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Season Two Finale
“Enter” Hamilton remarks, seated at the head of a conference table with a pen in one hand and his head in the other, eyes looking upon the pages of a document whilst his visitor enters. “I have Mr. Greenwood here to see you” Delilah replies, stepping into the large, open office space with a leather-bound book pressed against her bosom, her figure directing itself toward the man that seems too preoccupied with his business at hand to lend much focus upon her. “Send him in” Hamilton replies with little regard, accepting the drop-in as being no different from any other. Taking the cold and dismissive interaction as nothing personal, Delilah journeys back the way she’d come and grants the full-handed employee the permission he needs to advance beyond the waiting room. “Thank you” Charlie whispers as he passes the secretary, walking up to the long table with a set of large papers in hand, laying them gently upon the surface that the doctor soon rises from. “Good morning, Mr. Greenwood” Hamilton remarks, placing the cap upon his pen and tucking it into the pocket on his jacket’s breast whilst approaching the employee, shaking the man’s hand upon their paths crossing once more. “Good morning, Dr. Caesar” Charlie responds with a smile, though his heightened nerves are made present in his lack of outward confidence, looking the scientist in the eyes for as long as he can manage before forcing himself to pull his sights away. “I was told that you had taken my advice into account, Mr. Greenwood. I take pleasure in that... I don’t like losing” Hamilton remarks, taking control of the conversation that he can tell his employee lacks the natural salesman-like attitude to openly embrace. “Well, yes. I know that, and I’ve drawn up a few different things that I think can make up for the lack in our cars’ defence capabilities” Charlie responds, looking upon a small mountain of concepts that he’s interested in presenting. “You’ve drawn up a few different things, but you’re really keen on showing just one...” Delilah remarks from behind, watching over the discourse as a third party that the engineer soon turns his eyes toward, caught by surprise at her interjection, “...isn’t that right, Mr. Greenwood?” With a lifted eyebrow, Hamilton faces his secretary whilst glancing toward the confidence-lacking employee beside him through the corners of his eyes. Though his lips remain parted for a few seconds, Charlie says nothing in response before closing them once more, his eyes falling to the ground as he turns away from the woman and back toward his drawings. “Yes” he says meekly, turning to face the pile of documents that he proceeds to sift through with slight disregard, passing over various, seemingly freshly-drawn blueprints in favour of the one that lies at the very bottom. Keeping to himself, Hamilton lets his chin hold high whilst coupling both hands at his waist, watching the large canvas that’s picked out from the rest be presented to him without a word. “What am I looking at, Mr. Greenwood?” the scientist inquires, his face wearing the reservation of a man willing to hold off judgement until he gets a better understanding of what meets his eyes. “I don’t really know what to call it, but it’s a very big machine” Charlie replies, speaking to the truth that the depiction on the paper illustrates. “I can see that. You’ve scaled it- seemingly with accuracy- against one of our cars” Hamilton replies, nodding to himself as he points toward the tiny-appearing vehicle in the wake of the gargantuan monolith that towers behind it, “that would take a lot of time to build, now wouldn’t it?” “You asked me to conjure up a blueprint for something that would make up for what the racing cars lacked, sir...” Charlie replies, finding the slightest will of courage to address the man who now meets his eyes with a stare of his own, correcting the question that’s asked, “...you never told me that my ideas would need to be limited.” With the corners of his lips arching upward, Hamilton smiles with a nod before glancing back to the canvas that he’s presented, inspecting the elements of the design before reaching out to gently claim the paper for himself. “That would be because there are no limits to your ideas” the doctor responds assuringly, putting a smile on the face of the woman that patiently stands behind them, overhearing the conversation that unfolds with pleasure. “This will take a long time to build, yes. However, if the results prove worthwhile... it may just be an investment well spent” Hamilton remarks, putting a slight grin on the face of the engineer that begins feeling somewhat accomplished in his concept’s warm reception. “The design would feature compartments for the human drivers, their vehicles, and most importantly- their stratum keys- to be stored into” Charlie explains, watching an expression of joy take shape as best it can in the doctor’s face, “it’ll just sweep them off the track and into the machine.” Nodding along with what he’s told, the corporation’s figurehead gently returns the paper to the man who’d brought it to him, having seen all that he needed to in order to justify making a decision. “I want this brought down to the appropriate departments with the utmost discretion at once” Hamilton remarks, wandering back to the seat that he’d originally occupied before reclaiming the pen and document that he’d initially been looking over, “I want production to begin on the machine immediately.” Putting his signature to the contract, the doctor turns over the paperwork to the employee who’d brought forth such a reassuring design, doing so whilst Delilah approaches, reassuringly tugging at the engineer’s arm. “Well done, Mr. Greenwood...” Hamilton remarks whilst resting a hand upon the younger man’s shoulder, his opposite extending an open hand for him to shake at, “...you’ve delivered as requested.” = 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 = Sitting in the cafeteria with a cup of coffee in hand, Vert stares at the door he’s yet to see anyone other than himself walk through, sharing the eating area with no one other than himself and the thoughts that cloud his head. Having finished his breakfast nearly half an hour ago, the less than lukewarm brew that he holds within his grasp finds itself nearly gone, though the gymnastics that his brain seems adamant about continuing to play make for trouble with sitting through. Unsatisfied with sitting around any longer without answers to his questions, the youngest of Kaiyo’s team journeys toward the conference room and finds himself unsure of where to go next. “Can I help you?” Caesar inquires, calling out from behind the desk of his office, noticing the driver’s entrance before watching him approach without a response. “I want to go back and see what those flying robots you send into the races with us caught” Vert answers only when already through the office’s open door. “The conditions of the last race made it incredibly difficult to pick up anything of note. We had them follow headlights whenever visible” Caesar replies, dismissing the man’s request as being of little value as he returns to typing down his thoughts into the computer that his keyboard sits mere inches away from. “I don’t care, I just want to know what they saw” Vert replies, watching the scientist’s eyes lift toward him once more, slightly irritated at the persistence of the NSX’s driver. “Fine, knock yourselves out” Caesar responds, gesturing toward the control centre dismissively before returning his attention to the computer once more. Turning around to do as instructed, Vert begins walking off before suddenly pausing, carrying a squint back toward the doctor that he proceeds to question, “hold on a second... What do you mean by ‘yourselves?’” Eventually finding the answer to his question by entering the control room, the Kaiyo driver finds the side of a familiar face sitting in one of the chairs that Ellis would normally occupy, the eyes that the fellow driver wields continuing to carefully inspect the footage. “I’m pretty sure I have all of the different feeds lined up” Taro confesses, leaning back in his chair with both hands coupled behind his head, casually leaning away from the screens whilst the opposing racer draws nearer. “What the hell are you doing here?” Vert asks with surprise and confusion, not having anticipated finding the Crew’s co-founder to be taking the same initiative he’d set out to endure. “The same thing that I’m sure you’re here for, I would guess” Taro answers, pulling free a second seat that he’d pulled from the conference room in preparation for the arrival he assumed would eventually take shape, “you’re slightly convinced Alec is telling the truth, but you can’t justify believing him unless you see so for yourself.” With a slight grin, Vert looks toward the man that proceeds to pat the unoccupied seat, finding agreement in the same conclusion powerful enough to journey forward without a word. Taking the seat that the Crew’s co-founder frees for him, the Kaiyo youngster joins his fellow driver in inspecting the footage presented to them as the morning carries onward, the rest of the second level residing within near-silence as the other racers either settle into their morning routines or continue their peaceful slumber. | Catching his ears with their each exasperation, Kurt’s exhales of breath accompany his continued run around the cavernous home base, the sweat that glistens over his body catching the lights that hang from the very roof like makeshift and temporary solutions to a problem with no real answer. “Hey, Kurt!” a voice calls out from the garage area, interrupting the man’s morning stroll in a way that prompts the Kaiyo second in command to smirk. “If you’re trying to cause me trouble or fuck with my car again, don’t bother” Kurt responds back, matching the declarative tone of the shout that had caught his attention to begin with. With a leisurely stroll, Mark journeys toward his brother with his head hung, wearing nothing more than a pair of blue jeans, a sleeveless, white shirt and a pair of black running shoes. Despite having a well-built physique similar to his brother’s, the younger of the siblings approaches with his hands swinging by his sides as if his arms were weightless. “If you’re coming over here to talk about the last race, I told you exactly what was going to happen. It’s not my fault-” Kurt begins to remark, only to be kept from continuing by the dismissive interruption of his brother’s voice. “You and Kaiyo aren’t leaving, are you?” Mark questions aloud with a squint, ending his advancement upon the rival driver with a few feet remaining between them and finding a curious gaze being given back to him. “Of course not. We knew what we signed up for in that first race” Kurt answers, taking the seldom-experienced scene of peace between himself and his younger brother as an opportunity to speak freely, “we can bite our tongues and hope Caesar doesn’t screw us over while also wishing he didn’t feel the need to, you know what I’m saying?” “No, no... I get it. I hear that. I just wanted to make sure” Mark replies, nodding with approval at the reassurance before allowing the air to go quiet, veering his eyes off to the depths of the second level’s interior whilst his brother grows curious. “Why do you ask?” Kurt questions back, regaining his brother’s line of sight with the question, “are you hearing something that I’m not?” “About Kaiyo? Hell no. Every single one of you could die from that carbon monoxide shit and I’d only end up finding out because of you. There’s no way in hell I’d know anything until the inside comes outside” Mark responds, shaking his head before glancing toward the clubhouse, “I just don’t really know what to expect. The Crew ain’t talking to me, so I’ve got no idea who’s going and who’s staying.” “I can almost guarantee you that Crew’s not going anywhere” Kurt responds, watching his brother again set sights upon him, “if Caesar said they wouldn’t get paid at the end, that’d be a different story. But you pink slip-eaters aren’t turning away from a race just because it’s some jackass in charge of letting you on the track.” “I don’t know that for sure, but I’m just about as sure of that as you are. It’s the others that I’m more confused by” Mark responds, crossing his arms whilst looking back to the garage, his brother stepping forward to follow a similar inspection of the second level’s far reaches from the open spot beside him. “I’m pretty sure those two are sticking around, but I don’t know about their dads” the Crew’s exiled son confesses, watching Pat peel open his garage whilst Tyson’s remains closed. “I don’t think that guy and the loudmouth that I think is their leader are related. The other two are from what I can tell, but not the others” Kurt corrects, tucking both hands into the loose pockets of his baggy shorts, “then again, you might be right... I can never tell anything with those guys other than that Pat seems to be decent.” “I don’t even know if I want to know who’s decent or not amongst them. That seems too big of a mess for me to try figuring out” Mark confesses, shaking his head at the seemingly freshly-awakened Diavel’s driver before earning a curiously raised eyebrow from his brother. “You say that as someone trying to befriend the leader of probably the most dysfunctional group in this entire place?” Kurt challenges, prompting an amused smirk to lift over his little brother’s face. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not gonna tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. With that said, swallow your pride and give Kaiyo some credit...” Kurt quips, “if you were to try and figure out any group, Kaiyo at least still has all of its members on the same page as each other.” Rolling his eyes, Mark shakes his head dismissively before setting his eyes toward the clubhouse’s direction, taking momentary solace in the moment of civility he shares with his sibling. “Alec’s not that bad of a dude. He’s real annoying at times, I’ll give you that... But I don’t think he’s all bad” the Crew’s timeout-sentenced misfit confesses, finding a lack of reluctance in the claim from his brother. “I don’t think anyone’s all bad. I don’t doubt that you’re right about him” Kurt replies, shrugging his shoulders at the suggestion before glancing toward his brother and patting him on the back, “whether he chooses to let that side of himself show remains to be seen.” With a shrug, Mark accepts the common ground discovered before watching Kurt walk off, sitting with his thoughts for a few seconds before letting his eyes fall momentarily. “Hey, Kurt?” the fully-clothed driver questions aloud, prompting the sweating jogger to turn back, finding his brother’s slightly-disheartened expression looking back at him, “bringing up Revere Beach was a pretty low move.” Having regained control of his breathing, Kurt meets the remark with a deep inhale before looking away, having to clear his sights of the sibling’s figure in order to address his thoughts accordingly. “Yeah...” the Kaiyo driver replies, nodding in agreement before again looking toward Mark whilst stepping backward, an apologetic visage worn back to the sibling, “...I know.” | Casually returning to the residential space with a cup of warm noodles, Talia lifts a wad of cheap, chicken-flavoured strings toward her lips and bites off only what she wishes to chew, nearing the door to Kaiyo’s space before an unassuming figure rounds the corner at the same time. Stopping in her tracks, the mid-bite driver centres her attention upon the face that had carried an unpleasant expression until spotting her, the man’s figure coming to a halt just as she does. “Hi” Eric softly remarks, watching the woman wipe at her chin with the knuckle on her index finger before setting the plastic fork down and sliding the pair of headphones from atop her head. “Hey” Talia replies with equal reservation, trying her best to slowly chew her food before opening her mouth again, not wanting to appear traditionally uncivilised. Visibly more cheerful than he had been before bumping into the rival faction’s lone victor, Eric scratches at the back of his head with one hand whilst the other extends toward the woman he considers a friend. “Congrats on the win. I didn’t get the chance to say that before” the Esteemed’s odd man out remarks, wearing a grin that the woman can’t help but reciprocate, though she tries hard not to let it show. “Thanks” Talia replies, having swallowed most of her bite before beginning to lean against the wall to the DSRC’s residence, “it’s surprisingly easy to win when you just keep jumping from one track to another.” Amused, Eric smiles and bows his head whilst holding back a laugh, the expression of humoured pleasure that he wears being strong enough to provoke a near-shattering of the Kaiyo victor’s stoic display as her grin breaks through and a laugh threatens to leave her lips. Without anything to serve as a reply, Eric simply continues bobbing his head up and down whilst Talia watches on, waiting for something verbal to be offered as a retort. “Mhm!” the Esteemed’s racer mutters, catching the Kaiyo supplier by enough surprise for her chin to jut forward for only a moment with how unexpected the man’s mumble was, looking for clarification that the man can’t help to explain in a way that alleviates the oddity of the interaction. “I don’t know what that was, I just didn’t think to say ‘yes’ fast enough and just went to what I thought of first” Eric concedes, laughing as he finishes the thought just as the woman does the same, allowing the final walls that surround her air-tight exterior to fall. Crumbling into a heap of laughter just as her friend does, the light-hearted nature of the strange interaction takes complete control over the drivers whilst Ronny emerges from around the same corner as the Esteemed’s racer had. “I love pot as much as the next guy, but you guys might be smoking a little bit too much” the Crew’s mechanic remarks as he passes by, prompting the drivers that remain behind to fall into even deeper laughter, amused at the comment even beyond Ronny’s vanishing around the corner. Allowing their humour to die down in the name of regaining their composure, the racers begin refocusing upon their initial intentions with lighter hearts than what they’d begun the day with. “I should go on, I guess. I missed dinner last night and my stomach is really growling” Eric declares, watching the woman’s head nod as he announces his departure. “Yeah, I should get back to...” Talia replies, falling short of a response in lieu of how little she had to do prior before coming into a sudden change in thought, “...you know what, I think I forgot my drink up there.” “Your drink?” Eric questions back, furrowing his eyebrows at the playful way in which the woman had suddenly come along with this realisation, taking the excuse as an invitation to offer a suggestion of his own, “I guess that means you should probably join me in going up there, huh?” With a smile that she can’t find the strength to hide, Talia nods approvingly at the man she softly nudges in the side with her elbow, walking alongside him as they trail off toward their newly-shared destination. | “Nothing” Taro concedes with the shake of his head, capping off the transmission without satisfaction as the remaining footage that was collected watches Pat spill out of the portal and back home. “This isn’t going to give me any more peace of mind” Vert sighs, tilting his head back the moment that final camera shot goes black, joining all other monitors in fading to a dark nothingness. “Well, we knew this was a longshot to begin with. No one can blame us for trying” Taro rebuttals, patting the younger racer on the shoulder as he turns away from his seat, venturing toward the window that overlooks the second level with a hasteless pace. “I don’t know what the hell to think now. I was so sure he was talking like what he was saying was true” Vert replies, spinning his chair around to face the Crew’s co-founder with defeat, “he must be one hell of an actor.” “He could be a good actor, or there’s a conclusion far more likely and less difficult to believe...” Taro responds, turning his back to the window and crossing his arms with a casual lean against the overlooking bannister, finding a confused racer looking back at him. “What? That he’s working with those guys?” Vert questions back, unsure of what other option there would be upon finding the silent shake of refusal that the Crew’s statesman presents to him. “Their cars all look the same. Really sleek and in-uniform from what I see... I’m not sure they would just have a black McLaren in their ranks for no reason” Vert responds, coming to the only other solution he can find as being viable. “That’s not what I’m suggesting either. Though, that’s not as much of a stretch as some others could be” Taro corrects, earning nothing more than a shrug of complete loss from Kaiyo’s curious mind. “Your eyes could have been playing tricks on you, Vert” the Crew’s co-founder concludes, immediately finding vehement refusal take shape in the face of the man across the room from him, “all I’m saying is that you could’ve thought that you’d seen something that you really-” “Taro, I know what I saw” Vert interjects, remaining steadfast in the declaration that both he and Ronny had come to, “Monkey feels the exact same way.” “Ronny said he didn’t get that good of a look at what you saw and was just choosing to believe what you said” Taro quickly chirps back, doing so in the collected and calm tone he seldom ever strays from, “I’m not calling you a liar, Vert. I’m just suggesting that you may have believed that you saw something that you really didn’t and-” “Taro, please...” Vert interrupts again, prompting the friendly racer of the rival club to go silent and allow the younger man’s insistence to speak in defence of his suggestion, “...I know what I saw.” Closing his mouth, Taro looks on at Kaiyo’s driver for a few seconds without responding, his squint eventually carrying itself back to the window with a view of the clock that draws closer to ticking toward an ultimate conclusion. “Well, that leaves us with a few simple solutions that are too difficult to get a consensus on and a few other-worldly solutions that are too hard for us to grasp in order to believe” Taro explains, keeping his stoic and non-judgemental posture intact as Vert approaches. “Believe me or don’t, that’s up to you. I’m just making it clear that I-” the Kaiyo racer concludes, only to find push back to his concession preventing it from being fully voiced. “What I do or don’t believe isn’t what’s important. What actually matters here is what really happened” Taro responds, continuing to stare out at the second level whilst Caesar steps into the centre of the lot below. “Either your eyes were wrong, Alec is secretly working with whoever these other guys are, or...” the Crew’s co-founder speaks aloud, pausing as he lets out a sigh of outright uncertainty whilst the clock nears the final seconds, “...there’s something out there pretending to be one of us.” “Attention drivers. Please make your ways to the garages for a meeting with Dr. Caesar” Ellis’ voice proclaims through the speaker system, perfectly timing itself with the end of Taro’s declaration. Joining those that already gather together, Vert and Taro follow Eric and Talia in rejoining with the rest of the finest racers the temptation of financial wealth can buy. “Once the energy is fixed into a portal, you will have two minutes to decide whether or not you will take it back to your homes” Caesar proclaims, addressing those that collect together from their various formations, “if you choose to take this opportunity to leave, you will not be allowed back. I will never make contact with you again, and you will be unable to ever return to the second level. This will be the end of your stay.” “You going back?” Pat whispers to the man that stands beside him, paying no mind to the older members of their former group in the way that Tyson does, Butch’s son staring a hole through the pair that cast him aside with an angry scowl. “No...” the younger of the Tarken family members replies with ease, crossing his arms and leaning against the concrete divider between his friend’s garage and his own, “...I’ve got nothing to back to.” Nodding toward the tower in which he most frequently occupies, Caesar gives Ellis the greenlight to program a return home, allowing the energy to fixate upon itself before erupting into a perfectly transparent view of the open field in midwestern America, and triggering a timer of two minutes to set itself upon the clock that had previously been counting down from twenty four hours. Unmoved for a moment, each of the sixteen racers appear to keep to themselves with no change in their demeanour. Crossing his arms whilst leaning against the hood of his Firebird, Mark remains steadfast in his refusal to take the offer whilst looking toward his brother, who remains beside Nolo with a raised eyebrow, not only unphased by the offer but taking it as humorous just as promised. “Fuck it” Ross proclaims with aggravation, his right hand shaking as all eyes begin centring themselves upon him aside from Caesar’s own, whose face remains glued upon the open portal. “Where the hell do you think you’re going!?” Alec calls out, watching his friend stroll toward the Tributo without so much as a second thought. “I’m going home, asshole!” Ross proclaims, unlocking the doors to his vehicle whilst Alec chases after him, “I’m not putting up with any of this shit anymore!” “Lana, get in the Pista and park in front of him!” the Esteemed’s leader proclaims, pointing toward his girlfriend before grabbing a hold of his friend’s shoulder, only to receive a punch to the mouth for his troubles. Refusing to move from his position or allow his staff to break up the altercation, Caesar continues to allow the outburst to take shape whilst the rest of the drivers watch on. “I think I should go help them” Eric mutters aloud, standing beside the woman that watches on without a clue over what to do, though taking notice over the fact that it seems her Esteemed-affiliated friend doesn’t either. Pulling out of her garage first, Lana parks the Pista in front of the Tributo that Ross only now gets behind the wheel of, shielding Alec as he lingers on the ground whilst trying to get over the shock of the strike that had been inflicted upon him. “Ross, there’s no going back once-!” Lana attempts to reason, rolling down her window to call out for the man that pays her warning no mind, stepping on the gas and slamming into the pink cruiser that his vehicle has little trouble in pushing aside. “Woah, woah! Hey! Preppy!” Nolo proclaims at this sight, storming ahead just as Kurt does whilst the Tributo slowly begins picking up speed, noticing the Esteemed’s leader that just begins to make it to his feet, “preppy, get out of the way!” Too dazed to react accordingly, Alec narrowly manages to pick himself up before he watches the Tributo speed toward him without halt, the foot that Ross presses upon the pedal refusing to lift so much as an inch. Holding his face with widened eyes, the Esteemed’s leader takes notice of the danger in the final seconds before it closes in on him, threatening to mow him down without regard as Nolo calls out once more. “Preppy! Move!” Nolo calls out once more, before watching a man burst out from the crowd and slam into an awestruck Alec at the last second, tackling him away from danger and collapsing to the floor in the same breath. Narrowly avoiding catastrophe, Mark braces for impact as winds tear through the air around the speeding Tributo, having avoided being hit just as the Esteemed’s leader had whilst the cherry red car takes toward the winding track. Gasping for air at the suddenness at which he’d been spared from certain doom, Alec pushes himself off the ground and begins running toward his garage, forcing himself to slow in his run just slightly as he tries to free a set of keys from within his pocket. “Alec! Alec! Let it go! Let it go!” Mark proclaims, pulling the McLaren’s driver away from the garage whilst the sound of Ross’ tires continue screeching along the track, winding the portal that both the Esteemed’s leader and the Crew’s kicked out son soon force their eyes to lock onto. “I have to stop him!” Alec shouts, trying to pull away from the muscular arms that hold him back, trying to keep him at bay from interfering in what he cannot stop. “He’s already on the track, Alec! There’s no stopping him now unless you’re going out with him!” Mark proclaims, speaking reason into the ear of the man that- even in the height of chaos- fails to find a way of arguing against such a fact. Clenching his teeth and bearing the weight of watching the Tributo speed off, Alec watches his friend speed around the track and draw into the set of fans that propel him through the portal, spitting him out into the real world once more whilst the rest of his team watches on, unable to stop the man from the decision that he makes. Crushing tall grass in the midwestern field beneath the early morning sun, Ross’ Tributo collides with the soft ground and comes to a stop, finding no road to continue journeying upon and only the peace of quiet to befall his departure. With wide eyes, the driver looks around the surroundings that he now embraces before fumbling around for the handle to the door, allowing his feet to touch upon the earth’s natural covering once more with a look of surprise, gazing at the sky he’d popped out of. Back in the second level, the fifteen racers that remain stare at the concentration of energy to find the face of the newly-exiting driver looking back at them, his eyes unable to catch the sights of them, but their view affording them the final image that they’ll receive of the Tributo’s rider. With nothing more than all-zeroes taking shape on the clock, the portal seals up and returns to a state of unopened waves, wiping the sight of Ross’ surprised, sun-covered face from their view and returning them to the domain that they now release all say back over to Caesar. == Driveline ==
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“It simply didn’t feel necessary” Caesar remarks, standing at the front of the table that each racer stands around, refusing to take their seats and, instead, opting to remain on their feet directly behind them. “It didn’t feel necessary? What the hell kind of an excuse is that!?” Kurt shouts back, his eyes wide with rage and voice deep with frustration.
