Hi guys, I'm still here! Sorry for the long wait for updates. I've been extra busy with life/school, so I had to dedicate more time to studies. But hell, I can't just push this amazing fic aside. I still love writing this story! Stay tuned! Once again, please review and tell me what you think! Thank you a bunch!

Gasoline vapour lingered in the building. The air conditioning vents shuddered on, distinctly tenor in the spacious facility. By the current hour, the peace and quiet had only just returned. Gearsley, executive and mastermind of IGNTR's birth, briskly shipped all prospective athletes out for the season. Some were lucky to be picked by the tread— sponsors wanted futuristic innovation. Others fell back down to amateur circuits, some willing to utilize social media as a means of revenue. Racing was big, names were few.

Leon paid attention to details, typically numbers to crunch into a simulator. Today was a slow one, for once in his career. The tug found the mini vacation to be fruitful, nonetheless a brain of his calibur came with mandatory instructions to always be busy. He could give it a day off. Never in his life did Leon believe he would enjoy a career on a racing team. Glory came in the form of friends and genuine satisfaction about his place in life. How many cars could say that about their careers?

Languidly, Leon took a sip of his low grade, periodically peering inside the facility from the backbay's patio. Beside him, Quincy balanced sloppily on unstable tires. He was less rugged, as if he finally realized premium car wash and buffer were in his regular budget. The tug breathed a gulp of relief, setting his can of hooch on the pavement. Leon side-eyed the canister, a frown on his face. He was hardly a snitch, but there were regulations about that stuff here… Reverham wouldn't be happy and the chief liked to punish the team for one player's faults.

Quincy grew increasingly curious of the tug's constant once over of him. It was another hot Floridian day out, clear skies and some humidity, a day off for once too. Leon had better keep his trap shut. He'd only arrived momentarily, using the early morning to sleep in. Finding his team was easy when Gale's gracefully shadow casted a large shade through the back bay doors. She was driving in long ovals, poking and prodding at something in her mind that didn't matter on a day off.

Gale's large frame blocked sunlight as she made her U-turn in their direction and back for the eighth time. Engine firmly off, she muttered something to herself, pondering intensely as she made her way back to the large measuring tape she had sprawled out on the asphalt.

At first, the Quincy assumed it was his mix of hooch in a litre bottle beside him. Yeah it was morning, and he was drinking, he wasn't no lightweight so there wasn't a need to worry for any inspections later. Alcohol played games with the mind, and Quincy was no indifferent to its effects, although he considered effortless stumbling under the half-amused stare of Storm to be minor. Nonetheless, Quincy knew most of his team frowned upon it. Leon had his full attention on his partner. His face was lopsided and stretched. If the booze had given him and integrity he would be able to guess Leon had uncharacteristic frown on his face. Quincy sighed, a half-drunk forklift-to-forklift chastising was not his best option now.

"You see something you like?" Quincy extended a fork, squinting to make depth of his fellow tug a mere five feet away. He'd keep the talk as clean as possible, the team, especially Gale and Reverham, developed a keen dislike of the sub-par Quincy that emerged when too much alcohol-infused high-grade was in his system.

Leon's lopsided grin came. Gale had been shoving Shiny Wax coupons in their mailboxes for weeks, deals she got from fellow haulers. He'd opt to keep the conversation fresh, "So you actually got polished? I figured Hell would have to freeze over for you to ever agree to it. Were you drunk when you made the decision?"

Gale snickered somewhere behind them.

Quincy returned a lazy smile. No lecturing or interventions, just the way he liked it.

"… Gale convinced me," Quincy replied. He gestured her way after a long sip, "She gets the entire spa package bi-weekly. The lady there said she's never seen bolts rustier than mine."

Leon cringed. Quincy slurped once more, "But damn, that pressure wash was like a power massage."

"Too many details," Leon replied with a chuckle, changing the subject. He glanced to a custodial tug inside the facility, vigorously scrubbing the main floor of recent tire scuffs, "Hey, Ray can finally relax you know? The CEO got rid of all the trainees."

Quincy blinked harshly many times, soon accepting his eyesight wouldn't adjust in broad day light, "What? Did Reverham fail them all!?"

Leon crossed his forks, "Nope. They weren't better than our current, nor up to par with Storm. They're getting IGNTR training on their resumes though. Back to the junior le—."

"Wait, wait! You gotta talk slower, I'm driving on sunshine over here 'member?" Quincy shook his hood rigorously. His eyes narrowed in confusion, "What were you sayin'?"

