A/N: hey, it's me Soursugar88, and I... hey, sweet... Do I smell a new story? Wait, that's just chocolate. But.. I did make a new story! The vague idea for this story came from my dad,(and by 'vauge,' I mean he just said the title, and who is the unlucky one.) So, enjoy the delves of... My delves. Now I gotta go and find that chocolate.


Chapter one: Tragedy

"But, Turbo, you know why I can't race!"

"I know you're just making that rattling sound up, Piston."

"But- but I'm not!"

"Starting line. Now."

Piston let out a little groan as Turbo walked away. It was true, there was a rattling sound going on in his engine. It started after the arcade closed, and stopped when Turbo came to tell him to get his pixelated hindquarters to the starting line. He buried his face in his hands as it started up again. He nervously climbed into his kart as he made his way to the starting line. Maybe he could go slower than usual. Since Piston didn't know what exactly was making that noise, he had to be cautious. He didn't want an explosion. As he took his place on the starting line, the noise died down a little, not audible over the sound of the other engines. Piston ran his hand down his face and began to tremble inwardly. It was like Fate had a bone to pick with him. Why? He was always the nicest one out of the three racers in TurboTime. He rarely left his game, and he didn't fight. He tried to shrug it off as Turbo revved up his engine. Without warning, he pulled Piston close to his face.

"Listen," Turbo spat out through clenched teeth, "Litwak's is closed for the next week and a half. I intend to spend that time around Game Central Station. You will not talk to me, try to socialize with me, or follow me around like a little lost puppy. Understood?"

Piston nodded his head best he could while Turbo was holding him by the collar. He unceremoniously plunked Piston back in his kart. Piston gulped as he tried to calm himself down, with an angry Turbo added to his list of problems. He gripped the steering wheel as he waited for the signal that told the racers to go, aka the green light. Piston tried to calm himself down.

'It's no big deal,' he thought to himself, 'you're just overreacting!' But, he knew he was lying to himself. He was snapped out of his thoughts by Turbo jerking him out of his seat again.

"One more thing: don't slow down like you usually do. I want this to be interesting, after racing against you two for four years now." He threw Piston back in his seat again, and Piston hoped that was the end of it. Also, two times isn't 'usually', and besides, he had excuses those two times! The first time, there was something wrong with the pedals. The second time, the steering wheel had a tendency to snap to the side, and Piston didn't want to crash. Turbo didn't listen to him either time. He trained his eyes forward as he realized that the race just started, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator just in time. He realized the rattling noise was just about gone as he made the first turn.

So far, so good.

Of course, as Piston would learn, so far, so good doesn't mean that things will stay good. He sped up to reach that second turn, when he felt something slam on the side of his kart. Turbo sped past him, and Piston realized that the rattling noise started up again. He tried to slow down for the incoming turn, and...

"Piston! Slow down!" Throttle was yelling to him from his kart.

"I can't!" Piston replied, with fear in his voice.

'I can't die in this game, I can't die in this game, I can't die in this game,' Piston repeated in his head, 'I'll just regenerate.' He tried to maneuver cleverly to make the turn, but the steering wheel wasn't responding. It was like every bad thing that ever happened to his kart rolled into one karmic experience. Piston let out a sort of half scream as his kart veered off the track and that rattling noise was getting louder and faster by the second, until it was just a loud whirr. Out of the corner of his eye, Piston saw that Throttle had slammed on the brakes and was watching in horror, and Turbo didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care. The tires of Piston's kart twisted the wrong way and the whole kart flipped over and started rolling, with Piston still in it. That rattling noise was getting louder, now accompanied with a noise that sounded like some liquid was sloshing around. He tucked himself in a ball, trying to protect himself the best he could. He thought he heard something explode, and he hoped against hope that it was not what he thought it was. Piston brought his head up enough so that he could see, and, to his horror, he saw that indeed, yes he was not in contact with the ground. He tried to make himself in a ball more, as he braced for impact.


