Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’m Turbo. The greatest racer EVER! Everyone knows me, and everyone knows that I’m THE greatest racer… EVER! Even if they choose to ignore it as if they don’t. They know it, I know it… it’s rather undeniable, really.

I mean, take a gander at all of my previous wins! First place all around, sucker! (Not minding all of the times I so mistakenly got set back anywhere that WASN’T first place…) I’m a CHAMPION! 

…Or, well… wwwwwas. To an extent! I am still a champion, that will NOT change. It’s just… well—TurboTime was where I was in my prime, you know—the most popular game in the arcade! Rightfully so. But then… then there was Roadblasters. Those chumps were taking my spotlight! They wouldn’t last a DAY in the arcade in these times, but beforehand, they were…

They thought they were better than TurboTime. Better than ME. And it was obvious. Gamers, they weren’t paying much attention to me. They MADE me lose, on—on PURPOSE, can you believe that?! And just think—Roadblasters had what I had—so of COURSE they thought they were better than me. And what was I supposed to do? Let it happen? Just accept the fact they STOLE my fame—? They were gonna get me shut DOWN, they thought they were gonna WIN!

And I was supposed to let them WALK all over me? No. ‘Course not! So, I took matters into my own hands. I… learned a thing or two, and took what I learned, and put it into action! I decided: I was gonna fix my game. Make it bigger, make it BETTER! Flashier, up-to-dater, BETTER! Way better than Roadblasters. 

…But then, uhh… that idea sort of… well, it, uhh… ha—it didn’t go… the way… that I expected… and by that, I mean I accidentally broke my game and got it unplugged anyway. Haha.

Not that it was my fault! I was only doing what was best for my fame! It’s on ROADBLASTERS for thinking they could ever come close to where I stood without me doing something about it.

So, at the end of the day, I think we all know who the real hero is here…

Me. 

Chapter Text

“Am I right?” 

Turbo fidgeted with a little something between two of his fingers while shooting a grin at this little orange, round thing with a trunk and legs, along with his other little friends. He didn’t know WHAT he was fidgeting with, but he preferred giving himself some activity with his hands than keeping them still. The small gang from critters gave him this sort of deadpanned look, to which Turbo noted immediately. “What?” 

Q*bert uttered something the racer was incapable of understanding, then hopped up, and scampered off. His companions followed behind, choosing not to take another glance at Turbo. The racer squinted, curling two of his fingers up, then flicking whatever he was toying with away. “Alright, fine—be that way.” He mumbled, crossing his arms and letting out a short, curt huff after a few seconds. 

To say Turbo was “washed up” was an understatement. Most people didn’t bother interacting with him unless he started the conversation. Honestly, the least he got day-to-day were sparse glances, and they weren’t very neutral. His foot bounced up and down, up and down in rapid motion, as he scanned Game Central Station. Right now, the arcade was closed, so everyone was sort of just… mingling. Got together with their pals, their little buddies, and chatted the rest of the day away. Or sometimes they took visits to each others’ respective games. Not that Turbo knew what that was like, aside from going to Tappers every now and then. But everybody did that. It was public ground for characters.

Turbo hummed, continuing to look around, before eyeing his legs. He’d rather not sit here all day and do nothing. He shifted, pushing himself into a stand. Dusting off his classic white n’ red suit, he saunters off, hands clasped behind his back. His stance was full of confidence, even if he didn’t have a reason to have any. He looked about at the massive windows somewhere on each end of the station, letting in the tinting light from outside. The gateways to other games with the dotty red texts were wide open, obviously leading somewhere given they weren’t… inactive. 

It’s funny. He’s seen games come and go for a while. He watched Roadblasters get tossed out (thank GOD, ha!), mainly, as well as a few others. It was weird. He kind of wonders why THEY didn’t do anything about it. Well—okay, he KNOWS why. Everyone knows that it’s a natural occurrence. It happens to all of them eventually. But it certainly hurts when it does. So, if they had the ability, or the reason, why wouldn’t they go and do something about it-? Prevent it, or stall it, orrrr…

Turbo eyed down at the ground, noting its minuscule reflection it shone on its surface. He noted his pale, white skin—those bags under his eyes a tint of gray. His white and red tracksuit—not visibly aged, but he knew it wasn’t brand new. His helmet had a streak of light against it, its color matching his total outfit—white, red T. His eyes were a sickly, somewhat scarily bright yellow. And if he grinned, his teeth wouldn’t look much better.

You know, maybe it’s because they don’t wanna do what he did. They’d rather it happen regardless of the circumstances it puts them in, or how it makes them feel, instead of breaking everything faster trying to avoid it.

Lame.

The racer hummed in a light raspy manner, before perking up at a certain pair of voices. “Ohh—yoo-hoo!” One voice snickered, whistling over to the now stilled racer. Ohh, boy. About not being approached often, well… there’s an outlier in that department. Turbo slightly grimaced, glancing off to his right to spot the surviving racers from his defunct game. “Ey, chump! We’re talking to you.” The same voice followed off of his previous phrase. The duo wore navy blue n’ white outfits, designs similar to Turbo’s, yet not quite at the same time, as they were taller, and a little lankier than Turbo himself. They were exactly the same in appearance as one another, however. The two strutted up with each arm wrapped around the other’s shoulder. They were in complete sync in movement.

“Yeah, yooou!—Turbo.” The first one, Jet, waggled his pointer finger at the stouter character.

”…Jet. Set.” Turbo flatly spoke, already annoyed at their presences. “What do you want?” He’d prefer that they cut to the chase and not beat around the bush with their interaction.

”Nothin’ much.” Jet disconnected from the second one, Set, to now perch upon Turbo, arm planted directly on top of his helmet for support. “Just wanted to check in, see how Mr. Game Breaker’s doin’, heheheh…” Jet chuckled, though there was a dryness to it. “Thirty years, ey? Has it sunk in yet?” 

Turbo arched a brow, before shifting away from Jet, hands at his sides yet curled up into balls. “It’s been thirty years, ‘course it has.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you two have ANYTHING better to do right now? Instead of being thorns in my sides?” He shot, all hissy.

“Mm, kinda.” Set half shrugged from a distance. “We were invited to a little event that’s happenin’ just down on the other side of the station.” He used his thumb to point off aaaall the way to the very left end of Game Central Station. “You remember Fix-It Felix Jr., don’t cha?” 

Turbo blinked. “…Uhh. Yeah.” Weird. That game got shut down about… a little over half the amount of years TurboTime did. And Turbo never really learned why, honestly. No one really bothered explaining. Guess people were sick of characters pulling stunts, so they tried shoving that one DEEP in the shadows. “Why? Is it being brought back?”

”Mm-mm. Probably not.” Set shrugged again.

”Buuuut, point is, that all them Nicelanders are gettin’ together to celebrate the—well, what WOULD be—the 30th anniversary of Fix-It Felix Jr.!” Jet swung his arm enthusiastically. “Me n’ Set got invited—sure, it ain’t much, but heeey, we won’t ruin their fun! Not like you did us.” He slipped in a little snide comment near the end, his eyes narrowing off to the side.

”Excuse me?” Turbo nearly visibly flared, a strange little itch nearly shooting through his body. 

“Aaaaand! You know, we’re allowed to invite those of our own, so! What do you say…” Jet snapped back to a plucky demeanor, bouncing up and ensnaring Turbo in a one armed hold. “…you… come with us!” 

Turbo squinted, wiggling out of Jet’s embrace and shuffling back. “Wha—why? It’s not exactly like I’m gonna be wanted there.” He crossed his arms. The idea DID sound tempting, to be honest. He hasn’t been to any sort of parties in forever! And it’s about time his presence was recognized proper again. 

“Oh, come on, maybe those folks’ll have lightened up a little since their unplugging! Maybe they‘ll have sympathy.” It was easy to tell Jet was holding back any form of laughter. 

“Right, sure they will.” Turbo rolled his eyes. “Nobody can even mention Ralph around them without them getting all hot and bothered, what makes you think they’ll be any different with me?” 

Set stepped forward, patting the racer on the head, almost condescendingly. “Have a little optimism. As long as you don’t make a scene and completely destroy everything they had and leave them with nothing… it should be fine!” 

Turbo gave Set a judgmental stare. “…Alright. I can manage that.”

”You suuure?” Jet teased.

”Yes.” Turbo hissed, rolling his eyes. “Let’s just get going already, huh? Which way was it-? This—this way?” 

The Turbo Twins looked at each other and cracked smiles. “To the left, Turbo. Not the right!” They started to walk away in the proper direction, but they weren’t far enough for the third racer to miss something Jet muttered. “Geez, you’d think if he was smart enough to figure out how to ‘advance’ our game, he’d remember which direction was what.”

Turbo shot a short glare, before letting out a huff. “Right.” He muttered, fixing his posture back up, and trailing behind the twin racers. He kept his eyes forward for the most part, occasionally glancing around in thought. Any accidents made with eye contact were meant with silent signals of discomfort, or disdain. He was practically immune to any remote feeling regarding the passing looks people gave him. To Turbo, it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t worried about it in the slightest anyway. This little show up, on the other hand—he had to put on a bit of a face now, didn’t he? Not that he was bad at it. He thinks he’s a decent actor. 

He can’t let his temper go at the very least. Orrr…

Baaah, whatever. It’ll be fine, he’ll be fine! He’s Turbo after all, and despite all these years, his greatness hasn’t worn out. As long as he looked out for himself, he’d be alright.

It wasn’t long until they reached the far left side of Game Central Station. And it wasn’t long until the racers all spotted the decently massive crowd of the Nicelanders. All relatively human, though very short, and squared out in shape, moving in quick, snappy fashions. Around them appeared to be a pretty large cake, decorated to look like the penthouse they all used to inhabit. Generally, it resembled the area that Fix-It Felix Jr. took place in. Nice, small, remote location.

Turbo noticed that while all of the Nicelanders were upon the top of building cake, surrounded by an actively sparkling set of “30” candles, as well as their wonderful, wonderful protagonist whom they lost so abruptly years ago, Fix-It Felix… there wasn’t ANY sign of Wreck-It Ralph. He couldn’t be all THAT surprised. After what happened… though, he assumed it’d only be fair he’d be… marginally included. Since he was their main antagonist. Oh well.

Jet and Set stopped, halting Turbo in the process. Jet enthusiastically greeted, “Heyaaa—boy, that’s a GRAND lookin’ cake there, huh?” He complimented with ease. 

“Where did you get it?” Set asked in curiosity. “I didn’t think you’d have access to any baking equipment.”

One of the Nicelanders, Mary, stepped forward with her hands held together. “Oh, well—yes—you’re right,” she spoke with a bit of sadness in her tone. “We had it commissioned to us—generously, by that—” Taking an accidental glance past the Turbo Twins, was when she laid her eyes on— “—Turbo…??” She froze up some, saying it just loud enough that those who weren’t a hundred percent aware yet… were. 

The racer scanned the amounts of eyes laid upon him now, and while he knew it wasn’t for any good reason… he couldn’t help but feel warmed by it. He missed this. Naturally, he cracked a grin. “Hello!” He greeted as nicely as he could manage. 

Slight murmurs went around. “…Why is HE here?” Gene, the Nicelander who could win an entire award for the most uptight, hit the Turbo Twins with an accusatory glare. Weird sense of deja-vu he must’ve gotten there.

”Relaaaax, we’ve got an eye on him! He can handle a little bit of socialization anyway. Ain’t that right, Turbo?” Jet looked over his shoulder at the plastered smiling racer, to which he responded with a single nod. “See? No need to fret. Now, how about we dig in, eh?”

Murmurs started going off again, while those invited began to closely surround the cake. A small portion of the hosts started delicately taking slices of the tall cake and handing them off to the guests. They also offered some root beers from Tappers. Notably, they must’ve borrowed spare furniture from there as well, considering it looks relatively similar from a visual standpoint. It didn’t look the finest… but it held everything up perfectly fine. 

Everyone returned back to having casual conversation, though Turbo could tell when they kept glancing at him. Nobody initiated anything with him at first. At first. For the time being, he got himself comfortable in a particular spot, and enjoyed the slice of cake and glass of root beer he had. Jet and Set were nearby, which didn’t surprise him. They said they “had an eye” on Turbo—like he was some… some dog that’d start jumping up on people. Or like he was a criminal. Which, in his mind, he wasn’t. Maybe to them, but he knows his intentions were flawless.

The party hadn’t gone completely interaction-less. Some chump from another game (admittedly, Turbo wasn’t aware of where this one came from. All he knew was that it looked like a turtle) had came up to him. He immediately put on a smile for the approaching figure. “Ohh, hello—do you need something?”

”Wh—ehh…” The character stopped, like he hadn’t expected Turbo to say anything first. “Nnno. Guess I just… why DID I get near you—uhh…” He hissed under his breath. “…” He glanced at the racer, who so strangely tilted his head at him. It creeped him out. Why did he LOOK like that? “How have you been?” He asked, stiffly.

”Turbotastic!” Turbo replied on sheer instinct. Thumbs up and everything. It was automatic. It caused him to clear his throat and find newer words to elaborate with. “Peachy, peachy.” He wasn’t embarrassed or anything—sometimes he never expects when he’s gonna say that is all. However, the weird chuckle he made at the end of his second response would probably make it appear that he was embarrassed. “Now, how about you?”

”…Fine. Fine.” The turtle looked around. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to say SOMETHING to Turbo at first, but not he was desperately looking for a way out of it. This is why he doesn’t try with people like this. “…Honestly, by now, I thought you’d be gone. Heck, thought you would’ve died with the twins when your game got unplugged.” He muttered. “Sort of wish you were dead.”

The racer hesitated for a moment. He let out a hard, forced laugh. “Haha—good one. No, I’m—still kicking, still here! Turbota—” He stopped, considering whom he was just speaking to just… walked off. He blinked, taking in the fact that—that blasted tortoise would just—RIGHT. “…turbotastic.” Turbo grumbled to himself, a sharp edge at the ending syllables. His expression soured, that itch coming back up again—he almost failed to notice the weird red bursts of pixels trailing the edges of his arms. They came, and then they went. But Turbo noticed.

What made that dumb critter think he could talk to him that way? Absurd. Absolutely absurb. Clearly everyone’s forgotten who exactly they’re letting join their little… anniversary party. An anniversary party to a game that doesn’t even exist here anymore.

There it goes again. The… err—the pixels. It’s faint, but Turbo knows he should put a cap on it before it escalates. He huffs, and takes another bite of his cake. Tastes good at the very least. Red velvet, he thinks it was.

A bit of time goes by, nothing too interesting happens. Everyone’s chatting. Turbo himself makes the effort to come into contact with those around him, but they tend to… fall short. Jet and Set ‘reassure’ him, though he can’t tell if they’re doing it out of pity, or they honestly think they’re helping. He’s still not even sure why they BROUGHT him here. Maybe to remind him how much everybody shoves him aside because of what happened to his game. 

He doubts they’re actually trying to help.

In a short instance, a speech began. Gene got up, and announced to everybody attending that they should settle down and listen. The speech in question… well, what else would it be about? It was about Fix-It Felix Jr. The platformer game that debuted thirty years ago. The platformer game that starred their cherub, Fix-It Felix. Junior. With his gold magical hammer, and his classic “I can fix it!” He was an angel. Real nice fellow. It was an honor to him, and his game. Their game. 

It was a heartfelt speech, for sure. It wasn’t too long either. It hit the sweet spot in terms of duration. Though it allowed the other Nicelanders, and the guests to make their inputs as well. Turbo got to think about it for a moment. He… well, he didn’t HATE Felix. He… was… he was okay. He was nice. Too nice. Way too nice. So nice it made him inwardly gag sometimes. But that’s just how he was. Turbo and Felix were neighbors. They ended up getting to know each other. Turbo… maybe has some stronger feelings in regards to the little sap that he’s—simply repressing, but that’s not important. He was okay. He was nice. Patient. Cute. Kinda cute. Really cute, what? Okay, where is this going? Change the subject.

Turbo shook his head and puffed. Then he thought about something else.

They’re clearly dodging something.

He’s sure they aren’t working to make it obvious, but they won’t say a word about Ralph. It’s a deliberate choice of theirs. And part of him still wonders… what happened? What happened to Ralph? What happened to Felix? Why did they both suddenly disappear at the same exact time and got their game rolled out in an instant? How’d it even come to be? He admittedly thought everyone learned (from him) that they shouldn’t tamper with games like that. They shouldn’t mess with them to the point of them getting unplugged. They shouldn’t be the CAUSE. So what gave? Was it Ralph-? Probably. Felix wouldn’t dare do anything that would intentionally get his game unplugged, but Ralph…? Err—potentially. Not to be rude, but the guy never really had the best reputation to his name. Turbo could at least hold himself as the greatest racer ever—Ralph was… the bad guy who wrecked the building as far as anybody else was concerned. 

The racer, staring off into space unknowingly, raised his hand to make his own input. “S’cuse me, uhh…” He slowly came to, realizing that he got everyone’s attention. He eyed his arm that rose almost without his own knowledge. He thought, before impulsively asking the question he had on his mind. “What about Wreck-It Ralph?” He had this part innocent, part knowing look on his face. 

Everybody went quiet again.

Gene bristled. “What about Ralph?”

”I mean… I mean, don’t you have anything to say about him regarding all of this?” Turbo slinked forward with a step. He heard a really faint “Turbo.” hissed out from behind him, but he chose to ignore it. “He was a big part of the game too, wasn’t he?” 

“…Yyyes…?” One Nicelander started.

”It—It’s complicated, you know…!” Another stuttered. 

Gene eyed around, before setting his angry gaze back on Turbo. “What are you getting at?”

”Nothing-!” Turbo half lied, letting out a weird little laugh. “You have something to say about him, don’t you?” He stepped forward again, up-keeping that smile he put on.

“What’s there to SAY about Ralph? He was just a bad guy, and that’s all he was supposed to be.” Gene glared, looking Turbo up and down as the racer got closer to him, and the table by default. “And this isn’t even ABOUT him, anyway!”

Turbo blinked, his grin wavering. “But he was apart of your game.” Isn’t this about the 30th anniversary? Or is this more like an exclusive funeral disguised as a get together?

“He’s the reason it’s GONE.” Gene spoke firmly, causing Turbo’s eyes to widen. Aha! So Ralph WAS the reason it was gone. Interesting, interesting. So interesting that he almost missed what Gene said next. “Honestly, he’s no better than you!”

“—…What?” Turbo paused.

”Don’t play dumb with me, Turbo. I would’ve thought he was just smart enough to not try anything ridiculous like that, but no, between the two of you, you’re BOTH idiotic!”

The racer stared with a dropped expression, that already unnerving face of his beginning to twitch. “…I wasn’t trying to break my game. And it sounds like Ralph WAS! So, hm—ha—I feel like that puts a LITTLE bit of difference between us.” His shoulders tensed in rising agitation.

”Does it really?” Gene raised a brow.

”Sure it does! I would’ve SAVED TurboTime if my plan didn’t go wrong!”

”But that didn’t happen, now did it?” 

“It would have!” 

Jet and Set looked at each other with looks that sort of read as if they were expecting something like this. Set was quick to walk forward, and reach out to Turbo. “Turbo, cut it out—”

But Turbo moved closer to Gene faster than Set could place his hand on Turbo’s shoulder. The racer’s hands were up against the edge of the table, arms locked up as Turbo’s head was turned directly towards Gene. They were glaring daggers into one another, with Turbo spouting out another excuse towards the destruction of TurboTime. “I wouldn’t have HAD to if—”

“You hadn’t gotten jealous of another game? What made you think you could stop something like that from happening?” Gene narrowed his eyes.

“We were gonna be unplugged BECAUSE of ROADBLASTERS.” Turbo practically snarled, hands gripping the edge of the table tightly. “I was HELPING!”

Gene rolled his eyes. “And look what happened. You got unplugged anyway! Besides, doing what you did to your game turned you into some kind of virus!”

“Excuse me?” 

“A virus. It corrupts—”

”I know what a virus is and I am NOT one myself!” 

“Uh-huh. And what’s that about?” Gene motioned with his hand to Turbo’s glitching body, chunks of red jutting out from multiple angles.

Turbo flinched, looking down at himself. He hadn’t even noticed, huh? He shook his head, and closed his eyes in an attempt to shove it down. The glitching slowed, but it was still a little noticeable. “Tha—th—that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

”Sure. Last time I checked, you can’t even touch things without whatever you touched going haywire. What else is that meant to impose on me, Virus?” 

The racer’s eye violently twitched. Virus. This isn’t exactly the first time he’s been called that. Virus. But even so, he hates—no, he DESPISES the term. The way it’s used on him, like— “I’m not a virus.” He grumbled.

”Sure.” Gene repeated. “Face it, the only thing you’ve EVER accomplished since TurboTime broke down was destroying what was around you, and that’s ANOTHER point to mention how you and Ralph—”

”Oh please, I’ve done FAR more than that halitosis hog had in terms of accomplishment!”

”AFTER your game got corrupted. By the Virus.”

”I’m no—”

”Don’t try and deny, you ARE one! I can see it by the way you’re glitching! It’s proof enough—”

The glitching had gotten back to a more prominent point, and considering where Turbo was at emotionally, it became practically volatile. Bubbling with rage, Turbo barked, planning to nab Gene by the collar of his little suit. “I said I’m NOT!” His body broke apart abruptly, and what made Turbo freeze and lose his look was the way the table one hand still gripped onto had reacted.

He caught it out of the corner of his eye, and it made him spin his head around to completely face it. The table shared a similar effect to glitching Turbo had, with particles of red sparking out sporadically. Only this time, it began to distort in ways most people would find extremely dangerous. It splintered, snapped apart, came back together, changed angles, rearranged itself, almost blipped out of existence completely. The crowd had been all but mute bystanders, only occasionally whispering and making reacting sounds—but at once, they all gasped at the sight of the malfunctioning table. Unfortunately, whatever remained of the cake and root beers came with it. The table was out of Turbo’s grasp at this point, but it continued to lose stability. 

Then, all at once, it all stopped. The table froze mid air, and dropped, toppling everything to the ground and leaving a scattered mess on the grounds of Game Central Station. The calamity caused another rippling reaction from the guests. But after that, it went quiet. Turbo stumbled back, his glitching beginning to lessen, but his focus completely changed. 

He can’t lie and say this hasn’t happened before. 

As much as he didn’t wanna admit it, Gene was… kind of right. Sometimes, he’d get worked up to the point where his glitch would spread onto whatever he touched. But that didn’t mean—

“You’re a Virus, Turbo.” Gene finally broke the silence, flatly. “I’ve had a conversation like this before. And all it did was prove me right.”

Turbo’s gaze flickered up. His eyes shot around at everyone else, who recoiled in shock at what he did. Sending a glare back at Gene, he balled up his fists, and emitted some—disgruntled noise that was a combination of anger and suppressed shame as he stormed away from the crowd. 

He didn’t care that he just left a giant mess for everybody else to have to pick up. Didn’t care about whatever the Twins had to say about him. Didn’t even bother thinking about what the Surge Protector had to say about any of this. He wasn’t gonna let that electric stickler slow him down. He wasn’t going to let ANY of them slow him down. He’s not a virus. He’s Turbo. He was the main character to the most popular game back in the day, and he accomplished a LOT of things. He won many races. He won many awards. Just because he didn’t have a game, just because he didn’t have a designated purpose—…

Just because he didn’t have a role to stick to doesn’t mean he can’t accomplish anything anymore.

He’ll show them.

Oh, he’ll show them.

Chapter Text

Turbo set himself on a path to Tappers, not because he wanted anything to drink, or to hear anything from Tapper and his oh-so wise mouth, but because he needed to think of something. Tappers wasn’t full, and even if it was, he went straight to the back of the pub to that little Lost and Found section in the hall, adjacent to all of the portraits of some of the video game characters here at Litwak’s. He needed space. And nobody really went to the Lost and Found for any other reason than needing to find something they… lost. It was remote for the most part.

The racer paced up and down the hall off to the right along the portrait wall, setting points for himself to stop and turn so he wouldn’t make himself an obvious presence. Not that anyone was honestly paying attention to him. He muttered incoherencies to himself, drumming his helmet with his fingers. He has to think. What is he gonna do? What is he gonna accomplish? As far as he’s aware (he tends to tune a lot of things out), racing games are a 50/50. As much as he’d ask around about one, considering he had a little… outburst in public, not many folks would wanna even make eye contact with him. Then again, there is Tapper. He’s pretty neutral on most things.

Yet a part of him wants to accomplish more than that. More than racing. It’s a massive leap in logic. He knows that. The whole rule of being a character is sticking to your given programming. However… if he could… 

What fun that would be!

He snaps his fingers with a half-grin on his face. His head swivels over to the Lost and Found. He could maybe dig around for something to give him a sense of inspiration! Motivation! He peppily steps over, and hoists himself up over the edge of the bin, a little strenuously given his size. He wouldn’t say he’s a dwarf, but he’s not a beanstalk either. “Alrrrright…” He mutters, drawling. “Let’s see—oh—ugh.” He spots a little roach on top of his hand and grimaces. Twisting his hand over, he hits it against the edge in order to either get the bug to lodge off, or to squish it. Once turning his hand back around, it was… it was GONE, at least, so…

Scrounging the items were giving him… very minimal results.

Turbo found a mushroom from Mario’s! He doesn’t think he’s built for platforming.

Turbo found an… exclamation point! Whatever this is even from.

Turbo found a pair of underweaaaaaaaand we’re done. Yeah, no. 

"EUGH-!! Ugh..." His hand tensed as he dropped in back in the bin immediately. Gross. After a moment, he huffed, and slipped off from the edge of the bin to fully stand on the ground again. Well, THAT didn’t work. None of that was even remotely motivating. Some of it was just—disgusting. He tapped his foot against the ground, muttering to himself again. Maybe he should just settle back on a racing game. It’s the one thing he’s best at after all! He’s the greatest racer e—

Something from behind shoved him forward, causing him to bump against the crate a little roughly. He grunted, hands put outward to push against the crate so he didn’t fully faceplant against the wood. With a growing glare, he spun around, and peeked out from the room. “HEY! Watch where you’re go—…ing.” He ceased his yelling once seeing the… big armored guy shambling over to the end of the hall, and casually walking against the wall. He was muttering something, sorta, kinda like… being ‘humanity’s last hope,’ and… bugs? What about bugs? Turbo stared, looking from side to side before inevitably approaching the character. He tapped against the armor, little clinks accompanying the noise. “Hey. What’s your problEMM-!!” He was suddenly grabbed up and hoisted into the air by his shoulders.

“WE’VE ONLY BEEN PLUGGED IN A WEEK!” The character hysterically exclaims. “And every DAY it’s—Climb The Building, and then Fight Bugs! Climb The Building, Fight More BUGS…!” He lets out these exhausted, horrified sobs, his grip loosening on the startled and concerned racer.

Turbo found this a good opportunity to wriggle his way out of the man’s grasp. “Right, cool, look—I don’t know what this is about, but I’m not the one you should see this kind of thing about.” A therapist can handle this, not I. He brushes himself off, before simply turning on his heel to walk away. Clearly, he needs to think of something else.

”And all for what…? A lousy medal…?”

Turbo froze. That’s when it hit him. Something different… something different but with a similar reward, it’s GENIUS! “…Wwwwhaaaat medal…?” Turbo’s slow to turn back around, but there’s a glint of opportunity in his eye that the traumatized soldier doesn’t seem to pick up immediately.

”Th—The Medal of Heroes…??”

”…” The racer looks about. “…I see… it’s a real medal? Got the word HERO on it, perchance…?” Turbo’s expression begins to shift, a sly smirk on his face stretching across his features as the soldier nodded and murmured confirmations in a very disheveled manner. “Ahh. And… pff, what, you win by climbing a building?”

”AND FIGHTING BUGS!” The soldier emphasized. Aggressively.

”Yeahyeahyeahwhatever—say, man, listen…” Turbo steps closer to the character, arms folded behind his back. “I have a proposition. How about—yoooou let me come with you to that game of yours, and…” He straightens out a little, taking a shrug-like position to appear more confident, therefore agreeable, completely engulfed in his idea of the fortune that awaits him. “Maybe I can see this Medal of Heroes for myse—”

”Negatory!”

“…Does—d-does that mean maybe…” Turbo’s pose falters from confusion. What does that mean.

”No! Look here: only the bravest, and the best serve in OUR core!” The soldier firmly proclaims. …His position is flipped the second he finds another roach just smack dab somewhere on Turbo’s face. And the racer seems to have little to no reaction. “—BUG!” He practically squeals, spinning around… and running into the wall. He knocks himself out, having the helmet come straight off of his head, and tumble closer to Turbo.

Turbo is barely phased, more-so focused on the opportunity this gives him. He takes his thumb, and crushes the roach beneath it, wiping whatever remains of it off like nothing. He’s gonna need to do a bit of retooling. Approaching the unconscious body, he hums, calmly, almost coldly calculating how to take this guy’s armor. Clearly he’s not gonna be doing anything with it for right now.

Their differences in size and stature make it a little difficult for Turbo to figure out how to pull this off correctly. But he thinks the breakthrough came in quicker than he expected. He reduced the… admittedly, the sad sight of a supposed troop soldier, a trained combatant, to some guy in just a pair of underwear. A pair that were not his. Turbo didn’t exactly have a choice in that matter, he figured SOME dignity could be retained. Dragged off, the body was, to the Lost and Found where he was just sort of… shoved in there, Turbo making sure the door was completely shut. 

What came next…

Well… alright. What came next… he’d SAY it was a piece of cake, but that depends if he can get it to work the way he wants to.

Turbo, dusting off his hands, turns to the heaps of armor. He gave the pieces a look of… a look of uncertainty. He then glanced down at his hands, which… made him feel even MORE uncertain. But he knew he couldn’t let that stop him now! He’s already committed to his idea, and he’s going to stick directly to it. No matter how bad this could turn out if this goes wrong. But he’s… he just—he’s just not gonna fail! Ha! Easy! He won’t fail. Not like last time.

Exhaling, he walks towards the armor, and kneels down. Settling in for a moment, he reaches into his pockets. Bunched up in both hands are two parts of a pair of alternative gloves. They look very similar to the ones he’s already wearing, except they have a design akin to that of a computer chip. The lines and dots are colored the same bright red as the rest of his outfit. One hand at a time, the normal pair come off, and the alternative pair slip on.

He pockets the gloves he usually wears. He presses both of his hands together, and takes a deep breath. As a weird sort of short act of stimming just to anchor himself, he rubs his hands rapidly, the friction at the same level as if he was trying to spark an electrical current. His hands flicker and bug, red pixels and pieces breaking off, then coming back together. A similar effect trickled through most of his body now, but it was mainly focused there. In his hands.

He’s confident now.

Let’s make this work.

Turbo refused to let himself have second thoughts. This was his idea, and it was going to be fool proof! So, he was not gonna be deterred by the fact that walking in this suit is like… like… it was like walking with weird weights on every limb and a partially see through blindfold. He has NEVER tripped, or almost tripped, so many times in one single stride. His appearance caught the eye of passerby’s, considering Turbo’s appearance was… a new one, to say the least! But nobody recognized him immediately from the orange-ish hint on the face shield. 

He grumbled, struggling to focus on just one thing. All of these… systems were giving him a headache. “Bulky.” He curtly commented. If he complained too much aloud, he might go back on this. It’s too late, he’s got to keep moving forward. So, now… 

Where was that guy from? That’s the only way he’s gonna figure out where to go right away. Hero… Hero… Hero, Hero, Hero…’ssss DUTY! Hero’s Duty, duh! The medal was called the Medal of Heroes, it’s really obvious. With an exhale, he marches forward—though he’s quick to notice Q*bert rather unintentionally standing in the way. The orange creature’s giving him a weird look too. Eugh—this guy. “…Hey—err—s’cuse me.” He mutters, shuffling around Q*bert. He’s close to shooting something snide, like you better not go telling anybody where I’m going, if you even can, but he chooses not to. Would only given the little alien a reason to.

Turbo keeps going forward, ignoring the distant set of… sounds, whatever those are. It’s not TOO long before he crosses the threshold, the sign reading Hero’s Duty giving him a sense of giddiness he almost failed to repress. Down through the wire he went, first by foot, then by train. It was a subway type deal, this one. Loaded with soldiers with stoic faces. Turbo… both knew, and just became fully aware of the fact that his appearance GREATLY differed from those around him. But none of them seemed to notice his presence—and he opted to keep it that way.

With how crowded it was, he wouldn’t say he had the GREATEST riding experience. He always kept eyeing everybody around him. Perhaps it was his height that made him practically unnoticeable. Or perhaps they were focused on other things. Like the journey ahead! Or something. Not that Turbo… had an issue… not in this instance. He loves attention, but THIS kind of attention would get him chucked out mid travel. So, he zipped his lips and kept quiet.

The train finally slowed, the doors opening, and each soldier bustled out. He could hear that blaring, voiced out alarm, “QUARTER ALERT. QUARTER ALERT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” Turbo waited for everyone else to go (and realized he now wielded a MASSIVE gun in the process (he had to Tweak It a little so he could hold it properly (it almost broke but it’s okay))), and hopped out of the train. Observing his surroundings, he can IMMEDIATELY sense the difference in tone from here in comparison to, say, his own game, or Fix-It Felix Jr. “…Turbotastic…!” He couldn’t help but crack a little smile, excitement oozing in his muttering volume. 

He didn’t know why he was so excited, but he WAS. This seemed fun!

He eventually followed the soldiers down to what was supposedly a holding room. They all stood in a coordinated manner, which left Turbo a little confused as to how he should position himself. He glanced behind him, and down at the threshold line. Well… he was inside, so… he’ll linger back here. Still, nobody even knew he was here. Things were looking Turbotastic, apparently. He at least tried peering around the gaps past the men so he was aware of what was happening up front.

He paused when a commanding voice spoke up from the front. “Alright—now listen up, ‘cuz I’m only gonna say this once.” An armored woman walked halfway across the room in an announcing tone, causing every man to stand upright in attention. The racer, pseudo-soldier, had a delayed reaction to this, but did his best to mimic what everyone else was doing. “Fear is a four letter word, ladies.” Calhoun turns to the troop with a look that could cut through the walls. “You wanna go pee-pee in your big boy slacks, keep it to yourselves. It’s Make Your Mamas Proud Time!” She finalized with a fiery grin.

Wow. Turbo would’ve found that much more motivating if he had a mom. 

“Heads up! First Person Shooter, comin’ through!” Turbo jumped, and darted straight out of the way, up against the right wall. A robot with a screen face strolled across the path set for it, now somewhere within the first row. 

Calhoun put on her helmet, and equipped her weapon. As the countdown came to an end and the screen displayed the Player, she recited, what seemed to be, the beginning message of the game itself. “We are our humanity’s last hope. Our mission? Destroy all Cybugs. You ready, rookie? Let’s find out.”

Cybugs? What’s—wait, what’s a Cybug? 

Turbo would find he didn’t exactly have the time to figure out the answer to that question before it was displayed to him. The massive door ahead opened, leaving a walkway to enter into… what Turbo could only describe as a hell he never thought existed! It was dark, gloomy, shades and blurs of colors like cyan and aqua flashing about every which way, yet none of it was inviting. Winged specimen swarmed the air, sprinkling the sky with a lovely, deadly shade of green! At once, everybody stormed out of the redlit holding center, letting out various war cries. Turbo, of course, was the last to leave, but he left with the same amount of vigor as the rest of them.

This was…

This was…

He hadn’t a way to describe it. He almost would’ve spent a few moments just taking in the scenery if he wasn’t aware DEATH was practically buzzing around him at all times. “…Ha—haha—” He can’t tell what tone that laugh was in. Nervousness? Exhilaration? Who knows! 

Turbo looked down at his weapon, and propped it up in his hands. The sleekness of the metal was what made his odd smile widen. His eyes dart about, trying to force his mind into alertness. He has to remember that if he dies here, he can’t come back. He has to REMEMBER that. Because the second he gets too caught up in everything, it’s over.

“Cybug! Twelve o’clock, take it, newbie!” 

The racer was SHOCKED by the sheer size of these so-called Cybugs, but had no issue putting this little gun of his to use. Steadying his aim, and setting his finger on the trigger, he tightens, and an array of bullets go flying at the nearest Cybug trying to pounce him. It bursts into green mist by the time he’s finished with it, and it’s like he’s discovered an entirely new passion. A harsh shiver ran up his back but he LOVED it. He barked out a laugh, opting to go ham on whatever came near him. He immediately stopped caring whether anybody saw how out of place he looked the second he realized he could operate something with such… destructive potential. Ironic.

”Watch it, rookie! These monsters become what they eat!”

His euphoric, yet entirely maniacal episode came to a sudden halt when he found… that he was out of ammo. His cackling lessened, and his look became one of confusion. Uhh. What. He fidgeted with the weapon a little, trying to see if he could get it to work again—before being nearly scared out of this suit by a landing Cybug. “—AH!” Unthinkingly, he chucked the weapon at the massive creature. All it did was bonk off its hard carapace, and fall to the floor, closer to the bug than to the racer. Without a moment of hesitation, the bug lurched forward and devoured the gun. “—HEY—! HEY, I NEEDED THAaaa—aaa….??” Turbo nearly stormed forward, when the thing suddenly hovered into the air…

and it’s front legs turned into guns. Holy s**t. He has to f**king run.

“Shoot the eggs before they hatch!” 

Turbo stumbled over one of these things’ unhatched child, but scurried just fast enough to duck behind a metal boulder. He huffed, eyes wide and darting around, hoping that armed bug lost track of him. God, he should’ve double checked this thing for other weapons. He’s bound to have more, right?? He froze at the sound of Calhoun’s voice. “Alright, ladies! The kitten whispers and tickle fights stop now. The entrance to the lab is straight ahead…” He wasn’t fully sure what she was going to say after that—since he went careening towards the door without a second thought. If he could get inside, get to—get to wherever the medal was, get the medal, and get back alive, he’d be alright!

But it was when he saw the NEW hoard of Cybugs when those doors opened that he came to the conclusion that this was MUCH harder than he thought it’d be. “—Oh GOD—!” He shouted while a wave of glitching shot through his system. He shortly backtracked, his steps carrying far further than he remembered they usually did—oh. He’s teleporting. Oh! He’s glitching! Cool, f**k!

He stumbled right into the First Person Shooter, freezing up and turning around. “…Ahh—haha—” The screen turned down to face him, with the Player looking… a little bewildered…? “Do—dooon’t mind me! Haha—ha, hoo—” He awkwardly gave the screen two thumbs up. “Just having a minor setback—but I’mmm just TurbotaaAAAAAOHMYLORDANDHELL—!!” He screamed when a Cybug came charging at both him, and the player, with the former ducking right behind the bot for protection.

And that was game over! What a rip off.

A bright, glowing beam shot straight into the air seconds after the Player had died. Miscellaneous voices were going off, “Beacon’s up!,” “Ceasefire, ceasefire!,” “Attention: return to start positions.”

…Turbo was planted right behind the same boulder he and that First Person Shooter bot were, stiff as a tree in a still day. He blinked, slowly, watching some of the soldiers around him regenerate. He… he has a rather mixed opinion on how that went. He slowly exhaled. Shooting was fun! But the fact he was close to dying permanently twice wasn’t.

He jolted again at the ferocious sound of Calhoun’s voice. “WHO WAS THAT?!” She shouted, causing Turbo to glitch again. He could hear her footsteps growing closer in his general direction. Yep. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Thinking fast, he shut his eyes, and allowed his body to blip over to another nearby rock, letting out another exhale once doing so. “They jeopardized the First Person Shooter!”

”We, err—we don’t know, ma’am.” One soldier replied. 

“Clearly whoever THAT was didn’t belong here.” Calhoun hissed. “They might still be here. Uugh—we don’t have time to look for them, not while the arcade’s open!”

”We can keep a look-out, ma’am.”

”You better! We gotta get that other bug out of here, pronto.”

…Turbo held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut in a newfound frustration. Damn it! He’s gotta get out of here, he’s gotta—… no, NO. No, Turbo, you are THIS close! You’re here, IN the game. You just… you… you need a new plan! That’s all. You need a Plan B. Plan A didn’t turn the way you wanted, what’s… what’s Plan B? …When his body glitched again, he blinked. He glanced down at himself. Then up at nothing. Then he slowly looked up to the top of the spire.

That’s it. That’s Plan B.

Chapter Text

“Uuugh…”

The Turbo Twins walked together through Game Central Station side by side, with Jet having just let out a groan. All of that mess. And just because HE couldn’t keep it together during a public event. “That was sooooo embarrassing…” He whined, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Why DID we invite Turbo? I feel like we—no, I feel like YOU should’ve known that was a bad idea!” He stopped abruptly to cross his arms and huff.

Set froze as well, blinking. “Wh—…” He sighed. “We invited him because we thought he needed a chance. He hasn’t gotten to do much with people for years, but… the drawback to that is… he hasn’t done much with people for years.” He explained while using his hands to help communicate his point. “‘Course he was gonna blow up. He wasn’t really prepared, especially for Gene’s flavor of speech.”

The two stood idle briefly. “…He wasn’t wrong.”

”—What?”

”Turbo IS a virus, basically! I mean you SAW the way that table just—it just, like—” Jet gestured a hyperbolic explosion. “BOOM, it—broke! Not broke as in you could just fix it but it was—… it wasn’t RIGHT! It wasn’t normal. It was moving all weird, it…” He trailed off. “…had Turbo all over it.”

Set hummed, shrugging one shoulder in admittance. “…Do you—think we should try and talk to him about it?”

”—Pff—you kidding? I don’t wanna talk to him after that! Who knows, he might still be pissed off!” Jet forced a laugh through his irritation. “And I’m not dealing with that ticked off racer. Not if I don’t gotta.” He stops to get a good look at one of those stares Set gives him. Those looks he gets when Set seriously needs him to do, or consider doing something, and that he won’t be swindled out of it at all. “…What?” Another moment of silence. That stare prolongs. “…Okay, FINE. Le—Let’s just go find him.” 

Set nodded. “Thank you.” He said with a hint of exasperation. He scanned Game Central Station. “…Would anybody know where he went?”

”I ‘unno.” Jet shrugged. That’s not really his problem.

Set hums. “…Oh—let’s go ask Q*bert, he tends to keep an eye on people.” He grabs Jet by the wrist and walks them along.

Jet snickered. “Yeah, like he and his crew have anything else better to do.” He flinched slightly at the glare shot to him by Set. “Sorry-!”

The pair quickly reached where Q*bert was currently stationed, minding his own business before the Turbo Twins came along. “Hey, Q*bert. I don’t mean to bother you,” Set kneels down, “but would have happened to see Turbo by chance?” He asked, with his twin standing behind him, arms crossed and an irritated look on his face. Q*bert’s speech patterns go completely incomprehensible to Jet, but Set’s been learning it pretty well since they got unplugged. “Oh—you have. Okay, where is he?”

…

”What-?”

…

”Tha—” Set blinks. “That can’t be right.”

”What? What’s he sayin’, Set?” Jet looks between the two in puzzlement.

”He’s…” Set hesitates. He processes the statements a little more before finally concluding, “He’s saying he saw Turbo in one of those, like… giant mech armor suits-? The one’s that come from Hero’s Duty.”

Jet’s eyes widened, bewildered. “HUH-? But—THOSE things are HUGE, Turbo can’t fit in one of those!”

The Turbo Twins pause at another one of the Q*bert’s dialogues. “…It was shrunken, he says.” Set explains.

”Shru—uh—WHAT?” Jet frowned. “You pullin’ our legs here, Q?! It ain’t funny!” He glared down with narrowed eyes.

”Hey, easy. Q*bert wouldn’t lie. …Uh—I don’t think.” Set glanced to the side.

”So, what, I’m just supposed to believe Turbo SHRUNK a Hero’s Duty suit and—…” Jet stopped. He looked up and through the windows of Game Central Station. Bright as… bright… as… “…you’re not sayin’—”

Set hummed again, although this time MUCH more uncomfortably. “If… Q*bert’s telling the truth—which I’m sure he is—then…”

The twins stand in a stunned silence. All they can do is look at each-other with expressions that vary in intensities of Wow. Q*bert eyes between the two, muttering something to himself. He assumes that… this should probably be his cue to leave. Knowing the louder one, he’s bound to explode in about—

“Is—is he FLIPPIN’ STUPID?!” Jet shouted. “GAMEJUMPING?!—FOR WHAT?!”

Set jolted a bit at the sudden outburst. “I—I don’t know. He’s reckless, yeah, but I didn’t think it’d go to THIS extent. I thought he had more common sense than that.”

Jet threw his arms into the air, over his head. “Well, CLEARLY! He DOESN’T! Does he REALIZE he’s gonna get himself KILLED?! He doesn’t belong in that game, he don’t belong nowhere! In no game! And—and how didn’t anybody SEE him?? I mean—granted, he’s short, but he ain’t INVISIBLE! Where’d he get it?! How’d he shrink it?! Did those skills of his carry over into being able to REDESIGN S**T?” He blinked at the sudden censor. It caused him to fume a little harder. “UUUGH, I WISH I COULD SWEAR RIGHT NOW!”

His twin brought his hands to his shoulders, and gave him a good shake. “Jet, Jet! Brother. Listen, this is… a lot of information, yes—but right now, we’re gonna have to do something. I don’t know if anybody else knows… well… well besides Q*bert, and the fact you shouted loud enough to probably get everyone to hear a bit of that—but besides the point, we need to get him out of that game. He’s going—totally rogue. Totally rebelling. Totally…”

…Jet quirked a brow, hissing through clenched teeth. “Going Turbo?”

”…Yyyyes. Sure. Let’s go with that.” Set stared. “I know you’d be much happier leaving him to die, but it’s on our consciences if he dies. Do you get me?”

Jet coldly stared into Set’s eyes. Soon, he let out a loud sigh. “Yeaaaah… you’re always so convincing.” He steps back. “Okay. So. Saving Turbo’s a—butt. Got it. …How?”

Set shrugged. “What other way?” He motioned to the Hero’s Duty sector. “We’ll have to go in ourselves.”

The atmosphere set a shiver down both of the Twins’ spines. They conducted a plan that had to take place after the arcade closed. Would that leave a higher chance of Turbo legitimately just being dead? Yes. But it would also ensure their own safety. Not all three of them need to go down with the rebel. One trip through the subway transportation that was Hero Duty’s wire, and the two were hit with a crazy sense of discomfort. This wasn’t an easy place to be in. The place was all… dark… and green… and kinda sickly? It was hard to explain. They weren’t used to this sort of setting.

Jet and Set clasped one of each of their hands with the others, as a means of moral support on both sides. Jet glances to Set with a swallow. Set notices, and nods, partly firmly. “It’s… it’s fine. The arcade’s closed. Nothing bad can happen if nothing’s meant to really operate within the game itself. It’s fine.” The two then start forward, hoping to find Turbo—or get news about Turbo—and be out of here as fast as possible.

The two found the opening from the start of the game relatively easy, as it was straight ahead through clouds and clouds of haze. They could swear they could hear other people from the distance. They were talking—talking about… something. Someone? Debatably not Turbo, considering whoever they were talking about had a distinctly much longer name than Turbo. The Twins keep walking, though the conversation notably halts as they approach. Wonder what that’s about…

As soon as they cross the fog—they have firearms aimed directly at them, the high pitched whirr of targets locking onto them causing the two of them to nearly run the other way. Instead, they freeze, throwing both of their arms up. “AAH—WAITWAITWAIT—MY HANDS ARE UP—DON’T HURT ME!” Jet screamed, while Set glued his mouth shut. These people looked… intimidating. Scary. Very scary. They had guns. They aren’t used to guns.

The three soldiers slowly lower their weapons by Calhoun’s command. “…Well now I won’t. Since the both of you just seem to be a couple of shrimps.” She mutters.

Set exhaled, shakily. “Ah… tha—thank you…?” He lowered his arms, and shuffled in place to help himself feel less stuck still. He cleared his throat. “We were… hoping—we could find someone here. Sure, not… not like that, but… it works. We… uhhh…” He trailed off, noticing the soldiers were getting closer. Umm. Umm. Ummmm.

Jet jumps in front of Set, as if to protect him. “We have questions! That we need you guys to answer! Or… juu—just ONE! Just oooone question. Or maybe more.” He waved his arms up and down to emphasize. “Yeah, sooo… can you—can you help us with that?”

The two army-men behind Calhoun eyed each-other whilst snickering, while Calhoun raised her eyebrow suspiciously. “…Hhm. State your names. And your purpose.” She squints.

”Oh—uh—right, uhh—I’m Jet, this is Set—the naming might take a minute to get used to because we look the exact same—just use our, uhh… our—our behaviors to differ—differentiate, cool? Cool.” Jet started. “And, uhh… this is… where I pose the—right, right. We’re looking for Turbo. He’s like… he’s like us? Except shorter. Wears white and red. Yellow eyes. He’s kinda ugly.” He got nudged in the shoulder for that one. “Aye—”

Calhoun’s expression shifted. “Never heard of him.”

”Uhhhh…”

”Q—Q*bert said he came here. He had one of your suits on, but… he… manipulated its size, somehow.” Set interjected eventually once he got his footing.

Calhoun’s eyes suddenly widened. “Wait—wait, THAT was Turbo-?” She reeled back as if she finally had the ability to recognize who this Turbo guy was. “The pint-sized one with the red glitch?” She looks back at the two soldiers like they’d understand as quickly as she did.

Jet pauses. Glitches. He was GLITCHING too? Ohhh god. “…Yep—yep, that was him. He’s a virus.” He got nudged again. “AYE—I’m telling her the TRUTH.”

”A virus?” Calhoun repeatedly sharply. “He hijacked one of the rounds this morning like an idiot. Got the First Person Shooter killed!”

The Turbo Twins eye each other. Ohhhh boy. “…Do you… do you know where he is now…?” Set slowly asked.

As the question lingered, a faint bang was heard from a far, far distance. But it was loud enough for everyone to at least pick up decently. The squad turned about, trying to locate the noise. “What was that…?” Jet whispered, rather fearfully.

One of the soldiers glanced up and froze. Narrowing his eyes, he was quick to look back at the others. “It’s coming from the tower. Red spots.”

…Red spots.

Turbo hit the cold floor of the spire with a short grunt, taking a second to lay there while his body sputtered with glitches. He huffed, rubbing his helmet—subsequently, his head—pretty weakly. Having to zap every few seconds at a time while also spending most of your day hiding from giant metallic bugs was… was pretty tiring! Though he was out of that clunky suit, which tired him out moreover. He wouldn’t recommend it! Normally. But today was special. Everything about today was. Cobbling together the rest of his resolve, he pushed himself to his feet. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Okay… okay.” He shook out his hands, and looked ahead.

