author's note: it's been a while, but I'm still here! I was busy and playing around with new ideas for this fic and character development. I still love hearing from you guys! It's been 2 whole years and still going strong! Still a major Jackson Storm fan too!
This chapter is rated T due to language.
Grid had to agree with Yarvis, Tony was a temperamental stereotype. It made him 'feel some type of way' to antagonize Tony, but the latter was a big fool, ready to burst if he wasn't getting his way. Grid let the friendship last, using the momentary gain when pictures were bringing them steady cash. On the side, Tony was getting annoying. He was too into outdoing the others, and arrogant about his loathe for Rūūnes. Put it simply, he tried too hard to fit in.
Once, he convinced Preston that she only went after fast cars, that she was just another "one", whatever that meant.
The jokes were funny when they were told in nonchalance, then Tony would repeat them— he tried too hard. Yarvis was the only one ready to tell him to shut up, brewing a newfound respect for the sedan Grid didn't believe possible. Since then, Yarvis was a buddy, probably better than Preston or Kessler.
The Silverado was just another guy when the end of the day came, yet Grid's better judgement hung onto those late night pranks they joyed over on Yarvis. They were a damn good duo, while it lasted, but Grid needed to keep his paint clean if he wanted that chance to see Danny Swervez racing up close. The grey coupe would cut loose anything if it meant a roadblock ahead. Moral of the story, always watch your blind spot, and Grid would watch his back keenly. Himself first.
Preston slurped hungrily on unleaded fuel, minding no manners as Grid gave him a slow sideways glance. The guy was out of luck like the rest of them, undertrained for tomorrow, so to speak. Nothing else mattered when they were screwed, so the boys ignored the noisy suction in the dead silence of their room.
Yarvis tinkered with a tablet, swiping away on an app to keep himself busy as they chilled. The cars made the effort to study some more, reading the instructions intensely up until about an hour ago. The methods of an oil runner were truly boring, but Preston would be damned if he didn't get the chance to see McQueen racing from a perfect parking spot. Grid felt the same, hopeful with his bet on Swervez, or Swift making a comeback. Kessler was a follower, and he liked the money, so it didn't matter for him. Yarvis wanted to ruin Tony as much as the next oil car, so he had a mission.
Grid settled down low on his chassis, finding the cool tile surface surprisingly relaxing. He hadn't expected to agree with the prior group loser, Yarvis. Subsequently, the sedan was an intelligent kind of ruthless. In some ways, he was just like the rest of them. The difference was that he had a plan to go with it. He saved their rear ends when he got the runners a scapegoat. The big miserable boss would've had them fired in no time.
Tony wanted to fight, Yarvis wanted to talk plain shit. Grid could watch from the sidelines, he wasn't in hot water if he wasn't involved, and watching was amusing.
Yarvis exchanged a glance with Kessler. The fellow coworker had just entered the premises closing the door behind him with a kick of his back tire. He noted the frowns on his friends' hoods and didn't bother saying anything, they looked exhausted.
Even Preston was miserable. His 'Lucky 95' garb hadn't brought him a brighter day the past week. Considering he was the team puppy, it made the situation all the more depressing.
"Saw Tony in the parking lot," Kessler finally stated, monotone. Yarvis took some interest in the statement, following the sedan's movement with his eyes as he settled near their bed mats.
"Guess he forgot he was fired," Yarvis glanced to the door, unnerved. Hearing an engine approaching, the sedan's RPM kicked up and his eyes narrowed, "Did he follow you? If he comes in here," the Toyota glanced among the group, "I'm serious, it's going down."
Grid peered at the Yaris, keeping his relaxed deposition, "He's got nothing better to do, what'd you expect?"
A second glance at the sedan revealed a face of rage. He shot into drive and
revved his composite engine, bolting for the opening door. It took seconds, and Grid was immediately taken aback. He hadn't realized the door was even opening in the first place.
Squeals of rubber burned oxygen out of the air. The door fought and swung between the two boys. A navy blue hood popped inside several time with each groan. Tony had found them, and he wasn't here to talk.
"Because of you guys I got fired!" Tony broke through, slamming head on into the Toyota. The two we evenly matched as they drilled into one another "You told 'im, arrgh!"
Grid blinked angrily through the smoke, "YOU GOT YOURSELF FIRED, YOU SACK OF—" Tony shoved a large tire at the grey coupe, tearing his front bumper at the side. Grid shoved himself at the Silverado, full force. It was two against one as Preston and Kessler looked on, the latter hooting in amusement.
"IT'S A FIGHT NIGHT, DING, DING! ROUND TWO!"
Grid caught the pickup with an acceleration, kicking Tony's tires onto his hood. The weight was too much as his grey metal dented. He grimaced angrily, tires caught fumbling and bumping into Yarvis' separate struggle beside him.
Tony's engine grumbled when he accelerated forward, nearly tipping the Yaris on his side. A swift swing of the sedan's tire cracked Tony's windshield, and the Silverado winced, shoving him off to bury his face in his treads. The truck heaved as his eyes flushed red.
