"Your time yesterday. Rick seemed impressed with it."

They drove through the hallways on their way to the boardroom. That's where all their "big meetings" here held. To avoid running into the others, they'd decided to take the long way around and talk. It wasn't often they had privacy enough to have heart to hearts.

"Yeah."

"Well?" she prodded. "I watched you. You behaved differently. It was almost like you didn't hate it. What gives?"

"I guess I just approached it differently." Strip shrugged. "Made it seem like more of a self-competition."

Izzy side-eyed him. "You turned it into a race, didn't you?"

He nearly misfired as she called him out on it. It felt like such a forbidden topic, it seemed taboo to consider being anything other than a fighter for Chrysler.

"Yeah." he admitted.

"I know you too well." Izzy laughed a little. "I gotta say, it was impressive. Diego was fuming that you beat him again."

"Not surprised. You'd think he'd be used to it by now." he muttered. "I don't know why he takes those things so seriously."

"I think it's what keeps him motivated. We're all competitive."

"But why? We're all on the same side. It doesn't make any sense."

"What else are we supposed to do?"

He fell silent. They were all specifically built to fight. There had been no choice. They were told it was an honor to be selected to defend Chrysler from the upcoming battles - that it was an honor to die protecting the lives Chrysler made. To lay down one's life for their country, fair enough. For a friend? Sure.

This was none of that.

"Izzy, look at us." he couldn't contain himself. "They built our models to race. That's what the others on the outside are out doing! They're out there pushin' themselves to the limits on a track somewhere, and we're stuck here, nothin' more than a bunch of lab rats with freak mods. We're not supposed to fly. We're not supposed to be packin' all this firepower. They can try and turn us into whatever they want, but they can't take away who we are. And I don't know if I can live like this forever."

Izzy's gaze fell. Some days she could feel it too. Maybe not in terms of racing, but in getting out and making a difference somewhere. She remembered being selected because she wanted to help others. While her preferred way of doing that would have been through becoming a doctor or nurse, they immediately filed her under the "protective/caring" personality label. She'd be good for group morale, they'd said. Her job? Protect the newly manufactured by protecting the manufacturer. It's motivation, they'd said. It was supposed to motivate her. And it did, just not in the way she would have liked.

"Strip, I don't know what to say." she sighed. "I know this war is wrong. The entire premise is a huge load of bull, but we need to –"

"Why should we have to put our lives on the line? Just because a couple manufacturers can't stop being competitive? We have to go out and fight to the death to prove we're better?"

"I –" Izzy stopped mid response as they rounded a corner, coming face to face with one of the few actual Chrysler employees. "Hello, Miss Stacey."

"Hey kids!" the ever-friendly, older Monaco greeted them with a smile. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Strip answered, forcing a happy tone. He had no idea what the weather was like outside, and the concrete corridor they were in didn't offer any windows. Still, Stacey was too nice of a lady to greet with a disappointing answer.

"You two on your way to Rick's meeting?" she asked, knowing full well that's where they were headed.

"Yeah, he said it was important." Izzy told her.

"Pfft." Stacey waved her tire as if batting Izzy's statement to the side. "Important is a relative term, dear. He probably just wants someone to talk at. I wouldn't worry about it."

Stacey would know. For as long as they'd known her, she'd had some sort of interesting personal relationship with their CEO. She knew Rick better than anyone else, and it was fairly obvious he'd do about anything for her. They weren't married, but something there was definitely more than platonic.

Professionally, she was head of Public Relations, the only department within the complex that wasn't automated. Her job was to oversee that every newly manufactured car got adopted into a caring family, so by default, she'd been a mother figure to the fighters ever since they rolled off the line. Every month or so, she'd visit their living quarters, bringing cookies and warm laughs. Those were the most cordial, peaceful moments any of them ever knew.

"I won't keep you." Stacey realized she was parked right in their way, and moved over to her side of the hall. "I'll see you both soon, okay?"

"Okay." they answered in unison.

She gave them one last smile that seemed tinged with pity as she drove past them, and likewise they continued on their way in silence. The heat behind their former conversation had long been lost.

The boardroom used to seem imposing, but the more time they spent there, the more appealing it became. It was on the top floor of the tallest building on the Chrysler grounds, surrounded by one-way glass. It felt open and freeing.

"It does look nice outside." Izzy mumbled as she and Strip took their usual positions around the table.

