Welcome to Part 3 - now it's 2006! Fast forward to just before the beginning of the season we see in Cars 1.

"How's it feel?"

Strip looked at the open trailers in his front yard and the two haulers, idly waiting for him and his wife. He heard Lynda come out of the house behind him and lock the door before joining him. This was it. This was the last time he'd ever ride in his own trailer to the first race of a season. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling. It was somewhere in the middle of a triangle that consisted of melancholy, anticipation, and joyful acceptance.

"It's… somethin', Tex," Strip responded, looking toward his sponsor. "I guess I never really thought I'd see the end."

Tex chuckled. "Well, I ain't gonna keep you from changin' your mind, you know."

"No, no. I've made the decision." Strip looked at Lynda. "There's still a lot yet I wanna do."

She smiled at him and gave him a loving nudge on the fender. "Y'know, for a while, I thought you weren't ever gonna retire."

"I didn't ever think I'd want to," he replied. "But I think it's time."

Nearly twenty years had passed since his closest racing friends left the circuit. It'd been two decades since the crash that ended Tori's career. As the 1980s came to close, he'd found himself alone on the circuit, surrounded by replacements and newcomers. He thought his career might have been over then as well, but he kept winning. It was as though he couldn't stop. Only last year he'd won his seventh Piston Cup, establishing his dominance once more on the track.

Times kept changing. He was the only car of his generation left in the series, and had been for several years. The younger cars weren't so much of a threat to his success, but he couldn't shake that feeling of loneliness. The other racers revered him as a legend, keeping a respectable distance from him while they laughed and socialized with each other, just as he once had. Strip's love of racing had brought him this far, but he knew when enough was enough. It was time to let the youngsters have their days in the sun.

"Y'know, the media's gonna have a heyday when you announce your intentions," Tex mentioned. "Lot of fans are gonna be real sad about it."

"Tex, quit tryin' to guilt trip him," Lynda scolded.

"You'll find another racer, Tex," Strip assured him. "I'll even help you look. How about that?"

"I'm puttin' that in your contract," Tex replied in a serious tone. "You're gonna be lawfully bound by that statement."

"Yeah, alright." Strip smiled at Tex's dry sarcasm. "Lyn, you ready to go?"

"Ready as always," she returned. "You ready to race?"

"You bet."

She placed a quick kiss on his fender and went to back into her trailer. The thought of retirement brought to the forefront of Strip's mind all she'd done to support him over the years. She'd built her life around his just so they could be together when he was on the road. He'd decided his retirement was going to be dedicated to her and all the things they never got to do in their younger years. That was the part he looked forward to the most.

Tex watched as his star racer turned and backed into his own trailer.

"I'll see you at the track, King," the Cadillac called out before Strip could close the door to his trailer. "Got a couple things to wrap up here before I go. Rotor'll give me a lift."

"Daytona's a long flight. Take care of yourself," Strip told him.

"Don't wreck before I get there," Tex said in return.

Their departing banter happened like clockwork. As the haulers pulled away, Tex thought about how he was going to miss it after this year. His friend had been the face of Dinoco since the beginning, as he built the company from a modest American business into an international corporate giant. They had more than thirty years of business and friendship built between them. That sort of relationship couldn't be replaced.

Out on the road, Strip thought back over his career. He'd certainly made a name for himself, simply by doing the one thing he loved. It said so on the outside of his trailer, and on nearly every piece of Dinoco merchandise. "The King rules with Dinoco." They almost never used his real name anymore, and though he resisted at first, he'd grown tolerant of it. Sometimes there was just no arguing with the boss.

He'd won seven championships over the years, seven. That's what had earned him the name. That and, of course, marketing ploys. Heck, they started throwing it around after two championships and a record number of total wins that continued to climb. The one record he just couldn't seem to beat, however, was the Fabulous Hudson Hornet's for most wins in a single season. While he'd come close a couple times, he never could quite get there. Oddly enough, he was happy about that. He wouldn't feel right one-upping his inspiration.

