A/N: ...Don't look at me like that. Stop that. Stop glaring at me this instant. :T
Waaaaaaaaaayyyy overdue Folley fic I promised to Silverwindghost.
A Car by the Name of Finn McMissile
Search engines.
News broadcasts. Magazines. Sunday papers. White pages. Family trees. Microfiche records. Commission reports. Social security records. Census records. Public resources. University resources. Private resources. And, yes, 99.72 percent of government resources.
If one were to query any of these databases, they would be informed with the utmost confidence that there is – and has never been – a car by the name of Finn McMissle. He simply does not exist.
As it should be, Finn knew. Nobody decided to become a spy, much less survived C.H.R.O.M.E.'s rigorous training, with the goal of being noticed. Espionage was a solitary occupation, where the same cars who would bump Finn's fender on a crowded street and reply with nothing more than a grunt of an "apology" owed him their very lives. Many called such charity insane, but Finn preferred to think of it as having a unique sense of romanticism. And if anybody got to decide what being a spy made of one's sanity, it was the best spy the British Intelligence had to offer. Finn could make a cover like nobody else, take down opponents like nobody else, remain undetected like nobody else...
And be alone like nobody else.
But that night, Finn searched the floor of the World Grand Prix opening party, ignoring the bouncing music and the dancing lights, seeking out a face-to-face meeting with a comrade for the first time in months. She cruised into his field of vision, and he immediately spotted her.
How?
Because, likewise, she spotted him out of everybody in the crowd.
He told her to enter the elevator with him, and she followed. He spoke, and she replied with clarity a digital file could not obtain.
He smiled, as was protocol.
And Finn McMissle existed.
Her cover was quite horrible, really. Miss Shiftwell's guard was so delicate it could be brought down with the simplest unexpected command.
"Change of plans. You're meeting the American."
"Wh-What?"
He had to explain. He could remember the last time he'd met another car, but not the last time he'd had to explain his actions to one. Had he ever?
"Those thugs down there were on the oil platform. If they see me, the whole mission is compromised."
She was a rookie. A girl from technical department who had somehow been roped into a courier mission. She stuttered and fumbled at the concept of doing something even further outside of her department. It was... quaint.
...Charming. Yes, not quaint. He was certain the word he wanted was 'charming'.
"Nonono, I'm technical, you see. I-I'm not a field agent."
Charming, but with a valid point. If Miss Shiftwell was going to take on a field mission, she was going to need some guidance from a car close at hand to back her up.
For her sake, Finn McMissile was going to have to exist a little longer.
He smiled, as was no protocol whatsoever.
"You are now."
A/N: I was in the bookstore, and I found a copy of the junior novelization of Cars 2. The entire thing is written from Finn's point of view, and he starts off by introducing himself.
"My name of Finn McMissile. If I do my job right, nobody knows I exist."