When Ripslinger had crashed-landed in the two of Radiator Springs, his life hadn't been going so great. Ever since the Wings Around the Globe rally, in which he'd been beaten by that farm boy Dusty Crophopper, Ripslinger's reputation as the world's greatest air racer had suffered drastically. When his actions during the WATG had been discovered by the officials—no thanks to Ned and Zed—they had made the unanimous decision to bar him from any and all future races. Shortly after that, Team RPX dropped him as their captain; having a near-murderer fly races for them would likely worsen their image.

So with no one to turn to, since Ned and Zed were forbidden from following him, Ripslinger had no choice but to go off the grid.

He spent many months traveling from one place to another, never staying in one place for too long, working odd jobs so he could get fuel for himself. At one point, he heard that the farm boy had taken a side job as a firefighter. The news got him thinking about something he hadn't thought about in years.

You see, Ripslinger didn't always want to be a champion air racer. When he was an itty witty teeny tiny little baby chicklet, Ripslinger dreamed about becoming a secret agent. He would spend many hours pretending to solve cases, fight bad guys, or woo lady planes. Since his parents felt that his dream was unrealistic (as they had no idea where he could possibly get a job as a secret agent), they persuaded him to go and become an air racer, since he had been the fastest plane around growing up.

Now that his racing career was pretty much over, Ripslinger thought about whether that childhood dream was a possibility. If he wasn't working, he would think about. When sleep evaded him, he would think about. When he was flying through the air to the next town and job opportunity, he would think about it. Normally, Ripslinger would have scoffed at childhood memories, but the more he thought about this childhood dream of his, he couldn't help but wonder about what could have been, and whether this dream was a possibility.

He even thought about it whenever he had to get ready to fly to the next job opportunity. The thought had distracted him so much that he forgot to fuel up at the last airport before taking off late one evening. It was in the early hours of the morning, when the sky was beginning to take on a pinkish hue in the east, that Ripslinger realized his mistake. He was flying over desert, and there was no airport in sight. Attempts to contact one proved fruitless.

Panicking, the Green Tornado tried to consider his options. He couldn't land on the desert ground because the sand would get inside his landing gear and cause him all sorts of problems. If he tried to keep flying, he'd run out of fuel and crash. Continuing to try and contact any possible airport within the area would be a hopeless effort, since no one was responding. Or rather, they didn't want to, he thought bitterly.

Then Ripslinger looked away from his fuel gauge to see what lay ahead of him. Lo and behold, he saw the lights of a small town, getting closer by the second. Below him, an empty road wounds its way towards it. The sight of the town gave Ripslinger hope; it meant that there would be vehicles that could help him. But in order to get to the town, he would have to land on the road.

He frowned. His size wouldn't prevent him from landing on the road, but he knew that planes of any kind could get into trouble for using a road as a runway, and the last thing he wanted right now was to get in trouble. But if Ripslinger didn't take the risk, he'd crash anyway. A gruesome end for the former air racing champion!

So, taking a deep breath, Ripslinger opened his landing gear and proceeded to make his descent. But he was going too fast, and the road felt slicker under him than the usual runaway, so it took him a while for him to actually stop. He was able to stop just before the statue of a Model T. A very impressive set of skid marks had been left in his wake. Still shaky from his crazy emergency landing, Ripslinger passed out.

Dream Mode Activated!

Ripslinger stood triumphantly before the captured Michael Combust, the arms dealer who had plotted to sell his weaponry to a militant organization in a war-torn country, which would have cause more vehicles to suffer through yet another violent conflict. Several secret agents had already shown up to take him into custody.

"You saved the day, Agent Ripslinger," said one agent.

"Countless lives will never have to suffer through thanks to you," added another agent, a plane, before giving Ripslinger a wing-bump.

"You're amazing!" a third agent yelled.

Ripslinger smiled. "It was my pleasure, fellas," he said. "All in a day's work."

Dream Mode Deactivated!

"Hey, look! He's wakin' up!"

"Wha..." Ripslinger opened his eyes to find himself in the same place where he'd stopped hours ago. Nope, not a secret agent. Just a disgraced ex-racer who had just landed himself in an unfamiliar place. It was now daytime, and Ripslinger found himself face-to-face with a rusted tow truck with buck teeth. The tow truck smiled and said, "Howdy there!"

"Uh...hi?" Rip said uncertainly. "Where the heck am I? And who the heck are you?"

"Mah name's Mater," the tow truck replied. "Like tuh-mater—" Tomato? "—but without da 'tuh.' And you're in Radiator Springs, the cutest li'l town in Carburetor County."

Radiator Springs. Something sounded familiar about that name. "Is this the home of that champion Piston Cup racer? What's his name...Lighting McQuinn?"

"You mean Lightning McQueen? Shoot! Of course it is! He's also mah best bud!"