A little ways in front of him was a podium. Illuminated in proud, cyan light, protected by a spinning shield of durable metal. Though… surrounding the glorious sight were a bunch of those Cybug eggs. Turbo doesn’t really know how these things work, but he won’t risk touching them. He shrugs both shoulder individually, tiredly closing his eyes, and letting himself have another cheat shot.

That new zap caused him to double over a little. He never used his power this much in a single day. Exhaling, he looked over his shoulder at the untouched eggs. He then cracked a smile. Look at that! Nothing to worry about. He turned back, and walked himself up the steps he was presented with. He couldn’t help but let out a little victory hum for himself, as the pillars came to a halt, and dramatically shifted upward with a loud, almost screeching kshhhh accompanying it.

Now, in front of the racer, was a medal. One similar to those he got whenever he won matches in his own game. But even just the similar sight caused his eyes to glimmer. A hologram flickered on in front of him, depicting what seemed to be a commander. Or some kind of wary general type guy. Standing tall, he spoke: “Congratulations, soldier. It is my honor to bestow upon you: the Medal of Heroes.” As he spoke, the medal floated nicely down towards Turbo, like it truly was a gift. A gift of… honor.

Turbo WAS an honor, wasn’t he? That rush of adrenaline came back to him; the one he had whenever he won. The feeling was hard to describe other than adrenaline. It was euphoric, it was all encompassing. It was all he’d wish to know. Nothing beat that feeling. That rush, that SPARK. The one that told him that he was the greatest racer ever! That nothing could best him. And if anything could, it wouldn’t be for long. Since he’d always catch back up and reclaim his place. As the greatest racer ever. And now—now he can call himself a hero! The hero that saved humanity! Imagining the look on that bitbodied snobs face caused a wicked grin to flair upon Turbo’s face. He’s done it again. He’s done it again! He’s won.

The medal falls along his neck. “…” He looks down at it, watching the gold gleam in the light. He cups the chip in both hands, delicately. Like a piece of fine china. He breathed out, which evolved into him giggling—then chuckling—then laughing out loud as proudly as he could. “YES! HaHAA!” He pumped his fist. His pride grew stronger once the other holograms saluted him. “Yes, YES-! Oohoohoo—” He shook out his hands again, before throwing one hand into the air, forming it into a thumbs up. “Turbotastic!” 

“History will long revere your courage and sacrifice.” 

“Haha! Ha… thank you, thank you!” Turbo smiled, turning on his heel to walk away. It… took him a second to remind himself that none of these people were… real. But… ah, what the heck? Praise is praise! And he loves himself some praise.

”You have etched in the rock of virtue a legacy beyond repair.”

”You are the universe’s greatest hero.” The greatest racer, AND the greatest hero?! Wowie! Could today get any better?

…

And then he heard a crack. Turbo froze, body going entirely tense. The crack was squelchy, and fresh. Like… like breaking an—oh no. He stumbled back, spouting out a combination of startled words and reactionary sounds. The Cybug egg he was just so lucky to have stepped on began to glow that familiar shade of green. It soon dissipated, and once Turbo got a better look… it hatched a baby Cybug! He… he didn’t know what to expect. It was small. Barely any bigger than his foot. It was round, and green, and… if he didn’t know any better, it was… it was actually kind of adorable. Aww… look at its big eyes. Aww. He’d keep it.

Well. That was all before it pounced on his face.

Turbo’s screams and shouts of protest against this assault were all but muffled. He flailed around, his body beginning to violently glitch again in as a response to his panic. The holograms speech had continued as usual, but the racer wasn’t able to make out much of what he said, or remember what was said prior. He was too preoccupied, y’know, getting mauled. Something about… bravery, integrity, grace under pressure… dignity? His placement got shot around, activating more Cybug eggs in the process while he desperately clawed to get the one currently latched to his face… off of his face.

Turbo eventually ended up in—something. Something that shut its door behind him, and left him in a much more enclosed area. It certainly didn’t help his freak out. His glitch not only spread to the Cybug, which—at the very least, helped him get it off momentarily (y’know, before it went back in for round two)—it spread to the escape pods controls. His back was up against the wheel, and when his glitch spread to the steering wheel…

Well.

It deployed, shooting straight towards the ground before bugging out, and suddenly ending up somewhere to the right, completely midair, still moving straight ahead. Turbo spun around, gasping for air, using his leg to try and keep him and this PEST lodged against the space between the control panel and the floor, separating them while he tried to control this escape pod. “WH-WHAT THE—HUHAHA??” HOW DID HE EVEN GET HERE? HE DOESN’T REMEMBER GETTING HERE? Instantaneously, however, he grabbed the wheel, and jerkily tried to control the ship.

It hadn’t even registered that he was glitching. And the glitch was affecting the ships movement patterns against his intentions. At some point, he was sent barreling towards the ground again, hardly processing the distant “INCOMING!” and the blurs of multiple faces. Three of which he was familiar with. Jet, Set, and Calhoun. And theyyy… they all saw him. He could at least note that.

Next thing he knew, he was bouncing around Game Central Station. One moment he’s here, then he’s there—oh wait! Now he’s UPSIDE DOWN. Now he landed, NO WAIT! He’s in the air again! Spinning! Like what the hell. His body is entirely broken up and so is his mind, he can’t even tell if the Cybug is on him anymore, or if it’s escaped its ensnarement. It could be crawling on him right now, it could be trying to eat him alive, but he just couldn’t tell. Nothing was really processing anymore. All he COULD process, was that he was in a ship.

And now he’s flying into another game.

He didn’t process the title, he didn’t process the people he could’ve injured, he didn’t process how this must’ve looked, he didn’t process the Cybug basically gnawing at his arm, or that it got bigger, not that he could process the sudden weight, and the way everything just felt out of his control, his body was shattered, he was frenzied, where was he even going, WHAT IS HE EVEN DOING? HE’S NEVER STEERED A SHIP BEFORE!

…

Hey, yeah, where… where IS he going?

He never read the headline.

Chapter Text

Everything was still a massive conglomerated blur.

Turbo’s vision was an obscuring red, only being able to make out silhouettes long enough to get the gist of things. Seeing red is just about an understatement at this point—he might as well be permanently able to see solid blocks of red shades coupled with black, blotchy, blurry other things. That Cybug had gotten bigger (which would explain the shift in weight…) but the creature failed to make many moves on its victim once trapped in an episode the racer simply hadn’t had before. It wouldn’t take longer than seconds before the jet ship he was in to suddenly switch positions midair. It would’ve made him sick if he could feel it. Most sound around him was also dulled out. There was just this buzzing. This—this jumbled symphony of unadulterated noise.

His hands were clasp around the steering wheel, gripping both handles with a deathly vice hold. Could knock out anybody if it was tangled around their throats! He kept basically in standard position for a little while, given he had absolutely no way to drive this thing correctly without crashing it on purpose. Eventually, his arms involuntarily jerked forward. It was his minds final ditch attempt to snap sense into Turbo. Forced motion. He in took a heavy breath, nearly choking on the air around him. His vision was cleared, and the glitching seemed to have… stopped. Well, mostly. The ship and the Cybug were still recovering. Turbo violently shook, his body feeling alit in an invisible, fiery pain that only his insides knew. It. Sucked.

At the same time, gravity seemed to give beneath him and the Cybug. The ship was stopped up by… by…? He wasn’t sure—but something got into its… its engine? Whatever it was, it sent the ship finally, NORMALLY crashing down, though the impact was but pleasant.

Dragged through cotton candy, syrup and batter, smashing through trees like snapping twigs, the ship finally came to a sudden halt at a cliffside. Turbo kept himself still for seconds longer, just in case. His body just barely sparked. He collapsed into a sit, not letting go of the steering wheel just yet, and completely voiding the Cybug from his mind. He struggled to level his breathing before he heard some alert from the ship. It was this beeping. Very fast. “…wha—WOAAAAHHAHAA-!” Both he, and the Cybug were ejected from the ship, sending them flying off outside of the airborne vehicle.

Turbo found himself stuck in some sort of candy-themed tree—candycane tree—while he watched the Cybug hit another of the same trees—only to fall into a… thick… purple liquid. “…” The racer was silent. He wheezed. Before victoriously blurting out a “HA! TAKE THAT! YOU LITTLE—Uh—no—o-over-grown.. guuuhhuuhaa… ohh.. oh I’m gonna be sick.” He curled up atop one of the candycane tree’s branches, one hand curled into a fist and pressed against his mouth, while the other rested against the trunk to keep him steady. He swallowed, and stopped to reel himself him entirely before taking the moment to sightsee. One deep breath after another.

He, err… he wasn’t really sure what… that was. He’s had this… condition for plenty of years, and it never got… THAT bad. Or… maybe it had and he just couldn’t remember? If anything, he may have went out cold after something like that. It was… intense. It was always a little intense, sure, but—thaaaaat? …Had the Twins ever mentioned anything about it to him? They love complaining about him. Had anyone ever even SEEN that? …Maybe this has happened before. It was weirdly familiar, and yet…

Eh. He should stop thinking about it. (That might be the reason he can’t remember…) 

For now, he glances around. It’s very… pink. From where he’s sitting. Turbo’s soon to process the J-Pop-esque music coming from ways away, and it catches his attention. Actually, from here’s, it’s plentiful with color! He was just looking in the wrong areas. Floating just atop a body of melted chocolate, read a shimmery and sugary title. Coincided with the game! “…Sugar Rush?…” Turbo looks around a little more. He can see a castle… very far away, but he still can. And… geez, this place is hurting his eyes. He rubs his eyes. “Hhm. Never heard of this one.” He mumbled. Then again, he hasn’t paid attention to most updates. “…I should ge—… wait a second.” Absentmindedly, he reaches for his medal that’s SUPPOSED to be around his neck.

However.

Crazy thing?

It’s not.

The racer blinked. “..Wh—wha—hu—wh-wha-whaa—where did it—??” His head spun around, the arising confusion forcing him to an unsteady stand. He clung to the trunk with both hands while he continued searching for that medal he so rightfully earned. Once his gaze finally set on it, the relief turned out to be… dismay. It’s in an entirely differently tree. “…Oh—f**k.” He tensed his shoulders. Huffing, he… carefully… but not all that carefully it turns out, climbed out of the tree. Moreso, he fell. He fell out of the tree. The fall damage was nonexistent here, but it still hurt. “AGH—uuugh.” He groaned, sitting himself up, and quickly checking for injuries. If he was injured, and he just didn’t look hard enough, then his loss. He’s gotta get that medal back in his possession! Where it belongs!

Swiftly, Turbo jumped up, and ran to the other tree. He skid to a halt at the weird green sludge pooled around it, akin to what he saw that Cybug sink into earlier. He narrowed his eyes, looking up at the candycane tree to gage how high up the medal was.

It was very high up. Pretty much at the very, VERY top of it! Cool. If there’s one thing Turbo isn’t, it’s being a climber. He brought his gaze to the big gumdrops floating about in the fudge stuff, and realized what he could do to get across. It’d take some agility, but he’s sure he could manage. And if he falls in…? Uhh… let’s not worry about that. He took a breath in, stepped back a few times, and set his position.

All at once, he sprinted, propelling himself into the air with one foot, and landing on a gumdrop with the other. The landing wasn’t smooth, as the gumdrop bobbed down and up in the green pool of fudge. Turbo struggled to maintain his balance, his arms flailing all about beside him. He hopped to the next one, praying that he wouldn’t plunge into the pool below him. Jumping the last few all in a single sprint left him not much time to think of a game plan.

Frantically, Turbo latched on to the very end of a nearby candycane branch, and clung on solely to that. There wasn’t anything beneath his feet minus the thing he was trying to avoid. Uttering under his breath, his hands shifted, shimmying closer to the base of the branch for better stability. “…Okay-! There we go!” He nodded to himself, before moving to pull himself up. “Tur—Turbo—woah—ju—hmph—Turboooo… ttttastic.” Turbo puffed, settling on top of the branch for a second. “Okay. That’ssss…” He looked back up again.

He remembered the daunting challenge. “…Hhhmmm.” He glared. He spotted another branch above him, and sighed. How he was gonna do this, was… well, it was amateurish, but—stand on whatever branch he’s already on, reach over, grab on, and pull up. If he couldn’t reach it just standing still, he’d risk jumping to boost.

Was it working? Err, yeah. For the time being.

Was it a snails pace process? Yes. Yes, it was.

Was it tiring? Yeah. But it’s not Hero’s Duty level of tiring.

He was at least managing to climb a couple of feet up one branch at a time. He always looked down towards the ground every few branches to note his progress. The further from the ground he got, the closer he was getting to the top! And the closer he was getting to that medal. He’s still ticked off that he essentially lost it that easily, thanks to that stupid ship ejecting him, but it’s not like some TREE was gonna stop him. He was going to get that medal, and get back to Game Central Station, show it off, everyone’s gonna be shocked! And amazed! And… proud. No, maybe not proud. Umm… JEALOUS! Yeah. They’re gonna be jealous. Of him! And how hard he worked t—

“Hey, you!”

”—AH—” Turbo froze mid jump, causing him to nearly lose his balance. Steadying himself, he glanced around. At first he didn’t know what had spoken, until he looked to a nearby branch. There, he saw a child, no older than ten years old, just laying on her stomach atop the branch rather casually. She was dressed in greens and browns, and her hair was tied up into a ponytail by red licorice, candy littered the girl’s scalp. Her brown, outlined greenish eyes made contact with Turbo’s… primarily yellow eyes. “…” He blinked.

”Hello!” The girl continued.

“…” Turbo blinked again. “…Hello.” He squinted. “Where did—where did you come from?” His eyes darted about.

”Uhh—from the ground?” The child chided. “Hehe—you’re not from here, are you?” She asked with devious curiosity.

”…Who’s askin’?”

”Me? Yeesh, you’re bad at listening.”

”Well, sure, for your information, I’m not. Case closed!” Turbo did a semi awkward jazz hands whilst frowning. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He waved his hand to shoo the girl away, before focusing back on his arduous task. Climbing this tree. With nothing programmed in him to give him any ability akin to a platformers. Sure, if he wanted to, he could implant that into himself, but he needs a basis. Someone like… Mario, or something, but no one would ever let him get close enough to the big honcho himself to try anything like that. And besides, he’s not a platformer. He’s a racer. He’ll keep it that way.

He was relieved by the moments of silence for a period—but then the child’s voice rang back in, on his right rather than his left. “What’s your name?”

Turbo jolted, hanging sparsely from a branch. His shoulders dropped in frustration. Ooookay. This is happening now. “…Turbo.”

“Where’re you from?”

“That isn’t any of your concern, as that’s my tale to keep to myself, and not blabber about to random children.” He spoke with this feigning sense of dignity. “Not like you could—oof—you could find the place anyway.” He muttered, albeit with genuine sourness to his tone of voice.

The girl’s eyes widened. “Ohhh, you’re a wash up!” She chuckled. “Awh, man… that must suck.”

Turbo’s head spun instantly towards the girl. “What did you just call me—?” He paused to honestly think about who he’s talking to. This is a kid. They’re naturally all very… annoying. And insulting. And invasive. He clicked his tongue before trying to move on. “Look, I feel like I’m making it pretty clear—”

”-Making it pretty clear!”

”…Y—You’re mimicking me.”

”You’re mimicking me!” 

Turbo’s expression was anything other than silent seething. “…Okay, you know what? This conversation is over—buzz. off.” He hissed, resuming his ascent even while the child still proceeded to jab at him by repeating his own words, adding little “meh meh mehs” at the end at certain points.

The kid watched the other character slowly, awkwardly climb, and smiled to herself. “…Iiii wouldn’t grab that branch, if I were you.”

Such warning didn’t heed to the racer in question. It only made him roll his eyes. “Please, what is so special abou—” He stopped when the branch he was holding onto… flickered. He squinted. Just then, it disappeared completely, now nothing but empty air and sugar specks. Turbo plummeted briefly, latching onto the next branch he could get a grasp of for dear life—strung upside down, each limb curled around the branch’s surfacing. He kinda looked like a startled cat.

The kid snickered, rolling her eyes at his ignorance. “That was a Double-Stripe. Double-Stripes break! Hope this helps…” She swings her legs back and forth while pointing at Turbo, specifically his face. “Hey, why’re your eyes so freakishly bright?”

”Uh—pff—I don’t know! Why are YOU so freakishly ANNOYING?”

”Well, why’re YOU so freakishly…” She trailed off with a gasp. “Sweet Mother of Monkey Milk, a gold coin!”

Turbo froze. Ohhh no. “Wha—no, nonono, that’s not a coin!” He scrambled to bring himself upright atop the branch.

”Race you for it!” The kid blurted, before darting off faster than Turbo could blink. Effortlessly, she hopped from one branch to the next, approaching the top of the tree faster than the other character imagined he could on his lonesome.

Such a sight caused his mouth to drop agape. Moments after, he clenched his teeth together in anger. “You’ve gotta be—that’s MINE!” He glitched. It didn’t take him long to figure out his own advantage afterward. Focusing, he blipped up a single branch, testing the waters of his grasp after allowing himself some breathing room. Then he blipped up another few. And then another, and another, until he was practically on the same level as the child was. The kid was unaware he was on an opposite side of the tree as she was, as she scooped up the medal by the ribbon and exclaimed herself to be “the winner!” Turbo narrowed his eyes. Yeah, right! Another blip landed him right in front of the girl.

“—Woah!” She seemed rather surprised, considering the last time she saw this weirdo was pretty much still near the bottom.

”AHA!” Turbo snatched the medal right from her hand. “Eat that, you—…” He stopped, glancing down. Oh. He wasn’t standing on anything. “…Ah.” …He then proceeded to succumb to gravity.

The kid was quick to follow his descent, watching where he landed. Once the racer had landed on something, and noted that he still had the medal in his grasp, he laughed in victory. But the kid was well and ready to wipe that attitude away with a simple warning as the branch he landed on flickered. “Double stripe!” He fell again, and this time, his sorry self had let the medal out of his hand again. At the very base, he landed on another branch, which bent, and ricocheted the strung-up-on-the-edge medal all the way back up to her, which she caught with ease. “Thank you!” She lilted, hopping all the way back down to ground level with a happy little smile on her face.

Turbo’s arms flailed. He was caught on the damn thing by the foot, which he found to be a little embarrassing. Especially since—he ALMOST had the medal. ALMOST! But noooo, he just HAD to screw it up apparently! “Hey—HEY—don’t you DARE walk from me before giving that back!” He pointed at the stealing child with anger. 

“Pff—no way! You lost, Turbo. Don’t be a sore loser, man!” She gazed at the gold gleam of the medal, while also sparing looks of pride over at the strung-up-by-the-foot Turbo.

”I did not LOSE, I—” He technically did now that he thought about it. But that’s not the point! “Listen, I NEED that—much more than you do! I got that thing fair and square, it—it’s MINE. It’s my only ticket now to glory, you can’t just—” He shuddered at his own groveling.

”Yeah, well now it’s my ticket!” The girl spoke. Though, weirdly, she—spluttered. Not on purpose. Her body broke up into blue chunks and pixels, kind of like she was…

”…What the…”

”See ya, chump!” She innocently skipped off before Turbo had enough time to ponder that display.

”Wh—AYE, NO—! You—whe—haha—when I find you, I SWEAR t—”

”Double Stripe!”

Turbo comically plummeted into the thick, sweet, green substance below him. With a plop, he sank. He dragged himself back up for about half a second, waving his arm around frantically, before sinking again. But it’s not like the prospect of drowning erased the thoughts whirling through his mind that the second he got out of this cesspool—

someone. was going. to pay.

The collective cheering and whoo-ing from the spectating stands brought a greatly positive energy to the starting line. Crowds of multiple types of sweets bounced up and down, joyous at the sight of their favorite racers. The colorful karts were stationed and lined up neatly, as the racers themselves got out to form into a bundle off to the side of the track. Big smiles alined their features, as they stood somewhere in front of the massive stand that loomed over everything else. It was a watch-tower; a tower for only the noble, and those under him.

Vanellope peeked around a stand, her hood over her head. She stared at the other racers. Kids around her same age, living out her biggest dream while she watched from the sides. But, well… that was all about to change! She could see it now. She’d be out there, driving alongside the others, ecstatic just to be included. It made her heart beat faster in excitement thinking about it. For now, she waited. She waited until she heard that monotone, dry voice of the… little gumball guy from atop the tower.

”Citizens of Sugar Rush…” 

“…Just in time…!” Vanellope grinned. She slipped on her goggles, and rushed off as the announcement continued.

”All hail, our rightful ruler…” Sour Bill shuffled to the side a bit, his tiny floating hands moving outward in a presenting manner. “Emperor Cocoa.” 

Just then, the bright red curtains swooped open, and out-stood “Emperor Cocoa.” He was adorned in crispy armory and his cape was all sorts of shades of chocolates, from dark, all the way to white. Atop his neatened hair was a tall, shiny, and deliciously looking crown. He stepped out with his arms outstretched, and a proud smile on his face. “Greetings! My loyal subjects.” He embraced the thunderous reaction from his subjects, before taking the microphone away from his assistant. “Thank you for the introduction, Sour Bill.”

The candy ball simply hummed, and stood to the side as his emperor continued. “I must say, Racers! Today was a great day of racing, thank you all for your performance. But now, since the arcade is closed down, let’s wipe the slate clean and race to decide our new roster! Whoever the first nine of you cross the finish line, you will then be considered: Tomorrow’s Avatars!” That sent the spectators into another frenzy of cheers, which Cocoa had to settle down shortly after so he could continue. “As you all know, the event is Pay to Play. The cost? It’s a single gold coin from any previous winnings that you’ve won—IF you’ve won. I know I have.” He chuckled. “Here. Why don’t I start us off?” Reaching behind him, he presented: a gold coin.

Giving it a good underhand toss, the coin landed on the throwing target. Once activated, the coin was sent bouncing up and up, into the huge trophy at the rim of the starting line. Into the bowl it went, and onto the Jumbotron Board Cocoa was added, with the announcing voice saying, simply quote, “Emperor Cocoa!”

That’s how it went for all of them. Every time a racer handed off a coin, it’d be sent into the cup, and their name and profile would be added to the board. The voice read off their names, such as “Taffyta Muttonfudge!” “Snowanna Rainbeau!” “Citrusella Flugpucker!” “Candlehead!” (Not exactly in that order, but you get the picture.) Vanellope discreetly pushed her kart up to a free spot on the track, before quickly heading over to place herself in line with the others. Thankfully, the others didn’t recognize her—nobody did.

So, it built up her confidence even further. As she approached the mechanism, she held up the medal-slash-coin up to her face. Giving it a hopeful glance, she gave it a kiss, before tossing it onto the target. It flung up, and up, and sort of spun on the edge for a few seconds. Nervously, she watched. She hoped, and hoped this wouldn’t fail on her. She had to. This had to work!

”…” Emperor Cocoa looked down. “Sour Bill. Who’s the last one?”

The medal…

fell in.

”Vanellope Von Schweetz!” 

Everyone gasped, but Vanellope slowly turned whilst lifting up her goggles with the most grateful, and excited look on her face. She jumped into the air, celebrating her entry into the Roster Race. “Yippee—!! I’m in the race!” She shouted, which got eyes on her.

Not the good kind. “—Vanellope…?!” Emperor Cocoa seemed taken aback.

One of the racers spotted the draped over kart, and marched her way over to pull it off. There, she found a rickity dinkity little kart, and gasped to herself. “The Glitch!”

Sounds of terror filled the air, which pulled Vanellope out of her happiness, and back down to reality. Right. Everybody in this game hated her. “Calm down, calm down! Don’t panic. I’ve got this under control.” Cocoa said to the citizens, before driving a stone cold glare into Vanellope’s skull. “SECURITY!” He snapped, and pointed in the direction of the Glitch. It wasn’t long until two policemen stepped forward, away from the emperor’s stand and towards Vanellope. They both wielded a baton directly in their hand, with one of them beating it against his palm.

”C’mere, kid!”

”We’re not gonna hurt you, ya little FREAK.” 

Uhh-oh. Vanellope took a step back, fear finally creeping back into her. She glitched. Spinning on her heel with a scream, she ran away, much faster than the cops were willing to keep up with. But despite their beckons for her to slow down, she wouldn’t. She would NOT go to jail today! Not after she JUST got herself registered into the race! She just had to get away! These dumbsacks would lose her eventually. She had to—

She, and the cops froze at a strange, strange sight. Amidst a field of lollipops stood a figure covered in taffy. While the shape of the character alone wasn’t all that intimidating, it was… something about the STARE. It was haunting, those yellow eyes seemingly illuminating against the substance it was drenched in. Its chest noticeably rose and fell, its hands clenched into fists. Vanellope glitched again. Heeeey, she recognized those eyes… she recognized them a little too well actually. That little weirdo…! Ohh… wait a minute.

If he was here…

Ahh, right. She took his coin! …Ahh, she took his coin. He must be mad. REALLY mad.

One of his hands shot up, and his finger stretched out. It then snapped back, in a sharp, motioned way of saying “come here.” Only with a weirdly threatening edge to it. Vanellope awkwardly looked around. “Ohh, maaan… hey, uhh, listen—I—I gotta go-!” She then fled, doing the exact OPPOSITE of what that guy wanted her to do. 

His arm fell, and his eyes slightly narrowed. His body dispersed into red pixels, which sent him forward and out of the field he was standing in. They remained even as he stood upon the track, crackling and creeping their way into the area around him. Against the environment itself, it didn’t last long. But the second it got close to things like the racer’s karts, it sent them into brief breakages, which stirred further confusion and fear into those around him. He didn’t move too quickly beyond a power walk, but he was always forced up a few steps due to his glitch. It gave him the illusion of moving faster. He at least had his eyes set on the thief.

”What—IS that?” Emperor Cocoa watched, incredulously.

Vanellope crawled underneath one of the stands. Okay, so, this just got a little worse! She shimmied across the floor, focusing on just getting away as fast as possible. Whatever, she had the cops off her tail, and that guy could probably lose her by now given she was out of sight. She was gonna make a break for it, if she could round back to her kart, and—

The stand around her sparked up, and blinked that vicious color—red. All at once, it split apart, set itself back together, then flung itself off to the side. Out in the open, she turned her head—and then she saw Turbo. His arm was out to the side, like he used MAGIC to tear the stand away from over her. That was impossible, but his positioning screamed impossible anyway. “—WOAAH!” She scurried away even faster, continuing to hide under the stands. And Turbo kept the pace, continuing to send anything, and EVERYTHING in his way flying off.

Emperor Cocoa attempted to make his authority known by getting the attention of the character destroying the property around them, but nothing he said seemed to come through. “What are you doing—stop, STOP IT! Stop that—w-whatever that is!” He looked to his cops, who seemed a little stunned. “You two—STOP THEM.”

No stand Vanellope had fled under remained standing. She panted, glancing back at Turbo to realize that he was DIRECTLY behind her now. Grabbed up by her hood, she was pulled right up to his face, looking into his heated, burning yellow eyes. “HeyheyHEY—calm down, it was just a COIN!”

Turbo seemed to growl beneath the taffy, sharply motioning his arm out—which bumped up against a tall stand that held a large cupcake on top of it. It caught his sporadically glitching hand, and acted just as irrationally against the physics of this world just as everything else ever had. Only for seconds. The stand tilted, and the cupcake slowly came to a descent. Turbo froze, releasing his hold of Vanellope, giving her time to get away from the oncoming accident.

The cupcake fell atop the racer, trapping him within its center. Vanellope stared for a second… before letting out a laugh, and running off. She was glad all of that nonsense took the attention off of her, because by now, the cops ran up to the cupcake to inspect it. Turbo managed to teleport himself out of it… ooonly to be apprehended by the authorities. Greaaaat.

”Everyone, everyone! Calm down. It’s—it’s alright. The scoundrel’s been caught. We’ll get the damage repaired, we will be fine, we’re going to have our race before the arcade opens.” Cocoa’s voice echoed across the surrounding area.

Vanellope made her way to duck behind the Jumbotron, and inched away from it when she was fairly certain nobody was paying attention. She looked up at the board, saw her name, and that same fulfillment wormed her way into her heart again. “…And I’m in it.” She bounced in accomplishment, before running to her kart and, rather unconventionally compared to everyone else, pedaled away from the track.

”…” Taffyta squinted. She held her small lollipop between two fingers. “There is no way that I am racing with a Glitch. Francis, Candlehead, come on.”

”…” Emperor Cocoa’s rigid pose eased as he let out a heavy sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “…Sour Bill. You know the rules. We’re keeping that—Glitch—OUT of the race. Do you understand?” He spoke with a harsh tone. His assistant nodded accordingly. “…And Wenchell, Duncan, bring THAT one to my castle.”

Cocoa retains his promise to the Roster Race. But for now, it looks like he’s going to have a bit of conversation with this… Virus. 

Chapter Text

The Emperor’s Castle. Such a clean, pristine outside. The color of granulated sugar. It has this high and mighty presence to it. A glowing sense of importance that none else can compare to, much akin to the one who owns it.

Too bad Turbo’s here for no well justified reason. Glowering at the ground, he’s led along by the two cops sic’d onto him earlier today all the way to, and through, the emperor’s castle. Passing the Oreo soldiers, trudging through the long corridor of the place to eventually stop right at the emperor’s throne. Turbo at least gets a decent look of the place at first eyes glance, eyeing its faint coating of sugar, and its… interesting coloration. Pink. Such a big guy like Emperor Cocoa decorating his castles interior in… PINK? Ooh, he’d start cackling if he could hear himself. At least it still had a royal tinge to it, with its large pillars through the hall, and fancy indentation of curved lines into the edges of the walls to signify the dignity. The throne itself wasn’t anything to scoff at, elegant curtains pulled back and twined together, the throne wide and tough as an external sight. Though, there was no legitimate cushion beneath it. There was empty space where that would’ve been. He’s not even gonna QUESTION why there’s a TIARA overhead. 

The three stopped at the unoccupied throne of the emperor. Only two stood beside it, neither in it—Sour Bill, and… some other fellow. The sour ball stared at them with a dry stare, which prompted Turbo to shoot a short glare. The candy only really seemed to squint a little as a reaction.

It wasn’t long until the other character stopped spacing out, and spotted the captured. “Oh—! Oh my… ah…” He glances around. “…Should we, erm, uh… de-taffify him-? So he can talk at the very least.” He asked his partnered assistant.

”…” Sour Bill thought. “Sure.”

”Oh, we got it.” Duncan waved his hand, before reaching out towards Turbo’s face. Latching onto the dried taffy, he gave it a good rip, and Turbo’s head from taffy-free!

Despite this, he did not seem happy. “OW—auugh, you LITTLE—“ He hissed, beginning to forcibly sway and wriggle under the rest of this horrid, green s**t. The opening left cracks to be further deepened, and while the cops tried to keep him apprehended, all Turbo did was make it harder for them. He ended up throwing himself to the ground, the impact loosening the encasement enough to free up his arms. He tore up the rest of it, which left everyone in awe of his total lack of awareness to his own behavior. “I’m gonna—cruddy—you’re ALL gonna be just SOOO sorry-ha!-that you ever MET ME.”

…The anxious assistant inched closer as the racer fully freed himself from this taffy shell. “Um… hello…!” He tried to wave, which caused Turbo’s head to snap towards him. He flinched, but continued. “…I’m—Cherrywood. And… um… under the emperor’s goodwill, it—would be right of you to not act so… aggressive?”

Turbo was about to shoot something snarky at this so called “Cherrywood,” but… he stopped. He stopped when he got a clear look at his features. He was pretty young looking, all things considered, and yet he looked exhausted beyond belief. His brown hair was streaked with soft reds and whites. The state of it was all frizzy but somehow well kept at the same exact time. His attire was an array of dark reds and magentas, a little cherry symbol at the center of his collar. It was wavy, loose—it resembled peasant attire, but was given just enough galore to pass off as royalty. 

He focused back in on how Cherrywood’s face looked for a second. Something, something about it. The shape—the roundness, that rosiness to his cheeks—the shape of his eyes…? The color of his eyes…? It clashes a little… more like a lot, but—… it’s… Turbo’s face softens. He’s seeing things, right? He’s definitely just seeing things. It’s a coincidence. Characters look similar to one another all the time, it’s nothing.

”…Turbo?” Cherrywood’s voice pierces Turbo’s thoughts, causing him to blink. “Is everything alright?”

”Ah-wha—yeah! Yep, just fine, I was just—” He noticed Cherrywood’s hand held out to him. Hesitantly, Turbo grabbed it, and let the assistant help pull him to a stand. He retracted his hand to dust himself off a little, before stopping again. “Wait. You—know my name?” He blinked again. “We just met.”

Cherrywood seemed taken aback. As if he remembered a little something that hadn’t occurred to him until just now. “Ahh, well—you know, I’ve—been out n’ about in Game Central before, haha..!” He rubs the back of his neck, seeming to pull together a smile against his own will. “I just happened to hear about you is all!” That was the excuse he was meant to make up, right?

The racer stared, a little thoughtfully. “…Rrrright! That makes sense. At least my popularity continues to shines somewhere, right?” He looked from side to side before deciding to just go along with it, nudging Cherrywood by the shoulder with his elbow. “So, uhhh… where’s the emperor?”

”Overseeing the repairs back at the starting line.” Cherrywood said, averting his gaze from Turbo. “Heard you… caused a real mess over there.”

Turbo rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, I wouldn’t’ve had to if that kid didn’t steal from me! Like what the heck—I should’a done worse!” He threw his hands into the air. He settled his gaze back on Cherrywood who seemed a bit… disturbed by the sentiment? “…” He slowly, and awkwardly lowered his hands. “Or—I guess not.” But he meant that. Why was he doubling back on something he meant? “When’s he gonna get here?”

”Ahhhhumm…—” Cherrywood begun to estimate, before jumping at the sudden entrance of a loud, honking vehicle cruising its way around the group, rounding around only once before backing up into the throne. “—…Right now…! Heheh…” He chuckled, anxiously, shuffling back towards the throne rather uncomfortably. Turbo watched, and once he settled his eyes on the big man himself, his sourness returned. He scoffed, crossing his arms, and stared directly at the arriving ruler.

