Lynda's eyes widened at Izzy's words. She looked to her husband, who seemed void of any sort of emotion, staring at his sister. Izzy wasn't joking.

"Wait, what? How?" Lynda inserted herself into the conversation. Content before to sit and listen, this now concerned her. She still had a life to live out with Strip, and she wasn't about to have that jeopardized.

"I don't understand." Strip glanced at Lynda before looking back to Izzy. "I left. I'm not one of you anymore."

Izzy sighed. "Ford knows how many of us there were. There were thirteen of us at that first battle. There's only eleven of us now, but there's only been one death. They know there's one missing, and if something happens to the rest of us, they're going to come looking. They're not going to leave the job unfinished."

"But they don't know where to start." Strip argued. "They don't know our makes, models, or anything."

Izzy was silent for a moment. "They do now."

"What?"

"When they shot Laura out of the sky earlier, she morphed when she hit the ground. She tried to drive out of there, but she wasn't quick enough. They saw her, and tried to lay her out with their weapons. They know we're all the aero cars from '69 and '70."

"But there are hundreds of us out there. They wouldn't search the general public, would they?" he asked. "Wouldn't the government try to intervene at that point?"

"Ford released a statement this morning. That's the real reason I came," she admitted. "They said that even though there was no clear winner in this morning's battle, they're confident they'll win. They'll cease fire when they have positive IDs on all twelve remaining aero cars, deceased. They won't stop until they have that, government or not."

"That's ridiculous." Lynda said, her voice tense.

Strip tried to gather his frantic mind and keep a calm demeanor. This couldn't be happening, not now, not when he had things to lose. He looked over at Lynda. She was visibly disturbed and upset at this revelation. Izzy seemed apologetic, being the bearer of bad news.

"Can we have a moment?" he asked Izzy. "Come here, Lyn."

Izzy nodded and backed away. Lynda followed him as he drove into their bedroom and closed the door behind her. When Strip turned to look at her, she had tears in her eyes.

"You're not going back, are you?" Her voice wavered as she spoke.

Strip had to look away from her in order to keep himself from showing how rattled he was. "I don't want to, but –"

"But what?" she pressed. "Strip, those guys are out to kill. You're not a fighter, and I need you here."

"You know I am." He countered her softly. "Even if I don't wanna be. I don't want to go back, but you heard Izzy. If somethin' happens to the rest of the brigade and I'm not there, they'll come looking."

"But if somethin' happens to the brigade and you are there, they'll get you too," she protested.

"Maybe, maybe not," he said. "But either way, if I'm not there, every other Superbird, every other Daytona is going to be at risk. Am I supposed to put all these other innocent cars at risk just to try to save myself? You know I can't do that."

Forever the voice of reason, Lynda knew he had a point, but she refused to believe it. She kept her silence as she tried to think of a valid reason to make him stay. A couple tears rolled down her fenders.

"Hey, now." Strip whispered as he moved closer, pressing his fender against hers. "It'll be alright. We're not going to let them win."

"I can't lose you," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"I'm not leavin' you," he assured her. "Listen, Lyn, I know this is hard, but I promise you this one thing – I'll come back to you. Just like I do after every race. If you can just give me a day or two to go check things out up there, I'll come right back. I only need to know what we're dealin' with."

"Promise?"

"Of course. I'll go, check some facts, and come right back. I'll even call you if that makes you happy."

She nodded and sniffled a couple times as she reopened her eyes. "Okay. Be careful, will you? I love you."

"I love you." He kissed her before he left the room, leaving her to collect herself.

He reentered the common room and took a deep breath. Izzy apprehensively looked at him from across the room as he drove towards her.

"Is she okay?" she asked.

"She'll be alright." Strip answered. "She's tougher than she looks."

"Good, good," Izzy seemed oddly relieved. "I hope she don't hate me for barging in on you like this."

"Nah, I think the two of you would get along pretty well, actually." Strip shrugged. "You should stop by sometime when the world isn't fallin' apart."

"If we make it through this, I will." Izzy promised. "It's been too long. I'm sorry I haven't come sooner."

"I'm surprised you came at all. How'd you get out?"

"I had a little help, just like you," she said. "Stacey wanted to warn you just as much as I did."

"She's on my list of cars to talk to when we get there." Strip informed her. "Right after Rick himself."

"Wait, you're coming back?" Izzy seemed surprised. "I thought you'd never come back."

"Just for a day or so, to get information. If we're all in this much trouble, I need to understand the situation," he explained. "I don't want to fight, but I'm not letting Ford wreck what I've built here."

"Understood."

They drove out into the country a ways to an open stretch of lonely road. Upon double-checking that no other cars were around, Izzy converted to flight mode. Strip watched with a tinge of sadness as she kept a steady, stone cold expression through the process. Perhaps at this point she couldn't feel the pain anymore, for all he knew.

Fifteen years of neglect made Strip's conversion even more sickening than it had been when he was younger. On several occasions, he'd considered trying to get the wings and jet engines removed, but a little voice in the depths of his mind always warned against it. Maybe this was why.

"For goodness' sake, dude, when's the last time you oiled that thing?" Izzy winced at the noise Strip's spoiler made as it locked into its new position.

"I haven't done this since the day I left," he answered. "So, a while."

"You got ammo?"

"No."

"Well, then, let's hope we don't run into any trouble on the way."

They did not, in fact, run into any trouble on their short flight back to Auburn Hills. Strip looked down at the Chrysler headquarters as they circled downward toward the runway in the old training grounds. Everything seemed different, almost distressed. To the west, one of the smaller decoy buildings had been replaced by a charred hole in the ground. The road leading out past where that building used to be was crumbled and broken, roped off by an absent repair crew. Even the grass that grew in the training grounds seemed less green.