“We felt that it was best if-” Ellis attempts to interject, garnering the focus of those who drive for his superior before stopping prematurely at the lifting of the doctor’s hand. “This is not your burden to shoulder, Ellis” Caesar remarks, talking his subordinate down from clearing the air that he, alone, is responsible for muddying, turning his sights back toward those who take to each stratum for him before following up, “I felt that it was best if we didn’t add yet another concern to an already-large list of worrisome circumstances surrounding the stratums.” “No, I’m not going to accept that answer” Kurt replies with haste, watched on by the majority of those who share his frustrations toward the man responsible for bringing them to the second level. “It’d be one thing if you just didn’t tell us, but that’s not what you did” the second in command of Kaiyo remarks, doing so calmly, but with a voice strengthened by an obvious vigour that he holds no hesitation in unleashing, “you stood there and told us that they’d stay open for as long as we were in there...” Bowing his head, Caesar presents a reservation that lasts only the matter of a few seconds, his lips parting to answer the criticism levied at him. “I had-” the doctor attempts to speak, only for the sound of the voice that had spent the last few minutes scolding his decision making to interrupt, preventing him from continuing onward. “No...” Kurt remarks, watching the superior’s eyes lift with the rest of his head, waiting for the Kaiyo driver to finish, “...you lied.” Slightly further lifted, Caesar’s face takes solely toward the man opposite him for a second before his lips press together, eyes wandering to the rest of the room that remains quiet up to this point. Standing in the back of the room with great displeasure taken amongst each other, the Esteemed cross their arms and look on judgingly, coming together in unison to silently agree with the rival faction’s comments. Refusing to say anything different than what the Kaiyo mouthpiece had to this point, the DSRC keep their comments to themselves, even the youngest member of the club managing to find common ground with the passionate group of drivers. Standing between the Esteemed and his old faction, Pat shares the same gesture that the exiled Mark and the group he’d been suspended from take toward the front of the room, scowling with a squint of dissatisfaction. “Yes... I lied” Caesar responds, confessing to exactly what he’s been accused of, though the slight furrowing of his brows leaves the rest of the room to find a man who’s not satisfied with leaving the admission of guilt off at that. “Whilst I don’t lie for no reason, I beg of you this question... Does anyone lie without reason?” he furthers, challenging the various looks of displeasure that he receives from around the room. “We’re not talking about anyone else and we’re not talking about any other lie” Alec replies from the back of the room, his arms remaining crossed whilst a few drivers turn to look in his direction, “this lie could’ve gotten us killed.” “Don’t be so dramatic, Mr. Mayweather. Mr. Jacobs is the very proof you need that I would’ve never let it come to that” Caesar responds, gesturing his hand toward the direction of Pat, who remains composed in his quiet disgruntlement with the doctor. “I think I speak for everyone when I say that it’s not the lie that’s the problem...” Kurt speaks up, again taking the centre stage of the conversation whilst the rest of the drivers watch on silently, “...it’s that we can’t trust you.” For all of two seconds, Caesar’s head lifts toward the ceiling before falling effortlessly toward the floor with a grin, the hands that he couples behind his back remaining locked together. Nodding to himself as he stares at the floor, the doctor curls his upper lip at the repetition of the comment in his head, repeating it to himself before finding himself unable to hold back a smirk from forming over his face. “Would you like me to be bothered by that, Mr. Wayland?” Caesar inquires, watching the Kaiyo driver’s mouth close without a verbal reply to offer, uninterested in exchanging conversation in the direction that the discourse appears to be heading. “I can maintain civility, that’s for certain. What I won’t maintain is some illusion that I... in some way... am beholden to you” the professional remarks, eyeing down Kurt before panning his eyes around the room, “...any of you.” Keeping to themselves, the drivers of each group remain silent in their response to the man that refuses to let them leave, watching on as he breaks from the stoic stance near the front of the room and begins pacing from one wall to the other. “I am unphased and unbothered by the way in which any of you think of me. Consider me in poor light, in good light, hell... in no light whatsoever. Consider me however you will...” Caesar explains, staring at the ground as he continues walking, “...but consider me unmoved.” Reserving his scepticism, Kurt stares at the surface of the table whilst the rest of Kaiyo remains silent alongside him. Feeling the doctor’s comments to be far from done, the Esteemed and the Crew look away from the powerful figure that strolls ahead whilst keeping their ears glued to what he has to offer. Leaning against the wall in the back of the room, Pat hangs his head toward the floor whilst the rest of the DSRC maintain unflattering glares toward the second level’s creator. “Up to now, all of you had made the conscientious decision to race for me the moment you entered the first stratum. That was, at least, the conclusion that I had come to” Caesar remarks, squinting as he looks back toward the field that collectively gathers before him, “but now, I’m not so sure I can believe that.” Intrigued by the mental gymnastics it seems the professional has endured in order to reach an opinion yet to be spoken, Vert pulls out a seat and lowers himself into it, kicking one leg up over the other. Watching the younger man across the table from him with a lifted eyebrow, Taro shares a similar investment in hearing the doctor out, proving this by taking a seat upon the same table that each driver joins together at, crossing his arms and looking toward the scientist. “Maybe Mr. Mayweather was warranted in his little outburst a few days ago. Maybe it truly is unfair to expect all of you to capitulate to my intelligence or my superiority” Caesar remarks, prompting a few eyes to pass in the direction of Alec, whose expression remains unchanged. Holding back his intrigue in hearing the doctor out, however, the Esteemed’s leader quietly focuses his every thought on what the second level’s creator has to say, feeling justified in the emotions that he carries toward him. “If your wish is to go back home, I will allow you one chance to do so” Caesar remarks, prompting curious eyes to grow even further sceptical at the proposition levied toward them, either not believing or not wanting to believe in what they’re being told. “In twenty four hours, I will open a portal that will spit you out into an open field in Arkansas that you will have the freedom to take back home with no strings attached” the doctor proclaims, “I will not contact you, I will not bother you, I will leave you be.” “And if we don’t take it?” Mark immediately inquires, prompting the doctor’s chin to direct itself toward him whilst the professional traipses toward Kaiyo and the DSRC’s side of the table. “Then you will be accepting the terms that you are to answer to me, race for me, and act upon my every declaration as drivers allowed to enter the stratums on my behalf” Caesar answers without issue, speaking coherently and with the reflection of a man unbothered by either outcome. “Is it really such a burden to ask for more transparency that you’d rather send us back where we came from then just be a little more honest with us?” Kurt challenges back, tucking one hand into his pocket whilst a voice from the back of the room speaks up. “I never thought I’d agree with the street punks, but that one’s got a point” Alec comments, nearly having to bite his tongue in order to confess his agreement with the rival driver, “I don’t care if no one trusting you doesn’t bother you, but why the hell wouldn’t you want anyone to trust you?” “Because there are some things that are better left unaddressed and you’ll either have to accept that or leave” Caesar replies, prompting Taro’s eyelids to begin nearing closer to each other, his hesitancy to fall in line with such a conclusion making itself present in the glare he holds forward. “What happens if we find out some of those things by happenstance?” Kurt proceeds to wonder aloud, “who knows how many races we have left? Pat got the time limit secret out of you just, what? Five races in?” “Six, but I don’t expect any of you to be keeping count when you’re travelling at speeds that would make heads turn on people back home” Caesar replies, again turning his body toward the group once he returns to the centre of the table, “but I will address those unexpected consequences if or when they arrive. Until then, they will be tucked away in the back of my mind to such a degree that they practically no longer exist.” “So the deal you’re giving us is to either accept that we’re just being sent into these races with the outside chance of dying and we’ll never know when or how... even though you will and pretty much won’t tell us...” Vert replies with a puzzlement in his face, “...or go home and forget that any of this existed?” “That is correct” Caesar replies, stepping back from the table without an expression of any specific emotion carried on his face, the slightest bow of his chin accompanying the departure that he takes in favour of the adjacent control room, “you have twenty four hours to decide.” Collectively watching the doctor walk off, the four groups leave themselves to a chorus of silence that eventually brings all eyes back toward each other, uncertain looks around the room searching for solutions that none of the clubs immediately have. = 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 = “We’ve got issues to work out” a voice calmly calls out from behind the Esteemed, following the travelling trio of their leader, his girlfriend and the most level-headed of them all with hands balled into fists at either side. Stopping, Eric leads Alec and Lana in turning back as they draw nearer to their clubhouse, addressing the fourth member of their group that keeps his voice low enough for the other drivers to not overhear. “What?” Alec inquires with a scowl, purposefully keeping his hand from the reach of his girlfriend as he addresses his closest friend. “I’ll get to you in a second, but I’m talking about the issues I’ve got with E-man” Ross replies, slowly approaching his teammate whilst the Crew passes by, heading for their clubhouse whilst their co-founding ‘Cuda Convertible driver glances in, recognising the look of trouble within the ranks of the wealthy quarter of their collective cohorts. “Why?” Alec inquires, stepping forward just as Eric does, speaking in a low voice that fails to truly capture the attention of his best friend. “I said these are issues with E-man and I. You’re not a part of them” Ross responds, mean-mugging the blue Huracan driver as he nears closer, only to be surprised by the figure that quickly steps ahead and separates the two differing sides. “This is my group, I am every part of them” Alec rebuttals, interjecting with a straight face that his friend immediately takes unpleasantly to, scowling at the self-proclaimed leader before redirecting his vigour toward the man that seemingly requests it. “Where the hell was that attitude when you went dark on us in the race then, Alec?” Ross challenges, finding a lack of change in the expression that’s worn by the Esteemed’s frontman, “you weren’t much of the leader then, were you?” “What happened between the two of you?” Alec asks instead, refusing to address the concern that his friend had raised in favour of getting to the root of the issue at large. “If you’d been there, you’d know. Now move out of the way” Ross cuts back, refusing to entertain the conversation that’s desired with preference to the business he’d intend to start. “You’re not having this conversation until I say so” Alec replies, refusing to back down from the position that he’d taken before feeling the purposefully gentle tap on his shoulder that the man he sticks up for proceeds with. “It’s alright, Alec. I can take care of-” Eric attempts to reply, only for his assurance to be disregarded by the man who persists with the disruption to discourse. “I said this conversation isn’t happening until I say so, and that applies to both of you” Alec responds, directing his face toward the man that stands behind him whilst speaking, though his eyes remain locked upon the drug-pushing disruptor, “what happened in the-?” “Forget it” Ross proclaims with a scoff, shaking his head before lifting both hands in a show of surrender, stepping around Alec with displeasure before feeling the heavy palm of the leader’s hand press against his chest. “You’re not going anywhere until we-” the frontman responds, refusing to let his friend walk away from the altercation before his comments are cut short, the weight of his body being shoved back by the retaliatory push that his friend’s out-thrown arms prompts. “Don’t fucking touch me, Alec!” Ross shouts, elevating the altercation to the point of a scene, raising his voice in a way that prompts the members of each rival faction to make for the doors to their respective clubhouses. “You can’t just decide to be the leader when you want to be and then fuck off when it doesn’t work for you!” the angry driver of the red Tributo proclaims, pointing a finger at the man that immediately lunges into him, shoving him back just as he’d been pushed. “I’ll do whatever I goddamn please, you fucking junkie!” Alec barks back, matching the man’s raised proclamation and watching his friend topple back into the wall of their clubhouse. With a vicious scowl, Ross refuses to reply verbally in favour of attempting to return the favour, pulling his hand back to throw a punch before Eric grabs him by the waist and pulls him back whilst Lana steps in front of her boyfriend, hoping the idea of assaulting a girl will prevent the angered teammate from pursuing the fight any further. “Get the hell off of me, E!” Ross shouts, fighting for a few seconds to free himself from the peacekeeping driver’s grasp before finally finding success, having to stumble around before reclaiming his balance whilst the rest of the team stays behind. “Fuck all of you! Every goddamn one of you motherf-!” the substance-less racer howls, spitting as he retreats toward the group’s garage, refusing to let himself finish the string of curse words by turning away. Holding one hand out toward the poorly-restrained leader, Eric holds out hope that the battle between the two sides has come to pass whilst Alec grimaces with rage at the display his friend had taken. Turning around once more with his finger raised, “and that junkie comment was fucking low, asshole!” Ross concludes with a growl-like tone, at least slightly decreased from his prior yelling as he turns away, retreating for the cafeteria whilst the rest of the groups watch on. | “I thought we decided on no smoking until after we figure out who’s leaving?” Talia inquires with curiosity as she watches her teammate’s hand extend a lit blunt to her. “Yeah, but I feel like your victory got lost in all that chaos out there” Vert replies with a smirk, allowing the woman to take the first hit off the freshly-lit dart, “congrats on the win, Tals!” “Yeah, congrats Talia” Nolo responds from the corner of the room, taking a wet towel to the visor on the helmet that had suffered in the elements of the last race, “the first Kaiyo driver to win one of the races!” With both eyebrows raised, Talia graciously accepts the offering before addressing the man’s comment, “you’re not mad about it?” “You think I’m gonna be jealous of you?” Nolo queries back with equally lifted eyebrows, a grin carried in his face, “I’d like it to have been me, sure. But it’s still Kaiyo that won... I’m not gonna put on a sour face.” Shrugging at the comment, Talia accepts the man’s conclusion before lifting the stuffed wrapper to her lips, accepting the sweet embrace of the pot smoke that fills her lungs as the clubhouse’s door opens. “I thought we decided not to light up until after some people started leaving tomorrow?” Kurt inquires, entering with his leather jacket draped over one shoulder, “I could smell the aroma before I even got in the hallway.” “We’re celebrating” Vert responds with a grin, settling into his beanbag with good spirits whilst Kurt traipses through the room, tossing his jacket onto the bed before rummaging through his drawers. “Now that we know Talia won before any of us even remotely had a chance, it seems pretty clear that you didn’t split off from us ‘cause you saw a shortcut” the second in command of the group remarks with a smirk, “where the hell did you run off to, kid?” With his smile intact, Vert’s pleasant demeanour begins growing slightly stagnant, replaced with a thousand yard stare that, at the very least, looks somewhat approachable. “I don’t actually remember what I thought I saw” the youngest member of the group confesses, squinting his eyes whilst the rest of the group chuckles, though only the woman’s laughter is induced by the marijuana, his feigned look of confusion masking the fact that he doesn’t want to own up to what his call was. After a few minutes and one half-baked excuse later, the driver’s fist begins tapping at the door of his rival faction, finding a familiar face when the entrance opens. “Is something wrong?” Taro inquires, taking on a warmer tone than the dismissive one he’d intended on answering with upon the sight of who beckons for his answer. “Not really, I was just hoping I could talk to Monkey real quick” Vert replies, finding a squint in the eyes of the man that stands across from him, recognising the confusion that’s brought along with his request, “sorry, I was hoping to talk to Ronny real quick.” Suddenly clued into who the visitor was looking for, Taro steps through the door and wanders across the hall, opening the rival faction’s door to the sound of conversation already in progress. “I just don’t know why you’ve gotta go lying about it! He saw you!” Ronny proclaims, addressing the already-irritated leader of the Esteemed whilst standing in the centre of their clubhouse, glancing over his shoulder with the opening of the group’s door. “Jesus, don’t you care to fucking knock?” Alec questions aloud, throwing his arms out at either side as Vert enters their domain without announcement. “I don’t even care that you cheap-shotted me... I’ve grown used to expecting that shit from you” Vert replies, visibly irritated whilst stepping ahead of Taro, who remains in the doorway with his arms crossed, “I just want to know what you know about them.” “About who?” Alec calmly questions back, standing near the foot of his bed with his arms crossed and chin leant forward. “The guys in the masks that keep telling us to be quiet with their fingers!” Ronny proclaims on his allegiance-mate’s behalf, speaking as if that part were to already be well understood. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” the Esteemed’s leader shouts, throwing his arms out at either side as the increasing frustration of the entire day begins truly settling in with him. “I don’t know why you’re even bothering to play stupid about this! We all know you pull cheap shot crap like this all the time!” Vert barks out, again taking over the centre of the conversation as he steps forward, “I just want to know what you know about them that we don’t!” Angrily placing his hands to either side of his forehead, Alec begins rubbing at his temples in hopes of calming himself down, trying to rid of the headache that his aggravation has brought on. “I don’t know why you’re working with them or what you’ve-” Vert again begins doubling down, trying to be as impartial as he can manage so as not to come off judgemental and abrasive, though he stops once the calm and acceptable rebuttal from the driver across the room interrupts him. “I have no idea what the two of you are talking about” Alec replies in a civilised manner, again holding each hand out at either side whilst shaking his head, seemingly at a loss. “Alec, I saw your McLaren drive off with one of those guys Tyson saw in the race before” Vert replies, matching the leader’s relaxed tone so as not to further amplify the issue at hand. “Listen, jackass... I have no idea what you’re talking about. That’s not going to change because it can’t... I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about” Alec again responds, keeping the same decent reflection in his voice throughout the rebuttal, “I’d been racing against Harland and Taro the whole damn time. Ask them where I was.” “We lost you about ten minutes into the race” Taro replies from the front of the room, answering honestly to the request that the Esteemed’s leader makes, “we kept trying to catch up, but it never seemed like we could after we crashed with those big rock things in the middle of the track.” “Then check my dash-” Alec responds with defeat, shaking his head whilst extending a hand toward the conference room they typically inhabit, only to stop himself short of the suggestion when he recalls the start of the race. “You threw that one out your window pretty much right out of the gate” Lana replies with a sombre tone, speaking to the conclusion that her boyfriend had already come to. Letting out a sigh, Alec places his hands against his hips and hangs his head, staring at the ground before taking a seat at the end of his bed. “The only group with those super cars here is yours, and you’re the only one that drives one that’s a sleek shade of black” Vert replies, again addressing the man with genuine tranquillity in his voice. “I don’t know what to tell you, street scum... You must’ve thought you saw something different than what you did” Alec answers with the shake of his head, unsure of what other conclusion to come to. “So that’s the story you want to go with?” Vert questions back, finding the same, passive shrug being given to him by the Esteemed’s leader, a non-verbal nod of the wealthy driver’s head all that offers him closure on the matter. | Strolling through the garage lot with a protein bar in hand, Tyson glances toward the DSRC unit as his friend carries a pillow over one shoulder and a blanket under the arm of the other, preparing to head to sleep with his mind on tomorrow’s matter seemingly already made up. With continued journey through the halls, the Tarken son steps through the DSRC door with eyes following the patterns of the ground, caught by surprise at the sound of a refusing call. “Nope” Dale remarks, groaning as he climbs off the chair he’d been relaxing in with a beer in hand, shaking his head in refusal at the young man that now stops in place. “Get out” the DSRC’s president remarks, prompting the youngest remaining member of the faction to squint with confusion at the declaration. “It’s a protein bar. What are you allergic or something?” Tyson questions back, puzzled as to the reaction that he receives from the president, looking toward his father’s visibly displeased expression for clarification that the approaching biker’s comments fail to yet offer. “You’re not welcome here anymore” Dale replies, squeezing the young man’s shoulder before attempting to lead him back the way he’d come. “Get the fuck off me, retard!” Tyson proclaims as he jerks away from the president’s grasp, stepping back from the DSRC shot-caller with increasing bewilderment. “You and your friend have been too much trouble for your own goddamn good... You can join him out there in the garage” Dale replies as he seethes, pointing in the direction of the side lot as the confusion on the face of Butch’s son begins to fade. “Who the fuck do you think you are, you pathetic drunk!?” Tyson calls back, watching the president’s angry face take shape at the insult before the man’s hand pulls back. “Dale, calm yourself, damnit!” Butch proclaims, firing off the couch and pulling the leader’s body back to avoid an altercation he could see coming from a mile away, “you have the right to kick my son out, but I’ll be damned if you get the right to lay a hand on him too!” “Are you fucking serious?” Tyson calls out with anger, hearing his father’s conclusion and taking the most amount of issue with it. “He’s the president of the club, son. I can only talk a man down so far down from a ledge he’d already started throwing himself off of” Butch replies, further drawing the ire of the offspring he seemingly allows to be cast aside and into exile. “What fucking club!? We’re the only ones here!” Tyson shouts back, finding an immediate shift in the tone of his parent’s demeanour from apologetic father to stern disciplinary. “Don’t you raise your voice with me, I already told you what mess the two of you were getting into!” Butch responds, offering his retort as if it justifies anything that surrounds their current discourse. “This is fucking ridiculous! You’re taking the side of a pathetic, childless drunk with no real power over your own goddamn s-!” the youngest member of the group replies, only to find his comments cut short by the stinging sensation of his father’s hand cracking against the side of his face. Still wearing the angry expression on his face that appears to slip slightly into an immediately regretful and self-ashamed frown, Butch waits for his son’s reaction whilst staring him down, doing so whilst watched over by the lead biker. With clenched teeth, Tyson stares at the ground with a scowl and flared nostrils for a few further seconds, eventually looking back to his father’s eyes with a reserved rage that he didn’t imagine he’d be capable of offering. Angrily discarding his snack onto the carpet before spitting out the bite that he’d yet to chew alongside it, the kicked-out member of the now-fractured group quickly drags the jacket off his body and shoves it into his father’s chest. “Go to hell, you ballsless pig” Tyson defiantly growls beneath his voice, spewing a wad of spit from his lips and onto the grounds he’s no longer welcomed upon, grabbing his pillow and blanket before stepping through the door without another word. Letting out a heavy exhale the second the clubhouse entrance slams shut, Butch presses his eyelids together whilst begrudgingly grasping upon his son’s vacated jacket, hearing the dismissive groans that Dale gives off as he returns to his chair, going back to drinking as if nothing had ever happened. Reaching up toward the strap to his garage door, Pat attempts to close himself in for the night before passing a glance toward the approaching driver he’d once been a teammate of. Without uttering a word, Tyson looks toward the Diavel’s rider and gives him a nod before stepping into his garage and slamming the door shut behind himself, silently making it clear that the two now board the same metaphorical boat. With raised brows, Pat continues to stare at his friend’s garage for a few further seconds before following suit with what he’d initially planned, closing the entrance to his makeshift workshop and unpleasant studio apartment for the night. For a few seconds, the lot sits with silence as the air goes quiet, affording those that now call the unwelcoming chambers home an opportunity to get some much-needed sleep. == Driveline == “That road looks ominous...” Talia remarks to herself, driving alone whilst feeling the heavy bass that spits through her headphones press against the side of her head at will. Eyeing a straightened-out stretch of track a few paces above that emerges from the fog just as it returns to it, the woman shrugs her shoulders and taps her thumb against a button on her steering wheel, “...count me in” she remarks as jets propel her vehicle from below, launching her onto the elevated stretch of roadway.
Picking a direction to drive at random, the Kaiyo departee carries out her continued journey whilst anything but occurs almost directly below on a completely separate stretch of track nearly a mile away. “Druggie, you better knock this shit the hell off!” Dale angrily remarks, pulling back on his bike and dodging Ross’ attempt at side-swiping him by the skin of his teeth, the front wheel nearly skimming the rear bumper of the cherry red Tributo. “You got lucky! You got-!” Ross proclaims with glee, wagging his finger toward the DSRC leader with a chipper grin before feeling the driver’s side of his vehicle being slammed into by the blue Huracan. “Ross, don’t make me tell you again!” Eric proclaims, straightening out his vehicle after purposefully colliding with his teammate, forced into creating separation to avoid slamming into another unpleasantly-placed rock tower. “Get lost, E! If you want to win, go do that!” Ross replies, taking his opportunity to offer a retaliatory collision once the obstruction has passed, bouncing off the Huracan angrily. “Dale!” Butch proclaims, grabbing the attention of the leader whilst driving near the edge of the track, pointing to the depths below at a stretch of roadway that appears beneath them. Able to barely see it stretch out from the hazy distance, the DSRC leader gives his vice president a quiet nod before joining the man in pulling off the track. “I’m sick of your bullshit, Ross! You’re doing stupid shit that’s gonna get people hurt!” Eric proclaims to the reaction of a scoff, unable to hear a rebuttal from his teammate before the woman that trails them speaks up. “Hey, boys... your toys got away” Lana remarks, passing the DSRC as they purposefully drive off the racetrack, eating the impact of the road below before carrying on with their journey without the threat of the drivers above. “Damnit, E! Look what you fucking did!” Ross proclaims, again slamming his Tributo into the side of the Huracan to the result of flying sparks. Growing increasingly irritated with his friend’s antics, Eric scowls at the cherry red ride beside him before returning the favour, slamming into the driver’s side of the car whilst the pink Pista continues to tail them. “Why the hell are you two such idiots!? Can’t you boys quit being morons!?” Lana exclaims, having grown tired of seeing the back and forth that unfolds between her teammates, “Alec isn’t even here! Let’s just get this race over with and deal with this at-!” “You’re not the boss of me, Lana! And you’re not either, E!” Ross interjects, shouting back at those he’s meant to race alongside, though now races seemingly in spite of, “I’m gonna drive however the hell I want!” Slamming on the brakes whilst the Pista and Huracan initially carry on with their pace, the Tributo skids to a stop before turning back for the place in which the DSRC had leapt from. “E, what the hell!?” Lana exclaims, forced to quickly stomp on the brakes herself at the red flash of lights from the blue car ahead, the man she’d been left to follow now following the same lead as Ross, “a little bit of warning next time would be great!” Disregarding the woman’s comments, Eric allows them to be left in silence as he turns back to follow the Tributo, not needing long to spot the track that stretches parallel to their own and know what his teammate intends to do. Catching up to Ross whilst the Pista’s driver follows his lead, Eric refuses to step on the brakes as he watches the Tributo come to a slow stop, lining itself up with the roadway below to ensure as clean of a transfer as he can manage. Looking back toward the stretch of track before glancing toward the cherry red car again, the Huracan’s driver eventually turns his eyes to the place upon the ledge that would be leapt off of, considering his options with very little time to do so. Beginning to spin its wheels, Ross’ Tributo begins making for the edge of the track just as the inbound Huracan’s driver triggers his booster, firing down the track at excellent speed before being refused any further momentum at the stomping of its brakes once more. Immediately turning his vehicle upon its side, Eric drifts across the track and perfectly approaches the ledge at the same time as his teammate, slamming into the vehicle whilst stopping the progress of his own at the same time. Alerted to this act in only the second prior to their contact, Ross’ eyes take toward the passenger’s seat and watch the headlights disappear, replaced with the sound of skidding tires and the view of the blue machine slamming into him and completely throwing his course into disarray. Sent flying off the track, the Tributo plummets through the air whilst spinning out of control, colliding with the edge of the road below before toppling overboard and plummeting into the stratum below. “E!” Lana proclaims, trying to go easy on her brakes as she slows to a stop, hairs flying into her face as she steps out of the car, running up to the man that follows the same lead. In shock at both his ability to take the action that he had and the ease in which Ross’ car had vanished below, Eric stands at the edge of the track looking down, finding the faintest amount of damage worn on the roadways surface and nothing more than a hazy underbelly where the Tributo must have descended. “What the hell did you just do!?” Lana calls out, looking down for the results of what had occurred just as the man does, though she continues to stare out when he breaks from his shock and sprints back to his car. “Caesar, did he make it back?” Eric inquires, speaking into the radio that he knows the doctor will be listening into. “He’s fine, not that it matters...” Caesar responds whilst Ellis nods assuringly to him, “...none of you are winning me this race anyway.” Looking out at the second level, Ellis finds an irate Ross bursting out from the Tributo whilst throwing a water bottle he’d carried into the stratum, shouting so loud that his voice carries upward with force. “Why the hell would you do that, E!? We’re supposed to-!” Lana proclaims, angrily storming out toward the man that she’s meant to be aligned with, only for his voice to overpower her own, cutting her declaration off with as angry of a tone as he’d been given by the cherry red car’s racer. “I don’t want to hear a goddamn word from you!” Eric proclaims, going quiet for a moment as the sound of silence that surrounds them in the eerie, horror-like environment takes centre stage. With a disheartened, glum attitude, the man lowers himself back into the Huracan’s driver’s seat before reaching out for his door, “you’re no different than them.” With blatant disregard for his teammates, Eric slams his door shut and pulls away from the ledge, returning to the race in the direction that Ross’ initial diversion had kept them from continuing down. Standing put with the man’s comments, Lana watches the red and white lights on the back of the Huracan fade as it speeds off once more, leaving her and the pink Pista behind as she stands in the road, unsure of what was meant by the remark, but knowing it to have been insulting. = 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 = “You’ve got one of those robot things tailing you, Kurt” Nolo warns, continuing to keep his distance from the corporation car whilst maintaining an eye out for his Kaiyo brethren. “I see him” Kurt replies, passing a glance to the automated vehicle trailing behind him whilst continuing to place his focus purely upon the younger brother that speeds ahead, believing himself to be in the driver’s seat. Utilising the aerodynamics of the chrome RX-7 ahead of it to soak up a slipstream, the corporation car continues to gradually make gains upon the Kaiyo second in command, though he loses it little by little each time with every break in the track that obstacles call upon being accounted for. Following his brother’s lead in avoiding each boulder that emerges ahead, Kurt keeps a squinting eye out for the robotic vehicle behind himself, not wanting to be prevented from having a chance at proving his point by the pains in Caesar’s side. “Hey, Nolo? Do me a favour, won’t you?” Kurt inquires, still able to make out the headlights of the club’s leader in the foggy distance behind the corporation car, “keep to the far right side of the track for a minute or two.” Wanting to refrain from even a gesture of understanding being offered to those that aren’t intended to hear it, Nolo remains silent and simply flashes his right-most turn signal toward the leading teammate, following through on the request and giving the older Wayland sibling some peace of mind. “You still lagging behind there, brother?” Mark questions aloud with a grin on only one side of his mouth, confident enough in his abilities to keep the lead he’s gained to begin poking back at the sibling who’d done just that. “Just giving all of this some thought... that’s all” Kurt replies with the same one-sided smirk as he allows the corporation vehicle to continue catching up, drawing nearer and nearer whilst a stone directly ahead in the centre of the track also approaches. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’m sure someone proving that you’re not the best driver in the world is gonna sting a little...” Mark replies, prompting the slightest shake in his brother’s head in reaction to the claim, “...especially when it’s your little brother.” Gripping the wheel a little tighter with his left hand whilst his right palm wraps around the head of the gearshift, Kurt’s right eye squints the slightest amount as he comes head-on with the boulder, violently using the slippery track to his advantage as he purposefully sends himself spinning. Given no time to adjust for the added speed his draft had gathered, the automated vehicle slams on the brakes in the moment that the rock is detected without luck, slamming into the stone and folding up like an accordion as tiny fragments of the vehicle burst into the air like an overcooked serving of stovetop popcorn. Hearing the screech of his tires as a ball of flames fires into the air, Kurt corrects his steer whilst spinning out, keeping himself present enough to recognise the surroundings and again send the front of his car toward his little brother’s direction. Watching flames spit out of the mountain of scrap metal that he passes, Nolo begins nearing the centre of the track once more whilst his teammate triggers the booster. Expertly avoiding one stone after another, Mark catches the faintest glimpse of his brother’s vehicle rocketing toward him through the rear view mirror before it takes to the skies, propelling off the ground and launching itself far beyond the once-leading Firebird. “What the hell!?” Mark calls out instinctively, watching the taillights of the chrome RX-7 return to the ground and again stake ownership over the road ahead. Gaining complete control of his vehicle back with a prideful grin, Kurt looks into the rear view mirror whilst the Firebird is again forced to play catchup, “that’s real best driver in the world shit, little brother” he chirps back, listening into an aggravated growl from the Crew’s exiled son as he punches the wheel. | “You’re not getting any separation from me, buddy” Tyson remarks, swerving between stones and around pillars of rocks nearly neck-and-neck with the factionless rider. Continuing to ignore the presence of the man that persists with his attempts at breaching conversation with him, Pat focuses on his driving and navigating the slippery terrain that comes with the course, the hair that’s grown out to the tops of his ears flailing in the whipping wind that his excessive speeds confront him with. “Is it an apology that you want?” Tyson inquires, speaking to a man whose voice refuses to present itself back, following his acquaintance’s lead to ensure he doesn’t lose sight of him through the silence, “do you want me to apologise for not throwing away my family because I don’t like the drunk asshole that my dad answers to?” Refusing to address the figure that follows along, Pat uses a stone with a flat, inclined edge as a ramp that provides him a momentary break from the road, doing so as he continues refusing his friend the comfort of a response. “I’m not gonna apologise for that if it’s what you’re looking for. I don’t like what Dale does or says sometimes, but I’m not just gonna turn against the DSRC because he says some mean shit” Tyson explains, occupying the opposite side of the track from his friend, but drawing closer with each obstacle thrown in his way. “I’ve known those people back home for my entire life. My father raised me into it” the tailing biker expresses, leaning his full weight to the left as he rounds another pillar of rocks, “I’m not going to throw that away over an argument.” Incapable of preventing himself from shaking his head in refusal, Pat disregards the comments as draws nearer to a cluster of rocks strewn around the track, quickly looking for safe passage through them just as his former teammate does. “I saw that head shake” Tyson proclaims, readying himself for the maze-like array that they approach whilst the outlaw grits his teeth, trying to mask his displeasure in the gesture being caught. Turning inward, Pat quickly sets his bike upon a small break in the thigh-high set of stones before approaching the biggest boulder of the bunch, quickly veering to the right before losing control of his back wheel at the end. Gathering himself in the same moment, the slightest slip-up prompts the biker’s back tire to slam into the stone that he attempts to redirect himself outward against, spinning the bike out and taking the rider off of it in the process. “Shit!” Tyson proclaims as he expertly emerges on the opposite side of the maze, catching a glimpse of his friend’s body sliding against the wet ground whilst his bike bounces off the ground and flips over repeatedly. Immediately stopping in his tracks, the lone remaining member of the DSRC’s youth watches the bike crash upon its side just a few feet away from the edge of the track whilst Pat’s body slowly rolls to a stop, the man lying face down on the ground a handful of yards away. Immediately standing his bike up, Tyson rushes away from his vehicle and hurries to his friend’s aid, claiming relief in the moment that the crashed biker’s fists press against the course. “Don’t move!” the DSRC holdover calls out, dropping to a knee at his friend’s side and reaching out to help, only to be shoved back with adamant reluctance from the physically unwounded man. “I’m fine! It’s just roadburn!” Pat proclaims, stumbling back after purposefully throwing himself off balance in favour of pushing his friend away. “Quit being-” Tyson replies, maintaining his composure and balance despite his former teammate’s best efforts, stepping forward to help for a second time before being shoved away more forcefully by the man that quickly springs back to his feet. “Don’t touch me!” Pat proclaims as his hands are thrown forward, becoming level with the man who’d followed him all the way through the course, earning an unpleasant scowl from the fellow motorcyclist. “If I needed your goddamn help, I would’ve kept putting up with Dale’s shit!” Pat declares, dusting himself off whilst retreating to his bike, maintaining eye contact with the DSRC member whilst he does. “Your bike isn’t gonna get you to the end, Pat” Tyson remarks calmly, fighting past his instincts to retaliate for the multiple shoves and the harsh comments that were made to him prior to entering the stratum. “I don’t need your goddamn help” Pat replies, stubbornly limping over to the crashed bike and fighting to pick it up once more, climbing aboard the saddle once he does before attempting to accelerate, hearing the groans of the machine react to him unkindly as he attempts to push forward. “It’s not gonna get you to the end, Pat” Tyson repeats, only for the man to whom he speaks to climb off the machine once more and approach. Shoving his old teammate back for a third time, Pat begins really ratcheting up the irritation that his friend takes in their interaction, refusing to offer an explanation for the continued aggression that he displays. “Get the fuck out of here and finish the goddamn race” the crashed biker demands, pointing in the direction they’d meant to journey down, knowing that only one of them can handle the trip from here on out. “Pat, your bike-” Tyson again attempts to reply, maintaining his composure before being cut off, the tension in his friend’s pointed index finger making it clear that only one thing is being asked of him. “My bike’s fucked! Thanks for letting me know!” Pat proclaims, again setting his eyes on the track that remains untraversed by the pair, “now get the fuck out of here!” Grimacing, Tyson hangs his head whilst his arms hang at either side, his eyes eventually forcing themselves to look back at his parked VRSC whilst his brain forces his legs to walk back to it. “Pat, how are you planning to finish the race without a bike?” Caesar inquires, asking the question that the departing DSRC rider would’ve asked if he’d been given the opportunity. “I’m gonna hang out here for a bit and clear my head before I make that decision” Pat replies, watching his friend climb upon his bike once more, taking a glance over his shoulder at the outlaw he begins leaving behind before carrying on with the race. “How long are you planning on taking with your head-clearing, Pat?” Caesar follows up, letting his head rest against the knuckle that he props up on the centre console. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know later” Pat replies, setting up his bike so as not to leave it on the ground before walking over to the boulders he’d narrowly managed to slip through, hearing the roar of Tyson’s engine fade into the distance. Looking back to his right hand man, Caesar locks hesitant eyes with Ellis before joining the man in directing his attention toward a mounted clock directly opposite the doctor, its little hand ticking down with each minute that passes. | Hopping from one track to another as if she were in a jungle gym swinging from the monkey bars, Talia continues to leap higher into the stratum before finally coming to a track that simply carries itself on a consistent and steady slope, the fog of the stratum below having vanished in favour of clear, orange skies no different from what one would find of a sunset. “Sweet” she remarks as she stares at what lies ahead, gleefully throwing her car into the next gear as it begins climbing. A hundred yards below, Ronny keeps behind the purple tail lights of the slick, black vehicle whilst Vert’s NSX keeps up with it from the side. Drifting through a turn just as the mysterious driver does, the Kaiyo breakaway reclaims his megaphone from the passenger’s seat and directs his voice to the man behind the helmet, unsure of what he wants or why he drives, and unwilling to leave any stone unturned if given the choice. “The guy you talked to in the last race... Tyson... he says you’re not a danger to us like those robot cars are” Vert proclaims, unable to ensure that his words are catching the ear of the racer that he continues to maintain ground with. “Most of us aren’t really on the same page, and it’d be nice to go back with something to find common ground over” the Kaiyo driver confesses, “if you tell us a little bit more than what you told Tyson, we might be able to find common ground ourselves.” Returning to a straight away in the track, the silent racer directs the front of his helmet toward the Kaiyo driver, refusing to let the enemy see anything beyond the front of the facial covering designed to appear like a soulless, metallic figure. “Maybe we can find some way to help each other out?” Vert suggests, reaching the pinnacle of his proposition whilst the helmeted racer glances back to the road ahead, ensuring the lack of an obstacle before glancing back. Shaking his head in refusal, the third party driver lifts one finger to his lips and gestures for the man to whisper for reasons beyond Vert’s understanding, again shifting the silent signal into one that suggests the Kaiyo driver use his angel button. Growing displeased with the results he’s achieving, the youngster in the NSX tosses his megaphone into the backseat before using the turn in the road ahead to attack the driver, slamming into the side of his sleek car with intention of spinning him out. “Oh, come on Vert... Now is not the time for this!” Ronny whispers to himself, rhythmically tapping the foot that he doesn’t lay into the gas along the floor mat, trying to maintain his distance behind so as not to get caught in the crossfire. Pressing two fingers into the base of his chin, the helmeted figure steadies his vehicle and speaks quickly, wanting to reclaim the wheel with both hands as fast as he can. “I’m going to need backup” the racer concedes, keeping an eye out on the chrome vehicle and waiting for it to again slam into him, returning the favour in the same moment upon the next instance. “Understood” a voice replies through the radio, manning the wheel of a car that proceeds to immediately divert course, voluntarily sending itself off the track and into the stratum’s depths with nothing stopping it from the end of the race. Banking to the right as the track curves, Vert and the mysterious driver slam into each other again and remain as such, colliding with each other and refusing to separate until one or the other gives. “I’m not gonna let you-” the young Kaiyo driver grunts, unable to finish his thought before the opposite side of his car begins being pressed into by the driver’s side of another, catching him off guard as the fog begins deepening. “What the-!?” the fiery youngster proclaims with question, watching the luxury vehicle pull away from him just as the silent driver’s does, separating only for a moment before slamming into the NSX once more. “Preppy!?” Vert calls out, catching the briefest look at the black McLaren that joins forces with the sleek, purple-lighted vehicle he’d attempted to force into losing control, sending the Kaiyo driver into a spin out that prompts Ronny to hit the brakes. Violently thrusted into the driver’s side as the car’s uncontrolled tailspin comes to as much of a stop as the vehicle does, Vert groans whilst listening to the Crew driver’s tires burn against the track, coming to a screeching halt before he would slam into the chrome cruiser. Driving off in unison, the car with the purple lights and the black McLaren speed into the fog and fade away from sight, venturing onward in the race whilst their bested opponents attempt to regather their bearings. | “Face it, little brother... There’s no winning this for you” Kurt proclaims as the fog in the air begins to lift, fading away as the sky and the orb that hovers within it start growing brighter. “If you think I’ve hung with you for all this time just to falter at the end, you’re out of your mind...” Mark replies, glancing into the topless Spyder that follows with a humoured chuckle, “...that’s the kind of the crap that only you Kaiyo scumbags do.” Flaring his nostrils as he reserves his anger, Nolo allows the conversation ahead to commence without his interjection, not wanting to get involved in the race he knows his second in command is more than capable of handling himself. “You’ve stayed in it for long enough just to be let down at the end before, Mark. Do I really have to remind you about Revere Beach?” Kurt questions back, turning the irritation that the Kaiyo leader wears on his face into a slightly solemn frown. “Shut the hell up, Kurt” Mark responds calmly, his tone sounding more like a grunt, but coming across far too coherently for it to be anything such. “You wanted to be one of us so badly” Kurt responds, doubling down on his prior remark as the track begins ascending farther away from the cloud of fog, “you had your chance right there, and you-” “I told you to shut up, Kurt!” Mark interjects with a shout, slamming the side of his Firebird into the door that his older brother sits behind, though he’s unable to wipe the grin from the face of his sibling. “...and you missed the turn” Kurt concludes, keeping an eye on the dark-coloured muscle car that the exterior of his RX-7 continues to reflect, hearing an angry growl take shape within the core of the man that continues to race him as an equal. Quickly shaving ten miles per hour off of his continued drive, Kurt evens out his hood with that of his brother’s car as it again rams into him, this time doing so whilst the Kaiyo figurehead returns fire, firing sparks into the air as the collision causes them to bounce off of each other. “The portal’s just up ahead!” Nolo proclaims, catching a sight of the colourless, icon-less divide between the stratum and the second level as the sea parts between the two drivers ahead. Their separation one of only a moment’s length, the Kaiyo and Crew-themed vehicles again slam into each other before resulting in both vehicles losing control. “Pass me, Nolo!” Kurt proclaims whilst the RX-7’s hood turns inward, directing itself toward the trunk of the Firebird that spins in the same, counter-clockwise direction. Triggering his booster, the Kaiyo leader fires through the opening between either car and reclaims the lead, firing beyond the fans and tearing through the portal in an effort of returning home. With the soaring wind of the Spyder’s vehicle shooting through the gap, Kurt allows gravity to carry his vehicle further toward one side of the course before embracing the spin, letting the slide on the track guide him toward the portal as he steps off the gas. Instinctively trying to accelerate through the burnout, Mark’s wheel turns away from the direction he intends to head in favour of letting the ascent send him back on course, though traction evades him too much for control. Gradually increasing his speed as his dash cam presents Caesar with a view of the topless Spyder ripping through the stratum’s portal, the Kaiyo straggler reclaims full control of his vehicle before watching the back tires of Mark’s Firebird struggle to bring him back up to speed, leaving him in a near-complete stop. “That’s game” Kurt proclaims, leaving his sibling in the dust whilst the man behind the muscle car’s wheel watches him drive off, “better luck next time, little brother.” Unable to do anything more than shout from the sanctuary of his vehicle, Mark begins picking up speed just as the chrome sports car finishes the race, again defeating him in a way that only serves to fuel his frustration. “Pat, are you ready to return yet?” Caesar inquires, watching the second to last vehicle fire through the portal before hearing a calm tone of voice return itself to him. “No, give it about another hour or two and I’ll be out” Pat replies, sitting on one of the stones whilst staring out into the dense fog, able to see his bike, the track and nothing more as he collects his thoughts. “Pat, I would get back on my bike and hit the angel button now if I were you” Caesar proceeds to reply, prompting the factionless rider to squint into the distance with a scoff. “Why would I do that? Is someone gonna come up and write me a mean letter if I don’t?” Pat questions back, challenging the authority that he doesn’t understand the need for at the moment, “I’ll be out soon enough, just let me enjoy being alone for a little bit.” “Pat, the stratum is going to close in sixty seconds” Caesar rebuttals, his voice projecting itself upon the crowd that gathers together with eyes on the stationary camera upon the damaged bike, catching the drivers collectively off guard. “What?” Pat passively asks back, unsure whether or not he heard the doctor correctly. “I was trying to keep any of you from growing too concerned with not making it out of the stratums on time, so I lied to you about their duration” Caesar confesses, forcing himself to rip off the bandage in hopes that the suddenness of his confession would spark inspiration upon the driver to return to his vehicle, “each stratum only lasts a duration of one hour before it closes forever.” “Wait, as in-?” Pat proceeds to question aloud, his eyebrows furrowing as the shocking admission from the scientist seems to stick the landing with its intention. “As in once the stratum closes, you will never be able to get out of it” Caesar proclaims, prompting the rider to climb off his stone and hurriedly limp back to his chopper, “get back to your bike and hit the angel button now!” Turning on the clock that he’d fixed to the video board the rest of the drivers look at, Caesar reveals the twenty six seconds that remain before the portal closes, cluing the rest of the second level into one of the only truths he’d yet to reveal. Climbing onto the saddle, Pat slams his fist upon the emergency button and vanishes within a streak of light, firing through the concentrated energy and down the ramp of his motorless chopper. With a light grey stratum key in the palm of her hand, Talia stands with Nolo and Kurt whilst Vert angrily stares at the wealthy young adults that stand across the floor from him, the majority of Kaiyo’s eyes following the DSRC departee as his bike glides down the ramp. One after another, each set of eyes takes toward the clock above the massive screen, counting down from five internally before setting their sights upon the portal. Upon the clock reading all zeroes, the dim, grey shade blinks away as the portal closes down, doing so too many seconds after Pat’s return for it to have been a result of the angel button. In silence and surprise regardless of the moods in which they exited the race, each of the drivers take their attention toward the man that looks out at them from above, his exit from the control centre having brought him back to being the subject of the driver’s attention. Begrudgingly standing together to display cohesion, the Esteemed join the remnants of the DSRC in glaring up at the scientist, visibly displeased with everything surrounding the latest stratum. Keeping to themselves with very obvious disdain, the Crew follow a similar lead to the rest whilst one man steps out from the ranks of Kaiyo, pointing toward the professional that stands overhead. “Start talking, Caesar” Kurt proclaims, voicing the demand that all four clubs can see eye-to-eye on, finally coming to an unspoken agreement. == Driveline == Touching down upon solid track as the first to fire through the portal, the wheels of Alec’s McLaren spin with great force as his engine roars, humming like a fine-tuned machine before even the recon robots can pop through the dimensional change. “Oh, boy... We’ve got company” Pat remarks, his Diavel tailing the lead of the Esteemed’s leader whilst brief reflections of green lights in his mirrors intermingle with the clear beams that line the front of Caesar’s drivers.
Leading Kaiyo through the portal, Nolo connects with the road at the same time as one of the corporation’s vehicles do, their entrance coinciding with each other’s as they embrace the wickedly dim environment that unfolds around them. Covered in a thick layer of fog, the air grows heavy and disturbed, the sight of each driver being hidden beneath the hazy suffocation of mist. “Drivers, you have entered the Fog Stratum. Visibility will be limited, the terrain will be slippery, and you must look out for hazardous obstacles” Caesar remarks, switching his view between the recon drones and the onboard cameras just as Mark grunts, quickly slamming on the brakes and turning his wheel toward the inside of the track. Going silent as his car skids along the track, the man’s Firebird slows to a halt that allows him to narrowly avoid slamming into a pillar of rocks left at the far-right end of the track. “You couldn’t have said that a few seconds earlier, asshole!?” Mark proclaims, slamming the base of his hand against the steering wheel as he gets back on course, doing so as the DSRC overtake him, keeping their momentum whilst he attempts to re-establish his own. “This place looks like a horror movie” Kurt remarks, sitting relaxed in his seat with his dominant hand resting atop the gearshift, the sunglasses he’d worn over his eyes now being casually tossed onto the passenger’s seat. Gazing up at the sky which splits between being barely visible and almost not visible whatsoever, the second in command of Kaiyo finds a bright orb floating in the sky that he assumes is a sun, but has no way of knowing for sure. Circling around a large monument of boulders stacked upon each other for miles into the sky, the track guides the corporation vehicles and their human contemporaries into a twirl further and further downward that continues applying pressure to the racers. “How are they handling the terrain?” Hamilton inquires, dressed in casual wear and rubbing his eyes from exhaustion, having awoken from his sleep in time to inspect the stratum first hand. “They’re adapting to it adequately” Delilah replies, inspecting a read of the vehicles’ tires with a satisfied smile, watching them correct their turning for the most advantageous strategy at navigating the winding descent. Pressing his teeth together, Dale leans his Fury hard into the turn as the rest of his club follows, trying to navigate the fog with less turning leverage than the cars have. “Alec, any turns coming up ahead!?” Ross wonders aloud, voluntarily keeping close to the tail end of Talia’s M-Coupe so as not to run himself off the track, playing second fiddle to Kaiyo as his question goes unanswered from the man ahead of both clubs. “Alec, what’s going on up ahead?” Ross repeats, knowing his friend to be in the race’s lead and again going without earning a reply. “Hey, man... What’s-?” the over the counter connoisseur begins to query once more, only for the sound of the leader’s irritated voice calmly answering him with anything other than the reply to his question. “Find your own way around the track...” Alec answers, reaching toward the centre console and wrapping his fingers around the small device he soon plucks from beneath the central clock, “...I’m going dark.” “Hey, what the hell does that mean!?” Ross calls out, glancing toward his mirror to assure himself that Lana and Eric’s headlights still tail behind himself, only to receive nothing once more, “hello!?” Throwing the microphone onto the floor of his passenger’s seat, Alec follows suit by grabbing a hold of the camera on his dashboard, rolling down his window, and throwing the device at the corporation car that begins approaching him.” “Alec, turn your microphone back on right-” Caesar attempts to order, only to fall silent at the sight of the shifting of the driver’s camera, watching only three seconds pass before the feed cuts off entirely. “I think Alec just cut off communication with us...” Kurt replies, taking notice of the box that bounces off the now-shattered windshield of the leading drone vehicle, smirking with amusement at the aggressive display presented, “...all of us.” Pushing his seat up a few inches, Alec grasps the steering wheel tightly with one hand before shifting into the next gear, maintaining his lead on the automated vehicles whilst focusing on the race ahead, keeping his traction with the road intact as the wind begins to straighten out once more. From the driver’s seat on his own vehicle, a driver beneath a helmet with purple lights fixed to the base takes recognition of this severed communication, pressing two fingers to the base of his chin as the corkscrew unwinds. “The McLaren’s driver has just discarded their A/V unit” the mysterious racer remarks, paying more attention to the track ahead than the chrome NSX that he drives alongside, “we can take advantage of this.” As the long stretch of roadway continues, it begins nearing a tangled webb of addition terrain that’s yet to be travelled, the jumbled mess coming together in routes that both guide toward the heavens and the pit below, offering a few different ways to enter that stretch from the initial onslaught of trails that the drivers currently endure. “Let’s take this first right up ahead, Kaiyo” Nolo remarks, flipping his turn signal down whilst the majority of his group follows suit, pulling off toward the right of the track gradually whilst a voice speaks out from the crowd. “Hey, would you guys mind if I journeyed off on my own way?” Vert inquires, refusing to yet break away from the original line that the group had been travelling in. “If you see something you like more, you have a fun ride” Nolo replies, showing no reluctance to the request as they carry on with their turn, taking the first onramp as a collective whilst their youngest driver carries on, “good luck, Vert.” Watching his group pull off through his rear view mirror, Vert nods to himself and replies, “you too” before glancing toward the driver’s window beside himself, looking at the helmeted figure in the slick, black car that, for unknown reasons, uses green headlights. “Which way did Alec go?” Ross wonders aloud, holding out hope that he’d receive anything other than the laughter that is first returned to him. “Jesus, dude... Grow some balls of your own so you stop borrowing his!” Pat proclaims, shaking his head with amusement as he fights to keep as much control over his Diavel’s traction as possible, pulling onto a track that veers left whilst the Esteemed carry onward. Pulling off without saying a word, Harland and Taro begin directing their vehicles toward the next passageway on the right whilst Ronny remains quiet, sinking into his seat as if he were trying to hide behind the steering wheel whilst he watches his group pull off without him behind them. “Hey, Kaiyo... can you still hear me?” Vert inquires, watching a pair of headlights far behind him pull off toward the same route that the rest of his group had. “What’s going on, Vert?” Kurt replies, glueing his eyes to the track that now begins to feature more tight turns and far more obstructions to account for. “I’m pretty sure Mark just took the same offramp as you guys” Vert answers, his comment prompting the older Wayland sibling to look into the rear view mirror and eventually find the same distant set of lights that his teammate speaks of, “I’m pretty sure he fell all the way to the back and I think I just saw him turn.” “He sure did” Kurt replies with a grin, shrugging his shoulders as he lets out a steady breath, speaking beneath it whilst passing momentary looks back at his sibling, “fan-fucking-tastic.” Watching the car that had travelled beside him begin pulling off toward an exit route, Vert flashes his turn signal to the driver of the Lil’ Red Express that approaches from behind, following the mysterious racer down the nearest offramp whilst those that travel in his company follow suit in picking a route at random. = 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 = “We’ve got the troublemakers again, boys” Dale remarks, leading the soft right turn toward yet another corkscrew descent further into the depths of the stratum’s belly, eyeing the fleet of luxury cars following behind him. “Let’s not fuck with the bikers again, alright? Let’s just try to win this damn race” Eric remarks, pulling off to the right of Lana’s Pista in an attempt to overtake, only for his efforts to be thwarted by the bright red Tributo that follows a similar lead. “Screw that, E! First one to knock one of these rednecks off their bike gets twenty points!” Ross proclaims with glee, speeding up to draw nearer to the duo that lead the charge. “Quit playing games, Ross! Just race like you want to win!” Eric retorts, speeding after the man whilst Lana trails behind, allowing the boys to hurry ahead and waiting for the disaster she expects to watch unfold. “I don’t give a fuck about winning, E... I want to have fun!” Ross shouts back, disregarding the unpleasant judgement he senses from the tone of his friend’s voice as he speeds ahead, “if you want to race, go somewhere else and do it!” Punching at a button on the wheel, the teammate that Alec had initially ignored to begin the race fires ahead and speeds past the bikers, forcing him to slow his efforts just slightly whilst the motorcycle group pulls toward opposite sides of the road. Driving toward the right whilst his vice president pulls off to the left, Dale gathers his bearings whilst overhearing an amused chuckle from the prep’s end of the microphone. “Whoops! Got a little ahead of myself there!” Ross chuckles, glancing back in his mirror as he slows his pace from what he could be reaching whilst beginning the journey along the descending corkscrew, waiting for the bikers to catch up. Gathering his bearings, Dale looks toward the other half of his group before glancing back, noticing the lack of their third member and immediately calling it into question. “Where the hell did your boy go, Butch!?” the DSRC leader inquires, prompting the father to glance back as well, finding the boy to be nowhere within his sight. Keeping a focus on his driving as he ascends the banking track and manoeuvres around boulders purposefully left in the middle of the road, Pat picks up speed and bobs his head from side to side, unable to find a corporation vehicle or rival driver anywhere around him. “Can you hear me now?” a voice wonders aloud through the man’s headset, surprising the lonesome biker as the question reaches his ears, though a car remains incapable of being seen through the increasingly-heavy fog. “Who the hell is this?” Pat wonders out of curiosity, checking his mirrors without finding a set of headlights behind him. “Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you for like ten minutes but I haven’t been in range!” Tyson proclaims, not needing to introduce himself for the prolonged response to finally strike the leading biker with familiarity. “Tyson!? What the hell are you guys doing here!?” Pat inquires, carrying a squint toward the front now that he’s become certain the fellow racers travel behind him. “No, it’s just me. I broke off from the others when I saw you take this exit” Tyson assures, doing much less to explain himself than the leading motorcyclist had hoped for. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re following me” the unaffiliated rider retorts, approaching a set of rocks that he skillfully slips between the narrow gap of. “You didn’t give me a chance to speak before the race started, so I figured I’d just keep the conversation going” Tyson replies, prompting the biker that remains ahead to shake his head and roll his eyes at the response. “I’d really rather you didn’t, but I’m not gonna give you that choice” Pat responds, weaving between rock formations with precision as he maintains his lead on the fellow rider, keeping his eyes forward until he hears a roar within the distance, earning him a chance at finding a singular headlight emerging from the fog behind at significantly higher speeds than the one he rides. “You’ve got that the wrong way around, bud. I’m not giving you that choice” Tyson quips back, letting his hand pull away from the accelerator as he allows his former teammate a chance at catching up. Having lost his lead, Pat stares at his friend whilst their bikes begin climbing to a higher level, only worsening the fog that begins blanketing the air so badly even their minimal distance is sliced into, though it doesn’t stop him from taking on the urge to beat the new leader. | “When are you gonna learn, Mark?” Kurt inquires, shaking his head with a grin as he watches the headlights in his rear view mirror grow slightly closer with each mile passed. “It’s not me that’s gonna learn something, Kurt” the excommunicated Crew member replies, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he takes notice of a set of green headlights approaching in his rear view mirror. “I’m gonna leave this one to the boys. Peace out” Talia remarks, splitting from her group with the press of a button, using the jets at the bottom of her chrome M-Coupe to fire off the road at the same moment that she spots a new stretch of track just ahead. Seemingly taking on a new course entirely, Kaiyo’s feminine racer elevates herself away from the chaos that she anticipates below and drowns out the sound of surrounding drivers by bumping up the volume in her headphones to the maximum. “And then there were three” Nolo remarks to himself, hearing a scoff from the man that trails behind the remnants of his club, unbothered by the reminder. “You might as well be dead with how often you choke, Nolo” Mark rebuttals, cutting at the man’s spirit in the most obvious way that he can find, “from where I am, it doesn’t even look like you count as a third.” “You mean where you are behind me? I don’t take the words of losers to heart, Wayland” Nolo chirps back, leading his teammate toward the banking slope of the track that straightens out into a slight clearing within the fog. “Then you should keep your own words to yourself” Mark replies, slightly growing to irritate the Kaiyo leader, hearing nothing more than silence from the head of the rival group whilst his brother takes over the discourse. “You can’t beat Nolo, little brother. You can’t beat me either” Kurt remarks, glancing back at the sibling that continues to tear down the track ahead, hearing little more than a grunt as the younger brother fires at his booster. Using the clearing as an opportunity to cover lost ground without fear of accidentally driving off the track, Mark draws nearer to his opponents before being forced to step off the gas just slightly, kept from advancing beyond them as both leaders cut him off from overtaking. “Let’s play ball, Kaiyo” Mark responds, accepting his position behind the Kaiyo leader as Kurt overtakes both, allowing Nolo to continue holding his little brother at bay whilst he acts as a second line of defence ahead. “Be careful what you wish for, little brother” the older Wayland sibling prods, insisting on making sure his words dig just as far into his brother’s skin as they need to for irritation to simmer into frustration. | “Monkey, do you remember what we talked about?” Vert inquires, glancing back at the headlights of the speedy Lil’ Red Express whilst maintaining a look at the green taillights of the car that he continues to tail. “You still think it’s a good idea?” Ronny questions back, only to prompt the Kaiyo driver’s face into a smile. “I think it’s as good of a time as any” Vert responds, counting down from three before joining the Crew’s mechanic in ripping the power cord from their dash cameras and microphones, leaving the man at the helm of the second level in the dark. “What the hell are they doing?” Caesar inquires, speaking with astonishment as he stares at the monitors, prompting his right hand man to approach with raised eyebrows. “You take one side and I’ll take the other” Vert remarks just before pulling the plug, issuing his instructions to the driver that immediately begins pulling away from the NSX’s bumper, taking the driver's side of the driver-directed vehicle whilst the Kaiyo youngster takes the passenger’s end. “I believe I’m being surrounded. Stand by” the man within the helmet remarks, his fingers pulling away from his chin when the order is given before his eyes take toward the side window from behind the dark visor. “Roll down your window!” Vert proclaims, doing just that himself as the two cars at either side of the mysterious driver pull apart, driving around tall towers of rocks left as an obstruction from the race before returning to their original place. Taking a moment to consider his options, the mystery racer chooses to take on the hand that he’s been dealt, glancing toward his driver’s side to inspect Ronny’s vehicle before doing as told. “Who are you and why are you racing!?” Vert immediately questions aloud, grabbing a megaphone that he’d snatched from the second level in preparation for his search for answers. Keeping an eye toward the track ahead, the mysterious driver glances toward Vert and barely captures the question that’s asked. With the raise of his hand, the silent racer draws a circle in the air and begins pointing to it, signalling his request without uttering a word. “Are you trying to tell me to use my angel button!” Vert wonders aloud, watching the helmeted racer nod approvingly before smirking to himself and shaking his head, “yeah, that’s not happening buddy! Answer my question!” Dissatisfied with the response that he receives, the mystery driver turns the front of his helmet toward the man that drives alongside his opposite half, presenting the same gesture to the Crew’s mechanic. Shaking his head without uttering a word, Ronny maintains his allegiance with the Kaiyo contemporary, refusing to partake in the request before watching the mysterious vehicle jolt toward him for a brief moment. “Answer the question, asshole!” Vert orders upon slamming his NSX against the mysterious car, prompting the aggravated driver to sharply turn his face back, locking eyes with the aggressor from behind his facial coverage for only a few seconds. Again without replying, the mysterious driver pushes a button on his dashboard and begins lifting his passenger’s window, cutting off communication with the Kaiyo racer whilst the headlights on his vehicle go from a bright green to a sharp purple. Taking the wheel by both hands, the silent, third party motorist shifts into a higher gear and begins overtaking both opponents, sparking a competitive spirit within Vert that prompts him to follow the same lead. | “The kid’s only still ahead of us because we’re allowing him to be” Harland remarks, prompting the man that travels behind him to chuckle. “Let’s change that then” Taro replies, pulling away from the Crew’s leader before slamming the front of his ‘Cuda convertible into the expensive back half of the leader’s McLaren. Having to fight to keep his wheels from sliding all over the track, Alec adjusts course and maintains his lead, though he gives up just enough speed for the Crew’s co-founder to slightly begin overtaking him. “Are you ready, Taro?” Harland inquires with a grin, catching up in speed by drafting with the Esteemed’s leader, slipping off his lead in order to catch up and close in. “Whenever you’re-” Taro attempts to reply, only for his words to fall silent when his eyes watch the McLaren suddenly slam on the brakes and violently thrust forward, brake-checking the Crew’s leader without a moment of warning. “Harl-!” Taro proclaims in surprise, watching the Oldsmobile’s tires glide across the track as Harland’s feet hit the brakes, bringing his car to a stop before it can have the chance to be taken over the edge of the road. Unable to finish his declaration of the leader’s name, the Crew’s co-founder feels the weight of Alec’s McLaren force itself against the left side of his vehicle, pit manoeuvring him just as the Oldsmobile had intended to do. Losing control of his vehicle, Taro tries to correct his glide before suddenly slamming into the airbag that pops out of the steering wheel’s centre console, forced forward upon his ‘Cuda’s rear bumper slamming against a tower of rocks in the centre of the track. Hitting the brake pad and allowing gravity to return him to course, Alec’s momentum slows enough for him to bring the vehicle to a complete stop, unphased and mostly undisturbed by the chaos that had brought both members of the Crew to a total stop. Angered and unapologetic, Alec shifts gears once more and guides his vehicle back into the race, leaving the altercation as one that he takes as more of a brief hiccup in the road than anything else. “Goddamn, my fuckin’ neck!” Harland groans, as he punches a button beside his gearshift, forcing the airbag to retreat into the steering wheel for future use, looking ahead on the track whilst Taro does the same. Being passed up by a pair of corporation vehicles that leave them undisturbed, the duo that make up the Crew look across the hazy air at each other with disheartened eyes. Gritting his teeth together, Taro looks toward the direction that the drivers who’d passed them had taken, “that damn kid” he groans with displeasure as he snarls, accepting that they’d been bested for once. | “If you knew what was best for you, you’d move out of the way, Nolo” Mark comments, trying to overtake the Kaiyo leader as they pass another set of towering stones, only to again begin approaching another ascending corkscrew. “That’d be a bad idea on your part, little brother. Haven’t you learned anything from your time with the others?” Kurt questions back, speaking on Nolo’s behalf before finding reluctance in his comments. “I’ll make you regret calling me that if you don’t stop, Kurt” Mark assures, speaking with confidence as he begins taking on the winding climb, forced to stay on the inside of the track by the Kaiyo leader that refuses him the easy opportunity to pass. “You can’t expect me to be afraid of someone who nearly just opened himself up to being pit manoeuvred because he’s too obsessed with this impossible goal of beating me” Kurt rebuttals, “you come across lacking intelligence.” Allowing his car to gradually move closer to the outer edge of the track, Mark keeps his mouth shut before slowly pressing the side of his Firebird into Nolo’s Spyder, threatening to either push the Kaiyo leader over the edge or make his tires lose their grip with the ground. Pressing his teeth together, the man that voluntarily lingers behind Kurt braces against the overpowering weight of the Crew vehicle and tries to fight it through to the end of the circling journey. “Stay with it, Nolo. He doesn’t have enough leverage to send you over in time” Kurt warns, reassuring the leader of their position as they near closer to the end of the ascent. Fighting to prove the older sibling wrong, Mark stays with the fight to outmatch the Spyder’s frame as the climb comes to a completion, returning the drivers to a perfectly straight track in much heavier fog than before. Slowing his speed just slightly, Nolo begins descending closer to the Firebird’s rear half whilst matching the push of the Crew vehicle, sending sparks flying through the air as Mark is forced into action. Playing defence, the factionless driver pulls away from the Kaiyo leader out of fear of being taken out from behind, again falling behind the topless Spyder. “And that is why I’ll continue referring to you as ‘little brother’, Mark” Kurt responds with a grin, watching the failure of his sibling’s offence through the rear view mirror with pleasure, “you’re all emotion and action with absolutely no thought.” Grimacing, Mark accepts his failed attempt at overtaking Nolo before inspecting the track ahead for as best as he can, coming to terms with his older brother’s explanation and taking them to heart. “You want to keep going with the status quo, Kurt?” Nolo inquires, maintaining his lead on the tailing driver whilst leaving their next course of action solely up to the second in command. “I don’t think it matters what we do as long as it’s this idiot we’re trying to keep at bay” Kurt pokes back, further instigating the racer in third place to them, poking fun at the man’s expense whilst the Crew’s exiled son patiently buys his time. “Small ramp up ahead” Kurt remarks, noticing it only one second before calling it out, giving his teammate as good of a warning as he could. Returning to the track as easily as they’d left it, the trio disregard the ramp that was- to them- little more than a playground ramp to a bicyclist, taking the soft right turn ahead as it approaches. “Another small ramp” Kurt calls out a few seconds into the straight away, again warning the drivers that remain behind him. Slightly bigger than the one that came before it, the second ramp is taken with moderate ease, allowing the chrome Spyder’s wheels to slightly spin out when returning to the road, nearly allowing Mark’s Firebird to slam into the end of it. Using the banked right that approaches to begin yet a third straight away, Kurt leads the trio of drivers into yet another section of fogless air, the break in disruption to their visibility affording the man a glance at a sudden incline within the track that seemingly ends without warning. “Uh, the road is about to do a sort of slope ahead, so keep your eyes open” the older Wayland sibling remarks, prompting the younger of the two to ready himself behind the wheel. “That’s not a slope” Mark replies, only giving Kurt enough warning to question the ascent without end that he finds ahead before actually taking it. “Oh shit, ramp!’ the Kaiyo second in command proclaims with a sudden look of seriousness, freeing his second palm from atop the gear shift and placing it upon the wheel as his tires leave the ground. Watching the Kaiyo leader seemingly prepare for a big leap, Mark takes the moment of preoccupation to distance himself closer to the other side of the track, triggering his boost just in time to pass Nolo and fire through the air. As if they’d meant to be connected by a bridge that was seemingly never intended to be, two sides of the track spill into an empty void that just plummets into the chasm of nothingness below upon reaching the end of a modest ramp. Gracefully arching into the sky like projectiles fired from a gun in quick succession, the trio of vehicles float through the air before beginning to descend, though one car leaps head and shoulders above all others. Reconnecting with the course once more just as he’d seemingly meant to, Kurt returns to the track before watching a shadow pass over him from the glowing orb in the heavens, the dark-coloured Firebird colliding with the ground once more a few dozen yards ahead of his reflective RX-7. “Shit!” Nolo proclaims as his tires collide with the ground once more, losing his traction with the slippery track and spinning out in ways that leave his second in command to trail behind the younger sibling alone. Rolling to a stop, the Spyder’s steering wheel finds itself victim to the Kaiyo leader’s aggression as he punches at it, only to be returned to the moment as he watches a corporation drone car fly overhead and successfully re-establish its grip on the track’s surface. “How’s that for thought, bitch?” Mark quips back, instigating his older brother from the place that he’d earned ahead of him. With his nostrils flaring, Kurt stares at the middle finger that his younger sibling sticks through the driver’s window before leaning into his seat and reclaiming his relaxed posture. “Alright, little brother... As you wished...” the trailing Kaiyo driver replies, shifting into gear and pressing his foot to the gas pedal, “...let’s play ball.” == Driveline == “Is it urgent?” Caesar inquires, granting permission for the man at the door to his control room to enter, the well-maintained physique of his visitor being hidden poorly by a skin tight, sleeveless t-shirt. “Not necessarily” Kurt answers, entering the doctor’s domain without accompaniment, answering honestly to the professional that looks through a magnifying glass at the glowing key he’s placed before the lens, “what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Caesar questions back, allowing the driver to answer his own question, though receiving very little substance in reply. “I stopped asking myself that after the first race. Everything you do seems incredibly odd and mysterious” Kurt replies, watching the doctor pull away from the viewfinder and glance toward him from over one shoulder, “besides, you’re kind of an asshole. I figure I won’t get a straight answer half of the time anyway.” Unbothered by the remark, Caesar again presses his face into the lens as he carries on with his practise, addressing the quip that’s paid to him whilst he does so, “does lacking manners happen to be a running occurrence with everyone from your neck of the woods?” With a smirk, Kurt steps toward the man he races for whilst glancing at the key, finding its vibrant, red glow to be too fascinating to look away from. “You act like Boston is some far away land” Kurt responds, again watching the doctor passively glance toward him in between inspections of the otherworldly artefact. “Is it not?” Caesar questions back, locking eyes with the racer for a brief moment before presenting the Kaiyo team member with a grin, letting his eyes fall back upon the machine before him. “What is this non-urgent matter that you wish to address, Mr. Wayland?” the doctor inquires, allowing the skilled racer to at least not leave without confronting the quandary that has led him to the professional’s quarters. “I was just coming over to ask about finding some place to practise racing in between stratums” Kurt replies, glancing out at the second level’s main grounds from the window that resides at the back of the room, leaning against the sill at its base whilst looking back to the superior. “You have the vehicular treadmill to test the durability and performance of your cars already” Caesar replies, adjusting the microscope before straightening the tie that sits over his plain, white button up shirt, “besides, I don’t want anyone preoccupied when the stratums open up.” “Well, with all the open space down there, I figured you could expand the second level to construct some sort of racing track. Maybe something to simulate the races that we’ve already gone into?” Kurt suggests, intriguing the doctor with his proposition enough to warrant the older man pulling his eyes away from the scope. “Besides, you said this place might as well have been in a separate galaxy, right?” the Kaiyo driver furthers, crossing his arms with a smile, “I’m sure you can make it bigger if you created it in the first place?” Lifting his chin slightly, Caesar turns his backless seat toward the visiting driver before gracefully removing the glasses that sit upon the bridge of his nose, folding the arms gently and placing it upon the table just beside his machine. “The simulator isn’t an awful idea, but it will take time to construct” the doctor concedes, finding benefit to be had within the suggestion, “it would also take some time to wire the recon bots to scan each stratum for enough data to build accurate models, but it can be done.” “That works for me” Kurt responds, keeping his eyes locked with the man that continues to direct his body toward Kaiyo’s second in command. “Since I walked in on your work, I don’t suppose you’d mind sharing whatever information you’ve gathered off of that thing with me, would you?” the visitor questions aloud, taking his unexpected entrance beyond its initial intention, “these things are capable of costing us races after all. I figure it might be good to know whatever we can about them.” Stepping away from the window, Kurt approaches the doctor that proceeds to look back at the glowing key on the microscope’s plate, not speaking at first as he watches its vibrancy continue to make itself beyond unnoticeable despite the bright light of the base that it sits upon. “I know much less than I care to admit” Caesar confesses, turning the rest of his body toward the machine whilst his visitor slowly draws nearer, inspecting the key himself. “It’s warm to the touch, it glows as if it has its own energy source, and feels heavier than an object as small as it should feel” the scientist explains with a squint, resting his forearm against the table that the microscope sits upon. “Well it clearly doesn’t work with the laws of physics that we know of. That should be right up your alley, right?” Kurt questions aloud, watching the professional continue to stare amazedly at the device below him, “you created this whole dome thing pretty much out of thin air. You’ve accomplished more than any of us thought was possible, so there must be something you learned in your studies- or whatever the hell you did before this- that gives you some insight into this.” “I knew complex mathematical equations that I proceeded to break apart and create new theories out of” Caesar remarks with ease, speaking as if any random person could understand what that means, “I was told maths could be manipulated, so I did just that and started discovering more than what anyone should be able to.” “Whatever that nerd-speak means, it sounds perfectly fit for figuring out a little tool like this” Kurt concludes, not wanting to get himself hung up in language practically foreign to himself, and favouring the simplest of reassuring dialogue, “just do some reverse-engineering shit. That stuff people talk about with weapons and nuclear stuff... And plant-based meats or something like that. I don’t know, you’re the scientist here.” “Reverse engineering this key would be like trying to explain French to an English speaker when you’re only fluent in Russian” Caesar responds rather quickly, prompting the driver to squint and look toward him with confusion. “You’re capable of more than someone who can only speak one language, but that doesn’t mean you’re fluent in every language or can even begin to grasp one other than what you’re used to” the scientist explains, looking up to find the bewildered expression that the visitor feeds him, “I don’t know how to speak this key’s language, for lack of a better word.” Less puzzled than he had been five seconds prior but still nowhere near the same dialect that’s being spoken, Kurt concedes intellectual defeat and lets his shoulders fall with a deep exhale. “Then figure that part out however you know how to, I guess” the Kaiyo driver remarks, taking a step back as Caesar’s amused expression takes back to the device before him, “or to speak in your analogy’s terms, whether you speak Russian or English, you can still recognise the French language somehow, right?” With a squint of his own, Caesar turns his head toward the exiting driver that continues to walk backward for the door. “I believe the French use words that end with ‘-ois’ more often than any other language” the scientist concedes, watching Kaiyo’s second in command clap his hands once before extending the tips of his pressed-together fingers toward the superior. “Figure out what this key’s ‘-ois’ words are then” Kurt replies, hoping he’s offered help in some way he hadn’t entered with the intention to, “I don’t know, you’re the one that started the language metaphor and I’m just going along with it.” Letting his eyes fall as his hands press against the tops of his thighs, Caesar smirks with the shake of his head whilst the departing driver chuckles. “You know better than me, but maybe you’re looking too hard at this. Figure out where the thing is from and maybe you’ll figure out how to make the numbers dance... Or do whatever the hell you do with them” Kurt concludes, stepping through the door without offering another word. “Have a good evening, Mr. Wayland” Caesar remarks as the racer departs, watching the automatic doors seal back up at the driver’s exit, returning the professional to his self-imposed isolation. Letting out a deep sigh, Caesar stands up from his seat and gazes toward the window that his visitor had occupied only minutes prior, “if only it were that ea-” he whispers to himself. *crack* Interrupted by the sound of tiny glass panes breaking, Caesar spins around toward the station he’d only just stepped away from, puzzled and surprised at the chipping he’d overheard. Retreating back the way he’d come from, the doctor reaches toward the table and picks up his glasses, inspecting both lenses that each wear indistinguishable cracks, originating just an inch to the right of each panes’ centre and branching out four ways toward each corner. Astonished, Caesar looks back toward the stratum key before glancing through the microscope, finding the exact pattern of shattered glass in each lens as the ones sported on his spectacles. Pressing the soft, inner flesh of his lips together as he pulls his head away from the microscope, the scientist looks around the room with amazement before finding every other pane of glass to be perfectly fine, untouched by the enigma that had suddenly called for duplications of a break to all within the key’s area. = 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 = Carrying a leather-bound notepad beneath her arm whilst her heels click along the ground that she journeys along, Delilah enters the confines where their employed visionaries expend their genius and takes toward a set of double doors where two hallways become one. Granting herself entry without even the merest attempt at knocking, she finds the large room occupied by only one man, who sits at his desk with a pencil in one hand and the other palm pressing against his forehead. “Hard at work, Charlie?” the unannounced visitor inquires, catching the professional by surprise with the sound of her voice, the man having assumed the arrival was one of his coworkers. “I’m... yes” Charlie answers awkwardly, the cadence in which he speaks doing nothing to change the demeanour in which the woman’s stride is composed. “Good” Delilah replies, setting her notepad down upon the man’s desk whilst glancing at the numerous sheets of paper and various pads that line the worker’s space, “what have you got so far?” Pulling his lips apart without having anything to say, Charlie lowers his eyes upon the unorganised chaos that litters his workspace whilst the woman watches on, waiting patiently for an answer. “I’ve got, uh... this concept” the detailer remarks, picking up one page before politely presenting it to his superior’s secretary, “it’s a car with a net on the front bumper that extends out sort of like what police use.” “What is it for?” Delilah questions back, taking the man’s word for it as she places one hand upon the worker’s desk to prop herself up as she leans forward, her free hand extending only the pinky finger to trace the illustrated device. “It’d be to wrap the netting around the driver’s cars and lock their tires up so they can’t keep driving” Charlie answers, his reply prompting the secretary to squint slightly. “If you lock up their tires with the net, how does this tool put on a second net for the rest of the racers?” Delilah inquires, watching the man’s sheepish expression lift toward her without much room between his lips. “It... It doesn’t. It’s a... one time use” Charlie replies, his stammering being left ignored by the woman that immediately shakes her head, dissatisfied with the illustration she knows her superior would be uninterested in, “not quite what he’s looking for. What else do you have?” Letting his initial concept fall to the side with the paper that it was printed onto, Charlie advances upon picking up a pile of other sheets before pulling free a drawing that looks like metal arms at either side of a corporation car. “I have these” the man begins to explain, only for the woman’s voice to cut him off the second she takes notice of the illustration, seeing arrows point outward from the vehicle and in the direction that the arms spread out toward. “Let me guess... They’re arms that we can mount on our cars to shove the other drivers away?” Delilah inquires, pulling back slightly as she stands upright once more, watching the worker’s disheartened expression return to her. “Yes” Charlie answers, disappointing the woman that lets out a sigh barely loud enough for him to notice. “I’ll save you the trouble of that pitch and just tell you no outright” Delilah responds, watching the man’s chin dip as he lets the art fall back to his workspace with dissatisfaction. “You’re lucky the next stratum hasn’t opened up yet, or Dr. Caesar would be incredibly displeased with you” the secretary remarks, announcing a conclusion that the man had already come to. “I’ll have something ready by-” Charlie concedes, accepting defeat whilst reclaiming his pencil, remaining at his desk when no others do in the name of creating something worthy of presentation. “What is that?” Delilah questions aloud, looking past the man’s head and toward the large paper pinned up behind the worker’s head, stuck to the wall that the man who’d created it soon turns focus upon. “It’s one of my other concepts” Charlie responds, spinning around in his seat whilst the secretary and the shiny, green blouse that reflects the ceiling’s light she wears march upon the project that had gone without presentation. “I can see that, but what is it?” Delilah reiterates, stopping her approach of the drawing only a few inches away from its large face, the lines sketched upon it coming together to form one monolith of a vehicle. “It’s a vehicle that’s supposed to collect cars into the slot you see here in the front. That large, metal tooth thing in the middle scoops them up and gathers them inside” Charlie explains, approaching the woman with his finger sliding down the length of the proposal’s design, “the drivers would be removed from their cars and stuck in little cages. Their cars would be stripped for parts and other sources of energy... Like stratum keys.” “Why on earth would you not show this to me just a few seconds ago?” Delilah inquires, confused as she turns her attention toward the man that immediately becomes sheepish once more. “Because... It’s way too big” Charlie replies, again extending his hand toward the towering frame of the proposed addition to the corporation’s fleet, “the resources it would take to build just one are gargantuan. And if we ran into another stratum like the cavern one, it’d never make it past the portal.” “Who cares about resources and size, Charlie? This is exactly what Dr. Caesar’s looking for!” Delilah proclaims with more enthusiasm than she’d been prepared to leave the office with, “I’ll schedule an appointment with him for tomorrow so you can present this properly... Good work.” Believing that she’d found what she’d been sent to the building’s inner chambers to find, Delilah marches for the room’s exit whilst Charlie watches on, a sensation splitting between relief and genuine pride taking its course through the muscles in his body. | Hauling in deep breaths as his sweaty, shirtless chest heaves for air whilst wandering through the doors to the Kaiyo clubhouse, Kurt carries his moisture-drenched t-shirt in his hand before smirking at the sight of the only other figure in the room. “I knew you were too stubborn to stay down for long” the second in command to Nolo remarks, passing a glance at the grinning woman that fixes herself a cup of tea near the corner of the room. “I made it into the last race, didn’t I? Why would making a cup of tea surprise you?” Talia questions back with a grin, dipping the bag of leaves into the warm water as she turns to face the man. “It doesn’t, but I’m sure Vert would’ve gotten you your drink if you asked” Kurt replies, seeing the humoured squint that carries itself through the M-Coupe driver’s eyes. “I don’t need someone waiting on my every need like a butler. I’m not one of those preppies” Talia assures, only to find a squint of the man’s own carrying itself back to her. “You’re not, but you aren’t against getting cosy with some of them” Kurt corrects, watching the driver’s eyes roll as she tries and fails miserably at hiding her smile. “How’s Mr. Winning Smile been lately anyway?” Kurt questions aloud, tossing his sopping wet t-shirt into the hamper at the opposite end of the room before venturing toward the bathroom, dipping inside as he receives an answer whilst turning the shower’s handle. “Why do you care? He’s not your problem” Talia jokes, hearing the first few words of the man’s response carry their way through the bathroom door he soon returns from in search of a fresh pair of clothes. “I don’t, but I figured that I’d ask” Kurt replies, passing the woman with a lifted eyebrow as he pauses, “besides, I don’t need to care about how he is to know that you do.” Lowering her eyes as the heat rising from her cup wafts over her face, accompanying the warm grin that comes over the girl that doesn’t yet know how to reply. “Does the cat have your tongue, earmuffs?” the veteran Kaiyo driver questions back, poking fun at the woman that goes without offering a reply. “They’re not earmuffs” Talia quips with the bob of her head, sarcastic nudging back at the man she humours with her remark, “he’s a good dude.” Grabbing a plain, white t-shirt from one side of a chest before reaching for a pair of black jeans from the other, Kurt shrugs his shoulders and tosses the new articles of clothing onto his bed, freeing his hands to search for the rest of his wardrobe for the day. “I’ll take your word for it. I’d rather keep my nose clean of drama with those adult children and remain indifferent to them” Kurt assures with a grin, snatching a pair of grey socks, a pair of black underwear and a pair of moccasins as he heads for the bathroom. Accepting the man’s stance, Talia’s mind begins wandering toward the remarks that continue playing in her head as if they were on loop, having heard them uttered from the lips of one man and wishing to gain insight from another. “Would you be able to play along with a stupid question if I asked you it?” she wonders aloud, preventing the man from moving anything beyond his outstretched right leg through the bathroom doorway. “That depends on how stupid the question is. If it’s impossible, then I’m afraid I can’t help you. But if there’s at least the slightest amount of possibility, I might be able to bite my tongue enough” Kurt answers, again amusing the woman that stays behind with her drink. “You and Nolo have been friends for a long time. You’re his right-hand man and the guy we answer to when he’s not around” Talia explains, watching the man press his lips together at the reminder of his power in the group- something he doesn’t appear pleased at being presented with, “what would you do if Nolo started walking around like his word was gospel and treated you more like an inferior than an equal?” With a smirk, Kurt looks toward an empty corner of the room with humoured eyes, only for his teammate to double down. “I’m serious” Talia assures, watching the man allow his amused expression to subside in favour of approaching the question from a place of sincerity, “what would you do if Nolo started forgetting that you’re his friend and not his lesser?” “For a start, he could if he wanted to. Even though we both started this club, we’ve collectively determined that he’s the leader. There’s no future misunderstandings between us as to who makes the final call” Kurt replies, shrugging as if there’s more to it than friendship. “We’re friends and I trust his decision making, so I’m not going to walk around pouting my lip because I selfishly want to be seen like I’m the boss around here. I don’t crave that power” the older Wayland sibling remarks, “if he makes a call, I’m not going to override him unless there’s some real drastic need to.” “Alright, what about personally then?” Talia inquires, finding the man’s face shaking with the rest of his head with a lack of understanding. “Personally what? How would I react personally if he started seeing me only as an inferior?” Kurt questions aloud, the arm that doesn’t carry his belongings in it being held out at the side whilst his eyebrows raise, “we’d be having a different conversation at that point. Nolo and I wouldn’t be teammates and friends, we’d just be teammates.” “If Nolo started looking at us the way that Mr. Preppy looks at the rest of his group, what would you do?” Talia proceeds to question further, breaking the inquiry down beyond the point of diving deeper than needed for a simple answer. “If Nolo started looking at us like we were here to serve him and there was nothing more to it, then Nolo could fuck right off” Kurt answers honestly, finally providing a line of dialogue that the woman can take satisfaction in. “But here’s the thing about Kaiyo aside from the fact that he’d never act like that... We’d be able to see it. We wouldn’t have our heads shoved so far up our own ass that we couldn’t realise that he was acting like a prick” Kurt explains, pointing in the direction of the Esteemed clubhouse with a scowl on his face, “one of the things that I can’t stand about those arrogant bastards is the fact that they’re blind to all of it... Eric included.” Though she’d started off being pleased with the man’s remarks, Talia’s eyes take on a slight fall upon their conclusion, accompanied by the silence that allows the group’s second in command to finally fulfil his original intent at venturing off for the showers. Keeping to herself as the air goes quiet with the soft sound of the bathroom door closing, the M-Coupe driver presses her lower back against the assortment table and lifts the mug to her lips once more, staring at the ground with furrowed brows. | “Got you, you stupid bastard” Pat remarks with glee, pulling away from the bike’s front tire as he watches it spin freely, tightened into place as a pair of footsteps approach from behind. “Congratulations” Tyson remarks, the sound of his voice prompting his friend to turn around and face him in ways that his footsteps had failed to earn. Unbothered and unmoved by his acquaintance’s approach, the only biker to win a race returns his unflattered expression toward his Diavel. “You should probably scram before your friends catch you talking to the enemy” Pat quips, offering the man he has less niceties for in the moment than he had before a warning that the VRSC’s rider immediately disregards. “Come on, Pat” Tyson remarks with a sigh, his shoulders falling just as the man in question’s rises, lifting with the rest of his eyes. “Don’t ‘come on, Pat’ me, Tyson. You haven’t spoken to me since before I walked out on your crew, don’t act like I’m supposed to pretend what happened didn’t happen” Pat replies, climbing off the stool he’d been working atop in order to match eye level with his former teammate. “I figured things between you and Dale would’ve calmed down by now, I was trying not to get in the way” Tyson retorts, prompting the victorious biker to roll his eyes whilst Eric wanders by, overhearing the conversation on his way toward the Esteemed’s garage. “I don’t care what you thought or why you did what you did, the fact is that I made a point to Dale that I wasn’t just going to blindly take his shit” Pat replies, speaking calmly despite carrying a great deal of frustration in his comments, pointing toward the chest of his friend, “you decided that you were going to carry along letting him think that his shit was acceptable.” “Pat, the DSRC is his and my dad’s. I’m just a member like you were... We don’t get to make the calls” Tyson replies, only for his comments to quickly find a rebuttal in his friend’s interruption. “Really, Tyson? Who exactly would be here to stop us, bud? Hell, who the hell was there to stop me from making the call to ditch?” Pat challenges, extending a hand toward the concentrated energy that remains suspended deep within the second level’s interior, “what the fuck was Dale gonna do about it, huh?” “He could do something by the time we finish up here and go back-” Tyson attempts to reply, only to again find an interjection cutting his comments off short. “None of us can guarantee that we’ll ever be going home after this, Ty. We don’t know a damn thing, so if you want to live in fear of that... be my guest” Pat concludes, uninterested in hearing anything more that his DSRC-affiliated friend has to say, “as for how I see it... If you’re not putting up a fight against Dale’s bullshit... you’re complacent with it.” “Pat, I don’t know what that word-” Tyson attempts to reply, continuing to speak in a civilised and well-mannered tone before hearing the sharp interruption of his friend’s voice cut back at him like a hot knife through a plastic bottle. “It means I blame you for Dale’s bullshit so long as you grit your teeth and accept it, Ty!” Pat proclaims, veins in his neck protruding with detail as he shouts, kept from thinking any further on the matter with the blaring sound of alarms bursting through the second level. Redirecting his attention just as the pair of bickering bikers do, Eric watches the concentrated energy begin to shift and reshape, emanating bright lights as the spokes that surround it begin swirling. “The next stratum is about to open! Drivers, get to your vehicles!” Caesar’s voice proclaims through the surround sound speakers, encouraging the lone Esteemed driver to carry out a full sprint toward his side of the lot with keys in hand. Burning rubber before any other set of tires can get the chance to, Alec’s McLaren bursts through the already-open garage door and takes toward the tracks that lead toward his destination, ready for the race that he’d been mentally building up a callous exterior to descend upon. Funnelling out one after another, the remaining drivers hurry to their garages and get behind the wheel, firing toward the track en route to the portal that now glows with a hazy, grey light. == Driveline == “I allow the continuation of this gang warfare between the four of you because I believe it inspires aspirations to be better than the others” Caesar confesses, speaking to a circular table of almost every driver, “however, most of you seem to be too foolish to see the bigger picture here when the stratums open.”
