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Season 1 Finale
“Fffuuuccckkk” Alec groans as he wipes at his eyes, trying and failing to hold back a yawn as he stands over the hood of his McLaren. Taking a moment of reprieve from his initial work on the vehicle, the Esteemed’s leader battles with exhaustion as a pair of footsteps sound off in the distance, drawing his attention away from the luxury car. “Why the hell are you out here at this hour?” Mark questions aloud, stumbling upon the opulent young adult with surprise. “Why? Who the fuck are you to tell me when I can and can’t work on my own damn car?” Alec inquires, presenting the rival faction’s member with a hostility that goes both surprisingly unrequited and dismissed. “I’m not out here telling anyone what to do; I just wanna know why you’re out here so late” Mark calmly replies, letting his hands hang by his sides as he casually approaches the usually-irritating racer, doing so in a more approachable manner than he otherwise would. “I would’ve thought you rich people would be sleeping in and shit- not staying up late into the night trying to maximise your tread depth or whatever it is you’re doing” Mark responds, his composed tone allowing Alec to take his comments like less of a focused attack. “I didn’t stay up late” the Esteemed’s leader replies, correcting the conclusion that the Crew’s third-in-line had come to, “I woke up an hour ago.” “What the hell do you mean you wo-?” Mark responds, immediately looking at the watch on his left arm before his eyes go wide, “it’s two in the morning!” Not phased by the revelation, Alec shrugs as he tosses his wrench into the nearby box of tools, not having much care as to where it lands within. “I don’t trust Caesar’s guys to tune my car up just right” the wealthy team shot-caller replies, “I’m sure they know what they’re doing, but I don’t want them touching my car.” “What, you got trust issues or something?” Mark questions back, leaning his arm against the side of the garage’s entrance as the conversation proceeds, slightly surprised at how long he’s managed to tolerate the enemy driver’s presence thus far. “I watched my father get stabbed in the back by his own investors so many times that you’d think he was just a terrible businessman” Alec replies, reclaiming a set of pliers from within the metal tool chest beside him. “I don’t like people being around me when I can’t trust them” the man carries on, passing a glance over his shoulder at the visiting driver, “maybe you should take that as a hint, little bro.” Though he’d normally take offence at the gesture, Mark instead reacts with the lowering of his head, a subtle nod carried as he remains put, standing in the place that he’d occupied since approaching his rival. “Waking up early is the motto of the working class” Mark remarks, his presence beared by the at-work leader of the Esteemed, who- without a reason to act otherwise- finds confrontation to be uncalled for in these early hours. “That’s what my father used to tell me whenever I didn’t wanna get up for school” the younger Wayland sibling explains, crossing his arms as he watches over the car owner’s work, “he’d tell me we were ‘blue collar boys’ and didn’t have time to sleep in.” Paying little in the way of consideration toward his guest’s comments, Alec focuses his sights on the task he attempts to complete at hand, allowing the spoken words a faint attention as they’re spoken. “Some other people like to do things with their lives other than waste it away in bed, street punk” the wealthy young man calmly says, finally using the latter-most name as an addressing title rather than an insult, “I’m not some spoiled little rich kid just ‘cause my dad’s got money.” “He did get you this car though, right?” Mark questions back, watching as the vehicle’s owner looks up at him, speaking not a single word as he waits for the Crew member’s point, “I doubt you’ve done enough in this life to be able to afford this import.” Clicking his tongue, Alec returns his line of sight to the internal pieces of the machine that he takes into each stratum, allowing the comment to resonate with him before responding to it. “Have you ever seen struggle, kid? I don’t mean not being able to find the remote to your T.V, I mean real struggle” Mark questions aloud, the prodding inquiry growing to strike the Esteemed leader’s nerves, though he bears them as best as he can. “Have you ever been without food at night? Have you ever had to work a day in your life? Have you?” the younger Wayland sibling continues to ask, pausing as a smirk forms upon his face, “have you ever even seen the inside of a public school?” Calmly placing his wrench atop the flattest component he can spot beneath his hood, Alec stands upright and turns his body toward his visitor, clearly displeased at the route in which the conversation has headed. “I grew up without a dad” the younger man replies, his tone of voice much more composed than the antagonistic reflection it normally takes on, “it didn’t matter if he was flying halfway across the world or taking some bimbo out on one of his eight yachts... he was never home.” Quieting down, Mark looks into the rival team leader’s face as the man continues to speak, addressing the questions that he’s raised. “No, I’ve never been without food or water. No, I’ve never had to work a day in my life, and of course I’ve never been inside of a public school” Alec concludes, getting in the face of the man who occupies the floor of his own garage, “they may not be the struggles you’re used to, but I’ve seen my fair share of them. Thanks for asking.” Attempting to return to the business that is left for him to take part in, the mostly-disliked leader of the Esteemed refocuses himself on the task at hand, trying his best to disregard the man that continues to stand just a short distance away. Hearing the rebuttal that’s offered, Mark remains quiet for just a moment, reserving his thoughts as the driver resumes his duties to the vehicle, his head bowing as he takes a moment to adjust his approach. “Listen, kid. You’ve been pissing off a lot of other drivers since you’ve gotten here. They don’t like you, they don’t like your attitude, aside from one of them- they don’t like your friends. You’ve got a target on your back- all of you” Mark explains, his warning doing little to rattle the leader of said group, “maybe the two of us aren’t so different. I’ve been giving people- those Kaiyo dudes especially- a good few issues.” “Maybe we do, so what?” Alec questions back, this time refusing to drop the attention that he pays to what resides under his McLaren’s hood, “I don’t like you any more than you like me. Just ‘cause we’re similar doesn’t mean that we have to be friends.” Shaking his head, Mark steps away from the supercar and begins leaning against a nearby workbench, his arms crossed as he lets the rival driver retain some distance. “No, it doesn’t. But I’ll tell you what- it’d come in real handy if the two of us could guarantee we had people watching our backs” the Crew member replies, his proposition doing little to change the demeanour in which the Esteemed’s leader reacts, “we don’t need to be friends in order to keep an eye on each other. We could make sure the other isn’t left out in the open with no line of defence, y’know what I’m saying?” Smirking, Alec shakes his head as he finishes up on a pair of bolts, pulling away from his vehicle before dropping them into a plastic cup a few paces off to the side. “I’ve got my own people to watch my back. He may be constantly on some kinda substance at all times, but I can count on Ross” the pest of a racer reassures, “Lana’s my girl and Eric’s had my back for years. As far as having people to watch my back goes- I’ve got my six covered.” “All I’m saying is-” Mark attempts to interject, only to fall silent upon the opposite man’s continuation, his initial reply having yet to fully present itself. “If you’ve started fucking up your own standing in the Crew- that’s your problem” Alec carries on, letting the rival driver know exactly how he feels about the proposal, “I’m all set with people that I know I can trust. So, if you’re looking for some support, you can shop it around to people that don’t hate you- if you can find them.” Nipping the conversation in the bud, Alec gestures his hand for the Crew’s increasingly-distrusted third wheel to exit the unit in which his car resides, flipping on a light in the garage’s corner before closing the metal entrance. Shut out from the Esteemed’s leader, Mark snarls at the result of his proposition before angry slamming his fist against the door’s exterior and walking off, hands balled into fists as he traipses back toward the clubhouse area. With his arms crossed and whilst leaning back in his driver’s seat, Kurt watches on through the still-open entrance of his own garage as his brother retreats from the Esteemed’s section of the lot. With his window cracked open the slightest amount, the older Wayland sibling sits with the result of the conversation that he’d just barely managed to overhear, a squint carried in his eyes as he considers the discourse’s outcome. = 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 = “Good morning, sunshine” Vert quips, watching Talia’s face roll over toward his own as her nose sniffs around at the pleasant aroma that lingers throughout the room. “It definitely is now” the injured driver replies, stretching out as best as she can whilst her head leans as far back as it can manage, the fingers on her free hand curling toward her teammate, “they gave me the best drugs last night and now I want more... Gimme the blunt.” “This one’s actually a spliff” Vert grumbles, forced to do so in order to hold down every last strand of smoke that fills his lungs, offering up the rolled pot cigarette to the woman whose M-Coupe has copious amounts of it in the backseat. “All that matters is that it’s weed” Talia assures, rolling her eyes back in pleasure the second she begins her drag from it, gently pulling it away from her pressed-together lips as she pulls her head back, “fuck me, that shit’s good.” Giggling as he exhales, Vert nods along whilst the right foot he lets sit atop his left leg bounces, fully agreeing with the statement that’s made. “So, did the doc tell you when you could get back out on the road again?” he wonders aloud, watching the absolute deep-in-bliss squad member rest her head against the pillow that props her up as she lets the cloud she’d taken in settle. “I’ll be out of the next stratum and that’s all I was told” Talia concedes, disappointed in the result, though the jubilation she takes from the hit of cannabis allows her to not take the ruling too heavily. “I wouldn’t worry too much” Vert reassures, grabbing a nearby stool and rolling it over to his seat, making use of it as an ottoman to rest his feet atop, “knowing you, there’ll be a way you sneak into the next race before the doc even realises you’re gone.” “I still have one good arm; there’s always going to be a way for me to take the wheel” Talia replies, doubling down on the man’s claims before thinking back to an earlier piece of information she’d received, “thanks for coming by earlier, by the way. I’m sorry I was still asleep, but I appreciate you dropping by sooner.” “What do you mean?” Vert retorts, squinting his brows as he leans forward once more, reclaiming the rolled dart for another hit. “The doc said someone came by earlier but left ‘cause I wasn’t awake yet” Talia reiterates, nestling further into the cushioned support beneath her, “I would’ve tried to wake up earlier if I knew you were coming.” “That wasn’t me” Kaiyo’s youngest member responds, correcting the assumption his teammate had come up with, “I mean, I would’ve swung by earlier if I’d known you were going to be awake. But whoever came by earlier wasn’t me.” Curious, Talia looks away from her friend with the question of whom her mystery visitor had been, staring across the room as the man returns the spliff to her, stepping out of his seat with the room’s exit in sight. “I’ll go grab your visitor’s chart” the man remarks, gently patting the outline of one of the woman’s legs through her comforter as he makes his way toward the room’s front entry. Seeing little reason to not put the conundrum to rest, Talia lifts the dart back toward her lips for another hit as her eyes wander off into space, affording her mind a chance to wonder who it would’ve been aside from her teammate. “Oop” she murmurs, catching the faintest glimpse of an out-of-place object resting at the top of the pillow she’d been laid atop, purposefully placed a safe enough distance away from the woman to not interfere with her rest. With the spliff placed between her lips, Talia grabs one of the two metal prongs that reside at the base of the dense cushion in order to take a hold of it, pulling it into her proper line of sight. Amused, Talia takes notice of the marker-drawn smiling face that’s been drawn onto the front of a cushioned headrest one would normally find protruding from the top of a carseat. Confused, the woman turns the padding over to read the brief message scrawled upon the opposite side, left as a note for her eyes only. “Nolo wants me to keep my distance while you recover as much as I can. I don’t blame him- I wouldn’t want my friends barking around you guys either” the handwritten note reads, the black lettering appearing easily legible across the felt, grey upholstery, “nevertheless, I know there’s no kiosk to buy a stuffed animal off of like Vert said, so I took on some liberties. Please accept my crude attempt at drawing a stuffed bear’s face on my passenger seat’s headrest. Sincerely, Eric.” Forming a smile, Talia’s lips curl upward as the room falls quiet, left as such for a further few seconds as she lets the makeshift gift rest on her lap, reclaiming the dart in her one good hand. Both amused and grateful, the woman shakes her head as it leans back, face tense with an adulation that she tries to play off well, blowing a cloud of smoke through her parted lips and toward the ceiling. | “Clearance approved” a monitor reads, reacting to the plastic card that had gently rested atop its sensor, turning the tiny, once-red light bulb green and unlocking the adjacent door’s internal mechanisms. Being left to his own, a bald man in a fitted suit enters the wing closed off from anyone without the same access as he holds and steps along its carpeted floors with a predetermined destination in mind. Neither paid a greeting or stopped by anyone, the man in the navy suit and white dress shirt continues about his business whilst others barely acknowledge his presence, paying him not the faintest glimpse until after his journey passes them. In the wake of his progression onward, those that the professionally-dressed gentleman has travelled beyond immediately dart their attention toward his back, watching his figure as it furthers down each corridor and disappears around corners. Still holding the plastic card, the domineering figure continues through the next quartered-off area and into a much less-occupied stretch of hallway, the doors along either side of the rather-narrow walkway seeming off for a building with the interior of the latest wing just beyond it. Speaking not a single word, the man of above-average height continues to keep to himself as he rounds the next corner, vanishing into a stairwell just as secured as the other passageways he’d wandered through. Descending only two flights of stairs, the oddly-slender figure steps into yet another locked-off doorway and continues walking another few hundred yards before finally finding himself in a secluded, quaint, and quiet lobby void of anything other than a leather couch, two chairs and the entry to an elevator. With the push of the button, the well-dressed professional waits patiently with his hands folded at his lap, watching as the number on the screen above the lift begins ticking upward. For another few moments, the man waits without issue as the platform rises to his level, allowing the doors to part and greet the figure who’d called for its arrival. Before stepping forward, the slender gentleman peers to the side and takes notice of the analog clock positioned at the top-centre of the marble-patterned wall. With its short hand on the twelve and lengthy arm stopped at the ten, the businessman takes his rightful place beside a blonde woman in the elevator. “Good afternoon, Delilah” the bald gentleman greets, the tone in which he offers the gesture proving cold and distant, less welcoming than it is rigid. “Good morning, Dr. Caesar” the woman in the pantsuit replies, handing over a pair of stapled-together papers to the figure who joins her company, “we have a lot of work to do.” Taking a quick read over the text that lines the front page, the hairless businessman gives himself a quick nod before taking the sheets into one hand. Clipping the identification card that reads ‘Hamilton Caesar’ along its front in bold, black text, the doctor steadies his posture and holds his chin firm, eyes taking toward the lobby that soon falls out of view as the lift’s doors close, allowing him to descend toward the direction in which his accompanying colleague had originated from. | “I’ve told you plenty that I don’t like that name” Caesar responds, addressing the quip made by Ellis whilst rewatching footage of his drivers’ dashcam footage from the prior stratum. “I still don’t understand that” the mechanic replies, aiding his partner in rewatching the video taken from the prior race- his eyes glued to the one from Talia’s car whilst the scientist’s attach themselves toward Harland’s- “if your name is Anthony Caesar, why not use your first name?” “As I’ve stated before, I’ll go by whatever I have to in order to ensure that my family name is kept as far away from being synonymous with my brother” Caesar responds, repeating himself much to his own displeasure, “that man deserves to be linked to nothing other than evil.” Looking to his superior out of the side of his eye, Ellis takes his boss’ comments to mind and jots them down mentally for future reference, shrugging off the remark before returning his gaze to the cameras. “Have any of your maths given you the ability to more accurately predict when the next stratums will open?” Ellis queries, snapping off a piece of licorice whilst leaning back in his chair, feet kicked up atop the desk. “It shouldn’t be too much longer” Caesar reassures, snickering at his right hand man’s posture before reaching over, knocking the man’s coupled shoes off the table’s surface before redirecting his line of sight toward Talia’s dashcam footage. | “I just don’t get why Wayland’s acting up now” Ronny responds, sitting on a tire beside the group leader’s garage while a crossed-arm Taro stands in the opposite corner. “Because we’ve never really raced Kaiyo before. Wayland’s only got to drive with us against the other drivers in Annapolis” Harland responds, speaking from the comfort of his driver’s seat whilst his co-founder remains quiet, keeping himself out of the discussion, “this is the first time he gets to race his brother.” “Still, he’s been around long enough to know better, right?” Ronny questions back, genuinely curious to hear the answers the rest of his team comes back with. “He wants to prove that his brother made the wrong call in turning him away from Kaiyo. It’s respectable and understandable, but the problem is that it’s clouding his judgement” Taro confesses, disappointed in having to do so, “if that starts getting to be a problem for the rest of us- it’ll cause issues.” “You’re not opposed to kicking him out?” Harland queries from behind the wheel, his car’s engine purposefully not started. Looking toward his closest confidant and the group’s co-founder the Crew’s leader takes his eyes toward the reserved and well-spoken tempo-influencer, noticing his eyes to be steadied toward his own feet. “We’ve already let him know what’s up. He’s got the picture and the only person that can make the call on what happens from here on out is him” Taro answers, again swallowing a bitter pill in admitting what he honestly hopes they won’t have to come to, “I don’t get the right to oppose kicking someone out who brings it upon themselves.” Letting his eyes fall whilst his chin remains high, Harland goes quiet for a few moments before their mechanic teammate climbs out from his makeshift seat. “I’m gonna go see if I can find some jerky around” Ronny proclaims, delivering himself an opportunity to step away from the conversation that none of the trio wish to have, its importance not changing the fact of its uncomfortability. Keeping hush for a few seconds, Taro watches as their fourth member wanders off before speaking once more, purposefully waiting for the driver to fall out of view before saying anything. “I’ve got something to tell you” the co-founder proclaims, turning his head to face the group’s leader, watching the eyes of the man behind the Oldsmobile’s wheel fall toward his direction. “Does it have anything to do with Wayland or the Crew as a whole?” Harland questions back, wanting to cover those two bases before any others. “No, it’s actually got something to do with Caesar” Taro responds, letting his hands fall to either side as he approaches the leader’s door, coming to a stop within whispering distance from the man, “he let me in on a little information the other day, but the only people that I want knowing about it right now are you and I.” | “Attention drivers, the next stratum is opening!” Caesar proclaims, trying to shout over the intercom whilst the buzzer sounds off in the cavernous second level’s every direction, the heaven-stretching walls that surround all within being bathed in a shade of red. Whilst his superior addresses the competitors, Ellis hurries from one side of the control centre to the other, powering on monitors and ensuring that all is in order to make sure the next leg goes off without a hitch. “We’re not gonna let being down a man get the best of us, Kaiyo” Kurt proclaims, hurriedly walking between both Nolo and Vert as they draw closer to their garage. “We running with a similar plan to the Cavern race?” the youngest of the three questions aloud, looking past the man in the middle and toward the group’s leader. “We’ll figure that out when we figure out where this race is actually gonna be” the shot-caller responds, only for the scientist’s voice to interrupt him. “This next race will be the Warped Stratum” Caesar proclaims, slightly put off by the coded language that clues him into the next level. “What the fuck does that mean!?” Kurt questions aloud, both he and the men that he prepares to race alongside having come to a full stop, their eyes taking toward the heavens as the flashing lights turn yellow. “I don’t know, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see!” Nolo shouts, shrugging his shoulders as he hurries for his car, leaping into his Porsche. “Do this shit, boys!” Dale proclaims, watching on as Butch leads his formation-following DSRC members toward the tracks that lead into the next leg’s entry, refused permission to enter himself. “Let’s win us another one, boys!” Ross howls, wiping at the nose he’d just used to snort a line of cocaine, “these other motherfuckers don’t got shit on us!” Slamming the palm of his hand against the roof of his McLaren, Alec starts the frenzy that his group soon breaks into, unable to notice the subtle refusal to match his group’s energy that Eric feigns his way through. “You ready, Taro?” Harland questions aloud, fitting his head into the black helmet that had sat upon his passenger’s seat, only to be initially met with the roar of the ‘Cuda Convertible’s engine his co-founder responds with. “I’m as ready as ever” the reserved man replies, only throwing his car into drive once he overhears the tires on the group leader’s Oldsmobile rolling forward. Coming together alongside their teammates, the four squads embark upon entering different stretches of race track, their winding turns, steep ascents and fan-propelled straight aways all leading to the same epicentre of concentrated energy, its magnetic and pulsating flashes of blue light reaching their steady climax. “The next stratum is now open!” Caesar proclaims as the alarm goes off one final time, taking the warm, yellow glow that had encompassed his building into a steady shade of green, triggering a brief flash of light from the newly-formed portal that his racers make a final approach to. One after another, the fifteen drivers vanish into the spherical power and join the recon bots in taking their fight to the corporation once more, a new world to explore and a new leg to triumph over. == Driveline ==