Leon sighed, "They weren't faster than Storm, so Gearsley severed their contracts. In a hurry too."

"Good thing," Quincy thought about it in the functioning parts of his mind, "Less racers to worry about. Besides, Storm wouldn't wanna share his sponsor with some giddy rookie-cookie anyway."

There was a long pause as Gale returned again, lost in thought about separate matters. She soon doubled back. Quincy's bottom lip curled over his top as he squinted yet again, processing new information.

"… Racers get a three-year contract, right?"

"It's about a year now, sometimes even ten months," Leon corrected.

"Stop talkin' so fast. Damn… "

Leon shot Quincy a dumbed face, watching him lap up another long swig, "Technology's changed, so we gotta adjust with it."

"Man… Storm's real fast then, faster than lightning."

Leon nodded, shrugging in agreement.

A moment passed and Quincy's exasperated gasp followed. The forklift did an about-face turn to look Leon head on. His eyes were wild, "I meant the weather, not the guy— you know… "

Leon blinked slowly as his partner seemed to chew on his thoughts at the seams, "Like the stuff that comes down," he gestured vertical streams with his forks, catching Gale's attention momentarily with a confused face from the truck, "You know? Water— when it rains? Sometimes? And the rumbling?"

Leon stared at the mess in front of him, shaking his hood in amused distaste, "Lightning from a storm, I get it pal."

Gale arrived to the duo, casting a shadow with her size. Her wind deflector made soft contact with the parasol the two forklifts parked up, causing the shade to sway some.

"Guys, do you know what thirty-six inches in feet is?"

Quincy's eyes blinked one after the other. He stared off in space, indifferent to the world.

"Try turning the measure tape over," Leon explained, "There should be foot lengths on the other side."

Gale seemed surprised of the simple fix, and nodded, "Ah. Okay, lets see… "

The tugs watched her repeat the numbers aloud as she thought over many more hurdles. What was she even up to?

"Do you think Storm likes bookshelves?" the truck asked suddenly. The sheer originality of the question caught Leon off guard as Gale continued, "I know he doesn't read stuff— Unless it's like… pay stubs or fan mail here and there. It could just be for decor?"

The pitty raised a brow at the truck. She was hyper today, at least more than usual. Leave it to Gale to be the team's entire pep rally all on her own during an ordinary day. Storm wasn't the chatty type, nor overtly cheerful, yet he appreciated Gale no less. It surprised everyone, especially Reverham. He'd known Storm beforehand and solidified his belief that the supercar worked one way; his way. And cheerful cars were hardly his forte

"I honestly don't know," Leon shrugged, "What are you doing anyway?"

Gale made a U-turn in the tug's direction, once more blocking the sun heat, "A house need to be authentic, so he's letting me do the decorating."

Leon narrowed his eyes. He could distinctly remember the semi starting a discussion with Storm a while back. It had been about the lack of ice cream parlours in a town she had frequently travelled through. The contrast in excitement between the two vehicles was painfully palpable. Gale, animated and eager. Storm, mysterious and placid. The team had been acquainted that day, and Leon found the air to generate some awkward originality of its own. To his surprise, Jackson Storm hardly missed a beat. He kept it steady, conversation flowing as calm as a stream, opposite to the large truck's quirkiness. Leon knew the racer could care less, probably. He tried when he wanted to, mostly pointing out that if the shop didn't have anymore than plain soft serve, they were no more impressive than a basic fast food chain.

Leon crossed his forks, he needed to stop letting his mind wander off topic, "Storm bought a house? Since when?"

The truck nodded eagerly, "About a month ago. He's getting it fixed up for living right now, but he asked me to be his personal interior decorator."

She let the tug raise a lid in approval. Gale was known to ask, play puppy-eyes to win her battle, then gloat professionally. That, or Storm really confronted her with the opportunity, which in itself, was atypical. Mistrust was something Storm didn't take lightly, and Gale held his pride of starring in MTV Cribs in her massive treads.

"Our racer is full of surprises," Quincy, back on Earth chimed in. His can of half-empty high-grade balanced on his forks playfully.

Leon looked thoughtful, "How about you get him some sort of shelf big enough to hold ten Piston Cups side by side?"

"Or a single ripe peach," Quincy exchanged a smirk with his co-worker, and the two snickered.

Gale rolled her eyes, turning her large cab half-way to look at them, "He hasn't won ten cups… yet."

The semi pondered the racer's aesthetic some more, growing pleased, "Do y'all think I can get the house electric blue, indoor, flood lights?"