Sitting in the corner of the room in a swivel chair, Pat sets his undivided attention upon the doctor whilst the rest of his former group remains seated at their usual spots, leaning against their tables or further into their chairs as the screen at the front of the room begins to play. “Would anyone care to tell me what they see in this video?” Caesar inquires, playing a feed from Tyson’s onboard camera as it passes alongside his bike through a set of corporation cars pulling apart. “Butch’s son disobeying his orders” Dale answers in an unpleasant tone, side-eyeing the young man that proceeds to close his eyes and grit his teeth, reserving his temper and allowing the quip to pass. “No, what you see are the corporation’s cars pulling apart to allow Butch’s son as you call him to pass through” the scientist answers, refusing to acknowledge the slight passed toward the younger DSRC member, “they allowed him to pass because... in that moment, Tyson became a non-threat in the race.” “And he stayed that way too” Dale responds, again digging at the temperament of his club’s younger member whilst the other groups watch on, the Crew’s eyes passing toward the group of bikers whilst Kaiyo eventually returns their glance toward their superior. “My point is that the corporation vehicles took notice that Tyson was no longer a threat to their mission of winning the race and no longer deemed him to be a threat” Caesar responds, again disregarding the slight paid by the DSRC leader. “And my point is that Butch’s son disobeyed his orders and did absolutely no good in the process” Dale replies, speaking toward the scientist before setting his eyes upon the young man in question, “all that just to not even finish the race.” Angrily slamming the palms of his hands against the table, Tyson shoots out of his seat and looks toward the leader of the group, who stands up just as Butch does, the father attempting to keep the pair from growing hostile whilst Mark laughs from the other end. “Dale, sit back down. Let’s not do this here” Butch calmly requests, pressing the back of his hand against the leader’s chest as the air grows quiet, gesturing for his son to do the same once it seems like Dale’s come under control once more. Remaining to himself in the corner, Pat maintains his blissful disconcern for the group he’d severed ties from whilst redirecting his eyes just as the other groups had, again placing focus upon the man at the front of the room. “Dale and Butch remained ahead of the corporation, as did the Crew. The point that I’m making is that, to all of you... you’re unaffiliated with each other” Caesar remarks, standing in front of the monitor whilst it continues to loop the footage, “however, to the corporation... you’re all the same.” “What if we stayed behind them the whole race until the end then?” Nolo inquires, leaning back in his seat with one foot lifted onto the table for leverage as he rests one arm behind his back, “do we suddenly stop being threats to them?” Shrugging his shoulders whilst puffing out his bottom lip, Caesar shakes his head in refusal and looks back toward the ground as his hands couple at his lap. “If you stayed behind them for the whole race, they’d just take that as an opening to play defence against you” the scientist replies, his eyes suddenly widening as he comes up with a perfect analogy for the situation. “Think of it like a war. When it’s your turn to attack the team you want to beat, you take your turn on the offensive” Caesar proclaims with a slight-grin of pride, “once you’ve got the lead, you do whatever you must to prevent it from being taken from you.” “When you say ‘whatever you must’, does that mean what I think it means?” Ronny inquires, pressing his elbow into the table as the scientist calmly answers him honestly. “I believe they’ve made attempts at killing you, or at least immobilising your vehicles, in the swamp, cavern, and warped stratums now” Caesar confesses, “if you’re worried about them actually killing you, I see little reason to believe they wouldn’t stoop to that level. Your remains would simply never be found after all.” “This isn’t supposed to instil us with confidence, right?” Kurt questions aloud, his arms crossed deeply as he also settles into his chair, “you’re in the wrong business if you think this is a pep-talk.” With a smirk, Caesar bows his head and turns back toward the monitor, giving a nod toward Ellis before watching the picture change, displaying Mark’s dashcam instead as the corporation car that had involved itself in his race with Alec passes by him. “Whilst I understand that you have the angel buttons, that doesn’t necessarily mean that something like this is incapable of bringing about your demise” Caesar admits, watching as the Crew member in timeout’s Firebird is shredded at the driver’s side by the robotic vehicle’s exterior. “Mark’s a skilled driver just as Alec is, so they were able to thwart this interference” the scientist explains as the video begins looping, returning his eyes toward the collective group, “nevertheless, they were one in the same to the corporation.” “Why bother telling us any of this when the people that need to hear it the most aren’t here?” Taro inquires, prompting the Kaiyo members on the other side of the table to join with the DSRC in glancing toward the empty side of the room that the Esteemed leaves unoccupied. Without replying, Caesar looks toward the man who asks the question before turning away, returning toward the monitor and pressing the power button without a glance at the unattended end. “Now that you’ve gotten comfortable with the stratums and understand how this works, I see no reason to continue losing to the corporation or our third party any longer” Caesar explains, looking back at the table as he ends the meeting, “we cannot afford to continue allowing the others opportunities that should go to us. These stratums need to be won and they need to be won by us.” Taking the refusal to address his question as the signal that he will receive no reply, Taro lets out a sigh and sinks further into his seat, preparing to climb out of it as the meeting appears to reach its end. “That will be all until further notice, you may all leave aside from Tyson” Caesar remarks, catching the young man by surprise as the rest of his group is soon to follow a similar curiosity. “Why?” Butch inquires, watching the scientist approach the front of the table whilst Kaiyo and the Crew dissipate, venturing off to their own activities whilst the DSRC lags behind. “Because I would like to talk with him about something in private” Caesar answers, refusing to offer the older gentleman an opportunity to refuse by gesturing his hand toward the young man in question, walking off toward the control centre with his requested visitor following. “It has irritated me greatly to not address this with you sooner, but there have been other measures incredibly desirable of my time that needed to be addressed sooner” Caesar explains, allowing Ellis to close the door as Tyson tucks his hands into his pockets. “Am I in trouble for something?” the young man inquires, stiffening up slightly before his shoulder ease at the shaking of the scientist’s head. “No, but I am incredibly curious to address your contact with our third friend” Caesar confesses, immediately seeing a slight lift of the young man’s brows at the topic, “what happened in the stratum?” Shrugging with a chuckle, Tyson looks around the room before retreating toward a chair, dragging it to the place in which he stood before lowering himself into it. “I lifted up my hands, made it clear to them that I wasn’t intending to threaten them, and asked them to roll their window down” Tyson answers, crossing his arms whilst stretching both legs out, crossing his left over his right and tucking the top heel upon the inside of the other foot. “I told them that I didn’t mean to be a threat, but I wanted to know if they were dangers to the rest of us” the young man clarifies, speaking through the silence of intrigue that the scientist affords him with, “he didn’t answer.” “You were overheard making mention of the angel button during your conversation” Ellis speaks up, standing behind the DSRC team member with his arms crossed, “why?” Looking over his shoulder at the man that stands above him watching on, Tyson thinks back to the conversation and speaks aloud. “He’d gestured toward one of the cars at the end of their convoy. I watched it blink out of existence just like we do when we hit our angel buttons” the young man answers to the surprise of both superiors, “he pointed toward the one on my bike and I asked him if he was suggesting that I use mine.” “And that’s all?” Ellis inquires, asking the question that Caesar’s mind is too preoccupied to ask aloud, not even bothering to pay attention to the conversation at this point despite still staring at the biker. “Well, I told him that I would if he told me whether or not he was a threat to any of us” Tyson explains, watching the mechanic’s eyebrows lift in suspense as he quietly awaits an answer, “all he did after that was press his finger to his lips.” Barely catching the last part of his claim, Caesar looks toward the biker for a moment with eyelids parted just slightly more than usual before suddenly ending the discussion. “Thank you, Tyson. You may go now” the scientist remarks, allowing the biker to exit the room he’d anticipated would take more than just a few answers to be freed from. As the door closes behind the driver, Ellis turns back toward his superior whilst the man ponders aloud. “They have the technology to enter the stratums, the technology for the angel button, and what I’m sure is the warped stratum key” Caesar explains with a squint, “whether they have the technology to use it remains to be seen.” With the tilt of his head to the side, Ellis approaches his boss with a scrunch in his face. “What also remains to be seen is what other technology they have” the mechanic responds, letting his arms fall from the cross against his chest. “Silence” Caesar whispers to himself, lifting the knuckle of his thumb to his bottom lip as he looks into the back of the room, pondering for an answer as if the gesture Tyson had received were something more similar to a puzzle, “what could that mean?” he asks aloud, unsure of where to begin looking. = 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 = Shunning himself from those beyond his garage, Alec stares at the logo in the middle of his steering wheel and keeps to himself, passing glances every now and then through the windshield at the lot beyond where all he can find are closed and locked doors. Simmering with aggravation that he feels is impossible to display and further than he already has, the group’s leader continues to endure the mental frustration that he refuses to free himself of. Unnoticed in his approach until the knuckle of his index finger begins gently tapping against the passenger’s window, Eric captures his friend’s attention, stealing it away from the trance that allows time to pass like heartburn. “What are you still doing out here? It’s been like three hours, man” the visitor remarks, overhearing little more than a consistent sigh as the driver seat-occupying racer shakes his head at a loss. “Because I don’t want to be here anymore” Alec replies, offering an answer that had already been made clear earlier in the day, “that doctor doesn’t own me... no one does. The fact that we can’t leave is bullshit.” Frowning as he looks toward the empty lot ahead, Eric reserves his thoughts for a moment whilst the air grows quiet, prompting the team’s leader to continue speaking in an effort to fill it. “Who does he think he is, E? He’s not our dad, he’s not our boss” Alec continues, looking toward his friend whilst the man in the passenger’s seat continues staring ahead, “we’re not his employees. We don’t need to do what he says.” Puckering his lips, Eric leans his head to the side as he fights to urge to say what he wishes to, feeling the strength to reserve his comments slip further and further from reach with each passing second of hush. “You do if you want to get home, man” the visitor finally concedes, looking toward the team’s leader as their eyes take toward each other. “Alec, you really have to take a good look at what’s going on here. We can’t leave this place unless he allows us to. We get to race, we get our ear talked off when we don’t win, we go to bed, we repeat the process” Eric explains, breaking down the situation for his displeased friend. Shaking his head without replying, Alec stares ahead at the empty lot ahead and presses his tongue against his back molar tooth, allowing the passenger to continue speaking. “You’re gonna have to play nice with him somehow if we’re ever supposed to get out of this place” Eric explains, finally watching the swivel in the leader’s head begin to diminish, “we’re all gonna have to do what he wants. What other choice do we have? Just sit here and bore ourselves to death?” “Whatever, E. You don’t even want to leave in the first place, I don’t know why I’m ever bothering to tell you any of this” Alec confesses, slightly defeated in his remark as the man one seat over from him lets his shoulders fall, aware of the discontent that his friend carries. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Alec” Eric admits, continuing to look at the man who refuses to offer eye contact with anything other than the logo on his steering wheel. “Just leave me alone” the Esteemed’s leader remarks, voicing his lone wish before falling silent, offering nothing further as the air goes quiet again. Apologetic and sombre, Eric opts not to pile on the disagreement any further than he already has, stepping out of the vehicle and retreating for the clubhouse. On his lonesome, Alec allows the hush around him to persist as he closes his eyes, trying to lose sight of the garage and the second level that surrounds it as he presses the back of his head against his seat. | “What’s up, Eric?” Vert greets, passing the man as he strolls through the corridors that connect each clubhouse, fist-bumping the Esteemed driver as he passes. “How’s it going, Vert?” Eric replies, both leaving their answers off at ‘good’ and moving on with their days, allowing the Kaiyo driver to continue beyond the communal residence as he rubs at his eyes, wiping the exhaustion from his face whilst making for the cafeteria. Dressed in only a pair of sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt that he’d cut the sleeves off of, Vert takes a moment to pause and refit his right foot into the slipper he’d carelessly shoved into the strap just as a jogging man emerges from within the distance. Keeping to himself and listening to the music that blares through his headphones, Nolo cuts through the second level at the end of his jog in an effort of returning to the clubhouse, surprising his lower-ranking teammate. “Why the hell are you awake so early?” Vert inquires in a semi-groggy tone, shielding his face as he fights a losing battle at preventing a yawn. “Because I’m a grown man that needs to work out in order to stay in shape” Nolo responds with a grin, slowing his jog until he comes to a stop shortly ahead of his fellow driver. “That still doesn’t explain why you need to do it so early” the younger Kaiyo racer reiterates, earning a widening of the leader’s smile as the older man pats him on the back. “Good morning, Vert” Nolo concludes, walking past the younger man in search of the Kaiyo clubhouse, allowing his teammate to carry on with his morning before again being brought to a stop. “You too?” Vert wonders aloud, watching a shirtless Kurt venture around the same corner that their superior had journeyed less than a minute before. “Gotta get that blood flowing, Vert” Kurt replies with a grin, his baggy shorts bouncing off his quads as the man passes his teammate. “That still doesn’t explain why you have to do it so damn early!” Vert proclaims with hands thrown out at either side, prompting the team’s second in command to laugh. Lifting one finger to his lips, the older Wayland sibling gestures for his friend to keep the volume of his voice to a minimum before continuing to jog toward his home. “Jesus, that smells nice” Vert remarks, his eyes widening slightly as he journeys through the cafeteria’s doors, his nose catching the strongest whiff of freshly cooked eggs, sausage, bacon and hash browns. Smiling at the pure joy that the thought of food brings about him, the Kaiyo driver carries on with his approach toward breakfast before taking a glance into the commons area, finding only one table occupied. “Where’s everyone else?” Vert inquires, his entry having gone unnoticed by the man who gleefully scoops one spoonful of peppered eggs into his mouth. Without a verbal reply, Ronny shrugs without certainty before carrying on with his early morning meal, allowing the opposing driver to carry on with placing his order. “Want some company?” Vert questions aloud as he finally receives his tray, not needing to wait longer than a minute and a half to take his order of nearly everything the cooks had to display. “Help yourself” Ronny responds, jutting his chin toward the unoccupied side of the metal picnic table-like bench. “How’s it going, Monkey?” Kaiyo’s driver proceeds to wonder aloud, putting a smile on the face of the man that quickly covers his mouth, not wanting to spill the food that he chews into a fine paste. “It could be worse, Vert. How about you?” the Crew’s mechanic responds, prompting the friendly driver of the rival faction to lower the coffee he carefully sips from. “I don’t really know. Things have been pretty even-keel for the last little bit” Vert confesses, sliding the side of his fork into a mound of scrambled eggs, “I’d like to get a win one of these days, though.” Nodding along with the man’s comments, Ronny finishes chewing before attempting to reply, doing so with his hand still covering his mouth just slightly. “I think your friend, Nolo, would like to win one too. Finally get that monkey off his back, y’know?” Ronny questions back, amusing the man across from him, who points his metal fork toward the mechanic. “Haha. Monkey... I see what you did there” Vert responds, confusing the mechanic for a moment in his amusement before the man who’d accidentally made the joke catches on, chuckling beneath his breath before the Kaiyo leader begins speaking again. “He would’ve won in the swamp had those assholes not blown up the end of the track” Vert remarks, validating the leader’s place with his defence, “most of those other times could just be boiled down to bad luck.” Leaning his head to the side, Ronny digs his fork into the centre of a sausage whilst Vert scoops a pile of hash browns onto his fork, “he’s still been good enough to get to the end consistently. Most of the rest of us can’t say that.” “He’s a great racer. He’s a great dude, too” Vert remarks, covering his mouth with the back of his hand whilst he speaks and chews. “All of you are. Kurt Wayland included” Ronny concedes, unphased by the idea of admitting such rivalry-distorting truths, “Mark would hate me for saying it, but I don’t mind any of you. I’m pretty sure you’re the only group here that I can more than tolerate.” “You’re not so bad yourself, Monkey” Vert assures, again bringing a smile to the man’s face with the use of his preferred name, “Eric’s the only guy in the other groups... Well, maybe Pat and Tyson too, we’re not really sure yet... But there aren’t many in the other groups that we like personally.” Nodding in agreement, Ronny finishes off the pile of his scrambled eggs whilst the rival driver carries on speaking, clarifying lines that had never truly been blurred. “Kaiyo and Crew don’t mind each other personally for the most part, we just hate how the others race” Vert remarks, another helping of hash browns scooped onto his utensil, “I’m pretty sure that now, since we’re having to co-exist with the bikers and the preppies, we’re starting to become a little more appreciative of each other by comparison.” “You’re not gonna find me disagreeing with you on that” Ronny replies, reaching for his own cup of orange juice, “but then again, I think we’re gonna have to start looking past our personal dislike for the others too over time.” From one side to the other slowly, as if he were amidst consideration, “what do you mean?” Vert asks as if open to the idea, but wanting to hear the reasoning for it. “As much as this Caesar guy irks me from time to time, I think we all see how hard it is to argue the point he was making yesterday” Ronny confesses, addressing what had become too easy not to, “we’re gonna have to start at least tolerating each other before people start getting hurt.” Falling toward his food, Vert’s eyes carry with his shoulders in displeasure at the thought of their passion proving to be a danger, though that risk is one that he knows posits possibility. “There’s nothing stopping those maniac robots from running us off the road and getting us out of the way completely. Who would ever find out?” Ronny questions back, the thought itself prompting the spirits of the Kaiyo driver to lower slightly, “we’re all the same to them. Four unified groups of four that can’t tolerate each other probably isn’t as strong as one group of sixteen that can at least get along when it matters.” “You’re right” Vert assures, finding the branch that the rival driver offers and taking it when given the chance, nodding in agreement as he stares into the distance, “to be honest, I don’t even know where the hell anyone would even start to make that happen.” Going quiet for a moment, Ronny uses the quiet of the room empty of sound from anything other than the banging of pots and pans in the kitchen to think to himself, squinting as an idea comes to mind. “There is this one thing that might help” the Crew’s mechanic confesses, prompting the Kaiyo driver to look up with intrigue at the pause that proceeds. “Caesar says he doesn’t know who this third group in the races are. Neither do any of us, but the fact that they didn’t just run that biker guy, Tyson, off the road says they’re at least not remorseless like the corporation” Ronny explains, speaking to a captivated audience of one. “Yeah, but it’s not like coming together, climbing out of our cars in the next race and having a cup of coffee with them is possible” Vert responds, amusing the man across from him. “True, but we don’t need to go that far in order to get something to bring back home” Ronny responds, again pausing to take a swig of his breakfast beverage, “all we need to do is make contact with them beyond just what that kid got in the last race.” With slight reservations, Vert allows his eyes to trail off as doubts attempt to fill his head, “how would that get all of us to start getting on the same page?” he wonders aloud. “Well, it might not do anything like that, but it’s at least worth a shot” Ronny remarks, quickly attempting to redirect the conversation from the unity of their groups and toward the lack of answers they own. “We don’t know anything about these third guys. If I’m being honest, I’ve got a lot of suspicion in this Caesar guy now that I know he doesn’t either” the Crew’s mechanic confesses, “I think a lot of us would want answers about these other guys we’ve got to share the races with.” “How do you suggest we do that then?” Vert inquires, prompting the mechanic to lean back in his seat and shrug, honestly not having thought that far into the plan. “I’m not sure yet, but I did give the idea of breaking off from the Crew in the next stratum some thought” Ronny explains, picking up a packet of maple syrup into his hand and pouring it upon a stack of flapjacks he’d yet to get to, “I figured that if Tyson could have a chat with them, maybe I could too.” “Doing something like that might require a little bit of backup” Vert responds, prompting the rival mechanic to look at the man that suggests forming a union of at least temporary cohesion. “You don’t think it would start shit between our teams, do you?” Ronny inquires, prompting the younger member of the opposing faction to chuckle. “Monkey, our teams have one Wayland each. Shit between our teams never stopped in the first place” Vert replies, taking ownership of his cup as steam pipes out of the top, holding it in the air for the driver across from him to assess. With a surprised, yet enthusiastic expression worn, Ronny gives the Kaiyo youngster a bob of his head before grabbing his cup of juice, gently allowing the plastic shells of their cups to collide in agreement. Carrying on with their breakfast, the pair begin plotting their strategy to maximise their potential in the next race. “So what’s the plan?” Vert inquires, taking a sip of his coffee whilst the rival mechanic takes a swig of his juice, ready to hear out their next course of action. == Driveline == “The doctor will see you now” Delilah remarks with a friendly, yet disingenuous smile, issuing a man in a cheap suit permission to advance beyond the waiting room he’d been left to sit in. Picking up his briefcase and adjusting the sides of his jacket accordingly, the visitor follows the pleasant-appearing woman through hallways lined with the doors of a few offices, their real destination lying at the end of the corridor, where the entrance already presents itself to those who come across it.