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“According to what I’ve been able to decipher, stratum keys are tokens left behind by the forces responsible for creating the races” Caesar remarks, looking into the recorded footage that had been captured by the younger Wayland sibling’s onboard camera. “Though I’ve yet to learn the way in which they’ve gone about doing so, I believe this purple glow was a result of the drone vehicle using a stratum key it had won prior to this race” he proceeds, “likely the one won in the Storm Stratum.”
“So these keys give you superpowers?” Vert questions, occupying the seat Talia would normally be seated in, only her absence allows him to take it for himself and use his own chair as a footrest. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call them ‘superpowers’. I feel as though ‘advantages’ is a more preferable term to use” Caesar responds, switching to the dash cam captured on Kaiyo’s second in command for a different, more obstructed angle of the key’s use. “So if they really wanted to, these robots could just use the key they got from the Storm Stratum and zap us with it?” Dale wonders aloud, as curious as the members of the other three teams are. “I suppose they could. I’m not quite sure how they went about using these things, however” Caesar answers, taking the key back from his right hand man, Ellis having stayed off to the side to spectate the meeting, “it could be a number of things, but I’ll need more time to study this to find out.” “So it’s really just a shiny accessory for now?” Alec wonders aloud, the question intriguing enough for the rest of the groups to justify not shuddering at the sound of his voice. “I’m afraid that’s not too far off from the truth here” Caesar confesses, holding the object that appears less heavy than it actually is, still slightly taken aback at the great power he wields in just the palm of his hand, “in due time, clarity will be offered. When that will come, however? I’m not sure.” “If we’re earning advantages for winning the stratums, wouldn’t that guarantee that there’s something more to this than just the races?” Harland inquires, trying to distance himself from the present in favour of eyeing the future. “If we’re earning these keys, then whatever powers may be are trying to make it easier for us to win whatever races we go into after that” the Crew’s leader remarks, “if there’s a point to making the races easier to win, there must be a point to winning them.” “Yeah, no shit. Everyone knows there’s a point to winning the races” Alec interjects, his voice once again drawing the ire of those outside of the Esteemed, “what I wanna know is who won them before.” “Come again?” Caesar inquires, unsure of what the arrogant driver across the room is trying to get at. “You said these stratums only open every few hundred years a couple days ago, when we first got here?” Alec questions back, working his way back around to a genuinely decent point, “if we’re only getting these keys now, then what happened to the people that won them those hundred years ago when the stratums opened last time?” “Wait, preppy’s got a point” Kurt replies, forcing himself to give credit where it’s due, “if these stratums opened before, then either that key we’ve got is just a copy of the one that they won, or- alternatively- it could be the same exact key.” “The only issue with that theory is that I’ve never found proof that other racers had entered the stratums when they opened before” Caesar responds, shaking his head with disappointment as he gently slides his thumb over the key’s face, “traces of them were documented, but never entry to them.” “What is this research you’re doing?” Vert interrupts, pulling the focus of the group onto himself just as anyone who speaks up does, “you talk all about what you know or understand or whatever, but am I the only one who finds it odd how you know all of this?” With the line of dialogue redirected, the drivers’ interest begins to find itself diverting from the course the scientist had initially set it to, his unphased reaction and continued presentation of professionalism all that’s offered. “I haven’t told you the whole story and I made that clear before you went into the first leg of the race. When the time comes, I’ll tell you more without you having to pester me to” Caesar concedes, his modest stance proving enough for the racers to settle their escalating questions. “I suppose that- had drivers entered the stratums in the times that they had opened- they could’ve won keys in theory” the scientist proceeds, “I suppose I can perform some carbon dating on this key, if you’d like?” Receiving no objections, the scientist nods toward the group and dismisses them, “you are all free to go” he proceeds, walking off for the control centre to the room’s side whilst the racers disperse. “Oh, just one more thing!” Caesar adds on, barely able to call out for his drivers’ attention before they can squeeze through the room’s exit, “I just wanted to take a moment to commend Alec for his performance in the last stratum.” With a pleased grin on his face, the Esteemed’s leader nods as he looks back toward the displeased members of the rival teams, taking no greater satisfaction than what he receives from watching Nolo’s head lower in disappointment. “I believe quality driving is worth taking notice of when it’s presented. I also believe that those quality drivers are also worth being recognised for their performance” Caesar doubles down, “I’d highly recommend the rest of you learn from Mr. Mayweather.” Sharing in each other’s dissatisfaction, the non-Esteemed drivers present various displays of irritation toward the victorious racer as they pass him by, walking off with their peers. Following through on his departure into the adjacent room, Caesar’s lead is followed by his right hand man, who makes a point to gently close the door prior to speaking out. “Are you trying to start a fight?” Ellis inquires, watching as the scientist places the stratum key atop the desk closest to his monitors and turns back, an eyebrow raised. “If there could be anything that would unite the Crew, Kaiyo, and the DSRC- it would be how much they hate the Esteemed” the mechanic doubles down, a squint carried in his eyes, “I know making not only the Esteemed- but their leader- the centre of attention is you trying to do something, I’m just not sure what it is.” Subduing his amusement, Caesar removes the thin glasses he’d worn over his face and delicately places them beside the powerful card from the prior race. “In the first stratum, the racers got in each other’s way. In the swamp stratum, the same was the case” the scientist explains, clarifying his intentions to the closest man in his inner circle, “Alec’s presence in the last race was enough to put the Wayland sibling’s issues on hold. I know they want to beat him, and rather badly, might I add?” “And pointing him out as a ‘quality driver’ as you put it was- got it” Ellis replies, cutting himself off as he articulates the answer in his head. “Hopefully, the drivers will take from this that winning is more important than beating each other- which keeps getting in their ways” Caesar responds, lifting his chin as he turns back toward the screens in front of himself, “and with how the Corporation will react to losing the last race, it’s best they get on the same page as soon as possible.” = 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 = “Hey, preppy!” Taro calls out, his voice kept to a reasonable tone, though the declarative nature of it prompts the group as a whole to turn around as if shouted for. “Not all of you” the Crew’s co-founder replies, watching as all four heads turn around to take notice of him, his finger lifted toward the slightly-disheveled member, his unironed clothing making it easier for the member to stand out from his peers, “just the one who decided he was gonna fuck up and take me down with him.” Bowing his head to best conceal his smirk, Ross holds back a more subdued chuckle whilst Alec and Lana allow the humour they take to be made more apparent. “Let me guess, you’re gonna tell me to stay out of your way or face the consequences- or some threatening stuff like that?” Alec’s best friend replies, continuing to take amusement out of the Crew co-founder’s approach whilst Eric stands by, his arms crossed and head bowed so as to keep himself out of the issue. “I don’t need to threaten you to get my point across. I’m a driver, not a cage fighter” Taro responds, continuing to descend the steps with the rest of his group following behind, “but yeah, I’d strongly suggest that- if you fuck up somehow- you should stay out of my way.” Not feeling too keen on being made out to look inferior to the rival racer, Ross allows his pride to take control of his actions as he steps forward, more than willing to allow the nearby DSRC and Kaiyo squads a front seat. “And what if I don’t, tough guy?” the Esteemed lacky replies, shrugging his shoulders whilst the rest of his group follows along, Eric doing so begrudgingly, “are you gonna beat me up? Are you gonna fuck with my car like your friend over there did to his brother?” Curling his lip upward, Mark steps forward in an attempt to assure the enemy racer of his accuracy, only for his superior’s outstretched hand to hold him off from doing so. “No, I don’t need to do either of those things” Taro answers, his voice continuing to carry it’s composed tone despite the displayed attitude his rapscallion teammate provides from an arm’s length away, “I just felt it was important to make sure that you and your buddies got the memo.” Pressing his lips together, Ross nods toward the man and pats at his chest, doing so with the faintest amount of power over what would be considered playful or civil. “Loud and clear, big guy” the Esteemed competitor assures, turning his back toward the group before walking off from the rival faction, their demeanour not sitting well with those they leave behind. Turning his head, Eric mouths “I’m sorry” to the competing squad whilst wandering off with his preppy acquaintances, a gesture that leaves Taro to only lift his chin upward at, implying he understands and holds little against the man. “What the hell was that, Taro?” Mark questions aloud, hands held out at either side as he steps in front of the higher-ranking member of his team, “what’s the point in letting everyone else watch you let those rich snobs walk all over us like that?” Turning his face toward the younger member of his team, Taro offers no answer to the teammate’s inquiry, his comment only redirecting the discourse to where he wishes for it to be taken, “we have something to talk about.” | “How’re you feeling?” Tyson inquires, extending a bottle of water to the leader of his group, watching as Butch assists him with the bandages that cover his road burn. “Better than that Kaiyo lady” Dale replies, wincing in pain as his club’s vice president dabs his injuries with a rubbing alcohol-soaked cloth, “I know the others are supposed to be our rivals, but I can’t help but feel bad for what happened to her.” “Yeah, didn’t she break her wrist or something?” Pat questions from the opposite side of the room, too much of his attention paid to the pinball machine he stands at the controls of to turn his body toward the others. “She broke a few bones in her arms and messed her shoulder up pretty badly” Tyson answers, not needing much time to formulate a reply, “I overheard some of the others talking when I was coming back from the garage.” “You making friends with the enemy now, son?” Butch jokes, smirking as he does so whilst reaching for a set of fresh bandages. “I’m not making any new friends that aren’t already in this room right now” Tyson replies, assuring the man of the contrary, “with that said, let’s not pretend like some of the other drivers aren’t at least easier to get along with than others.” “You talking about the richies over in the other hut?” Butch questions back, smacking his club’s leader on the hip as the man winces again, “calm down, you big pussy! It’s just a bandage- it don’t hurt that much.” Responding with nothing more than the flip of his middle finger, Dale fights through the stinging sensation that climbs up his body whilst the work is done, the club’s own taking care of each other. “Not necessarily. Most of those rich kids are massive pains in the ass” Tyson replies, lowering himself into a chair that sits in the corner of the room, “but that Eric kid isn’t that bad.” Shrugging, Dale shakes his head and lets the point settle, able to breathe a sigh of relief as- for the moment- the amateur work on his wounds comes to a pause. “I don’t mind most of the others; I only avoid them on the basis of principle” the DSRC shot-caller replies, unscrewing the cap to the bottle of water that stands nearby, “we came to this place with only each other to depend on. When we leave this palace- that much should still be the case.” “‘Tolerate’ and ‘depend on’ aren’t synonyms, Dale” Tyson rebukes, a gesture that neither man across from him seems to argue otherwise toward, “we can get along with the others without expecting to invite them to family barbecues when all is said and done.” “Hold up, what does cinnamon have to do with anything?” the biker club’s leader questions back, only to groan with pain as his vice president swats at his side once more. “Synonym, Dale. It means two things that are different but mean the same thing” Butch explains, again receiving the display of the leader’s middle-most finger before his eyes take toward his son for confirmation, “that is what it means, right?” “Pretty much, yep” Tyson responds, nodding in approval whilst Pat speaks up from across the room, continuing to focus on the machine that he wages a pretty enviable performance on. “The Kaiyo and Crew people aren’t bad, for what it’s worth” the younger member of the club calls back, his comments catching the ear of those behind himself, “Kaiyo’s cars could be a little less hideous and the people in the Crew could seem a bit off-putting at times, but they’re not that bad.” “Kaiyo people like pot as much as we like beer, and the Crew drive cars that are as loud as our bikes” Tyson adds on, lending validity to his friend’s point, “we sure as hell at least have more in common with them than we do with the rich bastards up the hall.” Restraining himself from audibly presenting a groan or sigh from the pain that surrounds the entirety of his side, Dale waits for his vice president to pause before speaking aloud. “At the end of the day, the only people we have that can look out for us are each other” the DSRC’s leader responds, pushing himself away from the bench that his uninjured side rests atop in order to sit up as best as he can. “I know it’s hard to be the only young people in this club; and I know that us old farts aren’t always easy to see eye-to-eye with. If you wanna make friendly with people in the other groups, I ain’t gonna stop you” Dale proclaims, “just remember who’ll look out for you.” | “At least I’ll have a cool cast for a bit” Talia murmurs, laying back against the pillow that sits at the top of her hospital bed, one she’s yet to be granted clearance to depart from, “it’ll still be a pain in the ass to work around though.” Amused, Vert crosses his arms in the comfort of the chair just a few feet to the side whilst extending a lit joint toward his teammate. “You think you’ll be able to handle holding this?” the younger man inquires, watching the woman’s grin overtake her face as she nods reassuringly, overjoyed to be reunited with her vices. “You bet your ass I can. If not, I’ll figure out a way to make it work” Talia replies, pressing her lips against the cannabis-filled cigarette as the room’s front door slides open, granting entry to a visitor she had not been anticipating. “Are you feeling any better than you did yesterday?” Eric inquires, slowly walking into the room without a member of either side’s groups to be seen. “I have a joint in my hand- that’s gotta count for something” Talia jokes, holding back the cloud of smoke that fills her lungs whilst letting it stay, keeping it in for as long as she can whilst her friend from across the divide that separates their sides draws closer. “That’s all that matters then” Eric responds, smiling as he approaches the opposite side of the bed from the man across from him. “If only they had a kiosk for you to grab a stuffed animal or something from” Vert quips, comfortable enough around the rival side’s member to joke at his expense, “maybe that would really get you in her good graces, huh?” Both amused and slightly embarrassed, Eric hangs his head and holds back his laughter whilst the wounded driver pays her teammate a humorous side-eye. “Alright, alright- I’ll take the hint!” Vert proclaims, lifting his hands in a show of surrender before quickly taking a final hit from the blunt, “just take it easy on her, won’t you? She’s a little fragile right now.” Taking the blunt back to her lips, Talia plays into the funny games by snatching a pillow off from the side of the bed and tossing it at her teammate as he steps away, a sidestep allowing him to dodge the fluffy projectile and make a hurried dash through the door. “He doesn’t really think we’re a thing, does he?” Eric inquires, retreating from the bedside to reclaim the launched headrest from the floor. “No, Vert’s just one of those funny guys. It’s his way of showing support or comfort- or whatever’s needed in the moment” Talia responds appreciatively reclaiming the pillow that her friend extends to her, “you and I are pretty low-hanging fruit for him.” Understanding, Eric nods off at the disclosure and lets his head hang, his hand patting the railing that’s been erected on the woman’s injured side. “Well, I just wanted to come by and check on you” Eric responds, waving dismissively toward the room’s entrance, “Ross and the others are picking fights with the Crew, so I figured now wouldn’t be a bad time to drop in and make sure you were coming along okay.” Flattered and genuinely grateful, Talia looks into the man’s shy and reserved face whilst nodding. “I’m doing better” she reassures, allowing her body to sink further into the soft embrace of the pillow underneath her head. “Good” Eric responds, not knowing how else to reply other than with the simplest rebuttal, his feet carrying him away from the bed and back the way he came without certainty over what else to do, “that’s good to hear!” Turning his back, Eric makes for the distance that separates himself and the room’s exit, prepared to leave with the certainty that his friend’s recovery is close to guaranteed. “Hey, Eric?” Talia calls back, prompting the man to stop in his tracks and turn around, eyes taking to the woman that now sits up in her bed, trying to get back to something close to resembling eye-level. “Thank you” she remarks, looking the man in the eyes whilst sucking on her lips, unsure of what more to say than that, “I don’t know what it was going to do before you got there, but whatever it was probably wouldn’t have been pretty.” Bowing his head, Eric’s reservations resume as he tries to conceal the flattery that he takes in the declaration. “I just wanted you to know that...” Talia concludes, watching as the man’s face lifts back toward her, “...I appreciated it.” Smiling back, Eric clears his throat as he tries his hardest to lessen the awkward silence that he reacts with at first, looking for whatever he can say to make himself seem less like an oddball than he feels himself coming off as. “Of course” he replies simply, bowing his head again as he turns around once more, stepping through the door to the woman’s room and returning to the corridor he’d entered from, a set of footsteps drawing toward him once he exits. “Hey, Eric!” Nolo calls out, his path crossing with that of the kind-hearted rival driver, keeping him from continuing on as he takes a moment to speak with the younger competitor in private. “Listen, I don’t want this to come off as more than it is. I don’t want you to take this personally or like some attack or anything, alright?” the Kaiyo driver proceeds, making himself clear before any alternative has the chance to appear true. “I’ve got nothing against you. I don’t mind you being around my team, I don’t hate you, I don’t hold a grudge against you- none of that stuff. I actually kinda like you” Nolo confesses, allowing himself to not look at the Esteemed racer as an inferior, “you’re a cool dude. You seem to have a good heart, and I obviously owe you a big one. You looked out for Talia, you got her back here safe, and you sacrificed your own spot in the stratum to do so. I really appreciate that.” “But this has nothing to do with me, it’s got everything to do with my friends” Eric nods, already aware that the compliments that he’s paid are coming as the result of something else. “Everyone in Kaiyo seems to be cool with you. With that said, I don’t think the guys you’re rolling with are too fond of you being around us” Nolo concedes, disappointed in having to do so, “it’s not that you’re a problem, but I don’t want your guys starting trouble with us over it, y’know what I mean?” “I hear you. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my distance” Eric reassures, watching the relieved expression come over the Kaiyo leader’s face. “Thank you, man. I’m glad we’re on the same page” Nolo confesses, patting the Esteemed driver on the shoulder before continuing on, drawing closer to his teammate’s room in the infirmary before a sudden thought comes over him, drawing his curiosities back toward where he’d come from. “Hey, wait a minute” Nolo calls back, a thought in his mind not quite sitting as well as he’d initially thought it would, the last-second declaration prompting the rival racer to turn back. “Why are you so okay with it?” the Kaiyo driver inquires, appreciative of the ease in which the conversation was settled with, but curious as to the lack of issue that it led to, “don’t get me wrong- I’m glad you are. But still, that was easier than even I had thought it’d be.” Hanging his head initially, Eric stands with his thoughts for a moment as he shrugs, coming clean once questioned. “I know my friends are assholes. I don’t see them the same way others do, but I know why others look at them- again- in the way they do” the most affable member of the wealthy squad confesses, “when you’ve been around them long enough, you get used to having people back away and ask for space because they like you but not your friends.” Pulling his head back with a more clear understanding, Nolo watches as the driver opposite him again turns away to retreat, the thoughts that sit at the front of his mind again proving too strong to avoid. “I know they’re your friends and all, and I get that there’s probably more to them than just the annoying part that the rest of us see them as. But still, you owe yourself more” the Kaiyo leader explains, “you’re a good dude, Eric. You shouldn’t have to make sacrifices ‘cause of your friends.” Having made himself aware of that long ago, Eric remains standing in the corridor thinking of the man’s point whilst the Kaiyo leader’s feet finally make it through the infirmary’s entrance. Left to himself, the lowest-ranking member of the Esteemed eventually returns to his initial departure, walking the rest of the way toward the greater areas of the second level whilst repeating Nolo’s point internally. | “No, Wayland... You laughed” Taro doubles down, calmly seated upon the couch at the centre of the Crew’s clubhouse, refusing to back down from his initial claim. “Like I said, Taro- it was somewhat ironic!” Mark retorts, defending his stance whilst the other members watch on, occupying different sides of the sofa, “you’d done so much to keep me from passing you, and in the end- it was that preppy little shit that knocked you out of the race. That’s at least a little amusing.” “The fact that you were laughing about your own getting knocked out of the race at all is bad enough, Wayland” Harland responds, taking over for his hierarchical equal as the conversation persists. “Taro’s being generous. The fact of the matter is, he shouldn’t have had to keep an eye out for you at all” the Crew’s leader doubles down, “we’ve got eleven other drivers to look out for- twelve if the quiet girl with the headphones makes a full recovery. We don’t need to be looking out for you.” “I’m a good enough to driver to handle looking out for Wayland even if I shouldn’t have to” Taro interjects, holding enough power for his interjection to be warranted, “the problem that I have is the fact that I had to be teaching the guy something he should already know.” With a simple nod of his head to the right, Harland retreats from the conversation and hands its control back over to the co-founder, agreeing with the statement. “Guys I can follow orders better than anybody, my point is-” Mark begins to reply, defending himself before being brought to a silence. “Clearly you can’t” Taro interrupts, refusing to allow his subordinate to make a claim that can’t be proven true on action alone, “at the very least, you have enough trouble following orders to cost us an entire race.” “Yeah, that shit can’t fly, Wayland” Harland remarks, tacking onto his co-founder’s point, “we’re not putting you on trial here, but we did want to make it clear that you’re making the ice underneath you real fucking thin.” Keeping his head low, Ronny chooses to stay out of the conversation, allowing the three much more physically-imposing figureheads to continue the discourse whilst he prefers to play the role of a spectator. “It’s one thing for us to lose because we weren’t good enough that day or because we got messed up by one of the other groups. It’d be aggravating as hell, but it’d be one thing” Harland proceeds, naturally composed in his delivery, but appearing distinctively irritated when compared to the composed and undisturbed demeanour that his co-founder projects, “but being cost a race because of one of our own is an entirely different thing.” “So what, are you gonna kick me out or something!?” Mark quips back, the momentary pause that carries on after the asking of his question bringing an immediate sense of nervousness over the younger Wayland sibling. “We don’t want to, but the more trouble you become- the more tempting you make that sound” Harland confesses, eventually coming around to saying the quiet part that no one else wants to, “the only one that can kick you out at this rate is you- and you’re really working toward it.” Blanking on how to respond, Mark looks toward the disheartened expressions worn by the three men across from him- Ronny included- without much in the way of bringing about change. Accepting defeat to his inability to create a rebuttal, the centre of the group’s discourse turns around and makes for the room’s exit, leaving behind a squad as lost for answers as he is. “Was that a bit harsh?” Harland inquires, letting out a sigh as he walks toward the opposite direction, begging the question for either man to answer. “Kinda” Taro admits, crossing his own arms whilst tilting his chin upward, his face directing itself toward the ceiling, “it was warranted though. He needed to hear the truth.” Falling victim to an odd silence that comes over the room, the Crew sit with their thoughts whilst Mark ventures away from the clubhouse area, visibly perturbed and dejected. Going their separate ways for the moment, the two sides retreat to different avenues as the issues begin to settle, both parties having made their cases heard and allowing fate to make the decision on what outcome comes of it. == Driveline == “The recon bots are online!” Ellis proclaims, staring at the landscape that he’s paid a good, lengthy look at without being able to see much of note. “Good! Get the bots to the end of the stratum!” Caesar quips back, turning around just as the second level is bathed in a sea of green light, the concentrated energy only now reaching the point at which it will allow drivers inside.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get there before the drivers do” the right hand man responds, looking on in confusion at the poorly-lit environment that his robots enter, only able to make out where he is by the jagged, oddly luminous stalactites that appear in every direction. “Why not?” Caesar responds, leaving his seat for only a moment whilst taking his eyes to the litany of monitors that his white coat mechanic looks into. “Because, I-” Ellis replies, pausing for a moment and he takes another survey of the screens that he sits at the helm of, “I think we’re inside a cave.” Pressing his lips together, Caesar looks on with disappointment in the terrain that his eyes are afforded a good look at just as the first few racers dart through the portal. Spilling out from the hovering, blue orb at the start of the stratum, Harland’s Oldsmobile becomes the first vehicle to touch down upon the race’s newest leg, only this time- its tires don’t make first contact with track. “Where the hell are we!?” the Crew’s leader blurts out, keeping his foot pressed to the pedal for a few seconds before the thought to turn on his headlights enters his mind, affording him a better look at the cramped confines they now must navigate to an end. “Why is it so dark in here!?” Ronny shouts, going one step further than his group’s leader by turning on the storm lights fitted to his roof. “Because you’re inside the Cavern Stratum” Caesar responds, watching as the flurry of various dash cam feeds fill his wall of monitors, one driver entering the new leg after another. “There’s no track, Caesar! How are we supposed to find the end of this thing?” Vert inquires, straying to the right of the gathered-together biker gang he enters after. “The lack of a racing track shouldn’t change your ability to find the end of the race” Caesar replies, looking into the man’s dash camera before turning his eyes to the one nearby. “What about the robots you were sending into this place? Taro questions aloud, keeping his focus on the road ahead whilst passing a glance toward the entrance to a separate tunnel open to be taken for any who choose to take a chance on it, “can those things help us?” “In most circumstances, they probably could” Caesar responds, taking a brief glance over his shoulder to the wall of screens behind himself, finding the same dark and answer-less result as he’d initially seen, “but the only way my robots could find the end would be by navigating the stratum alongside you.” “We have splits in the first two tracks that eventually led to the same place already; I’m willing to believe this stratum will be no different” Talia replies, following behind Vert’s car whilst keeping her eyes glued to the McLaren gaining ground just behind herself. “There’s finally something the deaf girl and I can agree on” Alec responds, letting his eyes trail to the supercars following behind him, “Hey, Esteemed. I’m gonna go wherever Nolo goes- the rest of you should split up.” “Why would we split up?” Eric questions back, following the lead of Ross’ Tributo whilst Lana trails a few yards behind himself, “wouldn’t that just make it easier for the drones to take us out of the race?” “We should split up because I said we should split up” Alec answers, playing the leadership card at first before thinking better of it, offering up a more preferable answer to save face, “besides, if we split up, maybe one of us will get lucky and find a track that gets us to the end the fastest.” Though displeased and left slightly uncomfortable by the suggestion, Eric settles into his seat and keeps his eyes glued to the narrow corridors that he and his teammate’s traverse. “For once, the preppy kid might’ve just had a pretty good idea” Harland remarks, addressing his own squad whilst keeping to the same route as the rest of his group, “Crew, split up into pairs. Ronny will stick with me while Taro and Wayland will stick with each other.” Indifferent to the plot, the group’s co-founder nods in agreement with the plan before glancing into his rear-view mirror, staring at the front of the Firebird that keeps on his tail. “We gonna follow suit or keep to the original plan, Dale?” Butch questions aloud, lowering his visor as the back tire of the DSRC’s leader begins to kick up grains of sand, shielding his face from the pebbles and dust. “We’re on bikes and I don’t know what shit’s gonna get thrown at us in this race” the group’s leader replies, watching as another potential route appears in the near distance, the tunnel’s entrance luring him in, “we’re sticking together... follow me.” “What’s the call, Nolo?” Kurt questions from behind the leader’s Porsche, fine with whichever decision is made in lieu of just being able to race again. “The DSRC’s on bikes. They’ve got a reason to stick together the rest of us don’t really have” Nolo replies, barely able to see his second in command remove the aviator shades from his face, their presence over his eyes acting more like an obstruction than a benefit, “we’ll split up. No matter what, though- make sure Alec stays with me.” “You got it” Kurt replies, casually shifting into the next gear before triggering his turn signal and departing from the rest of his team, pulling off to the left and venturing into the newest-appearing tunnel system. “Follow Kurt, Taro” Mark proclaims, instructing the higher-ranking driver on where to go without thinking much of the act, though he’s not met with the refusal that the co-founder would otherwise be in position to wield. Veering left, Taro leads the younger Wayland sibling down the system taken by the older one, this action noticed with ease by what remains of the Esteemed. “I’m going down the one the brothers went down” Ross proclaims, quickly pulling his Tributo’s tires down the frequented system with the faintest warning, heading off into the depths of the stratum on his own, “see you guys on the other side!” “Hey Alec, keep a good look at me!” Nolo shouts back, diverting from the rest of his drivers in pulling closer to the right of the main cavern system than the others, still given the typical six-car width to work with. Triggering his right-most turn signal, the Kaiyo leader offers the Esteemed’s leader a hint at where he’s headed off to, waiting for a moment as the trailing driver’s McLaren also pulls away from the rest of his group. “Whatever the next tunnel system on the right is- I’m taking it” the Kaiyo leader remarks, tempting the cocky racer with the flashing, yellow indicator as a new mouth of the cave opens up. “If you really wanna see who can put their money where their mouth is, follow me” Nolo doubles down, turning his steering wheel in the direction of the approaching passageway, venturing through its entry just two seconds prior to Alec following the same suit. “You gonna let me know where you’re pulling off to, Tali-?” Vert questions back, looking into his rear-view mirror just in time to watch the woman’s yellow indicator vanish into the opening of a system he’d already passed, her warning not offered as one would anticipate. “I think I’m gonna follow after the mute one” Lana proclaims, quickly directing her Pista down the same tunnel as the Kaiyo driver’s M-Coupe, “maybe we’ll have ourselves a little girl’s night out!” Without speaking a word, Eric follows after the woman’s vehicle ahead of him, interfering with his teammate’s humorous plans in following after his friends, leaving the system as a host of three. “Alright, I guess I’ll just follow Harland and Monkey” Vert proclaims, keeping his eyes held upon the cavern’s central system, willing to play ball with what lies ahead and keep to the road he sees little issue with following further. “Hey, Harland? Is there any chance we could maybe not pick a fight with Vert?” Ronny wonders aloud, holding a sincere tone of voice in his request, “I know he’s a Kaiyo driver and all, but he called me by my nickname.” Chuckling, Harland presents a smirk as he looks at the mirror on his Oldsmobile, only able to make out the rival driver’s headlights behind them. “I don’t have a problem with you, Vert. Ronny seems to be keen on letting you stick with us, so I’ll just say this now-” Harland replies, extending his teammate’s request for the Kaiyo driver to answer, “as long as you leave us alone, we’ll leave you alone.” Shrugging with very little reason to see a need for competing for supremacy this early into the stratum, Vert settles into his chair for a ride more casual than it typically is, “I guess I’m down for a Sunday drive.” = 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 know we’re in a cave and it’s supposed to be quiet, but don’t get comfortable” Dale calls out, continuing to man the DSRC’s frontlines from behind the handlebars of his Fury, eyes glueing themselves toward the walls of the cavern on either side, “be ready to act when the stratum stops being quiet.” “Yeah, or whenever the dro-” Tyson attempts to joke, only to instinctively duck close to the base of his chopper just as the rest of his group does, the sound of screeching emanating with vicious intensity and interrupting whatever quip he’d intended to make. “What the hell was that!?” Butch’s son proclaims, the first to pull his head away from the bike and take his eyes toward his immediate surroundings, watching as the once-low ceiling of the cavern begins to stretch higher and higher. “I don’t know, but whatever it is should probably know that I’m armed” Pat replies, quickly retrieving the shotgun from his bike’s internal chambers whilst staying on high alert. “Like I said, we shouldn’t get comfor-!” Dale proclaims, only to interrupt himself by veering off to the right without the faintest warning ahead of time, forced to react to the set of massive feet that swoop toward the ground and quickly retreat higher into the cave’s system. Still unable to bring himself to speak, the DSRC leader’s troubles don’t end with the sudden call to action, but continue as his bike violently thrashes from one side to another, unbalanced in a way that leaves it incapable of being controlled. “Dale!” Butch shouts, trailing behind the man as all that can be seen from the vice president’s point of view is the headlight ahead shaking without stopping and slamming into the ground. “Go around him, boys! Go around!” Butch hollers, pulling back on his chopper as his fingers wrap around the bike’s brake and tug at it with all of his might. Aware of what is expected of them, the younger members of the DSRC are left with little time to react, the orders that they’re given becoming the only instructions they have to go off of. Leading the charge, Tyson continues on through the spacious corridor whilst Pat follows suit, not a soul ahead of him to call out shots ahead of time. “What the hell do we do now!?” the Tarken child blurts out, briefly glancing back as the sound of ear-piercing screeches commences behind them once again, this time sounding much closer than it has any right to be. “Keep going! Keep going!” Pat shouts, keeping loyal to his friend’s lead before feeling heavy gusts of wind crash against his back, their spaced-apart nature leaving the DSRC’s remnants concerned that their troubles have only just begun. | “Excuse me!” Ross shouts amidst a chuckle, firing down the tunnel system’s straight away behind the use of his booster as he passes the Crew teammates that had been ahead of him. “Hey, watch it preppy!” Mark calls out, pulling his car off to the left in an attempt to gain ground on the Esteemed driver, only to find the back of Taro’s ‘Cuda Convertible cutting him off from doing so. “Move out of the way, Taro!” Mark shouts ahead, watching as the Tributo’s tail lights continue to journey forward through the near completely-dark tunnel system. “Draft with me” the Crew’s co-founder replies, paying no mind to the order that was called out for him as he shifts into the next gear, blocking the younger Wayland sibling off from passing him again once the vehicle behind him shifts toward the right. “Wayland, the last time you didn’t follow orders, it cost us an entire race” Taro calls back, laying down the line for his teammate to follow of his own volition, “now do what you should’ve done last time and fall back in line.” Subduing a grunt, Mark slams his balled fist against the Firebird’s steering wheel before slightly lessening his speed, following the commands paid to him by the squad’s superior. Humoured by the hand his brother had been forcibly dealt, Kurt grins at the discourse a few paces behind himself before taking notice of the headlights that approach. “Welcome to the leader’s circle, kid” the older Wayland brother proclaims, keeping the smirk held upon his face as he maintains his lead on the three drivers trailing behind himself, “when I beat you, do me a favour and try not to take it too hard. It’s nothing personal.” “Shut your mouth, street punk” Ross replies, steadying his focus on the car that his own vehicle quickly approaches, forced to let off the gas as it manoeuvres to ensure it keeps ahead. “Those are some harsh words, preppy” Kurt replies, lifting his chin as the cave system’s roof begins to gradually increase in height, “I’m just trying to give you a heads up. I’ve been winning street races since before you were even out of diapers.” Refusing to come up with a retort to offer the second in command just a few yards ahead, Ross’ silence allows him and the other drivers within the vicinity a better opportunity to hear the echo-heavy sound of screeching with total clarity. “Hey, what the hell are you two doing up there!?” Mark shouts out, still within the range of the other squad’s racers whilst the sound of horrid screaming resonates all the way toward their position in the back. | “Can you hear me, girlie?” Lana wonders, keeping within the range to see the M-Coupe’s tail lights ahead, unsure if the driver is paying any mind to the words that she utters. “Only because I have to” Talia responds, staring at the centre console of her vehicle as the screen she’d wired into it affords her the information that issues connecting to a viable network prevent her from flooding her ears with music. “Oh come on, I can’t be that bad” the Esteemed leader’s girlfriend responds, her left hand cradling the bottom of the Pista’s steering wheel whilst her other sits atop it, “besides, I’m the only other girl in these competitions for you to talk to.” “I don’t see how us being the only girls in the race matters whatsoever” Talia replies, shifting her vehicle into the next gear as she pulls the wheel toward the right, following the curve in the stratum’s route. “‘Cause us girls should really be sticking together, don’t you think?” Lana rebukes, keeping a passing glance on the headlights that follow her car’s own lead, aware of who they belong to in spite of her refusal to acknowledge its driver. “Not really” Talia responds, straightening out her vehicle as their passageway merges with a second one, the track they hadn’t taken and yet now occupy the same route as appearing to have not been chosen by any other racer. “I don’t care if you’re a dude or a chick... I’m a better driver than you” Kaiyo’s silent artist of the wheel clarifies, also aware of the shadowing that her friend amongst the Esteemed performs a few yards away. “Does that apply to your other street punk friends, too?” Lana challenges, genuinely curious as to the depths that the claims of her rival team’s mostly-observant racer are willing to reach. Refusing to answer at first, Talia instead stares into the reflection of her rear-view mirror, looking at the pair of white head lights that follow behind her before a second-long glimpse of a third set of lamps join in on the fray, only their luminosity taking on the appearance of a green colour. “We’ve got drones behind us” the M-Coupe racer calls back, the straight away they now reach affording her a more certain guarantee of the warning she’d provided. “Behind us!? How are they behind us!?” Lana questions back, briefly looking over her shoulder in an effort of glancing through her rear windshield, only to find the same sight that Eric does at their very end. “I could be wrong, but I’m counting four of them” the lone male driver proclaims, keeping an eye and a running tally out for those ahead of him, the gentle turn of his wheel allowing his car to remain in front of the robotic convoy he now leads. “We