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Seated in the same corners of the circular conference table that they’d occupied prior to the first stratum’s opening, the four racing squads sit in a shared silence with anticipation for the arrival of their guidance-offering commander. “Where’s Caesar?” Dale calls out from the end of the table, speaking toward the hairless, white coat-wearing mechanic that occupies the scientist’s position at the front of the group.
“He’s running a little late” Ellis replies, visibly preoccupied with the assortment of colour-coded folders that he lays out amongst the table’s surface, preparing them for the man who they collectively await. “Running a little late doing what?” Kurt questions from the mechanic’s right, one leg kicked up on the strand of his chair that one of its five wheels are held in place by, “we’re inside a cave, what could he possibly be getting held up by?” “That information is something that Caesar- and only Caesar- knows” Ellis responds, flipping open the cover to one of the document-filled binders before shaking his head at the pages he finds dismissively. “I thought you were his right hand man?” Taro questions aloud, watching the shiny-headed mechanic close the folder he’d looked at with displeasure before attempting to switch it out for something more preferable. “What gave you that impression?” Ellis retorts, passing a brief glance toward the Crew’s co-founder before returning his sights toward the assortment of portfolios at his disposal. “The fact that you’re the only one of the assistants that we know the name of” Vert replies, appreciatively accepting the silent offer of a blunt from Talia’s hand into his own. “That’s not necessarily true” Kurt replies, rotating his chair just slightly into the direction of his Kaiyo teammate, “this woman named Ginger- who ironically enough is also a ginger- was the one that handed my car back off to me before the stratum.” “Is she the one that fixed those dumb rocket launchers to the bottom of your car too, Kurt?” Mark questions from across the table, still bitter about the result in which their race had concluded. “I’m not sure, but I’d imagine whoever built the boosters onto my car was the same person that built them onto the rest of yours.” “What are you talking about?” Eric questions from the corner of the table that had spent the meeting quiet thus far, curious as to the proclamation made. “They said they were upgrading our cars before Caesar pulled us into that meeting the other day” Kurt answers, speaking to the crowd that awaits answers, “don’t sit here and tell me that I was the only one who took a second to figure out what those upgrades were before we went into the stratum.” “According to my assistants- you were” Caesar replies, overhearing the question that’s raised by Kaiyo’s second in command just as he enters the room, collecting the undivided attention of his racers. “From here on out, I would highly recommend that you keep in at least semi-consistent contact with the ‘white coats’ over any concerns or needs with your cars” the entering scientist replies, watching his right hand man step aside to free the table’s centre for the operation’s leading figure. “Your cars have been equipped with competitive advantages that you are only to use in the event that they are necessary” Caesar restates, placing the tips of each finger against the table’s hardwood surface. “Each of your vehicles have been equipped with propulsion boosters just as Kurt’s has been” the scientist confesses, looking at the paper’s face, “in addition to those, they’ve been fitted with an assortment of other performance modifications.” “Such as?” Alec interrupts, paying no mind to the various eyes that take toward his direction in addition to Caesar’s own, his impatience not being appreciated amongst his peers. “I was getting to that” the scientist replies in a subdued tone, almost as if he were attempting to hold himself back from speaking out of line. “Your windows are now shatterproof, the bodies of your cars can take head-on-collisions at speeds up to one hundred miles per hour without presenting much more than a scratch” Caesar proceeds, only beginning with his laundry list of improvements. “They’ve been adequately tuned, fitted with a turbo booster capable of five uses when full, and fitted with advanced defensive technologies” he continues, “your tires have been reinforced and your cars have been fitted with an iron battering ram that will allow you to pierce through obstructions like the ones the drones had met you with. In addition to these objects of defence, your vehicles have been fitted with grappling hooks and towing capabilities in the need of assistance.” “What do you mean by a turbo booster?” Nolo wonders aloud from the group, the addition having caught his ear in such a way that nothing further could be recalled. “Yes, a turbo booster. Your cars can only reach the speed they had initially been designed to. All my mechanics have done is modify your vehicle to not completely break down when exposed to vastly-increased speeds such as the one required to enter each stratum” Caesar replies, “the booster allows for greater speed than usual.” “How fast?” Taro immediately asks aloud, prompting the scientist’s head to turn toward the rest of his group. “My booster will carry your vehicles a good eighty-to-one hundred miles per hour faster than what they can normally travel at” Caesar responds, continuing to hover over the documents laid out before himself, “you should be able to near three hundred miles per hour when this boost is implemented.” “Why can’t you just have our cars travel that fast all the time?” Ronny questions aloud, only to overhear an amused chuckle come over the group seated behind them. “Speak for yourselves” Alec quips, wearing a grin that serves to irk the other squads on its appearance alone, “my McLaren can put the rest of your cars to shame.” “I wouldn’t necessarily count on that being true, Mr. Mayweather” Caesar responds, watching the young man’s eyes roll as his face directs away from the room’s central figure, “every single driver here will be racing a vehicle that is- at least capability-wise- equal to one another. Some may be faster than others, but races are not won by the highest speed.” “Alright, Professor X... How are races won?” Alec challenges, his left arm draped behind Lana’s head whilst his right leans against the seat’s armrest, supporting the majority of his upper body. “Races are won by the best racers” Caesar responds, his ear caught by the remark that’s paid by a man toward his right. “Yeah, like me” Kurt proclaims, looking back at the group his comment had been made to instigate, only for his brother’s voice to interject. “I had you beat” Mark rebuttals, watching his older sibling’s face take toward his direction without the faintest sign of impression, “had it not been for the rest of you- I would’ve won that race.” Chuckling to himself, Kurt shakes his head before leaning further back into his seat, attention paid to his younger brother. “Not only was I staying behind you on purpose, but the better racer should at least know what he’s racing...” the Kaiyo members rebukes, “you never stood a chance.” “Neither did you, Kurt” Caesar responds, his retort proving to be a surprise to the second in command that sits toward his right. “As a matter of fact, none of you did” the scientist doubles down, recalling their collective failure beyond the point of refusal, “the corporation did.” Parting his lips to reply, Mark finds his efforts falling futile when the central figure’s voice prevents him from doing so, speaking over his attempt without care for what was to be said. “Had Kurt decided to stay with Kaiyo as opposed to going after bragging rights over his brother, he would’ve stayed on the most-direct path alongside his Kaiyo brethren” Caesar comments, a conclusion that can’t be argued, “even in the event that the multi-car collision occurs, Kurt’s awareness of his vehicle’s propulsion system would’ve at least kept him on pace to potentially out-run the drones.” Looking toward the scientist, Kurt’s eyes hold an aura of self-disgust upon realising the accuracy of the statements made, the outcome he’d taken as a personal victory now proving to have just been a failure. “As stupid as the call the Wayland brothers had made, it pales in comparison to the one our friends at the back of the room made” Caesar explains, holding the other pairs accountable as well, “Ross’ decision to antagonise his fellow racers left six people too distracted to compete.” “Hey! They are not my fellow racers!” Ross barks back, standing up from his seat with a look of insult worn across his visage and a finger aimed at the scientist’s position, “the only people that I race with are these guys!” Panning his hands out toward the three young adults that sit beside him, the best friend of the Esteemed’s leader pledges his allegiance beyond any doubt as Alec and Lana nod with angering grins, their expressions juxtaposed to the unchanged face that Eric wears. “Perhaps you should take after the lead that your group’s leader has set in that case, Ross” Caesar replies, passing a momentary glance toward Alec before moving on, “though I respect Eric returning to make sure you’re alright, it was Alec and Lana who’d done what you should have. They stayed out of it, kept moving and- had they known about the turbo boosters- could’ve been in position to win.” “It was a total failure amongst all parties all across the board” Harland concludes, bringing the conversation back around to the point it was called to make, “now instead of harkening back on how we lost the last race, why don’t you get around to telling us how to win the next one?” “Yeah, and how about you start with the part you didn’t get to tell us last time...” Nolo replies, doubling down on the question that his rival-squad’s leader begs aloud, “...who the hell were those other guys in the stratum with us?” Lifting his chin toward the ceiling, Caesar keeps his eyes glued to the Kaiyo leader before splitting his glance amongst the other groups. “The Flat Devil Corporation is an automotive company that specialises in producing driverless racing cars” Caesar responds, finally taking ownership over a seat off toward his side that he’d yet to seat himself in. “Twenty years ago or so, they invested in a company that produced artificial intelligence driving systems in the name of creating an entirely-automated racing circuit to compete with NASCAR” the scientist continues, “however, they’ve always had plans for this race brewing.” “The corporation sends unmanned vehicles into each stratum with the intention of making it to the end first” Ellis explains, “as your experience with them in the Storm Stratum can speak to, they don’t mind losing as many cars as it takes inside the stratum if it means winning.” Nodding with approval, Caesar looks back toward the documents that are afforded to his eyes before continuing the man’s point. “One thing I’m sure of is that they’re sending their unmanned vehicles- or drones, as I like to refer to them as- into the stratums to gradually improve their A.I’s driving techniques” Caesar confesses, “each stratum improves it gradually in preparation for whatever comes after the twenty two legs have been finished.” “Why do they want to win so badly then? What’s at the end of