A/N: Yeah, so this is the first thing I've published in a little while, and it's pretty much a sequel to the last few things I've done. Mutantsexist, the crews from Vegas are here, Major Wheeler works for SHIELD, bla bla bla...Oh, and this is NOT a musical. There might be some singing later, but this is not a musical. Umm...right.

Disclaimer:I do not own AcceleRacers, Highway 35: World Race, Hot Wheels, the X-Men, the Avengers, The Wizard of Oz, or any songs mentioned in this story unless otherwise specified.

"Dorothy to Aunt Em," the pilot radioed; "We have reached the Emerald City."

This was so stupid! The easiest thing in the world would just be to carpet-bomb this place straight to Hell, but, no, they had to retrieve the "valuable alien technology." This disappointed the pilot, as he wanted nothing more than to destroy these so-called Drones.

According to his briefing, these Drones were sentient robots created for the purpose of—of all things!—racing against living drivers. The pilot did not really understand why an advanced alien race would create something so asinine, but they did. Unfortunately, they also made their creations far too intelligent; the Drones developed emotions and resented their creators for abandoning them. Like a child deprived of a mother's love who goes on to become a serial killer, the Drones had devoted themselves to eradicating every living creature on Earth and finding a way back to their home world to destroy their creators.

For some reason, Colonel Fury thought they would prove useful.

Now that their leader—a Queen Bee of sorts—was out of commission, the Drones were not actively attacking humanity, though as far as anyone knew, destruction was still their prime directive. This was confirmed on the pilot's first pass through the city, as several black and green jets launched and engaged in pursuit.

The pilot announced his bogie, rolled and dived, pulling out of the tailspin just before hitting the road where the supporting ground troops were coming by. His pursuer was not so lucky, but its friends were undeterred. Cannon fire assaulted the heavy gunners down below from the rooftops, and the pilot and his air battalion were being strafed by opposing jets. The dog fight above was handled as smoothly as one can handle such things, but hey lost one pilot. A young man Jenkins took a hit to his left wing and was unable to eject before crashing into a rooftop plasma cannon. The resulting explosion took out three floors of the skyscraper, sending flaming debris miles away and damaging other buildings. Some of the debris landed on Drone cars, but, thankfully, none of it took out anymore SHIELD agents.

"Dorothy to Toto, where the fuck's that scarecrow?!" The pilot was in an increasingly bad mood. The drones were dangerous and needed to be destroyed. For good, for Earth, for Jenkins!! But he had to stay on mission, and the mission was to disable their operating systems—and, unfortunately, every other electronic device in the vicinity—for roughly twelve minutes. Scarecrow was the codename for their EMP, a device that put out a signal; an electronic pulse that would shut down all power and knock out all batteries. That would give them roughly twelve minutes to round up what they could and prepare to infect the Drones operating system with a computer virus, effectively scrambling their hard drives and rendering them incapable of interfacing with each other, until they could be reprogrammed for loyalty to SHIELD. But none of this could take place until they got Scarecrow in position!

Finally, the pilot got the signal. "Toto to Dorothy, the Scarecrow is in the field! Bring the house down on that Wicked Witch!"

"You heard him! All air troops to ground, NOW!"

The pilot and his battalion cloaked themselves to the Drones' equipment and landed unseen, except for by each other, in the shelter if the buildings of Hot Wheels City. And that was when the lights went out.

The sky overhead was a dull gray, and the electric hum of the generators died. The creepy green glow that had once illuminated the city was gone. The agents worked fast, stocking tech in triplicate, quickly and efficiently. The trucks and jets had been placed in strategic positions so agents could case each tower for what treasures they could find, and each agent was equipped with personal cloaking devices in the event that the reconnaissance should take longer than the time allotted.

The mission went as planned, and as soon as the Drones were back online, they were immediately infected. The jets, trucks, and power grid still worked, but the Drones shut down of their own accord, leaving the agents to bring them back through the portal to Earth. Once there, they would be studied by SHIELD scientists who would determine if they could be used.

And while this round up took place, the air troops stayed behind with most of the ground troops, just kicking around and exploring the city.

The pilot paced a circle around the tallest building—"City Hall," he thought of it as. He allowed his mind to wander just as his body did. The pilot was a simple man who had grown up in a war torn country, constantly at odds with someone or another since the day of his birth. He had seen some pretty strange things in his time with SHIELD, met and married an even stranger woman, and made strangers into friends. But surely, this place, this pocket dimension was the strangest place he had seen. At least so far, anyway.

His radio suddenly crackled to life, and he snapped to collie-like attention that can only come from military discipline, listening intently.

"Commanding officers to grid point Alpha-Charlie-Alpha!!"

"Whatcha got?"

"Believe me, sir," the voice said. "You're going to want to see this for yourself."

The agent was just on the other side of the building, the equivalent of two blocks, and the pilot was there in a few short minutes. What the agent had to show him shocked and amazed him.