must’ve beaten them into the stratum this time” Talia responds, keeping a closer look on her rear view mirror before the sound of an explosion occurs alongside the violent trembling of the ground beneath their tires. “What the fuck!?” Eric exclaims, having just barely managed to catch a glimpse at the bioluminescent stalactite that had fallen from the heavens above, its jagged tip slamming back to earth and crushing one of the corporation’s vehicles beneath it- resulting in a bright burst of flames. Caught by surprise, Talia regains her bearings at the front of the group just in time to centre her focus upon the pathway ahead, where another glowing rock formation slams into the ground a few dozen yards away. “Veer right!” the Kaiyo driver proclaims, disregarding their team affiliation in a moment that threatens more than just their professional standing. Fighting past the vibrations in the cavern, Lana and Eric follow the woman’s lead in avoiding the dimly-lit rock that obstructs their path in a way that a second drone behind them finds unequal luck in. Programmed to slam on the brakes, the corporation vehicle at the front of the pack fails to climb down from its excessive speeds as its distance from the fallen formation proves too little to overcome. Folding up like a pancake, the drone car viciously wraps around the fallen stalactite whilst its two remaining aids continue on after the human drivers, hurrying down the dark stretch of the stratum that still lies ahead- waiting to be explored. | “What is this thing!?” Tyson shouts back, watching a pair of fuzzy feet swoop down and spread its toes in an effort of latching onto the man’s chopper. “I don’t know!? Why the hell would you think I’d know!?” Pat exclaims, instinctively ducking every few seconds without certainty over what’s attacking them, the barrel of his shotgun aimed upward in hopes that he may get lucky in the event his ride becomes the focus of their assailant. “We need to go back! My dad could be in trouble!” Tyson shouts back once more, arming himself with a firearm of his own whilst trying to maintain a grasp on the cavern’s layout. “Dale and Butch have the angel button, they’ll use it if they have to!” Pat proclaims back, tilting his shotgun’s aim slightly in his friend’s direction, aware that the club’s new, temporary leader seems to be earning the majority of the creature’s attention. “Caesar, what’s this thing attacking us!?” Tyson shouts aloud, again ducking at the first sight of the assailant’s feet, lifting the barrel of the gun and firing into the darkness above whilst receiving no answer. “Caesar!?” the only son of the club’s vice president calls back, still finding himself having gone without a response. “Get it back!” the scientist proclaims, up in arms over the situation unfolding at home in the second level. “I’m trying, we’re not getting any connection!” Ellis yelps back, waving his hands at both the monitors meant to receive the recon bot’s transmissions and those designed to return the driver’s point of view, not a single screen left with a picture other than static. Steadying his aim, Pat tries to regain his composure and prepare himself for a counter-attack, brushing off the ear-stinging screaming from the cretin above the longer that it appears. “I’ve got a plan!” Tyson suddenly shouts from ahead, keeping up his pace against the threat that looms above, the comment quickly talking his now-subordinate down from the ledge of jumping into action he’d prepared to take. “You’re gonna let off the gas just a little bit and trail behind me. Then, I’ll do the same when I’m a little farther away” Tyson remarks, setting himself up to be in the position of putting his faith in the DSRC’s odd-man-out, “when this thing reaches down to get me... fill it with bullets.” “Are you sure, Ty!?” Pat calls back, finding enough substance in the plan to go along with it, but his mind can’t help but attach itself to the dangers that are posed. “I don’t see how we have any other choice but to aim high and shoot wildly! I don’t even know what this thing is!” Tyson replies, committing himself to the plot that’s been laid out, though his intestines tempt themselves to knot out of the anxiety such a tactic leaves him with. “Alright, man! Here it goes!” the DSRC’s sharpshooter replies, slightly letting off the gas and allowing the group’s temporary leader to continue ahead without him, keeping the same pace as before for another few seconds before doing as instructed. Freeing his fingers from the handlebar, Tyson watches the speedometer’s number begin to lower as the gusts of wind that collide with his back only increase. Wanting to ensure his plan’s effectiveness, the club’s new leader turns the barrel of his weapon directly upward and fires at the same moment that Pat does, their bullets provoking a guttural cry from the creature that plummets from the cavern’s incredible heights and crashes into the ground. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Tyson commands, reaching for the bike’s brakes just as his subordinate does, their tires collectively dragging along the ground and coming to a total halt. Catching his breath, Tyson steadies himself on the bike as the chaos that surrounds him comes to a pause, the screeching having been thwarted and overhead assault now ceasing. “Is that a bat!?” the man wonders aloud, turning his head toward the rider who stops just beside him, their combined headlights finally offering them a look at the deceased creature. “No, man-” Pat replies, staring in awe at the size of the killed attacker, “-that was a giant bat.” | Diving through the gargantuan bat’s body as it collapses from the ceiling nearly one hundred feet in the air, the glowing stalactite takes care of one issue that the drivers passing it had to face, instead leaving them with a new obstacle to overcome. “Careful, preppy! We’ve got more problems raining down!” Kurt quips back, unphased by the plummeting rock formations that crash from above enough to prod at the Esteemed racer, “we wouldn’t want daddy’s car being totaled, would we?” “Eat shit, street punk!” Ross shouts back, shifting his car into the next gear as he expertly navigates the falling obstructions, following the lead of the Kaiyo driver ahead of him better than what the leader had been anticipating. “You’re not a bad driver, rich boy” Kurt commends, shifting his own vehicle’s gear in order to kick his speed to a higher level, growing more comfortable with the cavern’s route the longer that he spends in it. “Of course not... I’m the best” Ross replies, paying little mind to the snide remarks he’s offered from the second in command as he maintains his speed, keeping the distance between them the same as it has been since they’d entered the tunnel. “Keep your cool, Wayland” Taro remarks, the sound of his voice clearly irking the lower-ranking driver, the tapping of the younger Wayland sibling’s hand against the top of his wheel making it evident that he wishes to pass his superior. “Considering who’s in front of you... I wouldn’t call you the best” Kurt responds, again keeping his vehicle in the way of the man that stays behind him, only to be met with less pleasantry than he had been given originally. “Watch it, asshole!” the Kaiyo driver barks back, his body jostled forward as Ross clams the hood of his Tributo into the rear of the Wayland brother’s RX-7. “What’re you gonna do about it, huh?” the Esteemed driver pokes back, again ramming his hood against the Kaiyo vehicle before looking toward the heavens and taking notice of the stalactite that plummets. Pointing out his opportunity, Ross pulls toward the opposite side of the track as the man ahead of him and avoids the collapsing formation all the same, only this time allowing himself a chance to take advantage of the open space ahead. “Not a smart move, preppy!” Kurt proclaims, refusing to get in the way of the Esteemed driver upon watching him speed ahead, taking advantage of the turbo as they near a corner. “How about you watch me instead, street punk!?” Ross exclaims, overtaking Kaiyo’s second in command with great ease before quickly watching the slope in the wall ahead approach. “Shit!” the new leader grunts, watching as sparks fly off of his car whilst its left side drags against the cavern’s, the vehicle’s speed having been too great to properly turn with the approaching corner. “I think I’ll just keep on my merry way; thank you for the offer though!” Kurt chirps, retaking the lead as the racer he passes makes an attempt to free himself from riding the wall. “Get off the- fuck!” Ross howls, sharply turning away from the wall before losing control of the vehicle entirely, his back tires dragging along the cavern’s surface as it begins to spin out. “Oh goddamnit!” Taro exclaims, stomping on the brakes and turning his wheel in an attempt to avoid the out-of-control Esteemed vehicle ahead, his efforts proving futile as they collide head-on. Unable to help himself from breaking out into a laugh, Mark successfully evades the crash that his superior had failed to manoeuvre around before continuing on unimpeded. Bouncing in his chair, the younger Wayland sibling takes a guilty pleasure in seeing his teammate fall victim to the catastrophe that he now advances past, knowing that there’s no one to keep him from closing in on his brother ahead. | “Stay behind me! Keep your eyes on the-!” Talia exclaims, extending an olive branch toward the rival faction members in hopes of leading them to safety, only for her commands to fall silent with no explanation. “Talia, are you good!?” Eric shouts aloud, pausing for a moment as he follows his teammate’s trail, hoping that the route Lana follows is the same one his Kaiyo-affiliated friend provides, “Talia!? Talia!?” Still left with no answer, Eric manoeuvres with each turn and avoided brush with chaos that Lana takes before catching a glimpse of headlights stopped in the opposite direction as them, parked on the side of the road beside a toppled-over stalactite. “Who was that!?” the Huracan’s driver calls out, hoping that the Pista’s operator would afford her teammate some clarity. “Just keep following me!” Lana barks back, not answering the question her teammate raised, but instead attempting to lead his attention elsewhere. “What do you mean ‘follow you’?” Eric wonders aloud, doing as instructed whilst a single pair of green headlights remain in his rear-view mirror, the woman’s declaration not making much in the way of sense, “what happened to Talia!?” “Owww... fffuuuccckkk” Talia groans, pulling her head away from the M-Coupe’s steering wheel whilst reaching for her neck, feeling an immediate soreness come over her from the whiplash she’d sustained. Listening to a group of engines roar past her, the surprising sound of a singular set of screeching tires brings the Kaiyo driver’s mind around to the task at hand, the stratum’s leg still open and waiting to be completed. Trying to disregard the ringing in her ears, Talia takes a brief glance to the fallen rock formation just beside her driver’s side door before a set of green headlamps turn toward her, having retreated from further ahead in the cavern. Slowly turning around the fallen stalactite, the corporation vehicle turns its face directly toward the crashed M-Coupe, its bright-coloured bulbs shining upon the chrome body of the Kaiyo vehicle. Unsure of what this display is meant to represent, Talia pauses for a moment and waits around for the drone car to act, her confusion only deepening once its front bumper begins to shift mechanically. Protruding from where the corporation vehicle’s bumper normally is, a barrel emerges from within the robotic automobile and takes its aim toward the human driver, the presentation one that no sense can truly be made of. Deep within the cylindrical shell, an orb of electricity begins to form within, gradually making its way to the barrel’s exit as it pulsates and readies within. “Fuck” Talia murmurs, fighting past the pain that shoots up her left arm as she suffers it’s toll, knowing the impending danger to be worth reaching for the angel button. “Fuck, fuck, f-” she continues to groan, her yet-unknown injury making it impossible for her to reach the centre console. Prepared to fire, the drone car’s barrel vanishes from the woman’s line of sight without warning as the speeding car that had just begun to approach slams into the side of her would-be killer. Armed with the battering ram that had been installed but had yet to be used, the Huracan’s front crashes into the unmanned automobile and sends it flying into the distance, crumbling and shattering upon impact with a far-off side of the cavern. With widened eyes, Talia stares ahead at the now-stopped supercar as its door on the opposite side from her opens, allowing the racer within to spill out into the stratum. With a hurry in his step, Eric makes a mad dash for the chrome car’s passenger’s side, his crawl into the vehicle made in an effort to check on the wounded Kaiyo member. “Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha” the sympathetic driver assures, paying the injured competitor a comfort completely dissimilar to the dismissive disregard Lana had instead taken. Not in any position to fight the gesture, Talia goes along with the aid that Eric provides her, his soft touch helping her safely slide through the unobstructed entry to her vehicle as he leads her back to his ride. “Do you know how much further the portal is?” the Kaiyo racer wonders aloud, hoping she doesn’t have to wait for too long to receive the medical attention she desperately needs. “It doesn’t matter and I don’t care” Eric replies, disregarding the stratum entirely as he loads her into his vehicle and attaches the towing line his car had been fitted with to the woman’s M-Coupe, “this race can go fuck itself.” Buckling his friend into her seat, Eric covers all of his bases before flipping the plastic shell on his centre console and slamming his hand against the angel button. Vanishing in a flash of light, the Huracan and M-Coupe that it’s line is attached to disappear, returned to the second level alongside the drivers they belong to. | Trailing behind a pair of corporation vehicles, Nolo and Alec attempt to out-manoeuvre their racing adversaries to no avail, the cars ahead proving too efficient to leave them an opportunity to pass. “Move aside, street punk! You’re getting in my way!” the Esteemed’s leader barks, directing the side of his McLaren into that of the Porsche he travels at the same pace as. “Not gonna happen, preppy!” Nolo shouts back, reciprocating the provocative gesture that had left streaks of black paint along his car’s chrome exterior to the man responsible. Aggravated, Alec reads his surroundings for a moment as the cavern begins to narrow once more, decreasing in size from the great heights that had watched bats and stalactites plummet toward them and back to the way it had originally greeted them with- a short ceiling and wide tunnel. “It’s getting smaller... we must be getting close to the end” Nolo murmurs to himself, momentarily forgetting about the communication system in his helmet, cluing the Esteemed leader into such a fact. Convinced that his time to act is limited, Alec settles for the first opening that catches his eye, again slamming his McLaren into the Kaiyo leader’s Porsche in order to capitalise on a momentary opening. Making use of his booster, the Esteemed leader fires off through the cramped space between the leading corporation vehicles and assumes the race’s lead, leaving behind both his human peers and the unmanned bots that tail him. “You ain’t winning this time!” Mark proclaims, just barely trailing his older brother’s car as they spill into the same tunnel system as the Kaiyo leader, a fact they quickly take notice of. “I don’t care what issues the two of you have; Alec’s in the lead!” Nolo shouts, wasting no time in addressing the drivers that he tolerates much easier than the man who’d assume the leg’s most-desired position. “Preppy’s in the lead!?” Mark shouts back, immediately taking his eyes toward his older brother’s car before taking a moment to consider his options. “Fuck it... Don’t let preppy win this thing!” the younger Wayland sibling proclaims, pulling away slightly from his brother’s vehicle in the name of battling a common foe. “Good luck stopping me!” Alec gleefully yelps back, watching as the rival siblings take on distance between each other to limit the corporation’s ability to counterattack. Unable to cut off passage from the three racers behind them on account of being outnumbered, the drone vehicles opt to restrict forward progress to the advancing siblings. Strategically going just slightly slower than his second in command and the enemy faction’s wildcard, Nolo makes himself appear like the least-threatening of the trio to ensure the corporation overlooks him, affording him the opportunity to pass the automated cruisers. In a last-ditch attempt to maintain their control on the situation, the unmanned ride closest to the Kaiyo leader pulls away from his only other source of support, attempting to pit-manoeuvre the Porsche’s back end when possible. “I don’t think so!” Nolo proclaims, his eye kept on the closest drone cruiser in anticipation of such an attempt, and his finger held atop the booster until the timing is perfect. Firing past the corporation car, Nolo watches in his rear view mirror as the attempt leaves his adversary slamming against the cavern’s wall and falling out of control of itself. Losing its only capable support, the final remaining drone mercenary finds itself caught between four drivers- most of whom hate each other more than the unseen figures behind the company that manufactured it. Its windshield stretching from the base of its hood all the way to the top of its trunk, the lone unmanned vehicle registers its situation before searching through its programming for the most efficient course of action. “I don’t care how many drones you get rid of or how many issues the three of you put aside... I’m not losing this race” Alec declares, speaking to the topless Porsche that gains along its right side, the glowing stalactites that had lined the stratum now nowhere to be found. With a laundry list of reactions to take, the corporation vehicle settles upon the one option with the highest potential success rate, enacting the plan that appears to be its ticket to victory. Whilst Kurt approaches upon its left and Mark makes the same progression to his right, the unmanned car becomes surrounded in a dark purple glow that matches the change in colour upon its highly advanced dashboard, the vibrancy of such a distinctive outline strong enough to shed light on the tunnel. “Will it win?” a blonde woman wonders aloud from the entrance of a sterile conference room, looking toward the single chair of many, its seat the only one occupied. “It’s a perfect machine... it should” a bald man replies, leaning back in his seat with one arm draped across the top of the table he sits at whilst the other leans against his chin, his right leg crossed over the left, “and if it somehow didn’t... That would be the worst result the humans could ever possibly ask for.” “Are you guys seeing this!?” Kurt questions aloud, the only one with enough presence of mind to speak through his stupefaction. Veering to the right, the drone vehicle’s vibrant outer shell makes contact with the front of the younger Wayland sibling’s Firebird, provoking an intense bolt of lightning to strike at the Crew racer’s car, stalling it without warning. Wasting no time in attempting to gain ground on its adversaries, the corporation vehicle quickly veers toward the left and leaves Kurt’s RX-7 to find a similar fate, stalling at the behest of a lightning strike that the automated vehicle wields like a weapon. Keeping to themselves, Nolo and Alec push their vehicle to the fastest speeds they can manage, attempting to not only outrun the drone, but outright beat the other to the finish line. “You’ve got no chance, Nolo!” Alec proclaims, battling the man’s efforts with his own certainty, staring at the Kaiyo leader through the passenger’s window before punching at his booster. Deploying a grappling hook from its front, the drone car latches onto the Esteemed leader’s McLaren and hitches a ride that Nolo himself matches, striking at his own booster as their robotic third wheel disengages it's supernatural, purple glow-initiating advantage. Squeezing between the human vehicles, the corporation car advances at the same speed as its human contemporaries, left with little time to regain its mystical powers as they turn the final corner, finally being granted a look at the blue sphere responsible for bringing them home. With all other options expended and desperate to guarantee himself triumph, Alec violently throws his car toward the right, bouncing off the drone vehicle that he sends crashing into the Kaiyo leader’s own. Bracing for impact as his tires drag uncontrollably along the ground, Nolo slams against the back of the propulsion machines whilst the corporation racer spins out a few yards behind himself. Only able to regain control of his car once the McLaren speeds past, the Kaiyo leader is forced to watch as the portal he’d neared so close to flashes in a burst of light, returning the first driver of the day back to where they’d come from. Touching down upon the exit ramp, Alec’s vehicle speeds to the second level’s ground floor and drags its tires to a stop a few paces off to the side. Quickly taking a look around himself, the Esteemed leader surveys the area that hosts only a pair of horrifyingly-shredded motorbikes, a chrome M-Coupe and the blue Huracan that had escorted it out of the stratum. Racing through the conference room, Caesar and Ellis lean over the balcony and stare at the driver below, watching him exit his vehicle whilst looking around in an almost paranoia-like pace. “Am I the first one!? Did I win!?” Alec questions aloud, hurriedly returning to the safety of his vehicle as Kurt’s RX-7 tears through the portal, his brother’s Firebird following only a few seconds later and Nolo’s Porsche touching back upon solid ground not too long after that. “DAMNIT!” the bald man shouts, his voice startling the woman who watches on from the other side of the room as his fist slams against the table’s surface, forced to witness his machines fall victim to a loss for the first time. “What happened!? We lost communication just after you all entered the stratum!” Caesar exclaims, hurrying down the winding staircase with his mechanic in tow, the question reacted to poorly by Nolo as he steps out of the vehicle. “I don’t know, how do I know if I won!?” Alec shouts back, throwing his hands out by each side before the unexpected appearance of a flash of light just a few feet away from his eyes prompts him to leap back. Whilst his hips slam into the side of the McLaren, the Esteemed leader’s face takes toward the small, glowing orb that manifests out of thin air, a sight that brings the founder of the second level to an awestruck pause as he reaches the end of his descent. “What the-?” Nolo mutters beneath his breath, taken aback just as the Wayland siblings are only a few yards away, the shock and fear that’s presented upon Alec’s face making it clear that he’s not sure what to make of the spectacle either. “Oh my...” Caesar remarks, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he and his right hand man approach slowly, their arrival prompting all parties involved to turn toward them, “...it’s real!” “What’s real!? What is this thing!?” Alec shouts back in a panic, trying to maintain as large of a distance as his McLaren’s massive frame will allow him to take. “Grab it!” Caesar hurriedly commands, watching the Esteemed driver’s eyebrows lift at the order before his hand acts as instructed, a moment of temporary fearlessness coming over him. In a small explosion of orange light, Alec’s fingers wrap around a modest, card-shaped item that bears only a pair of odd, triangular shapes upon it, one higher than the other and both points facing away from each other. “A stratum key!” the scientist proclaims through shortness of breath, finally earning the right to see one in person. “What the fuck is that!? What does that mean!?” the Esteemed leader questions aloud once more, still trying to keep himself as far away from the device in spite of the fact that he holds it in his own hand. “Many things!” Caesar responds, his inability to speak in more than the most-necessary terms prompting Ellis to take over the discourse, only saying what the possessing driver would want to hear. “Congratulations, Alec...” the mechanic replies, his proclamation earning the undivided attention of all racers present, the pause he takes accompanied by a pleased smile, “you’ve won the Cavern Stratum.” == Driveline == “The conservation of your turbo supply is imperative” Caesar remarks, standing before the group’s collective eyes whilst aiming a marking stick at an image of Taro’s ‘Cuda Convertible dashboard. “Each car can only support a limited supply of this booster. It is to be used in times of great necessity- and this goes for each and every driver” the scientist continues, “as Nolo and Talia were so kind to show us in the Swamp Stratum, drafting can be a valuable alternative when possible.”