the race for them?” Tyson questions from the back, an answer that the scientist isn’t all too easily able to give. “I’m not sure. I don’t know what happens when the twenty two legs conclude. It could be nothing for all I know” Caesar admits, shaking his head with uncertainty, “but I know they wouldn’t go through all of this trouble for nothing.” “Knowing that they’d be willing to lose their own cars in order to win these races, is it safe to assume they’d be willing to take out other cars?” Kurt questions aloud, finding rare common ground with his brother, who doubles down on the question, “yeah, like our cars?” “Considering there are few people in the world that know about these stratums, I’d imagine they wouldn’t shy away from doing...” Caesar responds, pausing as he tries to find a more civilised way of wording his reply, “...whatever’s necessary.” Sitting in a collective silence, the four squads begin looking toward those within their own ranks before glancing in the direction of the other groups. Refusing to display fear, the DSRC stare toward each other whilst the Esteemed find themselves returned to reality, their refused guarantee of safety temporarily bringing them down from the perch they’ve seated themselves atop. Considering the statement that’s made, Kaiyo tries their best to grow comfortable with this unsettling reality whilst the Crew individually nod in acceptance of the terms laid out. “Before you all disperse, there is one more thing that I’d like to mention” Caesar explains, preventing anyone from considering the meeting over and done with, “because I’d very much like to keep you all alive and accounted for, I’ve equipped all of your cars with an emergency return.” Sliding away from the centre of the table, Caesar makes way for his right hand man to take over the conversation, explaining the vague discovery. “Beneath a plastic case on the centre consoles of your vehicles will be a bright, red button that will begin glowing when the case is lifted” Ellis remarks, taking over his superior’s forfeited position, “the ‘Last Ditch Resort’- or Angel Button as I call it- will allow your vehicle to escape at the speed you were travelling when pressed.” “So you’re saying we shouldn’t hit it when we’re using that turbo you’re talking about, right?” Ross questions from the back, watching the semi-humoured grin that the mechanic returns to him. “I would suggest against it” Ellis replies, closing the binder that was left open atop the table whilst looking out to the other groups, “I would only use it in the event of an absolute emergency.” Nodding to themselves before being dismissed, the four groups venture off and tend to their own business in preparation for the next stratum, departing the conference room in favour of whatever corridors their desires carry them toward. Staying behind whilst his right hand man exits just as the drivers do, Caesar rolls his chair back to the centre of the table before flipping open the binder that Ellis had just closed, beginning to read the pages that have been laid out for him. = Driveline is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = “I don’t have to trust somebody just because they race with us” Harland replies, stepping away from a table at the back of a Crew-coloured communal room with a pair of coffee cups in hand. “Not being able to trust Wayland is a bad sign; I know that you’re aware of that” Taro retorts, bowing his head subtly as he takes one of the two cups appreciatively, watching as the group’s leader offers the second one to their scrawny friend. “Of course I know that, Taro” Harland responds, assuring the man that he doesn’t lack awareness of the situation at hand, “we don’t really have much of a choice on the matter. We need four guys, and with Wayland- we’ve got four guys.” Returning to the table, the Crew’s leader begins pouring himself a cup of coffee as the conversation persists. “I don’t know that we have four guys in anything more than numbers” Taro confesses, one arm crossed beneath the one that holds the coffee cup, “it feels like we’re in a similar position to those prep kids across the hall.” “What do you mean? Esteemed’s got four guys” Ronny responds, confused at the conclusion the group’s co-founder makes for only the moments that go without its leader breaking it down. “Eric is as much one of the prep kids as Wayland is a member of the Crew” Harland responds, doubling down on Taro’s proclamation, “that kid’s with the others ‘cause they’re his friends. Wayland’s with us ‘cause his brother wouldn’t let him in Kaiyo and he needed somewhere else to go.” “We’re not saying Wayland shouldn’t be with the Crew, Ronny. What we’re saying is we need to take a different approach with him” Taro explains, watching as Harland returns to the discourse physically, “when someone in the Crew needs help, we’re going to be there for each other. With Wayland, we can’t be so sure he’d do the same and need to keep that in mind at all t-” Interrupted by the sound of an automatic door sliding in, the trio of slip-racers come to a sudden silence as their bodies turn toward the room’s entrance, watching the rival faction’s leader arrive. “I come in peace” Nolo remarks, lifting his hands in a symbolic gesture of good faith as he enters the room alone, his eyes paying little more than a few seconds of focus on the rival factions members other than its leader, “do you think we can talk in private for a minute or two?” Without needing to be paid the command, Taro turns his face toward the group’s mechanic and begins turning away from the room, “come on, Ronny. Let’s go test out our cars or something” the man declares, his instructions quietly obeyed by the scrawny racer who follows his exit. “You have an apology for me or something?” Harland inquires once the room is void of additional presence, his question one that sparks a grin over the Kaiyo leader. “An apology? That’s funny, Torque” the man’s nemesis replies, pacing the room at a slow pace as the discussion ensues, “if anything, I would’ve thought it’d be you that owed me an apology.” Gently setting his coffee down on the nearby table, Harland crosses his arms whilst his body gradually rotates to face the opposite man. “What would I- or the Crew for that matter- have to apologise to you or Kaiyo for?” the man inquires, genuinely wondrous of the notion presented. “How about we start with pretty much crippling the Annapolis racing scene for a start?” Nolo responds, the line of thought one that the Crew’s leader was not initially thinking of, therefore bringing a slight frown to the man’s face. “While we’re at it, you can also apologise for bringing Mark in just to piss off his brother. Because, of course, Kaiyo needed another reason to dislike Crew” the apology-seeking man continues, “and after that, you can again apologise for killing the racing scene.” “First of all, we didn’t bring in Wayland to piss off his brother. We brought him in because he was a good racer who wanted to win slips just as much as we did” Harland rebukes, watching the Kaiyo leader’s face fall toward the ground, “second of all, we’re not going to apologise for other squads being so confident in their abilities to beat us that they’d be willing to wager their cars over it.” “We came up to you last year and told you to stop racing for slips” Nolo retorts, arguing in his group’s favour as the other man’s face now takes toward the ground, “we told you that the competition was dying because of y’all and you just kept going.” “Like I said, the hubris those groups had to- time after time- race us for slips and lose is not on the Crew” Harland responds, watching the man across from him roll his eyes, “you’ve been arguing that we shouldn’t gone elsewhere and won slips in some other city, but I could easily make the argument that Kaiyo could’ve done the same and found a racing scene to be apart of somewhere else.” “We shouldn’t have had to” Nolo quips back, only for the conclusion to be one that Harland doesn’t see value in. “Anyone can argue that they shouldn’t have left their home turf, but that doesn’t change the fact that neither of us did” the Crew’s leader proclaims, a gesture that the rival driver has no room to argue against, “but hell, if the fact is that the Crew killed off the entirety of Annapolis’ racing scene, then maybe that scene didn’t have the right to exist in the first place.” “The only reason Crew had the chance to kill off the other squads was because Kaiyo never got involved” Nolo rejoinders, getting in the man’s face with a more daring tone of voice, “count your blessings, Torque. Had we got involved before you’d gotten the chance to lay groundwork, Crew would be nothing more than a memory right now.” “I guess it’s a good thing you have the chance to prove it without being afraid of losing your prized possessions now, huh?” Harland questions back, meeting the man’s intimidation tactics with an equal effort, getting as close to the Kaiyo leader’s face as his own has been. “Kaiyo never raced you on principle... Not our of fear” Nolo rebukes, defending his group in spite of Torque’s refusal to fully buy into such a claim, “but yeah, I guess it is a good thing now.” “It sure is. So, how about we agree to put our focus on the races that we haven’t beaten each other in yet instead of the ones that never happened?” Harland concludes, extending his arms outward toward either side, “we’ll let the next twenty one stratums do the talking for us.” “That sounds like a good idea” Nolo replies in a near-whisper, nodding as he steps away, departing for the room’s exit, “that sounds like a real good idea, Torque.” | Following the potent scent that floods throughout the corridor, Eric leads himself past the entrance to his group’s clubhouse that faces directly opposite the Crew’s before continuing onward. “That has to be coming from Kaiyo” the man mutters beneath his breath, eyeing the sliding door with the spoken group’s logo blazed upon it, the door acting just as the others do in facing the entrance to a rival group’s quarters, their own just happening to face the DSRC’s. Leaping back at the sudden sound of motion, Eric watches Kaiyo’s entrance glide open to release Vert from within, his person and the rest of the hallway smelling heavily of the aroma that the Esteemed member’s nose follows. “Hey, preppy” the blonde haired member of the racing squad remarks, pausing mid-step before thinking to ask the question he’d left the room with, “you haven’t seen Taro, have you?” “Uh, yeah- I just saw him walking for the garages a second ago” Eric responds, his reply earning him a pat on the shoulder from the Kaiyo driver that now begins his journey toward the area. “Hey, Vert!?” the Esteemed racer calls back, watching the man of equal age turn back with a raised eyebrow, “do you guys sell?” “Sell? Sell wha-?” Vert questions back after a brief pause, searching internally for emphasis before suddenly cutting himself off, “oh! You mean weed? I mean, the weed’s Talia’s. I’m sure she’d share, I’m just not sure if she would for people other than Kaiyo. You can give it a shot, though.” Taking the proposition for what it’s worth, Eric pays the rival driver a nod before their paths pull in separate directions once more, the advancement of the Esteemed driver taking him through the enemy clubhouse’s entrance. “Woah, a preppy stepping into enemy territory?” Kurt jokes, the only other man