There was no point in cuffing him. Turbo's only form of restraint, if you could even call it that, was a thin metal tracking device, snuggled close to his skin, hidden beneath the red canvas of his left Chuck Taylor. Sergeant Calhoun claimed it prevented him from escaping Hero's Duty, set to detonate the moment he set foot outside the boundaries of the game. Turbo had yet to test that theory, choosing instead to keep both his legs intact. And as far as the safety of the in-game residents were concerned, that one was a no-brainer; everyone there was armed to the teeth and could take care of themselves just fine. Even the elderly janitor wore a layer of armor and kept a laser pistol holstered at his hip.
So if he tried to escape, Turbo would be vaporized, and if he tried to harm anyone, they'd simply blow his head off, and that would be that.
He was in quite a pickle.
"Oh, wipe that sour look off your face," said the soldier walking at his right side, grinning at him brightly. Her hot pink lipstick was in eye-wateringly sharp contrast to the gunmetal gray of her armor. "It'll be fun."
"No, it' won't," huffed the soldier to his left. Her face was bare, unless you counted the angry rash streaking across her cheek and spotting down her neck. (Still, Turbo thought she was kind of cute anyway, but he wasn't hard to please when it came to outward appearance—anyone programmed to be at or above eighteen years of age and who had a beating heart was automatically a five in his book.) "It'll be the most uncomfortable hour and a half of your life. Until you're forced to do it again the next week."
The woman to his right, the one with the lipstick, laid a pudgy hand atop Turbo's helmet. Her long nails clicked against the white fiberglass. "It's really not that bad," she assured him in a cheerful tone. "There's snacks, too."
"There are good snacks," the woman on the left agreed.
The three walked along the corridor in thoughtful silence until they reached an open doorway, stepping into a large, fairly crowded room. It was pretty much how Turbo had imagined it; a cluster of sullen-faced soldiers sitting in a circle of chairs in the center of the room. The stereotypical group therapy setting, it looked like. The two female soldiers led him to the snack table, which did not disappoint, and ushered him into the circle. Turbo sat himself in the middle, so he at least wouldn't have to sit next to someone he wasn't familiar with.
Leading the group was a rather puny-looking man, a simple bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back. As he began to speak, the chatter in the room died away.
"Glad we could all make it today," he said. He looked directly at Turbo and smiled. Turbo wanted to puke. He shoved a frosted sugar cookie into his mouth to avoid making an inappropriate face, or something. He was on thin ice as it was. He needed be on his best behavior, at least for the moment.
"I'm sure you've all heard by now, but we have a new member here today. I want everybody to say hello to Turbo."
All eyes swiveled to the stout, gray-skinned figure in the room, the only one not in standard-issue or modified Hero's Duty armor, the one trying to hide his face behind a red plastic cup of kool aid. They all muttered their halfhearted hellos to him. The woman to his right, the one that liked to invade his personal space, wrapped an arm around him and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. He caught a whiff of her sweet-smelling deodorant.
He wanted to crawl in a hole and die. And stay dead this time.
"It gets worse," the woman to his left whispered, smiling wickedly.
"Gee, thanks," Turbo muttered in reply, frowning.
The teacher—leader, instructor, whatever the hell he was called—clapped his hands once, which brought everyone's attention back to him. "Turbo, we're just so glad to have you join our little support group, here. I'm sure you'll fit right in. My name is Gabriel. Now, so Turbo can get to know everyone, we're going to go around the room and introduce ourselves. Tell us your name and something fun about yourself. And how about we start with the two lovely ladies who brought you here?" He pointed to the woman seated at Turbo's left. "Stand up and introduce yourself, please."
She sighed, an almost inaudible noise, rising to her feet slowly. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a middle finger.
"Uh," she said, looking around the room at all the eyes boring down on her. Her cheeks flushed, her rash darkened. "My name is Juniper Adams, um, something fun about me is…" Apparently, nothing came to her. She gave a slight shrug with her right shoulder. "Well, I'm the mechanic here, I work on all the…vehicular…things that need worked on." A couple people murmured in response to that, but Turbo couldn't tell if it was good murmuring or bad. Juniper released a puff of pent-up air and fell back down into her seat.
"Very good, Juniper," Gabriel chirped. He beckoned a hand to the woman at Turbo's right. "Now you."
The other woman stood, a winning grin on her face, clasping her hands in front of herself. "I'm Katie Figueroa," she lilted, batting her (fake?) eyelashes, "and something fun about me is that, as of yesterday, I have over five hundred confirmed Cybug kills."
There was some definite scoffing at that by a few people who, apparently, didn't think that was a number to be bragging about, but there were a few impressed murmurs, too. Turbo thought it sounded pretty good, anyway.
"That is certainly something to be proud of," Gabriel said. He pointed to the man sitting beside Katie. "Next, please."
And they went around the circle like that, giving forced, awkward introductions, the vast majority grasping at straws to say something "fun" about themselves. Other than the two he came with, there were five other women in the room, which surprised Turbo. He thought he'd found the only two females in the game, sans Calhoun herself. But from what small portion of the game he'd seen thus far, it seemed like there were equal parts men and women.
Come to think of it, Turbo wasn't really used to that.
Finally, there was no one left in the room but Turbo. Gabriel looked at him expectantly.
Turbo slid another cookie into his mouth.
"And we always let our newest member of the group introduce themselves last," Gabriel said, giving Turbo a suggestive look.
Turbo looked down at his paper plate for something else distracting to eat. Empty. His plastic cup was empty, too, but he took a pretend sip from it, anyway.