“What happens if you’re down a man?” Pat wonders from across the room, interrupting the discourse before the time to present the inquiry can pass, “let’s say we get in a situation like the last race where Dale goes down and you can’t keep an optimal two-bike drift. What happens then?” “I’d recommend you find a driver to draft with on another team in that scenario” Caesar replies, only for his answer to receive a subdued chuckle from the bikers’ other side, “is there something you gentlemen- and woman- find funny?” “No, no. Keep talking, big guy” Alec replies, waving his hand toward the scientist whilst leaning back in his chair, both feet kicked up on the table whilst his face wears a grin. “The four of you- well, most of you- get on my nerves” Taro remarks, having turned in his chair to look back at the wealthy young adults, the conclusion not being one that he alone subscribes to. “I agree with the Jap. You prep-punks really grind my gears” Dale groans, finding common ground with the Crew driver, though offering it in a way that doesn’t appear to phase the squad’s co-founder much. “Go ahead and do something about it then, Sons of Anarchy” Alec chirps back, his comment drawing the ire of those seated across from them. “Maybe I will” Dale replies, standing out from his chair whilst the rest of the DSRC follow suit, ready for whatever altercation threatens to boil over. “I’d like to see you try, tough guy!” Ross shouts back, slamming his fists against the table whilst becoming the first driver from his squad to leave his seat, the three others doing so just to present an identity of unity amongst each other. “As much as I’d hate to do so, I’m more than willing to refuse both the DSRC and Esteemed entry into the next stratum” Caesar interjects, his threat allowing an opening to subdue the conflict enough to elaborate, “I’m tired of these altercations. I didn’t bring you four teams here because I wanted you at each other’s throats, I wanted you here because you’re the best there is.” “Maybe, but we’re the best of the best” Alec retorts, a gesture that immediately sparks argument as expected. “It’s funny of you to say that, ‘cause the Crew happens to think otherwise” Mark responds, stepping out of his chair in a show of strength before glancing back, his initial reaction of surprise being earned by the rest of his team, who remain seated unlike the Esteemed. “I’d like to point out that Kaiyo is the only team so far to finish both stratums” Nolo interjects, leaving his seat whilst the rest of his team follows suit, showing a unity that the squad across from fails to present, “as far as being the best is concerned- only one group has an argument to make.” “We’ll see about that after the next stratum” Alec retorts, an argument that the man he speaks to doesn’t necessarily argue against. “I suppose we just might” Nolo rebukes, staring toward the back of the room whilst Caesar takes the opportunity to bring the meeting’s end. “I think we’ve gone over enough for today- this meeting is adjourned” the scientist remarks, looking back to the younger Wayland sibling, who stares back toward the rest of his team with surprise, “Mark, please come see me.” Sliding out from the table, the three still-seated members of the Crew do as instructed by their superior and leave with the other drivers, standing by each other’s side whilst Mark watches them walk off, still appearing shocked by their display. “Mr. Wayland” Caesar speaks aloud, staring at the back of the racer’s head as he watches his peers depart without offering him a word, their refusal to back him up speaking louder than words ever could, “Mr. Wayland?” “What do you want?” Mark snaps back, his voice kept to a respectable level, though the way in which he speaks carries a bite stronger than it’d appear. Unperturbed by the vigour behind the remark, Caesar stares back at the driver without uttering a word for the first three seconds, his resumption of speech being delivered as if the pause hadn’t actually occurred. “I’d like to understand this issue you have with your brother better than I do as of this moment” Caesar replies, reclaiming the seat he’d lifted himself out of right around the meeting’s start, “I think it’d be within our own best interest to figure out a solution to this matter. The last thing I need is to have a driver not be able to take part in the next stratum because their brother destroys their vehicle.” “Ain’t you the wise man around here?” Mark questions back, hands thrown out at either side as he stares back toward the second level’s founder, “you’re the one that knows everyone’s backstory, why don’t you go figure it out yourself.” “Because the digging that I’ve done into each of you lacks one very important aspect...” Caesar responds, folding his hands atop his lap as he leans further back in his chair, “...your own side of the story.” Thinking little of the answer he’s given, Mark rolls his eyes and curls his lip whilst staring toward the back of the room, his glare briefly being held upon the dormant ball of energy still yet to present them with a new leg of the race. “We grew up in Boston; we went from one school to another ‘cause neither of us really cared for good grades. Mom and dad worked late, the usual stuff” Mark responds, shrugging his shoulders as he offers the rather basic details, “nothing you and your fuckin’ Doctor Evil looking-ass wouldn’t already know.” “Well, I wouldn’t say I look like Doctor Evil, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’m flattered either way” Caesar responds, writing off the comment as if nothing more than a compliment, “but I do already know those things, you’re right. With that said, you know what I am asking you about.” “You wanna know why Kurt and I don’t get along” Mark responds, as aware of the intention behind the conversation as the scientist assumes him to be, “it’s none of your fucking business.” Pressing his lips together in a frown, Caesar hangs his head just slightly as he sits with his thoughts, thinking things over in his head before the opportunity to voice his conclusions aloud is refused, the silence impeded by the younger sibling’s continuation. “I don’t care what you think you can do to help us get along better, but it ain’t worth the effort” Mark doubles down, reassuring the hairless gentleman that this brief discourse will resolve little to nothing, “you don’t want me to vandalise his shit? Fine. I won’t wreck his shit no more, but when I see him on those tracks- there’s not gonna be a single thing more important than beating him. You got that?” Turning his back to the second level’s founder, Mark carries his feet toward the same door that his peers had exited through minutes prior, prepared to leave the conversation behind without needing to offer another word. “How long after your father’s death did you approach Kurt about joining Kaiyo?” Caesar wonders aloud, the question immediately bringing the younger Wayland sibling to a complete stand-still, his eyes pulling themselves back toward the front of the room. “What did you just ask me?” Mark wonders back, watching the scientist confidently and calmly rise from the chair he’d seated himself in. “I asked how long it took you to approach Kurt about joining Kaiyo after your father’s-” Caesar answers, cut short by the outstretched hand his company approaches him with, wrapping his fingers around the professional’s throat and pushing him against the monitor at the front of the room. “Listen, pencil neck. Don’t ever mention my father again” Mark calmly warns, speaking as if trying to keep his voice calm and demeanour under control, “I don’t know what you do or who you are- I’m only here to race. If you think I won’t drop you like a ton of bricks for saying his name or bringing him up, you’ve got another thing coming. Got it?” Hissing as his hands wrap around the Crew driver’s wrist, Caesar looks the younger sibling in the eyes without uttering a word or gesturing in any way, his air passages only being freed suddenly and without warning. Falling to the ground on his knees, the scientist fights to catch his breath as Mark turns away again, making for the exit without anyone or any word to stop him this time around. = 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 = Hearing nothing other than the music that blares into her ears at the highest levels she can set it to reach, Talia stares intently at the massive fan across the off-white painted room that she occupies. Pressing her foot to the pedal, the woman increases her M-Coupe’s speed just the slightest amount before gently turning her sights toward the machine that she’s set up atop the dashboard, its various lines and numbers accruing data that her vehicle sends back. Waiting for one of the higher numbers to rise, the woman focuses on maintaining her speed and keeping her hands steady on the wheel, eyes again returning to the giant blades that spin across from her, the winds that it sends toward her car acting in the opposite direction. Shifting her vehicle into the next gear, Talia’s foot presses further into the pedal and picks up the intensity once the data reads in her favour, the refusal to move that her hands take allowing a straight-shot forward. From behind a window off to the side of the room, Eric crosses his arms and watches the practise continue from a safe distance, the streaks of wind being thrown toward his friend’s vehicle appearing in the form of white streaks that bring a physical manifestation of air resistance forward. “Don’t you have one of these closer to you guys?” Vert inquires, standing with his own limbs crossed over each other from the other side of the room, looking toward his guest. “We do, but none of us actually use them” Eric replies, remaining civilised with the Kaiyo driver in ways the rest of his squad doesn’t appear to care for, “Alec says there’s no need. They’re the best cars in the world and pretending they’ll be outperformed is just laughable in his eyes.” Ironically left to chuckle at the proclamation, Vert hangs his head for a moment as the remark settles, his eyes eventually taking back toward the most-tolerable member of the Esteemed in his eyes. “Why do you even run with those guys anyway?” Vert questions aloud, asking the question from a place of genuinity, “I don’t mean this to pick a fight, but you’re not an asshole like your friends are.” As if already aware of such a fact, Eric takes his opportunity to hang his head and laugh at the humour he takes, nodding in agreement as he looks back through the window before him. “Believe it or not, they’re a lot more likeable than most people that grow up spoiled and pampered” the man confesses, the proclamation making it clear that he speaks from experience, “Ross is a druggy, Alec’s the son of a media mogul, and Lana would spread her legs for a designer handbag if she weren’t able to get even more than that out of hanging with Alec.” “That’s what I’m saying! I mean, it’s not like you’re exactly the kind of person Kaiyo usually races with, but you’re a much better option than the others” Vert responds, again briefly taking his eyes back toward the car in the wind chamber, “I’m not offering you a spot in Kaiyo or anything- not that I could even if I wanted to- but to still ride with those guys now doesn’t make all that much sense.” “I don’t know that it makes sense for a ton of us to be racing with the people that we’re with now either” Eric confesses, not only seeing the Kaiyo driver’s point, but exceeding it with his own, “the longer that we spend driving through these stratums, the more I think that’ll become clearer.” “What do you mean?” Vert asks, genuinely interested in the logic that the driver’s drawn from to present his theory, one that the Esteemed racer doesn’t hesitate to provide. “Mark’s more interested in fucking with his brother than being part of the Crew, Pat and Tyson aren’t these rugged biker guys in the same way the other DSRC guys are, and Kurt seems more like the Kaiyo leader than Nolo does” Eric answers, “maybe it’s just me who thinks these things, but that’s the way I see it.” “How does Kurt seem more like the leader?” Vert wonders aloud, finding the most surprise in the latter-most statement than the others. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re all really good drivers. But, as good as Nolo is, I’m not so sure he would’ve been the only guy that finished the Swamp Stratum had Kurt gotten a chance to go in” Eric responds, offering a point of view the Kaiyo driver had never taken before, “I’m just saying that- if you asked someone who knew no better- they’d think Kurt led Kaiyo.” With a squint in his eyes, Vert pulls his face away and stares at the ground for a moment whilst the room’s guest looks back toward the wind chamber’s interior. Not speaking at first, the Kaiyo driver makes his best attempt at pushing the revelation aside in favour of continuing his group’s efforts in best preparing for the next stratum, returning his focus toward assisting Talia in testing her vehicle’s performance. | With a stack of folders in hand, Caesar exits the control centre and returns to the adjacent conference room, his throat wearing the red marks from the younger Wayland sibling’s hand as he finds another surprise waiting for him. “Mr. Ishioka” the scientist remarks, caught by surprise at the presence of Taro sitting in the chair he normally occupies, hands folded and eyes closed as he leans back in his seat, having quietly waited for the presence of the second level’s founder. “Have I come at a bad time?” Taro questions aloud, parting his eyelids prior to the scientist’s voice addressing him, his ears having caught onto the approaching footsteps. “That would depend on what it is that I can help you with” Caesar confesses, temporarily lowering the binders to the conference table’s spot that he usually occupies, “if it’s something simple, I’ll do whatever I can whenever I’m able to. If it’s something that requires more time, I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.” “Why is that? Are you preparing for the next stratum already?” Taro questions back, curious as to the motivations of the man he still knows all too little about. “It can open up at any moment; I’d rather not be caught by surprise when it does” Caesar admits, immediately following his own reply with the wave of his hand, dismissing any concerns he, himself, has in favour of addressing the concerns he takes wonder over, “nevermind that. What can I help you with, Mr. Ishioka?” “The stuff you’re not telling us” Taro quickly answers, his retort catching the scientist by a surprise he hadn’t been anticipating. “You’d mentioned prior to us going inside of the Storm Stratum that there was more you wanted to say but couldn’t in that moment” the Crew co-founder recalls, adjusting the posture he assumes his seat with so as to now sit upright, “now that some time has passed, I want to know what that stuff you couldn’t say back then was.” “What makes you think that now is the best time for revealing secrets, Mr. Ishioka?” Caesar rejoinders, a question that brings a momentary smirk across his company’s face, though it lasts only a brief second before being replaced with the parted lips that offer the rebuttal. “Because I don’t care about what is- or isn’t- the best time for something” Taro answers, parting his hands before lowering them atop the chair’s armrests, “I want to know things when I want to know things.” Moved slightly to the right side, Caesar’s face shifts whilst his eyes take on a faint squint, one barely noticeable from the party seated before him. “Very well” the scientist concedes, pressing his palm against the top-most folder from the stack that he stands in the company of, “I still can’t offer as much as I’d otherwise like to, but there is one thing I haven’t told you before that I can clue you in on now.” Greatly interested, Taro lifts his chin higher toward the sky as he sits in silence for a moment, considering the potential of what can be said before finding the unspoken too appealing to pass up. “I’m listening” the Crew’s co-founder reassures, remaining patient whilst sacrificing the bigger picture for the immediate insight that can come as an advantage to him. | “Where’s Taro?” Mark wonders aloud, re-entering the Crew’s clubhouse to discover the co-founder nowhere to be found. “He’s talking with Caesar about something” Harland answers, throwing on a fresh t-shirt as he steps out of the communal bathroom, the mirror he leaves behind fogged by the humidity of the hot shower he’d just taken. “Is he talking about something on behalf of the Crew or just himself?” Mark inquires, watching the unamused expression his question evokes from the visage of the group’s leader with great intrigue. “We’re not kicking you out of the group, Wayland. And for that matter, he’s not talking with Caesar to have you kicked out of the race either” Harland answers, already knowing where the driver’s mindset was leading, “you’re a pain in the ass, but you’re still one of us.” Though he knows the response he’s been paid to be true, Mark’s face wears the doubt in the sincerity behind the statement despite his better judgements assuring him otherwise. “It didn’t really seem like that at the meeting earlier today” the younger Wayland sibling replies, watching as the reply fails to bring about a change in the squad leader’s expression. “I think this is a conversation that’s better off without me in it” Ronny proclaims, knowing such a conclusion to be untrue whilst also being aware that not a soul would blame him for assuming it. Proving the scrawny mechanic’s suspicions correct, Mark refuses to keep the driver from exiting the room, allowing the clubhouse to fall into the presence of just himself and the squad’s leader. “Wayland, just because you’re part of the Crew doesn’t mean that you speak on behalf of the Crew” Harland reiterates, turning to face the man outright as he steps forward, “what you pulled in the stratum wasn’t on behalf of the Crew- it was on behalf of you.” “So what if that’s the case?” Mark questions back, shrugging whilst shaking his head as he raises the inquiry, “don’t we race as one?” Wiping at his face with his semi-damp hands, Harland lets out a long sigh as he comes to a step mere inches away from the subordinate racer, still just as composed as he normally carries himself to be. “We should be racing as one, but we sure as hell weren’t in that last race” Harland responds, crossing his muscular arms as he continues the discourse, “the only thing you were interested in back there was beating Ross. It didn’t matter what was best for the Crew, it was what was best for Mark Wayland.” “We could’ve won, Harland” Mark responds, standing firm by his stance that the outcome could’ve been a lot different, “I’ll admit, the drones caught me by surprise. I could’ve done more to see their tactics coming ahead of time, but had I done it- we could’ve won.” Grimacing at the comment he’s paid, Harland lets out a sigh before dropping his arms, using the free hand on one of them to scratch at the stubble along the side of his face. “I could also make an argument that- had Kurt been in there- we might’ve ended up getting the wrong end of the stick a lot sooner than the end of the race” Harland responds, aware of the ire that his comment draws from the lower-ranking racer. “That’s not fair, man. You know damn well how much beating Kurt means to me” Mark replies, a stance that isn’t inherently argued against by the Crew’s leader. “I do. I know it means a whole hell of a lot to you, and I’m more than happy to get you to the finish line ahead of him as a team” Harland responds, leaving the ball in the Wayland sibling’s court to play with, “but going forward, you need to figure out whether or not beating Kurt means more to you than the Crew does.” Having nothing else to say, Harland steps forward and walks past his squad’s subordinate, the proposal paid to the racer whose revenge is so highly sought after and left for him to simmer with. Along the journey toward the garage area, the Crew’s leader pays Ross a silent scowl as their paths cross in the hallway, his exit from the clubhouse juxtaposed with the Esteemed’s entry to his own. “Hey, do either of y’all have-?” Ross wonders aloud, watching his clubhouse’s door slide open to reveal Alec and Lana occupying a couch on the other side of the room almost half-naked. “Holy shit, man! Why don’t you knock next time!?” the squad’s de facto leader shouts aloud, hurriedly climbing off his girlfriend in an attempt at reclaiming some decency. “What do you mean knock!? It’s an automatic door!” Ross shouts back, arms extended outward at either side before his eyes take a quick trip around the room, finding the lack of a fourth presence to be rather odd, “where’s