The events of Tuesday went as so. In Hazzard, Luke took Clayton to his appointment with Doc Appleby. The Defects arrived in Dallas with Autumn and Trigger. Gravedigger was preparing a manifesto and listening to a radio talk-show. And another band of Defects was meeting in a park just outside the building Gravedigger was in.

This fine Tuesday morning, Luke drove his uncle's pickup down the road, unbothered and frankly quite pleased that Clayton hadn't said much. He knew that the man had been itching to finally be free of his cast, however, noticed that today seemed less enthused than he'd expected. He supposed it had to do with the fact that Clayton's prescription had emptied the day before and that the man's arm may be bothering him, although mostly healed.

The truck rattled as it went over a bump, causing the little man to jump. Or so Luke thought.

"Did you hear that?" Clayton asked, gaze darting about.

"We hit a bump," Luke replied unbothered, watching the road.

Clayton shook a hand at him. "No, no, not that! Like thunder, like the ground shook."

"The truck shook, not the ground."

Clayton hissed. "I know what I heard!"

"Maybe I'll have Doc Appleby check your hearin' too."

"Moreover I'll have him give you a psychological assessment."

"Touche."

Within minutes, they were in the doctor's driveway, Doc Appleby waving to them from his front porch as they pulled in. The two of them got out of the truck, Luke telling the doctor "Good morning." He noticed Clayton's gaze dart toward the west horizon for a moment.

"There it is again," the little man said in a low voice.

Luke grabbed him and pulled him towards the house. "C'mon, this'll be in and out."

Clayton tried to pull away from him. "Your father shoulda been in and out."

Luke pushed him. "Move it."

Once Clayton was successfully herded inside, Doc Appleby shut the door behind them and went to retrieve his tools.

"...and that's the thing with it all. Sixty years we went from the Wright Brothers' first flight to puttin' a man on the moon. My point here is change is up to us and the rate at which we progress is also up to us."

Gravedigger's gaze darted to the radio, looking up from what he was doing. A sly smile crept across his lips. "Hey, that's a good line."

He reached for his pen again, silver-colored watch creeping out from underneath his sleeve as he did so. It said he was late, but he was oblivious to this fact. As he started writing again, still listening to the radio show, he didn't notice the knock at the door.

Gravedigger, along with the rest of the Defects in the city of Dallas, Texas, had been turned human roughly a couple of months ago. Himself being a 1971 Plymouth GTX, everyone expected him to look a bit… tougher to put it nicely. However, Gravedigger came out looking a bit different from everyone's expectations. Here stood he, a whopping five feet and four inches tall and barely heavy enough to not be taken by a strong gust of wind. It didn't take him long to find out that his eyes didn't work properly. And soon, he was a short, Native American politician with black plastic-rimmed glasses, a little pin-tie, a silver watch, and pigtail braids.

Words of mockery, though frowned upon in professional debate, were not uncommon when he was in the room. He could only imagine what was said behind his back. Not that it bothered him, though. There were plenty more important things than a few snickers and boorish comments. Such as the valuable manifesto he was preparing for the president of his party. And whomever was knocking at the door looking to prevent said manifesto from making it out of Gravedigger's room.

"You know, we live our lives thinkin' that we can't do nothin' and that everythin's outta our hands but it ain't. Moreover, you can't be afraid to take an aggressive approach."

Gravedigger heard that line of the radio, though, hadn't been paying much attention to the knocks on his door. The 'Do Not Disturb' sign was there for a reason.

In a moment, there was a deafening thud! Gravedigger jumped out of his chair with an exclamation of "Shit!" and stumbled to look into the entry of the room only to see the heavy wooden door protecting him from the outside world toppling to the ground. He only spared the two burly men barging through the door a fleeting glance before scooping up the papers off his desk and shoving them into his bag. The second he got the bag on his shoulder, one of the heavies lunged at him.

Gravedigger dove to the side, listening as the man crashed into his desk. Before he could regain his bearings, the other jumped at him, grabbing the strap of his bag and pulling him back with little effort. He felt his back hit the television set, his body going right through it, the set taking him to the floor with it. There was a loud crash! and Gravedigger cringed as he felt the broken TV go into his back.

