"How the heck did they do this?" Rick muttered under his breath.

Strip heard a wrench fall to the ground, followed by a string of garbled swearing. He opened his eyes and tried to peer around the wall of the repair bay module. The machine seemed to complain at his movement in a series of recalibrations and angry, blinking red lights. He settled back into place and it resumed its job. Steadily, methodically, the pain started to go away.

Somewhere to his right, Rick had Chick strapped down, stripped of every weapon they could find, trying to comprehend the racer's overly complex duplicated wiring harness. By the sound of it, it wasn't going well.

Lightning sat parked across the room, well of out the way, trying to take in his surroundings. The repair bay was massive. At least a dozen automated repair machines lined the walls, machines that could do everything from bodywork, to critical systems repair, to maintenance. He didn't know such things existed. The end of the room he sat in was fully equipped with manual tools and a library of repair guides and diagrams. Off to the side, the King sat still inside one of the repair machines getting his damaged and missing flight panels replaced. Directly before him, a pink Charger Daytona and a white Power Wagon from the fifties were fussing over Chick's wiring situation while the Buick dozed the afternoon away under the influence of a fresh dose of anesthetic.

The rookie struggled to understand the massive scale of the manufacturing operation. No one else had batted an eye as they'd disembarked from the airplane, but the sheer mass of architecture on the grounds astounded him. There had been a full runway between buildings so tall he couldn't see beyond them. There was no horizon, just more intimidating buildings looming in the distance. He couldn't tell the difference between them, what they were used for, or if any of them were inhabited in the least. The grid seemed unescapable. The Chrysler site looked more like a fortified city than anything. Employees drove this way and that, all knowing exactly where they were and where they were going. He felt lost.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Izzy's urgent voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "You can't do that. That runs down here, see?"

She and Rick were both up to their axles in deep mechanics underneath Chick's hood, searching for any hints of a way to at least disable Stephen's control through the secondary network.

"This wire doesn't do anything except connect these to that channel there," Rick pointed out in exasperation. "No use. Except to become part of the vital circuit."

To the side, Strip's repair bay slowly whirred to a silent halt. With a click, his restraints released and he rolled forward onto the shop floor, eager to be free. If there was one thing above all others that drove him crazy, it was being physically unable to move. Restraints made him panicky.

"What's the word?" he asked, approaching the medical disaster before him.

Rick backed away and tossed a tool to the side dramatically. Izzy shot an aggravated look in the truck's direction and shook herself in annoyance. She pulled Chick's hood down to give him some decency as Rick turned to Strip and started to rant.

"I can't undo it," he said in a tone that only one unused to failure could articulate. "The whole point of designing a vital circuit is to minimize dependencies and opportunity for failure. Stephen went at it from exactly the opposite direction. I found the module that's receiving and transmitting external commands, but I can't so much as touch it without a risk of killing him. I can't. I can't do anything. I can bring you back from death's doorstep, but heaven forbid I clip a few wires here. Cars are supposed to be manufactured in such a way to keep this sort of thing from happening."

"Hm." Strip kept an even temper as he looked to Izzy. "What do you think?"

"It is what it is," she said, organizing the tools on the rack next to her. "I specialized in medicines and physical therapy. I know the wiring harness basics, but this is beyond anything I've ever seen. I'm useless here. My humble opinion? He's a lost cause. I guess we can say we tried. Should probably do the ethical thing and put him out of his misery."

"Izzy, no."

"What?"

Lightning slowly rolled forward from his spot in the corner to join the conversation. He'd never felt so out of place, so useless, but he had to try.

"So there's no way? No way at all? He's stuck that way forever?"

"As far as I'm concerned," Rick grumbled, looking at the unconscious Buick in distaste.

"Well, now, wait a minute," Strip interjected. "I overheard Stephen tellin' him that if he got the job done, he could go free. Now either that was a flat out lie, or there is somethin' that can be done."

"I'm convinced it's a lie, then," Rick said without giving it a second thought. "I've looked around for two hours and haven't found anything. I'm just not used to GM circuits."