After he pretend-swallowed, he said, evenly, "I'd rather not."
There was a soft rumbling of laughter throughout the circle. But perhaps Gabriel had been expecting that response. "Oh, come on, now," he said. "Don't be a Negative Nancy."
Katie leaned over and whispered into the ear-hole of his helmet. "It'll be fine," she said. "Just get it over with, we've all had to do it."
"He won't leave you alone until you do," Juniper said, her tone making Turbo think she was speaking from experience.
"Fine," Turbo said. "But I'm not standing up."
Gabriel looked relieved. "Definitely okay, that's definitely understandable," Gabriel said. "Go on ahead."
But when all eyes turned to Turbo yet again, he realized he was the center of attention, and not necessarily in a negative way. He couldn't help himself. He slid out of the chair, stashing his trash between its legs.
"As you've probably already gathered," Turbo began, his voice coming out more King Candy-ish than he would've liked, but it was too late to change it, at that point. "I'm Turbo."
"Turbo is our guest from another game," Gabriel explained to the circle.
"I thought he was the new prisoner," interjected a broad-shouldered soldier.
"Well," Gabriel said, flustered, "he—"
"I am," Turbo cut in. "And a fun fact about me is that—"
But he stopped. He was all fired up to say something snarky, some kind of quick-witted retort, but he was drawing a blank.
What was something fun about himself?
"Guess Speedy lost his thunder," said a woman with half of her head shaved. This granted a fair amount of chortling from the group.
"Carrie Lynn," Gabriel scolded. "This is the No-Negativity Circle. You know the rules. We do not poke fun at our colleagues."
Carrie Lynn rolled her eyes, but Gabriel pretended he hadn't seen her.
"Anyhow, Turbo," Gabriel said, putting his smile back on his face. "It's perfectly alright if you can't think of something fun about yourself right offhand. Sometimes it's hard to do, when you're put on the spot. Why don't you tell us a little about what you like to do? Judging by your outfit, there, I'm betting you like to race cars?"
As if it magically would've changed, somehow, Turbo looked down at his clothes to confirm what they looked like. White racing suit with the thick red stripe down the arms, down the legs, down the middle. Red trim. Red high-tops with gleaming white laces. White helmet with a red T painted on the front..
He felt sick to his stomach. He sat back down in his chair.
"I used to," he said, all traces of bravado gone from his voice now. "But I don't figure I'll be racing any time soon. Or…ever again."
"Certainly sorry to hear that," Gabriel said, sounding genuinely sympathetic, which was kind of worse than pretending to be so. "But that does bring us to the central theme of our meeting for today, which is…" He paused for dramatic effect. "Working through the consequences of our actions—finding peace within ourselves. Just because we've made mistakes in our lives doesn't mean—"
And so Gabriel went on with his lecture, calling on volunteers to speak their opinion from time to time. It was fairly surprising how many of these soldiers opened up about their inner turmoils, and Turbo almost, almost, found it interesting.
Though he didn't want to admit it, some of what Gabriel had said did make him think: after everything that happened over the course of his life, could he actually be happy again?
Did he even deserve…?
He hated thinking about it, if he was being honest.
Apparently, Turbo had drifted off somewhere, elsewhere, because when his mind was jarred back into the present, everyone was dragging themselves to their feet, getting ready to leave.
"You made it," Juniper said to him, and what looked like a genuine smile crossed her face. Turbo hopped out of his seat, not sure where Juniper at Katie were going to drag him next, but he very much wanted to leave the "therapy" room. It was currently having the opposite effect on him.
He looked across the room, where the counselor-guy was chatting animatedly with one of the ladies, who was obviously very uninterested in whatever it was that he was saying.
"Can't say I'm very fond of that Gabriel," Turbo said, falling in line behind Katie, Juniper following close behind him.
"Oh, we all hate him," Katie said, rolling her eyes.
"He's a dickweed," Juniper said.
"Majorly," Katie agreed.
But on the plus side, Turbo believed he was going to like his new wardens. He put his hands on his hips, leaned backward until his spine went popopop.
"Where to now?" Turbo asked.
"To your community service," Juniper said, a smug air in her tone.
"Community—? Was that not punishment enough?" Turbo gestured wildly toward the door they'd just walked out of.
"Not quite," Juniper said. "Calhoun wants her rover washed and waxed."
Turbo groaned, his posture drooping. "I hate cleaning."
"Just a fair warning, you're gonna be doing a lot of it," Katie said, falling into step beside Turbo. "So you better get used to it."
Well, Turbo thought to himself, at least it's better than boiling alive inside an active volcano.
I think.
Author's Note: Hey! I haven't written anything in a long time. Work is really stressful, and when I get home, I'm just fried. So I'm pretty rusty, but I'm going to work on it.
I really hope the Wreck-it Ralph fandom gets a breath of life soon :(
And you might have noticed, if you read my other (unfinished) story Children of the Candy Corn, there are two recurring characters in this story. The first is Katie, who now has a last name. And there's also Juniper, who was previously named Callie. I didn't like the name "Callie" for her, it sounded like a pet name for Calhoun, and it just didn't fit. So I've changed it.
Also, I don't really know where I was going with this, it was more of a little drabble than anything, but I've always liked the idea of Turbo being sent to Hero's Duty to serve his life sentence. Even so, he still manages to have some semblance of a life there, though he doesn't go unpunished for his deeds.
I dunno, I may make a continuation of this later if I can think of something to go along with it. (: