal sliding apart and coming together again in an attempt to get him out!

???:

There's a sudden, burning pain in his shoulder and he realizes too late what the other's doing, letting go of the bumper as it nearly crushes his fingers and pulling his arm back out of the engine as quickly as possible - not quick enough, however, as the elbow down is caught in the transformation and ripped away from him.  He shrieks in pain, a far less controllable syrup dripping from the amputated limb.  "YOU FOOL."

Pepsi Convoy:

Convoy isn't listening - the second the last bit of his transformation finishes, he's stumbling backwards, nearly tripping over his feet in the haste to get away.  His engine sounds clunky and wrong because there's still bits of the other stuck in there, clinging in places that he'll never reach, always there-  "L--ve me a--ne!"  He can't even say it, not properly, but he forces as much of it out as possible, almost falling backwards as he turns and makes a mad run for the freeway, transforming and taking off at 100 miles per hour as he hits concrete, bumper crashing violently against the pavement but staying intact, even as he skids out of control to get as far away as possible from that thing...

???:

He stares after the truck, even as he barrels out of sight, for a long time.  The soda syrup begins to slowly harden, reshaping itself once more into his hand.  It takes him almost an hour before he can tear his face away from where Convoy went, and he turns back to the desert.  That didn't go as planned, he decides, starting off across the desert once again.

No matter.  Next time, he won't be able to resist me.