beside the mostly-silent, music-enjoying member of his group inside the communal space, “you sure you’ve got the balls for that, kid?” “I was just coming to buy some pot” Eric replies with lifted hands, showing the sign of surrender that prompts the experienced driver to burst into laughter. “Fair enough, I suppose” Kurt concludes, climbing out of his chair before reaching for the leather jacket he’d left off a nearby hook, “good luck, buddy” he replies, patting the Esteemed’s driver on the back before exiting the room. “I don’t sell” Talia remarks, the sound of her voice immediately prompting Eric’s eyes to widen, his surprise made clear instantly. “Holy shit, you speak?” the visiting racer replies, watching the woman grin as she subdues her amusement, headphones still blaring music into her ears. “I’m partially deaf... I’m not a mute” the lone Kaiyo driver in the room replies, her body sinking into the comfort of a bean bag chair she’d kept in the backseat of her M-Coupe. “I knew that, I’d just never heard your voice before” Eric confesses, awkwardly pressing the palms of his hands against his sides before bowing his head and turning back for the entrance. “Where are you going?” Talia wonders aloud, prompting the man to turn back around with raised eyebrows. “Back to our clubhouse?” Eric retorts, unsure of how else to respond to the question other than with the answer he’d assumed was already clear. “I thought you wanted pot?” Talia queries back, her spoken wonder only further confusing the guest driver. “I do, but you told me that you don’t sell” the polite member of the rather crass racing squad responds, “I don’t want to pester you to sell if you don’t.” Rolling her eyes with amusement, Talia lifts the lit joint she already wields to her lips before gesturing her hand toward the empty spot on the floor beside her bean bag seat. Taking the gesture for what it’s worth, Eric strolls across the open floor cautiously whilst his fellow driver reaches into a bag off to the side, snatching from within a half-crushed leaf and a piece of rolling paper. “I don’t sell, but that doesn’t mean I’m a selfish user” Talia replies as she holds her breath, letting the smoke linger within before exhaling it with a satisfied sigh. “What’s the fun of smoking without friends anyway?” the woman continues, quickly loading the wrapping paper with veteran skill whilst taking a second puff from the join between her lips. “We’re friends?” Eric questions aloud, watching the woman look up toward him just as he begs the question, her music still too loud to allow her a chance at hearing him outright, “even with the people I’m in a group with, you’d consider us friends?” Chuckling to herself as she lets out the gust of marijuana smoke from her lungs in the Esteemed driver’s direction, Talia looks back to the joint that she prepares for her fellow driver. “I don’t know about us being friends so much as I’d consider you someone that I can bare being around” Talia replies, removing the joint from her lip as she presses her tongue against the now-rolled wrapper, “besides, the fact that you know how unpleasant the company you surround yourself with is a good sign that you’re at least self-aware and not a total ass.” With a smile, Eric lets his head fall toward the ground as he takes appreciation in the woman’s comments, allowing a few further seconds to pass before his own joint is handed off. Leaning back in her chair, Talia continues to lose herself in the music that fills her ears whilst the room continues to cloud with the expended kush fog. | “‘Sup, Wayland?” Vert questions aloud, watching the younger sibling of his fellow driver return to the garage his Firebird is stationed in with a pair of bolt cutters in hand. Snarling at the Kaiyo driver, Mark pays the man not a single word as he continues along his travels, leaving the gesture to fall upon deaf ears. “Don’t mind him- he’s in a mood” Taro remarks, leaning over the open hood of his ‘Cuda Convertible whilst taking a wrench to what resides within. “I can’t imagine why” Vert replies, granting himself permission to enter the man’s garage before stopping with surprise, noticing the equally-red shell that encapsulates the vehicle, “did you finally put a top on this thing?” Finishing the duties that had called for his attention, Taro slams the hood shut and reaches for a nearby grease-stained rag. “Apparently the white coats did” the convertible’s owner replies whilst wiping off his hands, “I asked around about the upgrades and they let me know they reinstalled the top I’d taken off since they didn’t know what kinds of stratums we’d be going into in the future.” “I haven’t seen this car with a shell on it since I was in middle school” Vert replies, gazing at the part of the vehicle that fills him with the sensation of nostalgia, the car’s owner smirking at the claim before tossing the rag into a basket at the garage’s corner. “Yeah, neither had I” Taro replies, walking along the opposite side of the car from his old friend, “I’d gotten rid of mine back when the car was still green and the Crew hadn’t adopted a colour scheme.” Amused, Vert gently slides his hand down the top of the vehicle’s shell as if it were something otherworldly. “Yeah, I hear you. I kinda miss the old grey my Acura was before I joined Kaiyo” the driver confesses with a subtle laugh, “the chrome finish just doesn’t look as appealing as it does on Nolo’s car.” “So change it back” Taro responds with a shrug of his shoulders, opening the driver’s side door and flicking a switch on the vehicle’s centre console, allowing the glossy, red top to fall back and return the convertible to its air-exposed natural state. “I can’t. Everyone knows Kaiyo cars are chrome” Vert replies, stepping back so as not to interfere with the car’s change, “it’s the same reason you can’t paint your car green again.” “Sure I can. The Crew only recommends a red or black colour scheme to differentiate from the neon colours those racers in Annapolis use” Taro retorts whilst closing the cab’s entrance once more, “I could paint the car whatever I want... I just like the red.” Not having realised this before, Vert nods with the new discovery whilst his friend watches on, walking toward the back of the car with eyes set on the gas tank. “If it bothers you that much, go tell your Kaiyo friends that you want it painted grey again” Taro proclaims, reaching for a gas canister that waits for him atop a nearby workbench, “you shouldn’t have to drive a car that you don’t want to drive.” “I miss the grey scheme, that’s all. The chrome looks nice” Vert retorts, looking past the vehicle and toward his friend, only to find an unconvinced nod being paid back to him. “I think the chrome looks tacky as hell, but believe whatever you want to believe” Taro jokes, tilting the can’s nozzle into the tank’s opening to prepare the car for the next time it’s needed. “The colour of the car isn’t as important as what it represents” Vert declares, a conclusion that the Crew’s co-founder doesn’t necessarily think differently from. “I can see the logic in that. But, I’m not sure either of our cars represent what they’d originally represented now... At least not for the time being” Taro rejoinders, pressing the hip of his left side just above the back-most tire, “Kaiyo drove for the art and the Crew drove for slips. Now we just race in cool places.” “Yeah, I guess we-” Vert begins to reply, only to duck toward the ground just as Taro does in a moment of startling vibration, their reactions paid to the sound of an alarm that begins flashing the second level in a bright red light. “What the hell is that!?” the Kaiyo driver proclaims as his friend pulls the canister's nozzle out from the tank’s entry, following the younger man toward the garage’s entrance. “We’ve got another race!” Ross calls out from a garage just a short few yards away, pointing toward the blue-tinted sphere of concentrated energy. Exiting the parking space simultaneously, Taro and Vert guide their attention toward the red-tinted cave they call their temporary home as the buzzing alarm that had activated it continues to blare. “Drivers, the next stratum is activating!” Caesar proclaims through the building’s loudspeaker, his proclamation slightly-interrupted by the roaring sounds of the DSRC’s collective motorbikes driving off in formation, the first to fully exit their garage unit and doing so all at once. “I guess that next cool place is coming up” Taro declares, sliding his left hand into the pocket of his jeans and retrieving his keys whilst the right hand pats his friend’s shoulder, “good luck in there, Vert.” Returning the man a nod, Vert makes a dash across the parking lot as Ross pulls his Tributo out from the shop, the first of the Esteemed’s drivers to take their focus toward the next race. Situating himself into the control centre, Caesar types in a few commands whilst his right hand man enters the room, “what’s the next leg, sir?” Ellis inquires, watching his superior’s face take toward the screen as the answer presents itself in coded language. Reading through the lines of text and symbols, Caesar’s face follows the brief trail of word salad that’s paid to him, the readings that his machines have taken from the newest formation of concentrated energy paying off. Muttering beneath his breath, the scientist’s discovery is voiced aloud as the alarm continues buzzing, the lights that had bathed the second level in a shade of bright red now changing, allowing a solid shade of yellow to come over the building’s interior. “The Swamp Stratum” Caesar whispers to himself, the man’s voice proving to be just barely loud enough to reach Ellis’ ears, informing him of the next stage before any of the drivers that now take to the track one after another. == Driveline ==
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Floating at one end of a lengthy, red and silver racetrack measuring roughly six cars wide, a spherical, blue orb of energy rotates slowly amidst a sea of electricity that litters the air. Covered in dark, ominous rainclouds, the sky above this empty stretch of track briefly lights with flashes not too dissimilar to the bulb of cameras, its streak of illumination preceding a thunderous crash that doesn’t take much more than a second or two to follow.