As he struggled back up, he felt two sets of hands on him again, one holding him in place and the other trying to wrench the bag off of him. He sent a kick back into one man's shin, effectively loosening his grip. The other he pulled his arm away from forcefully, sending himself pitching forward. Luckily enough, he hit the ground running and was off through the door and into the long hotel corridor. Not a moment later, footsteps were pounding after him.

He ran with one hand clutching the strap of his bag, the other pushing his glasses up on his nose as needed. He turned a corner sharply, scrambling to change direction as he ran to the elevator. As he stumbled inside, he hit the lobby button and started spamming the 'close door' button. He watched helplessly through the gaping doors as the men followed suit, rounding the corner and running towards the elevator in which he occupied. He started hitting the button harder as if it would speed up the doors closing, which it didn't.

Finally, the doors began to close as the men came running at him. He scrambled backwards in the elevator as one came huffing up, reaching it just as the doors closed in his face. As the elevator whirred and slid downwards, Gravedigger let out arguably the biggest sigh of his life and composed himself. He dusted off his suit and peeked inside his bag to make sure his treasure was still intact. No pages missing at least.

Again, he breathed a sigh of relief, that is, until not a moment later when his blood went cold at the sound of the elevator's ding! As the doors opened, there stood the two men, huffing and sweaty from running down the stairs.

He offered a sheepish smile, sweat beading on his forehead. He was cornered, simple as that. Both men sneered as they boarded the elevator. Gravedigger made a split-second decision and tried to shoot past them, however, got collared by one and thrown to the floor inside the elevator. He felt his chin hit the rough-carpeted floor, teeth coming down on his tongue. He spit black onto the floor as one of the men hauled him up by his coat and pinned him against the wall.

"C-c'mon, fellas, we can be civil about this, can't we?" Gravedigger asked.

"Nothin' personal," the man holding him growled.

With that, he pulled his arm back and swung.

The seven of them marveled at the scale of the hotel, eyes cascading the large brick building from top to bottom.

"So this is where Gravedigger's been hidin' all this time?" General asked.

Autumn nodded. "Yup, been doin' all sorts of political work from that fifth-story suite," she replied, pointing to a window on the fifth floor. "C'mon, we're supposed to meet him in the lobby."

She started towards the building, the Defects following her, most of them with their heads on a swivel, admiring the city. She turned around to look at Tank.

"Oh, Tank, d'you think you could get my bags? They're pretty heavy," she said.

Tank glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. "Uhh, sure?"

"You're a doll!"

Tank turned back to grab Autumn's things, hefting one bag over his shoulder and holding the other by the straps as he followed the others inside.

The hotel lobby was a large citadel of granite and varnished wood with a glowing chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Autumn smiled at the childish wonder in the Defects' eyes. She turned to see Tank walking in, watching as he dropped her bags onto a cart.

"Right there's fine, honey," she called over to him.

Tank nodded and walked over, folding his arms in front of him.

Just then, there was a loud commotion and yelling from one of the halls. Within a moment, out burst three figures running and stumbling, one in particular looking rather worse for wear. The smallest of the three, which the other two seemed to be in pursuit of, tripped and fell, landing flat at the Defects' feet. The two larger men were still running toward them, however, had slowed a bit at the sight of the crowd.

With an annoyed grumble, Tank stepped forward and intercepted the two heavies, grabbing them both, and lifting one clear off his feet. He scowled at the terrified look on the man's face.

"You don't look so thrilled to be playin' with someone your own size," Tank said. "I think I oughta teach y'all some manners."

The man in the air gave a choked cry and struggled against the larger man's hold, looking around frantically.

"Hey, I'd be careful if I was you. He bites," Grant said with a wink.

Tank let out another annoyed noise and let both men drop, letting them fall unconscious as their heads smacked the tiled floor. Finally, he looked down at the reeling figure at his feet, tilting his head to the side.

"Gravedigger?" he ventured.

The little man looked up. "Tank?"

Gravedigger coughed and stood up, Tank holding his arm to keep him steady. Autumn ran to him, holding his face.

"What the hell happened?" she exclaimed.

Gravedigger smiled and pulled her arms away from his face to prevent her from touching his bruised eye, which was growing increasingly sore.

