Escape and Guilt

~Cars 2 © PIXAR 2011~

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Finn McMissile was not one for sympathy.

When he'd found his best friend's crushed and compacted form on the oil derrick, he hadn't accepted a single smidge of empathy from his aerial companion, though Siddeley had tried his best. The Aston Martin had allowed his emotional barrier to fall, if momentarily, when he went to break the news to Leland Turbo's wife, the petite Citroen deserving to have someone familiar deliver the dreadful news. But as far as sympathy went, that was as far as the spy car would go. His very job entailed the danger, loss, and perils that nearly all C.H.R.O.M.E. agents were faced with, each and every one exceedingly life-threatening in their own ways. It was impossible work as a spy without expecting a high body count.

But this situation…..these events weren't an exception…not yet, at least.

Tethered onto Big Bentley's titanic gears, the Aston Martin only felt a monumental guilt, overpowering any incredulous feeling of commiseration—Mater, an ordinary tow truck, had been literally thrust into the world of high-caliber espionage—a civilian, put into the most grave of circumstances. The rusted vehicle's pent-up anger, resulting in his frustrated cry to reveal the truth had echoed from the high-vaulted ceiling of the age-old clock tower, as well as through the elder spy car's mind. He offered only a stumbled excuse as a response, and it clearly wasn't enough. The car he'd thought to be a top-notch spy was no more than a simple-minded, naive tow truck. An innocent thrust into the world of the guilty.

As Mater wallowed in self pity, the old British car mulled over what he could possibly say to amend or comfort the American, his pondering turning out to be in vain when two lemons—a Gremlin and Pacer—arrived in the elevator. The AMC pair seemed to find substantial amusement from tormenting the tow truck, but surprised the both of them by revealing that Lightning McQueen was still living. This momentary joyous bubble had burst instantaneously when they'd announced that they had only waited for the rusted truck to regain conscious, so that they could force him to watch as they killed his best friend.

Finn, unable to see anything behind him on account of how he was tied in the opposite direction, was thus forced to rely on hearing to receive a gist of what was going on. The whirr of the deadly device—disguised as a television camera—reached his highly developed senses, and the whoosh of air that signaled the sprouting of fire was drowned out by Mater's horrified gasp. The resounding crunch of metal followed, mingling with the terrified shouts of the crowd. The tow truck was stunned silent, and the Aston Martin couldn't even begin to imagine what was transpiring on the streets below.

Now, the spy car had born witness to countless deaths, whether of his own violation or not, though they had never lost their potency and ability to horrify him to his very core. He had been at the side of one too many colleagues as they fought the losing battle to survive, idling by many a deathbed. Finn had seen his best friend—one of the greatest agents in C.H.R.O.M.E.—reduced to nothing more than a grisly blood red cube, a sight that was sure to remain branded in his memory for the rest of his life. Rod Redline, the car that the Aston Martin initially thought was the one to meet him at the party in Tokyo—a long-time friend and colleague as well—had most likely been disposed of by the same lemons before him. It had been pure chance on the American's part to find help in the form of Mater.

But now…the tow truck didn't deserve any of this. He shouldn't have to risk life and limb, watch as his best friend was murdered before his very eyes, unable to do a bloody thing to help….Finn could only sympathize with the rusted truck, having been in a similar position many a time.

But that didn't make it any easier to watch as it happened to someone else.

The tow truck was dimly aware of the two lemon's raucous laughter; Holley's stunned cry and Finn's disbelieving silence. The horrified cries from the masses below were clearly audible, even from so high up, as well as the chilling sound of crunching metal.

Mater blinked through his incredulity, his vantage point of the track through the slim, open glass panel limited, but revealed more than he would've ever wanted to see. Sirens wailed in the distance, and the two AMC's voices, coupled with the spy cars' now outraged cries reached his ears, drew him from his stupor.

The rusted vehicle fixed his wide-eyed gaze on the Gremlin and Pacer a few dozen feet below him, his aghast expression speaking for itself. Both lemons grinned, the elder of the two speaking. "Don't feel bad, tow truck. You couldn't a' saved 'im."

The Pacer smirked,"oh wait, you could have!"

Finn snapped angrily in the tow truck's defense, body quivering with pent-up fury. Holley only had eyes for Mater however, a concerned look in her gaze as she silently observed the severally dumbstruck and traumatized vehicle.

The two poorly kept cars below them started again. "And anyway, we snuck a bomb into the late McQueen's pit," the Gremlin began.

"No witnesses, equals no suspicions," Acer smirked. Mater blanched, his expression only growing more horror-struck.

"Dad-gum lemons," he breathed, Gatling guns inserting themselves over his fenders coupled with the calm, emotionless voice of the computer, granting the tow truck's misinterpreted order. The fire arms spun, but no ammunition came barreling out like it did so previously. The two AMCs chortled at the truck's momentary confusion.

"What, you didn't think we'd take your bullets?"

His downtrodden gaze flitting downward, Mater's fenders sagged, only to lay eyes on the edge of the rope wrapped over his exposed engine, frayed from his weapon's revolving, and concealed a small, proud smile as the lemons continued to insult him. Pure dumb luck on his part once again.

Once the two jalopies' voices faded as the lift descended, their taunts ringing in his already guilty conscious, the tow truck repeated the mistaken order several times so that his swiveling guns snapped the ropes binding him.

