Author's Notes: Attempting to not go more than two weeks without an update! Here you go, readers-some plot! Thanks always to Lava who edited the chapter and came up with the term "coded-being" for me. We're getting to the climax of the fic very shortly here. To everyone who is still reading, I thank you for hanging in there as the updates have slowed down. :) I promise not to abandon this fic. You all mean too much to me.


Chapter Seven - Devious Behavior

Turbo was sitting on the hood of his kart out in one of the trackless valleys between the mounds of chocolate hills. Vanellope had refused to let him go out on his own after he'd charged off out of the castle when Rex had upset him. Demanding that he be allowed out to get some air, Vanellope relented on the condition that Sour Bill accompany him. Sour Bill himself was seated in the kart, having dozed off shortly after Turbo had parked. An excellent chaperone, the exact kind Turbo liked to have. Not that he was exactly planning to do anything. Or that he suspected Sour Bill would or could actually stop him if he did.

He sighed tiredly, rubbing his hands on his forehead. He had begun to lose sleep and the hours awake were beginning to take their toll. Every night now, it seemed, he lay awake, sandwiched between the twins, staring at the ceiling above him. He felt like he was back in the early days of coming to Sugar Rush, when paranoia kept him awake for he feared his disguise crumbling in his sleep. Now his 'disguise' shifted on and off at will. He would slip into sleep as Turbo and awake as a startled King Candy. Without being able to focus on the shift, he was almost always left scattered and panicky when he awoke. And when he finally placed himself, he would lie there and worry.

Worry, no longer about himself, but about the twins.

He worried that they were fighting his battles, worried about the way the arcade had stigmatized them, worried about the way their problems kept seeming to get worse, worried that Ted was reckless and stupid like himself and Ned was meek and quiet and an easy target...

He worried every night when he lay there, the former King of Sugar Rush, with two 8-bit racers snuggled up on either side of him. A lot had changed in the past few weeks, he thought bitterly.

He closed his tired eyes, leaning back on the kart as he lowered his hands to his sides. He had lain awake again the past night. A few minutes sleep here and there had left him frazzled and a bit stir crazy. The twins had gone to Game Central when arcade hours ended, wanting to visit Fix-It about something or other. He was sure they had other reasons as well. Unable to stand pacing in their room by himself, he had taken his kart to an area of the game that put the castle, and the grandstand, out of sight and somewhat out of mind. Even now, though, as he sat, staring down at his feet and trying to think of something else, he found he could think of nothing but the twins.


It had been a quiet afternoon at Tapper's, much to the old barkeep's pleasure. He was a quiet man, slow and easy in his discourse. He was proud of his game in the way that every character is proud of his game, but for Tapper, there was a special joy in the management of his tavern. He was a host to near every other cabinet in the arcade. And he prided himself on the owning of an establishment that welcomed the likes of every character to travel the terminals of Game Central Station, even, in some cases, the downtrodden and unwanted. The unplugged.

He loved those racers, those dear boys who'd survived Turbo Time's unplugging. But they were a constant thorn in his side. And ever since news of Turbo's survival in Sugar Rush had reached his game, it seemed like there would never be peace in his tavern again. He loved those racers, he did dearly. But he was not fond of disruption in his game. And he was weary of picking up after the scuffles.

And today things had finally settled back down. His patrons were drinking, talking, some singing. So it was with great frustration that he listened to the sound of Ted's voice, raising in volume, as he served a glass of frothy root beer to one of his guests.

He sighed, trying his best to avoid looking over, hoping desperately for the racer to back off, quiet down, let it go.

"Shut your mouth, Rex, no one cares what you think!"

It was too much to hope for from Ted.

There was a clatter as Rex stood, knocking his stool over when he turned toward Ted sharply, his eyes flashing.

This had become typical yet again. After years of behaving himself, holding his tongue and cursing under his breath, Ted had finally started responding to Rex's taunts again . To some, it was a nuisance: an old annoyance renewed for a new generation of games. For others, it was sport: an old entertainment, reborn. To Tapper, it was an enormous source of distress.

Rex sneered, regarding the other racer who sat stiffly, glaring at him from the far end of the bar. "Still sticking up for him, are you?"

"Well somebody's got to!" Ted snapped.

Rex chuckled, amused and intrigued. "Such pathetic undying loyalty...That game-jumping bastard is not worth your time."

Ted scrambled up and around Ned, who reached for him helplessly as passed by, fists clenched at his sides. "You've got no right stirring up trouble against him!"