"How you gonna break the news, King?" Gray asked through their video comm.

Strip looked out the window as they wound through the mountains toward the interstate and shifted his train of thought.

"I don't know, Gray," he answered truthfully. "I think Tex was right about there bein' a big to-do about it, though."

"That's for sure," the semi agreed. "I sure am gonna miss pullin' you around everywhere."

"Well, don't get all sentimental on me yet," Strip told him. "We still have a whole season left to go."

Six hours later, they were less than a hundred miles from Daytona. Strip awoke from a nap reenergized and ready to get a few practice laps in. He could feel the change in air quality coming through the circulation unit. It hinted ever so slightly of the ocean.

He reached over to the controls on his left with the intention of calling over to Lynda's trailer. It was habit that they'd call and wake each other up on long trips before they got to their destination. However, before his tire ever hit the dial pad, the display lit up and started ringing.

Unknown caller. He hesitated briefly, but recognized the number displayed on the digital screen. That Michigan area code was much too familiar.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Strip?" the voice asked through the phone. "Wow, I actually managed to get ahold of you."

"Uh, hold on," Strip scrambled to cut the communications between him and Gray.

Even though Tex knew about his northern connections, the team remained clueless. He preferred to keep it that way. Once he was sure no one could hear their conversation, he started talking again.

"Hey, Izzy, what's happenin'?"

"Well, that's what we're calling to tell you." That was Rick's voice.

"Yeah, things… well, they're starting to move again up here," Izzy said.

"What do you mean?" Strip asked, an edge creeping into his voice. "Guys, it's been twenty years."

"Putting this out there now, it's got nothing to do with Ford," Rick blurted in an attempt to suppress any suspicions. "It's GM."

"That's not exactly reassurin'," Strip said quietly.

"Now, hold on, don't jump to conclusions. It's good. This is good news," Rick rattled off, sounding more jittery than usual.

Strip sat quietly, suspicious. He'd never once gotten an out-of-the-blue call from Rick that contained good news. In fact, Rick never talked him at all, unless he was around at the same time Izzy decided to call.

"I've had several meetings with Paul – you remember Paul Orchard, over at General Motors, right?" Rick asked, paused, and then continued when Strip didn't answer. "He approached me a couple weeks back, and guess what? He said he doesn't want to have anything to do with the fighting."

"Yeah, well, that was obvious from the lack of participation," Strip pointed out.

"Well, see now, he explained that as well," Rick said. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. He's finally built his contender for the war. Just one car. He spent years thinking about how best to play the cards to his advantage, so to speak, and he thinks he's done it."

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Rick," Strip interrupted. "Why's he tellin' you all this in the first place?"

"We signed an alliance!" Izzy jumped in, excitedly. "We're on the same side now!"

Strip frowned. "What?"

Rick muttered to Izzy, telling her to calm down before speaking into the phone again. "Strip, we just want this conflict to end. The only thing that's keeping us from having peace again is Stephen's insistence. We're going to end this, and Paul's agreed to help us. Which brings me back to my point."

The flat screen television flickered to life above him to show a couple different diagrams.

"You've hacked my trailer," Strip observed, unamused. "Come on, Rick."

"I'm not spying you, I promise. I just need to show you this before you get to the track," Rick insisted. "Paul built one car to stand in for GM in the war. The genius behind it? This car has no idea why he was built, so he can't endanger himself by getting caught up in any fighting. Look, does this look like a car that can fight to you?"

Strip observed the pictures and felt dread creep through him. The pictures showed the blueprints of a newer racecar, nothing more. He didn't look to have any sort of defense system, but on top of that, he looked eerily familiar.

"Guys, this is just a racer," Strip protested. "And why does he look so familiar?"

"It's that new rookie this year," Izzy explained as the television screen transitioned to an RSN interview.

A red racecar sponsored by a company Strip had never even heard of was the center of attention. He was animated and flashy, full of confidence as Kori Turbowitz interviewed him.

"Lightning McQueen," she directed his attention to her, "how does it feel coming into the Piston Cup series as a rookie going up against so many veteran racers?"

