Turbo's so-called "community service" wasn't actually all that bad, but there was no way he'd let his new wardens know that. The two women, Juniper and Katie, kept a watchful eye on him as they lounged in threadbare office chairs, their feet propped on top of overturned egg crates.

The garage where all the rovers were parked was cold, but Juniper had dragged out two space heaters from her office, and that helped. She'd hooked them up to an extension cord and turned them on high, pointing one of them in Turbo's direction. So the temperature was bearable—even if he was soaking wet. The only thing dry about him was his helmet, and that was because he'd taken it off and sat it aside before he started.

"You missed a spot," Juniper said without so much as looking up. She had a ball of purple yarn in her lap, her hands bobbing as she crocheted. She had the beginnings of a hat coming into form, it looked like.

Crocheting? Really? These Hero's Duty people were just full of surprises.

"You're so funny," Turbo said, raking a damp clump of black hair out of his eyes. "Not."

He didn't quite smile, but he thought about it, which was an improvement. In fact, he thought he was doing a fine job scrubbing this thing. What those two didn't know was that he used to hand wash his kart every night—both in his original cabinet and in his adoptive one, Sugar Rush.

He loved making metal shine.

And this beautiful hunk of machinery was posing a unique situation. Along with the normal mud and gunk that was to be expected to accumulate with off-road travel, the front grill was caked with Cybug remnants. Sticky greenish goo, mixed with bits and bobs of metallic stuff, invaded every nook and cranny. Turbo's bucket of suds was filled with some oily-smelling stuff that was supposed to be some special type of Cybug-be-gone, but it wasn't doing that great of a job.

Turbo decided it was about time for a break. He dropped the sponge he was holding into the soap bucket, dried his pruned hands on a shop towel, and took a seat directly in front of the girls' heater.

"What I wanna know," Turbo said, before Juniper or Katie could say anything about him abandoning his post, "is why you two have to go to that stupid class."

"Gabriel's therapy class?" Katie asked, shutting her magazine to look at him. Juniper kept on crocheting her hat-thing, but it was clear by the look on her face that she was listening.

"Yeah, that. Why do you have to go? You seem pretty sane to me. Unlike"—Turbo gave Katie a pointed look—"some of the others in there."

Juniper sighed quietly, sitting her crochet needles in her lap. "Everybody's got their own reasons. It's not like any of us…want to go."

"Who makes you go, then?" Turbo asked.

"Who's making you go?" Juniper countered.

Turbo nodded. The sergeant lady. "Good point."

"Anyway," Katie said, trying her best to ease the growing tension, "you'll find out soon enough, I'm sure. Gabriel doesn't let you keep secrets. Just like we'll eventually find out what you did, Turbo."

Turbo didn't really know what to say to that. There were a few things he'd done in his past that he wasn't too terribly proud of. And he couldn't imagine spouting it out to a classroom full of people he didn't even know.

"And what're you doing over here, slacking on the job, anyway?" Katie reprimanded. "You've still got a long way to go." She flapped a hand at him. "Shoo, shoo. Back to work."

Turbo narrowed his eyes at her, but he got up all the same, trudging back to his work. He fished the sponge out of the bucket and tried to scrape more Cybug innards out of the sergeant's grille, lest he open up a whole new can of worms with these ladies. But he knew it wouldn't be long before he mentioned something he'd rather not. Now that he had no secrets to keep, he was actually kind of itching to divulge a few. Some of them, not so much, but…he did have a couple bragging rights.

Not very many, but some.

This damn thing's never gonna get clean, he thought to himself, sighing.

He hadn't wanted to go, but he was absolutely drenched, and he didn't much have a choice. After all those years in Sugar Rush, he was back in his standard racing suit…and already he was peeling it off to wear something else. Another costume. He sighed.

"It's only till you get dry," he whispered to the pile of waterlogged clothing. He was standing naked in a dressing room, arms crossed, waiting on a set of dry clothes to be handed to him. He felt like an idiot.

Suddenly, a fluffy yellow towel was thrown over the dressing room door, smacking him in the face. He yowled in surprise, throwing the thing to the floor before he realized what it was.

"Dry off with that," Juniper hollered to him.

So he did, tossing it to the floor when he was through with it. If he was being honest…much better.

"How much longer?" he called to no one in particular.

"It'll be done when it gets done," replied a gruff male voice he didn't recognize. "Can't rush this kinda thing."