This made Ripslinger perk up. What a lucky day for him! Two legends, one of earth, the other of heaven, in the same place! Maybe McQueen could help him out. "Is there any way I can meet him?"

"Well, he's off practicin' for 'nother race an' didn't wanna be disturbed none," Mater explained. "But I could give ya a tour of da town while ya wait."

Ripslinger considered this for a moment, then agreed. Mater then proceeded to show him around the town. It was a small, quaint place with a lovely golden glow around it. There was a motel, a tire store, an auto paint shop/medical clinic, courthouse, a second racing museum, a couple more shops, and a café, where they stopped last. All the other townsfolk were gathered there as Ripslinger and Mater arrived. One by one, each of them introduced himself. The fire truck, Red, was introduced by a mint green 1950s show car named Flo, since he was very shy and didn't talk much. Then she got him some fuel.

"Mater found you on the edge of town this morning," Flo told him. "How did you get there?"

"The Ornament Valley Airport isn't that far from here," added Sarge, a Willys Jeep.

"I was running out of fuel, and I couldn't get to an airport in time," Ripslinger admitted, embarrassed. "I was kinda looking for a place to cra—stay." He didn't want to have to use crash in a sentence after almost crashing.

"You could talk to Sally about that," Flo stated. "She'd be willing to help you out."

"Yeah, but she's with Lightnin' right now, watchin' him race," said Mater, who stood beside Ripslinger. "Them two's been doin' a lot o' things together lately." Everyone exchanged knowing smiles as Mater said that. When Ripslinger looked confused, Flo clarified for him: "We're pretty sure McQueen's gonna pop the question soon."

Just as Ripslinger was settling down, he heard the revving of an engine and turned to see a red race car with the #95 roll into the café along with a pale blue Porsche 911 Carrera. "Hey, everybody," said the race car. "What's up?"

"Hello, Lightning," the others chorused. Then Mater said, "Hey Lightnin', this plane here that landed in our town says he wants ta meet ya." He gestured to Ripslinger with his front tires.

"Hey," Ripslinger said simply.

Lightning McQueen studied at the P-51D for a moment, then brightened with surprise. "Oh, hey! I know you are!" he exclaimed.

Ripslinger was surprised, too. Someone recognized him after all this time? "You do? Really?"

"Yeah," Lightning answered, grinning. "You're that Dusty Cropslinger guy from the plane races!"

"WHAT?!" Ripslinger yelled. A few snickers were heard, but he didn't notice. "How dare you mistake me for that farm boy?" The green and black plane raised up his nose and recited from memory, "Legends aren't born, and they're built. For speed. I am the Green Tornado, the Prince of Propellers. I am RIPSLINGAH!" He smirked at McQueen, who stared at him in confusion.

"Oh. Okay. Never heard of you. Sorry!" And he drove off before Ripslinger could make a retort. Mater followed after him, but not before giving the P-51D a reassuring smile.

The pale blue Porsche that arrived with Lightning drove up towards Ripslinger. "Sorry about him," she assured him in a gentle voice. "He's usually a nice guy, but he's not into air racing that much, so don't worry about what he has to say. I've seen you on T.V. a few times before, Ripslinger. Just give him a little time. He'll come around."

Ripslinger gave her a surprised sideways glance. It felt nice to not only have someone recognize him after so long, but to have that someone treat him with kindness, even after what he'd done. Even after getting brushed off seconds ago. "Thanks for the advice, Miss…" Ripslinger hesitated.

"Sally. Sally Carrera. I'm the local attorney, and I run the Cozy Cone Motel, too. And I'm Stickers'—uh, Lightning's girlfriend." She smiled sheepishly. Apparently, "Stickers" was her pet name for McQueen. "Would you like me to give you a room?"

"I don't really have much money," Ripslinger answered, feeling a bit embarrassed about his current financial situation.

"That's all right," Sally assured him with a smile. "It'll be complementary. We've been doing well for a long time, now. I don't think anyone would mind. Come on, this way."

The Prince of Propellers followed the Porsche towards the giant traffic cones just on the edge of town. He should have been comfortable in Sally's presence. She was kind to him and was willing to give him a room free of charge. But as Ripslinger watched her head inside her office to give him his room key, something began to niggle at the back of his mind. Something that told him that there was something off about Sally. As though her caring demeanor was just an act, and she was hiding something. He tried to repress the feeling, with no success.

Sally came out and had him follow her to one of the empty cones. "Here you go," she said. "This will be your temporary home away from home."

"More like a temporary home," Ripslinger clarified. "I had to leave my place months ago, when I…"

"Fell from grace?" Sally suggested with a small frown.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Sally nodded. "Well, I don't think you'll have to worry about being homeless anymore," she said as she gave him a kind smile. "Radiator Springs can be your home, if you want. Everyone around here will welcome you with open tires." Then a phone inside the office started ringing. "Oh, I better go get that. I'll bet it's my sister. She's been so busy lately, so she doesn't call me as much as I'd like. Talk to you soon, Mr. Ripslinger!" And she drove back into her office.