Lining each side of the track, massive spires pierce through the skies to such an extent that they vanish above the clouds, begging to meet the will of the stratum’s aggressions anxiously. Rumbling, the environment that consumes the track from all directions presents little more than the display of doom and gloom, its air kept from being afforded the pleasure of silence between each roar of thunder by the crushing droplets of rain that assault the roadway’s surface. “Holy shit!” Alec proclaims, the first of his fellow racers to touch down upon solid ground following their leap from one plane to another, his vehicle’s speed returning to a more manageable level the second his eyes meet an unencumbered track. “Are their dash cameras operable?” Caesar wonders aloud from the seat that resides at the helm of the computer mountain he sits before. “Affirmative. I’m patching you in now” Ellis responds, inputting code as fast as he can manage whilst the sound of various voices fills the control room. “Can you all hear me?” the scientist wonders aloud, speaking into the standing mic just a few inches away from his face, both eyes wandering across the screens that present different points of view. Responding with an assortment of affirming replies, the drivers break as far away from each other as they can manage before coming back together in their original racing clubs as organised as they can manage. “What the hell is this place!?” Nolo calls out from behind the wheel of his convertible, allowing the helmet that he wears to shield him from the rainfall whilst his leather interior takes a beating. “Like I said before you entered- this is the Storm Stratum” Caesar replies, splitting his view between different onboard cameras, “each leg of this race is supposed to bring its own differences; this stratum happens to mimic the conditions of a harsh thunderstorm.” “How the hell are we supposed to drive in this thing!?” Dale shouts, correctly assuming his helmet had been fitted with a microphone just as it had been the speaker he hadn’t realised would be made available until now. “That’s the part you’re meant to figure out” Caesar responds, focusing on the motorcyclist’s camera with the intention of collecting a better understanding of the conditions. “Is it even safe to drive in thi-? Jesus!” Butch exclaims, continuing to speed along in the line of DSRC bikers whilst ducking as close to the machine as he can manage, startled by the streak of lightning that immediately brings a crashing thud over the area. “I’m not sure if it’s safe for you in this stratum” Caesar responds, his intelligence only taking him as far as the knowledge he holds, “if I were you, I’d just hope for the best.” “There’s a split coming up in the road ahead” Harland remarks aloud, his tone much calmer than those of his peers, who remain as awestruck as they had been when entering the plane. “You’re on your own as far as the route is concerned” Caesar confesses, disappointed mostly in his own inability to know more than what he does, “the only thing I know for certain is that every route eventually leads to the end... You just have to make it there.” “What does that mean?” Kurt questions, a squint carried in his eyes as he grasps the steering wheel with only his left hand, “is there a chance we don’t make it to the end of the race?” With the turn of his head, Caesar takes his eyes to a wall-mounted clock toward the opposite side of the room, its digital face counting down the seconds that have passed since the stratum had opened to host his racers. “It’s like I said earlier. The stratum remains open for exactly sixty minutes” he replies, taking his attention back to the camera of the driver in question, “whether it be the time or the dreaded conditions that you’re currently driving through, I’d imagine there’s not much in the way of room for error.” “Why didn’t you tell us that we’d be driving through a torrential downpour?” Vert questions back, trailing behind the two most-experienced drivers in his group whilst Talia quietly listens to the music in her headphones behind him. “If I didn’t tell you anything before you entered the stratum, it’s because I didn’t know about it” Caesar responds, shaking his head as his eyes turn toward the vehicle’s camera, “there are some things none of anyone’s research would clue me in on.” “We’ve got three routes- which track are we running down, Nolo?” Kurt questions aloud, watching as the man triggers his left-most yellow turn signal. “Before you ask, I have no specific reason for it” the Kaiyo leader admits, shrugging his shoulders whilst gradually veering his car in the direction his light flashes. “Kaiyo, we’re going left” Kurt calls out, looking into his rear-view mirror as the two cars behind him follow suit in turning on their blinkers. “I guess I know where-” Mark gleefully remarks, wearing a grin in the corner of his mouth before throwing himself back against his seat, frightened immensely by the crashing roar in the air that is preceded by a bright lightning strike, one that touches down upon the hood of the man’s car. Given no time to react, the younger of the Wayland siblings watches as the other fourteen cars ahead of him continue on, driving at a faster speed than his slowing vehicle fails to match. Within a few seconds, Ronny’s altered ‘Lil Red Express manoeuvres itself around Mark’s car to carry on following the Crew’s lead, leaving the easily-confrontational driver behind. “Why the hell is my car stopping!?” Mark calls aloud, begging the question for Caesar to answer before initially overhearing his brother’s chuckle of amusement instead. “I’ve lost the signal of your onboard camera, Mark. What happened?” the scientist replies, waiting to overhear the reply for a few moments as the younger sibling attempts to restart his car. “My ride got hit by lightning, what the hell do you think happened!?” Mark angrily shouts back, listening to his engine struggle to reboot for a few seconds before finally finding success. “Have you got it back on now?” Caesar questions, still unable to receive any signal from the man’s onboard camera. “Yeah, I’m back up and running” Mark answers, grabbing the wheel again before continuing on with his original journey. “Mark, Crew’s taking the middle road” Harland proclaims back, watching as the third-ranking member of their group chooses to take a different journey. “Nah, to hell with that” the bitter Wayland brother replies, taking issue with the laughter he can still recall the sound of, “I’m gonna go teach the funny man a lesson.” “Do your worst” Kurt dares as his brothers car reaches the point of no return, directing itself down Kaiyo’s route without the need to look back. “I guess that means we’ve got the right track all to ourselves, boys!” Alec proclaims with a chipper attitude, looking into the rear view mirror before his grin fades, his momentarily redirected sight allowing him to take notice of the motorcycle crew that trails a few dozen yards behind, “I take that back.” “Just ignore them and keep driving, Alec” Eric responds from the very end of the Esteemed’s convoy, paying his full attention to the journey they’ve just begun to undertake, “remember what the point of this is... winning.” Though he wishes to disagree with the conclusion his friend makes, Alec nods in agreement with the conclusion that’s reached, doing as suggested by refocusing his eyes on the open track ahead, eager to see what the end of it looks like. = Driveline is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = “Did daddy’s money teach you boys how to drive too, or was it only good enough to land the cars?” Tyson prods from the back of the DSRC’s frontline, following the lead that Dale blazes as he pokes fun at the squad ahead of them. “Dude, you really shouldn’t be trying to egg any of us on” Eric replies, passing a few looks toward his rear-view mirror to keep an eye on the motorcyclist’s. “Is that a threat, rich boy?” Pat questions through an undisturbed tone, genuinely curious as toward the comment’s intention. “No, it’s my way of reminding you that the four of you aren’t in a very good predicament right now” Eric clarifies, explaining himself through reason and sensibility, “it’s raining cats and dogs, the sky is roaring and shooting lightning bolts at the ground every other second, and you’re shit talking a group of super cars while behind the control of motorcycles.” “So? Why would that concern us?” Butch questions aloud, pulling up alongside the DSRC’s leader whilst begging the question. “He’s trying to say there are laws made to protect shithead gun-toters like you pricks from actual rides, dumbass!” Ross chirps back, prodding at the convoy that follow their lead before pulling out to the right of Eric and letting off the gas just slightly, descending from third in the group and toward the very back. “Didn’t you hear what the bald guy told you before we drove in here, richie?” Butch questions back, noticing the intentional retreat Ross takes from the rest of his peers, “we ain’t on earth anymore; those laws don’t apply.” With a smirk, the privileged driver nods to himself, before passing a glance through his window, looking toward Eric’s face in the next car over to see his head shaking in refusal. “No, I guess they don’t” Ross reassures, pleased with the conclusion brought upon them by the drivers that trail behind, his joy taken from the thought that comes over his head. | “Where the hell is Talia going?” Vert wonders aloud, looking into his rear view mirror to find the woman’s M-Coupe turning onto a separate pathway without warning, the driver herself taking whichever route feels most appropriate in the moment. “Wherever Talia wants to go as per usual” Kurt replies, passing his own glance at the car behind himself before taking notice of his brother’s vehicle a number of yards behind, “it doesn’t matter anyway- there’s another fork coming up.” “That sounds perfect to me” Mark replies, pressing his foot further into the driver’s pedal with hopes of gaining ground, looking to draft behind Vert’s NSX, “how about you leave the other Kaiyo behind and race me like a real man, Kurt?” From just behind the front-most car, the oldest Wayland sibling stares at the taillights of the vehicle ahead, waiting for a few seconds before the right turn signal begins to blink. Sparking a grin, Kurt passes another glance into his rear-view mirror as Vert follows suit, the NSX being prepared to turn right as Kaiyo’s second in command swipes his left hand downward. “I think that’s a great idea, brother” the older sibling replies, breaking rank with the rest of his group in triggering the RX-7’s left turn signal before pulling away physically. “We’ve got a race to win, Kurt. Are you sure you wanna do this?” Nolo questions aloud, looking at the dashboard-attached mirror that affords him the sight of his right hand man’s redirection. “You boys go ahead without me” Kurt doubles down, reassuring the pair of his confidence as their journeys pull away from each other’s, “I’ve got my own race to win.” Needing no further convincing than the one he’d offered to trigger this separation, Mark calmly pulls his wheel toward the left, following the trail that he and his brother venture down alone. Reflecting another streak of lightning that flashes across the storm-covered sky, the chrome vehicles that the lone pair of coupled Kaiyo members drive embark upon the road still left to be explored, aiming to settle their own business with the stratum whilst their contemporaries handle other matters. | “How are you doing back there, Wayland?” Taro questions aloud, having remained mostly mute for the duration of the race, only for the lack of an immediate answer to spark intrigue. “The stratum spans a great distance of uncertain length, Taro” Caesar replies instead, “since our collective communications are routed through my system’s outside of the energy’s concentration, I’ll be able to communicate with you consistently. However, other drivers will fall out of reach inside.” “So we’ll only be able to talk to each other here if we’re nearby?” Harland questions back, simply hoping to understand whether or not such a statement is conclusive. “In that case, how’s Wayland doing?” Taro doubles down, asking the scientist in lieu of the subject’s unavailability, “you can still see his dashcam, right?” “I can communicate with his radio, but I don’t have access to his dashcam” Caesar replies, staring at the blank screen that the youngest brother’s feed returns