She was right. Strip looked outside and saw a clear blue sky with wispy clouds lazily floating around. Flying up there must be so much better than training in that cramped space between the buildings. And what would be even better? Driving along an open road beneath that sky, tires to the pavement, pushing himself through the air and testing his top speed.

"Alright." Rick's voice boomed through Strip's thoughts as the rest of their present company situated themselves at the table. "First off, thanks for being on time for once. Secondly, updates!"

He backed away and tore the front page off a flip chart to reveal a mess of a chart with intertwined lines all across it. It was supposed to represent each individual's skill over time, each line's color correlating with each fighter's paint. How those lines were mathematically calculable was beyond them all. The trend seemed promising, rising sharply over the last two months. Strip saw his dark blue line peaking an embarrassing distance above the rest, two full units over the dark pink one (Izzy's) and the lime green one that challenged it.

Maybe I should tone it down, he thought as Rick pointed out the median, and expressing his wish for it to be a little higher. Somewhere off to his left, Strip could feel Diego's stare boring into him.

A few tips, pointers, and new expectations later, the CEO got on to the more interesting, albeit frustrating news.

"In all, I think we're ready." Rick said confidently. "You've all proved you can get in, destroy your targets, and get out without sustaining damage in practice rounds. Real life is going to be different, though. Things might get thrown at you that you're not prepared for."

He turned to rip the chart away to reveal a list. "Like this."

Intelligence had uncovered blueprints for Ford's answer to Chrysler's army. They were rough, and didn't give a lot of detail, but it meant the war was moving forward. The lull they were experiencing could end at any time, and they would have to be ready to fight for real.

"By design, they look to be grounded, normal cars. This leaves us at an advantage in the air, in terms of evasiveness. I'm still banking that we can get in and out of these battles before they ever know what hit them."

Strip looked at the boxy figures and pictured them coming towards him, guns drawn, ready to take him down. Would he be able to return the favor? He knew he was more than capable. He was quicker and nimbler than any of these guys, and the Chrysler-designed airstrike bombs he was equipped with could devastate an area the size of an small neighborhood. He was second only to Izzy on the shooting range, as well. But could he look another living car in the eyes and kill them?

"It may be a few years out yet, it might be a couple days from now. We don't know. But I trust that all of you will be able to do the job when it comes."

I can't do that.

No. I refuse to do that.

He looked around the room at the others, all intently listening to Rick's speech. Most of them seemed chomping at the bit to see some action. Others didn't look fazed in the least. Didn't they realize that they were just pawns in a war that didn't concern them? A war that the rest of the world would sooner forget?

It was pathetic. The "Big Three" American manufacturers had gotten so riled up over the last decade that they felt the need, not the want, to prove who was best. What better way to do that than through a show of power? The law couldn't stop them. The government wasn't about to step in the crosshairs of the very entities that made life as they knew it possible, not when the rest of the nation wasn't at stake. In fact, laws had been put in place to keep government and law enforcement agencies from intervening in the violence, save in the case of citizen endangerment. But weren't the fighters citizens, too? Didn't they have rights? At least the right to choose?

Izzy caught his gaze and gave him a funny look. She knew when his mind went into overdrive, and honestly, he wasn't terribly good at hiding how he felt. He gathered himself and tried to relax. Rick droned on for another five minutes about expectations and good faith before he moved on to other news.

That meeting didn't last more than an hour, but it felt like it had dragged on for an eternity. Afterward, the flock of winged cars made their way back to their living quarters quietly, minds full of the prospects for a more exciting future.

Strip felt like he was going to spontaneously explode. He needed to get out, talk to someone, do anything but think about the imposing future. He hurried to his room.

Izzy watched as he shut himself away, and remembered their conversation from earlier. She worried about him. He was the best they had, despite how the others ignored him or treated him with spite. They couldn't afford to lose him to his own inner demons.

In his room, Strip flipped the light on and drove over to his stack of letters and writing paper. His only friend on the outside, his only connection to the outside world was always a nice escape, even if physically writing letters was the only way they could still keep in contact. They'd been inseparable before Wayne had been adopted out of the factory, and so they swore to keep in touch. Strip picked up a pen and put it to the paper.

Wayne,

Hey man, how's the job? I guess that business degree really paid for itself, huh? Tell me what's new.

You'll never believe this, but I'm going to get to watch the Daytona 500 this weekend here at the factory. Izzy said she'd watch it with me, and…