Kart fully parked, Emperor Cocoa stepped out, and… froze. He blinked, needing a moment to comprehend who he was looking at. The white jumpsuit with red striping, the ambitiously large T on the character’s helmet, the bright eyes. “…Turbo? From… from TurboTime…?” Cocoa walked forward, quickly clearing his throat. “Well. Isn’t this a surprise?”

Turbo nearly paused a second. Okay, does EVERYBODY in his damn game somehow know his name? “Yeah, yeah, charmed to be here. Who’s you meant to be?”

”…Cocoa. Emperor Cocoa.” The ruler narrowed his eyes.

”Right. Emperor Cocoa.” Turbo slowly looked around. “…Man, you sure do love yourself some pink coloring.” He sarcastically commented. 

“It’s not pink, it’s salmon.” Cocoa looked to his two assistants, and they both rather silently agreed in his argument.

”…Come on. Salmon? It’s not salmon, it’s PINK. Not that there’s anything wrong with it being pink,” other than it being a little bit—okay, REALLY funny, “but come on, you can’t just—”

”That’s not the point!” Cocoa interrupted, and pointed right at the much smaller character. “What are you doing here?”

Turbo averted his gaze a little bit. “That ain’t really none of your business, butttt…”

”When it comes to endangering MY subjects, it is! What’s your business, Turbo?”

”Look, all I came here for was a medal. I got it over at that one, uhhh… what’s it, the—the Hero’s Duty game? That’s all I’m—”

Cocoa was taken aback, interrupting the racer again. “You game-jumped? Well, well… somebody’s gotten too bored of the rules.” He brought one hand up to his face, and curled it into a fist for dramatic effect, side-eyeing the racer as he did so.

Turbo blinked, then bristled. “Ey, I had a perfectly good reason! You try livin’ for just about 30 years of your life with no game to call your own, I’d say that’d be a pretty big bust!” He jabbed his thumb at his own chest. “I’m doing what I can to make a namesake out of myself again. I used to be a hit, you know. The Grea—”

”The Greatest Racer Ever, yeah, yeah, I know.” Cocoa continued his streak of interrupting Turbo. “Even if you wanted your medal back, it’s not as if I know where it went.”

”Funny! Because one of your little munchkins was the one who took it from me.”

”…Munchkins…?” Cocoa stopped to give himself a moment to think. Most of the Sugar Rush racers had normal coins. He supposes the only one he can’t really account for is—… ohhh. His eyes widened in realization. “…Ohhh, the Glitch stole your medal?” He slowly turned his head back towards Turbo. Before he could respond, he barked out a laugh that caused everybody to jump. “HahaHA! Wow—wow, you’re VERY unlucky—she used that to get into the Roster Race!”

”…And?” Turbo raised a brow.

”There’s no chance of getting it back, that’s what!” Cocoa shrugged, stepping closer. “It’s nothing but code now. And it’ll stay that way unless somebody wins the cup at the end of the race.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

Turbo’s fingers twitched at code. Part of him itched to storm past this jerk, get into the coding room, and get that medal back. He knew how! He knew exactly how. But he also knew that if it was anything like the one he used to have total access to, it’d need a passcode. And it’s one he doesn’t know. His hands tightened into fists. “Well. I’ll just… chat with the winner, if that’s the case.”

Cocoa stepped closer again. “Is that a threat? You wash-up?”

”Yeah, maybe it is!” Turbo cracked an angered smile. “Cuz—heh—mark my words, I am not LEAVING without that medal.”

The emperor gave him an unamused look. He reached down, and patted the racer’s head. “You say that like you have a choice to stay.” He then retracted his hand, then turned back around. “Wenchell. Duncan. Make sure this little Virus gets on the next train back to Game Central Station. If I see you around these parts again, Turbo, why—I’ll throw you in the Fudgeon.”

…

Turbo blinked, his face going blank. “…Fu—Fudg—Fudgeon?”

”Yeah. The Fudgeon.” Cocoa partly turned back around to try and explain. “You know… a dungeon, and… and fudge? It’s a play on words. Kinda like a pun, like…” The moment he saw Turbo’s own less than amused expression, he shook his head, and marched back towards his kart. “NEVERMIND. Now, I have to go take care of that GLITCH.” He got into his kart, and locked eyes with Turbo one last time. “Goodbye, Turbo. It hasn’t been a pleasure.” And with that, he drove off.

The room was a little quiet. Turbo was nearly, completely deterred by Emperor Cocoa’s stupid nickname for his dungeon—but he called him a Virus again. Remembering made him bubble in anger. He isn’t a Virus. He isn’t one. He’s just… he’s a little messy. That’s all. 

One of the policemen stumbled up near the ticked off racer. “Alright, bub—c’mon, we’re going.”

The hand planted against Turbo’s arm was like being jabbed with about a thousand needles. He immediately jerked his arm away, stepping back from both cops. “Don’t you f**kin’ touch me.” He hissed, rather darkly.

”Ahh—you know what?” Cherrywood spoke up, quickly moving to come between the three of them. “I’ll take him. You can, uh… you know—take a little bit of today off.” He shuffled behind Turbo, and without touching, motioned for him to move along. Thankfully, Turbo was easily obliging. “Good job, you two! We appreciate all that you do for this kingdom!” He called back as the pair walked away. 

…

…

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step—

“What was that about?”

”—Huh?” Cherrywood blinked, looking over at Turbo. “What, umm… whatever do you mean?”

”You… taking me to the train.” Turbo fidgeted with his hands as he continued. His demeanor shifted a little bit, he hoped Cherrywood hadn’t taken too much notice. “You, uhh… you sure you shouldn’t just… stay here, n’… I dunno, do whatever the emperor expects you to do everyday?”

”Haha…! Uhhmmm…” Cherrywood nervously glanced behind him. No one was paying attention. He leaned closer to Turbo and whispered, just in case: “Run me ragged like a slave…? Do all the cleaning even if nothing needs to be cleaned, getting him whatever just for him to deny it immediately after, stuff like that…? I’d rather take this opportunity while I have it.”

Turbo stared, processing eyes looking the… slave…? up and down. “…Oookay. Point taken.”

The two eventually reach the entrance doors of the Emperor’s Castle. Pulling it open, Cherrywood let Turbo out first, with a little polite bow and an “after you.” Turbo awkwardly stood there for a second, before exiting out. Normally, he wouldn’t honestly care. But… mixed with his weird, deja-vu feelings already… and what he just heard… it’s getting him in this weird twist. He doesn’t really like it. He doesn’t like it at all. He turned back around to see Cherrywood now walking out himself. “…So, uhh… hey, about… what the emperor said about the medal, is… is there a—”

”A way you could get in and get it back?” Cherrywood finished before Turbo could.

”…Well. I. Well, uh, I. I. Mmm. Mmhaha—I—well, that’s, uhh—”

”Yes, and no.” Cherrywood answered. “He has a passcode, but… I can’t exactly give it to you. I’m sure you mean well,” he said, with a stark playfulness that Turbo’s SWORN he’s heard before, “but I don’t really want you to break anything.” He warmly smiled.

”…” Turbo blushed. “…Uhh—right! Right. Yeah. Yeah.” He fanned his face with one hand after a moment, taking his eyes off of the servant for a minute. He should still anticipate figuring it out if he’s really got to…

Cherrywood chuckled—before stopping. “Oh my. Oh—wait, GUHH—I’m sorry—I gotta handle something!” He raced right back to the doors.

”But—you said—”

”I know what I said! But this is seriously urgent, I’m really sorry—look, the train’s not far—follow any signs you might see, you’ll spot it eventually!”

”O—Okay, I—… I’ll—be on my w—”

”AH—WAITONESECOND!”

”—…….y—yeah……???” Turbo froze mid step, awkwardly looking back towards Cherrywood.

”…” Cherrywood sighed. “Promise me you’ll head to the train?”

Turbo softened. With his most convincing expression, he nodded. “Yeah. I promise.”

That’s a promise he was already about to break the moment Cherrywood shut the door. He’s getting back his medal. Though, he can’t help but feel a little sorry.

The racer was still on his mission: Get A Medal! Only this time, he had to go through a more-or-less complicated process of getting it. Turbo walked along the side of a candy crusted road, hands up to his face, folded together in thought. He’s been muttering to himself practically the entire walk. It helps him think. What was he gonna do? Who was he gonna ask? He knew it’d be one of the racers, but admittedly… after his little outburst, he doubts they’d even get near him. Cocoa certainly isn’t an option. He COULD just… race himself, but he doesn’t have a kart. And if he wins… if this is a ROSTER race… he can’t blow his cover… UGH. Why’d it have to get up and stolen by some damn BRAT?

He jumped at the sound of roaring engines, and ducked as if that were to protect him. Zooming past him, out of the corner of his eye, were karts. A couple dozen of them, actually. They were all of wide range and variety. It was kind of impressive! Turbo waited for them all to pass, before thinking. The cup goes to the winning racer. The cup goes to the winning racer. There’s no way of telling who of those kids would win for sure.

But—if he wants to get anywhere, he’s gonna need to make an effort. Turbo huffed, and followed the path in which the racers drove off in. At a moderate, albeit stalking pace, he dashed behind a bit of a hiding when they saw them all crowding around a specific character. Who, he wasn’t sure at first. He was more focused on the whirs of color that flew through the air when the karts all drifted to stops.

The voice is what got him. “Hello, fellow racers!”

He stopped. Her. From where he hid, he glitched as his eyes narrowed. 

“Candlehead, Taffyta, Francis, you’re looking well. Came by to check out the competition, huh? Well, here it is: the Lickity Split!” Vanellope bounced backwards, and outstretched her arms to display her… very DIY kart.

Turbo gave it a rather judgmental look himself. “…Hm. Must’ve built it herself.” He muttered.

”Built it myself…!” Called it. “Fastest pedal power west of the Whack-a-Mole! Check ‘er out.” She hopped in, and gave a short demonstration of its functions. It did, really, run off of pedals. 

Honestly, nobody took this seriously. “…Ohh, Vanellope. It’s so… you.” She drawled. “But, you—have to back out of the race. Yeah.” She said, eyeing her little lollipop as the other racers silently agreed.

”Oh, no, I don’t. See, cuz—I paid my fee. And I’m on the board, so… yeaah, I’m definitely racing.”

”Yeah? Well, Emperor Cocoa says Glitches can’t race.”

”I’m—not a Glitch, Taffyta. I’ve… just got Pixlexia, okay?” At the exact moment, Vanellope glitched a couple of times.

Taffyta walked past her, approaching the Lickity Split. “The rules are there for a reason, Vanellope. To protect us! Say, I’m you. And I’m in my weird little car, and… I’m driving, and I actually feel… kinda cool for once. And then, all of the sudden? Oh, no… I’m G—G-G-G-Gl-G-GL-GLITCHING!” Taffyta, while sitting in said kart, jerked the steering wheel far too hard, causing it to snap right off.

”—Hey!” Vanellope exclaimed. Why would she—

“See? You’re an accident, just waiting to happen.” Taffyta hopped out, and chucked the detached steering wheel at the Glitch, hitting her right in the stomach. 

“Oh, no! I g-gl-gli-glitch, TOO!” Another racer stumbled up, and smacked one of the pieces ‘on accident.’ From there, the entire team, minus Vanellope, saw it fit to tear the little thing to shreds. Turbo watched from afar, unable to say some of the comments equally seemed to get to him in a personal way. He winced. Wow. That’s… that’s rather unnecessary. Sure, he thought it was dumb, but… that’s… like… property damage. She could sue them for that. Not that anyone would care, actually, now that he thinks about it.

For the time being, he only watched. Vanellope tried, desperately, to tear them away from the kart she genuinely worked hard on. But it was no use. “Stop-! You’re breaking it-!” She’d cry to no avail. At last, she pulled Taffyta away at the very least, though she glitched in the process, temporarily spreading it to Taffyta. “Please, I just wanna race like you guys!”

”…You will NEVER be a racer.” Taffyta turned, glaring, marching at Vanellope, forcing her to stumble back. “Because you’re a GLITCH. And that’s all you’ll ever BE!”

Shoving the kid into the mud seemed to be where Turbo’s Spectating Bullying tolerance drew the line. He found that to be… untrue. If she was in this game, she was meant to be a racer. Yet somehow, all they could focus on was her little—glitch thing? It got on his nerves. Huffing, he eyed one of the chocolate balls lining the hill, and tore one up from the ground.

Standing up, in a burst of pixels, he was soon behind Taffyta. “That’s rude.” 

The girl shrieked, spinning around to face the older racer. It caught everyone else’s attention, including Vanellope’s. She didn’t get much of a word in before Turbo continued. “Surely, you’d HATE to be part of the problem. If it’s sooo bad. Not that you even know wha—oooh, that just gave me an idea…!” He held the ball between both hands, and caused his own glitch to spread to it. “See this? Catch.” He tossed it at the girl without so much as an ounce of hesitation.

Taffyta… caught it. But immediately began to break out into glitches, that violent red color Turbo’s usually had. “Oh… would you look at that…!” He pretended to act surprised, slowly gasping. “You’re glitching…! Man, that… oof… that must suck for you.”

She dropped the chocolate ball, and in turn, she stopped glitching. And so did the ball. “…Not so fun, huh.” Turbo dryly commented, scooping it up again, and turning towards the others. “So! Who else wants a try?”

…And then everyone screamed, ran off into their little karts, and drove away. Just as Turbo suspected they would. He stepped forward, off to where the others had fled, and scoffed. “…Your loss.” He mumbled, dropping the chocolate ball unceremoniously. He then, finally, brought his attention to Vanellope. The only one who stayed.

She found the strength to stand, but barely showed much gratitude to Turbo’s actions. “…What’re YOU lookin’ at…?” She grumbled, brushing herself off as she went to the broken remains of her kart.

Turbo twitched. “…You’re welcome. You stinkin’ thief.”

”I’m NOT a thief! Just borrowed your stupid coin, I was gonna give it back as soon as I won the race…!”

”What, with THAT dinky thing? Please.” Turbo walked up, no longer holding back his own insults regarding the useless creation. “Alsooo, not to overcorrect—but that was a medal.”

”Coin, medal… whatever, just go back to your own dumb game and win another one.”

”See—thing about THAT… I can’t. Had to visit a different game for that. Called Hero’s Duty.”

Vanellope paused. She looked up at him with a very, very confusedly amused expression. “…Hero’s Duty? Pffffff—“ She broke off into increasing laughter.

Turbo… Turbo didn’t really get it. “…What? What did I—what did I say?”

“I bet you gotta watch where you step in a game called Hero’s Duty! Pff—what’dyou win the medal for? Wiping?” That was about when Turbo understood the joke. “I hope you washed your HANDS after handling that medal!”

”Wh—no, it—“

”One more, one more: why did the Hero flush the toilet?” …Silence. “…Say why.”

”…w—why…??”

”Because it was his DUTY!”

”Oh, yeah, REAL mature—look—I EARNED that medal! And YOU better get it back for me, PRONTO, buster!”

”Unless you have a kart underneath that massive helmet of yours, I can’t help you!”

Turbo lurched towards her in frustration, grumbling something… vaguely threatening? But seeing she didn’t really seem to budge, he opted to storm off, and take whatever anger was inside of him out on some of his surroundings. Kicked at a candyringstalk, kicked at a jawbreaker. …And kicked it again. And again. And again, and again, and again again again—then he started punching it. 

Vanellope rolled her eyes. “What a moron…” She called over, watching the raging character hardly dent the darn thing. “Hey, genius! It’s a JAWBREAKER, you’re never gonna—“ One lash at the thing with Turbo’s little quirk, and the whole jawbreaker ended up snapped in half! She paused, looking on… with a new idea in mind. “…Huh.”

She watched Turbo huff, and puff—and end up falling onto his back, glowering at the sky. She climbed up on one of the other jawbreakers, gazing down at the racer. “…Enjoy your little tantrum, diaper baby…?”

”…shut up.”

”Look—buddy. You want that medal, right? And I wanna race!” Vanellope began, making sure she noticed any changes in Turbo’s deflated expression. “So, here’s what I’m thinking. You help me build a kart, a REAL kart! And I’ll win the race, and get you back your medal!”

”—You want me? To help you?” Turbo looked over incredulously. “HahA—nice try. Pass.”

”All you gotta do is… work a bit of your magic for me! C’mooon, what do you say, friend…?” She held her hand out, awaiting a handshake.

”We weren’t ever friends, kid.”

”Aww, c’mon, pal…! You son of a gun. C’mon buddy, let’s shake on it! Ahh, c’mon Turbo. Bo, bo-bo. My man, Turbo, c’mooon…!”

Nothing. Turbo was more-so just getting annoyed by the insistence, moreover by those stupid nicknames! Bo? Bo-Bo? How innovative! There was no way he was gonna— “Hey. My arm’s getting tired, we got a deal or not?” Vanellope insisted one last time, holding up her arm with her opposite hand to emphasize.

…

The cup goes to the winning racer.

Vanellope wouldn’t be in this game if she wasn’t a racer. 

“…Ugh—FINE.” Turbo sat up, and roughly grabbed the child’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “You better win.”

She better.

