This is something I've wanted to write for a while, but am just now getting around to doing it. The plot is heavily borrowed from an episode of The Twilight Zone, of which I will reveal the name of in Part Two because I don't want you guys to cheat and watch the video on Youtube and spoil the ending ;)

I used Swizzle because, the way I characterize him, he's a hotheaded daredevil that would jump at the chance to prove himself and also be unable to turn down a bet. And Terry Beaux is my Human!Turbo name, so don't use unless I grant you permission.

Ghost of a Chance

Swizzle Malarkey leaned against the driver's side of his blue-and-green race car lazily, shielding his lighter from the slight wind as he raised it to the cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip ignited, and he flicked the lighter closed as he inhaled then exhaled a steady stream of smoke. It had been a good day, scoring another win earlier the Daytona International Speedway. The broadcasters announced that he was the youngest racer to have this many wins under his belt, a living prodigy if there ever was one in the sport of racing.

But that wasn't enough for the Swizz.

"I want to be the best," he'd say, "the best racer in the history of racing. I want to break all the records."

Swizzle laid his head back to look at up the stars that were twinkling above him, the night air cool and crisp that September evening. Another puff of smoke escaped his lips as he gazed upwards, lost in thought.

"If only you weren't dead," the Swizz mumbled out loud.

The great Terry Beaux, who went by "Turbo" on and off the track by fans and foes alike, had been the reigning champion in the racing world for years, having broken every record possible. One day, an accident on the track involving himself and a newcomer, RB Rockford, killed the both of them instantly when they crashed into each other right before the finish line. Foul play was looked in to by police, but it was all deemed an accident at the investigation's end.

Swizzle sighed as he straightened up, flicking the cigarette down onto the asphalt of the Tri-Oval track he was parked on and stomped it with his boot. "Terry Beaux...I'm so sick of hearing your name." He walked a few paces, his thumbs tucked loosely into his belt loops. "Not saying you weren't the best, once upon a time, but you're dead. Dead and buried. I'd give anything to have a race against you, and prove once and for all that I'm the best there is, not you!"

"Is that a fact?"

Swizzle jumped and spun himself around in the direction of the mysterious voice; he bulged his light brown eyes out then rubbed at them before staring at the person standing a mere ten yards away from him.

Turbo himself stood casually under the moonlight with his hands in the pockets of his red-and-white racing suit, the helmet emblazoned with a large red T on either side. He was much shorter than Swizzle's six-foot-two height, and much scrawnier. His skin had an unhealthy gray tone to it, his teeth slightly yellowed from years of smoking and chewing tobacco. Turbo spat to the side out of habit, and cocked his head back to show off a smirk.

"Well, hotshot, you gonna say anything?" he asked the younger man as he rocked back on his heels. "I believe you are the one who called me."

Swizzle felt his blood leave his head, leaving him lightheaded. He could see, but couldn't believe. "B-but...but you're...you're..."

"Dead?" Turbo scoffed a laugh and shrugged his shoulders up, strolling slowly towards the Swizz. "Not really," he explained with a shake of his head. "When you're a legend, you never really die. You live on through people's memories, through them talking about you."

Swizzle covered his face with his hands and breathed heavily a few times before sliding his hands back down. "Are you saying that you came here because I started talking about you?"

"Because you said you'd give anything to race against me," Turbo corrected him, as he gazed sideways at Swizzle's car. "KC's Candy Emporium," he read aloud the name of the large sticker that bore Swizzle's sponsor on it. "I remember going there when I was alive. Always had a cute blonde girl working the counter that was always sucking on lollipops."

Swizzle clenched one of his tanned fists, his nails digging into his skin. "Did you come here to regurgitate memories to me? Because I'm not interested."

"Whoa, take it easy, hotshot," Turbo chuckled, holding his hands up in front of him defensively as he grinned his crooked smile at him. Now that he was closer, Swizz could see the slight yellow tinge in his eyes from all the years of drinking, the dark circles around his eyes, the gaunt expression on his face. Did he look this bad when he was alive? "Remember what I said. I'm here because you called for me."

"Well I certainly didn't mean to."

"Oh, I see." Turbo cracked his knuckles and stuck his hands back in his pockets, all humor gone from his voice. "You were just blowing hot air, trying to make big talk. But you're afraid, aren't ya? Afraid that if you raced me, you'd lose, and you wouldn't be as great as you claim to be. I see it all the time. Once the heat's on, you get out of the kitchen."

"Hey wait a minute!" Swizzle threw a finger in the shorter man's face, growing angrier by the second at his words. "You don't know me, Terry Beaux, you've never seen me race! I could beat you if I wanted in a second!"

"It's possible." The smile Turbo gave him was enough for Swizz to want to punch his lights out. "Might want to quit running your mouth and actually do it though."

"You smug snake," Swizzle growled at him, pointing ominously at his face. "I'll put a dent in that ego of yours. Right here, right now."

"As you wish."

Without a sound, Swizzle blinked as he looked past the dead racer and saw his old racer just a few yards away, red with a thick white line down the sides, and with his old sponsor's sticker on the side: TobiKomi Gaming Company.

