With the addition of East Niceland, the Fix-it Felix, Jr. cabinet was a buzzing hub of activity. A lot of the original Nicelanders were irritated with the newfound noise and congestion, but some were taking to it well—Felix and Ralph, especially. The two of them took time about patrolling the rows of apartments, making sure everything was kept in order. It wasn't uncommon for East Nicelanders to get a knock on the door from one of the two men, just popping in to check on things.
But there was one house that Ralph would never even go near, nevertheless check up on, and Felix guessed he couldn't fault his friend for it. When this new addition first came to Niceland, Felix was worried he'd made a terrible mistake, allowing this character to move in. But he'd gotten used to him, and, dare he say it…nah. He wouldn't. Anyway, he didn't mind looking in on him from time to time.
Gloved hand curled into a fist, he knocked at the sturdy wooden door, painted a lovely red color.
There was some shuffling around inside, followed by a crashing sound and the whoosh of some kind of fabric being flung. Very suspicious. Felix raised an eyebrow.
He raised his fist to knock again when the door swung open, revealing a breathless Turbo, clad in a black wifebeater and silver-toned "athletic" shorts. He was without his trademark helmet, a lock of messy mohawk flopping down over his left eye. He raked a hand through his hair and pushed it back to the top of his head.
Turbo opened his mouth to say something, but Felix beat him to the punch. "Why are you so sweaty?" Felix asked, suspicion lacing his tone.
Turbo shut his mouth. He dabbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweaty indeed. He looked surprised at this fact.
"Oh," he said.
Felix had to fight to keep a smile off his face. This may very well be a serious matter. "May I come in?"
Turbo gave a half-grin. "Uh…yeah. Sure."
Crossing the threshold of the apartment, Felix gave the other man an inquiring look. Turbo repeated the gesture.
Felix had only known Turbo on a personal level for a few months, but he already noticed that when Turbo was either deep in thought or feeling guilty, he had the habit of jutting out his upper lip—which is what he was doing currently. Noticing that, Felix decided to cut to the chase.
The handyman crossed his arms. "If you don't mind me asking, what are you hiding?"
Turbo splayed his hands out in front of him, a gesture of innocence. "Have a look around if you want," he said simply. "Nothin here."
Felix managed to take one step forward before Turbo grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Okay, look," Turbo admitted, releasing Felix from his grip as quickly as he'd captured him. "Don't be mad."
Coming from Turbo, the juvenile phrase was laughable. Again, Felix had to force a serious face. "What have you done?" Felix asked curtly.
"Nothin bad," he explained, grinning sheepishly, inching himself toward the back room of the apartment. "But you aint gonna like it. Guess I have to show you, though."
"Yes, please," Felix said, feeling worry bubble in his gut.
Turbo turned on his heels and led the way to the back room, Felix following. The handyman couldn't help but notice the moderate limp afflicting Turbo's right leg. Months ago, back when Felix made the executive decision to move Turbo into East Niceland, the leg in question was broken in several places. Though Felix was able to magic-hammer him back to walking health, there was still something wrong, like the ball joint connecting femur to pelvis was misaligned. His thigh area looked…incorrect.
Turbo opened the door, clicked the light on. Everything looked normal, except for a floral-pattern bedsheet pinned to the wall with thumbtacks. Felix's breath hitched. He didn't know what to expect, but it couldn't be anything good. Even though Turbo had said it wasn't bad, that meant literally nothing.
"What is that?" he said calmly.
"Don't be mad," Turbo repeated. He reached a hand up and yanked the sheet down, thumbtacks pinging to the floor. At the sight of what lay behind the blanket, Felix gasped.
It wasn't exactly a hole, since one couldn't see beyond the wall itself, but there was definitely a void there, filled with floating bits and bobs—numbers. They were undulating in uniform lines, a faint bluish glow surrounding them. It looked like a tornadic mess of…data?