Chapter Text

Everyone always knew Turbo was a little in over his own head. Always one to double down and not give in to opposition, no matter how stupid he appeared in the process. Yet, at the same time, no one expected he would just go running about games like he was multifaceted. The rules have been to stick to the program for years, and out of anybody, Turbo would be the one to know what happens when you break those rules.

That’s what Set thought, at least. A little more poetic than what Jet thinks—Jet just thinks he’s dumb. Nonetheless, Turbo was probably in some deep trouble. And per Set’s firm opinion, they had to be the ones who helped. It led them up to the gateway into a very recent racing game, Sugar Rush. The Surge Protector had led them up there when they, plus Calhoun, asked him to see if he knew where the escape pod vanished to. “Yeah, he came… flying out like a hot shot, and went bouncing into this game here like a crazy person!” 

Calhoun placed her hands on her hips while reading the game title aloud. “Sugar Rush…” She muttered. “…That Cybug’ll chew up that game like a chicken hawk in a coup of crippled roosters…”

…The Turbo Twins awkwardly eyed each-other at that… odd simile. “…It—It’ll what?” Jet questioned aloud. “That sounds like a bit much, don’t you-?” With whatever a chicken hawk was… and why were the roosters crippled…??

”You kidding? There was a CYBUG on that shuttle!” Calhoun looked rather annoyed and incredulous towards the Twins. Their stares caused her to continue. “Do either of you even know what a Cybug IS?”

”…N—No.” Jet meekly shook his head.

Set was quick to push the conversation along. ”We’ve never encountered one ourselves, ma’am—could you, uhh…—”

”Cybugs are like a virus.” Oh, there she goes. “They don’t know they’re in a game, all THEY know is eat, kill, multiply. Without a beacon to stop them, they’ll CONSUME Sugar Rush. But do you think they’ll stop there?”

The Twins thought. “…Yyyyyyyyes-!” Jet hesitantly responded, only to jump back when Calhoun got right in his face to correct.

”WRONG. VIRUSES DO. NOT. STOP.” She inhaled, standing back up straight while bringing forth the possibility of impending doom. “Once those Cybugs finish off Sugar Rush, they’ll invade every other game—until this arcade is nothing but a smoking pile of forgotten dreams.” The darkness and ominousness of her voice caused the racers to shiver. “…COHUT! My cruiser.” She reached her arm out, which ended up holding a cybernetic device seconds later once Cohut tossed it over. 

“…” Jet rubbed his forehead. “Gah—why’s she gotta be so shouty…?”

Cohut cut in with a simple, “It’s not her fault. She’s programmed with the most tragic backstory ever: the one day she didn’t do a perimeter check. It was her wedding day.” Another exposé…? Okay, where’s this one going? “I and a couple other soldiers were attending when a Cybug broke straight through the pane-glass window. It, uh…” He hesitated. “It ate her fiancé, close to being her husband. She knew the danger of Cybugs even before this… but that made things more personal.” …Oh. That was actually… kind of seriously sad. Ouch.

Set’s sympathetic eyes trailed from him, to Calhoun. Her cruiser pack had unfolded, and hovered right in front of Sugar Rush’s entrance. “…W—Wait, wait a second!” He nabbed Jet’s hand and raced up to her. “Hold on—we’re gonna come with you.”

”—What??” Jet hissed.

Calhoun gave the Twins a side-eye. “Like fudge you are. Either of you twigs die outside your game, you don’t regenerate.”

”You won’t, either. It’s not like we have a game to go back to anyway.” Set grumbled the last part, but by now, it was well known by most. He wasn’t too sensitive about bringing it up. “No way are we gonna let that—bug thing, or Turbo break another game. It’s our job to get him back here, and that’s what we’re gonna do, so—yeah. We’re coming with you.”

The sargeant carefully inspected the two. Set looked much more determined and stern than Jet, who looked like he thought about slapping the other. With another second to think, she clicked her tongue, before stepping onto the cruiser… snapping, and motioning for the two to hop on. The more eager of the two gave her a firm nod, and stepped forward—only held back by the much more skeptical Jet.

Jet tugged him close, whispering aggressively. “Are you NUTS?? Th—There’s a-a CYBUG in THERE! If they’re as bad as she says then why the hell are we following her?! We don’t have GUNS, Set!”

”Listen. It’s gonna be alright.” Set slowly continues leading the both of them along. “We just have to stick together. Not that hard, right? She can protect us—and we know what Turbo looks like from a mile away. It’s gonna be fine.” He climbed up onto the cruiser, pulling Jet along with.

Within an instant, the cruiser shuttled a little higher over the ground, before beelining it through Sugar Rush’s entrance tunnel. The two racers yelled out in exclamation, hugging onto each-other as everything delved into a brief period of darkness. As it is, with tunnels. The dark was rather all encompassing for only a minute. The Turbo Twins kept themselves clung to the other, amazed how they haven’t fallen off the hovering cruiser. Once the light came through, they winced at its brightness—considerably, Sugar Rush was riddled with eye candy, but with it came the poison of intense light adjustment. “Yyeesh…” Jet grumbled, squinting.

Calhoun coldly looked around, holding the small device she opted to carry for the mission firmly in her grasp. “…Well, I’ll tell you this much—I wouldn’t’ve expected this from a short-stack like him.” Even if he had that virus he carried with him. Her eyes widened a bit when she spotted a crash-landed ship. “There’s the shuttle.” She brings the cruiser down and allows it to fold up into a carrying appropriate size when the passengers step down.

She reached behind her for a weapon, stalking closer to the broken shuttle. Jet and Set kept a steady distance, considering their lack of… any actual combat experience. Calhoun rushed forward, aiming the gun toward the inside—only to see nothing but broken glass and a shutdown system.

”…Is he in there…?” Set whispers.

”Nnnope.” Calhoun leans back. “Lucky for him; otherwise, I would’ve slapped his corpse.”

Jet suppresses a snicker. “Uh… and—I’m guessing no bug, either…?”

”No. No Cybug, no Turbo, none of ‘em are here.” She keeps herself readied, but sets the weapon back in its holster. “Gotta find that Cybug before it lays its filthy eggs.” She marches off, letting the Twins to scramble and follow from behind.

The walk was a little quiet, with only the Twins exchanging words between each-other at a low volume. They were passing through some sort of… candy-forest, if that made any sense. The foliage was licorice and the ground was partially soft and squishy, littered in specks of sugar. Calhoun kept a bit of a glare at her device, pounding lightly at it to get it to coordinate properly. “…” She grumbled, not noticing the Twins beginning to stare at her from behind. Eventually, she eyed over at them. “…What?”

”Uhh—nothin’! Uh… what’s—that… thing you got there?” Jet asks.

”Tracker. The sugar particles are jamming my sensor—I can’t get a read on its placement.” By it, she hopes the two knew she was talking about the Cybug. Though, now that she thought about it… “What’s with you guys, huh? Why’s that Turbo tick got a virus on ‘em?”

Jet and Set glance to each-other. “…That’s a loooong story. Uhh… Set-?” Jet nudged Set’s shoulder, which granted him a weird look. Set was better at recalling the details, while Jet did everything to repress most of the memories. Aside from the big, big details.

Set… let out a sigh, softening. “Right. Thirty years ago… TurboTime, our game, was by far the most popular cabinet in the arcade. Turbo… Turbo loved the attention, a little too much.” He halfheartedly laughed as he started. “But, there was this other game that got plugged in one day—RoadBlasters. It, uhh… grew its own popularity, especially with its better graphics and all.”

”I knew one of the racers! He was chill.” Jet chimed in.

”And—and we knew Turbo was getting jealous, but… honestly I can’t tell if it was anger or fear that got to him more.” Set’s expression soured some. “He… I don’t know how, but—he found our codebox, and tore into it. He tried to ‘make our game better.’ So, it would surpass RoadBlasters, even… even if it wasn’t meant to.” 

“…He—” Jet shrunk. He knew he let Set do most of the explaining, but he couldn’t help but reminisce it all as he spoke. “He put so much pressure on… the game, and—us, and—himself, that eventually it just kinda… broke. The game broke, and Turbo—Turbo… became the Virus. If that makes any sense, but—” …He shrugged. “Serves him right! He left us homeless because he wanted to keep being popular! Honestly, he deserved whatever came after.”

”Hmm… I thought you said he HAD a virus.” Calhoun skeptically rose her eyebrows, before looking ahead to walk across this… giant candy-cane… log bridge? This place was a little weird.

”It’s complicated, ma’am.” Set mumbled, rubbing his arm. “Look, what… what’s most important to us is that we get Turbo out of here. Before he causes another game to—”

…did the candy-cane just flicker—

The trio felt the bridge dissipate from right under their feet, sending them plummeting into a chocolaty brown, dusty mass. They all struggled to figure out what happened for a few seconds, Calhoun groaning at the sight. “What IS this-?!” She soon set her eyes on a nearby sign, which said… wha—what in the— “Nesquiksand???”

“Qu—Quicksand??” Jet blinked, his expression turning to that of horror. “Like—l-like the stuff that—pulls you down, tha-THAT quicksand?? Ohh god—”

Set, almost too curiously, dipped his finger into the powdery substance… gave it a quick look-over, before shoving the tip of his finger between his lips. “…Mm. It… doesn’t taste bad.” He rose his eyebrows in amusement. 

”Wh—SET, we gotta get out of here!” Jet started to wiggle around, which… you know, didn’t help the process in “getting out.” The Nesquiksand used the movement to force him to sink further down, if anything. “Oh god—f##k, F##K—HELP!! HELP, SOMEBODY—ANYBODY!?” His panic hadn’t ceased, what, if his shouting, incessant swearing, and continuous flailing was anything to go by.

”Stop—stop, stop THRASHING, you’re making it wor—” Calhoun warned. “Get a hold of yourself!”

Set, growing more peeved by the amount of dust being flung at his face, smacked the Twin in the back of the head. “Jet—quit it! That’s not helping!”

Everyone froze at the sound of high-pitched laughter coming from above them. Looking up, they’d find a bunch of red strands of candy, with weird little mouths that cackled at them from above. “…The—vines are… laughing at us…?” Jet’s shoulders hunched.

”I—I think those are Laffy Taffy. They responded to whatever made them laugh. And I think…” Set slowly looks back at Jet. The two lock eyes.

”…No.”

”Jet.”

”No.”

”Jet, look, I’m sorry,” Set calmly said, rolling up his sleeves.

”Don’t you dare, don’t you even think about it—” Jet leaned away.

”But this might be our ticket out-!” He lunged, throwing a couple of—not exactly SERIOUS, but they hurt enough—punches Jet’s way. While the Twin at first didn’t fight back, eventually he opted to defending himself. The quarrel devolved into whatever it was you could call two brothers half-playfully wrestling the other. Whatever you could call it, the Laffy Taffy above were reveling in it, like the sadists they were. Calhoun only seemed to be able to watch awkwardly. She kept her eye on the vines, which grew lower and lower the longer this went on. “Is it—oof—is it working-??” Set frantically asked, not having accounted for the fact that their fight drew them deeper into the Nesquiksand.

Calhoun narrowed her eyes. “…Yup.” She reached out, and grappled both Twins with one of her arms, using the other to grab onto a vine. The vine’s weight capacity hadn’t been reached, which allowed the trio to be ripped from the deadly chocolate powder with ease. Once back on that candycane bridge, Calhoun let the two go, letting them lean against each-other as if they weren’t at each-others throats a second ago. “Uhh…” She glances to the side. “Good work, team.”

”Yeah—‘team.’” Jet harshly bumped Set’s shoulder. They snickered. “Hey, at least we’re alive! …Though—we should probably get off of this… thing, before it—disappears again, come on—” At the word, the three hurried back where they came. So far, with that little detour… they made no progress. But, hey, they still had a few hours to get everything together. Not all hope was lost.

Calhoun shook her device with a gloom. “Ugh—lost the signal. Like I had one to begin with…” She motioned with her arms to the Turbo Twins as she went forward. “Well—doubt we can fix that shuttle in time. C’mon, scouts. We’ll take some of this trek by foot.” 

“…Can’t we just use the… hoverboard thing again?” Set wondered aloud.

”Eh—walkings safer. …Kinda. Plus, that thing was hard to balance on.” Jet shrugged, following along without much question.

Set was quick to join, though a little slower. It kept his mind at the same pace as his movement. He’s getting the feeling Turbo’s not even alive. Or, at least, he may not be by the time they find him.

Chapter Text

The Wannabe Racers approach the giant factory ahead of them. Kind of flashy. Though, it’s actually pretty neat looking for a factory—big, green—there’s an array of colored smog emitting from above. The passguard had seemingly fallen asleep at his post, garnering an unamused scoff from Turbo. How professional. He and Vanellope opted to shuffle beneath the crossline, and hastily make their way towards the entrance. 

One of the entrances. They came across a guarded door, with an image of Vanellope looking all dastardly. Bold text around her drawing read “NO GLITCHES ALLOWED.” Turbo narrowed his eyes. It can’t be that serious. She’s like… nine years old. “Alright, bucko—let’s break in, shall we?” Vanellope nudged Turbo by the arm. “C’mon, do your thing!” She urged, eagerly staring at the older racer.

Turbo spared her a glance, before letting out a sigh. “Grab my hand.” He outstretched the hand Vanellope was closest to.

”Oohhh… okaay—WOAH-!” Vanellope playfully latched onto his hand, whatever her train of thought was moments ago being brought to a halt. In a burst of red pixelation, the duo found themself on the other side of the door. She blinked, her own body glitching a couple of times to her own… weird sense of discomfort? It usually doesn’t sting when she glitches. What’s with this guy…? “…Whew! Well done, well done.” She brushed it off, patting Turbo’s arm.

Turbo jolted his arm away. “Don’t patronize me.” He responded in a flat tone.

Vanellope frowned. ”I’m nooot, yeesh! Does anyone ever tell you that you do a good job?”

”…” Turbo stares in harsh silence. “…Can you lead the way, or…?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Vanellope trudged ahead. She guesses that’s a no. That’s… fine, because she’s never been told she’s done a good job either. But, whatever! Not important. They’ve got a kart to build!

Vanellope lead Turbo through a giant curtained room. The room was dark, all for a lone, red button. Turbo quirked his eyebrow in confusion. “…Okay, you said we needed to get you a kart—so where the heck are they?” There’s nothing in here. God, this is such a waste of time. It wasn’t long until Vanellope ran to click the button—to which other, more multicolored buttons appeared along the walls. On each of them were different models… kart models. Wait a second. “…We gotta make this stuff-?”

Vanellope was almost surprised he wasn’t groaning about it the second he figured it out. “Yup! I’m suuure you can handle it.”

Turbo squinted. “I can, actually. It’s not like I’m gonna break anything.” He crossed his arms. Besides, it seems… mildly entertaining. “Alright, uhh… which one do you want?”

The girl hummed, tapping her chin. “…-OOH! This is a good one!” She sped over to the turquoise button and gave it a firm click. The curtain rose upward, a dim room revealing silhouettes of operating machinery. “WELCOME, TO THE BAKERY! LET’S BAKE A KART!” The voice announced as the lights came on. Turbo blinked. A game… inside of a game. Interesting! Only mildly. “YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO WIN IT! GO…!!!” Vanellope perked up, nabbing Turbo by the hand, and forcing him forward. “Come on, let’s go!”

”—Wait, a minute-??” How are they gonna get this done in a MINUTE? Karts are kind of complex. …What the heck, it’s fantasy at this point. He shouldn’t be concerned.

”MIXING!: PUT THE INGREDIENTS IN THE BOWL, AND THROW AWAY THE TRASH!” Miscellaneous items fell from the two candy pipes atop a shiftable platform. A numerous amount of appropriate—and inappropriate—things were chucked into either an orange trashbin, or a green bowl. Vanellope, the one controlling the platform… kept getting everything that was TRASH in the bowl. And vice-versa.

”Vanellope—that’s NOT—WHAT are you doing-?!” Turbo clasped his hands against his head. Oh my god this kart is gonna suck total d##k.

”I’m trying, this ain’t easy, man!” Vanellope could barely see above the console. This may have been part of the struggle.

”You—HA??—okay, YOU don’t have good coordination, MOVE.” Turbo shoved her aside, grabbing the wheel firmly. He had a decently better view, and was much more capable of getting the correct items into the bowl—not without his own little faults, which he hissed at himself at. Dude. The first portion had eventually came to a close, the bowl going down the conveyor belt, and getting a quick mix, before moving on to the next station.

”BAKING!: PUMP UP THE HEAT AND HOLD THE PERFECT TEMPERATURE!” The pump was… a little too big for either of them, but Vanellope could at least use her exaggeratedly high jump to get onto the handle. Unfortunately, she wasn’t strong enough to pump it properly either. “Uh—hey, can you help??”

”What do you want ME to do? I can’t reach that.” Turbo motioned his arms towards the tall-ish pump. At least compared to the either of them.

”Come ON, you can do SOMETHING!” Vanellope raised her arms in the air in protest.

Turbo stopped to think for half a second. They didn’t have a lot of time—Turbo puffed, digging into his pocket, and marching up to the oven. It was like a trick, how fast the guy could switch out one of his gloves. He slammed his alternate hand against the oven, letting it spark. “Tell me when to let go!”

