Let The Car Run

A/N: So, I guess the world of racing isn't safe anymore. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Anyways…  So this is my second story and I've never played the game yet. Oh, the irony of it all.

Disclaimer: Following the footsteps of those who dun it before me, this disclaimer will last the entire course of the story. I don't own FF8 or any of the characters because someone beat me to it. Also, I don't own any of the cars I mention in this story… *sarcastically* I wonder why.

Squall's point of view

~1: Getting Signed ~

If luck ever truly existed, I didn't need it. Everyone I race against these days is too untalented to ever be able to win a major event that counts. They all try to beat their best score, rather than run the guy off the road.  Out there, on the track, you don't race against your trials, you race against those savages in their fancy cars who will do anything to stop you from winning… Even crashing your car. I should know… I'm one of them.

My name is Squall Leonheart and I have been racing since I was a child of 5 years old. All right, so Game Boy doesn't count, but still. When I first played Top Gear GT Championship, I knew that driving a car was what I wanted to do. Fast cars, pretty girls and a whole lot of cash were enough to convince me that racing was what I wanted to do.

Sitting behind the wheel of a go-cart for the first time caught me hook-line and sinker. My older brother took me with him for fun. At the age of nine, I experienced my first adrenaline rush. The hum of the go-cart for the first time rings in my ears today as I think back on those happy times. My brother was nineteen and I thought the world of him. He was my idol; I wanted to be him. He had a lot of friends, was top student, captain of various sports teams and had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. Then he had to go and get himself killed.

I don't want to remember that fateful day when I came home to find two officers sitting in the living room with my mother and father crying their tears. My first thought was that these men had made a mistake. My brother wasn't dead; he was still at football practice. But like I said, I wish not to remember that day when my life was ruined.

So here I stand today, accepting another trophy that I won. First place, not bad. Not bad at all. I wasn't being sponsored at the moment; I was still in the amateur world. The car I race today is my own. My father bought it for my fifteenth birthday. Seven years later, it still runs like it used to. It's a beauty. I don't have my own mechanic; they cost too much. Besides, I grew up dreaming about cars and reading all the car magazines I can find. Today, I can see my own face on the cover of half of them.

I know that I'm good, but I didn't think I was good enough for the pros. Obviously I was wrong.

"Son, how would you like to be sponsored by Viagra?" Some fifty-year old man asked me. I still think that he's using that stuff himself.

"Um, I think I'll consider it, sir. Thank you for the offer." Hah! There was no way in Hell that I'd agree to have "Viagra" slapped all over my beloved car.

The next guy had a little more luck.

"Hi. My name is Norman Roscoe, the president of Pepsi, the soft drink company. We'd like to sponsor you." All right. The balding, smartly dressed man had caught my attention. I was getting somewhere with this.

"All right." I said sounding interested- mainly because I was.

"We have agreed that- should you take us up on this offer- to give you one million bucks a year, free access to the garage… Even your own mechanic if you wish, and all that you have to do is sport our name on your car." His words hung like some poor girl who was just accused of being a witch in the middle of a puritan town. There was a catch; I could feel it in the air and it was about to hit me in the head.

"But…" I started for the guy.

"But you have to get rid of the car you're driving right now. It's a nice car and all, but it's a little slow. There's no way that it will win against any of the other cars. And besides, a driver is only as good as his car." The guy said to me. Did he just say what I think he said?

"I liked your offer until I heard that I had to scrap my car. I can't do that. That is my very first car and I've had a lot of fond memories and more to come with that car. There is no way I'm going to get rid of it." I said. Those fond memories were some of the best I've ever had. I won a lot of drag races with that car and a lot of back seat adventures… If you know what I mean.

"Well, you have to move past all your backseat rides to get into the big leagues, boy. So, when can we expect you to sign the contract?" Eh asked. How dare he ask that after he just told me to move past my car?

"Never. Have a good day, Mr. Roscoe." I said as the next guy came up to me to make his offer.

Now this guy was everything you wanted in a contract agreement.

"Hi. My name is Henry Billings, CEO of coke, the other soft drink company. The same company that manufactured the car that you currently drive, I believe." He said and I nodded my head.

"We would like to sponsor you. The deal is short and sweet. I'm sure that you would like what we have to offer." This guy said. He wasn't very old; maybe about thirty-five years old with brown hair and green eyes. I didn't have any worries about dandruff or 'Viagra' being slapped all over my car.

"All right. You have my attention. Go on." I said politely. Normally I would have been more sarcastic, but this man held my career in his hands. I had developed some respect for him because he had not yet called me 'Boy' or 'Son'. I was beginning to like the guy.

            "Well, it goes like this: we'll give you one million bucks a year, free garage services and a mechanic- unless you're a 'do-it-yourself' kind of guy-, your own crew and all plus your own place- it's a pretty damn nice place if you ask me- as a sign of our gratitude. We'll even throw in a couple of back-up cars and all the extra parts you require. However these cars have company logo all over it; that the only requirement." Billings concluded. It was a pretty sweet deal. There weren't any hidden agreements as of yet and the conditions were pretty straightforward.

I ran the terms over again in my mind before I finally came to a decision. "When do get a copy of the contract?" I said enthusiastically.

***

            I sat here, in a really nice conference room in a comfy leather chair beside my lawyer. The room was furnished with a dozen chairs, a long oak table and a carpet. The tall windows behind the head of the table let the sunlight in, illuminating the entire room.

            We waited for about fifteen minutes before Mr. Billings and his lawyer finally arrived. His lawyer carried a portfolio from which various paper corners stuck out. I hoped the contract wasn't one of those papers; most likely it was.

            "Welcome. Without further ado, I think we should get down to business. This is my lawyer, Jeremy. Jeremy, this is the future racer, Squall Leonheart." Billings introduced us.

            "Really? I saw you race yesterday. That was a really great run. Those crashes were amazing.  And that is one sweet car you drive!" How old was this guy? He didn't look like he was a lawyer. Fact is… He didn't look like he even went through law school.

I suppose the whole 'suit-and-tie' thing was supposed to cover that up, but it wasn't working when he was saying things like, "One sweet car". I thought lawyers were supposed to be stiff… Like the one I have.

Still, I remained polite and replied, "Thank you. They were horrible drivers anyways. They didn't deserve to go near a car."

The four of us laughed over my comment. It was nice to know that not everyone was as stiff as they were expected to be.

"Anyways, about the contract… Would you like a copy for yourself?' Jeremy said.

"Sure. You never know when I might want to do a little… Light… Reading…" I said as I saw the contract. From the middle of the portfolio, Jeremy pulled out this fifty-page, single spaced document. Oddly, he began to laugh when he saw my reaction to it.

"This isn't it. It's the document needed when you sign a contract. This is the contract." He said.

To my relief, it was only a couple of pages. My lawyer read over it and then passed it to me. There was nothing like double-checking for loopholes. To my immense surprise, there was no fine print, nothing on the back. The contract was clean.

Jeremy produced a pen and I signed my name. There. Everything was done and I was now being sponsored. I felt so accomplished.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Yeah, I know I said I wouldn't start until I was done the other one, but I couldn't resist. So tempting. So I have low self-restraint level… Who cares? Ok, maybe I do… But I'm working on it!