It was a simple task to jump off of the clock's spinning gears—that would've certainly crushed him if he'd allowed it—and swiftly speed over to his two pinioned companions. "Ah've gotta git y'all outta there," Mater affirmed, a steely look of resolve in his eyes that neither spy car had seen before.

"No, Mater," Holley argued gently. "You have to make sure everyone is out of the pits and gets away safely."

"There's no time," Finn agreed, though he couldn't even see the tow truck. "We'll be fine," the Aston Martin insisted firmly. Both British vehicles were startled by the tow truck's adamant shout.

"No," Mater disputed resolutely, far more somber than they had ever seen him. "Ah ain't gonna lose any more a' my friends. Ah'm gonna help you guys, and I won't hear no complaints 'bout it!"

By the look in the tow truck's eyes, it was clear that he wouldn't take their refusal for an answer. Holley felt her engine whir in gratitude and sympathy as a result. Gone was the happy, go-lucky truck. Something had died within him at the same moment Lightning McQueen had.

The cobblestone road was cool beneath the Jeep's tires, the sky above him overcast and gray as he headed towards the nondescript London pub, a sort of white light provided by the dreary rainclouds.

Once the World War II era vehicle pushed open the large oak wood double doors, he was instantly assaulted by the common bar sounds—boisterous laughter and the buzz of a television reached him, coupled with the clinking of glasses and amiable conversation. Sarge's hood rose as he entered further, the various military vehicles parked around him glancing up, giving him long, appraising looks as he made his way over to the counter. The emblems on his hood and sides spoke volumes, and none of the British cars made a move to stop him.

Sarge parked at the side of a Land Rover, decorated in army camouflage, glancing up at him curiously, "First Sergeant Artillery?" he questioned.

The Land Rover turned to face him, actually younger than the Jeep had expected. "Uh, n-no, sir," the British car informed him rigidly upon laying eyes on him and his rank. "That title belonged to my father. I'm Corporal Artillery."

The elder vehicle smirked at his younger companion's stoickness,"at ease, soldier. This was meant to be a friendly meeting."

The younger car visibly relaxed, "Corporal Charles Artillery II, Sergeant Major," he informed Sarge cheerfully. "My pop would've been ecstatic to see you again, sir."

"Chrysler rest his tires," Sarge muttered, before turning back towards the younger military vehicle. "Well anyway, Corporal, I came to ask a favor of you."

"What kind of favor?"

The Jeep spun his tires for a moment, as if unsure, before answering, "We have a missing car on our treads. We've gone to the police already, but I doubt they're gonna be of any help. I suspect foul play…."

"Who's the missing car?" Charles inquired, taking a sip from his drink whilst sending his elder an inquisitive look.

"He's a tow truck. Lightning McQueen's best friend, in fact." Sarge received the reaction he'd been hoping for, as the corporal's eyes widened to the size of hubcaps. But what he hadn't expected was the sudden guilt that sprouted across the young car's features as well.

The Land Rover turned suddenly to shout at a car across the bar, "eh, Artie!" a large, tan camouflage-painted Hummer glanced up from the football game currently playing on television. "Could you switch it back to the Grand Prix channel?"

Sarge watched cynically as the hefty vehicle harrumphed with a shrug, but picked up the remote nevertheless. Turning back to the Land Rover, the elder vehicle was met with an uncertain look. Charles swallowed, gesturing towards the TV, "you might want to see this, Sergeant Major."

Brow furrowing at the formality, Sarge nevertheless approached the television set, keen gaze wandering over the headlines. His eyes widened however when the topic changed abruptly. 'Lightning McQueen Killed in Final Grand Prix Race' blared back at him, replaying a recording of the accident just above it. Sarge could've sworn he felt his engine skip several cycles. "I should've switched the fuel," he breathed, almost unintelligibly. The younger car sent him a sympathetic look, although was surprised by the sudden intensity in the Sergeant Major's gaze.

To Sarge, everything had become clear now. The accidents—going all the way back to the first race in Tokyo—were anything but. The flame-outs had all been perfectly choreographed by some ringleader, the head of the entire plot, and McQueen had proved to be an obstacle when he decided to use Allinol, the only racer doing so after all the crashes. It was pure irony that Fillmore's conspiracy idea had come to fruition at long last, with the most gruesome of consequences.

"Sir?" Charles hedged, a tad unnerved by his superior's stony visage. With surprising speed, Sarge turned to towards the young Land Rover, fiery determination shining in his eyes.

"How fast can your men get here, Corporal?"

As if slowly coming to the same conclusion as his elder, Charles smirked proudly, "five minutes tops, sir."

A/N: And so here chapter 2! And on a small side-note, if anyone's noticed the skipping between POVs, it's due to the fact that I attempted to write it similar to the scenes in the movie, in which they constantly switch between different points of view. It was, admittedly, quite fun to write.

As for the explanation for each section, I believe that its clear enough, but the last one with Sarge is especially crucial. That Land Rover he met with is indeed the one by his side while surrounded by various other British military vehicles when cutting off the lemons, and this just demonstrates how he would piece everything together, but by then it would already be too late.

And one thing that sort of bugged me in the movie was that Mater actually left the spies inside Big Ben. I suppose its understandable in the film, but here, right after Mater had already lost his best friend, I doubt he'd be willing to lose another. I guess it shows how he's changed in such a short amount of time, and I illustrate that in further chapters as well.

I also looked up Sarge's rank, which is E-9, or sergeant major, one of the highest ranks of sergeant that can be achieved.

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