“Our machines are meant to be perfect, Mr. Greenwood” Hamilton Caesar remarks from the head of his conference table, unwilling to wait any longer beyond the engineer’s arrival, speaking the moment he watches the guest’s figure emerge through parted doors. “We have raced five stratums so far...” the doctor explains as his visitor stops in the doorway, kept from continuing on the moment the opening remark had been paid to him, “...why have we not won five stratums?” Suddenly feeling the air go cold as if the vents were just above him and set on high, the engineer finds himself unable to move much more than to couple his hands at his waist, looking the doctor in the eyes as his lips part whilst appearing to dry. “The humans have-” Mr. Greenwood replies, only to halt the progression of his speech with the lifting of a hand across the room, the subtle bow in the professional gentleman’s head accompanying the shake of refusal that it takes on. “Humans are imperfect, Charlie. I don’t want to hear about how good the humans are” Hamilton interjects, already taking on an assumption of where the answer was going and knowingly refusing to partake. “I’ll begrudgingly admit that they’re very good. They are, however, not perfect” the doctor doubles down, locking eyes with the engineer across the room whilst gently pressing the palms of his hands against the table’s surface, “our machines, however, are not meant to have that flaw.” Lowering his eyes whilst keeping his head held toward the man all the way across the room from him, Charlie accepts the scientist’s explanation as impossible to argue from his position and allows it to go without a rebuttal. “You are correct, Dr. Caesar” the engineer concedes, allowing the room to go quiet once more, finally offering the visitor a moment of silence that leaves him to realise he hears of no ventilation units, the complete hush in the air making it clear that the cool rush of air is of his own imagination. As satisfied as he can be with the reply, Hamilton sits within the silence that the engineer offers him for a few seconds before pushing out his chair and climbing to his feet, approaching the side of the room that Charlie occupies whilst gently running his index and middle fingers across the table. “Winning in the stratums is paramount. There are many things that I’d like to accomplish with this project, but winning the keys is priority number one...” the doctor explains, “...you’re meant to make that happen.” Allowing the remark to settle, Charlie looks to the ground before reaching up for his face, rubbing at the smooth chin of his clean-shaven jawline before offering suggestions. “I could get behind the wheel of one of them” he admits to a chuckle, the doctor’s continued stroll- as slow as it is- carrying him closer. “Machines are capable of perfection, Mr. Greenwood. Humans are not... You know this” Hamilton responds, “why would that even amount to a thought in your mind?” “Because, with all due respect, sir... the machines are perfect and that’s still not enough” Charlie responds, amusing the doctor that continues to casually approach whilst he furthers. “They understand the track layout, the most preferable grooves on each track, they adapt to the elements the longer the races go on... There’s not much more that can be improved” the engineer continues, pausing as the superior halts his advancement only a few feet ahead of him. “Are you implying that the drivers we’re up against are better than our perfect machines, Mr. Greenwood?” Hamilton questions aloud, wanting to boil the explanation that he receives down to its finest lines. To the doctor’s surprise, the engineer quietly shakes his head in refusal before replying. “I’m not implying that their drivers are better or that our machines aren’t perfect” Charlie explains, looking up to maintain eye contact with the slightly taller gentleman. “But our machines are perfect cars. If you throw them on any track and any terrain, they will adapt and finish the race as intended” the engineer furthers, breaking down their situation to the only man who can inflict change upon it, “but they face more than just challenging terrain when they enter these stratums.” “Explain” Hamilton quickly retorts, intrigued by the proposition that he’s presented with and catching the engineer off guard, the haste in which he looks for answers surprising the subordinate. “For example, in the warped stratum, they weren’t beaten because they were imperfect cars, they were beaten because the stratum acted rogue against them” Charlie responds, being met with a silent observation that makes it clear the superior is digesting the proposition, “no amount of perfection would have spared our cars from the aggression of the stratum itself.” With the slight break of eye contact as his pupils shift to the left, Hamilton severs the locking of their eyes as he ponders the remarks that are being paid to him. “In the cavern stratum, they weren’t beaten by the humans... They were attacked by the humans” Charlie concludes, seeing a subtle expression of acceptance come over the face of his superior, “in the event of any stratum, there were no better pure racers than our cars.” Without warning, Hamilton turns away from the engineer and retreats the way he’d initially begun walking, the warm air that his body pushes through likely capable of coming off like a sauna compared to the chill running down Charlie’s spine. “So we’ve created perfect racing cars, but not perfect all-around cars” the doctor concludes, nodding to himself as he casually makes it back to his seat, turning back to the visitor with a lifted brow, “is that right?” Barely parting his lips in a way that leaves even the doctor across the room incapable of seeing the break between each side of soft flesh, Charlie stands in the man’s presence without a reply worthy of being uttered. Ashamed of the failure that he believes his work is now saddled by the stench of in the eyes of the man with powers above his own, the engineer dips his chin and hangs his head, remaining silent in favour of offering the superior an answer that he can already come up with on his own. “Imperfection is intolerable, Mr. Greenwood” Hamilton remarks, doing so in a much less scathing tone than the engineer would’ve anticipated, though no pride of any sort is made apparent through the comment. “I’m not unreasonable in my desire for perfection. I understand that our cars can’t be built to tackle every single thing they will see in these stratums” the doctor continues, “but even if you have to make other machines to make up for that fact, perfection is possible. You understood that when you accepted the offer of this position.” Nodding in agreement, Charlie lets his eyes situate upon the professional at the end of the table before they fall, following the same line of thought that his mind takes, the expression that he wears hinting at fear in such a line of thought. = 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 = Sitting behind the wheel of his Firebird as it sits along tracks nearby the garages, Mark keeps his eye on the speedometer whilst pushing the vehicle to its limits, passing a momentary glance at the last stratums winner whilst he carries a blanket and a pillow over his shoulder from the clubhouse and toward his bike’s garage. “How the fuck did he win?” the excommunicated member of the Crew mutters to himself, watching the younger motorcyclist traipse across the grounds before allowing his eye to veer toward the opposite side of the lot. With a lifted eyebrow, Mark lets his foot fall away from the accelerator whilst the hand on his dashboard begins descending toward the zero. Keeping the wheel in his hand, the exiled, groupless driver stares across from his vehicle at the Esteemed’s leader, who crosses his arms and stands a few feet ahead of his team’s garage unit. With a chuckle of amusement, the younger of the Wayland siblings reaches for the door and climbs down, making his way toward the figure that seems to hold such interest in him. “I’m not going to thank you” Alec remarks once the rival driver is close enough, earning little more than a shrug from the man that draws near. “I would’ve beaten you had it not been for those robot assholes” he continues, offering proof to a point that the Crew’s racer doesn’t much care for. “Tell me how it would’ve or should’ve gone and I’ll just tell you how it did go” Mark replies casually, dismissive of the claims that are made as he points toward the racer, “I saved your ass.” Rolling his eyes and allowing them to take toward the depths of the building, the Esteemed’s leader shows as much interest in hearing his visitor’s remarks as the man was to hear his proof. “You were going off that track if it wasn’t for me” Mark clarifies, prompting a widening of the lids that his opponent shields his eyes with, “and sure, you probably would’ve used the angel button anyway. Who cares? The point is that I saved your ass.” “You were the one that knocked him into me in the first place. Don’t think I missed that pit manoeuvre you pulled on him” Alec retorts, watching the face of his adversary dip toward the ground as his rival begins to laugh. “I don’t know what you think you accomplished with that stunt or righting my car up, or whatever it was... You didn’t do a damn thing” the driver doubles down, “I’m not thanking you, and I’m not changing my mind on you.” Tucking his hands into his pockets, Mark nods to the Esteemed’s leader whilst stepping back, conceding ground to the rival faction shot-caller with a smirk on his face. “Have fun telling yourself that” the Crew’s castaway responds, confidently returning to his car with amusement, bobbing his head with each step whilst Alec simply holds a grimace toward him, unknowingly watched on by Ross, who stands nearby the clubhouse’s entrance with an inquisitive stare. | Reaching through the door beneath the display glass, Eric gently pulls a sports drink from a vending machine and keeps his head down, wanting to remain unnoticed by those that traipse around the cafeteria so as not to accidentally instigate anything. “Avoiding me?” Talia wonders aloud, sitting near the back of the room that the Esteemed team member approaches, his advancement coming to a slow halt before stopping all together and being replaced with a smile at the woman’s sight. “I kind of have to so our groups don’t start picking fights with each other” Eric responds, the comment made with humour intended, though spoken in a tone that carries more displeasure in its honesty than intended. “Kaiyo doesn’t really pick fights as much as we pick fun” Talia rebuttals, halfway joking and halfway being honest, “even if an argument’s broken out about us talking to each other, I don’t mean to sound insensitive... but it’s your friends that are starting it.” “I know, I know. No need to tell me twice” Eric replies, already understanding her point beyond what she can voice. With apologetic eyes, Talia remains quiet and remains within her seat as the man takes a quick departure from his stroll toward the doors in favour of taking a seat opposite her. For a few seconds, the pair sit without speaking, the woman’s sights continuing to hold upon the man opposite her whilst his glue themselves toward the distance of the drab and emotionless cafeteria they take shelter from the outside within. “I did tell you that you shouldn’t have to apologise for your friends, right?” Talia questions aloud, watching the corners of the man’s mouth lift to form a smile. “You weren’t the first and I doubt you’ll be the last” Eric confesses, looking back at the woman as she keeps her remorseful sights set upon him, “they’re still my friends.” “Do they still look at you like one?” Talia questions aloud, seeing a slight mixture of confusion and offence carry itself in the man’s face, “preppy just bosses all of you around like you’re all meant to just follow what he says and not think twice about it.” With eyes taking off to the side, Eric parts his lips before his mind can catch up with his mouth, needing a few further seconds to develop a reply. “That’s what you do with your group’s leader. If they make a call, you accept it and move on. That’s just what happens” the Esteemed’s defender confesses, “it’s the same way I assume things work in your group with Nolo.” Quickly shaking her head in refusal, Talia slides the headphones off her head and gently rests them beside herself, “Nolo would never just tell us to do something and accept that his word is gospel.” “I’m not saying that he does, but I’m saying that if he did... You’d follow his calls just like we follow Alec’s calls” Eric responds, again seeing as firm opposition to the claim in the face of the woman across from him as his prior comment had earned. “If Nolo looked at me less like I was a teammate or a friend and just a subordinate he could move around like we were all in a game of human chess, I wouldn’t defend him” Talia replies, “Kaiyo is a team and Nolo is the leader, but that doesn’t mean I’ll defend him when I shouldn’t.” “I’m not defending Alec, I’m just explaining how things work with us” Eric rebuttals, his continued explanations being allowed by the woman who wishes not to cut him off, “we’re a team and Alec knows that. Lana and Ross know that too.” With both eyebrows lifted, Talia looks toward the table as she struggles to come up with a fitting reply. “If you were a team, then it wouldn’t be Alec’s way or the highway with you guys” she eventually comes up with, “I don’t know what definition of ‘team’ that you guys have, but it doesn’t seem like it lines up with ours... Or anyone else’s for that matter.” “Alec doesn’t trust people easily and I understand why he’d have such an aversion to trusting everyone else here... Especially when everyone else is trying to beat us just like we’re trying to beat them” Eric explains with a semi-smile, “I understand where he’s coming from and why he’d think people could take advantage of us putting ourselves out there.” “Is that what you believe?” Talia questions back, wasting little time in offering the man a counter-question before earning a lone chuckle as it escapes from the Esteemed driver’s core, his smile deepening as he shrugs. “Why does it matter what I think?” Eric questions back, honestly looking for an answer before watching the Kaiyo driver pull back slightly in her seat, lifting her left eyebrow higher than the right before staring at the table. Pulling in a breath before holding it in, Talia presses the tip of her tongue against her bottom lip before pressing her hands into the end of the table, pushing herself up from her seat graciously before reclaiming her headphones. “I don’t want to believe that you just asked me that question with a straight face” she confesses, rounding the side of the table and patting Eric on the shoulder before making for the door, leaving the man to watch her walk off with significantly less enthusiasm in his face. | “They’re going to grow anxious to win” Ellis remarks, taking a welder to the outer shell of a recon robot, “they’re perfect machines that have been bested in the last three stratums now. They’re going to be desperate.” Overlooking the work that his subordinate does, Caesar stands with his hands coupled behind his back, watching sparks fly from the reinforced exterior as work is done. “I’m less interested in how they’ll respond to losing than I am at why they lost” the doctor confesses, continuing to brace against the flying bits of light that his subordinate properly shields his face from. “In our victories, they were simply overrun. Too many cars around one drone soldier for perfect racing to be enough” Caesar remarks, squinting his eyes as he furthers, “but it’s what happened in the warped stratum that interests me the most.” “Why is that? Because they weren’t a factor at the end or because they were too much of a factor to begin with?” Ellis inquires, placing his welder to the side before giving the frame a brief tug. “Because they weren’t outclassed as racers, they were rejected by the stratum itself” Caesar responds, turning away from the table that his employee practises his craft at, “simply picked up, hoisted above nothingness, and dropped into oblivion... Lost to the stratum.” Lifting the hood of his facial protection with a curious look of intrigue, Ellis presses his palms against either side of the table whilst watching the back of his employer present itself to him. “Are you just venting to me or would you like me to chime in with possible reasons why at some point?” the man inquires, watching a surprised superior turn back with a small semblance of light in his expression. “Do you?” Caesar inquires, caught by surprise at the suggestion before watching his subordinate peel off the helmet and place it under his arm at his side. “Well, yeah. Don’t you have any idea? It seems pretty obvious from where I stand” Ellis replies, stunning his superior with the ease and unmoved tone in which he speaks, “they were thrown from the track because they used the stratum keys.” Suddenly losing the lustre that had emerged in his eyes, Caesar’s face falls with the rest of his posture at the conclusion reached. “Oh, well... no. It’s not that... It can’t be” the scientist concludes, seemingly writing off the explanation as being equally uninteresting as the tone in which his subordinate had offered it suggested that it would be, “the corporation have used the keys in the races before and were never taken out of contention.” “They’ve used the stratum keys against other racers, but that was the first time they’d used the keys against the stratum itself, wasn’t it?” Ellis retorts, again watching the scientist’s face turn toward him with intrigue. “From what the drivers said and the limited recording we have from the stratum shows, the cars were using the key to make their own shortcut through the race” the mechanic doubles down with a relative lack of surprise, “that goes against the idea of these tracks testing each driver’s abilities completely.” With a squint, Caesar looks at his employee for a few further seconds without uttering a word, thinking quietly to himself before nodding, “you may be onto something” he confesses before the doors to their room open automatically. “I see a lot of work going on down here, but I don’t see any testing being done on my key” Alec remarks, interrupting the professionals without so much as a request for their time, “the biker kid’s got his own now, why don’t you test his out and give mine back?” In silence for a moment, Caesar looks at the Esteemed’s leader without judgement or retort for a moment before turning back toward the man whose discourse with him had been rudely cut through. “I won the thing fair and square and I deserve to have it back now. It’s mine” Alec responds, crossing his arms as he presses his side against the doorway that remains parted at his continued presence, “so give it back, take his instead, and let’s move on with our day.” “I’m sorry, but in what world is it... yours?” Caesar inquires, hearing enough of the complaints levied at him to allow them continued, uninterrupted passage that his prior conversation had gone without the luxury of. “You saw me get through the portal with it first... I won it” Alec responds, suddenly becoming less lackadaisical in his demeanour as he stands upright once more, though he remains in the poorly lit doorway, “since I won it, that makes it mine.” “No, that makes it mine” the scientist refutes to the surprise of the driver, who scrunches his face with the intensity of a petulant child not used to hearing the word ‘no’ being spoken to him. “You race in cars that I modified, in stratums that I grant you access to, and from the comfort of an undetectable building that I crafted” Caesar remarks, running down the laundry list of points that work toward his favour, “none of that is to mention that you race for me. Anything that you win in those stratums... are mine.” “Hold on a minute, that’s not-” Alec attempts to reply, hearing enough of the older man’s remarks to warrant interrupting them, only for his point to be thwarted by the elder’s own lapse in decency. “That’s not what? Fair? Get used to it, Mr. Mayweather... There’s a lot more about you that irritates people here than just your selfish, bratty, pampered and arrogant temperament” Caesar responds, stepping away from his subordinate’s workbench in favour of approaching one of the club’s leaders. “Life isn’t fair, and not even the most optimistic of people in this world think that it is. The idea of fairness alone is a fantasy, let alone an attainable goal. If you’ve lived in the real world for more than a few moments, you’d know how pitiful of an excuse ‘that’s not fair’ really is” Caesar concludes with a tone just louder than being buried beneath his breath. Remaining silent as he’s berated, Alec wears a scowl brought on by emotions of betrayal and lousy, blind trust whilst he continues to endure the emotional breaking apart that the scientist continues to act upon him. “If the status of your stratum key is all that you came down here and rudely interrupted my conversation for, you may now turn around just as unannounced as you arrived and return the way you came from” Caesar proceeds, pointing in the direction of the staircase the driver had descended to reach him, “go to your friends, wait for the next stratum to open, and try- just like all the others- to win me another race.” With his nostrils flaring, Alec stares into the eyes of the professional’s face for a few seconds before grunting as he turns away, retreating just as he’d been instructed to do whilst the doctor watches on, taking a few seconds out of his day to ensure the man is walking off before returning to Ellis. “My apologies for the interruption, Mr. Valencia... What were you saying?” Caesar inquires, politely returning focus to the discussion they’d unintentionally put on pause. Storming through the second level, Alec marches into the clubhouse and pushes the door of his group in, pointing to the corner in which they’d politely stored their belongings before speaking to the trio that take notice of his sudden entrance. “Pack your things up... We’re leaving” the leader remarks in a subdued tone, not wanting his voice to reach levels loud enough that the other groups can overhear him. “What? Why?” Lana questions back, just as confused as the rest of her group is, though taking it more seriously than Eric does as he bounces a ball against the wall his chair sits beside whilst Ross holds the tip of a permanent marker to his nose. “Because Caesar’s a jackass who’s not going to give me back the key that I won” Alec responds, grabbing the minute objects that he’d entered the second level with before snatching his keys, “he thinks that we're racing for him.” “Well, aren’t we?” Eric proceeds to inquire with a squint, continuing to sit upon his chair and toss the tennis ball at the drywall. “What the hell kind of question is that, E!? Of course we don’t race for him!” Alec responds, walking up to his friend before snatching the toy as it’s mid-descent between the room’s side and the teammate’s hand, “now quit fucking around and pack your shit... We’re leaving.” “You don’t fuckin’ need to tell me twice!” Ross proclaims, tossing the marker into the corner of the room before eagerly climbing over Alec’s bed and racing for their belongings in the corner. “Babe, you heard the guy when he said that we couldn’t-” Lana replies, trying to reason with her boyfriend before the reminder she wishes to utter falls upon deaf ears, ignored by the man that storms through the door and marches to the other side of the clubhouse. “Did you know that-!?” Alec proclaims as he bursts through the door of the DSRC’s clubhouse, falling silent the moment he finds the lack of a fourth soul occupying the room- the one he’d actually set out to look for. “Where the hell is the kid? The one of you that won?” the Esteemed’s leader wonders aloud, only to receive an aggressive demeanour from those who occupy the residence. “You rich bastards never learn any common goddamn decency, do you?” Dale angrily calls out, standing up from his seat with a slight wobble at first, continuing to carry his beer in hand. “Pat’s sleeping in the garage outside the clubhouse, why do you care?” Kurt responds, begging the question that rests upon his mind as he steps toward the Kaiyo doorway just beyond the DSRC’s entrance, the outburst proceeding to interest Ronny, who pokes his head through the Crew’s home. “Biker guy!” Alec proclaims as he emerges from the clubhouse with a small knapsack in tow, followed by the members of every other club aside from Mark, who remains working on his car as the scene unfolds. “You’ve got a better chance at getting a response from him if you call him by his name” Tyson points out, leading the charge of his group whilst Butch ensures Dale keeps a safe distance for the Esteemed leader’s sake. “What do you want, rich guy?” Pat wonders aloud after a few seconds, emerging from his garage whilst rubbing his eyes, seemingly awoken by the call for his presence. “He’s not giving us back our keys... He thinks they’re his” Alec responds, drawing nearer to the rival driver that he feels now shares common ground with him, only to find an unbothered reaction to take shape in the biker’s posture. “Alright” Pat replies, his nonchalant attitude to the situation catching the Esteemed’s leader by great surprise, the McLaren driver’s eyebrows scrunching and face following suit out of shock. “What the hell do you mean ‘alright’!? We won them, they’re ours!” Alec proclaims, trying to talk sense in the man that seemingly can’t be bothered one way or the other. “What the hell am I supposed to do with it anyway? Put it in a frame and hang it in my garage? I can’t use the things in my car as far as I know” Pat responds, failing to understand what the difference made is meant to be, “I’ve got no use for it, what the hell do I care who has it or what they do with it?” “This doesn’t bother you at all?” Alec questions back, unable to see sense in not taking offence to this change in operation, “they’re supposed to give you advantages in the races, and you won fair and square... You don’t want yours back?” Scratching at the back of his head whilst fixing the bottom of his ruffled up white t-shirt, Pat looks toward the portal that’s meant to open each new stratum, half-heartedly holding out hope that it’ll put an unplanned end to the discourse he doesn’t care much to have. “Like I said, I don’t even know how I’d use it to get the advantage it’s supposed to have” he confesses, shaking his head at a loss for even a simple suggestion, “besides, I won the thing without an advantage in the first place. If it really bothered me so much, I’d just go out and win another like I did the first time.” “What the hell is wrong with some of you people?” Alec wonders aloud in disbelief, unable to make sense out of the disregard that some of the racers have as he walks past the only other driver who’d won a stratum, “he’s taking something we earned! Why the hell are we just supposed to tolerate it!?” “Because you don’t have any other choice. The moment you entered the storm stratum, you resigned yourself to that fact emotionally... All of you did” Caesar replies, walking with Ellis in his shadow toward the drivers that now cluster together in his presence, “I told you that there’s no going home unless I allow it. You accepted that premise and, until an outburst, I hadn’t heard any such rebuttal to that fact in the time since.” “Things are different now” Alec replies with an angry tone, only for the scientist’s unamused redirection of his face toward the Esteemed’s leader to accompany his unbothered tone. “No, they’re not. You just don’t like it as much now” Caesar responds, silencing the man that- even in his confrontational state- can’t find the willingness to disagree, “but you all, nonetheless, have no other choice. You race until our work here is done, and whatever comes of that after the fact... Will be addressed at that time.” Keeping their composure intact, Kaiyo, the Crew and the remaining members of the DSRC keep their thoughts to themselves and refuse to voice any disagreement, prompting the doctor to turn toward the one racer of the bunch who seems to take issue with that. “Now that we’ve established that fact, it’s time to attend to bigger matters. The next stratum can open at any moment...” Caesar proclaims before again glancing toward the wider group of drivers with a shrug, “...we still have a lot of work to do.” == Driveline == Slamming against the ground and splintering into dozens of pieces before heating up as it cooks along the ground, Caesar’s recon bots roll to a horrifyingly hot pause whilst racers they’d intended to service speed past at blistering speeds. “Drivers, do not slow down” Caesar proclaims, watching the cameras of those who enter the stratum whilst monitoring the heat of each vehicle, “I have reason to believe that your tires may melt if you remain stationary for too long.”
“Screw our tires! What about us!” Alec proclaims, his McLaren’s all-black exterior perfectly reflecting the thin streams of lava that line either edge of the track, travelling alongside the course as if they were designed to keep the racers within boundaries. “Yeah, you may not realise this Caesar... But it’s pretty damn hot in here!” Ronny proclaims, travelling behind Taro in lieu of Mark’s absence. “You’re not driving chariots, boys! You’ve got an A.C” Eric tags on, cranking his to the highest setting whilst following Lana’s lead, checking his rear view mirror to find a lone straggler remaining a few dozen yards behind him. “It isn’t that bad on the bikes” Pat remarks, driving on his own as he veers past the Crew vehicles without instigating issues, advancing closer toward Kaiyo’s tail end whilst inspecting the surroundings, “the air doesn’t feel that hot when it’s hitting you in the face.” “You better hope it’s just the air that’s hitting you and your friends then, outlaw” Alec responds, poking the bear that Caesar’s interruption proceeds to ensure goes without a reply. “Be mindful of your tires. My readings indicate that you should be able to make it to the end, but you might start losing traction throughout the race” the scientist proclaims, warning those that look back to find black cars appearing through the portal with their green lights shining bright. “This place looks wild” Kurt remarks, setting his aviator shades over his face as the already-dim landscape grows dimmer, as do the intense streaks of bright lava along his sides. Gargantuan in size compared to their vehicles, the volcano in the centre of the stratum that actively leaves the ground shaking at its behest proceeds to gradually allow liquid rivers of orange to gush over the edge and toward the directions in which the drivers will be forced to navigate. “Kaiyo, it seems like things are only about to get hotter” Nolo remarks, the topless nature of his convertible affording him the same decent breeze that the DSRC catches, a result that prompts Taro to begin rolling his own roof back in hopes of catching the same. “We’re going inside the damn thing?” Alec complains aloud, rolling his eyes as he settles into his seat, watching the same hole in the side of the volcano that Kaiyo dips into as it approaches. As the yellow light at the back-left of his Spyder begins to blink the moment he enters the bubbling monstrosity, Nolo leads Kaiyo down the left-most track whilst the Crew quickly follows them in, choosing to take the right turn as a trio whilst the rest catch up. “Pretty ballsy move not taking the straight-away” Alec remarks through the radio, knowing the others are just barely within reach to hear his communication, guiding the Esteemed in the direction the initial track had carried them. “To the right, boys” Dale proclaims, guiding his Fury in the direction that the Crew had taken whilst Pat carries on in the opposite direction, following the left-most course to the leader’s displeasure. “Worthless little son of a-” the DSRC’s leader begins to murmur as he catches the faintest glimpse of the breakaway driver’s tail lights through his mirrors, only to be kept from finishing the thought at Tyson’s interruption. “He made his call and you let him. If he’s worthless, it was you that allowed him to be” Butch’s son remarks, leaving little room between his recollection and follow-up for offence to be taken, “stop focusing on Pat and start focusing on getting us to the finish line.” Begrudgingly putting his differences aside with the man he’d been convinced to bring along, Dale grits his teeth and presses the tops of his feet against the pegs as he glues his eyes to the rear lights of the Crew. “Divide them evenly. Leave no route untaken” the bald gentleman at his conference table remarks, watching the cameras of his automated cars carry themselves into the volcano, leaving his employee to do as instructed. Breaking into smaller groups of four, the corporation vehicles follow each of the three passageways in rows, drafting together and embracing the heat of the artificially-created monolith at the stratum’s centre a few seconds before a following group of cars also do. “The centre path is the clearest path” the man in the front-most vehicle remarks, looking into his rear-view mirror to see five sets of purple headlights flashing at him three times, gesturing their understanding of his comment. In a single-file line, the black vehicles and their wonderfully colourful lights descend amongst the middle-most route whilst the air outside only grows hotter, intensifying the longer that the volcano threatens to explode into an eruption of incredible heat. = 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, Alec! I think we’ve still got someone tailing us!” Eric proclaims, gently pulling off to the side just the faintest amount to give the leader a glance at the pursuing vehicle from his rear view mirror. “It looks like one of those street punks” Ross remarks, checking the reflection just as the group’s leader does, only for that conclusion to already have been brought on by the Esteemed’s shot-caller. “I figured you’d be trying to follow your brother now that your squad cut you loose” Alec proclaims, calling back to the driver that had remained silent in his observation of the leaders until this moment. “You and I have some unfinished business too” Mark responds, laying his foot into the pedal as he gains ground on the leader, catching a glimpse at a divide within the track up ahead, “it seems like we’ve got the same choice as a minute or so ago coming up. What do you say you and I take the right course and your buddies go left?” “Why would I agree to that? It sounds foolish” Alec questions back, implying his disinterest despite the way in which he phrases the proposition to clearly leave room for him to be convinced. “Listen, preppy. If you’re scared, that’s perfectly fine” Mark remarks, bypassing the question and playfully jumping to conclusions, knowingly getting under the leader’s skin as such a comment serves to do, “maybe you need your friends around to win, I totally get-” “The rest of you take the right track while I school Kurt Junior on how to race like a real man” Alec interjects, ordering his group to do as instructed whilst the divide in the course approaches, already beginning to turn his wheels to the right. “Are you sure, babe?” Lana questions back, watching the man’s vehicle break from the pack just as Mark’s does from behind, leaving them to do as told. “Just go the other fucking way” Alec cuts back aggravatedly, keeping to his side of the road whilst the rest of his group does the opposite, taking the shift to the right whilst the drone vehicles near closer. “One to each side and two keep on the straight-away” Hamilton remarks, watching Delilah tap the controls into her tablet as the results display themselves in the shifting of their cars’ course. “Maintain the straight-away” the helmeted driver of the rear-most group remarks, again looking into his rear view mirror as five sets of purple lights flash at him, carrying on with their journey through the cavernous beast of a structure that further rumbles the ground. | “I think we’re just climbing higher up” Vert remarks, continuing to follow his group’s lead whilst glancing as high into the volcano as his eyes can catch, “I’m not able to see much more than you guys, though.” “The track looks like it spills out at the top. I saw a part of the course that spills over the edge and just shoots down before we got inside here...” Pat remarks, addressing the Kaiyo driver’s curiosity with assurance of his own, “...I’m pretty sure we’re on that track.” “Where did your friends go, biker guy?” Kurt questions back with an eyebrow raised, watching as the motorcyclist continues to travel alongside them, barely passing Talia before climbing the ascent even higher. “They decided that being loners was more important than winning” Pat responds, the ease in which his vehicle moves with the turns and grooves in the track proving beneficial as he continues gaining ground on the Kaiyo leader’s vehicle. “If you’re arguing that winning is more important than anything else, I’m afraid we don’t see eye-to-eye with you either” Kurt confesses, watching the man’s Diavel gain ground on him as the motorbike keeps to the right-most side of the track. “I’d rather share a track with you than the guys that keep trying to run me off the road” Pat admits, looking toward Kaiyo’s second in command as their vehicles become level with each other, “besides, you guys are more interested in the art, right? Running me off the road doesn’t seem to align too well with that.” “Don’t fuck with us and we won’t fuck with you, that’s all I’ve got to say” Nolo remarks, looking toward the Diavel’s driver in the right-most mirror on his car, “if we’ve got an agreement on that, drive as you please.” Using the leverage of his bike to his advantage, Pat picks up the pace and aligns his motorbike with the topless Spyder, looking toward the Kaiyo leader as they approach a modest straight away and offering him a quiet salute, gesturing his agreement before pulling just slightly ahead. | “Is that ash?” Ronny wonders aloud, watching the sky darken as their track leads beyond the mountainous structure and into open air once more, the hellish tinge in the air having been blanketed behind a layer of horrible clouds. “That’s a shame, I was really starting to enjoy having the top down on this thing” Taro remarks, flipping the switch on his centre console that prompts the top to cover his ‘Cuda once more. “You boys be careful back there, you hear?” Harland remarks, calling out to the trio of bikers that remain a few paces behind them, aware that the same luxury his co-founder has is not universal. “Keep your warning to yourselves” Dale responds, keeping an eye out for the corporation cars that tail him as the layer of dark fog overhead only appears to descend faster. “To each