S2, E2 | Shedding the Jacket and Walking

“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.”

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“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.

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“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.

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“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 ==