"What am I looking at?" Felix said, again trying to keep himself calm. Elevated emotions in abnormal situations never helped anything. He forced a breath through his lungs.
"Just a little somethin I've been working on," Turbo said with pride. He reached both hands into the void, forced two lines of the numbers together like hot-wiring a car. A low melody came drifting through the hole in the wall.
"Swingin in the backyard, pull up in ya fast car, whistlin my name…"
Turbo pulled the lines of numbers apart and the song faded out, leaving the room eerily silent for a moment. He turned back around to face Felix, a goofy grin plastered on his face.
"It's the audio line from Dance Dance Revolution X2," Turbo said proudly. "Neat, huh?"
Felix was dumbfounded. "How?" was all he could manage.
"I just had to find a good gap in the binary here," Turbo said, like everyone in the world knew that. "Kinda like finding a stud in the wall when you're about to put a nail in, like that, kinda. Except—"
And he went on and on, explaining how he'd searched for nearly a week until he found the link to the music game, how the good stuff came on after the arcade closed, et cetera, et cetera. But all Felix heard was the blood rushing through his ears.
This was not good.
"Turbo, you can't—you can't just break through this game like that, are you crazy?" He flailed his arms out, clearly flustered. "You're putting everyone here in danger, and who knows what this is doing to the other game cabinet. Not to mention you've got a history of code-breaking as it is, and do you know what I went through to get you in my game? And this"—Felix crossed his arms—"you can't be doing this kind of thing, I won't allow it. If anyone—"
Felix faltered. By now, the handyman had expected Turbo to punch his lights out, or at least scream at him a little bit. But the man in front of him was completely silent, upper lip sticking out.
"Aren't you going to say something?" Felix said. It came out meaner than he'd meant it to, and he wished he could take it back, but it was too late. "Why did you do this?" he said in a quieter voice.
The former racer shrugged. "Bored, I guess. Something to do."
"And if you're smart enough to do that," Felix said, gesturing toward the swirling vortex of numbers and color, "what's stopping you from tearing this whole game apart?"
That was the wrong thing to say, and Felix knew it as soon as he had a split-second to think about it. Turbo's brow crinkled.
"I don't want you getting any ideas," he muttered. He was keeping level eye contact with Felix. Felix felt obliged to do the same, the situation becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "I haven't turned a new leaf, or anything like that. I'm still an asshole."
"Fair enough," Felix said, surprising even himself at his own bravery. Turbo let out a slight laugh, which curved itself into a rattling cough. He cleared his throat and began again.
"You wouldn't get it," Turbo said.
"Okay," Felix conceded. "But answer me this, then. Why should I trust you?"
Turbo thought for a moment. "Dunno," he said. "Guess you shouldn't."
Felix sighed, shaking his head a little. "At least you're honest, I suppose."
The handyman picked up the thumbtacks that had scattered across the hardwood floor and repinned the sheet to the wall. He gave Turbo a long, hard look.
"If you do anything to—"
"I know, I know," Turbo said. "I won't."
Felix put a heavy hand on the other man's shoulder. "One chance," he warned.
Turbo shrugged out of the other man's grip, punched him not-very-lightly in the arm.
"That's all I need."
Author's Note: I actually set out to write a completely different story than how this ended up, but you know how that goes. This is sort of tied to my other short story, "Pie," but not really. I really like the idea of Turbo moving into East Niceland after all is said and done. Whether he'd be as well-behaved as I'm portraying him to be here, I don't know (probably not). Also, I just can't stop imagining him with a Sarah Paulson upper-lip pout. (That's really weird, I know, please don't hate me.)
I really want to go back and revisit "Children of the Candy Corn," that one story I started writing but never finished. At the same time, I'm sort of dabbling in some original fiction, an idea I've had in my head for awhile. Regardless, there will definitely be an outline written before I start writing any really long stories. I don't forsee the plotholes I inevitably create and I get disheartened with the whole thing and quit. So we'll just have to see.