their own” Harland replies, conceding to the demands of the rival group and remaining focused on the goal of seeing the end of the track first. “Dad, we’re not gonna be able to drive through this” Tyson remarks, warning the man between himself and the leader of the conditions that they face before receiving the same reply that the Crew’s leader had received. “Keep that nonsense down, son” Butch retorts, leaning into his 750 slightly further as he gears up for the road that remains ahead. Rolling his eyes, Tyson shakes his head and stares toward the sky, passing a glance in his mirrors to the drone vehicles that follow behind, emerging from the volcano as the blanket of ash continues to fall. Turning on his wipers, Harland braces against the ash just as the rest of the vehicles do, keeping a mental image of the track and the turn that appears to come up ahead before taking a sudden notice of the conditions. Giving himself a rough estimation of the distance between the descending blanket and the track ahead, Harland makes a split-second call that leaves his hand pulling away from the gearshift and resting upon a button nearby it. “Crew, hit your booster now” the leader remarks, doing just that before watching those behind him follow along, speeding ahead of the conditions before slowing back to a regular pace, “again! Hit the booster again!” he proclaims with a second propulsion. “What are they doing?” Hamilton wonders aloud, looking into the cameras of the vehicles that tail the bikers, noticing the speed in which the course’s leaders breeze through. “I believe they’re trying to outrun the-” Delilah attempts to answer, only to find herself being hushed as the rear-most biker burns rubber against the track and grinds to a stop, quickly turning his vehicle around and retreating back the way that he’d come. “Son, what the hell are you doing!?” Butch shouts back, watching his offspring cut away from the pack and begin racing the track backwards, driving head-first into the drone vehicles that preemptively part toward either side of the track, allowing the young man passage that seemingly takes him out of the race. Receiving no answer, Butch angrily slams the dashboard as Dale’s tail light becomes more difficult to spot, vanishing into the cloud of ash gradually. “Pay no mind to the little bastard, Butch! This is you and I!” the DSRC’s leader proclaims, writing off Tyson’s actions and moving beyond them whilst following in the speedy Crew’s path, leaning into the turn that begins to slowly fall from view before feeling give in the track beneath him. “Rubber, Dale! Rubber! You’re losing-!” Butch proclaims, barely able to see the team’s leader skidding further along the course than intended before his bike begins doing the same, losing too much traction to keep themselves on the track. Sliding off the road at the same time as each other, the bikers brace for impact and instinctively reach for the button that leaves their only remaining trace within the stratum to disappear with the flash of light. Unable to see any further development in the distance other than a modest and subdued pair of flashing lights ahead, Hamilton watches the drone cameras suddenly fall into darkness that only ends when a brief flash of bright, vibrant orange emerges within view and cues the end of their signal. “What happened!?” the scientist proclaims, having recognised the feed being cut before looking toward the woman at the room’s side, her bottom lip pressed between her teeth. “I believe we just lost four of our cars, sir” Delilah answers to the reaction of a balled fist slamming against the conference table. “Damnit!” Hamilton proclaims, realising that the orange glow he’d witnessed shortly before losing contact with the cars was a pit of lava they’d been unintentionally submerged into. | “Tyson, Dale and your father have safely returned to the second level” Caesar remarks, speaking into the biker’s headset as he returns to the divide that he’d initially taken the left-most track of, quickly turning onto the straight-away as he replies. “Did they get run off the track?” Tyson questions back, resuming his participation in the race that he at least intends to finish unlike the other members of his team. “Not necessarily...” Caesar replies, his voice being amplified into the second level whilst both Dale and Butch angrily remove their helmets, overhearing the conversation that the scientist has with their remaining team member, “they realised that they really weren’t able to drive through that.” “Yeah, well... That was nonsense to them” Tyson replies, his voice, too, carrying itself through the speakers that litter the second level’s interior, catching the ear of those who’d been forced to retreat from the race at a loss. Grunting as he frustratedly throws his helmet at the ground, Dale climbs off his Fury and retreats for the clubhouses, doing so whilst Butch remains standing by, watching him walk off whilst passing a stare at the dash camera on his son’s VRSC. | “You see that, Kurt Junior? It looks like your big brother’s getting the best of you yet again!” Alec proclaims with a grin, continuing to lead the exiled member of the Crew as they ascend higher into the mountain, watching as the Kaiyo cars and their straggling, motorcyclist friend approach the top. “Good luck, boys!” Pat proclaims, continuing to remain just slightly ahead of the topless Spyder as they climb the straight ascent into the open air. “Right back at you, biker guy” Nolo casually replies, pushing against his seat as they near the lip of the mountain, watching the Diavel’s wheels leave the surface of the track two seconds before his own do, their ascent into the air appearing more like the running waters of a tidal wave than anything else as they curve back toward the earth, the air embracing them as the volcano suddenly begins to roar. Colliding with the ground nearly halfway down the hill-like slope of the track, Pat and Kaiyo pass momentary glances at the volcano that they emerge from like a newborn child, finding its rockface to suddenly begin shaking as violently as the ground does. “I think the beast is waking up” Kurt quips, keeping his focus on the track ahead as the ground continues to vibrate, making it feel as if the structure supporting the track were capable of giving out at any moment. “Hey!” Alec proclaims as he’s thrown closer to his steering wheel than he’d like, feeling the weight of his car jostle forward as his shadow's Firebird slams against the back of it. “You just gonna keep playing defence or are you ready for me to make an example out of you?” Mark questions aloud, gently relocating his finger toward a button on his centre console. “There’s nothing you can do that’ll-” Alec begins proclaiming, only for his response to be cut short as his car is again slammed into, only this time by a vehicle that also forcibly shoves the Firebird off to the side. “Fuck off, asshat!” Mark proclaims, watching the all-black vehicle that grinds against his driver’s side attempt to intervene in their race before fighting fire with fire, battering back into the corporation car’s side to return the favour. “What the hell is this asshole doing!?’ Alec questions aloud, forced into checking his rear view mirror more often now that he’s no longer sharing space with only one other rival. “He’s trying to ruin my goddamn fun!” Mark proclaims, only to be startled by the appearance of a streak of lava firing upward from the base of the volcano, erupting from within the structure like a beam of light as they draw nearer to the crater’s exit. “What the fuck was that!?” Alec proclaims, bracing for impact just as his opponent had before failing to receive a reply as the corporation vehicle attempts to overtake him. “I’m pretty sure it’s a sign that we better get the fuck out of here!” Mark proclaims, taking notice of an opening that he receives as their ascent nears its ultimate peak, the same leap of faith that his brother had taken not too long ago now presenting itself to him as an inevitability. “Eat shit, asshole!” Mark proclaims, violently thrusting his vehicle to the left as the drone car exposes itself to an assault, pit manoeuvring the driverless vehicle as it attempts to climb ahead of the Esteemed leader’s own, though involuntarily taking the leading automobile off course as well. “What the hell!?” Alec proclaims, suddenly hearing the screeching of his rubber tires as they drag along the ground, the front of his car facing the left side of the track whilst the automated cruiser skids off the road. Maintaining control of his vehicle as the rival vehicle teeters over the edge, Mark stomps on the gas and slams his Firebird’s hood against the side of Alec’s McLaren, forcing the luxury car to stabilise itself as they near the ascent in a display of good sportsmanship. “Hit your booster!” the Crew’s exiled leader proclaims, taking advantage of the Esteemed leader’s uncoordinated attempt at reclaiming control of his car to prove his reliability. In unison, the pair of drivers trigger their advantage and fire out of the volcano like rockets, doing so as a wave of lava spews into the air and just barely fails to strike at the escaping vehicles. Bracing for impact together, Mark and Alec return to the track and watch as the Kaiyo drivers continue speed well ahead of them, accompanied by only a biker as their course appears to run parallel to two others. | “Hey, Caesar! Are these the corporation or the other guys!?” Tyson wonders aloud, asking the same question that Butch had sitting on the top of his mind as he watches the live feed from the second level. Keeping his lips from the microphone, the man whose intellect is called for inspects the scene that he finds from the VRSC’s camera, “I’m not sure” he admits, as all eight cars appear to continue driving in line with each other. Suddenly, two of the green-light vehicles are knocked off either side of the track by the remaining six, who carry on undisturbed whilst Tyson continues to tail them. After a few seconds, the tail lights that provide him with his only clue begin to revert to their original, purple colour and carry on with their journey. “I do now” Caesar finally responds, taking the gesture as an answer whilst Tyson hits his booster, catching up with the fleet of vehicles ahead before purposefully cutting his increased speed off before he can overtake the fleet. Skilled enough to lift both hands from the handlebars as he draws nearer, Tyson keeps his bike in line with the track as he presents himself as purposefully unthreatening, approaching the leading vehicle as the scientist at home watches on intently. Catching the eye of the man behind the wheel of the front-most car, Tyson gestures his hand in a cranking motion whilst Dale emerges from the clubhouse with a beer in hand, looking toward Butch before letting his eyes wander toward the camera of the son’s bike. Refusing to respond for a moment, the curious group’s apparent leader finally does as instructed, lowering the passenger’s window and opening a branch of contact between himself and the rival racer. “I don’t want any trouble! I just want to know who you are!” Tyson proclaims, unable to see past the man’s helmet as Caesar can only see the track ahead, hoping to overhear an answer from the driver that he cannot see. Without saying a word, the leading racer of the vehicles with purple lights points his thumb toward the back of the cars, gesturing for the biker to oversee a presentation. In a flash of white light, the rear-most vehicle in the fleet disappears from the stratum similarly to how the man’s father and club leader had, this view presenting itself to the remaining biker. With a curious squint, Tyson looks back at the vehicle leader as the man points his finger toward the button on the man’s bike twice, inevitably turning the finger toward the ground and making the same motion. “You want me to press the angel button!?” Tyson questions aloud, watching the mysterious racer nod his head three times, agreeing to such a conclusion that prompts the biker to seriously consider following the command. “I will, but I just want to know one thing before I do!” the remaining DSRC motorcyclist proclaims, extending an olive branch that he hopes the other faction’s racer will accept, “are you a threat to us? Are you like them?” he questions whilst pointing toward the direction in which the corporation vehicles had been thrown off. Without verbal reply, the leading driver lifts the palm of his hand toward the following biker before folding each finger aside from his index digit, slowly pulling it toward his helmet and gesturing for the racer to quiet. With a slight confusion, Tyson takes the gesture as something more than he’d received to this point and lets his mind roam toward the most-optimistic of thoughts, considering the non-answer he’d received as good as he’ll get before doing as suggested. Pressing the base of his hand against the angel button, Tyson’s DRSC vanishes into the air with a streak of light and returns to the second level, gradually descending the ramp that his father soon hurries to. “What the hell just happened in there!?” Butch calls out, running to his son as the man frees himself of the helmet, letting it press against his side as he wraps his arm around it, looking at his bike whilst softly whispering to himself. “Silence” Tyson murmurs with a curious gleam in his eye, not addressing his father’s question or answering his own, but simply reciting the gesture that he’d been asked of with intrigue. | “I see the end” Nolo proclaims, glancing into his rear view mirror as the green lights of corporation cars remain dragging in the distance, the lights of three other vehicles just now rounding from one track onto their own, making it clear that they remain the front runners. “Do you want us to take care of the drone cars, Nolo?” Vert questions aloud, receiving no answer from the leader at first before the hesitation is overridden. “Talia, Vert, stop your cars and form a line with me” Kurt orders, slowing his vehicle down as the temperatures continue to rise, taking the Kaiyo leader’s non-answer as an opening for his own decree to take over, “be ready to hit your angel buttons the second they slam into us.” Doing as told, Vert and Talia approach the front and back of Kurt’s RX-7 respectively as the enemy vehicles draw nearer. “Go get it done, Nolo!” Vert proclaims, leaving both the Kaiyo leader and the breakaway driver from the DSRC to carry out the final stretch of the race. “Use the storm stratum key!” Hamilton proclaims, only to find the cameras of his corporation vehicles being shaken as the fronts of other vehicles slam into them from behind. Cutting off the corporation cars from retreat whilst Kaiyo’s vehicles prevent them from further advancement, the remaining Esteemed drivers disrupt their plans and get the better of their aggressors, stubbornly refusing to allow safe passage. “We don’t need your help” Kurt calls out, making it clear to those that travel without a leader what their intention is. “You see your leader up there!? There’s no way we’re catching up!” Ross proclaims with an arrogant grin, slamming on the gas once more as the front of his Tributo causes problems for the drone cars once more, “we’re just having fun with them now!” Trailing behind, by a few hundred yards, Alec and Mark coincidentally travel in a single-file line and begin catching up to the frontman’s group. “Alec, hit your turbo again!” Mark calls out, prompting the Esteemed’s leader to glance back at the rear-view mirror once more as he pauses, considering the suggestion for a brief moment before following through on the order. With the slam of his thumb on the centre console, the McLaren takes off firing whilst the Firebird maintains distance, heavily catching up to those that the front-most driver of the pair answer to. “Boys and girl! Move aside and hit them when we do!” Alec proclaims, getting within the range of the group’s radios quickly as he prepares to take on yet another shot of speed. “What the hell are you doing!? Use the key!” Hamilton proclaims, climbing out of his seat before receiving as much reluctance from his secretary as necessary. “Boss, they’re ganging up on them! The key won’t do anything for all of them!” Delilah responds, prompting the hairless superior to look back at the monitor as the automated cars draw nearer to the line of Kaiyo cars. “Hit them in three... two...” Alec proclaims, slamming his hand against the turbo button once more whilst Mark follows suit, quickly thrusting into the back of the corporation vehicles in unison, “...one!” “Brace for impact!” Kurt proclaims, tensing up as the full force of the Esteemed, the four corporation cars and his own little brother slam against their frontline and cause a pile up with so much force that all twelve cars are shot off the road, flying through the air with the majority vanishing into a ray of light, returning to the second level whilst others dive into the bubbling lava to the angered reaction of the boardroom-based overseer. On the final stretch and with nothing to stop them, Nolo and Pat approach the same goal that presents them with a deep, red glow. Triggering their booster at the same time as each other, the Kaiyo leader’s front bumper evens out with the DSRC departee’s front wheel as they hit the propulsion system, guaranteeing the second level a victory as they fire into through the dimensional divide at the same time. Vanishing through the display of light, both the Spyder and the Diavel emerge from the top of the same offramp as each other, skidding their mostly tractionless tires across the ground whilst the rest of the newly-returned racers watch on. Racing from the control centre above, Caesar glances over the railing at the returned vehicles with widened eyes, staring in wonderment with hopes that either vehicle- both of whom have interiors exposed to the air- will present him with a burst of colourful light. Finally regaining control of his vehicle, Nolo grasps the steering wheel tightly and looks around his front seat, looking for any sign of victory that he can find before unbuckling his seatbelt. Opening his door and touching back upon solid ground, Kaiyo’s leader watches as the portal spits out a trio of vehicles he’d grown accustomed to seeing over the years, their completion of the race just barely managing to fall behind himself and the breakaway biker. Sliding across the ground, Harland’s Oldsmobile becomes the first to roll to a stop before he climbs out of his car, doing so only when the scene appears safe. “Did you win?” the Crew’s leader questions aloud, doing so as Ronny hurriedly climbs down from his Lil’ Red Express and whilst Taro pulls down his ash-less convertible top. “I don’t know! How do we know if we-?” Nolo calls out, looking around the area for a brief moment in search of answers before falling silent, finding the same floating card that glows such brilliant shades of red that each racer’s eye is transfixed on it. Casually pulling his helmet off, Pat stares at the squiggly-shaped key that floats beside his person before plucking it out of the air with a grin, looking at the Kaiyo leader that it appears he’d just narrowly beaten. “Sorry, man” the DSRC departee remarks with the stratum key in tow, the apologetic tone that he takes on not being shared by the scientist above, Caesar’s relief and smile carrying the bow of his head as he leans against the bannister. Suddenly losing the spurt of hopeful enthusiasm he’d carried, Nolo steadies himself back against his car and lets his eyes fall just as loose strands of hair do, the frown that Kurt carries toward him from afar being complimented by the disgruntled scowl that Dale holds toward the race’s victor. == Driveline == “This might have been the least impressive race I’ve seen you all compete in” Caesar remarks, standing at the front of the monitor-littered room, his hands locked together behind his back. “At no point did I believe that any of you stood a reasonable chance at victory” the scientist furthers, his comments bordering on insulting those that sit within his lecture, “and now the Warped Stratum’s key lies in the hand of another.”
Without speaking a word, Nolo presses his hands to the edge of the round table, lifting himself out of his seat whilst the rest of his group watches on, none batting even a single eyelash at his physical interruption. “I’m not interested in hearing any of this unless you answer my question from last night” the Kaiyo leader remarks, watching the scientist’s unchanged expression hold toward his direction, waiting out his interjection patiently, “why did that car have a driver in it?” “Nolo, please sit-” Caesar replies, extending a hand toward the seat that the driver had left before immediately finding reluctance, the driver’s interruption yet to cease as he doubles down on the inquiry. “I’m not sitting down until you tell me why that car had a driver in it” Nolo declares, staring at the scientist whilst the rest of Kaiyo direct their focus upon the man at the front of the room, waiting to see whether or not they can expect a reply or a request. Visibly dissatisfied, Caesar hangs his head for a few seconds in silence, staring at the ground as his leg gently bounces off the ground. “Nolo, please take your-” the man begins to calmly request, only for the shuffling feet of the remaining Kaiyo members to graze the carpet, pushing their chairs out and joining their leader in standing from the table. Having made himself clear at the start of his intervention, Nolo leads a march away from the table, followed closely behind by the three who leave in solidarity with him. “Someone’s mad they choked a big race away again” Alec comments with a grin, leaning back in his chair with the bottom of his shoe pressing against the table’s edge, his claim ignored by those who carry on with their departure. Groaning as his head hangs toward the ground, Caesar allows Kaiyo to exit the meeting whilst Ellis watches on, ready to intervene if necessary whilst his superior attempts to redirect course. “You are all racing far too selfishly for comfort. When the stratums open, the only thing that’s important is beating the corporation” Caesar comments, watching a hand sheepishly lift up from the Crew’s side of the table. “I know you don’t seem interested in talking about it, but the Kaiyo guy does have a good point” Ronny comments aloud, earning a chuckle from the Esteemed’s leader whilst carrying on, “I thought you said the corporation’s cars were self-driving. Why would there be a driver in them?” “Who the hell cares?” Alec wonders aloud with his smirk, hearing the mechanisms within his chair creak and moan as he stresses them, unbothered by the fact that it was never meant to recline. “All Mr. Choke Artist cares about is the fact that he keeps coming up short right when he nears the finish line” the youngest leader of the group remarks. “If the corporation cars are supposed to be self-driving, there’s no reason for a driver to be behind the wheel” Ronny replies, answering the Esteemed member whilst Taro watches on quietly, “that doesn’t line up, which means what we’re being told doesn’t make sense.” Turning his eyes toward the scientist, the Crew’s mechanic doubles down on his earlier question, not being afraid to call the information they’re receiving into question, “why was there a driver behind the wheel, Caesar?” Staring at the man who questions him, Caesar continues on with his silence, refusing to offer any response at first whilst the rest of the Crew stares back at him, waiting for an answer to their teammate’s question. “Fuck it, who the hell was driving that car?” Alec proceeds to inquire, giving into the rest of the group’s curiosity and requesting information that he knows the meeting will not continue without being offered. “We don’t know who they are” Ellis interrupts, prompting his superior to turn back and look at him with a slightly perturbed expression, though the strength within it does not appear to suggest a deep or impactful displeasure. “What do you mean?” Dale questions back, refusing to let the confession go without being addressed, the admission finally doing enough to interest the motorcyclists. “We mean just that... We don’t know who they are” Caesar answers, doing so as he continues staring at Ellis, slowly guiding his eyes back toward the groups that remain as he answers their inquiries. “There’s a third group partaking in the races. We don’t understand how they discovered entry to the stratums or where they operate out of” the scientist concedes, “all we know is that they’re in there.” = 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 = “This is bogus!” Ronny proclaims, following Harland alongside Taro whilst Mark trails behind, keeping to himself as he watches the ground that he walks along. “How can the guy have the balls to talk our ear off about how bad we raced for almost an hour without telling us what we wanted to know?” the mechanic furthers, entirely dissatisfied with the lack of fruits that the labour of their attendance has presented. “If the man doesn’t know who they are, there’s nothing that he can say” Harland replies, keeping his chin up and eyes on the next race as they march toward their dorms. “If there’s nothing that he can say, then there’s no reason for us to get our minds stuck in this nonsense” Taro adds on, rounding the corner and taking a glance past the Esteemed’s dorm as they head for their own, “if Caesar doesn’t know who they are, then we’re not going to lose our minds trying to find out.” “What do you mean? Don’t you want to know who these guys are?” Ronny questions back, watching his teammate’s head turn to face him before the question is answered by the man at the front of the group, his back turning toward their flat’s entrance as his arms cross. “The only one of us that’s one a realm is the preppy asshat next door” Harland responds, looking toward the trio that follow him as his lips part. “I heard that, asshole! I still won!” Alec proclaims from the comfort of his team’s clubhouse, able to overhear the conversation through the open door that he casually dismisses his foes from. Scowling in the team’s direction, Harland clicks his tongue and bobs his head toward the sanctuary’s entrance, gesturing for Taro and Ronny to pass before once more cutting off the entrance as Mark quietly attempts to do so, seeing this interruption and yet to react. “You can come back into the clubhouse when you start acting like part of the Crew” Harland remarks, stepping back through the doorway and grabbing the handle of the entrance, “until then, I’d suggest you make yourself a comfortable little bed in your Firebird.” Stepping forward with arms held out at each side, Mark scrunches his face and attempts to reason with the man as the door begins to close. “What the hell, Torque. You can’t just kick me-” he rebuttals, unable to finish voicing his comment before the door slams shut and locks at the deadbolt, refusing the younger of the Wayland siblings entrance. Trying to turn the handle to no avail, Mark grunts with dissatisfaction before punching at the door frame, turning back for the way that he’d come as he ventures toward the garage, watched on as his figure briefly passes by the Esteemed’s doorway by the preppy group’s leader. “Kaiyo hasn’t won a damn thing since they got here, but they’ve been a hell of a lot closer than us” Harland remarks, returning to his address of the remaining members as they stand at attention near the centre of the room. “I don’t want any of us worrying about things beyond our control until we start winning” the leader reiterates, letting his arms fall as he passes the pair, approaching the table with their coffee assortments spread out, “when we start acting like this place can’t go on without us, we’ll start making demands like this place is ours.” “What are we going to do about Wayland?” Taro questions aloud, turning his body to follow that of the leader’s own, the shot-caller of the group preparing himself a foam cup of the hot beverage whilst he answers. “Wayland isn’t in our good graces right now. Maybe making that clear will convince him to quit acting out of line. Maybe he needed to see a consequence to what he’s been doing” Harland responds with a dismissive shrug, “we’ll handle Wayland however Wayland decides that we will.” | “Well if it isn’t the little people-pleasers” Dale remarks as he sinks into his recliner with a beer in hand, both legs kicked up against the footrest that extends from the seat as the youngest pair of the group enters. Immediately frowning, Tyson glances toward his father with a displeased expression before receiving nothing, not an ounce of change in the man’s demeanour convincing the younger of the Tarken family members that he’ll find assistance in his plight. “Does keeping an eye out for your own mean nothing to you two? Is there some generational gap that I’m missing?” Dale questions aloud, allowed to continue doing so as his club’s vice president keeps his nose clean of the conversation. “How do you know that we weren’t looking out for our own?” Pat immediately questions back, crossing his arms as Tyson looks toward him, noticing the confrontational posture that comes over his fellow youthful rider. “I wouldn’t start trying to poke a bear without knowing how to act when it wakes up if I were you, boy” Dale replies, immediately watching a smirk come over the face of the fourth member of their club before the young man begins walking off for the back of the room. “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you, son” the DSRC leader proclaims as the subordinate traipses off, lowering the foot rest and returning to his feet. “I’m not your son, old man. I don’t know who is, but maybe keeping your mouth away from those bottles would help you stop letting so much bullshit fall from your lips” Pat retaliates, prompting both Tyson and Butch to approach their respective friends and try to de-escalate the conversation from becoming more than it is. “You don’t call the shots in this team, do you hear me?” Dale questions aloud, pointing a finger at the young man that Tyson fails to hold back, watching his skilled friend approach the leader with eyes held on the clubhouse’s door. “We are the least important faction here. All the others have done far more to be worthy of sticking around then us, and it’s because we’ve done nothing but fail to make an impact” Pat explains, his hand held toward the entrance, “we’ve kept underachieving and highlighting that failure by pretending we’re outcasts that no one understands.” “Boy, I don’t give a damn what we are or what they are. I care that us... the DSRC... look out for each other above all else” Dale responds, watching Pat roll his eyes and lift his hands into the air in concession. “Then I guess I don’t belong in the DSRC” the younger man concedes, letting his accepting hands fall upon the sides of his biker jacket and shed it from his person. “Pat, put the damn jacket back on” Tyson remarks, watching his friend’s scowl turn toward him as the defiant member of the group purposefully shaves his number from their ranks, passively tossing the leather jacket to the president he has no care of answering to. “I’m not going to represent a club that clearly doesn’t represent my values” Pat responds to his friend, looking back at the beer-drinking shot-caller and walking past him as he sheds himself of the club’s branding, “I’m not here to look out for my own. Above all else... I’m here to win.” Barely managing to catch the leather coat, Dale stares at the piece of clothing before following Pat’s figure with his eyes as it walks past, the young man’s torso wearing only a white t-shirt as it joins the rest of his body in exiting the room. | “The losses are getting to your head, Nolo” Vert remarks, remaining sober and of clear mind as he watches the group’s leader sink into his bean bag seat, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Looking toward his teammate, the man at the helm of Kaiyo’s decisions remains quiet, unsure of how to reply for long enough that his eyes take back toward the ground. “I just don’t want to see you carrying that monkey on your back every time you-” Vert attempts to double down, trying to lessen the blow he assumes that his initial claim had put on the man, only for his attempt to fall short. “I’ve had too many chances at winning to be sitting here without a win” Nolo responds, interrupting his teammate with a calm, reassuring tone, “what makes it worse is having one of those preppies notch a win that I can’t.” “Stop losing then” Kurt responds, standing in the corner of a sombre room as the leader turns to look back at him, the coldness of his remark striking both Vert and the headphone-wearing Talia as odd. “What makes you think that’s so easy?” Nolo questions back, halfway amused with the man’s reply whilst remaining just as surprised at it as the rest of the team. “It’s not, but I’d rather tell you to get your head out of your ass and focus on winning then patting you on the back and telling you it’ll all be alright” Kurt retorts, watching the look of confusion on the Kaiyo leader’s face deepen before stepping away from the end of the room. “You keep almost winning and then coming up short. I don’t care why, just put it out of your mind” the second in command furthers, “the last thing that you... of all people... need to be doing is feeling bad for yourself.” “I don’t feel bad for myself, Kurt” Nolo replies as he rolls off the seat, setting his attention fully on the man behind him, only to receive as little interest in his assurance as the man can offer. “Then stop acting like it. You’re sitting there and stewing in your loss like you’re the only one that’s disappointed in how the last stratum ended” Kurt rebuttals, carrying himself forward and meeting the Kaiyo leader at the newly-vacated seat, “pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back to work.” Without a response, Nolo looks at his second in command with a steady face, remaining silent as the man pats him on the shoulder, gives him a nod, and walks off with a lit spliff in tow, ready to return to his RX-7 whilst the rest of his group hangs back. Pleased to see the conversation remain civil, Vert shrugs whilst Talia loses herself in the music that serves to help her forget about her ailments, leaving their Kaiyo leader to stand in his place with the advice offered. | “Fuckin’ Torque” Mark murmurs, replacing the battery beneath his Firebird’s hood as a pair of footsteps trail past his garage, directing themselves toward a neighbouring lot. “How the hell is this asshole going to walk around like the boss when we’re not winning a damn thing?” the excommunicated Crew member questions just loud enough for himself to hear, paying little mind to the tapping of feet behind him that now comes to cease, unafraid of allowing anyone else to hear what he mumbles. “Your friends finally kick you out, Kurt Junior?” Alec queries from afar, prompting the exiled member of the rival faction to completely stop his tune-up, staring intently at the engine beneath him before slowly spinning back. “What the fuck did you just call me?” Mark questions back with furrowed brows, still wielding the wrench that he’s got nothing against turning into a weapon, failing to see a fall in the amused reaction of the Esteemed’s leader. “I overheard what the big guy told you outside your clubhouse” Alec replies, tucking a hand into his pocket whilst the rival driver continues to stare at him, “it seems like you’ve-” “What... the fuck... did you just call me?” Mark reiterates, refusing to allow the Esteemed’s leader finish his statement before answering the question that had kicked their discourse off. Continuing to find humour in the interaction, Alec chuckles as his eyes take toward the distance of the second level, shrugging his shoulders as he stands ground on his claim. “Call me by that name again and I’ll leave a hole in your skull the size of this wrench, you understand me?” Mark questions back, watching the amused driver that he threatens lift both hands in surrender. “If you think you’re the first person to threaten me, you’ve got another thing coming” Alec assures, still failing to find anything less than equal vitriol from the Crew’s shunned son. “Nah, but I might be the first person that your dad can’t save you from” Mark retorts, seeing a slight drop in the humoured visage present itself in the wealthy victor’s face, “Now, I don’t know how we’re getting home once this is all said and done. But if you keep fuckin’ around with me, I’ll make sure he gets your corpse back in a small, little box.” “Will you two shit heads quit it with this petty little back and forth?” Pat questions from across the lot, catching the interest of both straying drivers as he cracks open his own beer, “we’re here to race. If you want to prove anything to each other, then go fucking win.” Barely able to overhear the declaration waged, Kurt emerges from the clubhouses with a smirk on his face, the brown, leather jacket that normally sits over his shoulders now being carried upon just one. “Finally, something you southerners and I can agree on” Kurt quips toward the young, now-unaffiliated racer as he passes his garage, shaking keys that he holds in his side-swinging hand. “Stay the fuck out of this, Kurt” Mark chirps, watching his brother’s eyes take toward him as Kaiyo’s second in command retains his stroll toward the garage. “Then keep your shit quiet enough so the rest of us don’t have to hear your sorry ass bullshit, little brother” Kurt replies, watching his sibling set his initial display of aggression toward Alec aside in favour of approaching his brother. “Hey, Crew! You better come get your boy!” the Esteemed’s driver shouts, stepping away from the little brother as he approaches the older one, retreating to his side’s own lot whilst stirring the pot for the rest of the building to overhear. Not concerned with his brother’s display, Kurt tucks the keys to his garage into his pocket and tosses his jacket onto the ground just beside the lock, presenting his front to the younger man without an ounce of fear in his eyes. “Call me that again and see what happens” Mark grunts, carrying the wrench by his side as the distance between himself and his sibling closes in. “If you think I’m going to be afraid of a jealous, little-” Kurt calmly retorts, completely unphased by the undisturbing journey that his family member carries as he’s interrupted. “You’ve won just as much of nothing as I have since I got here. There’s nothing about you that I’ve got to be jealous about” Mark retorts, watching his brother’s pearly, white teeth present themselves in a moment of genuine humour. “There’s no way you could possibly utter a statement more incorrect and in denial than that one” Kurt responds, letting each hand continue to hang by his side as Mark draws nearer, coming to a stop only a pair of feet away. “Wayland!” Harland