Rex scoffed, leaning with one elbow on the bar. "No right?" he chuckled. "I've got more right than anybody. Except maybe Ms. Von Schweetz, mod knows why she didn't just lock him up when she had the chance."

Ted shivered with anger. "Vanellope is a decent coded being, but you wouldn't know anything about decency, would you, Rex?!"

Rex sneered, standing up. At his full height, he had a good foot on Ted, but the shorter racer still stared at him with a glaring challenge. "If Turbo was my problem?" Rex purred, "I'd make sure that game jumping bastard never saw the light of any game ever again. Maybe he couldn't figure out how to delete a character's code, but I'll be damned if I wouldn't try very hard to do it..."

Without a word, Ted swung a punch, but Rex dodged it with ease, snatching Ted's shoulder in one hand and swinging a punch back at him in response. Ted was thrown back to the floor with a crash. A bit of chaos stirred as other patrons turned to look, some of them jumping up from their seats. Ned himself leapt up and tried to get to his brother but as soon as he came near, Ted pushed him back and scrambled up, lunging at Rex again.

The two scuffled briefly, prompting a few cheers from Tapper's patrons and a somewhat frantic yell from Tapper himself. Ted, who'd been significantly bloodied up by this point, tugged back from Rex to disengage, but the larger racer had one more punch in him. As he released Ted with his left hand, he drew back his right fist, swinging so quickly Ted only just saw Ned move in front of him before the blow was struck.

Ned stumbled back into Ted, gritting his teeth though he held his footing. Ted, however, stumbled and fell behind him, gasping soundlessly as his arm cracked against the bar. Ned stood over him protectively, his hands still clenched, his body trembling. He squeezed his eye closed, bruised and flinching as it was, but he stared at Rex with the other eye, defiant and protective and not backing down.

"That's it!" Tapper called, giving a wave. "I want you racers out of here, the lot of you!"

Rex turned to look at Tapper quickly. "They started it!"

"I don't care who started it," the man said, lowering his hands. "I want the three of you out! I thought you were done havin' fights in here, but if you can't control yourselves, you can't be in this game."

Rex stared long and hard at the tender, then he lifted his drink, finishing it in one gulp. He dropped the glass back on the bar with a loud click, shot Ned a particularly dirty look and stalked out. Ned watched him go, never moving until the racer was out of sight. Then he turned and looked down at Ted quickly. "Are you okay...?"

Ted grimaced, holding his arm across his chest. His lip was bleeding and his cheek was bruised. "I fell on my arm," he muttered, flinching at the pain in his jaw. "Mod, he actually hit you..."

Ned was still flinching a bit as he lifted a hand to touch his eye, the skin already darkening with blood in a purpling bruise.

Tapper leaned over the bar to look down at them. There was concern in the old character's eyes, but it was tempered by a grim solemnity. "I'm sorry, boys, but I need to you to leave."

Ted looked up at him a moment, grimacing. "Right," he muttered, "kicked out once again, what else is new?" He shifted himself, looking up as Ned stood and extended his arm. With Ned's help, he pulled himself to his feet and quickly took his bruised arm across his stomach with the other. He glanced around the room. The other patrons had all stopped what they were doing to look at the twins, displaying varying degrees of amusement, disapproval, and unabashed disgust. Ted let out a shaky breath. It was back like it used to be, before the arcade had forgotten them. They were once again the reminder of bad memories: the face of Turbo Time, of the game that had borne that antagonist, Turbo.

Ted shook his head faintly and started for the door. Ned quickly stepped up to his side, taking a light hold of Ted's good arm and walking along with him. As they were just stepping out of the barroom into the hall, a rather large fighter gave Ned a light shove. For a moment Ned forgot himself and shot the man a sharp angry look, then he quickly returned his attention to his brother, squeezing his arm gently.


Turbo turned at the sound of the twins' karts, sliding off the hood of his kart to the ground and leaning back on it lightly. "Hey, you're late!" he called to them. Sour Bill awoke with a bit of a start, glancing around and eventually hoisting himself up to glance out of the car's interior.

Ned waved as he and Ted pulled over near one of the chocolate mounds and climbed out of their karts. It was only when they came near that Turbo noticed how Ted was holding his arm. "What happened to you?" he asked, scoffing until he noticed the bruise on Ned's face as well.