Grid backed off, feeling an odd detachment at his side. His entire mirror swung loose at the corner, scratching his paint. The coupe instantly lashed out.
"YOU BROKE MY GODDAMN MIRROR!"
Preston's hood remained horrified as the battle only got worse. Kessler's frown appeared soon after, watching the violent encounter take place.
Pickup trucks always had the advantage, Tony was no exception: big, stupid and aggressive. Grid launched an acceleration at the truck, a final bit to seize the victory.
However, Tony had the same idea.
Yarvis squinted in the burning black soot. His tire was instantly flattened in proximity as the pickup slammed the wall. An eerie crackle of multiple parts resounded.
Kessler looked terrified as he saw the grey rear end bending up the wall. The position was an awkward, grotesque twist. A gruesome right angle mess of Grid's body.
"CHILL OUT!" Kessler waved his tires in defense, seeing the truck creeping in reverse absent minded, "CHILL!"
Tony reversed quick, letting the weight of his former friend crash to the floor. The pickup assessed the close distance of the wall, roughly six feet of collision space he had closed. Grid was crushed in the middle, and he wasn't moving.
Preston shuddered, gagging as he inhaled the sickening scent of leaking lubricants and corrosion. He made his exit, finding a scream caught hoarse in his throat as he evaded the premises. Tony winced at the deafening screeches of the sedan down the halls.
Yarvis remained dazed, fear shook his cab, and he could not shift himself out of park. He hadn't wanted thing to end like this.
"Tony! What the fuck'd you do!?" Kessler went around the equally stunned Silverado, "GRID!? WAKE UP!"
The sports car was mangled, his hood was concaved to his windshield, mouth teared at the edges. His teeth, what was visible— stained in a reddened orange mixture. The worst of it was through the rear end. Grid's cab had bent violently at the midsection, forcing its way up the wall to compensate the lack of open space behind him. The window and wall, they were damaged too. He went right through, leaving a deflated tire, still attached to his body, embedded in the structure.
Silence on the scene was an eerie mixture of panicked murmurs from Kessler as he held his unconscious friend close, shaking his tire for signs of life. All the while, Yarvis, aggressive only moments ago, panted in strained breaths, unsure if his cause was a broken air filter or plain terror.
Voices soon emerged from neighbouring rooms. Their concerned sentences and questions to the boys were hushed by a stream of emotions Tony didn't know he had. Thinking and reasoning were nonexistent right now. It built intense light-headiness, and Kessler or Yarvis must've been shaking him, because the pickup found his vision blurry, his tank churned, begging him to vomit.
Tony took thing too far, too goddamn far. He belonged in a cage.
The Silverado felt the comforting tire of vehicle behind. It's touch was too delicate, too reminiscent of a soft-top car he had poured all his trust into. He didn't check his mirrors, yet quickly turned to meet the convertible.
Staring past him, through him, a black Sebring sedan slowly removed his tire aligned at the pickup's side. His eyes were unmoving as he assessed the tyranny inside the room. Eight other cars had arrived in the commotion, one, a stunned forklift Tony could only recall worked at a kiosk in the nearby shops.
The Silverado began to zone out. Hearing Kessler's growing pleas in the background was no help. The panic was setting in, and Tony sensed his grille was broken, as the bitter taste of iron grease was pooling in his mouth.
Tony turned to drive away, to get away one last time. He deserved that much dignity.
A tyke-sized caravan peeked from the safety of his parents suite, watching the truck pass with teary eyes. He began cowering inside as the brute Silverado passed. Tony stared ahead, numb and sick.
Sirens filled the buildings halls, or perhaps it was all in his mind. The faster he could get away, the better he could feel.
Tony swung around the descending ramp. This wasn't his fault— they caused this. Yarvis, Preston, Kessler, even Grid and their supervisor. They pushed Tony over the edge, practically enslaved him. A victim always feels guilty, and Tony was a victim. Always the target.
He speed faster when the world outside appeared. A sharp ache in his grille confirmed his earlier assumption, definitely broken— the only damage he sustained.
Breeze filtered through the leaks in his air intake, and the Silverado choked a cry, finding small traces of blood dangling to his throat. He spat up, trying to relieve himself of the awful taste.
Tony couldn't go to a hospital, no, he'd find some abandoned parking garage, an underground lot, maybe even the sewers. He deserved that much.
Police cruisers' sirens echoed through the city night, and Tony felt himself tense. He didn't want to see a thing related to oil running now. Tomorrow was going to be the worst day of his life, and Melise would hate him the moment she found out.
Yarvis was probably messaging everyone, the police would be looking for him soon. He committed a hit and run, one of the most unforgiving things a vehicle could do, and to the last friend he had.
The Silverado slowed down his very loose axles in a dark side street. Heaving for a minute, Tony puked violently, reducing himself down to his chassis flat on the asphalt, treads covering the slobbery mess of organic grease, tears and drool.
Tony was always a victim.