"Um," Lightning hesitated, as he didn't want to ask an obvious question that wasn't apparent to him. "What about getting someone from GM to look? You know, a second opinion? Someone specialized maybe."

Rick stared at the rookie and blinked. Lightning seemed to cower in his presence, unsure if he'd crossed a boundary he wasn't aware existed.

"I'm an idiot," was all Rick said, turning to exit the room. "Izzy, make sure this guy stays under. I've got a call to make."

The door slammed closed behind the truck as he left the room, leaving the rest of them in stunned silence.

"Uh, what just happened?" Lightning asked timidly.

"That, kiddo, was you outsmarting the most intelligent car I know," Izzy responded with a slight hint of humor. "Funny how much of a difference a second opinion can make, huh?"

"Oh," Lightning relaxed in relief, glad he was not in fact about to be on the receiving end of the manufacturer's wrath. Still, he didn't know what was happening.

"I knew there was a reason we brought you along," Strip commended him.

"Uh, thanks," Lightning said as though he'd forgotten how to take a compliment.

"Hopefully Paul will see something we missed," Izzy explained. "He'll fix Mr. Mustache over there, and we can figure everything out without the constant threat of imminent death. Hopefully."

As if he was aware of being talked about, Chick moved slightly and made a small noise. Everyone's attention snapped to him.

"Duty calls," Izzy said much too enthusiastically as she drove over to the medicine cabinet.

"Watch her, will you?" Strip asked Lightning, turning to drive toward the exit. "Don't let her do anythin' unethical."

"Hey, rule number one of med school – 'do no harm'," she called to him, making no effort to excuse the hypocrisy of her day job. "I know what I'm doing. Where are you going?"

"Got a phone call to make," Strip answered, opening the door. "Learned my lesson the last time."

"You know, I was startin' to wonder when you'd check in," Lynda answered after half a ring.

"Wow, not even a hello?" Strip asked, feigning offense.

He heard her laugh a little. "I knew it was you. Caller ID, you know. You're in Michigan? What happened?"

"You want the long version or the short one?" he asked.

"Whichever one gives me a clearer picture of what's goin' on."

"Well." He took in a breath and thought about where to start. "It played out pretty much like I thought. Hicks went back to Radiator Springs after McQueen. Attacked him early this morning."

"Is he alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. I got him out of there."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Lyn. A little beat up but fine."

He heard her sigh in relief. "Alright. Good. Go on."

"Anyway, the kid got to safety and I went and talked to him. Told him what was goin' on."

"Oh, I bet he didn't like that at all."

"Uh, well, that's one way of puttin' it. But he came to his senses quick enough, right in time for Izzy to show up. We worked to get Chick away from the town so we could take him down. I think it went well."

"So he's dead?"

"No, not at all. You were right, Lynda, I couldn't do it. Iz was more than happy to, but I couldn't let her. Come to find out, Chick wasn't entirely actin' out of free will. Stephen's got him wired up so he can control him. We knocked him out, hauled him to the factory. That's what we're doin' up north. Tryin' to get him fixed so we can resolve this without any more surprises."

"Hmm." She considered it. "Y'know, I'm proud of you, Strip. I think you did the right thing."

He sighed. "I hope so. Been second guessin' myself a lot lately. Can't help but feel it's not gonna end as quietly as I'd like."

"Maybe not, but you know what? It will end. It can't go on forever. And then you'll never have to deal with this again. Just remember that, okay?"

"I know."

They fell into comfortable, thoughtful silence for a moment. Lynda didn't ask any more questions. She didn't need to. On the other end of the line, Strip took a moment and closed his eyes, imagining the day when the war would be nothing more than a memory and another stamp in the history books. His future would no longer hold more than its fair share of uncertainty.

"Hey, Lyn?" he said after a bit. "I wanna apologize to you."

"For what?" she asked, concern growing in her voice. He wasn't keeping something from her, was he? She immediately assumed the worst.

"For takin' off like I did on the way home," he explained. "I was too distracted. I should've known you didn't mean what you said. I know you better than that."

Oh, that. Lynda relaxed in relief. All mental images of him apologizing for something fatally stupid he was about to do vanished.