"But how about we raise the stakes a bit?" Turbo inquired before Swizzle could ponder too much on how the formerly wrecked car had materialized there. "Something that's worth my trip here."

Swizz snorted and dug around in his back jeans pocket. "I don't have much cash, but-"

"Oh, come on, hotshot!" Turbo jeered at him, rolling his eyes largely. "What's money to a dead man?" He inched closer to the younger racer, which prompted Swizz to step back since he didn't exactly want Turbo too close to him. "Think, boy," Turbo whispered, a devilish glint in his eyes and a knowing smirk on his lips. "You said you'd give anything to race me...did you mean it?"

The Swizz studied him momentarily, trying to guess at what he meant by that. "What kind of stakes are we talking about here?"

Turbo's smile grew wider, and he leaned back away from him, spitting to the side again. "Life or death. You win, you live. But if you lose," he glanced upwards at him with those eerie yellowed eyes of his, "you die."

Swizzle let the words soak in, a chill running through him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said," Turbo stated calmly as he dug out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. " I'm a little disappointed in you, Malarkey. You don't seem to have much faith in your abilities. Was it really 'all talk' earlier, when you claimed you could beat me?" He lit the cigarette and puffed it a few times. "You know this stuff will kill you some day, if an accident on the track won't."

"I have plenty of faith in my 'abilities'," Swizzle insisted angrily, ignoring the other man's last comment. "But I'm not insane enough to throw my life away over a bet!"

Turbo shrugged at that, blowing his smoke out as he sighed. "Well, guess that's it then. Fine by me if you want stay second-rate, it's no skin off my back. You know, racing isn't the most important thing in the world, hotshot, but remember this...I'm still the best."

The younger racer stared at the back of Turbo's head as he slowly walked off, humming a tune as he went. Swizzle had to refrain from punching his car, not sure what to do. On the one hand, he would never get this chance again. On the other, was he really crazy enough to bet his life? What if he lost?

What if he won?

He'd be the champion, the new legend. People would forget all about Terry Beaux...they'd all be talking about Swizzle Malarkey, the record breaker.

"Hey, wait a second!" he called out just as Turbo was about to reach his car.

The ghostly driver turned his head, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"You're wrong about me, I do want to be the best!" Swizzle insisted firmly as he walked towards him, thinking to himself that this was crazy. "I put a lot of hours into this sport. I haven't dated since I started, I dream about going in circles, I race on the tracks after the race is already done."

"You're still talking and not acting," Turbo pointed out as he pulled his cigarette from his mouth and stomped it on the ground. "You want to be the best? Prove it. You'll never know how good you are unless you go up against someone better than you." He smirked lightly and folded his arms across his chest. "And I think we all know that I'm the only person for the job."

Swizzle grit his teeth, turning away sharply as he put his hand to his mouth. "Just shut up a second..."

"You'll never be great at anything in life by playing safe," he heard Turbo add gravely. "Trust someone who knows."

The younger man began to laugh at himself, shaking his head. "This is crazy...really crazy." He turned to face Turbo again, giving him a nod. "All right, I accept. Life or death."

Turbo smiled a little too widely for his taste. "Excellent," he purred. "Five laps around the track. First to complete wins. In case of a close call, the camera will decide who won."

"The camera?" Swizzle looked over at the finish line and saw where the equipment used to take the finishing snapshot was magically in working order, ready to shoot when needed. He rubbed at his face, deciding that he shouldn't question too much on the ways of the supernatural. The lights that surrounded the track suddenly turned on, their brightness blinding him momentarily.

"Enough talk, get moving," Turbo's voice called to him, making him snap out of the daze he was in.

Swizzle turned his head and blinked a few times when he saw that the man had soundlessly, and with unnatural speediness, entered his car already, his hands on the steering wheel. The Swizz felt a chill run through him, telling himself to keep on his toes and to watch his back with the ghost racer in his midst.

The two cars' engines roared like angry beasts being kept on a leash, their respective drivers tentatively keeping their foot on the brake. Swizzle forced his breath out, clenching his fingers around the steering wheel, his heart palpitating wildly.

"Not too late to call it off," Turbo told him via the two-way radio that each had in their car. There was no hint of sarcasm or teasing in his voice; no, he sounded almost as if he were concerned about the Swizz.

No...no, he wasn't. He was trying to manipulate him into calling this bet off. "Fat chance," Swizzle snorted back at him. "Why are you telling me that? Are you afraid I might actually beat your record? That you won't be the best anymore?"

It took a few seconds for the other man to respond. "Wouldn't be fair of me to gamble with another man's life without making double sure that he's willing to put it on the line, now would it?"

Swizzle swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the lump in his stomach. "On the count of three," he said, "One..." He felt his heart leap into his throat when he heard Turbo's gun engine rev up. "Two..." He licked his lips, taking a moment to wipe his brow before putting the visor down on his helmet. "Three."

The two shot off down the track, side by side. The race for Swizzle's life had begun.