[@The Wanderer]
The "businessman", with whom you had a dearly intimate but sadly brief discussion concerning The Big Game, spins its head the rest of the way around and gathers its feet back underneath itself. Very noisily, it pursues (and very near catches) you, only to be stymied by the very motor vehicle that lovingly caressed your backside with thousands of chrome-plated p.s.i. just a second earlier. 

The Smith with the sparky hand and unnaturally angled head processes the new information out loud, in a staticy, mechanical voice, "Target zzpt acquired additional defensive measurezz zzt. Engage until Big G - ZZzZZZzZzzzzZZtp." Its external monologue was cut short abruptly by the automobile-propelled mass of flesh that was Indestructi-Man. Its one working tazer hand brushes you during the exchange. Its cattle-prod handshake, while not a clean hit, was enough to seriously wake you up and somewhat alter your hairstyle. Despite this, the impact was enough to produce a faint whirring sound from somewhere within its works. It lay still. 

Not wishing to answer any questions about a hit & run, the car that nailed you tries to speed off, only to get caught in the tangle of the traffic jam that has surrounded your location. 

Meanwhile, the remaining two Smithbots catch up, get their zappy hands on, and switch to Angry Mode.