"Hey, now listen." He could hear the smile in her voice. It somehow compounded his guilt. "I meant every word I said. I just didn't show you how I felt. You got enough to worry about. You don't need to be thinkin' about me while out there tryin' to fix all this."

"I think I do, though," he responded quietly. "Keeps me goin' sometimes."

"Well, my point is you've got enough on your plate," she insisted. "Strip, I love you. I worry about you. That's my job. But you need to do what you have to do. We can get all sappy about it later when it's over, alright?"

He chuckled a little at her blunt resolve. "Alright then. I'll be home as soon as I can. Love you."

"I'll be waiting. Love you, too."

Several hours later, the red and white mid-fifties Bel Air threw the final piece of twisted copper wire to the floor. With a satisfactory smile, Paul turned and faced his small audience.

"Well, guys, it's been a while since I've worked on a Grand National, but I think we have ourselves a success here," he announced. "Ain't a bit of wire left that isn't vital or Piston Cup regulated."

Rick looked at his competitor, dumbfounded. His gaze dropped to the detached control module on the ground.

"How in the heck – "

"It's a tricky circuit to begin with," Paul shrugged. "Our pal Stephen found all the shortcomings and took advantage of them. I worked from there back."

Rick shook himself in astonishment. "I should call you for electrical problems more often."

Paul slammed Chick's hood closed and rolled back to observe the defected Buick. He shook himself as though he were disappointed.

"You know when you wanted to settle this on the track?" Paul asked Rick. "Back in eighty-seven, fastest new American production car, right here. I think that's when I changed my mind about the fighting."

Rick grunted, deflecting Paul's amiable approach to conversation. "The past is gone. Let's figure out what to do now."

"Hmm," Paul wondered aloud. "You know I never considered an end to this that didn't result in someone losing, well, their lives."

"I think we've lost enough," Izzy muttered from behind them, sweeping the disconnected wires and components into a trash bin.

Paul looked at her cautiously, as though he were afraid of her presence. She circled back around and parked next to Strip, who sat silently off to the side, keeping McQueen company.

"Bunch of racecars," Paul mumbled in astonishment. "Who would've thought?"

Lightning met his manufacturer's gaze with cold resentment. Four hours ago, Paul had just waltzed on in all positive and upbeat and completely elected to ignore his newest creation. Lightning had burning questions he wanted to ask the CEO, but it was clear this wasn't the place or the time.

"You did good this year, McQueen," Paul complimented him as though they knew each other. "Heck of a lot better than I reckoned you would. Best racer I've dreamed up so far."

Lightning didn't so much as acknowledge the compliment, but inside, his mind was spinning.

A racer, huh? But you didn't stop there, did you? Why? Tell me your reasoning.

Before anyone attempted to break the awkward silence, Chick moved and let out a moan. The light sedative Paul had insisted to perform the operation under had run its course. Everyone turned their attention to the dazed car as he lazily opened his eyes.

"Ugh," he groaned, looking around. "I hate all of you. Every last one of you."

He looked at Rick. "I don't even know you."

Paul approached him with a lively smile and bumped him on the fender with a tire. "Look at you! Good as new and ready to roll again."

"Why don't you take that positivity and shove it up your tailpipe," Chick grumbled, grimacing and leaning away from the Chevy. "And don't touch me."

"You ought to thank him," Izzy chimed in, eager to watch Chick smolder in angry annoyance. "He ripped that second set of wires out of you. You're free to be unpleasant to anyone you want now, on your own terms."

He scowled at her. "I especially hate you. You're a grade-A b- "

Strip cleared his throat and rolled forward a little, demanding everyone's attention. They all fell silent and looked at him.

"Much as I'd like to sit here and talk, we've got work to do," he said. "We're not leavin' until this war's ended. So let's figure it out."

"Well, I mean, I'd be fine with just calling it off," Paul offered. "I'm tired of it. But we can't do that without Stephen, and he's not gonna agree."

"We wanna end this thing?" Chick asked, rolling forward and feeling himself out. After a few seconds he seemed to realize he was truly freed and his expression solidified into determination. "Alright then. Let's go. We're takin' it to him."