The abandoned town was awash with the pale moonlight's glow, giving the old and decrepit buildings a haunted look. A light fog had risen from the scorched ground, the sand cooling rapidly in the chill of the evening. The boarded up doorways and rotting ramps created a path of destruction for the stragglers to follow when they entered the township.
The tuner, purple with carbon fiber panels that blended to back, wandered through the sparse vegetation on the side of the path. The small, one lane road had fallen to disrepair years ago. Asphalt had cracked and small shoots of prairie grass had sprouted within, the cacti grew up to the very border of the road and outlined the many collapsed buildings as he approached the only modern facility in the area.
Motor Co factory. It was the only building in the area that didn't have a trading post sign on its roof. Boost had never been to the area, blindly following the trail in hopes of finding someone, anyone, that could redirect him to the highway.
He had been racing with Wingo and Snot Rod, DJ waiting at the end of the road to determine the winner. It was a boring night, Nitrous was plentiful and cars on the stretch of road sparse. Of course they did what all young vehicles did when bored, party. The Kyoku had taken a turn on a side street, hoping to speed ahead of his fellow Hazards, somehow ending up in the area of Autovia, or what was left of it.
Barbed wire and chain length fences rose out of the ground to either side, warding off the plants that desired to grow there. The tall factory loomed over the small road, glaring down on any who dared pass by its gates. Generators hummed absently, remaining idle as if someone had been there earlier in the day.
Boost's lavender eyes flicked back and forth at the blackness beyond the fences. He could feel the icy wind pierce his chassis, sending chills of uncertainty through is engine. He jumped slightly when his tires reached the cold, unforgiving metal of the ramp that led to the green and beige building. The oddly shaped structure seemed to swallow him as Boost carefully followed the small orange lights on the sides of the ramp into the building.
The inside was dark, the abyss hugging every inch of the interior. Boost continued to slowly drive down the hallways, which were lined with picture frames with figures that were impossible to distinguish in the poor lighting. He could see a faint light at the end of the corridor, but was tentative to enter it.
"Hello? Is anyone here? Hello?"
The gang leader called out, hearing his voice echo slightly in the spacious room. He assumed it was the main area of the factory. Glancing out a nearby window, he could see that the long hallway he exited was set at an incline, leading him to the top floor of the odd building.
Pale eyes flicked around the room, noticing small details that made him nervous. There seemed to be only one recent set of tire tracks, obvious against the dusty floor. The entire of the room was a sterile white, with flecks of a familiar neon green color scratched on the walls. Small papers that were covered in sand left haunting messages of 'I'm sorry…' and 'forgive me' or simply names and VIN numbers. Against better judgment, the tuner continued through the room, observing every minute detail he could. His anxiety was rising with every RPM, and he could feel his throat go dry as he glanced at pictures along the walls of expressionless cars and irate students. At the end of the long line of photos, was a portrait of Chick Hicks himself, glaring angrily at the camera.
Boost chuckled nervously, reversing slightly so he could return the way he came and hopefully find someone outside threatening to arrest him for trespassing. He attempted to drive back into the blackened corridor, but found himself being carried through the room.
Panicked, he glanced down to his tires, finding them locked in place on a conveyor belt. He was forced through many thick plastic strips that concealed the main factory area from the rest of the offices. The opaque plastic slapped annoyingly against his windshield, forcing him to blink repeatedly. A gentle decline greeted him beyond the doorway. The tuner glanced down, finding many more conveyor belts beneath him, with waiting arms that held a variety of tools.
He looked back up, finding two arms descending upon his frame, poking and prodding his carbon fiber panels, before latching on and unceremoniously ripping them off. The Delinquent Road Hazard screamed out in agony and defiance, subconsciously hoping the volume would stop the assembly line and allow him his freedom. He wrenched his eyes shut, feeling tears prick his eyelids. He didn't need to look as he felt his spoiler being ripped off his body. Nuts, bolts and pieces of metal and panel clanged softly on the belt and floor far beneath him, echoing against one another in a cacophony. Louder clangs resounded through the large area as his beloved Nitrous tanks were removed and carelessly thrown to the floor below, crumpling as gravity did its work. A larger claw descended on his numb figure, grasping his sides tightly and lowering him down to the next belt.