"It's nothing," Ted said, smiling dismissively, grinning. "So Vanellope's letting you on the track today, is sh-"

"Are you bleeding?" Turbo snapped.

Ted perked and quickly looked at his arm, "I-I don't think-"

"Your face," Turbo said sharply. Ted looked up at him quickly. "Your lip's bleeding." His eyes shifted to Ned and his brows fell. "You two got into a fight."

Ned glanced at Ted. His eye was a bit dark with a bruise and he nodded lightly to confirm Turbo's accusation when he noticed his brother's split lip. Ted grimaced faintly, looking back at Turbo as Ned reached over to wipe his brother's lip with his sleeve. "We were straight with you," Ted said gently. "You know we get into scuffles in Game Central, we told you that." He tilted his head away from Ned's hand. "I explained all of that to you, I've told you everything now. I swear."

Turbo glanced from one twin to the other. "What was the fight about?"

The twins exchanged a glance, then sighed in defeated unison. "You."

"I knew it!" Turbo barked. "Who the hell were you fighting with?!"

"Turbo, come on," Ted groaned, "it's not like you can do anything about it anyway."

Turbo fell silent, but his gaze was still hot. "Right," he choked bitterly.

Ned's expression fell. "Turbo..."

"Dammit," Turbo muttered, turning back to the kart. The glitch flickered through him as he climbed in, and it was King Candy who seated himself in his old familiar vehicle. Sour Bill scooted over carefully, glancing back at the twins with a dull expression before Turbo hit the gas and took off through the valley. The twins sighed, left in the dust of Turbo's exit.


"Why don't they stop this?! They'll get themselves killed fighting for me!" Turbo was pacing, still in King Candy's avatar, while Sour Bill watched him from the car. "Silly, stupid twins..." But he knew it wasn't really the twins he was angry with. He was angry with the whole situation; angry that he needed them to stick up for him, angry that they were fighting his battles because he was trapped in Sugar Rush, angry that he was unable to stick up for himself. And he worried constantly. "Ohh, Sour Bill," he murmured, a bit desperately, "what am I going to do...?"

Sour Bill gazed at him solemnly. "It wouldn't appear there's much you can do, sir."

Turbo glanced up at him, his expression almost pitiful. Then he lowered his eyes again and kneaded his brows in determination. "If only I could get out of Sugar Rush," he muttered, "fight my own battles out there in Game Central, perhaps those worthless other characters would leave my twins alone..."

Sour Bill looked at him quietly still. "Sir, you're a glitch."

Turbo's chin snapped up to face him. "I realize that, Sour Bill! Thank you so kindly for pointing it out!"

Sour Bill raised his 'brows' and stared at Turbo with disinterest. Turbo frowned.

Snorting, he turned away again swiftly, taking up his pacing yet again, his eyes on the ground. "If I could just solve this whole glitch problem," he said slowly. "I mean, there ought to be a way..."

"Sir..."

"After all, I've spent years in that code vault reprogramming every mod-forsaken inch of this place, I ought to have picked up a thing or two that could help me..."

"Sir."

"And if I could do that, maybe I could get out of Sugar Rush altogether and-!"

"Sir."

"Sour Bill, what?!" Turbo turned to him quickly and was met with the sight of Vanellope standing by his kart, her expression grim. He flickered back to Turbo quickly, his face a bit red. "I-I...didn't hear..."

Vanellope's image flickered blue, then she vanished and reappeared just in front of him, pixels realigning themselves with a glowing light. "I did," she muttered. He stumbled back from her, grimacing. "So what exactly is it you're planning on doing, hm?"

"N-nothing!" He held up his open palms, clenching his yellow teeth. "I was just...talking to myself, brainstorming."

"Something about fixing your glitch so that you can leave Sugar Rush?" Vanellope said, folding her arms. "And do what? Go to some other game? Stir up trouble there?"

Turbo's brows lowered quickly. "No."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, stepping closer. "So what then?"

Turbo grimaced at her, then glanced at Sour Bill, who appeared to be unwilling to offer any help. After all, he was Vanellope's assistant now. Turbo frowned, shifting his gaze back on her. "It's...the twins," he muttered. "They got into a fight with someone in Game Central Station. Sticking up for me."

Vanellope regarded him seriously. "Really? Because Ted told me they got into a wreck here in Sugar Rush."

Turbo scoffed. "Yeah, it's very common to get punched in the face during a wreck, you know?"

Vanellope frowned a little and glanced aside, thinking of the bruises on Ned's face. "Okay, so they got into a fight."

"Over me!" He touched his hand to his chest. "If someone in Game Central's got a bone to pick with me-"

"They all have."

"-then they should have to deal with me, not the twins!"

"I've told you!" Vanellope yelled as the racer turned from her, stalking away to begin his pacing again. "You're stuck here! It's too bad but that's what being a glitch is like, alright?!"

"Well it isn't fair!" he shrieked, turning toward her, his hands clenched.

Vanellope stared at him, levelly, her brows low. "No," she said stiffly. "It isn't."

Turbo stared back at her, his breath short and shaky. He looked away sharply, pressing a fist to his forehead. "This isn't about you," he muttered, "and dammit, it isn't about me either, alright?!" He lowered his fist slowly, his back to her. "It's about those twins."

Vanellope stared at the racer's back, slipping her hands slowly into her pocket. "I don't believe you."

He looked over his shoulder sharply, yellow eyes flashing.

Vanellope was unaffected. She shrugged, glancing aside casually. "I mean, I do believe it's about the twins. But I believe it's about you too. There's no way you'd remove yourself from the equation...You want out of Sugar Rush for your own reasons."

Turbo stared at her silently before turning his eyes frontward again swiftly. His own reasons? Well of course he wanted out! He was a goddamn prisoner! He shut his eyes, gritting his teeth. No, this was about the twins!

"Hey Jerkface."

Turbo turned back to her again, shifting his shoulders this time to face her better, his eyes cold and sharp. The child stared back at him stoically, her shoulders low.

"I'll do whatever I can to protect the twins," she said. "But I can't allow you back in the code vault. Not after everything that's happened, and not now that the arcade knows you're alive...So your little schemes and dreams about freedom need to stop here. You understand?"

Turbo regarded her coldly, his fists clenched. He gave a stiff nod but Vanellope continued to watch him skeptically, tipping her chin upwards. "Behave yourself," she warned simply, then turned to walk away. She got a few steps from him before she glitched out of existence, reappearing at the top of the hill beyond his kart and vanishing as she stepped out of sight again. Turbo stood for a moment, seething, before he slowly walked over to his kart, his heart pounding. Sour Bill looked up at him with dull expectation as he approached. "Sir?"

At the word, Turbo's skin glitched, and left King Candy standing in his place. He frowned deeply, leaning on the side of the kart. He glanced at Sour Bill briefly, a look of stalwart determination in his brown eyes, then he gave a slow, steady nod. "Sour Bill, has Vanellope ever ordered you to keep me out of the code vault?"

Sour Bill regarded him seriously. "Sir, just now, she-"

"Has Vanellope," he repeated, stiffly, "ever ordered you to keep me out?"

Sour Bill stared up at him, the faintest look of discomfort crossing his green eyes. "No, sir."

"Good," Turbo said, climbing into the kart. "I shall be in need of your assistance very soon."


He waited out the rest of that day and night, being standoffish with the twins and avoiding Vanellope altogether. When the arcade opened in the morning, after yet another sleepless night, he bid the boys watch the races from the grandstands and made enough of a show of being in a bad mood to get himself left behind in the castle. Once the races had begun for the day, he waited anxiously for Sour Bill to arrive.

It was later than he had hoped when the knock came and the door was opened by the guard outside. Werther leaned into the room, giving the racer a solemn look as Sour Bill entered, seeming mildly agitated and a bit put-off. "Sir?"

"Yes," Turbo muttered, resisting the natural inclination to glitch into King Candy's persona. Walking the castle halls with that face was a bad idea all around.

"Miss Vanellope requests your presence at the grandstands. Will you accompany me?"

Turbo snorted with feigned frustration, stepping over stiffly. "What does that glitch want?" he muttered.

Sour Bill stepped back, exchanging a brief solemn nod with Werther as Turbo exited the room, trying to hide his nervous energy. "I'll be back, Werther. Enjoy guarding your empty room."

"Sir," Werther answered solemnly, watching him with an eye that had Turbo ever-so-slightly uncomfortable. He shifted under that gaze and turned quickly, following Sour Bill down the hall at a swift pace, feeling Werther's gaze on him all the while.

"You've cleared the throne room then?" Turbo muttered under his breath as they rounded a corner.

"Yes, sir," Sour Bill answered, looking up as Turbo quickened his pace and passed him, taking the lead. The racer was glitching slightly, trying to keep his primary avatar in place. "Are you sure you wish to do this?"