From the facial features, it had once been a black man. Typical eerie green wiring had replaced some of the hair braided in careful rows, and only the head, chest and left arm were still flesh. His lower body had been replaced with Drone parts—a robotic right arm, robotic legs and hips, a robotic abdomen. The tone of his flesh was now a dull gray brown, as if the electric impulses that kept his brain functioning also kept his flesh from rotting as quickly as a normal corpse.

This was the strangest thing he had seen, so far—for there was always something even more horrendously weird around the corner.

"They matched the face to SHIELD archives," Major Wheeler said, appearing next to him. "Brian Kadeem, peace activist, son of a tribal chief from the Darfur province of Sudan. He was one of Tezla's drivers."

The pilot nodded grimly. "Poor lad. Whaddaya think we should do with him?"

"The mission was to bring back anything unique," the Major said. "I think this more than qualifies."

"Right then. Let's load him up."

The last thing Kadeem remembered was falling a good eighty stories to what he thought for sure would be his doom; his robotic components would be crushed, he thought, and he would cease to function. Though he was out of commission, it was only because his battery was knocked loose. His robotic components had broken his fall, saving his decaying flesh, and still come through the ordeal relatively undamaged. And now he was conscious again. But where was he? This…laboratory, it seemed, was not of the Drones, for it was not bathed in the eerie green glow. Where could he possibly be?

And where were his Drone components? He was strapped down to a table with only one arm, wire hanging from his abdomen. If he was missing that many pieces, how was he aware of it? How was he even thinking any of this?

And then, he stepped out of the shadows; the man, that God-forsaken old Jew, who had started the whole mess.

"Dr. Peter Tezla," he said with venom, surprising even himself. Kadeem knew he should not be functioning or aware, and so did not expect to be able to speak.

"Kadeem," he said, his voice laced with some human emotion. Could it possibly have been remorse? But Kadeem would have nothing of remorse. Emotions were human things, and that part of his existence was over.

"Why did you reactivate me?"

But Tezla ignored the question. "I'm glad to see you're still around, Kadeem," he said. "I couldn't have lived with myself if—"

"If something had happened to me?" Kadeem asked dryly.

"Yes, well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Kadeem." The doctor's blue eyes were sad but knowing, and Kadeem remembered Haziz.

What had become of the blind seer? Of Kadeem's people? But he knew he should not bother with such thoughts.

"I understand you blame me for this," Tezla said, "but I want to help you, Kadeem."

"Help?" Kadeem laughed bitterly. "I am beyond your help, human."

"You are not so far gone as you believe, Kadeem." Tezla took a seat on Kadeem's right side, looking into his robotic eyes. He took a deep breath. "There are strange things in this world, Kadeem. Things that remain hidden, will not be acknowledged, but exist nonetheless. I work for SHIELD—"

"Strategic Hazard Intervention, Espionage and Logistics Directorate?"

"That's correct. We have agents and scientists working on every weapon and medical problem you could possibly imagine. Many special agents employed by SHIELD are mutants, and in particular, many are psychic. I managed to pull some strings, and I really do think we can help you, Kadeem."

"You keep saying that, human," he spat, "but that does not make it so. Why should I believe you wish to help me?"

Tezla was quiet for a bit. "You served me faithfully because you knew what was right, and you life was in danger because of it. I was…so concerned with the fate f the world that I lost sight of the individual lives in my hands, It's only right that I do what I can for you."

Tezla paused, but Kadeem said nothing.

"If you tell us what happened to you in the Drones headquarters, everything you learned, we have been given permission to clone you a new body and have a psychic transfer your consciousness into the specimen."

Kadeem looked up at Dr. Tezla with wide eyes. He allowed himself to hope for a brief moment before crushing it back down.

"You'll be just as you were before. You could go home as if none of this ever happened; you could live again."

"Live…?"

Kadeem missed the open road; driving through sandstorms in the Sahara, saving the lives of villagers from militia men and acute illness alike. That was, in fact, how he became so skilled behind the wheel. In his war torn, not-quite-yet-modernized homeland, the African prince had driven everything from dune buggies to Dodge Chargers; anything to get to the scene in time, anything to save lives.

He had once been a good person; a kind and caring individual with a great respect for life. And now…he was not even human. But Tezla could change that. Kadeem knew of mutants, of how powerful they could be, and what a far-reaching world security organization like SHIELD could easily accomplish if they were required to do so. Even if the old man lied, Kadeem knew he would be no worse off than he was now, and still Tezla's eyes mist with regret, with the need to make good on a promise.

"I could go home again," he said aloud, and had he tears to shed they would have trailed gently down Kadeem's cheeks.

"If you tell me what happened, what Gelorum told you, I can help you."

The dull green glow of Kadeem's robotic eyes seemed to soften. He looked up at Tezla and smiled.

"Then I will help you, Doctor," he said, and began his tale.

A/N: WHEEEEEE! I actually published something! Yay for me indeed. As always, read and review, and I promise I won't take more than...twenty seven days to update. I say twenty seven because it is more than twenty one and I like numbers that end in seven. Toodles!