Every now and then he'd hear a sewing machine tik-tik-tikking away, then it would stop, then it would start up again. Turbo wasn't a good judge of time, but he'd wager to guess it was thirty minutes before he heard the unfamiliar voice again.

"Done," the voice boomed proudly. ("Bout time," Turbo muttered under his breath.) "Here, Adams, slide these under for him."

Two seconds later, a pair of hands proffered him a neatly folded stack of fabric, which he graciously accepted.

On top of the stack was a set of rather form-fitting underclothes—boxers, sleeveless tank shirt, even the knee-length socks were pretty snug—that felt like they were made of some kind of moisture-wicking material. Next came a looser-fitted shirt, also made with the smooth-feeling fabric. Some pretty basic-looking utility pants, but—surprise, surprise—they felt like they were coated in some kind of waterproofing agent. Finally, a utility jacket that he didn't bother to button, also (possibly) waterproof.

The pants and jacket were a gray color not unlike the shade of his skin; everything else was black. He put his soggy red Chucks back on his feet, but his snazzy new socks kept him from feeling any of the wetness.

For the first time since entering this weird game, he was actually warm.

"How's it going in there?" Katie called.

No sooner had Turbo unlocked the door to step out did Katie yank the door open and beam at him.

"Look at you!" she said, "Those fit you perfectly!" Juniper nodded in agreement.

"Sure is a lot better than being wet," Turbo said, which was more or less his way of saying thanks.

The maker of the clothes walked up to him, eyeing him up and down. "Those are a damn good fit, even if I did make em myself," he said, then chuckled at his own joke.

"Hey, you've probably seen Markowski in Gabriel's class," Katie said, gesturing toward the bulky mass of man wielding a bolt of fabric and cloth tape measure. Come to think of it, he did look pretty familiar, but Turbo didn't remember anything about him.

"Yeah," Markowski grunted. "Hated that damn class at first. Then Gabriel got me switched in here…he's annoying as hell, but he's a good guy."

"So far, he's just annoying to me," Juniper remarked, grinning.

"Ah, he'll grow on you," Markowski guffawed, giving Juniper a good-natured clap on the back. Juniper stumbled, nearly falling forward, but Markowski caught her before she could face-plant into the concrete.

"Sorry," Markowski said sincerely. "I don't do a lot of hard labor round here, so I kinda forget my strength. And you"—he said, pointing a thick finger at Turbo—"better appreciate that. That outfit was a real challenge. Never had to make something that small before."

"Small!" Turbo bawled, fuming.

But Markowski ignored the outburst. "Since you don't exactly have to wear armor, I took a few liberties with your outfit. All waterproof, though, since you'll mostly be working in the garage with Juniper and in the kitchen with Katie."

Turbo gave Katie a sharp look. "You didn't say anything about working in a kitchen." Washing cars, he could stand. Washing dishes, not so much.

"It'll be fun," Katie assured him, which seemed to be her go-to phrase. Turbo just tightened his lips at her. He didn't even know what to say to that.

"Anyhow, I'll make you a few more outfits so you don't have to wear the same thing over and over," Markowski said. "I'll drop em off at your holding cell when they're done. Hell, I'll even dry your old ones, how's that?"

After a beat of silence: "Since Turbo won't say thanks," Katie said, "I will. So thank you."

"No problem," Markowski said, giving Katie a very exaggerated wink. Katie laughed at that, but she did not look offended at the gesture. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Once the three of them departed Markowski's sewing room, Juniper busted out in a laugh.

"What was that, Katie?"

"What was what?" she said defensively.

"'Since Turbo won't say thanks,'" Turbo mocked in a high-pitched voice, "'I will. Thank you so, so, much, you big, strong, handsome man—'"

"What!" Katie said. "He's cute!"

"He is not!" Juniper said.

"He's right behind us," Turbo said offhandedly.

Both girls stopped dead in their tracks, looks of horror washing over their faces. They spun around. The hall was empty.

"Oh, you little shit," Juniper said, slapping him on the back of the head, which actually hurt. "Just for that, you're washing my rover, too."

The three of them walked back to the garage, but they were sure not to talk about anyone else who might happen to be walking behind them.

Author's Note: I decided to continue this! It started off as a oneshot, but I got a few ideas and decided to make a second chapter. It was a little more campy than I planned, but I actually like that about it. I don't want this to be a serious story. I won't lie to you, though, I have literally no ideas for a chapter three, but I promise if I think of anything I'll do my best to write it out.