S1, E2 | A Long Way from Home

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 ==