"I'm all right, just a little scrap, you know how it is," he said, looking up at her.

Autumn nodded.

General stepped forward. "Wait, this's normal?"

Gravedigger exchanged a glance with Autumn, releasing her hands and turning to face him. "Unfortunately."

"And you just let it happen?"

Gravedigger gave him a contemplative look, wringing his hands nervously. "There's a lotta things you don't know, General." He checked his watch. "C'mon, we're late for our meetin'."

"Our meetin'?"

Gravedigger nodded and waved them forward, clutching the strap of his bag again. "Yeah, I have a meetin' with the president," he explained, tapping his bag. "Y'all are comin' with me."

A few of the Defects exchanged skeptical glances but followed nonetheless.

Billy Ray considered himself a Defect of poetic prose. That is, he believed he was fully capable of teaching others basic spelling and grammar.

His motto: A literate society is a successful one.

And that was why he broke into the library every night and stole books.

Billy Ray was a short man with a permanent smile and big, owlish eyes. He had been a Miata. Now, he was a teacher. Either way, he'd dedicated his life to the education of other Defects, that of which he considered himself to be rather good at. There wasn't a Defect he couldn't teach.

Today's class consisted of five. Three human Defects and two cars, a red sedan and a black coupe.

Everyday, Billy Ray walked to the park to teach. There was a blackboard hidden in the brush by the hotel, his books he carried in a little red wagon, and his chalk was carried in his hand, leaving him with white dust all over him by the end of the day. As if he weren't a suspicious character enough.

As Billy Ray stood in front of his class of five, he began unloading his wagon of books, talking to the Defects as he did.

"Alright, who do we have today?" he asked, straightening himself and nudging his big, round spectacles up his nose. He studied each of them, remembering names and faces. "Fox, Cosmo, Kazam… Nightshade and Arnold welcome back."

The black coupe, known as Nightshade, shifted on her suspension. "It's been a while, sorry."

Billy Ray shook a finger at her, keeping his optimistic air. "No need to apologize, today's a good day to review anyway."

He turned back around to his wagon and rummaged through it. "Ah, here it is," he said, procuring a book. He then proceeded to wheel out his blackboard, that of which had been repaired with a few boards and nails. Billy Ray had found it discarded in a dumpster behind a school.

He set down his chalk, wiping his hand on his pants, and opened the book, beginning to write on the board a single sentence. When the sentence was finished, he rewrote the alphabet that normally occupied the top of the board.

"Alright, now can anyone tell me what this sentence says?" he asked, turning around to face his class.

Two hands and a hood went up.

Gravedigger took them through the city, walking in front of them whilst reviewing his papers. He walked almost autonomously, not entirely paying attention to where he was going, but rather relying on muscle memory. The Defect followed nonetheless, albeit, much more cautiously, oftentimes getting separated at crosswalks as the lights would change and trying to all fit in the same spot on the bus.

General supposed that was the worst part of the trip was the bus. There weren't enough seats in the area where they occupied so the larger Defects-Tank, Caleb, and Thunder-stood so the others could sit, however, were neglected to have been informed that they needed to hold on to keep from losing their footing.

When the bus pulled away from the stop, Tank stumbled into Caleb, who quickly reached for a handhold. Thunder grabbed Tank to steady him, shooting a glance towards General.

General caught it and turned to Gravedigger. "So… how much further?"

Gravedigger looked up from his papers, seeming to contemplate the question for a moment before answering. "Oh, not far at all. Why?"

"It's just…" General trailed off, a little uncomfortable. "Y'know, we ain't used to this city livin' like you are."

Gravedigger raised an eyebrow, finally taking a look around him. General sat on his right, Thunder stood a little to the left. He himself was sitting in a manner that made him take up as little space as possible, as he was used to doing on a crowded bus. Grant was sitting on his left, looking up at Tank who stood next to Thunder and Caleb. Diablo was across from them, sitting very rigidly. He too, like all the others, was as uncomfortable as ever. Autumn was on his right, reading a magazine, less uncomfortable. The Black Maiden was on his left, just as uncomfortable as him.

"Oh," Gravedigger said, putting his papers back into his bag, "that's right, I'm sorry. I really did forget how different Hazzard is from Dallas."