Weeks went by. Ripslinger chose to stay in Radiator Springs, and he found himself adjusting quite well to the small town. He became well-acquainted with everyone save for Lizzie, since he was grossed out by her lasciviousness towards him, and Sheriff, since he must've learned about Rip's actions in the past, because he always watched the P-51D Mustang with suspicion, as though expecting him to try and off somebody. Like Ripslinger was ever going to try something like that again.

Despite their first meeting, Ripslinger found himself becoming closest to Lightning McQueen. The #95 race car had become something like a kindred spirit for Ripslinger, and he felt comfortable enough to open up to him about his actions during the WATG, and how they forced him to leave everything behind and land here. Lightning, in turn, told him about how he had originally come to Radiator Springs. How he had wrecked the main road and had been forced to fix it by the townsfolk, and how he had come to love the town and help it out of its years-long slump.

Within the first two weeks since Ripslinger's arrival, Lightning allowed Ripslinger to accompany him and his team to his races. The plane even got to meet and befriend Bobby Swift and Cal Weathers, Lightning's racing buddies.

Ripslinger found that the racing world of the cars was laid-back in contrast to the racing world of the planes. Lightning won most of his races, but enjoyed being on the track more than winning. He loved the challenge not just pushing himself to the limit, but also bantering with his friends and urging them to go to their limits, too. It made Ripslinger wonder if he was ever like that before he got full of himself and resorted to devious methods to win his races.

Lightning and the other race cars would also play practical jokes on each other, usually after their races and on whoever had won. On more than one occasion, Ripslinger was roped into helping out with these pranks. One time, Ripslinger tossed glitter on Lightning after he'd been sprayed with foam by Bobby and Cal. Another time, he helped Guido, the Italian forklift, switch out Cal Weathers' tires for a set of inflatable tubes meant to look like car tires.

On this particular day, Ripslinger was watching Lightning compete with Bobby and Cal at the Dinoco 400. It was a nice, warm day, with thousands of spectators in the stands, watching and cheering with excitement as the last lap was finally reached. It was a picture perfect calm before the storm.

"Another great finish in the making!" Bob Cutlass declared over the loudspeakers. "McQueen and Swift are nose-to-nose for the lead, with Weathers close behind."

Lightning's pit crew didn't have a crew chief since Doc Hudson, the original crew chief, passed away years ago, so Ripslinger was allowed to use the headset as long as he didn't bother Lightning while he raced. He listened to him as he made playful jests towards Bobby and Cal. "All right, show me whatcha got!" he crowed then.

"The flag is out, and it looks like McQueen is in for the win! I'll bet my bottom dollar on it!"

Of course Lightning's gonna win, Ripslinger thought to himself. He's been winning almost every race I've watched.

The green and black P-51D had only been focusing on Lightning, Bobby, and Cal throughout the race. Up until that point, none of the other racers mattered. Yet just as the cars were making their way into the home stretch, Ripslinger noticed a younger, modern, sleeker car weave his way through the pack, coming up fast on the trio. He was mostly black with dark blue designs on his sides made to resemble lightning bolts. His number looked like it was 20, but the scoreboard presented it as 2.0. Ripslinger didn't recall seeing a car like this one before. Was he a rookie?

The racer effortlessly zipped past Lightning, Cal, and Bobby and over the finish line, claiming victory in the race. The crowd started to scream and cheer; they clearly weren't expecting this outcome. Ripslinger and the rest of Lightning's pit crew were shocked as well.

Bob Cutlass then announced, "Uh-oh! It's Jackson Storm for the win! A huge upset if I ever saw one."

"Neither Lightnin' nor Bobby saw 'im comin'!" Darrell Cartrip chimed in, amazement in his voice.

Lightning was flabbergasted by the last-second twist in the Dinoco 400. He, Bobby, and Cal slowed down as they made their way back towards the pits once they'd crossed the finish line. Everyone in his pit clamored over Lightning as they checked him over and got him some refreshment. Ripslinger stood back silently, letting the team do their work.

"I've never seen anythin' like that, McQueen," Lightning heard Mater say. "You doin' okay, bud?"

"Yeah, sure," Lightning mumbled. "I'm gonna go see the winner with Cal and Bobby." Lightning left his pit and quickly caught up with Cal and Bobby. Together, the trio made their way towards the winner's circle. On the Jumbo Tron, the black race car rolled up to claim his trophy. Confetti rained down upon him.

"Wowzers, what a finish, ladies and gentle-cars," a reporter announced over the P.A. "Everyone here is stunned by today's outcome. I can't remember the last time a racer came out of nowhere to win a race. But I can tell you all that I haven't seen anyone cross the finish line with such power and speed since a young Lightning McQueen arrived on the scene."

