Author's Note:
This is the first of three projected sequels to my earlier fic, A Racer's Pride. While that fic is technically the only prerequisite for being able to understand this story, please be aware that this series is [after a fashion] a set of prequels to my main series of post-film WiR stories. As such, some concepts and ideas that are treated as major plot revelations in the main series will be spoiled ahead of time if you read these ones first. Just a little something to be aware of. With that being said, I hope you enjoy the story.
Prologue
November 1989:
Asteroids had only one character, and the players never even saw him.
He was the pilot of the triangular spaceship, a hardened, often uncouth man who was quite used to the fact that he was programmed into a game that would never show his face. No, he simply acted out verbally for the fun of it. It was entertaining, trying to get a rise out of the Surge Protector by thinking of increasingly outrageous things to say. It wasn't that he meant the things he said.
At least, that was usually the case. Right now, he felt as though he definitely meant every unrepeatable expletive that fell from his lips.
For a start, his game's screen was busted. It simply wouldn't turn on that day. For another, he'd begun to flicker with blue energy. His body felt…unstable, almost…injured. It was as though something had made a deep tear into his code, leaving him quivering with unstable energy that might explode outwards if he wasn't careful.
But neither of those things were the worst annoyance at the moment. No, the greatest irritant was that he was entirely unable to leave his game.
For the umpteenth time, he pressed himself bodily against the wire opening, hoping to pass through. As with every other attempt, he felt a sudden, painful pressure, as though an invisible force field were blocking his way. For the umpteenth time, he swore violently.
At that moment, he heard voices from up above.
"Can you fix it?" he heard Mr. Litwak asking.
"Nope," another voice replied. "Busted too good, this one. It'll have to go."
The pilot blinked. Go? He was being...unplugged?
And he couldn't leave the game…
"Oh-"
His voice was drowned out by a loud roaring as he felt himself pulled from behind by an invisible force into a rapidly growing mass of swirling pixels…
…And in the bowels of Game Central Station, far from the eyes of any game character, yellowed teeth bared themselves in a satisfied grin.
The test had been successful. He'd confirmed that the techniques worked. And he'd also managed to dispose of the evidence. Sure, it meant he'd have to find another code chamber to hide out in for a time, so as to better stay away from the gaze of the arcade's watchful guardian. But after more than two years of hiding, he felt confident that he could manage.
Hopefully, the figure mused, it won't be too much longer before I'm guided back to my destiny.
But no, I must not be impatient. I must trust in fate. It has brought me this far. It will carry me still farther. Until I can fulfil my duty once again.
And what a Turbotastic thought that is.