Quincy nodded, vividly interested in the concept. His empty canister fell to the asphalt and rolled, "Sounds pretty sweet to me, but don't ask me about designing stuff, I don't know a thing about decorating."

Gale glanced back down to the sprawled about tape, finding the task tougher than expected. To make it worse, she hadn't a clue of what to purchase. Storm was the type to tell you what he didn't want, but kept his desires quiet. Some sort of coping mechanism until he was cornered or extremely mellowed out, and Ray was the only one allowed to corner him.

"No neon stuff, no green or pink" the racer had lectured, "Just make it look good, like better than my trailer." Gale knew Storm was about nepotism, especially when it came to his belongings. He didn't give associates at the facility his personal belongings to carry up to the lounge during visits. Strictly Quincy and Leon did the heavy work, occasionally Ray. If IGNTR's had hired some seasonal trainees to work the two open spots within the pit crew, Storm wasn't keen on letting those newbies into his personal space so easily. Quincy or Leon tagged along every time. Needlessly, it became silently clear who Storm valued.

Gale's heart warmed with the thought. It had been years since she was granted the opportunity to do extracurricular activities besides carrying gear or maintenance.

"Yeah, you're a good fit, you're not old and outdated like the other trucks" He had kept his reasons simple, his expression a cordial indifference, yet Gale was certain he saw more in her than she forethought. She was strictly his hauler, but he didn't have her on a leash like most of the others.

"Take my AMEX, just swipe it."

He hadn't given her a limit either. Storm was aware Gale knew better. In fact, he was familiar with her own stipulations, even wavering her overload restriction charge at the gate after he had given a particular car time in his trailer. Gale was keen enough to mind her own business, nonetheless she still noticed the small things. When Storm entered the HQ later that morning, he exchanged a knowing glance with Gale across the building hall. The rest was to be private matters. He trusted her, and she appreciated it.

"Where's Stormer anyway?" Leon took a glance to the interior building, sparkling clean as usual and empty. Quincy followed his gaze, uninterested.

"He's on his simulator, training for the 500." Gale stated, still looking over her notes.

Quincy tossed his can in a public recycling bin, "No, he's not. I heard that guy that races for RPM— what's his name? Arguing with him down the street last night."

Gale turned, her thinking squint clear, "Barry Depedal?"

"That guy, yeah!" the tug blew a sigh as he looked at Leon, "He worships Storm like he's the damn manufacturer, follows him everywhere."

Leon raised a lid, "What?"

Quincy placed a fork on Leon, "The guy is like pet dune buggy, always sniffing around Storm's treads for crumbs…"

"What happened last night?" Leon questioned.

Quincy shrugged, "Not a hundred percent certain, but that Depedal dude was screaming about losing something and gettin' sand stuck in his exhaust pipes."

Gale was interested, "What did Storm say?"

Quincy chuckled, "Same as ever, he was chill and dismissed the dude. I think he even laughed it all off at one point. Or maybe he was laughing at him."

Gale curled her lips to smile, "He's just trying to fit in with Storm. They were probably training together and Storm won."

"Well Storm don't like bumper kissers and neither do I," Quincy boomed. Leon chuckled.

"So," Gale smirked at the two tugs, approaching them, "Why is Storm hanging out with him then?"

Leon looked between the two, "Honestly, Storm could use a friend or two."

"Hey!" Quincy came close, "We are his friends! Besides, Storm don't need friends."

Gale shot the forklift a dumbfounded look, "Did you hear what you just said? It made no sense."

Quincy waved his forks in the air, "Look, all I'm saying is, I know the racers. Every one of 'em."

"Really?" Gale scoffed sarcastically, "Please, dear Forklift of Facts, tell us all you know."

Leon snickered as Quincy's face became a twist of confusion then galvanization.

"So boom. Racelott is a little farm boy— just like that racing Crop Duster guy, except he wants to pretend he's fitting in with city life. Cam is a pretty boy who goes fast but is shy like a school car in front of the Press. Treadless is an envious dumb ass with a sprinkle of dramatic softie. Hollis is— what do kids say nowadays? Thirst? He's thirstier than a Range Rover in the Sahara... "

Gale and Leon burst into laughter. The elaboration was too much.

"I'm not done yet," Quincy continued, "You guys can laugh, but I've actually seen this guy handing out N20 samples, and only to girls."