A few onlookers were caught staring to which Gravedigger served them dirty looks.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he growled at them, their heads quickly turning away.

Needless to say, life in the big city had brought out his abrasive side.

With a sigh, he recomposed himself, straightening his glasses. "Sorry, uhh, we should be at her office in about ten minutes."

"Her?" Thunder ventured.

"Yes, the president. Our Lady of the Defects, Ms. Fleetwood."

You heard that right, folks. The president of the Defects, the first in history, is a woman.

When the bus finally stopped, they were at a building a score humbler than the hotel that they'd 'rescued' Gravedigger from. This building was made of mostly glass and looked to the Defects more like a giant mirror.

As Gravedigger led them inside the building and into a very modern lobby, a slight contrast from the hotel. Everything was either glass or transparent. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture. The only thing that wasn't transparent was the floor, which was a giant mirror.

General looked down at his reflection as he walked, the first time seeing his face for himself really. He was surprised by how blue his eyes were, and also realized how scruffy his hair looked.

As he tried to smooth it down, Gravedigger brought the crowd to a stop in front of a glass desk where there sat a blonde, bespectacled lady. The woman looked up at him over the tops of her glasses, her ornery demeanor melting into a smile. She leaned over to the intercom on her desk, sending a bright glance towards Gravedigger as she did.

"Miss Fleetwood, you have a visitor," she said.

Her finger let go of the button on the machine and she pointed with her pen. "Go down the hall to the room on the left, Madame President will meet you in there."

Gravedigger nodded. "Thank you. You look great by the way, did you do something with your hair?"

An even bigger smile and a shade of red. "Oh, you noticed! Yes, I started using this new hairspray." She patted a coil of her hair. "It does wonders!"

Gravedigger didn't have the time to respond as he was promptly pushed forward by Autumn. Just like that, the crew was on the move again, on their way to their designated waiting area. General stole a glance ahead of him, towards the back of Gravedigger's head. It seemed as though his friend had changed more than he thought. He remembered when he and Autumn were inseparable. Now here he was exchanging familiarities with other women.

Down the hall, the ceiling was solid in contrast to the lobby where one could look up and see the feet of those on the upper levels. When they entered the room, the majority of them were shocked to find that there was a woman standing inside, looking out the massive window that served as the wall.

Her hair was big and red and she wore a blue suit with big shoulder pads. She seemed to not hear them as they walked in.

Gravedigger smoothed out his jacket and cleared his throat. "Madame President?" he said.

The woman turned around to look at him, noticing his entourage.

Her lips were cherry and her eyeshadow was blue to match her suit. A satiny royal blue was she. She formed a cherry smile and turned around to face the crew.

"Gravedigger! It's good to see you, do you have the manifesto?" she asked. Before Gravedigger could answer, he started again. "These are your friends?" Again, no time to answer as she stepped forward and took General's hand in hers. "Of course they are. You must be General Lee. I'm Mitsi Fleetwood, it's a pleasure."

"Madame President," General said uncertainly.

"Please, call me Miss Fleetwood," the president said, shaking his hand.

"Miss Fleetwood, ah-"

He was cut off as she moved to Thunder.

"And you must be Thunder, I've heard so much about you. You're the Eye of the Storm," she said, shaking his hand as well.

"Gravedigger told you about that?" Thunder asked, a bit skeptical.

"Of course, he's told me about all of you. Well, most of you," she said, eyeing Caleb, and the Black Maiden. Her gaze turned back to Thunder. "But you're the Defect everyone's been talking about."

"Me? Why?"

"Go on, Thunder, show her what you can do," Gravedigger said, patting Thunder's arm.

Thunder grew a little red in the face and backed away. "Yeah, about that."

"It's perfectly okay, this room is virtually bulletproof," Miss Fleetwood said.

"No, it's not that it's just… I can't."

"Sure you can. C'mon, Thunder, just this once?" Gravedigger urged.

Thunder shook his head. "No I mean I actually can't. A lot's happened since you've been gone, Diggs."

Gravedigger's face fell. "What d'you mean?"

"There was an accident," Grant explained. "Thunder lost his powers."

Both Gravedigger and Miss Fleetwood looked at Thunder.

Thunder nodded. "It's true."