The claw held his a few feet over the belt, as a podium-like structure raised itself to meet his undercarriage. Straps extended from the hoist, wrapping around his axles and making it a struggle for the Kyoku to move. He glared and scowled in determination as he attempted to wiggle off the podium and hopefully escape whatever else awaited him.
Drills revved in his vicinity, and Boost watched in horror as they dismantled his wheels, extracting his custom rims and tossing them in a bin which was filled with the rims of other cars. Bolts were loosened as the tires themselves were removed from his person, restraints gripping his axles tighter as the tuner tried to dodge the drills and wrenches. The stench of burning rubber immediately filled the air as he watched helplessly as his tires were tossed into an incinerator. The rancid smoke burned his eyes, making his engine rev slightly in an attempt to filter out the black smoke. A loud bang and a shower of sparks followed, forcing him to look away. One of his tires had popped, sending a new wave of noxious fumes into the air and up through the blackened chimney. He coughed heavily, attempting to expel the smoke that coursed through his system.
The tuner closed his eyes, lavender orbs blurred with tears. The smoke was making him dizzy. Orange light continued to stain his chassis as he moved closer to the end of the segment of the conveyor belt. He couldn't feel nor hear the new, standard Lightyear tires as they were installed on his body. They clashed horribly with the overall dark look of the car, but the robotic arms didn't seem to care as he was lifted from the podium. The restraints loosened and retracted back from whence they came with a soft click, the podium in itself fizzling out underneath the young gang leader as if it was never there.
Boost blinked open his eyes as he felt the heat finally fade away, but wished he hadn't bothered. The fumes had made him groggy, and unable to feel as the sanders buffed away his beautiful back and purple gradients and reverting him to his natural silver color. They moved in rhythmic circles that oddly relaxed him. Boost mentally cursed himself for letting his guard down briefly, even if the gentle ministrations of the buffers lulled and soothed his body. He closed his eyes blissfully, easing into the calm that had washed over his drowsy frame.
More arms closed in on the dozing frame, gently removing parts and replacing them with standard issue ones. The robotic limbs were careful in their work, as if attempting to keep the subject unaware for as long as possible. They succeeded for a while, the drills were much quieter than before and the programmed machine had done its work.
Boost's eyes suddenly snapped open, watching in undisguised horror as the arms finished removing his headlights, replacing them with drab, plain stock headlights. His lilac eyes flitted to either side of his body, noticing that his rearview mirrors had been scrapped, glass showering the belt underneath his new racing tires. His eyes remained wide as he stared down his new hood, the drab steel lacked color and the familiar ridges that characterized his own hood.
He gasped, sobbing silently as the merciless machines transformed him. Boost wailed, begging for the gods above to end his suffering. Tears left light trails down his body, leaving small drops behind in their wake. Despair overtook panic as the Kyoku began to accept that he was going to die here.
He was finally dropped to the final area, a small tiled, enclosed area that reeked of paint and polish. The walls and floor were stained with years and infinite amounts and layers of white and black paint. He was locked into place, metal covers extending from the walls and enclosing around the wheels. Boost held his breath and shut his eyes instinctively, panicking from the overtly bright area compared to the dismal darkness that engulfed the rest of the facility.
A soft fizzing noise, along with the rattling of many near empty paint cans created a symphony for the next several minutes. Boost didn't dare open his eyes, fearful that the uncaring appendages would spray his eyes and he would have no way to rinse them out. The smell and sounds were amplified in the small space, making the tuner grind his teeth in irritation. He could feel a pounding in his head and under his hood, the beginnings of a migraine for sure.