Eric?” “Why? Wasn’t he with you?” Lana questions back, holding her arm over her cleavage as she uses her free hand to adjust her inside-out t-shirt. “No, I just came from the cafeteria” Ross replies, briefly walking back for the way in which he’d entered the room, “I just passed the garage and he wasn’t there either.” “Well, maybe he’s talking to the scientist guy?” Alec proposes, the suggestion one that falls on deaf ears halfway through its vocalisation, a sudden realisation dawning upon the pharmaceutical-dependent racer. “I know exactly where he is” Eric sighs, shaking his head in disbelief as the squad’s leader calls the answer into question. Journeying out from the clubhouse, the trio of properly-clothed Esteemed squad members find their travels intersecting with those of the wind chamber-exiting Kaiyo drivers, the duo joined by a suspiciously-placed odd-man-out. “What the hell is this!?” Alec proclaims, extending his hand toward the back of Talia’s M-Coupe, his eyes falling upon the pair of men following in its pathway on foot, “when the hell did you become friendly with the Baltimore scum!?” “Hey! We’re from Annapolis!” Vert retorts, humoured by the outraged visage that’s worn on the face of the Esteemed’s leader, though the amusement he pulls from the approach is not reciprocated by the man who causes it. “Do you think I give a fuck!?” Alec proclaims, his rather harsh tone killing the fun that the Kaiyo driver had been having, “what the hell is my guy doing with you street punks!?” “After spending so much time with the three of you, he’s probably enjoying what it’s like to not have to be ashamed of the company he surrounds himself with” Talia answers, stepping out of her car and slamming the door shut as she joins alongside Vert. “Oh shit, she really does talk!” Tyson proclaims from a far-off side of the garages, taking as much surprise in this revelation as the rest of his club does. “Eric, get over here” Alec commands, watching the pair of Kaiyo drivers come to a stop that his own group’s member follows the lead of. “Alec, I don’t know why you’re making this such a big-” Eric attempts to reply, holding out hope that the situation can be quelled, though his efforts prove futile. “Get your ass over here!” the Esteemed’s leader shouts, not taking kindly to being forced into repeating himself. “Eric can hang out with whomever he damn well pleases” Kurt exclaims, exiting a nearby garage with Nolo following a few steps behind, “unless the Esteemed and it’s puckered asshole of a leader are worried he might grow less fond of them when he’s around decent people?” “That’s really ironic coming from a guy whose own family hates his guts!” Alec argues back, only for Kaiyo’s second in command to correct him as opposed to retaliating. “My family doesn’t hate my guts...” Kurt rejoinders, stepping up to the much younger man’s face without an ounce of fear in the physical threat that he may pose “...only my brother does.” “Easy, Kurt... Easy” Nolo interjects, gently pressing the palm of his hand against his right hand man’s chest as a gesture for him to pull back, freeing the space opposite the rival club’s leader for himself to take. “This kid’s never been hit with the harsh attitude of the real world; he’s been spoon-fed the facade that everyone that’s anyone believes the same things as he does” the Kaiyo leader proclaims, watching the unpleased smirk come over the Esteemed leader’s face. “Is that supposed to bother me, light-skin? If so- I ain’t bothered” Alec responds, a half-hearted insult levied that has the same effect on the man he stands before. “Let’s get two things straight, preppy. First thing... I ain’t light-skinned- I’m Cuban” Nolo rejoinders, backed up by the rest of his group, who stand close by with grins on their faces, “second thing, it wasn’t meant to bother you. I just wanted to remind my boy that little kids like you don’t have a word to say worth hearing.” “Is that true? Alright then- how about I prove you wrong?” Alec challenges, only for his retort to fall unoffered as the cavern begins to flash with the colour red whilst the siren proceeds to ring once more. “The stratum can wait... go ahead” Nolo recalls, bringing the young man’s focus back on the conversation at hand, not wishing to let the next race keep him from sharing his thoughts. “I’ll tell you what, why bother getting under your skin with words, punk?” Alec responds, backing away from the rival group’s leader with his teeth on presentation, “let’s just let my driving do the talking, huh?” Pleased with the conclusion reached, Nolo nods to himself whilst wearing a smile as he turns toward his still-closed garage door, “I like the sound of that!” he shouts back, leaping in his place after patting Kurt on the shoulder, ready for the battle to be waged in the next leg. Hurrying alongside Ellis into the control room, Caesar takes his typical seat before the onboard cameras, all showing various routes taken toward the tracks that lead to the rejuvenated sphere of energy at the centre of his second level. With a quick few punches of the keys, the scientist finds himself afforded a full screen worth of information that his machines take from the concentration as readings. “Are our recon bots ready?” Caesar inquires, looking to the mechanic over to his right before finding a pleased expression. “They sure are” Ellis replies, turning away from the desk he normally faces during these legs in an effort to march toward the back of the room, a second and completely separate set of monitors offering a point of view distinct from those of their drivers. “Good” Caesar says simply, watching as his right hand man directs the various robots through the air as the second level begins to flash yellow, continuing to buzz as he whispers to himself, coming to one conclusion off the coded language that’s plastered upon his closest screen in a voice too low for anyone other than himself to hear. == Driveline == Emerging from the stratum, Nolo’s Porsche rolls down the exit ramp with a depressing lack of speed, the driver’s spirits seemingly just as low as the vehicle’s drive would imply. Exiting their vehicles, Ross and Eric join their fellow group mates in placing their feet upon solid ground whilst their collective attention centres upon the Kaiyo driver. Hiding their disappointment as best as they can, Vert and Talia step away from their parked vehicles and approach their now-stopped leader.
“You gave them one hell of a race, Nolo” Vert remarks, watching the driver remove his helmet and discard it into the passenger’s seat before sinking into his leather interior. “It wasn’t good enough” the Kaiyo leader replies, tilting his head back until his face takes toward the distant ceiling above, dejected and conquered despite being the only racer to actually see the stratum through to its end. “No, it was good enough” Vert rebukes, watching as Harland and Taro’s vehicles casually roll by on their way back into the garage area, windows raised and wheels turning without the drivers themselves having any words to offer. “You drove perfectly. You did everything right and the only reason you weren’t the first to the portal was because of those damn robot cars” the squad’s youngest racer clarifies, “you earned that win.” “If I’d earned that win, I would’ve-” Nolo begins to reply, looking off to the side for a brief moment before leaping into action, cutting himself off by burning rubber along the cement ground. Breaking out from his parked place near the ramp’s reconnection with the second level, the group leader speeds into the open floor at the first glimpse of the aggravation-causing driver who’d opened up the track for him to take sole ridership of, cutting his Firebird off from moving any further. “Get out of my way, Kaiyo!” Mark exclaims, letting his left arm hang through the open driver’s side window as his foot hits the brake. “WAYLAND!” Caesar exclaims from the platform above, the echo of his voice resonating throughout the entire building in such a way that it proves impossible for any driver to ignore. “Ah great, here we go” the youngest Wayland sibling replies, throwing his car into park before climbing through the door, stepping into the centre of attention. Gradually closing further in on the scene with their vehicles left behind, the DSRC and Esteemed drivers draw nearer to the wraparound sunglass-wearing Wayland sibling, watching as the second level’s creator descends the nearest set of stairs. Lagging behind just slightly, Kurt begins following the lead of the scientist he’d spent the stratum’s duration alongside, reading the track he’d been refused the ability to drive upon from a spectator’s view. “What the hell are you trying to accomplish?” Caesar bitterly questions aloud, approaching the much younger racer from the distance, not waiting for it to be cut shorter before speaking. “It’s one thing to have an issue with your own family- a simple sibling rivalry- and then it’s an entirely different thing to compromise his car and keep him from racing all together!” the scientist continues to bark, his scathing remarks failing to hit home with the younger brother. “I need the best drivers inside each and every single stratum that this energy opens! I will not tolerate drivers who will prove to be a liability more than anything else” Caesar continues, his uninterrupted scolding of the man beginning to sit poorly with the younger sibling, “I have half of a mind to send you back to that shithole in Maryland just to make sure you don’t screw anything else up!” “You won’t” Mark immediately replies, his claim effortlessly questioned by the source of his castigation. “Why would that be?” Caesar challenges as the distance between them vanishes, their bodies no more than a few feet apart from each other’s. “Like you said- you need the best drivers” the younger sibling replies, looking past the scientist’s head to find his brother finally reaching ground level once more, “and I’m the best driver.” “From what I’ve seen, the best driver in this building just so happens to be the only driver who completed both stratums thus far” Caesar bites back, refusing to argue on merit and instead looking to provoke the Crew member’s bravado. “Kaiyo drivers aren’t worth the gasoline they fill their cars with” Mark retorts, taking one step closer to the superior who dares him with expulsion from the competition, “The Crew is the best group you’ve got and I’m the best driver they’ve got!” “Is that so?” Taro questions back, earning the attention of those in attendance as he and the Crew’s leader round the nearest corner, just beginning to overhear the conversation that unfolds as the claim is made. Not offering a response at first, Mark turns back whilst Caesar looks on at the approaching members of the driver’s squad whilst excusing his voice from the apparent altercation that he fears is about the unfold. “I told you to fall back in line, Wayland” Harland remarks, stepping past his group’s co-founder once the man comes to a stop a few feet away from the three Kaiyo drivers. “And I told you the same thing” Mark replies, a conclusion that- whilst knowingly true in the eyes of the squad’s leader- doesn’t matter in his eyes. “I’m the Crew’s leader” the darker-skinned racer retorts, coming to a stop just as many feet from the younger Wayland sibling as Caesar stands. “You’re a member of the Crew” Harland continues, running down the situation as if it were in the form of bullet points, “members of the Crew are meant to follow their leader’s orders to a tee.” Placing his hands upon his hips, Mark lowers his head toward the ground as his thoughts are kept to himself, allowed to simmer internally whilst the group’s shot-caller continues to speak. “The next time you try and override my decisions, you better be damn sure that whatever call you’re making is the right one” Harland warns, watching the subordinate’s sunglasses lift toward his direction, “because the call you made back there wasn’t the right one.” “It would’ve been the right one had that pampered dipshit in the back not tried to get into a dick measuring contest with me” Mark quips, pointing his finger toward the onlooking members of the Esteemed, all of whom take equal offence to the claim made. “It’s my fault!?” Ross shouts aloud, pulling his hands toward himself as if to imply he could possibly be mistaken in this conclusion, “I’m not guilty of a goddamned thing, buddy! How about you go fuck yourself!?” “How about you make me, country club!” Mark shouts ahead, stomping forward with the intent of breaking out into a fight before Harland’s hand pushes him back, holding him at bay whilst Taro adjusts his posture, ready to back up his group’s leader in the event it’s necessary. “That’s enough!” Caesar shouts aloud, refusing to let the scene unfold any further than it already has, his patience wavering and displeasure at the stench of losing having left him in a less-than-affable mood. “Mark, your discretions cost five drivers an opportunity at completing the stratum” the scientist proclaims, continuing on with his earlier reprimanding from before, “had it not been for you- or rather, your inability to survey the situation for the most-efficient course of action- the corporation may not have been able to cost Nolo that victory as easily as they had.” “If Nolo couldn’t win the race himself, that’s on Nolo” Mark rebukes, defending himself before the subject he speaks of answers for the claim wagered. “I’m willing to accept that I didn’t do enough to win that race, Wayland. But make no mistake about it...” Nolo proceeds, stepping through the lower-ranking members of his group before occupying the space ahead of them, “...if you ever get in the way of me or my Kaiyo drivers- you’re not gonna get away with it.” Grimacing in the man’s direction, Mark takes the comment as the threat it was meant to be used as before turning away, offering his scowl to the Kaiyo leader before heading back for his vehicle. “Keep a real close eye on your ride, brother” Kurt warns, prompting his younger sibling to pause before following through on reclaiming his seat behind the Firebird’s wheel, “I’m not above taking an eye for an eye.” Refusing to pay the second threat any more of a reply than he’d given Nolo, Mark lowers himself into his seat and slams his door shut, putting the car into drive before rounding the front of the Kaiyo vehicle stopped in front of him. Skidding along the ground, the Crew driver’s back tires leave the faintest sight of smoke in the rubber that they burn as the Firebird heads back for the garage, watched on by the fifteen drivers that had surrounded the scene and the scientist who’d triggered it. = 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 = Frustrated, Vert slams the hood to his NSX shut and wipes his grease-covered palms off on a relatively-clean rag, paying little mind to the goings-on of the other racers. Dragging the soles of his shoes along the ground, the youngest Kaiyo driver drops his dirty towel off on a nearby workbench before propping open the hood to his toolbox, intending to rummage through the objects within before his attention is called for by the visitor that approaches. “Nolo put up a good fight in there” Taro remarks, walking with his hands hanging by each side as he stands at the Kaiyo garage’s front, his voice latching onto the ear of the man whose car occupies it. “Yeah, he did” Vert replies, nodding in agreement before wrapping his fingers around the closest wrench to himself, “it’s a shame how it ended though.” “The way the whole stratum ended was a shame” Taro confesses, crossing his arms as he stares at the NSX’s reflective hood, “barely any of us could even make it to the end.” Lifting his eyebrows, Vert pulls open the car’s door and twists the key in the ignition as the conversation pauses for a moment, listening to his engine refuse to start as planned. “Yeah, that’s definitely true” the Kaiyo driver responds, nodding in agreement as he steps out of his car and walks over toward the creeper that he’d leant against the wall near the workshop’s corner, “at least we know who to blame for that being the case.” Bowing his head just slightly, Taro takes pity on such a truth being shared whilst his acquaintance lowers the wheeled bed toward the ground and takes a seat upon it, prepared to dive into the vehicle’s underbelly. “Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m here” Taro replies, recognising the odd aura to their conversation as the younger driver slides beneath the NSX’s hood and goes to work, “I know Wayland’s not going to come over and offer one, so I’m taking on the responsibility of doing so myself.” Providing a faint and unnoticed shrug to the racer above him, Vert stays quiet and allows his childhood pal the freedom to say whatever it was he’d come over to. “Nolo wasn’t the only Kaiyo racer that was meeting their expectations in there. You were ripping up track just as well as anyone else was” Taro confesses, not taking displeasure in such a fact, but the result in which it was met with draws his ire, “Harland and I weren’t the only people in there that Wayland screwed over.” “No, you were not” Vert replies, pressing his teeth together as he takes the wrench to a set of bolts beneath the car, gently grunting with each twist that the tool takes to free the winding pieces. “I know he was aiming for Nolo, but Wayland ran you off the track and kept you from seeing that thing through to the end” Taro explains, arms still crossed and eyes glued to the lower half of the driver that protrudes from beneath the lifted NSX, “I wanted to come over and apologise for that.” Letting free a sigh as he frees the third of four bolts, Vert pauses his efforts for a moment before speaking up, continuing the discourse from beneath the hefty metal shell. “Then why isn’t he coming over to apologise?” the younger driver questions aloud, lifting his arm once more to undo the final bolt keeping him from finishing the task he’d set out for himself. “If I’m putting money on it, I’m sure Wayland wouldn’t be too keen on coming over here to apologise on account of the fact that he’s probably not sorry” Taro replies, hanging his head just slightly at the admission. “I’m not even sure that Harland is sorry about it either, so I’m not even here offering an apology on the Crew’s behalf” the squad’s co-founder concedes, finishing his thought as the preoccupied racer finishes his first task, “I’m mainly here because I’m sorry about it.” Again letting out a sigh as he slides out from beneath the car, Vert sits upright once more and plants the soles of his shoes against the ground again, eyes lifted toward the man paying him the concession. “What’s Mark’s problem, man?” the Kaiyo driver finally asks aloud, shaking his head whilst holding out hope for a more informed answer than any guess he can bring himself to make assumptions over, “I know he hates Kurt and everything, but I don’t see why he’s just such an asshole.” “Wayland’s just not the kind of guy that takes orders very well” Taro replies, not wasting much time in offering whatever clarity he can manage to provide. “He’s got a problem with authority, he’s got a problem with his brother, and he’s got a problem with people that aren’t him” the Crew’s co-founder admits, having come to such a conclusion many years prior, “the only reason he even sticks with us is because we’ve always been the arch nemesis of the group his brother rolls with.” “No, he’s only with you because we wouldn’t take him” Kurt interjects, stepping out from the garage next door whilst wiping off his hands, bare arms hanging along the sides of the muscle shirt his jacket normally conceals. “Actually, you wouldn’t take him” Vert corrects, watching his superior turn back to face him upon the vocalised amendment, “the rest of us didn’t have much of an issue with him at the time.” “That doesn’t change the fact that Mark’s only with the Crew because he couldn’t get into Kaiyo” Kurt replies, turning his attention back toward the aforementioned group’s co-founder as he concludes, “and the only reason he ran to you was because his brother stood in the way of any other outcome.” “Whether you’re right or wrong, that doesn’t change the fact that Wayland’s one with the Crew now” Taro responds, adjusting his posture to face the interrupting third member of the discourse he hadn’t approached, “we may not always see eye-to-eye with him, but he’s one of us.” Nodding, Kurt agrees with the sentiment and uses it to lend his point further credence, the confrontational attitude he’d entered the conversation with refusing to subside. “Yeah, you’re right. Mark’s just as much a member of the Crew as I am of Kaiyo. What that means is that the problem between he and I is a problem between Kaiyo and the Crew” Kurt proclaims, stepping between the rival squad’s co-founder and the youngest member of his own team, “so with that, I’d step off of Kaiyo territory and run back to your buddies before you have to take a beating on their behalf too.” “Kurt!” Vert calls out, stepping off the board before being able to say anything further, both he and his superior watching as the Crew’s co-founder lifts his hands in a show of surrender. “Alright, then” Taro replies, conceding ground to the man in the name of keeping their differences from escalating into anything further than matters worth settling behind the wheel, turning his back to the rival squad’s garage before retreating to his own team’s clubhouse. | “Where’d you come up with that idea anyway?” Eric questions aloud, splitting a rolled joint with the tasteful driver who’d handed the spliff over to him, “you were coming at me in one second, and then you were gone in the next and the latino guy was flying above like he was an aeroplane.” Amused, Talia leans back the stack of two tires that she sits atop whilst the man beside her leans against a mountain of others, the rubber columns discarded just like the wheels beneath her. “Kaiyo has sign language that we don’t share with anybody” Talia replies, appreciatively reclaiming possession of the lit, pot-filled cigarette for a hit of her own, “he didn’t know I was going to angel-out, but I didn’t need to say anything for him to know to draft behind me.” Nodding, Eric stares toward the building’s ceiling as he ponders the strategy and takes intrigue in it, finding the way other squads operate more fascinating than he otherwise would’ve anticipated. “What the hell is this?” Ross calls out, exiting the building that hosts each squad’s clubhouse to find his own teammate intermingling with the enemy. “Hey Ross” Eric replies, reclaiming possession of the dart that the woman beside him offers back, taking a hit as the approaching man closes in. “What the hell are you doing here, E-man?” Ross questions, his hands held out by each side as his friend’s lips pull away from the lit wrapper. “Just hanging out” Eric responds, not seeing an issue that his teammate appears to be uber-focused upon. “Just hanging out, huh?” the irritated Esteemed driver repeats, drawing close enough to his friend