"Absolutely," Turbo growled.


The code vault was cool and dark as always.

Six hours in and Turbo still didn't seem to be making headway. He had checked his code frontwards and backwards, done everything in his power to repair the frazzled broken edges, but it was unreceptive. In the entryway to the vault, Sour Bill had drifted off yet again, still holding the end of the tether in his hands. Turbo was grateful for his old ally's efforts, for clearing out the throne room long enough to gain them entry to the vault, for using Vanellope's updated password to get them in, and for standing guard all these hours, well, until he had drifted off anyway...

The racer pressed his palms to his eyes, dry and burning as they were after staring so long in the dim light. "There's got to be a way," he groaned, "something, anything..."

Frustrated and tired and knowing his time was limited, he dove back into the code once again, determined. He had but one goal: to get his code to generate enough of a ghost code to let him have semblance outside the game. Even if it was temporary, if he could just get something to generate, something, it would mean there was hope.

Two more hours in and he was very close to giving up. The arcade would be closing soon, and if Vanellope got wind of his efforts, he suspected he'd receive me than just a stern warning this time. Would she actually lock him up for this? Not permanently, but temporarily maybe...At least restrict him to his room once again.

"Come on," he muttered, writing the same strain of code again, trying to get his own to absorb and copy it, but it dissolved like nothing into pixels. "Dammit!"

He leaned back, arms folded on his chest, floating in that empty space. When he had first come to Sugar Rush, he had been armed with nothing but his own ghost code. He had woven that, strain by strain, into King Candy's avatar until the code had accepted it as its own. Now, all he wanted in the world was to have that ghost code back. To generate it again. He had tried time and again to get what he could salvage of his own code to generate and it wouldn't. His eyes slowly shifted to the portion of code that had been corrupted by the cybug strains. He hadn't considered trying that...

Moving quickly, he tried again, encouraging the cybug strains to generate ghost code. In his head, all he could think was a desperate plea of please, let this work, this is my last shot...

He finished entering code and withdrew his hands, watching, his breath caught in his throat. The code hung there, not moving. Not taking, nor dissolving. He bit down on his lip hard, yellow eyes wide, hopeful.

Then slowly his code began to duplicate itself, a ghostly form of itself generating parallel to its own. Turbo let out a loud breath, clenching his hands into eager fists. It took everything in his power not to let out a scream. It was working.

"Sour Bill!" he said urgently, tugging himself back toward the door. "Sour Bill!"

The sour ball jolted awake, blinking around himself before he glanced toward the vault and the approaching racer. "Sir...?"

"It worked!" Turbo hissed, tugging himself into the doorway and touching down easily as gravity returned to him. "It worked!" He undid the tether from his waist quickly, tossing it down. "I'm going. I'm going to Game Central." His heart was pounding. Freedom was so close at hand that it had consumed his thoughts. "You straighten this up, make sure the glitch doesn't find out right away! I'll be back!"

"S-sir," Sour Bill muttered with uncertainty, winding up the tether quickly. "Think this over...Miss Vanellope will know what you've done as soon as you go out there..."

"I don't care!" Turbo called back with a laugh, pausing in the hall to look back at him. "I'm free! I can leave! I'm not under that brat's rule any more!"

Sour Bill stared at him solemnly, breathing out a sigh. "Sir, I'm not certain you realize the consequence of that..."

Turbo grinned, yellow teeth bright in the blue-lit room. "I'll be back, Sour Bill," he answered smugly. "When I feel like it." That said, he turned, and marched out.


Turbo stood at the crest of the rainbow bridge that led the way in and our of Sugar Rush, staring out toward the terminal beyond. He hadn't gone through this barrier in so long, and though he had had great confidence in the code vault, now that he stood at the game's edge, he was suddenly wrought with concern. What if it hadn't worked? What if the ghost code had unraveled the second he left? It likely was only temporary anyway; maybe it had already run out...

He took a breath and shook his head. No. He was determined. The arcade was just closing, the station would be coming to life with activity. This was his chance. He would show them, show them he was alive and well, and they had no business bothering with his twins when they could come to him themselves. He would tell them; he would make sure they listened.

He took a slow step forward, holding one hand out ahead of him for fear that he would hit the barrier. But as he continued walking, he soon found that he had passed right through it. He looked back, blinking at Sugar Rush fading behind him. Then a wide, eager grin sprung onto his face. And without a word, he turned and began running for the terminal.