"Where is everyone?" Strip asked as they landed and converted back. "I wasn't exactly expectin' a welcome committee, but it's awfully quiet."

"Inside, most likely," his sister answered. "Either recovering or resting."

Oh, right. While he'd spent the morning lazily with his wife, they'd been fighting for their lives. Right.

"Rick's up in his office," she continued. "If you want answers, I'd go straight to him."

"You're not comin'?"

"I'll get there eventually. I need to check on the others first, make sure they're okay."

They parted ways as they entered the nearest building. Strip wandered the barren halls alone, feeling more isolated than ever. Those cold, white corridors seemed more frigid than he remembered, as if they were walls of ice closing in on him. He drove faster. They seemed colder and narrower. Faster. Colder.

Subconsciously, he knew he was panicking, but that panic lent him to taking the shortest direct route up to the executive suite. Within minutes, he was parked outside Rick's office. There was a window to his left that offered a view outside, and the sun was beginning to set. It looked much warmer out there.

He came to his senses as the door before him opened, revealing a gentle, caring face that suddenly eased his conscious.

"Oh, Strip." Stacey blossomed into giddiness upon seeing him and rushed over. "Look at you! Aw, you done grew up on me and became a racer. I knew you could do it."

"Good to see you, too, Stacey," he said as she looked him over.

"Dinoco – really? You landed a heck of a sponsor," she complimented. "I saw the headline this morning about the championship win. Oh, I was so proud!"

"Thanks," he appreciated the congratulations, but something still seemed off. Perhaps it was the conditions of his visit.

Stacey heard the hint of caution in his voice and backed away a little. Her expression relaxed into one of understanding.

"I'm sorry to ask you to come all this way when you have so much going on," she said. "But with everything that's happened – "

"I came for answers." Strip explained, driving toward the open door. "I'm not stayin' long."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she nodded toward the awaiting office. "I'm just so happy to see you again. I didn't think you'd come back."

Strip stopped before entering the room and looked over at her. "You're always free to come visit, you know. I could introduce you to my wife. I think you'd like her."

"Oh, I'm sure I would," she grinned. "I have all sorts of questions for you. Tell you what, after you're done talking to Rick, come find me. I'll be down there in the alcove waiting."

She gestured down the long hallway that led to Rick's office and the small windowed reading area at the end. One of the first memories Strip had as a newly manufactured car was sitting next to her in that alcove while she read him poetry from her favorite book, a collection of poems by Robert Frost. The Road Not Taken had always been his favorite.

"I'll do that," Strip promised.

She winked at him and headed down the hall as he entered Rick's office, letting the door shut behind him. He looked around. Not much had changed here. It was still an oversized, empty room decorated with portraits of the previous CEOs – those that had once taken it upon themselves to preserve the integrity of Chrysler's manufacturing process.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Rick exclaimed from behind his desk at the far right of the room.

"Hey, Rick." Strip gathered himself and approached the aging Power Wagon.

Rick looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was not out of the ordinary, but rarely did he show it like this. His formerly spotless white paint had various scratches and chips in it that looked several years old. Rick had always had a thing about keeping his appearance neat, clean, and as perfect as he could. What happened?

"I never thought I'd see you in that getup." Rick came around his desk to get a better look. "My star performer has a dinosaur painted on his hood."

"The dinosaur pays the bills." Strip countered, annoyed with Rick's nonchalance. "Rick, I didn't come all this way to chat. I have questions. I've been told you got answers."

Rick turned to face the wall of monitors behind his desk – twenty-four screens, some displaying security feeds, others different news channels. The news channels flickered between reporters and footage of that day's attack. In one of the brief segments, Strip saw Laura fall out of the sky. In another, building fifteen collapsed and ruptured into a giant ball of flame. In yet another, he saw himself, not participating in any sort of war, but posing with his second Piston Cup. He felt something comparable to guilt. Not guilt that he'd not been there to help fight the war, but a sort of sadness that stemmed from knowing that the other members of the brigade had no escape, and hadn't lived the sort of life he'd been able to.

"We didn't see them coming." Rick muttered. "We're lucky they all got out of there alive."

Strip watched the building collapse for a second time from a different angle. These guys were packing weapons that rivaled their own.

Rick backed away from the display and drove around Strip to look out the single window in his office. This window took up half of the outward facing wall and opened up a view of the entire complex. As the ambient lighting slowly died, the nearby buildings flickered to life, reflecting the pale light the massive Pentastar marquee above them emitted. In the distance, they could see the lights of the skyscrapers in downtown Detroit. Strip joined Rick at the window.

"You know, I almost came after you when you left." Rick said, as though Strip were there to reminisce old times. "I wasn't about to just let you go."

"Why didn't you?" Strip asked. It was off-topic, but he'd always wondered.

"Eh, women have a way with words." Rick shrugged. "Stacey told me what she did and why. I couldn't be mad. I wanted to, I really did, but I couldn't. You're married, now, right? So you understand."

Strip expected a better explanation, but didn't push the issue. "Why didn't you ever marry?" he asked instead. "You and Stacey have been together since before my time."

Rick let out a breath in a laugh. "Oh, we've been married a long time. We just never told anyone. You know that unspoken rule about having relationships within your organization."

Strip hadn't known this, matter of fact. Had it really been so simple this whole time?

"Strip, we never told you why we picked you, did we?" Rick's tone quieted significantly.

"Uh, yeah. Several times, actually." Strip answered. "It was the combination of –"

"No, not that." Rick cut him off. "That was all true, but it was much more than that."