to snatch the dart away from his hand, knocking it on the ground before digging the tip of his running shoe against its lit end. “What the hell, man!? What’ve you got against the joint!?” Eric wonders aloud, throwing his arms out at each side whilst his Kaiyo acquaintance lowers the headphones from her ears. “I’ve got nothing against the joint, I’ve got everything against her!” Ross retorts, pointing his finger toward the still-seated Talia as she watches on, close enough to hear the discourse without much issue, “she’s Kaiyo, man! What the hell are you doing sleeping with the enemy!?” “I’m not sleeping with her! We’re just friends!” Eric replies, only to watch as the explanation proves less than enough to convince his teammate to lower his guard. “Friends!? Tell me you’re not that stupid!” Ross retorts, his angered visage only intensifying the longer that he’s forced to explain himself, “you can’t be friends with one of the other racers, you idiot! We’re not like the rest of them!” “You’re right...” Talia replies, speaking to a non-Kaiyo driver other than Eric for the first time, the words that she pays not coming from a friendly place of mind, “...we’re much easier to tolerate than some of you rich kids.” “I am twenty two years old, madam! I am not a kid!” Ross angrily shouts back, again aiming his finger in the woman’s direction before taking Eric by the shoulder and shoving him the way in which he’d come from. “Come on, E-man! We’re going back to the clubhouse and we’re not speaking a word of this to Alec and Lana!” the Esteemed driver proclaims, directing his teammate away from the Kaiyo driver as if he were a disappointed parent removing their child from a bad situation. Left on her own, Talia scowls at the less-than-pleasant Esteemed driver before reclaiming the joint that had been crushed beneath the man’s boot, angrily re-lighting it for whatever hits can still be taken. Satisfied with her ability to resurrect the spliff, the M-Coupe driver follows the lead that Ross had taken in retreating from the scene, opting instead to head back for her car whilst returning the headphones to her ears, drowning out the scene and trying to move on as best as she can. | “You wanted to see me?” Nolo inquires, his knuckles having tapped against the outside of the door he’d been told to approach. “Yes, please come in” Caesar replies, occupying the front of the conference room just as he does during most meetings. “Am I in trouble or something?” the Kaiyo leader queries, not approaching as quickly as he would if offered more reasoning when asked to appear before the scientist. “No, you’re not. If anything- quite the opposite” Caesar answers, continuing to stand at the front of the room whilst gesturing for the seats that the Kaiyo drivers normally take for themselves, something that the squad’s leader picks up on. “I want to commend you for your performance in the Swamp Stratum ahead of tomorrow morning’s meeting” the scientist confesses, starting off the conversation on a positive note, “I’d certainly hope the way the race ended won’t lower your confidence.” “I had the race won” Nolo quickly responds, pulling out the seat that- at this rate- might as well have his name engraved upon it, “I keep going over the end in my head time after time. I should’ve used the jets under my car or hit the booster when I saw the thing falling.” “Had you raced into the explosion head-on, you might not be standing here to tell the tale” Caesar corrects, refusing to allow the talented driver the opportunity to blame himself anymore than he’s worthy of, “if anyone should be to blame- it’s me. I should’ve anticipated that the corporation would have some way of getting a leg up on the competition.” “Yeah, what’s up with this corporation thing? I know you said a little bit earlier, but I still don’t fully get it” Nolo confesses, folding his hands atop the table whilst trying to get comfortable in a room that only he and the scientist occupy, “Kurt told me they tried to launch an attack on the biker guys in there. Why are they after us?” “Because you’re standing in their way” Caesar answers, departing from the screen that occupies the wall in the front of the room in favour of taking ownership over the chair he would normally reside in. “The belief I’ve come to is that- at the end of each of these stratums- there’s supposed to be something bigger” the scientist proceeds, spilling his guts on the conclusions he’s attempting to bring himself toward making, “whatever that something is- you’re obstacles to them.” “I’m pretty sure I get that part, but I’m more asking about who they are” Nolo corrects, the expression he wears making it clear that he’s not too certain what to make of them, “what is this corporation?” Pressing his lips together, Caesar looks away as he first considers how to answer, not wanting to say more than he has to. “The Flat Devil Corporation is the internal name given to a group of insanely wealthy businessmen that have more money than they know what to do with” the man admits, looking back to the racer that sits across from him, “they funnel money into their own projects separately, but when they want to do business away from the public eyes, they use the ‘Flat Devil’ identity.” “So they’re a bunch of rich clowns sending robot cars into the stratums, I already gathered that” Nolo replies, kept from continuing on once the scientist’s hand raises to halt him. “No, they’re the one percent of the one percent. They don’t just do things that they don’t want people to know about, they scrub any mention of anything that has to do with it” Caesar confesses, “nuclear tests, government influences, scientific advancements that they don’t want getting out... that’s Flat Devil.” “Isn’t that like the Illuminati?” Nolo curiously wonders aloud, watching the scientist’s face lighten with humour. “Flat Devil is essentially what people think the Illuminati is if that helps you understand it better” Caesar replies, nodding along with the conclusion before explaining further, “if there’s a cure for cancer, they keep it quiet so they can milk every last dollar from the pharmaceutical industry. If there’s a politician going rogue from their grand plans, they take care of them.” “Then why are they in these stratums?” Nolo responds, paying little mind to the claims made in search of getting to the bottom of the question that lingers on his mind. “I have no idea but I’m sure that there's a massive reason behind it” Caesar confesses, planting the sides of his hands against the wooden table’s surface. “Think about it, Nolo. These stratums are otherworldly. They defy the concept of everything we’ve ever considered natural” he pleads, “few people even know they exist.” “And why do you know they exist?” the Kaiyo driver challenges, only asking the question once it finds its way to the front of his mind, receiving a response much faster than he’d anticipated it to come. “Because I’ve spent every waking moment of my life for the last thirty five years digging, and digging, and digging some more into the rift that I knew was there” Caesar concedes, being upfront and honest with the man in his reply, “and when I discovered this, I knew that I couldn’t let the corporation exploit it.” “And that’s what they’re doing in the stratums? They’re exploiting them?” Nolo interjects, wanting answers that continue to be offered faster than he’d expected them to be. “I’m not sure they have yet but I am not incredibly high on waiting to find out” Caesar replies, holding an intense stare into the Kaiyo driver’s eyes as he forms his conclusion, “every race that they go into will better teach their artificial intelligence for whatever comes at the end just like it’ll teach you drivers.” Pulling back in his chair just slightly, Nolo reads the scientist’s stare quietly as the room goes silent, it's only subject being the pause that is shared between its inhabitants before the second level’s founder speaks once more. “I’m having my assistants put together recon machines that will accompany you into each stratum. What I hope they’ll offer is a way to see things like what the corporation pulled in the last race ahead of time” Caesar concludes, leaning further in his chair. “The only things I need from you and the other drivers are results” the scientist concludes, extending the olive branch of support that had yet to truly be established between himself and the racers. “I and my assistants will do everything to make sure that you have the absolute best chance of leaving each stratum with a win under your belts, but the onus is on you to see each race through to the end” Caesar declares, his point made as clear as it can be, “can I count on you for that?” Left in the position of answering the question himself instead of asking them, Nolo is faced with coming up with a reply fitting the mindset of himself and the squad that he leads- a task he knows to be tall. “Yes, you can” the Kaiyo leader replies, as confident in his response as Caesar is in believing it, the scientist’s back pressing into the back of the seat that he leans against, eyes holding steadily upon his driver as the conclusion settles with him ahead of the next stratum. == Driveline == “Drivers, you are now entering the Swamp Stratum” Caesar’s voice proclaims through the building’s sound system, warning those about to take the wheel of the conditions they can expect inside as the building’s interior continues flashing beneath yellow lights. “Enter the race expecting conditions similar to what you would find in such an area” the scientist persists, “muggy and humid conditions, a damp environment and overgrowth are just some of what can be expected.”
Sliding his second arm into the sleeve of his leather jacket, Kurt’s hurried exit from a nearby side room comes to a sudden stop as his now-widened eyes fall upon his garage. “What the hell!?” the man shouts aloud, overhearing the engines of various cars roll away from their place in storage as he stares at his vandalised property, his driver’s side door having been torn off at the hinges and the viciously removed brake system being left for him to find atop his hood, “who did this!?” Following Taro’s lead with his window rolled down, Mark’s Firebird comes to a rolling stop just a few yards away whilst his hand hangs out from inside, draped over the vehicle’s dark finish. “Shit, bro! It looks like you’re not gonna be winning today!” the younger sibling proclaims, his declaration catching the ear of his now enraged older brother. “You son of a-!” Kurt shouts aloud, breaking out into a sprint after the Firebird that immediately leaves him in the dust- advancing for the stratum. Stomping his boot on the ground, Kurt watches his brother’s muscle car tear off around the corner in favour of the portal whilst he’s left behind, punching the air at the realisation that this stratum will not be one he can accompany his fellow drivers into. “I’m receiving word from downstairs that Kurt Wayland’s vehicle has been vandalised” Ellis remarks from a chair near the control room’s centre, looking toward his superior, whose eyes follow the assortment of onboard cameras that now pay him a look at the race’s new leg. “Ginger’s telling me Kurt believes it was his brother who damaged the car” the right hand man confesses further, watching a displeased expression and shake of the head come over Caesar. Beneath a sickly green sky, miles of racetrack identical to the one present in the previous stratum wind around in loops and turns, twists and corners, splits and forks in the road with their either side covered in a glossy green moss. In formation, the DSRC spills out from the concentrated energy and touches down upon the racing track, their cameras the first to return a signal to the second level’s control centre. “Woah, look at those trees!” Tyson proclaims from within his helmet, his voice the first to be heard by the scientist back home. Stretching hundreds of yards into the air, massive trees line the environment the motorcycle club is amongst the first to enter, unbelievably long vines falling from their leaves and hanging aimlessly over the ground. Beneath the racetrack at all times during the first mile, a fog-covered body of hazy water awaits any unfortunate drivers that happen to fail at taking advantage of the road’s width. “Are splits in the road at the start of the track supposed to be common or is this just a coincidence?” Butch questions through the microphone, taking note of the four-way split in the road that they quickly come upon, its almost-immediate appearance seeming more purposeful than anything else. “I’m not sure, Mr. Tarken” Caesar responds, watching the next line of dash cam feeds pop up along the monitors that he sits before, drivers from amongst the other racing squads spilling into the stratum in the order they’d arrived. “Drivers, within the first few hundred yards of the stratum, there will be four different routes you can take” the scientist warns, making a note of the drivers just now spilling into the race, “I’m not sure which will be the most preferable, so choose carefully.” “Yeah! Kaiyo especially!” Mark proclaims, chuckling in an amusement that the squad’s stratum-present drivers don’t understand. “What? Why single us out?” Vert questions back, only to hear the voice of a man whose car he cannot find. “Because Mark fucked up my car” Kurt replies through Caesar’s standing microphone, having climbed up the long staircase that led to the control room quickly out of anger and spite, “there are only three of you in the stratum.” “Woah, woah, woah- I wouldn’t go pointing fingers if I were you” Mark responds, defending himself whilst following the taillights of the Crew’s co-founder from a few yards away. “Focus on the race, Wayland” Taro calls back, passing a glance toward the driver he’s less confident in his ability to trust that the others in his own squad, “Caesar, anything else we should know about this place?” “Yeah, where’s the lightning!?” Alec shouts aloud, keeping his head lower than usual to ensure a clear sight on the misty, green-shaded sky above, fearing the obstacles he wishes not to take him by surprise. “I don’t believe you will be experiencing lightning in this stratum the way you did in the last” Caesar answers, reclaiming possession of the standing microphone, “the last stratum struck you with a storm. I would imagine there’d be a swamp-specific obstacle that the-” Falling silent, the scientist stares into the dash cam on Dale’s Fury, squinting as he leans closer to the screen. “What is that?” Kurt wonders aloud, taking interest in the same object that encapsulates the wonder that the second level’s creator holds within. “A swamp specific obstacle that what?” Alec questions aloud, having gone without the answer he’d looked for whilst Ellis steps out of the distant seat and joins the enamoured overseers in their curious gaze. Taking the centre-left route, Nolo leads his Kaiyo drivers down the stretch of track that he’d selected at random, the squad’s ranks within the stratum only being three, but the added drivers that tail them bring the total racers on the track to seven. “Care to back up your words from earlier, Nolo?” Harland questions aloud, leading the Crew down the same stretch of roadway that their crosstown rivals occupy, still trailing the other group by a good few yards. “Only if you care to concede defeat when you lose like a grown man, Torque” Nolo retorts, his right hand grasping the steering wheel tighter as Kaiyo continues to focus on their driving. “Excuse me, but I’d still like an answer to my question!” Alec interjects, leading the Esteemed down the left-most route that takes an even deeper turn to the side than the track one leap over from them, “can someone answer my question about the swamp-specific obsta-?” Falling silent as the racetrack straightens out, Alec continues to lead his drivers further through the track before instinctively stomping on the brakes as the distant sight catches his eye. “What the hell!?” the squad’s leader proclaims, turning his wheel to the right whilst continuing to act on instinct before the vehicle he drives begins skidding to a stop sideways. “Holy shit, Alec! What the-!” Lana proclaims, having trailed just far enough from her boyfriend to take her thumb toward one of the buttons on her Pista’s wheel. Following the woman’s lead, Ross and Eric make use of their supercars built in propulsion system and fire off the ground, their wheels still spinning as their vehicles tear through the air, eventually reconnecting with the ground once they’d leapt over their leader’s stationary vehicle. Feeling the vibrations shake the track that they drive upon, all fifteen of the stratum’s racers duck slightly for cover whilst a blistering roar tears through the air from a mountain-sized beast at the halfway point of the track. “What the fuck is that!?” Nolo shouts whilst keeping his vehicle on the straight-away, eyes taking toward the awe-striking figure at the stratum’s centre every chance he can get. Appearing more like a city-sized accumulation of rot and overgrowth, a beastly-looking presents a gaping wound that acts as a mouth, green and yellow-ish vines tear apart as it howls into the disgusting air. “Drivers, do not-!” Caesar instinctively proclaims, quickly grabbing at the standing microphone before watching the swift swing of an onboard camera interrupt him out of the corner of his eye. “Oh my god!” Alec screams in terror, pulling his hands away from the steering wheel and pressing them against whatever solid pieces of his interior can be found. “Something’s got Alec!” Eric shouts back, looking in the rear-view mirror as the wheels of their group leader’s car leave the ground, picked up by a rotting vine that latches itself around the metal framework. “Shit! What do I do!?” the Esteemed’s leader proclaims, watching the stratum’s environment zip before his eyes as his vehicle is rapidly carried through the air by some unknown force. “You’ve got an angel button! Use it!” Ellis shouts back, hurriedly barking the command with hopes that the driver would have the chance to use it. “Alec! Use the-!” Lana continues to proclaim, paying too much attention to the ongoing crisis to keep her car from drifting into the mossy overgrowth to the track’s left side, its damp and sticky surface latching onto her tires whilst the rest of the Esteemed keep straight. Being pulled back by the decaying vine as if it were an arm, Alec’s car comes to a sudden stop, its motion momentarily ceasing enough for the young man to regain his composure enough to reach for the emergency device. Discarded like a baseball, Alec’s McLaren is hoisted through the air and sent flying into the stratum’s uncertain and untravelled distance, hurled like garbage before vanishing mid-flight in a sudden burst of light. “Lana, speed up!” Ross shouts amongst the chaos, passing the woman’s vehicle along the right side before Eric does the same, only for the now-trailing driver to look toward the ground, where the gas pedal is already pressing against it. In a swift motion, the newly-freed arm of rotting vine captures the vehicle of its recent victim’s girlfriend, wrapping itself around the vehicle’s body before picking it off the ground. “Lana, it’s got you now!” Eric shouts as his eye keeps to the rear view mirror, both he and Ross helpless to do anything other than continue driving as the woman’s vehicle is lifted through the air. Without wasting a minute, Lana reaches for the plastic cover on her centre console and presses the button beneath it, surrounding her car in a blast of light that suddenly finds her returned from danger. Firing out of the concentrated energy’s blue orb, the woman finds her car being shot through the air within the second level, returned to Caesar’s dome aggressively as her tires drag along the exiting ramp. Coming to a sudden and unintended stop at the sloping track’s base, Lana catches her breath for a moment before looking toward her driver’s side window, where the overturned McLaren’s driver crawls out from his seat. Catching his breath as he pushes himself off the ground and takes a moment to regain his balance, Alec rests his body against his upside-down vehicle and stares into his girlfriend’s face, her look of shock strikingly matching the visage that he, himself, wears. = 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 = “Alec and Lana have made it out of the stratum. They’re alright” Kurt remarks, having taken over control of the standing microphone whilst Caesar keeps his eyes focused on the cameras that return their transmissions. “Alright, Ross. That means it’s just you and I” Eric proclaims, a gesture that sparks a grin upon the leading driver’s face, his nod of reassurance easily earned. “Let’s get it, E-man” Ross replies, reaching for a new button off to his steering wheel’s side as their collective journeys lead them toward a straight away. “Holy shit!” the confident driver exclaims, feeling his body’s weight being thrust into his Tributo’s seat as its speed reaches an excessive level, tearing into the near-three hundreds whilst leaving behind a trail of dark smoke. “How are you boys doing, Kaiyo?” Kurt wonders aloud from the second level, keeping his eyes glued to the camera on the squad leader’s Porsche, “are those Crew bastards giving you a hard time?” Scoffing at the notion, Nolo shakes his head before passing a look toward the Oldsmobile that begins catching up along his right side. “Crew doesn’t give Kaiyo problems” the leader replies, continuing to follow the turns in the track onward with a purpose in doing so. “That’s what I like to hear” Kurt replies, only for his comments to be immediately questioned by the one voice that angers him more than any other. “Of course it’s what you’d like to hear... ‘cause it’s bullshit!” Mark rebukes, eyeing the bumper to Talia’s M-Coupe as he pulls further toward the right, attempting to overtake the Crew’s co-founder whilst speaking, “the Crew’s been giving Kaiyo nightmares for years. Face it, Kurt... We’re the boogeymen to you cocksuckers.” “Wayland, get back in formation” Taro interjects, spotting the pack-drifting vehicle fall toward his right and use the draft he’d amassed to overtake the co-founder. “We’ve trailed behind these assholes for long enough; I’m getting sick of their yapping” Mark responds, passing the co-founder’s vehicle before attempting to slide in ahead, looking to claim the man’s position as second in line, “we’re putting these lame ducks in the ditch where they belong.” Holding steady in place, Taro watches his subordinate’s face take toward his vehicle as if to gesture that the co-founder should step off the accelerator and allow him to re-enter the line. Though not reacting at first, the ‘Cuda Convertible’s driver keeps his thoughts held within his head for a few seconds as he thinks them over, eventually allowing the stronger of the calls to be made. “Ronny, fall back a bit” Taro instructs, doing as quietly requested and stepping off the gas just slightly, reserving the position ahead of