S2, E4 | Intolerable

“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 ==