to him before falling silent, eyes eventually redirecting themselves to the footage positioned just above it. “It seems as though I don’t need it” the man speaks away from the mic, concealing this fact from the drivers that he speaks with as his eyes glue themselves to Kurt’s footage, which affords him a slight view of the Firebird. | “Hey, how fast can those things stop?” Ross wonders aloud, looking into his side mirrors at the motorcycle fleet behind himself, wearing a smirk that isn’t just in spite of their continued presence, but is due to it. “I don’t think you’d like to know the answer to that question” Dale answers, pulling farther ahead than the rest of the DSRC with eyes taking toward the rear of the outspoken man’s vehicle. “Why is that?” Lana wonders aloud, paying little mind to the shadowing group of bikers other than the words that the club speak, her eyes instead keeping toward the vehicle that she tails. “Because the only reason we’d have to stop would be to get off our bikes...” Dale responds, his rain soaked face keeping itself attached toward the back of the Tributo that his tormentor remains behind the wheel of, “...the only reason to get off our bikes would be ‘cause y’all got out of your cars.” “Oh, you mean like a throwdown-type situation?” Ross retorts, eyebrows lifting as he feigns some sudden epiphany, “the road rage stuff people get involved in when they're angry, right? That stuff?” Scowling, Dale uses the slipstream left behind by Eric’s car a few yards ahead to play catchup, eventually finding himself nearly side-to-side with the man who’d asked the question. “I guess you could say that” Butch answers on his leader’s behalf, realising the question had gone unanswered in the wake of their leader’s attention being paid toward gaining ground. “That’s really good to know” Ross replies, taking notice of the leader’s advancement with an even wider grin on his face, “hey, what do you guys think causes all that road rage? Is it stuff like this?” Without warning, the Tributo’s driver veers to the right sharply just as the Honda Fury that had gained on him begins to draw closer, forcing its operator to quickly pull back and give up the same ground he’d gained. “Would that cause it?” Ross questions back, purposefully instigating the group whose leader he can hear grunt angrily in frustration, the reaction proving more than enough to send him into outright laughter. “What the hell did you do, dummy!?” Alec jokingly laughs, having spent too much time focusing on the route that lies ahead to spectate the scene that had sent his girlfriend and best friend into a chuckle. “He tried running Dale off the track” Eric answers through disappointment, only to hear the Esteemed’s leader share in the amusement that the rest of his group had taken. “I’m glad you find that funny” Butch proclaims, pulling his left hand away from the handlebars to signal toward the younger members of the squad before forming a line. In descending order, the DSRC use each other’s momentum to gain ground on the end of the Esteemed’s trail, their speed gaining as Ross begins bouncing his left leg in eager anticipation. “Yeah, you idiots... Go ahead and line up for me” the rear-most member of the group jokes, watching the fleet of choppers draw closer and close the distance that lies between once more. In one motion, Dale follows the same lead that his club’s vice president had led as he pulls his left hand back, making a brief motion that signals to those that follow behind himself. Pulling off to the right side of the luxury vehicle, Butch and his son leave the other half of their group to remain put, trailing toward the Tirbuto’s left. “What the hell are you idiots doing?” Ross questions genuinely, splitting his sights between each side of his vehicle without much in the way of action to take. Paying the youthful adult no response, the two leading men of the DSRC slow their speed just slightly so Tyson and Pat can catch up momentarily. “Take it, son” Butch calls back, watching his offspring grab the extensive chain that protrudes from one side of his bike and lock it in place, affording Tyson the same opportunity that Pat has in essentially converting their motorcycles into trailers for the leading figureheads to haul. With two free hands, the younger members of the club retrieve a set of shotguns that had been stationed in the same compartment that the other choppers had their chains fitted into. “What the fuck are they-!?” Ross calls out, looking toward Dale and Pat’s side of the vehicle with a squint, his uncertainty only concluding when he realises that the object he’s looking toward is a barrel. Acting on instinct, the Tributo’s driver slams his foot on the brake without warning and sends his tires screeching to a halt, allowing the pair of motorbikes that had caused his brief halt to dart past without issue. Holding him back as best as it can, Ross’ seatbelt prevents the man’s head from getting as close to the centre of his steering wheel as it can manage, thrusted forward by the furious braking that soon prompts the DSRC to slow. “Woah, woah, woah! Hold on boys, no one said anything about- Ah!” the young adult pleads, pulling his hands away from the wheel in order to present his hands, only for the streak of lightning that forces itself upon the vehicle’s hood to terrorise him. Powered down by the blast, Ross’ car becomes momentarily lame as he’s left without much in the way of defence. Able to act however they please, the four members of the DSRC instead choose to return their shotguns to the places in which they were stored whilst the leaders follow suit with their tow. “As long as you know we can do as we please in here- that’s all that matters” Dale quips aloud, speaking to the sitting duck driver only one proclamation before continuing on. “Let’s move, y’all” Butch commands, reclaiming full possession of his own handlebars before joining Dale in resuming their original journey. Without the issue he assumed would befall him, Ross watches the DSRC pull away and take toward the rest of the race whilst a single pair of headlights draw closer toward him, driving hurriedly past the bikers before rolling past his friend. “Are you alright?” Eric wonders aloud, not wanting to stop in the middle of the road out of fear that his vehicle will be the next target of the lightning’s assault. “Yeah” Ross replies after a few breaths, restarting his engine after a brief struggle before following the lead the motorcycle club had shown him in returning to the competition, “let’s finish this race.” | “We’ve been on different sides of the same road countless time before, brother” Kurt remarks, unphased by the minimal lead his sibling’s car holds on his own, “remind me how many times this sort of thing ends up with you on top?” Curling his lip, Mark grunts at the reflection of his brother’s car in the side mirror before approaching a curve in the road he takes the inside of. Pulling behind his brother’s car, Kurt purposefully trails behind the Firebird before retreating to the outside of the track as it straightens out once more. “Come on, Mark. Let’s not sit around and pretend like I wasn’t the reason you went and joined the Crew” the Kaiyo second in command proceeds, taking his sibling’s silence to be little more than additional room to talk for himself, “you were never as keen on winning slips as you were at just getting the chance to beat me.” “I’ve always been able to beat you, Kurt” Mark replies in a less aggravated tone of voice than he usually carries, focusing on the track ahead without much in mind aside from the finish line he so desperately wishes to see first. “Is that so?” Kurt retorts, raising an eyebrow as he once again pulls behind his sibling’s car, only this time without a curve in the road to provoke it, “then why has my car not been turned into scrap metal yet?” Keeping a watchful eye on the vehicle behind himself, Mark groans at the question without the intent of providing an answer, his every effort from this point forward being spent on reaching the end before his brother does. Not minding the position he assumes behind the sibling’s car, Kurt continues to follow his relative’s lead along the track that remains, his posture calm and relaxed whilst the younger man ahead of him leans closer toward the wheel, eager and anxious. | “Kurt’s opting to remain behind his brother; he’s likely to remain there until the race’s end” Caesar remarks, his words directed toward the man that takes a similar approach behind Harland’s car. “All that means is that Mark’s in the lead” Taro replies, offering a nod of approval along with the smile that it accompanies, “that’s what I like to hear.” “Taro?” Vert’s voice wonders aloud, overhearing the older man’s reply through the speaker in his helmet, “is that you?” “Hey, Caesar- I thought you said we couldn’t hear each other unless-” Harland immediately calls out, overhearing the same interjection that his group’s co-founder had before falling silent, watching the turn that he and what remains of the Crew take spill out into a straight-away, one that is soon joined by the separate stretch of track the Kaiyo members had taken. “Where’s your pretty deaf friend?” Ronny wonders aloud from behind the reunited group of five cars, his driving having proven over the years to be more cautious than that of his peers. “Talia goes wherever she feels most suits her” Vert replies with a chuckle, resting his right hand over the steering wheel whilst his left holds it near the bottom, “I guess it’s a five-way dance to see who finishes first, huh?” “Not quite...” Nolo almost immediately responds, his comment of refusal prompting the driver that follows closely behind to stare past at the stretch of track ahead, finding the same confusing glimpse as himself, “...who are they?” From behind the control centre’s desk, Caesar presses his palms against the table’s surface and stands from his seat, looking through the view that’s afforded to him through Harland’s dashcam. “Geez, they got in there fast” Ellis grumbles from one end of the control room whilst clutching a clipboard against his chest, surprised to find the green taillights that drive ahead of the racers. “Earth to Caesar... Hello?” Harland wonders aloud, overhearing the Kaiyo leader’s question and taking interest in the answer all the same, “who’re in those cars?” Holding an intense squint both malicious and perturbed in nature, Caesar forgoes offering a reply to the inquiry as he simmers at the sight, his expectations of seeing it having been undeniably present, though his instinctive reaction to their presence in the stratum proves harder to handle than he’d anticipated. “The drones” he murmurs, no longer capable of looking away from the camera’s feed. Pressing his pedal against the floor, Nolo finds his vehicle neck-and-neck with that of the Crew’s leader, their brief glance toward each other making it clear that neither is willing to secede ground to the other. “Nolo, Harland- the only thing more important than beating each other is winning this race” Caesar explains, his eyes finding themselves incapable of peeling away from the unmarked vehicles that burn rubber ahead, “no matter what- do not let the drones win.” “Don’t worry... the Crew always wins” Harland replies, his proclamation being one that both Taro and Ronny nod in agreement with, though it draws the ire of the racers to their collective left. “We’ll see about that” Nolo retorts, pulling off to the right just slightly in allowance of Vert to overtake him before correcting course just behind the leading driver. “Taro!” Harland calls out, pulling to the side just as the group beside them had and allowing the group’s co-founder to follow a similar strategy, one that Ronny doesn’t seem all that keen on partaking in. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m made out to race like that guys” the mechanic confesses, letting off the gas just slightly to allow the higher-ranking drivers in his squad an uninterrupted passageway, “you go on ahead... I’ll watch from back here.” Side by side, Vert and Taro pass each other a nod as they assume the lead of their groups before inevitably falling back once more, reclaiming their place behind the leaders as they collectively draw closer toward the vehicles that had out-paced them. “Drivers, be cautious of how you approach the drones” Caesar warns, pleading with the racers to not overstep their capabilities, “they are unmanned. Their directions are derived from an entity that communicates with them just as I do with you.” “What do you mean by ‘an entity’?” Vert questions back, soon reclaiming the voluntarily-provided lead of the Kaiyo cars just as Taro does, their collective efforts affording them the chance to greatly catch up. “They’re called the Flat Devil Corporation” Caesar confesses, providing whatever detail he hadn’t been given the chance to offer prior to the stratum’s opening, “there is no human driver behind the wheel of those cars to-” Stopping himself as he stares into Taro’s onboard camera, Caesar watches the formation of the vehicles ahead shift according to the task at hand. “They’ve spotted you” the scientist warns, his declaration one that brings a natural concern over the stratum-occupying racers, who follow the alteration as best they can whilst closing the distance. “Alright? They’re still in the lead, what would they-?” Vert begins to retort, taking toward one side in an effort of falling behind Nolo’s car once more before watching the reformation’s result take shape. Whilst a trio of green-tinted vehicles keep their fronts facing the remainder of the racetrack, the four automated vehicles that stray from their pack come together in stopping along the track, cutting off the drivers from continuing on without colliding with them first. “What the hell are they doing!?” Nolo calls out, stomping on the brakes instinctively as his speed proves to be too great for a clean stop to be made. “Oh shit!” Vert blurts out, seeing Nolo’s tail lights flash red without warning before following suit, the front of his vehicle colliding with the end of his leader’s own as the velocity becomes too great to fight against. “Harland, stop!” Taro shouts back to the man that follows him, pulling at the parking brake before turning his wheel to the left, forcing his vehicle into a sideways skid that- just as Kaiyo- is too late to avoid a collision. Sacrificing themselves for the greater good they’ve been programmed to serve in the favour of, the four unmanned cars sent into the stratum by the corporation bare the brunt of the impact and are sent flying back beneath the will of the racers. Collectively barrelling through the robotic vehicles, Kaiyo and the Crew eventually roll into the stop of the drivers’ last minute termination of the race, one that sends the vehicular quartet of drone cars flying over the edge of the racetrack and into a stormy abyss below. Rolling to a complete standstill he’d successfully kept himself free from being a part of, Ronny calls through his helmets toward the whiplash-stricken drivers that line the field ahead of him. “Are you guys alri-!?” the man worriedly questions aloud, only to fall silent without warning as a bout of thunder crashes over the stratum as a result of yet another flash. Each stricken with a burst of lightning, the five stopped cars stall in the positions that the crash had left them in, refused with the opportunity at winning the race by the victors themselves. Maintaining their lead for the final stretch that remains, the corporation’s automated drones narrow in on the spherical, blue orb that lies at the track’s final inch, disappearing back into the plane of existence that they’d originated from to declare victory over the stratum. “Damnit!” Caesar shouts as he punches the desk’s surface and turns away, keeping his eyes from the monitors as he frustratedly walks for the room’s exit, forced to concede defeat to the much maligned superior squad. “Woah, woah! Move out of the way!” Mark shouts as he retains his lead on the older sibling, closing in on the end of the race before taking notice of the strewn-about group of vehicles that reside ahead. With a grin on his face, Kurt lets his foot off the gas pedal just slightly and allows his younger brother to gain ground, though it is distance created that his relative cannot capitalise on. Realising that he can travel no further with the maze of automobiles that lie ahead, Mark begrudgingly slams his foot against the brake and drags his tires along to a stop just beside Ronny’s truck. “Kurt, stop!” Nolo proclaims as another streak of lightning rains down from the heavens and strikes at the younger brother’s car, a slow down- even in the wake of the carnage that lies ahead- proving to be something the approaching driver isn’t fond of making. Lifting his free hand from the centre console, Kurt presses his thumb against a button along the inside of his wheel as he hurries toward his brother’s stalled vehicle, grinning as he’s propelled into the air. With open mouths, the collective drivers stare toward the sky as the second in command flies above them, shot from the track’s surface by a group of boosters fixed into the underbelly of his vehicle. Completely evading the pileup, the eldest Wayland sibling touches back down upon solid ground with as much grace as a gymnast completing their routine, his wheels continuing to spin forward as nothing more than clear track resides ahead. “What the hell was that!?” Mark calls out from the very end of the traffic jam, only to hear his brother’s humoured chuckle reply at first. “That?” Kurt replies, passing a look toward the collision’s scene through his rear view mirror with a smirk before following the track for the rest of its way, “that was me winning again.” The answer not being to the question that he’d asked but rather being taken as another opportunity to gloat, Mark slams his fist against the wheel to his car in anger as another chrome car passes him- this time at cruising speed. Undisturbed by the wreckage before her, Talia silently bobs her head along with the music in her headphones as she slowly navigates the sea of cars laid out amidst the track, following it to the front before embarking upon the rest of her journey. The first to emerge from within the stratum, Kurt’s vehicle reaches the stretch of artificial track that acts as a passage out from the building’s central portal, the one pathway in the building to allow safe travel out of the rift as opposed to going into it. Casually rolling down the descending stretch of road, the chrome RX-7 eventually reaches ground level a few seconds before Talia’s M-Coupe follows a similar lead. Removing his helmet as he parks his car off to the side of the ramp’s meeting point with solid ground, Kurt steps out of his car and takes his eyes upward, watching the man that had greeted them when they’d first entered the Second Level angrily storm across the balcony from one building to another. “What’s wrong with you!?” the first racer of the bunch to emerge from the stratum inquires, his question catching the ear of the scientist that comes to a stop mid-step. Turning his eyes toward the ground below, Caesar wraps his hand around the railing that prevents a multi-story drop into the concrete below and stares at Kurt in the face. “We have a lot of work to do” he answers simply before continuing on his way, disappearing into the next room over whilst the remaining drivers emerge from the portal one after another, returning to an existence infinitely dissimilar than the one they exit from by default without much certainty over what comes next. == Driveline == Clutching at his stomach as he drops to both knees, Ronny’s stomach shows the knots such immense speeds had twisted into through the lunch that he loses, throwing up on the floor whilst the other drivers stand close to their cars, their legs restless and tired. “How the hell did we get here!?” Alec shouts toward the man above, presented with a pleasant-enough demeanour to interact with.
“Your cars were pushed to the speed required for a shattering of the sound barrier” Caesar replies, his forearms resting along the top of the bannister that he leans up against. “Propelled by my jet engines, your vehicles reached the point in which they were capable of tearing through the portal that brought you here safely” the man continues to explain, “your legs may not feel like they are, but you all most certainly are on solid ground.” Without the ability to speak, the drivers continue to stare toward the heavens in disbelief, unable to fully process anything more than the surroundings that their eyes fall upon- the environment one that’s all too real to disregard. “The men in the white coats are my trained assistance crew. Some are specialised in medicine, others are specialised in automotives, but all of them answer to me” Caesar carries on, using the silence that he’s met with to continue speaking. “It pains me to inform you of this, but- whilst it’s only temporarily the case- your vehicles have all been propelled through such immaculate speeds that they ceased operability upon coming to a complete stop” the somewhat tall figurehead explains, his fingers having pulled away from the balcony’s railing in favour of hanging loosely over the ground far below, “please, allow my doctors to set you all up with I.V. units and join me whilst my mechanics prepare your cars.” “Prepare them for what!?” Kurt calls out, watching the black in a fitted, all-black suit turn his focus upon his side of the ground floor. Pausing for a moment, Caesar stares at the right hand man of Kaiyo’s leader, lifting an eyebrow as he looks throughout the fifteen other shocked and awed racers. “To race of course!” Caesar replies, flashing the various members of the four groups a smile before turning away, retreating for more important matters whilst the litany of suited assistants gradually progress closer to the clubs. “Hey, back away from my car!” Mark proclaims, gathering a set of steady legs faster than the company that he joins in an effort of dissuading the pair of paid professionals that hold their attention upon his ride. “Your vehicle is nothing more than a piece of sitting scrap metal, Mr. Wayland” the closer of the two white coats responds, making an effort to reason with the man. “You’re not touching my car!” Mark doubles down, stepping between the lame duck Firebird and the duo intent on restoring it to pristine condition. “If you don’t wish to take our word for it, step behind the wheel for yourself” the mechanic reassures, his attempt at remaining civilised with the younger of the Wayland siblings prompting his peers to also hold off on their advancements toward the other vehicles. “Put your key in the