The tug thought some more, "Oh yeah, Mixon asked to be painted pink, but he won't admit it. Bumper Save has Conrev looking like a circus clown. Nobody wants to drink Transberry Juice 'cause it taste like cough syrup and Bubba knows that. And Depedal wants to date Storm. His dream came true last night, but they broke up afterwards."

Gale tried to catch her breath, "Now when I watch the 500," she heaved, "I won't be able to stop thinking about this!"

Quincy shrugged, "I could go on all day, that wasn't even half of the Next-Gens."

Leon exhaled after his laughter subsided, "Did I ever tell you guys how much I love working with you? Seriously, this is the best job I've ever had!"

Gale smiled, packing together her supplies, "Best winning team ever."

Quincy turned his attention to her, "Where ya headed?"

Gale sighed heavily, "I've gotta get the house renovated remember?"

Leon shot his fellow forklift, whom had rolled forward in his drunken stupor an amused look.

"Gale," Quincy raised a lid lazily, "I'm half here, half beer. You're lucky I'm even able to talk right now."

The semi truck ignited her engine, rolling her eyes, "I'm gonna get a full tank of diesel. By the end of the week prepare to be amazed."

"Aw yeah," Quincy spun around, addressing the two coworkers like an audience, "Welcome to season one of Extreme Home Makeover. Gale's gonna turn that shack into a million dollar mansion fit for a supercar in just a week!"

Gale looked at the tug unimpressed with his lame humour, "Ha… ha... Quincy. Just wait and see. "

"Do you really think you can pull it off in a week, Gale?" Leon inquired gesturing a fork with concern, "Realistically?"

The truck's idling engine seemed to run higher, "Are you guys doubting me?"

Quincy shared a glance of uncertainty with Leon. The drunk tug shrugged his forks with an exaggerated stretch of his mouth.

Gale shifted her gear out of park, "Listen here little ones…"

Quincy hung his cab low, haphazardly rolling his eyes at Leon, "Here she goes again with the 'little ones' comment… yeesh."

"Mutter and doubt me all you want, I've proven myself."

"Whaat?" Quincy looked exhausted and quizzical, "When? Time and place."

Gale smirked, "Transported twelve thousand gallons of gasoline and blew out two tires over four days of travel."

Leon looked interested. Granted he knew little about Gale's endeavours when he was mostly technical support for the team. Quincy rode with Storm on occasion, so he must've known more about her life.

"When the hell was this!?" Quincy exclaimed.

Maybe not.

"Ehh, twelve thousand gallons is more than a large tank can even carry," Leon lectured factually, "I'm gonna half to side with Quincy on this one."

Gale's smirk fell into a dumbfounded stare, "You know Leon, I expected you to notice the numbers, but clearly the scent of that high grade is frying your circuits. I didn't haul ass all at once!"

Quincy was quick to step in, "Ya hear that? She just said she didn't do it!"

Gale rolled closer, "Quincy! I meant I didn't haul twelve thousand gallons all at once!" Gale scoffed a sigh, "And I thought Storm was hard to talk to, you guys are taking the cake."

"So you hauled two tanks of six thousand gallons over the span of two days?"

Gale imitated a game show bell, "Ding! Ding! Correct answer. I was carrying tanks through Georgia years ago. I figured I'd make some extra money if I took another tank from Kentucky one day instead of doubling back to Greensboro in North Carolina, where I started."

Quincy opened his mouth, "An—"

"BUT! I knew it was wrong to transport another company's gas to my own!" Gale continued, "I got off the hook for it 'cause I was young."

"Did they let you keep the money? How much was it anyway?" Leon asked.

"I honestly can't even remember," Gale stared at the clear blue sky in thought, "It was enough to keep me smiling though. That was a while ago."

"And time? What time was this at?"

Gale pursed her lips at her drunk colleague, "2008, I had just finished high school."

"That wasn't a long time ago, baby girl."

Leon began chuckling, watching Gale scurry away in amused disgust. Thankfully, she never took Quincy's crude-humour seriously.

"Eww, Quincy don't ever say that again or I'll lock you in Storm's trailer!"

The tug shrugged his forks, "Whaat? It ain't no big deal, I'm the oldest one here, you're all babies compared to my rust-prone bumper."

Gale watched the forklifts through her rear mirrors as she headed out of the facility's back bay, "Yeah! I'm never gonna forget how weird you are when drunk, Quincy!"

Leon turned to his partner, "Can't be this drunk tomorrow, That's the big day."

Quincy shooed the forklift away, eyes closed, "Ah-yeah, yeah. I ain't even that hammered, besides, its just eight AM."