The racecar rolled his eyes as though she were asking a silly question. "Kori, Kori. Being a rookie is irrelevant. I'm here to race. I'm here to win, to show these older cars a thing or two about what's possible out there."

"There you have it…"

Strip moaned as Kori's voice trailed off. He normally didn't feel old, but the kids these days, they didn't seem to have an ounce of respect for those that had raced before them. It wasn't a new feeling, just one that reinforced his decision to retire while he was still in his prime.

"I still don't understand," Strip thought out loud. "Why a racer? Anything besides a racer woulda been much more subtle."

"It's worked for you, ain't it?" Rick asked. "You've been hiding in plain sight this whole time, and so's Chick. Why not throw one more in the mix?"

"I don't like it, guys," Strip said honestly. "That kid's got no way of protecting himself if Chick comes after him. And I'm not going to be around to keep an eye on them much longer."

"Huh?" Izzy asked with concern.

"This is my last year, Iz. I'm retirin'. It's time."

There was silence over the line as he let the news soak in. He sighed, and further considered Paul's argument for creating a clueless opponent. The more he thought about it, the more it didn't make sense. It seemed like Paul had thought out his plan to a fault, like he'd convinced himself what he wanted to believe, and that didn't agree with reality in the slightest.

"Listen, Rick," Strip continued, "I don't claim to know what's goin' on, and generally I trust your judgement, but somethin' doesn't feel right. Why create a car for a war that can't fight? That doesn't even know the danger he's in? Why put him in the path of the most dangerous racer in history, who also happens to be the same guy that's supposed to kill for glory? I don't like it. At all."

Rick paused before answering. "I get what you're saying, Strip. When you put it like that, it does look pretty dismal. But I'm asking you to trust me. Either the kid will be as safe as a racecar can be, or he'll trigger the official end of this war, one way or another."

"Rick, I can't watch another kid die," Strip whispered. "I can't."

There was more silence as his television switched off. He could hear nothing but road noise outside his trailer for several long seconds.

"We're going to do our best to end this peacefully," Rick finally said. "Maybe Paul and I can convince Stephen to stop pulling the strings on the war machine. Maybe if he realizes he's got no real opponent, he'll stop."

"We both know that's unlikely to happen," Strip argued.

"It's worth a shot," Rick told him. "It's the only shot we have if we want a peaceful resolution. In the meantime, I want you to watch out for this kid. Let us know if you suspect anything. We'll update you if something happens."

"Alright," Strip sighed. "Hey, thanks for tellin' me."

"Welcome," Rick responded curtly. "Good luck in that race tomorrow."

"I'll be watching!" Izzy exclaimed. "You'll put the hurt on those young guys, I know it."

"Thanks guys. I'll talk to you later."

Strip ended the call, took a deep breath, and held it, eyes closed. When he felt somewhat relaxed again, he exhaled slowly and thought about the situation again, logically.

There were a few facts at his disposal. One, he was the defending champion and the car to beat. Two, Chick was growing more and more frustrated with coming in second. Every season he was a little more desperate to take home the championship the other racers kept just out of his reach. Three, Chick wasn't afraid to use force to win. That had been clear from the beginning. And Four? That McQueen kid had no clue why he'd been made. He thought he was just a racer. It was likely he also thought the war was just a myth of years past.

If things stayed as they were, Lightning wouldn't be in any more danger than any other racer that ran with Chick. A couple wrecks here and there were expected in their line of work, but what if Chick found out who Lightning was? He could wreck the kid, possibly even kill him, and never be held accountable. He could take out an opponent both in the race and in the war in one fell swoop. Then they'd all be back at square one.

Strip knew realistically that there wasn't any immediate danger for him or the rookie, and if he had any say in the matter, it would stay that way. He was powerless except to wait and see how it played out.

"We're an hour from Daytona, King," Gray announced through the renewed video comm connection. "Florida International is waitin' for us."

Strip remembered what he'd been doing before the interruption. He called Lynda.