ignition, then try to start the engine” the white coat doubles down, watching the curiosity bloom upon Mark’s visage, “when you realise it doesn’t start, go with the medics while we fix the car up... for free.” Lifting an eyebrow from a few yards away, Nolo joins the other drivers in watching the interaction take place with intrigue, waiting as all others do for Mark to make the attempt that the professionals leave for him to follow through on. Pulling his face away from the white coats, the most-stubborn of the Wayland drivers passes a glance at the racers that surround him in every direction before finally choosing to take the initiative. With a grunt, the Crew member rounds the front of his car and steps through the door he’d left open upon his angry and confused departure from the front seat. Guiding the keys in his hand toward the right side of his steering wheel, Mark enters the keys and pauses for a moment, readying himself with a quiet hope that the vehicle’s fate will not be exactly as insisted. “Damnit!” the man angrily groans as his free hand slams against the top of his leather-covered wheel, his efforts immediately met with the sound of a failed engine and totaled car. Displeased with the accuracy discovered in the claims of the man they’ve yet to become antiquated with, Harland lowers his chin slightly before sharing a brief glance with Taro, whose subtle nod is enough to provoke him into making a call on the Crew’s behalf. “If our cars aren’t brought back exactly how they were... We’re gonna have problems” the Crew’s leader warns, looking into the eyes of the man who’d set Mark in his place. “I’m afraid that means we’re going to have problems then, because we’re not replicating the way your cars were...” the apparent speaker of the white coats replies, pausing as he looks back at Harland to clarify, “...we’re making them better.” Pulling his head back as he pulls up the waistband of his blue jeans, Dale looks toward Butch before nodding in the direction of the more youthful half of their group. “How are you gonna make our cars better?” Ross confidently asks aloud, smiling at the notion that’s been presented to him. “As evident by the propulsion system that we’d used to aid in your cars’ breaching of the sound barrier, I think it’s safe to say we have some advanced technologies here” the white coat’s mouthpiece replies. “You’re not gonna make our choppers look like those pussy-shit Japanese bikes, are you?” Butch wonders from within the gaggle of bikers, “those things are practically toys for adults.” Slipping his hands into his pockets, Kurt redirects his attention away from the curious group of motorcyclists and toward the men that approach him and the other Kaiyo drives with pre-prepared I.V’s. “The external modifications to your vehicles will be minimal at most. The vast majority of them will barely even be noticeable” the white coat speaker reassures, “our upgrades will be focused on your engines, brake lines, and other internal factors. The most crucial external change will probably be nothing more than shatter-proofing the windows.” “What’s your name?” Vert questions from the other side of the environment, calling the question aloud for the bald-headed, grey goatee-wearing mechanic to reply. “I’m Ellis. And as much as I’d like to answer any and all other questions you may have, Mr. Caesar is awaiting your presence in the conference room for that very same purpose” the white coat replies, paying the drivers a welcoming grin as the mechanics follow through with their descent upon the stationary vehicles. Whilst stepping aside to allow one half of the white coats an unobstructed path to the cars they’re meant to service, the sixteen purposefully-chosen drivers enter the care of the opposite half, walking toward the source of answers whilst they talk with the caretakers. = Driveline is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = “So where the hell is this place?” Eric questions from one end of the large, circular table that he and his peers occupy, joining side by side with the young adults from lavish fortunes that comprise his friend group, “more specifically... I mean on a map.” “This secured centre of control- or, The Second Level as I like to refer to it as- is not possible to find on geographically-accurate mapping databases” Caesar answers, speaking a reply to the first question that happens to be raised from his curious recruits. “When your cars pushed beyond the sound barrier, they did so with an assistance that created an intense concentration of energy in one, specific area” the scientist explains, “that energy was manipulated by me to bring you here.” “So here doesn’t really exist?” Kurt questions back, seated closely near the head-bobbing woman whose headphones obstruct her ears from listening in. “The Second Level is a physical place, it’s just not accessible to anyone without the knowledge or resources to manipulate that concentrated energy” Caesar reassures, lifting his chin slightly as he couples both hands behind his back, “it is undetectable, impossible to break into, and most importantly- undiscoverable.” “Why is that the most important part?” Eric questions back, only for his question to be interrupted by the voice that projects itself just a few paces off toward his left. “Better yet, I’ve got a question of my own” Dale interjects, his motorcycle club located at the side of the circle directly between the Esteemed and Kaiyo drivers whilst his eyes pan toward the intriguing member of the free-spirited driving group, “shouldn’t she be listening to this? Why does she have her headphones on?” “Because Talia-” Nolo immediately makes an effort to respond, only for his explanation to be cut off by the shockingly well-informed scientist that stands between their side of the table and the Crew’s own end. “Because Talia was born with only forty percent of her hearing. As a child, she gathered the ability to read lips in order to make out consonant sounds to make communicating more efficient” Caesar clarifies, turning his face toward the woman in question, who lifts her eyebrows- impressed. “How the hell did you know that!?” Vert questions aloud in astonishment, the credence of the scientist’s claims from those close to the music-indulging woman herself prompting the three other clubs to look on with equal awe. “You didn’t think the four of you were just randomly brought together in the name of some racing competition, did you?” Caesar retorts, again lifting an eyebrow with intrigue before using the silence to further prove his accumulated intel. “Dale Smith and Butch Tarken, the two of you founded the Deep South Road Club in 1997. Dale is divorced with no children whilst Butch has one- his son Tyson” Caesar explains, eyeing the group of motorcyclists as he presents their brief history to those that surround the table, “Pat Jacobs rounds out the squad of four, and you only brought him in because of his past experience in racing choppers. Tyson vouched for him, and here the four of you are.” “How did you-!?” Dale attempts to interject, his mind set on questioning the ways in which the well-spoken man’s intel had been gathered, though his efforts prove futile. Moving onto the group of rich drivers a few feet to the motorcyclist’s right, Caesar begins the process of what becomes an inarguably accurate detailing of each squad. “Alec Mayweather and Lana Young have been dating for two years now and met because their fathers are business partners. Alec’s insurance has paid out for damages he’s caused only once, and it was when he struck a stop sign whilst Lana gave him road head on Christmas Eve last year” Caesar proceeds, “Ross is Alec’s childhood friend and incredibly dependent on hard drugs. Eric Thomas is- surprisingly enough- a pretty well-adjusted young man for the life he was raised into.” Turning toward his right before soon redirecting his gaze toward the left, Caesar splits his attention between the two groups that occupy the closest side to himself. “Kaiyo was founded by Nolo Perez, who made friends with Kurt Wayland when they were in high school. Together, they started their group simply out of appreciation for the art of street racing” the scientist explains, again returning his line of sight toward the opposite side of the table. “Due to this, they have an ideological hatred for The Crew Underground. Which- founded jointly by Harland “Torque” Pete and Taro Ishioka- races with the intent purpose on winning slips” Caesar continues, a grin coming over the latter of the two’s face. “For the last four years, ‘The Crew’ has been slowly winning cars off of rival squads to the point where some of them can no longer function to race” the well-informed specialist explains, “they sell the cars they don’t want as valuable scrap.” “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way” Ronny interjects, prompting the scientist to continue on with his furthering. “Ronald Chesterfield- or “Ronny” for short- is the Crew’s personal mechanic who only gained a place with the frontline drivers amongst the departures of former members” Caesar proceeds, preventing the mechanic from speaking through the finger he raises. “However, the way in which he earned his place within the Crew isn’t the most important thing Ronny would like you to know about him” the scientist continues, watching a grin begin to form upon the scrawny mechanic’s face. “Taking pride in being constantly covered in the grease of a hard day’s work, Ronny took the term ‘Grease Monkey’ to heart” Caesar concludes, pulling one of his hands away from his back in order to extend it toward the driver, “and thus, he refers to himself as...” Falling silent to allow the mechanic his opportunity to speak, the crowd-working specialist watches his least-intimidating driver lean back in his seat and nod self-approvingly. “Monkey!” Ronny proclaims, his smile widened as heavily as it deepens itself upon his face, “my name’s Monkey!” “Indeed it is” Caesar assures, holding his grin toward the cowardly-appearing driver before returning to his original purposes. “Van Eric Richard Testaverde is the youngest of the Kaiyo members, and simply because he prefers to stray away from the name ‘Van’, he opts to shorten his name into just his combined initials” the scientist proceeds, “Vert was brought into Kaiyo around the same time that Talia Hofstead was. Both Nolo and Kurt greenlit their entries simply on the basis of potential.” “I think you’re missing something” Mark groans from between Ronny and Taro, still wearing his sunglasses despite the only window in the enclosed room leading to a view of the equally-enclosed dome they’ve entered, a distant shot of the energy cluster easily able to be viewed. “Do you mean the mention of how Taro was the one that encouraged Vert to begin driving when he was younger?” Caesar inquires, prompting the two mentioned members of the rival groups to look back toward each other. “That’s what you mean, correct?” the scientist smugly wonders aloud, “When Vert was young, he’d find Taro out from the neighbourhood they both lived in and learned all about the art of street racing from there. That’s what you wanted me to point out, no?” Not taking kindly to the attitude that he receives, Mark stands out from his seat and stares toward the scientist who feigns a sudden realisation with purposefully-poor acting. “Oh! You mean to mention the issues between