Lightning was barely listening as he watched the sleek car grin at the audience. He didn't know why, but there was something about him that made his oil bubble with something that felt...strange.

"Hey, Bobby," he asked, feeling dazed, "who is that?"

"Oh, that's Jackson Storm," Bobby answered. "He races for IGNTR."

"Yeah, he's one of the rookies," added Cal.

As Lightning continued to watch Jackson, the bubbling sensation continued. Briefly, he realized that this sensation was like the ones he'd get whenever he was with Sally. Except Sally didn't smile like he did, and Sally didn't sneak up on him like he did, and Sally didn't beat him in a race like he did…

For a moment, nothing else seemed to matter. He didn't think about his team, Ripslinger, or even Sally. He couldn't hear the reporters' shouts or his racing buddies' questions as he drove slowly towards Jackson Storm, who was coming off the stage via ramp and thanking the reporters who'd come out for that day's race. The red race car smiled politely at Jackson as the two racers stopped side by side.

"Hey. Jackson Storm, right?" Lightning asked. He felt something flip inside of him as Jackson turned his gray eyes to him. "Great race today."

Jackson regarded him with a chilling glare before changing his expression into a pleasant one. "Wow, thank you, Mr. McQueen," he said amicably. "You have no idea what a pleasure it is for me to finally beat you."

"Oh, thanks," Lightning replied with a smile. Then, he stopped. He thought he heard that sentence wrong. He let out a nervous laugh and said, "Hang on. Did you say meet or beat?"

Jackson was back to glaring at him. "I think you heard me," he sneered, leaning close enough for Lightning to feel his breath against his front. Lightning was shocked, but he couldn't think about what shocked him more; Jackson's answer or Jackson's breath on him.

"Mr. Storm! Mr. McQueen!" a photographer shouted just then. "Can we get some pictures over here?"

Jackson suddenly went back to using pleasantry as he cried out, "Yeah, sure. Come on, everybody. Get some pics over here." He thumped his front tire against Lightning's side as the cameras began flashing. "In fact, take a ton of pictures. Cause this champ here has been a role model of mine for years now. And I mean a lot of years. Am I right?" He gave Lightning a Cheshire Cat-like grin as Lightning scowled back, the bubbling feeling gone. "I love this guy!"

Then they heard an unlikely retort: "Well if you love him so much, why don't you marry him?"

Several reporters "oohed" in surprise as they turned to the one that had just made the comment. Lightning was stunned to see that it had been none other than Ripslinger.

Suddenly, he remembered that he had Sally. Sally was his true love. Sally was the car he wanted to be with for the rest of his life. He didn't feel anything for Jackson! Ripslinger must have viewed the scene wrong and let that comment fly. Unfortunately for him, it didn't look like Ripslinger had tried to get a rise out of Jackson Storm.

Jackson didn't realize that, though. He spun around to lock eyes with the Prince of Propellers. "What are you insinuating, my fellow flying machine?" he snapped. "That I actually have feelings for this guy?"

"You just said you loved him," Ripslinger declared. Several reporters—most of them ladies—tittered at the response.

Jackson recoiled in disgust. "Ugh! That's sick, man!" he exclaimed. "I'd never get it on with another racer, let alone another guy! Besides, he's years older than me!" The crowd was watching the scene with eagerness.

Lightning scowled. He didn't know who to be angrier at, Jackson or Ripslinger. But when it looked like Rip wanted to snap back at Jackson, Lightning forced himself to put a stop to it. "Rip, that's enough!" he shouted at the green and black plane. "He didn't mean what he said."

"I think he did," Ripslinger retorted. "You shouldn't go breaking his heart." Okay, Lighting's beef was with Ripslinger now.

"Sorry, everybody," Jackson suddenly announced. "I don't have time to listen to this plane's warped views on romance. I'm out." He drove away from Lightning, heading towards his own pit crew. As he came up beside his crew chief, he turned back briefly to declare, "I think I touched a nerve."

"You sure did," Ripslinger heard his crew chief say. "Now let's go find Gale and get outta here." Then the IGNTR team left, leaving a speechless red race car and an indignant P-51D Mustang behind.

This will more-or-less be a Cars 3 retelling, with some changes to particular scene. The original author had written a Cars 3 retelling months ago with Jackson/Lightning as the main pairing (it got taken down, though). Original author also said she wanted Ripslinger to compete in the Florida 500, and I think I've got an idea as to how that will happen. Won't say yet! It'll be a surprise.

This was quite tough for me to write, especially when I also had to work on an essay that would be 20+ pages long. I also had to research some aspects of motor speedways, but I don't feel like I've got it right.

Next chapter will feature Cruz Ramirez at Piston Peak.

Also, a "chicklet" is what I'm gonna call a young plane.