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DUSTY COULDN'T stand with that situation.
He remembered the incident when he howled in the illness because had been stabbed thirty times. He just heard that some metal from his body had fallen down, dedicating that Zipper had cut his skin out.
"Hey, Rip. I think this is Dusty's body from inside. I can see his gearbox," Zipper said, laughing in craziness.
"You're so fast, Zip, like a spider who want to eat its victim quickly," Ripslinger half shouted.
"Just kill him very slow. You may scab him more, but slowly."
"Yep—slowly, Rip."
Dusty felt tired, breathing too many make him more tired.
"Well, we're leaving him alone for several hour. Open the windows, Zip."
"Sure thing."
Zipper opened the windows. "Brr! It's so cold!"
"Yeah. It will very nice for The Death Farm Boy. Well, make him quiet with duct tape."
Dusty wanted to revolt Zipper, but he didn't know about what was wrong with his brain—he couldn't revolt. He let his lips closed by a duct tape, makes him cannot say any words.
"Well, let's go, Zip."
"Yeah—let's go."
That was on his mind when he opened his eyes, realizing that he still on that room alone.
Although Ripslinger and Zipper left him alone with opened windows, he cried, shakes his head, wants not to be there forever. His tears frozen slowly. He needed some help. He could not escape because . . . he was locked, forced to stand in between the snows that covered him slowly. He felt that he was like a girl, who sold the matches, die in frozen. Maybe my life will over, he though. He heard his deep breath. He didn't want everything . . . except feel free from this gadget and talk to someone. He needed to talk. He felt bored for being alone. He then closed his eyes again, falling asleep.
It was dark there. Dusty didn't know where he is. But, he wasn't scared anymore. That dark made him quite quiet. He though that that place is a room—he tasted his wheels stepped in black floor. He then saw a light. He drove in to there. Near, more near, more and more near. The lights were radiate so dazzled, makes him closed his eyes. A few second, he opened his eyes. He was in Propwash Juntion . . . with Mayday. He remembered this view—about three days ago before he was in somewhere he didn't know.
"Wanna a cans of corn oils at Honkers, Dusty? I'll treat you," Mayday offered.
"Yes," Dusty accepted. "Feel thirsty for this time, just looking a beautiful view it's not enough for enjoy this day."
Mayday laughed, saying, "You need oils everyday, Dusty."
"I know, Mayday."
They then went to Honkers, sitting in front of the table and near a window, showing a beautiful view. They ordered a can of oils and a bowl of Hex-Nut for themselves. They talked many things, until Mayday said, "Um . . . Dusty . . . What if I'm going . . . dead?"
Dusty didn't know what in Mayday's mind. "Um . . . . What about you?" he asked back.
"Maybe . . . . I dunno. Did you believe about . . . Second Life?"
"Oh, yes, of course."
"By that, uh . . . ."
"Please, Mayday. Don't talk about it. Just keep your life go on. You've gotta make me scared about that thing."
"Ow-kay . . . Will you remember me when I'm dead, Dusty?"
"Sure thing, Mayday." He exhaled, smiling.
"Thanks, Dusty."
"No problem, Mayday."
"You're . . . kinda my hero."
"Ha-ha. Aw, c'mon, Mayday. Don't be like that. You've gotta me blush."
Mayday laughed, showing his happy face. Dusty felt the warmth of Mayday's smile.
"Hey, Dusty," Skipper called suddenly in out Honkers. "Ready to do some flying?"
"Absolutely, Skipper. Well, see you, Mayday."
"See you, too, Dusty."
When he drove in to near Skipper, he saw a silhouette that go to leave a sensation of happiness from Mayday. He smiled . . . also feels his happy-tears down—he didn't know why.
And, somehow happened . . . . He woke up.
Dusty was not himself.[]