Throttle, meanwhile, was standing at the side of the track, looking on in utter horror. Once Piston's kart stopped its crazed moving, he bolted there as fast as he could run. He circled the smoldering kart, trying to locate Piston. It was no secret that TurboTime didn't have very advanced coding, so Throttle couldn't be sure if Piston had regenerated while the game wasn't being played. Throttle wasn't sure if he should be relived or horrified when he saw a limp hand sticking out from under the kart. He grunted as he lifted the kart off Piston and gasped when he saw his limp form. Piston had scorch marks on his face, and, as Throttle felt around, numerous broken bones. Piston's helmet, for some reason, was halfway off his head. Throttle slowly slid the helmet off his twin's head, and gagged when he saw the blood pooled in it. Throttle snapped his head up to look for some help, any help! He didn't know of any doctor games around here, and he didn't have any friends, so it was only him and Turbo. As Throttle looked at Turbo accepting the trophy on the winners' podium, oblivious, or uncaring, to the situation, he decided that he shouldn't really expect help from Turbo. Throttle was jolted back to reality with a pained groan. He looked down, to see that Piston was conscious. Throttle looked down at his brother and started to tremble.

"Why won't you regenerate? WHY WON'T YOU REGENERATE?!" Throttle yelled to Piston in frustration. Piston just shook his head slightly and smiled weakly. He went limp again as he slipped into unconsciousness. Throttle grudgingly turned his head up to the red and white clad racer walking towards the house, admiring the trophy. Guess he had no other choice.


Turbo walked over to the house behind the stands, admiring the umpteenth trophy he won today, when he heard thundering footsteps behind him. He curiously turned around to see Throttle running towards him at the fastest speed he could muster. Turbo stopped and raised an eyebrow at Throttle, who finally reached him.

"Tur.. Turbo... Ugh..." Throttle managed to gasp out, completely out of breath from running all the way to the house.

"What?" Turbo replied impatiently. He didn't have time for whatever it is that Throttle needed him for.

"Turbo," Throttle began, "can NPCs in this game regenerate?"

"No, they can't, they were never supposed to die, so regeneration isn't in their code. Why?"

"So, if either me or Piston got severely injured in a race, we would stay like that?"

"Yeah, it takes the same amount of time for a NPC's injuries to heal as a real world person's. Why?"

"Uh huh," Throttle regarded with a nod of the head. "And, how long does it take for broken bones to heal?"

"I dunno, six weeks, and for the third time, why?" It was then Turbo noticed the tears pooled up in the others' eyes. He brought his hand up to his forehead.

"What now?" Turbo asked impatiently.

"What now?" Throttle was looking at him dumbfounded. "What now?!"

"Sheesh, calm down. I really don't see what the big deal is."

"THE BIG DEAL!? LOOK!" Throttle yanked Turbo's collar to where he could see the remains of Piston's kart. He looked at the damage the best he could while his collar was being twisted.

"Yeesh," was all Turbo said. He tightened his grip on the handles of his trophy, obviously trying to think up an excuse on why he couldn't help.

"Uhm, well, Throttle, I'm busy. I have to polish, this," he gestured to the trophy he now had a death grip on, "and go, um, out to Game Central Station, and, um, to Tapper," Turbo gave the whole string of excuses with frequent breaks.

"Turbo, which is more important? Your trophy or your brother?"

Turbo eyed the trophy in his hands.

"The trophy is less nerve-grating."

Throttle looked just about ready to explode.

"Listen, Piston is out there, unconscious, with Code-knows-how-many broken bones, and a head injury!"

Turbo eyed him. "What do you want me to do?"

Throttle was flabbergasted. "HELP ME!"

"Why?" Turbo asked, "I don't like Piston."

Throttle glared at him. "For ONCE in your four year existence, would it KILL you to care about someone OTHER THAN YOURSELF?!" Throttle's face was red after that statement. Turbo just shrugged.

"Fine!" Throttle threw his arms up in exasperation, "don't help me. Stay here and ogle over you trophy." He ran back in the direction he came. Turbo relaxed his grip on the trophy and continued walking back to the house.

'Don't think about it,' he reminded himself, 'the idiot will just regenerate when the game gets played again in a week and a half. Don't worry! Just spend the whole week and a half in Game Central Station like you planned! Don't worry, you have much better things to do.' Turbo reached the house and nonchalantly threw the trophy inside and walked back to the exit of the game. Midway, he passed the wreckage, and Throttle crouching over what Turbo thought was Piston, though he couldn't see Piston himself. He forced himself to pry his eyes away from the wreck.

'After all,' he reassured himself, 'what's the worse that could've happened?'


A/N: Ahhh! Turbo! Don't you know never to say 'what's the worse that could've happened' in a story! Ah, well, live and learn (not). And, really, what is wrong with me, the things I do to Piston in the name of the plot. Please review, It's nice to know that someone is liking this.