Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Pixar. All OCs belong to me.

Chapter 1 - Runaway

I never knew who my parents were. I was placed in State care almost immediately after I was born. Due to privacy laws, I haven't been told much about my parents. All I know is that, shortly after I was born, my mother drove out of the hospital and left me there. She'd checked in to give birth to me under the name 'Miss McQueen'. She refused to tell anyone her given names, so nobody was able to find out anything about her. Before she'd left, she'd told the midwife caring for her that she wanted me to be named Montgomery Alexander. Since nobody had any idea who my father was, I was given my mother's surname. It's assumed that, because my mother was only about sixteen years old at the time of my birth, I was either the result of a forbidden underage romance, or rape. I've never been sure of which one is worse.

By the time I turned fourteen, I'd already been in ten different foster homes. Most of my foster parents didn't really care about me. They were only in it for selfish reasons, like the money, or the government perks, or to make them look good in front of their peers. I grew up knowing that I was unloved and unwanted. As a result, I took my frustration out on everything and everyone. I was rebellious before I'd even reached puberty. My record included truancy from school, being suspended twice for fighting, and being expelled once for spitting as a school security guard. In hindsight, it's difficult to blame me for my bad behaviour back then. I'd been shown very little love in my childhood, and very few of my foster parents chose to punish me. I really had very little concept between right and wrong.

And so, shortly after I turned fourteen, I found myself living out on the streets. I'd run away from my last foster home a few days earlier, because my foster dad had beaten me up for back-chatting. The city streets of Chicago, Illinois are not friendly to homeless vehicles, even today. However, it was at this point that my story truly begins.

I remember that cold, wet evening as I huddled underneath a large piece of cardboard in a dark alleyway, trying to stay dry as a storm passed by overhead. At my age, most homeless cars would be scared and worried about their future, but I'd become so hardened to my own feelings, let alone the feelings of others, that I had no idea what fear felt like anymore. All of my energy was now focussed on survival. I was still nursing a few wounds from my foster father's beating, and I knew from my mild fever that at least two of my cuts were infected. There was nothing I could do about them though. I had no money to pay for any medical care, and I didn't want to ask a complete stranger for help. So, I chose to ignore the pain and fever. I found that it was just easier to pretend that I was fine. Besides, I was terrified of doctors. When I was six years old, a team of doctors and nurses had strapped and pinned me down to draw some oil from me for testing. They'd only pinned me down because I refused to keep still for the needle. From that moment on, I'd lost my trust in doctors.

I was somewhat lucky though. I'd already made friends with two other homeless cars. Simon was an eighteen-year-old dark grey Buick Grand National GNX, while Murphy was a fifteen-year-old yellow Toyota W10 MR2. I got along with Murphy the best, since he'd also escaped from a bad foster home. Together, they were teaching me the fine art of street survival. Luckily, I was a fast learner. I'd already learned which areas were safe from rival gangs, and how to avoid standing out. Blending in was essential to avoid being noticed by the authorities. Considering I was rather small for my age, having friends who were bigger and older than me helped me feel safe, and I stood out less whenever I was with them.

As the storm moved on, I peeked out from beneath my flimsy piece of cardboard just in time to see a bolt of lightning race across the sky. It struck the lightning rod of a nearby high-rise tower, creating a magnificent spectacle. I shrugged the cardboard off before I drove out of the alleyway. As I drove past a nearby shopfront, I glanced at myself in the window's refection. My paintwork was as dull and as black as my mood. I liked how good matte black looked on me though.

With a resigned sigh, I drove down the street to the square where I'd agreed to meet up with Simon and Murphy once the storm had passed. A light rain was still falling, making the road sparkle from reflected streetlights. I shivered as I approached my friends.

"You look cold, Monty," Simon observed.

"Just a bit," I replied.

Using his claw arm, Murphy reached back to his trunk, and he took out a couple of dollar bills and some coins. Simon did the same. Unlike most cars, I didn't have a trunk to carry things in. I really wish I did, because I had no way of carrying anything.

"How much did we steal today?" Murphy asked as Simon counted the money.

"Only a few bucks. It'd really help if Monty could steal some too."

"We could always use his cuteness to distract someone, while I pinch their trunk," Murphy suggested with a shrug.

"I'd be happy to do that," I agreed. "It's only fair, since you're taking care of me."

"I'll think about it," Simon said, as he placed the money back in his trunk. He looked around, distracted. Murphy and I followed his gaze. He was staring at a nearby Italian restaurant. Out in front, under and awning, a couple finished dining, leaving their half-eaten food on the plates, along with a couple of cans of oil.

As soon as the couple had driven around a corner, Simon took off towards the table. Realising what Simon was going to do, Murphy and I followed him. Together, the three of us raided the table, stuffing the left-over food in our mouths. I managed to grab one of the cans of oil, and I drained what was left in it.

"Hey!" one of the waiters shouted from inside the restaurant. "Hey, you kids!"

Simon, Murphy and I snatched up what was left of the food with our claw arms, and we took off as fast as we could safely go in the wet. The waiter chased us until the end of the block before he gave up.

A few minutes later, my friends and I darted into an alleyway, where we finally stopped running. After we'd caught our breaths, we devoured the remainder of the food.

"Well, at least we got something to eat tonight," Murphy said as he licked his claw.

"Now what are we going to do?" I wondered.

Simon responded by tossing a few cans of spray paint down in front of us. "It's time for us to go to work. We'll just wait until it gets a little bit darker, and then we'll start."

"What area do you want to hit tonight?" Murphy asked.

"The railroad yard," Simon replied. "I've always wanted to tag sleeping locomotives. I spotted a hole in the security fence earlier today, so it shouldn't be difficult for us to get in there."

"Sweet!" I said, trying to sound cool. As part of my education into street life, Simon had been teaching me how to paint his signature tag. Since he was our leader, Murphy and I were happy to use his tag instead of our own.

As darkness settled in, the streets slowly became quieter and less congested. Unfortunately, the rain became heavier, which only made me shiver more. I knew that my fever was getting worse instead of better, but I needed to tough it out. A sick homeless car was extremely vulnerable to gangland thugs. I needed to remain alert and keep my wits about me.

The clock from a nearby building struck ten times before Simon, Murphy and I ventured out towards the railroad yard a few blocks away. While some locomotives worked well into the night, most of them had settled down to sleep one in front of the other in the railroad yard. For their safety, the railroad yard was fenced off with a high security fence.

To get to the railroad yard, we had to drive down a grassy slope. Most railroad workers would access the railroad yard by driving down a concrete path that accessed the main road, but we had to remain out of sight from the night security guards. Simon lead the way over to the hole in the security fence, and he held it up with his tyre while Murphy and I drove through it.

Once the three of us were inside the railroad yard, we got to work. It wasn't easy for us to sneak about, since we'd all be born with powerful engines (although Simon had undergone some modifications to make his even louder than it had been), but we could be quiet if we concentrated hard.

I snuck up on a sleeping Amtrak GE Genesis locomotive. He was snoring softly, so I did my best to only spray paint on him when he snored, to help mask the sound of the spray. The spray paint must have tickled him a bit, because he instinctively wriggled, but he didn't wake up.

After I'd finished tagging the first locomotive, I turned on my headlights, so I could find Simon and Murphy. I could no longer hear either of them driving around, or the hiss from their spray cans.

"Murphy?" I whispered nervously. "Simon?"

Silence answered me. Then, the floodlights were turned on, filling the entire railroad yard with blinding light. I squinted just as I heard Murphy shout, "Monty! Cops! Run!"

Confused, I hesitated for a moment. Then, I heard approaching sirens and shouting. I dropped the spray can and floored it. My wheels sent up a spray of ballast as I accelerated towards the hole in the fence. I was still half-blinded by the floodlights, so I almost missed the hole. I had to brake sharply, which caused me to skid and send up another spray of ballast. The sounds of my panicked escape had caught the attention of the police officers, and I could hear one of them approaching me.

"Stop, or I'll shoot!"

I drove through the hole in the fence, but I ended up scratching my paint on some of the wire. A shot rang out. I felt the breeze from the flying bullet pass just over my rear window. Terrified, I accelerated away up the grassy hillside. However, because it was still raining, I found it difficult to gain traction. I spent a lot of fuel and energy trying to get to the top of the slope. I could hear the police officer gaining on me, and that made me push my engine into the red for the very first time in my life.

Finally, I reached the top of the hillside. However, I didn't have time to catch my breath, because the police officer was right behind me now. He was a Dodge Ram, so it's hardly surprising he was able to catch up to me so easily. Unfortunately, I was still half-blinded from the floodlights, and now that I was in the dark again, my eyes hadn't had a chance to re-adjust to the change. I accelerated towards the road. I knew that once I'd reached it, I would stand a better chance of getting away.

Something large loomed in front of me. Before I could work out what it was, I slammed straight into it. The object turned out to be a Chevrolet Suburban police officer. He'd been prepared for me, and due to my small size, I came off second best. The impact sent me sprawling backwards on my chassis, with all four of my wheels spread-eagle. Before I had a chance to gather my wits, both police officers were on top off me. The Dodge Ram pinned me down with his front wheels, while the Chevrolet Suburban secured my rear wheels with parking boots. All the while, I squirmed and kicked, trying desperately to break free from them both.

"Calm down, kid!" the Dodge Ram ordered. He was finding it harder to keep hold of me.

"Just shut the f*** up and get off me!" I shouted. I continued wriggling, trying desperately hard to get away.

"I'll let you get up once you quit struggling."

Nothing was said for a few more minutes. The police officers both kept me pinned down, while they waited for me to stop struggling. Finally, I'd exhausted myself and I gave up. Feeling me relax, the police officers cautiously eased their weight off me.

"Sergeant," the Chevrolet Suburban said into his radio. "We've caught one of the kids outside the railroad yard. Could you send a wagon over here to collect him? He's putting up a decent fight!"

I couldn't make out the reply, but a few minutes later, a police wagon arrived. The police officer who'd chased me finally let me get to my tyres before he spoke to me again.

"I'm arresting you for trespassing onto government property, defacing another vehicle and for resisting arrest. I'll ignore the fact that you swore at me. You've done enough to get you thrown into juvenile detention. You have the right to remain silent until you've spoken with a lawyer, but you are obligated to tell us your full name, address and VIN number. We'll sort that out back at the station."

The SUV police officer practically threw me into the back of the police wagon. I flinched when I heard the door being closed and locked behind me. I knew that I was in more trouble than I'd ever been in before, and this time, I was completely on my own.