Merely forty-five minutes on the interstate was akin to several long hours. Gale spotted a digital billboard, soon reducing her speed to see if she could spot a local forecast for time. The semi sighed when another irrelevant advertisement for alternative fuel featured itself instead.

She picked up speed, watching the next exit to a palpable shopping complex disappear behind her mirrors. It had been a decade since Gale had ever wandered freeways aimlessly. Chrysler, it felt so immature.

A truck stop was off the next ramp, and Gale took it, begrudgingly. Stopping at the red light before its entrance, the high-tech truck peered under her visor at the 18-wheelers noting her presence from the distance. She hoped they were more interested in the vehicles behind rather than her.

When Gale reached the station, she ignored the pumps. A glance over of the station told her four of the six diesel tanks were out of service. Another big rig sporting a chrome purple paint job remained parked at pump five. The nozzle bounced up followed by a chime. He was topping off his fuel.

Gale parked at the stop's opposite end under sabal leaf shade.

Her inner turmoil begun to spill out.

Why did she agree to this? She was a trucker, not a damn home designer. Her mood tumbled with frustration. Gale hung the edges of her mouth down, a dreaded look crossed her grille. She had not one clue where to begin with the house. Dammit.

A diesel engine approached from her blind spot, "Hey, Beaufort right?" she gave the purple truck a quick once over, shooting him a forced smile, "Yeah, that's me".

It was Octane Gain, Swervez's driver, "I thought so," he peered at the shine of her buffered paint, "The pumps are dry, so if you're looking for fuel, nada."

Gale peered over at the empty pumps. She hadn't paid fuel any thought as of the last hour, although she did wish she hadn't driven around aimlessly or her tank would completely dry up. Trucks looked out for each other, he was just being helpful.

"Thanks," Gale gave the truck a full glance, "I'm not getting any fuel, but yeah, sucks for the trucks that want it."

He settled down, nodding in agreement.

Gale peered at the big rig beside her once more, finding that the two had established a little space of their own, "Say," she eyed his trailer up and down, "you hauled for Bobby Swift didn't you?"

His eyes glowed, enlightenment took over, "Yeah! Matter of fact, I did!" He nodded his hood to his hitched trailer, "Hauling for Swervez now, a rookie. Octane Gain even got me a new chrome paintjob."

Gale grinned, checking him out, "That's not half bad, consider yourself a Next-Gen truck now!"

"Ah yeah," his joy lingered away, "It's a sudden change, for sure."

"How many years had you been driving Swift?" Gale was only curious.

"Hmm," he thought, "'Bout five years. Swift was a rookie in 2012."

Gale was astonished, "That long?"

The semi truck started his engine after a quick peak of the sun's horizon.

His wheels shrugged under fenders, "Yeah, you started hauling, what? A year ago?"

Studying her cyclone decals, he fostered some advice, "Soon you'll see how fast seasons fly when the cars you transport are replaced."

She seemed to think about it, instability nipping at her idealism. Only five years and then Bobby Swift was replaced? How many years would the Next-Gens get?

"Hurt to say goodbye to Swift, he had that blank look— you know the one?

Cars get that 'look' after a bad accident."

Gale knew the expression, all truckers witnessed the cruelties of freeways. Passing road rage was one thing, collisions were another.

"No more obligations. No warnings or nothing, they just cut Swift off with a hefty paycheck. I still miss that sucker. We were a good duo."

Gale snapped from her thoughts, seeing the truck idling. He appeared expectant, waiting for something she hadn't said yet.

"Uh, what's your name, sir?"

"Diesel," the semi replied, "You know what they say, name your kids after something they love."

He seemed to notice Gale's puzzled expression, hardly surprised with himself. The name came with an image.

"I'll see ya at the 500, Beaufort. And cheer up, I saw those wild faces you were making before I pulled in."

Gale remained dumbfounded again, keeping her embarrassment to herself. Diesel left the truck stop, taking the south avenue running alongside the freeway.

The lot beside her missed its recent vibe. Gale loomed, following the zoom of cars on the interstate adjacent. Her eyes fell in line to explore the truck stop around her. A small mobil cafe, then waterfront restaurant in the background. It resembles an unsavoury shack, but had a full house of vehicles. Some shade garages near the malfunctioned pumps lay empty.

Gale frowned heavily, her wheel wells cradled her tires as she slumped.

The house could wait right? Storm wouldn't shame her inability to complete something as miniscule as buying furniture for his house, right?

Gale took an exasperated deep breath, she needed a day off. Just today.