calls out as he emerges from the clubhouse, standing by the entrance whilst Taro carries on, confidently approaching the scene of the outburst without uttering a word. “The only reason you even associate with them is because I made the decision that you couldn’t be one of us” Kurt doubles down, assuring his sibling that he means what he says, “you wanted nothing more than to drive with Kaiyo... You settled for the Crew.” “Shut your goddamn mouth, Kurt” Mark warns with a curled upper lip, scowling at the man whose amused expression remains unchanged. “Do you not like hearing the cold, hard truth? Is it too much for you to handle?” Kurt questions back, continuing to poke the bear whilst the DSRC emerge from their own clubhouse, staying a short distance behind the members of the Crew that had chosen to stay put out of curiosity. “Shut the fuck up, Kurt. I ain’t kidding” Mark again warns, finding just as much reluctance to continue speaking as he had the first time around, seeing his older sibling’s humour be taken further if nothing else. “I’m not afraid of you. You can wield that wrench, you can go grab a knife, hell... Go get yourself a gun. None of it would phase me” Kurt retorts, taking one step forward and slicing the distance between himself and his younger brother in half, “there’s not a damn thing you can do to shake me, little brother.” Pulling his right arm back, Mark lifts the wrench into the air for less than a second before visually hesitating, allowed to follow through with the motion by his brother without a second of doubt. With the tool yanked back for just a moment longer than otherwise needed, Kurt takes no struggle in noticing his brother’s reluctance, immediately picking up on it and using it to his advantage. Leaping off the ground with his left foot, Kurt thrusts his right boot into his brother’s chest and shoves him back, allowing the wrench he’d seemingly thought twice about swinging down upon him to fall through the air just as he does. Taken off his balance, Mark reclaims his grasp on the weapon before it can collide with the ground whilst re-establishing his feet on the ground, gathering himself just in time for Taro’s left arm to grab him by the waist and the co-founder’s right arm to snatch the tool from him. “That is enough!” Caesar proclaims from the balcony above, his voice projected with such amplitude that it fires off the sides of the second level with the reverberation of a rocket blasting into space. Declarative in nature, the scientist’s interruption prompts both siblings to glance toward the sky, Taro’s aggravation proving too great for the man whose voice breaks the altercation where it was left to capture. Enraged, Caesar directs himself toward the stairwell that lead from his control centre to the ground below, hopping into a warehouse-quality lift that quickly takes him to the level of his racers. Having heard the man’s voice from their own sanctuaries, Kaiyo and the Esteemed emerge from their clubhouses just in time for the scientist to address them all, Harland’s hand gently pressing against Taro’s chest as the man attempts to return to their temporary homes, keeping him present. “Absolutely none of you have earned the right to walk around this building like you belong here” Caesar proclaims, his tracks being followed by Ellis, who holds a clipboard against his chest and reservedly keeps himself from interrupting his superior’s proclamation. “We have entered four stratums, and we’ve only been good enough to win one” the suited professional responsible for creating the environment that houses the best racers he could reach proclaims, “that is outright unacceptable.” “You spent an hour telling us this ear-” Alec begins to interrupt as he lifts his own garage door, prepared to do work on his own vehicle before the ire of the scientist finds itself directed at him. “Shut your mouth, you pompous, arrogant, big-headed, spoiled little brat!” Caesar shouts without warning, directing his anger toward the outspoken leader of the young, antagonistic group, “any goodwill you had with me was killed the moment you chose not to compete in the last stratum!” Immediately silenced by becoming the centre of the unexpected outburst, Alec stands at the front of his McLaren with eyes on the scientist that soon steps into the centre of the combined lot. “I didn’t bring you here because I wanted the best teams... I brought you here because I wanted the best drivers” Caesar declares, watching Kaiyo emerge from the tunnel with eyes on their garages, wasting little time in advancing upon their cars whilst the scientist speaks, “unless you win... You are not the best drivers.” Following the lead of the rival group, Eric emerges from his own team’s ranks with his keys in hand, approaching the same garage that their leader stands at without speaking a word. Watching those that break from the pack as he pauses, Caesar catches a glimpse of Tyson emerging from the ranks of his own team and approach the DSRC’s garages, following the lead of his friend whilst the other groups stay behind. “There is nothing more important than beating the corporation. Allowing them to continue earning stratum keys is the biggest threat that we have to-” the scientist urges, his final word falling victim to the ear-piercing screech of the alarm bells that catch his full focus. With parted lips, Caesar looks into the air for a brief moment before turning his back to the groups, looking toward the wheel of concentrated energy as it begins activating again. “Twice in one day?” he wonders to himself in awe, shocked at the quick nature in which the turnaround between stratums has taken on. “Kaiyo, to your cars!” Nolo proclaims as his team’s slow and arduous march to the garages turns into an outright sprint, those who’d straggled behind whilst others advanced upon their garages now falling behind and playing catch up. Making his way back to the control centre whilst the other drivers take toward the ramps, Caesar looks around the room at his team as they race to keep up with protocol, playing from behind as the recon bots activate. “Hurry up! Hurry up! I need a scan of the next leg!” the scientist proclaims, taking his seat at the helm of the booth whilst Ellis attempts to get the robots off the ground. “The drivers are going to make it into the next stratum before we know what’s coming” the scientist’s subordinate proclaims, taking note of how close the racers already are to the orb of light whilst sending his fleet of minion robots toward the same source. Firing through the light first, Nolo’s onboard camera affords Caesar with the first glimpse at their newest test, a hellacious red landscape presenting itself around streaks of glowing, ominous streams of bright, liquified orange. “Jesus!” Ellis proclaims, catching the faintest glimpse at the monitors his superior sits at, looking on in awe at the brutal world in which their drivers have been placed into. Hearing alarm signals going off from his own end, the subordinate sets his full sight upon the recon bots as they flutter through the air, barely managing to capture birds-eye images of the next leg before overheating and collapsing to the ground. “Where the hell are we!?” Vert calls out, doing so as his wheels glide across the hot ground behind Kurt’s car, begging the question that Caesar presses his hand down on the radio’s button to answer. “We’ve lost communication with the recon bots!” Ellis proclaims, his declaration barely being overheard by the drivers before the scientist answers the Kaiyo driver’s question. “This is the Lava Stratum.” == Driveline == Season Two Premiere
Firing through the portal first, the Spyder’s headlights shine upon a vast sea of darkness, little specks of blue light residing within the distance, acting like stars that- amidst the empty plane of nothingness- continue to pass by Nolo’s car whilst the rest of his smaller group follow him in. “Where the hell is the-!?” Vert proclaims as his vehicle fires through the air, seeing nothing besides the star-like spots in the distance and panicking before feeling his wheels return to solid ground that he cannot see. “-road?” he finishes his thought to the sound of surprise and confusion, having instinctively pushed himself further into his seat whilst grasping the wheel tight, not needing more than a few seconds beyond his realisation to lean forward in the chair. “Where the hell are we?” Kurt annoyedly wonders aloud, calmly taking his wheel with both hands as he trails behind the Kaiyo leader, glancing at each of his mirrors as the group of bikers enter the stratum. Their landing not only rough but nearly taking the trio off their bikes all together, the DSRC right their course and properly follow in the lead of those ahead, down their typical leader and relying on Butch to make up for his absence. “The recon bots are picking up the same things that you are” Caesar interrupts, watching both the Crew and the Esteemed join their fellow drivers in touching down upon the stratum’s hidden ground, curious gazing at the view that the flying robots afford him. “Can you at least tell us where we’re meant to go?” Harland questions, gazing out of the passenger window of his Oldsmobile before catching a glimpse of the car whose driver answers the inquiry instead. “Behind us where you belong” Alec responds, stepping on the gas with a grin as his McLaren is followed by a pair of Ferrari’s and a Lamborghini, overtaking the rival club to little reaction beside the Crew leader’s disappointed shake of the head. Popping through the portal with a flash of light, a fleet of vehicles with green headlights touch smoothly upon non-existent tracks, gradually emerging from within before being followed by a second, much smaller wave of similar cars. “Kaiyo, are any of you seeing a-?” Nolo inquires, putting the corporation’s arrival out of his mind as he surveys the area, looking for a portal that his eyes proceed to quickly end their search for, replaced with the fascination of an erupting wave of light. Splitting into millions of fragments, the blue specks that dot the dark sky around each vehicle suddenly burst into a sky-filling wave of bright, white light, shedding a much clearer image of the track upon the drivers. “My gosh” Caesar remarks as he looks on with astonishment, watching the event take shape through the recon bots’ cameras before watching his expensive gadgets suddenly begin plummeting from the sky, falling away from the track and diving into the great, luminous unknown. “Drivers, the recon bots have been lost” Ellis interjects, hurrying to the wall of monitors that his superior turns his back toward, addressing the racers that are now left without Caesar’s input. “That’s not our only issue here!” Butch proclaims, his voice filling with fear as the scientist’s subordinate looks toward his onboard camera, not yet sure what the reason for his panic is. “What’s wrong!?” Ellis quickly questions back, investigating the man’s camera before Caesar answers the man’s question on his behalf. “They’re upside down” the scientist remarks, continuing to watch the cameras of their recon bots plummet through the air whilst his employee looks back to him in silence. Still travelling a long, seemingly never-ending stretch of roadway, Butch keeps the wheels of his Harley Davison firmly upon the ground that he should have no plausible way to make possible. “Does anyone wanna volunteer to hit the brakes and see what happens?” Ronny jokes aloud, keeping behind Mark’s Firebird whilst glancing behind himself, seeing the quick approach of green lights in his rear view mirror. “Split into two. I’ll pull off to the right just slightly with Taro, Ronny and Mark- you two pull to the left” Harland orders, following suit just as the group’s co-founder does, waiting a few seconds before Mark begrudgingly follows suit. Continuing to lead the charge, Nolo watches as a second road appears from within the distance, curving off from some other road and lining up with the stretching passageway they currently travel, running parallel to the track just below the roofs of their vehicles. “Let’s use their tactics against them” a bald man remarks to his secretary from the comfort of his chair, sitting at the far end of a conference table with eyes on the flatscreen of dash cameras, “have the lead car speed up between the fools.” Tapping at the screen in her hand, the woman overrides the commands of their current pack leader and directs the car to speed up, directing itself toward the open space between the halved members of the Crew. “Kaiyo, follow my lead” Nolo instructs from the front of the group, slowly pulling off to the left whilst the two drivers following behind him do the same, directing their vehicles to the edge of the track. A good distance behind them, the Crew continue to patiently watch as the corporation’s straggler hurries to catch up with them, fitting itself in the space they’d left whilst Harland waits for his moment. “Don’t pay any mind to these fools, boys. Keep on the straight and narrow!” Butch proclaims, watching as the Esteemed begin catching ground on them, not taking long before Alec’s McLaren perfectly matches the pace of Butch’s 750. “Close in on my signal, Crew” Harland calmly remarks, maintaining his pace whilst Mark speeds up to perfectly match his, their pair of cars drafting together and readying themselves to bring damage to the competition. “I wouldn’t recommend what I think you’re about to do, preppies” Butch warns, removing his shotgun from the space in his chopper whilst the younger members of his group watch on, patiently awaiting the first move to be made and preferring not to make it rather than countering it. Perfectly speeding to the space where Ronny and Taro’s front bumper draft to Mark and Harland’s tails, the drone vehicle opens itself to the cue that the leader proceeds to shout. “Now!” Harland proclaims, sharply directing his and Taro’s vehicles to the left whilst Mark and Ronny veer toward the right. In the same breath, Alec refuses to give into the concern of Butch’s threat and pulls sharply to the right, doing so without warning as the DSRC are forced to adjust accordingly. In the same breath and travelling in a single file line, Kaiyo tempts fate and try using the stratum’s odd nature against itself, looking to break their traction with the upside down road by slowly letting the left side of their vehicles slip over the edge. With a soft and nearly soundless blast of air firing through vents beneath it, the surrounded drone car fires off the upside ground and quickly turns over, plummeting onto the parallel road below that Nolo had first caught a glimpse of and joining its corporation team in touching upon solid ground once more. Unable to adjust accordingly, the Crew vehicles slam together and bounce off of each other, regathering themselves just enough to keep their cars on the road. “Damnit, Torque! What the hell was that!?” Mark calls out angrily, slamming the base of his hand against the steering wheel as he watches the team’s leader reclaim the lead. “Clearly not what I had in mind!” Harland replies back, clearly frustrated, yet making an effort to retain his composed tone. “Son of a-!” Butch exclaims, restraining himself from opening fire as he harshly veers to the right, keeping his distance whilst Tyson and Pat dramatically reduce their speed. Unable to stop himself from following the temporary DSRC leader off the edge, Alec comes to the same conclusion that Kaiyo does a good distance ahead, shifting with the weight of their vehicles at the stratum’s command. “Take it easy there, bo-!” Nolo calmly remarks, unable to finish his statement as his group’s vehicles are violently pulled over the edge quicker than they’d anticipated, being ripped away from the upside down track in favour of being carried onto the road above it. Just as Butch and Alec discover, pulling off the upside down road leaves you being shifted onto the stretch of drive above it, technically traversing the underbelly of the track they’d started on, but continuing to travel such similar-looking terrain that one wouldn’t be capable of telling the difference. “Harland. On your centre console- right beside the stick shift- there will be a button with the letter ‘p’ on it. Press it” Caesar interjects, explaining himself whilst the driver willingly follows command, “I want a few drivers tailing the corporation’s cars. You’re in the best position to do so.” Following suit, Taro and Ronny follow their group leader’s direction just as Tyson and Pat do the same, making the conscious decision to follow the lead of the Esteemed, who commit to the same plan as Harland. “Mark, don’t-” Harland begins to remark, leaning into his wheel to earn a view at the straggling member of his group above, watching the younger of the Wayland siblings commit to his own route and violently direct himself off the upside down roadway, being thrown onto the same course as Kaiyo before the Crew’s leader can finish his remark. Angry, Harland punches his steering wheel with a scowl and sets his sights upon the corporation vehicles that remain a few hundred yards ahead of them, both the Esteemed and what remains of the DSRC leading the charge a few hundred yards ahead of the drone cars. On the roadway above, Kaiyo leads Alec, Butch, and Mark as their stretch of path finally alters from its unchanged route, turning to the right whilst the Crew’s path turns to the left, the original, upside down track being occupied in the same direction as Nolo’s group by the small group of drones who’d entered after all others- quietly keeping to themselves. = 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 = “Forget about the kid, Butch. Stick to what you know” Dale remarks, sitting in the chair that Caesar’s eagerness to win prevented him from occupying in the first place, eyes kept on the cameras of only his club. Taking the man’s words to heart, Butch purposefully tails behind Alec before reaching a straight portion of the track, voluntarily directing himself off the track to get back to the upside down stretch just as he had to climb above it. Scoffing at the DSRC leader’s perceived cowardice, Alec grins and presses his foot further upon the gas, carrying the McLaren closer to his fellow straggler in the Firebird. Taking notice of the rival driver’s proximity, Mark keeps an eye out on the luxury car whilst maintaining his distance from the Kaiyo drivers, “you give any more thought to what I said, preppy?” he wonders aloud, barely able to make out the younger man’s face through the window. “Nope” Alec responds, triggering his booster and firing ahead of the lone Crew member, tailing the rear-most vehicle in Kaiyo’s line of defence. “Ah shit! Watch it, preppy!” Vert quips back, jostled forward as the McLaren’s front bumper slams into the back of his Acura, maintaining control over his vehicle as the sky begins to grow dim once more, the stretch of roadway that they occupy finding its way into an oddly dark tunnel and beginning to twist. “You’re gonna have to make-” Alec begins to reply, cutting himself off as he carries a confused squint toward the roadway ahead, turning on his high beams as the sky that surrounds goes from a bright shade of white to a dark and hazy mixture of grey and brown. Present nonetheless, little blue specks of light return to focus once more, hiding behind the light-diminishing haze that accompanies the track’s slow descent into a corkscrew. Catching up to the Esteemed’s leader and purposefully tailing his brother, Mark inspects the area as well as the road begins inverting upon itself, gradually looping for what appears to be multiple miles to a different sensation than before. “Does anyone else feel their cars getting lighter?” Vert wonders aloud, tailing just behind Kurt as Nolo remains at their front, keeping the lead whilst the track continues climbing, the speed at which their vehicles travel being the only thing preventing their cars from plummeting off the track. “Oh shit!” Butch proclaims, purposefully veering off the side of the upside down track once more just as he reaches the tunnel, feeling his body begin to truly pull itself back to earth and taking it as a sign to return to safer ground. Following suit, the fleet of corporation vehicles that he trails behind gather themselves upon the same level as the Kaiyo-leading pack, entering the corkscrew in an organised cluster. “Drivers, the weight distribution of your vehicles has returned to normal” Caesar interrupts, reading the performance scans that return to his control centre in real time with fascination, “I believe you have gone back to being bound by gravity.” “Shit!” Ronny proclaims as his body scrunches at the wheel, continuing to follow the mismash of separated human drivers and corporation cars purposefully maintaining their position ahead of the Crew and behind the Esteemed and DSRC drivers. Reacting to one of the blue specks of light erupting, the rear-most member of the Crew stomps on the brakes before he can begin processing what Caesar had declared, dragging his wheels to a halt just shortly after entering the tunnel. Firing off from one of the star-like orbs, a bolt of blue light strikes upon the track like a missile, nearly striking the hood of Ronny’s Lil’ Red Express as it comes to a full stop. “What the hell are you morons-!?” Ross proclaims, looking into the rear view mirror as a silent ray of light fires out of another random blue speck in the grey-brown haze, cutting his question short by hitting his car on the hood and immediately rendering it powerless as it ascends higher. “Jesus!” Lana exclaims, reacting to the burst of light that hits the car to her left before watching it immediately lose traction, dragging its wheels toward the centre of gravity and slamming it her along the way. Silently struggling to readjust course as Ross’ powerless vehicle continues dragging against her side, Alec’s girlfriend fails to keep her vehicle from being held back by the weight of the man’s red Tributo, gradually being pushed off the side of the track before both vehicles plummet over the edge. “Hit the angel-!” Eric quickly shouts, passing both rather easily as they collectively drift off the track, watching their vehicles vanish into the air within a burst of light through the view of his mirror. “Override their orders... Demand that they overtake” the hairless man at the head of a conference table proclaims, issuing his secretary the order that only Eric’s lonely presence ahead of them offers, unphased by the motorbikes that maintain their distance from the lone member of the Esteemed on their track. Being given their commands, the corporation vehicles speed up, quickly gaining ground on the Esteemed before the two rear-most members of the fleet bounce off of each other and violently divert course, directed off the track by the pit manoeuvre that Harland and Taro collectively pull off. “You good back there, Ronny?” Harland questions aloud, not wasting much time in relishing within the success of their ploy as their third wheel drags behind, barely making it around each loop. “Never better!” the mechanic sarcastically replies, hiding the pleasure he takes at being further distanced from the scene of chaos that unfolds ahead. Watching from afar, the mechanic continues to lag before letting out a screech of fear as his vehicle loses power, stricken with another wave of light that strikes him as he begins descending from the peak of the corkscrew. Quickly falling from the track, Ronny wastes no time in hitting his angel button and vanishing into a similar flash of light as he’d entered the stratum with. Claiming multiple victims already, the blue specks of energy that had engulfed the stratum in a sea of light begin angrily taking out a merciless assault on them, hitting the ground with concentrated rays of vicious energy and holding out hope that one of the drivers will fall victim to their attack. | Inadvertently drafting with his brother and not minding the result, Mark watches Alec continue to do the same with Vert as both pairs of drivers begin outrunning both Nolo and the beams of light, nearing the end of the miles of corkscrew track whilst the stratum’s attacks intensify. Firing off one at a time a few seconds apart, the blue specks of light begin firing off in pairs and trios the closer that the drivers come to the tunnel’s exit, targeting Nolo and Butch as the latter hits his booster. “I’d speed up if I were you” Butch proclaims as he passes a glance at the Spyder’s driver, locking eyes with him for only a moment as the 750 chopper overtakes the convertible. Keeping himself collected and calm, Nolo bypasses the man’s advice and allows him to gradually overtake him, the placement that he continues to take on at the back of the drivers now making him the greatest target of the stratum’s aggression. Tearing up track, Nolo continues to keep his vehicle on course as his teammates and those who draft with them emerge at the end of the tunnel, entering an environment that appears similar to what they’d begun, but carries a golden beige tinge in the air. Focusing on his driving, the Kaiyo leader proceeds to make up ground and successfully keep himself clear of the assault, weaving around strikes of light and maintaining contact with the ground. “What the hell is that!?” Vert questions aloud, squinting in awe as he looks out his driver’s side window, feeling the weight of his vehicle unnaturally redistribute as if it were once more free of gravity’s burden. Emerging from something hidden beneath equally golden beige clouds hundreds of miles below, a figure of pure, white light stands with its hands pressed together and head slightly bowed, miles and miles of track weaving and winding around it as it remains stationary. Seeing an opportunity, Alec steps off the gas pedal just slightly before slamming upon it once more, directing his left headlight into the back of the Acura with enough speed that the vehicle begins spinning out. “Shit! Kurt, look out!” Vert proclaims as he quickly tries to turn out of the uncontrollable oversteer, unable to do so adequately before toppling over the edge. Reacting immediately, Kurt quickly taps on the brakes and violently spins his car to the right, spinning out for the briefest moment as Mark overtakes him, the return of his foot to the gas allowing him to keep his momentum and adjust course instantly, trailing his younger brother by only a few dozen yards. “You good, Vert!?” Nolo calls out, following just behind Butch as he finally emerges from the corkscrew tunnel, able to make out Kurt’s vehicle in the distance, but unable to find the other man’s. Silent, Vert stomps on the brakes and looks out at the world, able to see the road beneath his tires despite not moving. “I’m upside down again” the younger man comments, discovering himself to be in the same situation as when he’d entered the stratum. Before he can receive a reply, the youngest of Kaiyo’s drivers watches a fleet of corporation cars fly past him and continue on their journey, not even stopping to take notice of him as they carry on making use of the upside down stretch. | “I know my dad would hate me suggesting this, but I think it’d work in all of our interest if we figured out a plan to take these assholes on together” Tyson confesses, allowing the Crew to catch up as they collectively trail behind the corporation, Eric’s car maintaining ground all the way to the left of Taro’s car. “What do you have in mind?” Harland inquires, not keen on openly negotiating with the younger man, but refusing to close himself off from the idea outright. “It seems like these stratums don’t take much more than a half hour to finish, right? Would you say we’ve been in here for almost that long?” Tyson questions aloud, finding agreement with the older, more-skilled drivers, “if some of us overtook them closer to the end, the people that stayed behind might be able to start picking them off like you did back there.” “Are you suggesting some of us be guinea pigs? You want us to bait these clowns into letting their guard down?” Eric inquires, the only non-Crew member behind the wheel of an actual car, “they’re perfect machines, you don’t think they’d have an answer for that?” “They didn’t have an answer for the pit manoeuvre back there” Taro replies, trying to find reason within the younger men’s suggestion as he plots the move in his head, “I’m sure winning is more important to their orders than keeping an eye out for being hit from behind.” “If that plan is going to work, then you two will have to be the guinea pigs here” Harland interjects, keeping an eye out at the pair of younger drivers off to his left, “y’all are in the choppers. That’s just the way it goes, sorry.” Lifting his hand silently toward the Crew’s leader, Tyson gestures for acceptance in the apology before nodding toward Pat, hitting their booster and quickly gaining ground on the corporation vehicles before doing so again, slicing through the fleet and coming out at the front of the group. | “I don’t see what you’re talking about, Vert” Nolo responds, catching up to Kurt, who purposefully gives up ground in order to draft with the Kaiyo leader, “unless they’re still underneath, I don’t see-” As if on command, the small group of drone cars emerge from beneath the track and slam into the sides of Mark and Alec’s vehicles, forcing them to crash into each other and the drivers to stomp on the brakes. “Damnit!” Mark proclaims in aggravation as he punches the wheel again, putting his vehicle back into first gear and watching his brother and the Kaiyo leader fly past before his foot can even connect with the gas pedal. “Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!” he proceeds to further exclaim, punching the centre of the wheel in accordance and letting three honks ring out through the air. Catching up to his fellow drivers and firing past the Crew and Esteemed stragglers, Vert draws nearer to Nolo and assumes formation behind the group, eyeing the robotic vehicles that they attempt to draw into. “The road’s converging again” Kurt calmly remarks, pulling out from formation and slowly descending upon the back of the chrome Acura, allowing their leader to reclaim the lead whilst those they hadn’t seen since the start of the stratum draw nearer. “What’s going on?” the hairless gentleman at the conference table inquires, leaning forward in his seat with the slightest concern as he watches three of his fleet’s vehicles suddenly spin out, their cameras presenting a dishevelled mess without explanation. “I believe the other drivers are attacking our cars, sir” the secretary answers, surprising the man that proceeds to sink his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip. Grimacing, the man presses his hands into the desk as he thinks to himself for a moment, eyes taking back to the woman at the entrance to his room. “Use the Swamp Key” the professional proclaims, immediately watching the woman attend to his orders and waiting for results to be seen through the four cameras that broadcast transmission from cars yet to be assaulted. Collectively glowing a brilliant shade of green, the four corporation vehicles take readings of the area and discover the portal at the end of the track, certified in their orders to begin diverting course. Propelling off the ground with the assistance of a silent gust of air, the drones defy the gravitational boundaries set by the stratum and begin driving off the course as a whole, cutting over the empty space between the roadways and driving along an artificial stretch of thick, root-like vines that are created wherever their single-file formation directs itself toward. “What the hell are they doing!?” Eric shouts, watching the corporation vehicles defy the course and make their own shortcut with the stratum key’s assistance. “Cheating... That’s what they’re doing” Harland angrily growls, his tone reserved just enough to be considered reasonable despite his aggravation being abundantly clear. As the two tracks begin converging into one once more, the third, artificial track that the corporation makes for themselves leads them to the statue-like figure at the centre of the stratum, directing themselves toward the portal that sits a few miles behind it. Suddenly awakening from its peaceful and undisturbed slumber, the angel-like guardian of the stratum parts its eyes and stares at the approaching corporation vehicles, the quarter appearing smaller to it than ants do to humans. With a scowl, the guardian inspects the unauthorised travel within its boundaries and begins parting its hands, pulling them away from each other before violently throwing its hands out at either side like Moses trying to part the Red Sea. Without warning, the four cheating vehicles are hoisted into the air, their stratum key being forcibly deactivated by the will of the separate realm. Trying to play catch up with the drivers that had spun them out, the remaining drones still sticking to the natural course find themselves amidst a similar fate, suspended into the air and being refused any further passage than what they’d already taken. Though it allows continued passage to the cars that Kaiyo attempts to catch up to, the stratum’s keeper angrily scowls at the corporation vehicles before collectively huddling them together, keeping them hoisted above the great unknown that resides at the keeper’s feet. With the turn of his palms from the sky and toward the ground, the drone automobiles plummet from their suspension and crater into the great beyond, falling into nothing and wiping them out of the race. “Goddamnit!” the man at the conference table proclaims, climbing out of his seat and punching the surface before him as every dashcam on his flatscreen goes dark, replaced with status after a few seconds of offering nothing more than a blank, black screen. “I see the end!” Nolo proclaims, checking his surroundings to take notice of the track’s layout, aware that the Crew and what remains of the others are too far behind to overtake, and certain that Mark and Alec- who drive side by side- are out of contention. Going responseless, Caesar stares intently at the dashcams without uttering a word, finding the remaining corporation cars that the Kaiyo leader trails behind whilst Dale does the same. “Why did he leave those cars on the track?” the DSRC leader inquires, asking the same question aloud that sits on Ellis’ mind, though the scientist’s lips refuse to part with an answer. Nevertheless attempting to bridge the gap, Kaiyo’s formation persists whilst Mark watches on from afar, triggering his booster each time that Alec does before failing to find results as good as what the rival group have going on ahead. “Do you want to win, Alec!? Draft with me!” Mark proclaims, looking toward the Esteemed’s leader as the younger, more cocky and arrogant driver ignores his declaration. Without uttering a word, Alec illustrates his preference to lose unaccompanied by another faction’s assistance than to offer himself a chance at victory with it by flipping the Crew’s third-in-command the middle finger and stepping off the gas, allowing his vehicle to slowly pull itself further out of contention. “You dumb son of a bitch!” Mark angrily shouts as he buries his foot upon the gas pedal, trying desperately to catch up with his brother’s group to absolutely no avail, watching as the set of chrome vehicles continue into the distance with no room being offered at gaining ground. “Hit the booster, Vert!” Nolo proclaims from the back of the group, running through formation as they gain ground on the fleet of black and green cruisers, joining the youngest member and temporary leader of the pack in firing through the track at high speeds. Turning its back to the pit in which it had disposed of the corporation vehicles, the stratum’s keeper sets its full sight upon those at the front of the pack, watching the drivers take on the final slope in the course toward the home stretch. “It’s now or never, boys!” Nolo proclaims, gaining ground on the corporation cars quickly before distancing himself from the single-file line. Triggering his booster, the Kaiyo leader speeds up to the sides of the corporation vehicles as the portal draws nearer, passing a momentary glance toward the lead-most car on his way forward before finding surprise in the discovery he makes. Taking advantage of the surprise that he finds, the driver of the front-most corporation vehicle swerves to the right as Nolo threatens to pass him, slamming into the side of the driver’s car and bouncing him into the propulsion fans. “Shit!” Nolo proclaims, his momentary trance at the lead-most driver proving costly as he loses control of his vehicle, slamming into the fan and being sent flying toward the portal without control over his direction. Passing through the stratum’s end before all others, the fleet of robotic cars retain control of their vehicles and clinch the victory whilst the Kaiyo leader’s spinning-out Spyder lousily dips into the exit after them. “Of course he choked again” Lana remarks, standing by her car with arms crossed as she watches the Kaiyo leader emerge from the portal, still spinning out of control as his wheels drag along the ground, descending the ramp to the sound of screeching rubber whilst Ross laughs. “He’ll get them next time” Ronny remarks, offering sympathies for the rival leader that nearly pulled off the surprising victory, prompting the wealthy pair of drivers to chuckle at his insistence. Pulling off to the side once he regains control of his vehicle, Nolo watches from his driver’s seat as the teammates that follow him emerge from within, gradually followed by the remaining racers that trickle out one after another like sad raindrops falling from a gutter. Seething behind the wheel, the Kaiyo leaders simmers with his thoughts as the rest of his team pull out of their vehicles with glum expressions on their face, carrying apologetic eyes toward their leader’s Spyder. Furrowing his brows, Nolo looks up at the portal before catching a glimpse of the control centre’s exit from his unintentionally jostled rear view mirror, watching as the scientist quietly strolls out and presses his hands against the balcony’s railing. Operating off of his anger, the Kaiyo leader lets his self-deprecation turn into an anger of betrayal as he storms out of his vehicle, slamming the driver’s side door shut and pointing toward the man multiple stories above. “There was a driver in that car!” Nolo proclaims angrily, allowing his claim to be overheard by the unimpressed or unmoved racers that join him at the base of the portal’s exit ramp. Standing in silence, Caesar looks down at the man countless feet below and recognises the anger. “You said they were self-driving cars...” Kaiyo’s leader remarks, letting his pointing finger fall as each hand holds out at either side, “...why was there a driver in them?” == Driveline == |
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