Finally, the noises stopped, the multi-jointed arms retracting into the wall as the polish on his new paint finished drying. All was silent for a moment; the only noises were the distant sounds of the conveyor belt awaiting its next victim. Boost finally opened his eyes, and shyly drove forward. A small doorway had opened on the far side of the paining room, leading to what appeared to be another room.
His new tires glided effortlessly across the shining tile and onto the seemingly glass floor of the room beyond. He looked around, seeing his reflection mirror his every movement from multiple angles. He whimpered at what he looked like.
His body was a sterile white, clean and without blemishes. He had no license plate, the place for one on his bumper removed. His headlights were placed at such an angle they looked almost like stickers, following the now gentle curve of his fenders. His massive spoiler was replaced with a smaller, more modest one that barely lifted from his chassis. His lavender eyes stared emptily at the barcodes that graced his sides, identifying him as a product. The thin lines alternated with thicker ones, scarring his body. He gazed at his plain figure, despair filling every fiber of his being. He was a typical stock car.
"Why…?"
Static immediately fizzled in every wall, the large screens towering over the white and black car and filling the room with black, white and gray specks. Boost looked to the floor, finding that he was standing on a screen as well. He raced backwards, trying to find the door. All that remained in its place was a seamless screen, playing the annoying static.
Boost screamed.
He raced around the room, finding no indications on how he came to be in here, no means of escape. The static that was silent began to crescendo into an uproar. Boost closed his eyes, gritting his teeth in determination. He tried to block out the annoying sound, and focus on other things.
The noise rang through his chassis, amplifying the pounding under his hood. Boost started listing names, places, attempting to recall how he came into this predicament. Things he committed to memory, cars, places, events, names, voices… they all seemed so far away, almost too far to recall correctly.
"No!" Boost cried out, static drowning out his voice.
He recalled his fifth birthday. He had gotten a pet scooter as a present from his uncle. He and his friends Belle and Braeburn had named it Alou. They had then proceeded to repaint the room in chocolate frosting, covering each other in cake, much to his mother's disdain. Boost could feel the edges fraying, details that were once crystal clear becoming blurred, and before the memory itself vanished.
The quickly recalled another. The times he was working at the elderly car garage when he was a teenager surfaced. He remembered the old man who introduced him to Nitrous late one evening. The next free day they had they went to the Great Salt Lakes. Boost could still smell the salty air, even though it was quickly becoming stale as the vivid colors of his mind faded.
Frantic, he tried to remember other things, Wingo trying Nitrous for the first time, Meeting DJ, Snot Rod's first time in the impound. The memories faded from his consciousness as the tuner finally gave in, resting on his shocks as the volume continued to rise.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The sun was rising over the sandy dunes, golden light gracing the features of everything it touched. The sky was stained with pinks and purples that blended with the dark blues and stars of the fleeting night. The light fog that had encompassed the abandoned town had dissipated, leaving no evidence of the demonic atmosphere it held the night before.
The car looked down to the orange sand, watching as it fell dryly through the groves in his tires. The air was dry, promising a hot day for all those in the area. His stare was greeted with a beautiful scene of flowering cacti and shrubs, hiding the scars that once marred the landscape.
He glanced back to the facility blankly, impassive about anything that went on in there. For a moment, he could almost hear faint and familiar cries for help and pleas of forgiveness, but chased away the thoughts. He looked up to the remaining stars; the beautiful work seemed to have no effect on him.
He murmured quietly, the voice joining the soft rustling of the wind as it weaved through the needles on the cacti, picking up the occasional blossom as it blew.
"Recalculating…"
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Oh my god, it's been way too long since I wrote a fanfiction! I recently got the Cars: Race o Rama game for Christmas, and have been fangirling over the Cars franchise for a few months now. For those who haven't played the game, there is a scene where cars would enter the MotorCo building and come out as white cars with barcodes on them. They were a bitch to race but the way they talked really creeped me out. But it sparked my muse and now you have this! Not sure if I want to continue this or not, but whatever.
Anyways, thanks for reading!