"Then it should be made public," Miss Fleetwood said earnestly.

They were all taken aback by this.

"What?" Thunder exclaimed.

"The HRO's been looking for you, you're a target, you know. They need to know you don't have your powers anymore or they'll keep looking for you," Miss Fleetwood explained.

"Hold on, now, this's the second time we've heard about this HRO. What's the deal with it?" General asked.

Miss Fleetwood opened her mouth to answer but the Black Maiden beat her to it.

"They kill Defects, that's their deal," she said.

Miss Fleetwood's gaze turned to her and she put a hand on her chest. "Please don't speak while I'm speaking, miss."

"What d'you know, Maiden?" General asked.

"I had a crew like this once," Maiden explained, folding her arms in front of her. "I'm sure you can guess what happened to them."

Miss Fleetwood sighed and put her hands out to silence them. "Please, talk like that and you'll incite a panic."

"I'm speaking the truth, Miss Fleetwood. If you're too immature to handle it th-"

Miss Fleetwood interrupted her. "Please!" She sighed. "I know about the political bias against them but no rumors have ever been confirmed. My party is built on truth, not propaganda and lies."

"Are my dead friends propaganda and lies?"

To this, Miss Fleetwood had no answer.

Just then, General cleared his throat in order to decrease the tension. "Anyways… you wanted to see us?"

Miss Fleetwood sighed and massaged the stress from her forehead. "Yes, I did." She looked up at him. "I've heard a lot about you and your team, General. The party needs you, even if they won't admit it."

"If it's secret agents you're after I'm afraid I can't help ya; I can't risk their lives for somethin' I got no business bein' part of," General said.

"You're a figurehead, General," Miss Fleetwood said. "The Defects think that you and your team are the epitome of a perfect society. Not to mention you have a likable face." She pinched his cheek with a grin.

"You mean you called us all the way out here because General has a pretty face?" Grant asked, popping out from behind his brother.

"No, of course not! I called you out here because the Defects look up to you. From what I've been told, it's because you encourage everyone to speak freely and solve your problems democratically."

General clicked his tongue. "Speakin' of." He turned around to his Army. "All in favor of stickin' around here, show a hand."

Nobody except Gravedigger raised a hand.

General pushed him out of the way. "Not you, you're biased."

Just then, Thunder cleared his throat. "I think I can speak on behalf of everyone here that we'd rather be home but will stay if you really need us."

"And how can you speak for everyone?" Miss Fleetwood asked him curiously.

Thunder rested a hand on his chest. "I'm intuitive. I read emotions."

"So you share leadership with General Lee?"

"I never said that, ma'am."

"We all share leadership, General's just more… well-equipped to lead us," Grant explained.

"He's a natural-born leader," Caleb added enthusiastically.

"Trust me, if we didn't wanna listen to him we'd have booted him out a long time ago," Tank said.

Diablo nodded and General shot Tank a glance.

"Anyway," General said, turning back to Miss Fleetwood. "What d'you need me to do?"

Miss Fleetwood grinned again and held a hand out to Gravedigger who dug through his bag of papers and procured a manila folder. He handed it to her, and Miss Fleetwood handed it to General.

The folder now in his hands, General turned his gaze down into it. There was writing on the folder, and inside were more papers with more words, typed and signed. He felt his throat grow dry as he looked back up at the Lady of the Defects.

"There's going to be an… assembly… of sorts tomorrow. All I need you to do is read this to the crowd. You can do that, can't you?" she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

General swallowed hard and looked back to the page. The words floated and danced on the page, their letters changing places and moving as they pleased.

"I…" General choked on his words. God was his mouth dry. "I can't."

"You said you would," Miss Fleetwood said disappointedly.

General nodded. "I know… it's just… I can't." He swallowed again, trying to get the words out. "I can't read."

"What?"

"I never learned, I'm sorry."

Miss Fleetwood sighed, wringing her hands. "I suppose, you and half of the Defect population." Then, she perked up. "Well, there's no time like the present. Guess you better start learning."

"Excuse me?" General said.

"I'll set you up with someone who will teach you how to read. In the meantime, Gravedigger, it'll be business as usual."

Gravedigger nodded and with that, they were dismissed.