you and your older brother, Kurt. Isn’t that correct?” Caesar inquires toward the crowd, “why the two of you would allow some petty, ideological squabble to get between your blood-relation- only god may ever know.” “It’s not a petty squabble” a relaxed, leant-back and arm-crossed Kurt corrects, recapturing the attention of both his younger brother and the scientist that stands between them, “it’s a difference in opinion that one brother cares about way too little...” he explains before looking toward his younger siblings, “...and the other brother cares about way too much.” Turning to venture around the curves in the table, Mark’s attempt at approaching his brother proves instantly futile when Taro steps out of his seat, staring down the slightly-shorter driver as the one blockade in his path. “Stand down, Wayland” the Japanese-born racer warns, his voice low and composed as the order is given, one that the less-experienced motorist’s only course of action is to begrudgingly fall in line and return to his seat. “Why are we here?” Butch calls aloud from the opposite end of the conference table, regaining the full attention of those that join him in the room. “Was that big race just a trap to lure us in here or what?” the motorcyclist questions aloud, presenting a similar question to the one that rests on the minds of his every fellow driver. “There is no forty-million dollar race as advertised, no” Caesar confesses, a conclusion that immediately brings a roll of the eyes over the privileged young adults in the corner of the room. “Why the hell should we even bother hearing you out in the first place then?” Dale quickly doubles down, questioning the circumstances that surround their undetermined stay, “we came out here to race for big money. If there’s no prize in it, give us our bikes and let us go on our way.” “I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice. After all, I had made it clear in the announcement that led you on your initial travels that there was no going back from this” Caesar proceeds, carrying on with the answer to the man’s question. “I’m sure I can scavenge up a quite hefty sum for all of you in return for your assistance, but regardless of the financial aspect- you can’t escape this place” the scientist replies, “the only person capable of returning you home is me.” “So you’re just gonna hold us hostage?” Alec argues back, standing from his chair with a finger pointed toward the still mostly-intriguing specialist across from him, “my father’s a lawyer! You can’t just-!” “Your father- nor his money- can bring you back home without my permissions” Caesar challenges, silencing the pampered nepo-baby at once, “imagine it as if everyone you know was at their homes in the Milky Way galaxy whilst all of you are in Andromeda. It’d be millions of years before N.A.S.A could even launch a message out to you, let alone bring you back home.” “So we’re stuck here?” Nolo questions, bringing the conversation back around to the original point. “Even without money involved, I guarantee that none of you would want to go home sooner than you had to once that energy concentrates again” Caesar reassures, smirking toward the collective groups at once, “regardless of the financial benefits this would or wouldn’t entail, the sixteen of you all have one thing in common- you love to race.” “We can’t just race around a massive cave- or whatever this place is- all day long” Kurt replies, kicking one foot over the other as he takes the lead of the counter-questioning, “since it seems like you don’t expect us to, why don’t you tell us how this ‘concentrated energy’ plays into everything like I’m sure you want to.” “It’d be my pleasure to” Caesar assures, earning the faintest chuckle from the second-in-command of Kaiyo before setting his full sights back on the collective forces. “I’d like to bring your minds back to when you first descended upon the portal that brought you here. I’m sure the majority of you- as long as you were paying attention- noticed that massive ball of light that got brighter and brighter until it just popped?” the figurehead queries, “that was concentrated energy.” “And going the speed of sound sparks energy to concentrate?” Harland questions back, only for the inquiry to fall flat. “No. Going past the speed of sound only guarantees you a safe passage through the portal and into whatever lies behind it. I refer to that speed- anything past seven hundred miles per hour- as the speed of silence” Caesar carries on, “the energy concentrates at random times. However, unless its pathway is interrupted manually, the portal it creates leads elsewhere.” Collectively silent, the drivers watch on at the man that pauses for a moment, allowing those that occupy the chairs before him to ask whatever questions they fail to come up with this time around. “When these energy concentrations occur, that bright ball of light you see hovering well above the ground outside will come together and form an entry into something more than just a natural world” the scientist continues, this pause he follows with actually taken advantage of. “And what would that be?” Dale queries from the distant end of the table, watching a smirk quickly form upon the specialist’s amused face. “The stratums” Caesar answers, pleased to the point where the naked eye would consider him to be metaphorically ‘tickled pink’. “Stratums are massive expanses of racetrack that open once every few hundred years or so” the man proceeds onward, freeing his coupled hands from behind his back before pressing his palms against the table’s surface. “I’m not sure how they were created or what created them. However, I know they’re meant to serve a purpose greater than what even I understand” Caesar confesses, slightly displeased with his own uncertainties that no amount of research can solve. “I know much less than I’d like to about these stratums, but I do know a few things. For one, the stratum remains open for exactly sixty minutes. Once the field that it hosts has remained open for those sixty minutes, the stratum shuts down and is moved on from for another few hundred years” Caesar proceeds, parting his lips to speak further before yet another interruption halts his progress. “How do you know this?” Harland questions aloud, watching the scientist’s mind pull away from the next line of dialogue he’d intended to offer prematurely. “I won’t bother asking why you need us to race in these things yet, but I want to know how you know about this... any of it” the Crew’s leader doubles down, the question one that the rest of the table holds equal interest in. Letting free a sigh, Caesar departs from his initial line of thought momentarily to address the concern, purposefully refusing to mask the genuinity in his reply. “Look, for right now- there are a few things that I’m more interested in keeping secretive. However, within the very near future- I’ll be able to answer some of the questions that I just can’t answer right now” the scientist proceeds, “I won’t ask you to write those curiosities off, I just ask that you put them aside for now.” Met with the same collective hush that most of his momentary pauses result in, Caesar’s original course of speech reclaims its position at the forefront of importance. “All-in-all, there are twenty-two stratums that the sixteen of you will participate in going forward. From the history that I’ve been exposed to, no one knows what happens after the stratums have been completed” the scientist carries on, parting his lips to carry on speaking before the sound of a hiss emerges from beyond the room. With a better vantage point from their end of the table, Kaiyo and the Crew stare toward the window in the back of the room, their redirected focus luring the attention of both the DSRC and Esteemed the rest of the way as well. “The first stratum is opening” Caesar remarks with pleasure, his proclamation being one that prompts Mark into slamming his palms against the table. “That means it’s time to race!” the man howls with excitement, leaping from his chair as his intended departure sparks an encouraged and enthusiastic urge to follow much the same suit in all others. “Before you go, there’s just one more thing you need to be made aware of!” Caesar calls out, hurriedly regaining his composure once the four groups pull away from the room’s centre, their eyes turning back toward him for the final warning. “It’s important that the sixteen of you keep in mind- at all times- one crucial detail...” the well-informed specialist explains, prepared to exit the room just as his drivers do, only through a door in the opposite direction, “...you’re not going to be alone in there.” For a moment, the various racers look amongst each other for reassurance before the foremost leaders of each group funnel through the room’s exit, hurrying for the first staircase they can come across en route to the ground level. Whilst his drivers descend upon their upgraded and reinforced vehicles, Caesar takes himself to a chair at the helm to a variety of various computer screens and monitors that he wastes no time in inputting data into. Dancing along the keys as if they were romantically involved with the keyboard itself, the scientist’s fingers race his own drivers in obtaining whatever information he can from the energy’s source, preemptively scanning the concentration for whatever it can offer. Being returned with enough data to warrant reaching for a microphone just a short distance away, Caesar’s eyes repeat their reading of the code that is translated through his words. “Drivers, follow the arrows laid out along the ground that lead toward the track. They will guide you toward a system of propulsions that will take your reinforced cars through the portal safely” Caesar commands, his words carried throughout the wide walls of the massive compound he calls a worthy host of the energy’s concentration, “once you enter through the portal, you must complete the race.” “You should tell them what they’re driving into, Mr. Caesar” Ellis remarks from the corner of the room, standing by with his clipboard in hand as his suggestion is offered. Passing a look toward the mechanic, Caesar considers the proposition for a moment before following through on his strongest instinct. “Drivers... you are now entering the Storm Stratum.” Shot into the distance with greater speed than a bullet fired from a rifle, the bodies of every racer sink into their double-padded seats as their hands strangle the wheel they sit at the controls of. Incapable of speaking, each driver presses their foot upon the gas pedal as their vehicles are automatically guided along the winding track, the needles of their cars’ individual speedometers remaining unbroken and stuck at the maximum speed afforded. Without warning, the energy concentrates into a massive ball of light that fires off into the cavern’s every single corner, leaving behind only a modest, blue orb in its wake- an orb that every driver now finds themselves set on a collision course with. Whilst the track straightens out, each racer pulls in a deep breath in preparation for the entry they now embark upon, their faces flushed with a brilliant light that they soon vanish into, embracing the stratum as openly as it embraces them. == Driveline == |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
September 2025
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