himself for the youngest Wayland sibling to take over. “Go ahead change your formation however you want, boys” Nolo remarks, watching the exchange happen from the dashboard-mounted mirror before the sight falls out of reach with the slight left wind in the roadway, “Kaiyo’s the superior team. If you want to find that out first hand, be our guests.” | “Hey, bossman!?” Dale calls out through his headphones, speaking to whichever soul is willing to answer their question back in the second level. “It’s Kurt, Dale... What’s up?” the Kaiyo driver replies, still assuming the microphone whilst the scientist watches on. “What’s with this green crap on the side of the road?” the DSRC’s leader questions aloud, paying the mossy green finish slight attention the longer the race persists, “is that grass or something? ‘Cause it sure as hell don’t look it.” Pulling his face away from the microphone, Kurt turns his focus toward the scientist beside himself, a brief glimpse of the environment doing little to afford him answers. “Caesar doesn’t know, Dale” the Kaiyo driver answers, a conclusion that doesn’t sit well or satisfy the bikers. “Would he be able to run tests on it if he had some?” Tyson soon wonders aloud, the inquiry giving the voice that returns to them a reason to pull away and look toward the professionals. “I’m sure we could dissect its composition and figure out what it’s made of?” Ellis replies from the opposite side of the room, shrugging his shoulders to display his uncertainty with such a conclusion. “He says they might be able to run some tests, but it doesn’t sound like he’s confident they’ll get anything worthwhile from it” Kurt answers, summarising the retort as simply as he can. “That’s good enough for me!” Butch’s son replies, pulling his bike out from the rest of the group and letting off the throttle just slightly, his outstretched hand slowly being lowered to the mossy covering he rides alongside. “Tyson, what are you doing!?” the club’s vice president calls back, watching his offspring begin to just barely fall behind the fourth member of their group, who also slows his speed just slightly to provide his friend with cover. “I’ll cover him, Bucth!” Pat calls out, leading his bike toward his friend’s side whilst keeping an eye out for danger, his left hand freeing itself from the handlebars to reclaim the shotgun stored alongside the chopper’s side compartment. Making a concerted effort to return home with something of use other than a racing triumph, Tyson cautiously grazes the tips of his glove-covered fingers along the obstructions surface, waiting for them to latch onto anything worthwhile. “I’ve got a bit!” the young man calls out, clenching his fist around a loose vine that tears away from the mossy coverage, a decent patch of chunky greenery dangling in the air from his possession as he uprights himself, tucking the muck into his lap before he and his friend reunite with the biking convoy. “Trouble up ahead!” Dale proclaims, centering the attention of the DSRC’s members and those within the control room back home on the scene that befalls the front of his bike, a trio of green racing cars driving in a strange formation just a few hundred feet ahead. “Should we start playing catch up to them!?” Tyson calls out, securing the mossy substance before following his friend’s lead and arming himself with the concealed shotgun. “You better bet we-!” Dale calls out, only to interrupt himself as he violently pulls off to the left, forced to evade the SUV-sized drone vehicle that stomps on the brakes just ahead, forcing him to manoeuvre around it. “Jesus! Go right!” the DSRC’s leader proclaims whilst following through in the opposite direction, his bike already too devoted to evading the suddenly-stopped vehicle ahead. Already knowing his chances of regaining control are lost, Dale lifts the plastic covering of his angel button and slams his fist down as his wheels eviscerate the mossy substance on their way toward leaving the track’s surface, his bike vanishing in a burst of light as it veers right off the road. Watching Dale’s dash cam footage immediately present them with the stratum’s exit ramp back at ground level below, Kurt immediately provides the group with reassurance. “Dale’s out of the stratum, it’s all down to you three!” the man barks aloud, putting aside any grudges with the group he knows not to be his own in the name of putting together a winning race. Correcting their course, the DSRC’s remaining bikers reform their convoy with an adjusted route, now caught between the two drone vehicles ahead and the one that now travels behind themselves. “Keep your eyes on the road, boys!” Butch proclaims, instantly thrusted into leadership over the group as they continue their journey forward, running up behind the corporation’s cars with the intent to overtake them. “That monster thing get you too!?” Alec calls out from a few yards away, watching Dale disembark from the bike that had dragged its tires along to a stop as it reached the end of the ramp. “No, those fucking robot things did!” the DSRC’s leader angrily barks, only to earn an amused chuckle from the safe and sound Esteemed couple. “You think that’s-!?” Dale shouts, extending his arms before looking toward the direction that the pair of young adults had been standing at, their arms crossed and eyes held upward. Plastered along the cavernous walls of the second level, a massive screen with every onboard camera- their own included- play for the white coats and suddenly-exited drivers to watch on, affording the motorcyclist a chance to watch the rest of his club take on the enemy vehicles. “I have a shot at the robot car behind us!” Pat calls out, keeping to the DSRC’s end with his weapon in hand, waiting for approval from the group’s leadership to fire. “Take it, kid!” Butch shouts back, granting the prize racer the permission he’d looked for, but refuses to take just yet. Holding off on squeezing the trigger, the only unrelated biker in the convoy keeps his eyes focused on the vehicle that trails them as their journey takes them to another straight away. Shifting around, the bumper on the corporation’s vehicle begins to turn itself into something more closely resembling a barrel, its aim leading directly toward the human foes that ride ahead of it. Concentrating itself deep within the projectile hull, a ball of light similar in appearance to the energy that forms each stratum’s portal begins to emerge from the weapon-appearing canister, its line of sight targeted directly at the shotgun-wielding rider. “Keep your eyes on the road ahead! On my mark, veer left!” Pat exclaims, barking his order to the riders that continue ahead of himself. “What’s going on back there!?” Butch shouts aloud, only to receive a reciprocation of the commands that had just met his ear. “Veer left on my command!” Pat reiterates, steadying the barrel of his own weapon toward the launcher that had formed upon the trailing car’s front, his eyelids pressing closer together as he readies himself to take the shot. For just a few more seconds, the most accomplished of the three bikers awaits the first move to be made from behind, pulling his trigger and parting his lips once the orb is fired from the corporation car’s mount. “Veer left!” Pat exclaims as he pulls the trigger, leading his convoy toward the direction and away from the danger posed by the intense orb of electricity. Meeting its target, the shotgun shell drives through the drone vehicle’s barrel and immediately strikes at its internal mechanisms, starting a chain of events within the car that leads to a massive fireball erupting from within. With no time to react, the rear-most enemy vehicle that the DSRC had spent the last few moments driving toward finds itself as the victim of friendly fire. Erupting just as quickly as the out-gunned car had, the second drone vehicle of the day goes up in a ball of flames that the motorcycle club wastes no time in driving past with ease. “Oh yeah baby! Ha ha ha ha haaa!” Butch shouts aloud, jumping along the saddle he’s seated upon with glee at the altercation’s result. | “Fall back, Harland!” Mark calls out, driving along the man’s right in an attempt to pass him just as he’d done with the group’s co-founder; the ease in which he gets his way isn’t found this second time around. “I don’t think so, Wayland” the Crew’s leader responds, shaking his head in refusal whilst pointing his thumb backward, gesturing the man to retreat back into order, “fall back in line.” “Yeah, fall back asshole!” Nolo jokes, still retaining the lead of both Kaiyo and the Crew whilst his long, brown locks flow in the breeze of the air they race through. Curling his lip at the offence he takes, Mark looks back at Harland without uttering a word before looking toward his wheel and pressing the button that his thumb had rested upon. Taking off with great speed, Mark forces the rest of his squad to fall behind his lead as his boosters carry him farther ahead than all with ease, his vehicle now coming neck-and-neck with the Kaiyo leader’s own. “Fall back in line, Wayland!” Harland calls out, demanding the third-in-line return to such a position, only to be met with a refusal that proves more angering than dissenting. “Take the lead back from me then, big guy!” Mark shouts back, looking toward his left to find the rival driver’s face peering toward him, “alright, Kaiyo... Let’s see what you’ve got.” Lowering his chin, Nolo shares an intense glare with the Crew’s driver before watching him take off once more, a second use of the Firebird’s turbo system allowing the younger Wayland sibling to shoot off ahead. “Hey Harland, are you gonna go get your boy to play nice?” Kurt wonders from the control room, looking into the man’s onboard camera without receiving a reply from its driver. “No? Alright, then... I guess it’s up to you, Nolo” the Kaiyo’s second in command concludes, pressing his hands against the desktop that he shares with Caesar, looking intently at the cameras that meet their eyes, “put that asshole in his place.” Looking to do as instructed, Nolo’s thumb sinks itself into the booster’s button before his car fires off in an effort of playing catch up. One after another, the Crew and Kaiyo drivers take after the lead of the cars in front of them and lay into their boosters before being joined by an unexpected company. “Yeah, boys! Show ‘em who’s boss!” Alec cheers from the second level, watching as Ross and Eric’s dash cams show their vehicles speeding past the upgraded vintage truck that lingers behind the Crew’s trail. “Woah!” Ronny exclaims as the Esteemed cars boost past him unexpectedly, startling him enough for his control of the wheel to falter. Veering off to the right just slightly, the rear-most member of the Crew begins driving along the track’s mossy coating without a reason to adjust strategy. “Shit, they got him! They got him!” Lana shouts in surprise as her glance at Ronny’s transmission shows the track fall away from his vehicle, which ascends high into the air alongside the driver. “Oh no! Oh no!” the ‘Lil Red Express racer proclaims as the beastly adversary’s rotting vines wrap around his truck’s exterior, lifting him off the track and into the sky. “Guys! Don’t drive on the moss! Don’t drive on the moss!” Ronny shouts into his mic, holding off on using the angel button just long enough to warn those that are forced to leave him behind. Listening to the terror in the scrawny mechanic’s voice, the remaining members of each squad watch the captured ride disappear in a bolt of light, returning to the second level escaping tragedy. With a squint in his eye, Mark takes notice of the journey ahead before catching a glimpse of the vehicles that lead them a rather sizable distance ahead, their green tail lights easily picking them out from the crowd. “I see we all made the right choice this time!” Pat exclaims, looking toward his left to see a second stretch of racetrack running parallel to their own, the DSRC and the one drone they trail appearing to be neck-and-neck with the remnants of the other three groups. Staring past the Firebird beside him, Nolo takes notice of the chopper fleet on the track beside their own before instinctively triggering his car’s propulsion system. “Wayland!” the Kaiyo leader proclaims, jettisoning his vehicle into the air as the leading member of the Crew attempts to turn into him, making an effort at running the man off the road before finding success elsewhere. “Shit!” Vert barks aloud, pulling off to the left just as his squad’s leader had wanted to in order to avoid the back half of Mark’s car, forced into the mossy coverage that slows his chrome NSX down just enough to fall victim to the stratum’s beast. “Nolo, it got Vert!” Kurt warns through the microphone, watching the youngest member of the Kaiyo team’s camera flash with light before suddenly firing down the second level’s exit ramp. “What the hell, Wayland!?” Harland calls out, growing impatient with the out-of-line driver’s antics enough to voice his frustration. “Do you wanna beat these Kaiyo pricks or do you wanna keep hearing them bitch about us, huh!?” Mark fires back, again firing his thumb into the boosters that carry him closer toward the drones that lead them. Not letting up on the opportunity, the Esteemed use another boost to fly past both of their rival groups, following the youngest Wayland brother’s lead before what remains of Kaiyo follow suit. “I wouldn’t keep so close by each other’s side, boys!” Butch warns, keeping a steady pace behind the drone car they make natural progress on with the use of its draft, aware that their journey within the stratum is bound to end sometime soon. Disregarding the concerns, Nolo catches up to the front of the pack whilst their superior’s voice fills his helmet. “Butch is right, drivers! You’re playing this dangerously close as is!” Caesar shouts aloud, reclaiming the microphone from the Kaiyo driver that occupies his left side, “the goal isn’t to beat each other- the goal is to beat the corporation!” Disregarding this information, Mark angrily slams his finger into the booster once more, only for Ross to match the same, their leads growing on the Kaiyo driver that takes a moment to consider his options. Without warning, Talia pulls away from her leader’s draft and overtakes him, speaking not a single word in the process. Looking toward his right, Nolo watches the woman’s face obstruct itself with a presentation of two fingers, her index and middle digits held together as she follows through with her overtake. “Two fingers, Kurt!” the Kaiyo driver proclaims, registering their plan with the man who can do nothing more than sit back at the second level and hope for the best. “Good thinking, Talia” Kurt mutters beneath his breath, sparking a smirk as he nods to himself, satisfied with the coded language. Shaking his head, Harland refuses to pay much in the way of mind toward the unexplained information before following Mark’s lead and hitting the boosters again, an action repeated by Taro. “It looks like it’s just you and me, meathead!” Ross prods as he looks through his passenger window, finding the side of the younger Wayland sibling whilst grinning. “Good luck keeping up, prep bitch!” Mark blurts back, again using his booster whilst the de facto Esteemed leader follows suit, closing the distance between themselves and the corporation the rest of the way. Allowing themselves to fall behind the pack, the remnants of Kaiyo draft with each other for a few seconds at a time, maintaining ground slowly and surely as the ego maniacs ahead battle for supremacy with each other. “What are they doing!?” Caesar calls back to the Kaiyo second in command, pleased to see at least some of his drivers refusing to expose themselves to carnage in waiting, but curious as to the strategy. “You’ll see” Kurt replies, not wanting to give anything away to souls other than his own squad, his confidence in their ability to see this through successfully never wavering. “This race is mine, you rich bastard!” Mark exclaims, looking toward the car to his left whilst reaching for the booster once more, only for his speed to refuse any increase once the button’s been pressed. “Nice try, little brother...” Kurt speaks through the microphone, listening to his younger sibling’s confused grunt and identifying it with ease, aware that the man’s turbo has been depleted, “...you’re all out.” “Shit, I’m out too!” Ross exclaims, the discovery being one that the rest of the leading drivers come to realise one after another. “They’re drafting to conserve their boost!” Caesar proclaims, looking back toward the Kaiyo dash cams as the revelation dawns upon him, a grin forming in the corner of his mouth, “that’s genius!” Angrily returning their focus to the fleet of unmanned rides ahead, Ross and Mark ditch their plans of out-running each other one second prior to when they should’ve, the sight that befalls them once their attention is paid back to the track leaving them no time to react. “Oh fuck!” the younger Wayland sibling shouts whilst the Esteemed driver beside him utters not a single word, their feet slamming the brake pedal against the floor as the drone vehicles take on another barrier formation. With as much success as they’d been met with in the Storm Stratum, the unmanned cars find their exteriors obliterated by the two leading drivers, creating a chaotic scene so unruly that neither Eric, Harland, or Taro could avoid falling prey to it as well. “Shit! Pile up! There’s a pile up!” Butch exclaims, keeping an eye out on the crisis that unfolds on the other side of the track, only for his own fleet to fall victim to the corporation’s act of desperation in exchange. “Veer! Veer! Veer!” the man shouts, leading both his son and their final remaining biker past the mossy coating along the track’s side as the drone vehicle they’d tailed slows dramatically and successfully forces them to pull off the road. One after another, the DSRC fall to the same fate as their leader had in flying off the track, their instinctive reactions allowing them to retain their safety as their fists collide with the angel button, sending the club’s last representatives back home. “Damnit!” Caesar exclaims as the motorcyclists spill out from the portal, anxiously returning his line of sight toward the approaching Kaiyo drivers. “Wait for it, Talia!” Nolo proclaims, continuing to trail behind the woman’s lead as they approach the multi-car pile up that is forced to follow the DSRC’s lead as the vines reach down to lift them from the road. “Wait for it...” the Kaiyo leader again prompts, watching a sea of rotting vineyards descend from the sky and snatch the Esteemed and Crew drivers off the track, leaving them very little room to work with. “Now!” Nolo barks, watching Talia’s M-Coupe vanish from the front of him in a burst of light, the woman’s fist having struck the angel button and freed the squad’s leader a path onward. Just as his second in command had in the stratum prior, Nolo triggers his propulsion system and hoists his Porsche through the air, launching over what remains of the Esteemed and Crew vehicles as they vanish into thin air one at a time, returning to the second level and leaving him on his own. “Nolo, you’re the only one left!” Caesar frantically exclaims, watching the driver’s onboard camera present the distant sight of the concentrated energy, “the end is right there!” More focused than he’s ever been before, Nolo looks toward the track toward his right to find the lone corporation car travelling at an equal pace to himself, their final descent upon the finish line proving to be a contest worthy of a photo finish. With other ideas in mind, the Kaiyo driver slams his fist against the booster system on his wheel and fires off into the distance, obtaining a commanding lead on the corporation adversary with the finish line in sight. Having other ideas of its own, the drone car flashes its headlights into the air ahead as it lags behind, playing one of the last cards it has to count on. “Keep steady, Nolo! You’re almost-!” Kurt exclaims, falling silent at the same moment that his group’s leader feels his confident drop, the end of a race having never felt so far away than it does in that moment. Descending from the stratum’s sky, a cylindrical tube plummets into the final stretch of track left for the human driver to traverse, the explosion that follows blinding the Kaiyo driver with such an intense blast that he can do nothing less than stomp on the brakes. “Woah, what the hell!?” Vert shouts from the ever-increasing group of drivers that watch on from the second level’s main ground, the transmission that all eyes focus on- the only one emanating from within the stratum- instead broadcasting nothing more than a white screen. Held back with every fibre of his seatbelt’s being, Nolo’s body thrusts forward as his vehicle screeches to a complete stop, the blast’s shockwave sending it as far back as the track will allow. After a few seconds, the Kaiyo driver watches the debris settle in the remaining three hundred yards between himself and the portal as the final stretch of track he’d yet to descend upon vanishes without a trace. Unphased by the explosion, the drone vehicle blasts past the stationary Porsche with the assistance of the stratum’s booster fans and fires through the concentrated energy, claiming the victory it’d stolen from the human driver who’d proven himself worthy. “NO!” Caesar howls before punching the screen registering Ronny’s transmission, forced to watch the corporation snatch the victory from Nolo’s reach just as the other drivers outside are. Tilting his head to the air with equal aggravation, Kurt conceals his disappointment far better than his superior does whilst Ellis is just left to hang his head, suffering the same sensation of being so close, and yet, nowhere close enough. Falling from the air, the beastly stratum keeper’s rotting vineyard arms collapse onto the track in every direction, its horrid composition decaying immediately once the portal had been breached by a car worthy of winning. Falling inactive just as it had suddenly sprang to life, the Swamp Stratum hosts just the fully-stopped Porsche and the distraught driver who struggles to do much more than stare at the race’s endpoint, forced to accept that his efforts had been in vain and fallen fruitless. From ground level, Vert punches the air as he turns away from the massive screen whilst Talia hangs her head in defeat from the driver’s seat of her M-Coupe. Confused, Harland and Taro look toward each other’s car and into the other’s visage, both seething with rage at the failure their subordinate had forced upon them. Shaking his head subtly, the co-founder displays his dissatisfaction with the younger Wayland sibling’s actions before driving off, an aggravation the Crew’s leader reciprocates. == Driveline == 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 == 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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