”Uhh—uhhhhh…” Was that gonna work-?? She can’t really—… oh wait. It’s working. Huh…! Vanellope waited for the done-ding sound. “Uhh—now, NOW—let go!” She nearly winced at its distorted dIng! But as he said, Turbo tore his hand away once the oven was (forced to be) done baking. The product was quick to move on, whatever was left of Turbo’s glitches fading off.

”DECORATING!” Straightforward, aren’t we? “Okay—get the wheels on first!” Vanellope stood off to the side, excitedly.

”Alllright, hold on—” Turbo hurried up the steps, and grasped one of the pellet gun handles. Focusing, he slammed the button, sending little bullets to hit the targets and release what he desired. Vanellope hadn’t suggested much—so, he was just winging it. “Okay-! Now what?”

”Frosting! A butt load of frosting!” 

“Okay—no pro—” He turned back from Vanellope, to the pellet shooter… and released it was bugging out. Ooh. Right. “…Uhh oh.” Turbo noticed the way it spat out pellets left and right, either striking the targets but coincidence, missing entirely, or slamming into the glass, shattering it, and causing everything to fall apart. “…Um. Hhheheh… oops…” He glanced to the side. The two opted to run off while the scenery collapsed on itself. At the very end of it all, they found the same turquoise symbol right upon an unopened door. The reveal was coming. Turbo wasn’t too eager to see what kind of monstrosity this would be.

”TIME’S UP. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU DID IT! AND HERE’S YOUR KART!” The doors drew back, and outrolled: Vanellope’s first ever, brand new kart! …It… umm… well… uhh… it didn’t look… perfect. Or all that great. Or… all that good. It was a multi-mish-mash of just about everything. Miscolored, clashing coating drowned in sprinkles, and frostings, and other assorted sweets. It was all so… random, all of it. None of it seemed to really fit a theme. Or go together much at all at first glance.

The Wannabe Racers stood there for a minute. Staring. Quietly. “…” Turbo sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Well… an attempt was… made, hmhm.” He slowly started to replace the changed glove—though his eyes ended up sticking on Vanellope when she walked towards the kart. “…But—but it wasn’t my fault it came out this way.” He crossed his arms, averting his gaze. “You—y’know, you—you barely did anything, and—” 

“I love it.”

”…What?” Turbo stopped, looking back towards her.

”…I love it… I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT—!!” Vanellope rejoiced, jumping around and admiring every feature the kart had. Turbo was… admittedly a little astonished. He supposes she wouldn’t have TOO many standards, but… maybe she’s just happy she has one. “Look at it, it’s got a REAL ENGINE, and—ohh, look at these WHEELS—oh—mmmwah, mmwah—I LOVE IT! I finally have a real kart!!” She squealed, running over to a shelf once she was done smooching the wheels and all. “Come on—a work of art like THIS must be signed…” She held two big icing bags, one turquoise, one red. Matching!

”…Sign it? Me—?” Turbo blinked, pointing to himself. “Why, it… it’s yours.”

”Uuuuh, you helped me. Doy—you were the one bragging about doing all the work a second ago!” Vanellope sauntered up, and shoved the icing bag into Turbo’s hands. She glanced over for a second. “You’re not wearing that weird glove that started breaking out for no reason, are ya?”

Turbo stared. “Oh. Uh. No.”

”Great! Come on, we can… umm—ohh—we can sign the side here! Hold on!” Vanellope motioned over, and sat down with a grin on her face. “I’ll start—sit, sit.” She patted the ground next to her, signaling for Turbo to sit next to her.

The racer stood still for a second. Stiffly, he shuffled up to Vanellope, and plopped himself down next to her. Leaving the icing bag in his lap, he watched her from the side. She hummed, carefully marking “made by,” followed by her name, in the turquoise icing she picked out. He blinked, looking away, and staring off for a second. …He tapped his fingers against his helmet in thought. He’s had a lot on his mind, practically all day. How did he get so off track…? All he was supposed to do was nab a metal and be on his way to become the Greatest Racer… slash… Hero Ever. Instead, he’s sitting next to a candy kid, signing his name with icing. He didn’t know what to make of any of it. Besides it being the last thing he expected to do today.

He grumbled. He didn’t think he’d go this far. He eyed down at his hands. Does anyone know he’s gone-? Does… anyone care? That’s a sad thought. But it’s a real one to ask. Not that he cares. He couldn’t give a hoot, he’s just… curious. Jet and Set would probably notice, at least. Doubts they’d do anything about it. …God, this place is weird. It’s so sweet, yet the only sweet person he’s met in this entire game is probably Cherrywood. And he doesn’t even wanna GET into that can of worms. He gave Turbo so much… deja vu, yet he’s never known anybody NAMED Cherrywood. He nearly thinks he felt the same way about Emperor Cocoa, but… why? Why those two specifically…?

It’s making his head hurt. He exhales. Did…

Did Felix like cherries?

”Bo. You done puffin’ over there, cuz it’s your turn.” Vanellope nudged his arm, which Turbo jolted at. “I’ll give you some room.” She shifted more to the left, opening up some space in front of the car’s side.

”…” Turbo squints. Bo? …Okay. He shifted some himself, and grabbed his icing bag. Her writing was more… thin. Loopy. Elegant. Weird. He hummed. He brought the nozzle to the wall, and opted to write “and TURBO!,” emphasis on the exclamation point. His handwriting was a lot more… bold. Blobby, with the icing. He had to remind himself not to make the writing too big.

After a second, he pulled away. “…Hm.” He cracked a small smile.

”Ohh—woooow, look at yooou, you’re actually smiling!” Vanellope teased from the side.

”Huh—oh—well—yeah, I’m capable of smiling.” Turbo brought himself to a stand. “I… guess I’m kind of proud. Getting a better look at it, and…” He tilts his head. “It’s not exactly Turbotastic, but… it’s not the worst I’ve seen.” He shrugged.

Vanellope eyed him weirdly. “…Turbo… what?”

“Turbotastic!” Turbo turned over to her with a wide grin, while holding a thumbs up. He blinked. Wow. God, it’s muscle memory all over. “…Heeheh—uhh… it’s my catchphrase.” He placed his hands on his sides.

”…Ohhh, Iiii get it… hmm—ooh, let me try—” Vanellope cleared her throat. “Vvvanellopetastic!” She pumped her fist, looking at Turbo for feedback. “How’s that?”

”…Ehh. Could use some work.” 

That got a laugh out of the both of them. Wow, were they bonding? Were they actually, kind of-sort of getting along better with each-other? Well, yes. But actually, no, not for long. A massive door behind the two of them opened up, and in ran: Emperor Cocoa. Followed by the police, and what the Wannabe Racers could only assume to be massive, cookie bodyguards. Emperor Cocoa marched in, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. “Glitch. How did you get in—” He stopped, processing Turbo’s presence as well. “…YOU! I thought I told you to scram, out of my game!” He clenched his fists, pointing to Turbo, then towards the outside, in a vague, upward direction.

Turbo glitched awkwardly. “Uhh…” He looked down at his icing bag. Okay. He has an idea. He aims it towards Cocoa and the other authorities, clenching quick and hard on the plastic bag, shooting at LEAST Cocoa and the policemen in the face with icing. That’ll distract them for a bit. “Kid—get in.” Turbo hissed, trying to usher Vanellope into the kart.

”Wha—uh-uhh—I, uhh…” Vanellope looked inside, before… coming to a realization. A bad one. A real bad one at a time like this.

“…Vanellope—what are you waiting for-??” Turbo was already in the middle of climbing atop the bumper. “Get in, hell you lookin’ crazy for-?!”

“Uhh…” Oooh, he’s gonna be mad. “I, uh… I don’t actually… know how to drive a real kart…” Vanellope laughed, stiffly.

Turbo felt one of his eyes twitch, freezing in place. “…you don’t what?” His head snapped towards Cocoa and the policemen, who were beginning to recover. He shook his head, before stepping down, and rushing forward. “Get on the back, quick.” He spoke through gritted teeth. Vanellope didn’t even bother to question it.

Duncan patted Emperor Cocoa’s arm as he wiped away the bright red frosting. “Are you hurt, sire-?”

“I’m fine—don’t stand there, GET THEM!” Cocoa commanded, pointing towards the pair. He stopped at the sound of a revving engine, finding himself befuddled when he watched the kart speed away in seconds.

Busting down a window, and leaving that guardrail they snuck around back at the start in shattered pieces, the Wannabe Racers were on the road now, Vanellope clinging to the bumper while Turbo had taken the wheel. She flinched at the sounds of Cocoa shouting at them to stop—like heck they would! She wasn’t getting taken by that chump NOW—not after she finally has her kart! Even if she can’t really drive it yet.

That’s probably what ticked Turbo off the most. Yeah, making the kart was neat. But what the hell is the point of HAVING a kart if Vanellope can’t even DRIVE IT? The thrill of flooring the vehicle, and being able to actually use one in years, got mixed with his frustration. “Just my luck—stuck with the ONLY racer in the game who can’t drive.” He muttered under his breath, moving the gearshift forward to try and amp up his speeds. He couldn’t tell how close or far Cocoa or any of his lackeys were right now, all he could do is focus dead-set on what’s ahead.

Vanellope glanced behind her, before looking down at Turbo. “GET OFF THE ROAD!” She shouted. Turbo didn’t necessarily hesitate at all—he spun the wheel with ease in both hands, taking a real sharp turn into a separate, offshoot path away from the main one. Despite this, the authorities were still right on them. “—HEAD TO DIET COLA MOUNTAIN!” She quickly pointed ahead at the large, vaguely bottle-shaped mountain. Turbo listened. Though, it was when they were getting close—when they found a clearing—that Vanellope had to REALLY hope he just… WOULDN’T question her. “DRIVE INTO THE WALL!”

”—WHAT?!” 

Ah, there it is. “RIGHT THERE! BETWEEN THE TWO SUGAR-FREE LOLLIPOPS!” A small gap, almost like an entryway, was visible as they got closer.

”ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“JUST DO IT!”

Turbo didn’t see many other options. If they slowed down here—hell, if they STOPPED here, they were probably toast. Sure, he could try bugging his way out of it—but he can’t say the same thing for Vanellope, and SHE’S the one they’re REALLY after. Why does he even—… WHATEVER! Point is, they don’t have any other choice. Turbo braced himself, flinching once they got to the odd gap—turned out… it was kind of like a secret entrance. The wall had no solidity, so the kart just sort of… phased through it! Which was cool. But the enclosed space while going… what, 70-80 miles per hour was NOT a good thing. “—AH—” He frantically hit the brakes, steering the kart so it would stop at a side position. The kart bumped up against a lone rock, not damagingly, but it wasn’t a nice bump either. The two yelped, just before everything came to a still.

They waited. Well—Turbo waited. For something.

The something did not come, thank the lord. They both heaved a relieved sigh. “…Oookay. Okay.” Turbo rested his head in both hands for a brief second—before sucking in a sharp breath, and sitting up. He reset the gearshift, before climbing out of the car, opting to give himself a moment to think via pacing. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “…So… let me get this—let—let me just clear this up, right? You… don’t know how to drive.”

Vanellop stared, before shrugging. “Nnno, not… teeechnically. But—” She slipped off of the bumper, and into the drivers seat, looking at Turbo with an all-too excited gaze. “I just thought tha—”

”What?? What did you THINK? No—what WERE you thinking?!” Turbo spoke, bewildered. “What, you think you were just—gonna GET out there on the track when you have NO IDEA how to function a CAR? You lose your cap, kid?!” He harshly jabs at the side of his own head to emphasize his point.

Vanellope briefly puffs out her cheeks at Turbo. “Listen here, wise guy, I KNOW I’m a racer! I can feel it in my code.” She jumps back into the kart, and shifts the wheel a little as another rush of excitement comes over her. She still can’t even believe she HAS this!

Turbo stops. ‘I can feel it in my code,’ she says. “…R—RrrRRGH—” He pounds at his forehead with his hands, a rough glitch wracking his body. “..Hmhm—well—THAT clearly isn’t gonna be enough! I gotta—we gotta, ugh—“ His head swivels about as he tries to get his thoughts in order. “—gotta figure this out, because you canNOT enter a race like that willy-nilly, that’s not how it works. God, and I still have to get that stinkin’ medal.” He muttered the last part.

”Why do you even NEED that medal so bad?” Vanellope asked, leaning against the side of the kart from the inside.

”Because it’s MINE?” Turbo looked to her incredulously. “Would YOU not want to get something of yours back after somebody TOOK it from you??”

“Come on, I needed it more than you!” The child argued, jumping out of the kart again. “So I could get into the race!”

”A race you could not POSSIBLY WIN, because YOU don’t know how to DRIVE! The most BASIC set of knowledge any RACING game character could HAVE!” Turbo marched up to her, his arms flailing about amidst his anger. “It—it ju—it doesn’t make any sense, YOU don’t make ANY SENSE!” He fumed, hands tensed and balled up into fists. “You’re HERE—you’re here, you are PART of this game—bu-but it’s like you don’t have the bare necessities that are required for you TO be here! You just got a kart, you don’t know how to use it, these folks LOVES makin’ you into some—little—swirly-durly BOOGEYMAN—that or a punching bag—!” He continuously sent himself into glitching fits, which seemed to subconsciously trigger Vanellope to occasionally glitch alongside him. “I don’t underSTAND—you—you’re missing pieces, y-you’re not—” 

…

He cut himself off after looking at Vanellope. She… sort of just… looked like she didn’t understand a thing he was saying. Like she was trying to comprehend the biggest pieces of his agitated ramblings. But she also totally understood what he said, and it was getting to her.

”…” Turbo stood slack. For just a second. His mind buzzed, but he sharply inhaled, huffed out an exhale, and straightened out. “Wha—…whatever.” He turned away without a second thought, and stomped off in some other direction. “I’ll figure something out.” He grumbled, resisting the urge to hold onto either of his own arms. It’d make him look… sad. And what the hell does he have to be sad about? …What does he have to be sad about? “…” He sighed, closing his eyes, then opening them again. “..—Woah—“ He found himself in front of a boiling, brightly colored lake. He blinked, stepping back due to how harshly the water was boiling.

Turbo glanced to the side, spotting the “DIET COLA HOT SPRINGS” sign, all chipped up, a little worn for wear. “…Hm.” He sits himself down at the edge of it, staring into its scalding surface. He… he needed to give himself a minute. To think. To come up with a good enough plan to get this whole thing done and over with as fast as possible. That’s what he needed to do right now. Not… overanalyze some kid’s line of code. That’s a distraction. He has to… no, he can’t think about that whole deja vu nonsense either—that’s ALSO a distraction. Can he just…?

…He wonders what this place was made for. Looking up, he can tell there’s… trails here, inside this mountain. And there’s something of two cliffs…? It kind of reminds him of a track. And that’s a stunt. Hm. He shouldn’t assume too much, he thinks he done enough of that with the kid. …Has he? Has he been wrong-? —Ohh, whatever! She’s just… she’s… his shoulders rise. Because now he doesn’t know what to think of her. He doesn’t know how to feel about the way she looked at him.

On cue, Vanellope’s voice broke through the bubbling. “Hey.” She sounded… okay? Strangely enough. Turbo jolted, and turned his head over to her. “…Yooou wanna see something real quick?”

”…” Turbo squinted. “…Sure. Why not?” He’s distracted. Again.

”C’mon, up here—!” She scurried up an incline with the expectation that Turbo would follow (which he did), leading them both to what looked to be a makeshift campsite. Wafer walls, a little spongey cake bed, and thin, wrapper blankets littering the bed. “Welcome to my home, heh-! Ooh—” She climbed atop the bed, snatched up a blanket, and got herself all cozied up in it. “I like to to bundle myself up in these candy wrappers I sleep with—like a lil’ homeless lady…”

”…” Turbo hesitated. “…It’s… it’s—it’s cute, kid.” He simply walked forward, turned, and sat himself down. “…You, uh… how long have you lived here-?”

Vanellope perked up at the question. “Oh—like, uuh… my whole life, pretty much.”

Turbo stopped to stare at her. “…And… how long counts as ‘your whole life?’”

”…I—I ‘unno, fifteen-ish years…? That’s kind of just how long Sugar Rush has been plugged in for, I think.” She shrugged, stopping to realize Turbo was still staring at her. “…Can—dude, can you cut that out?? Seriously, you’ve got a pretty creepy stare right there, B—”

”You were coded this way.”

“…What?”

”You…” Turbo stopped. Woah. What the hell? What is he yapping about now… “…No—no, sorry, I’m—about to spout some… stupid… code bulls##t, you don’t wanna hear it.” He waves his hand, almost a little frantically.

”Wh—no, no, c’mon! I wanna know, what’re you thinkin’, Bo??” Vanellope leaned closer to him.

… “I—“ … “…Vanellope, you—“ … “…You…” …? “You were… coded this way. To… have—nothing, but… somehow, you’re still… here.” Turbo stared ahead, deciding not to spare her any glances. “That… they—heh—they-they don’t just put in a character with nothing in a game.”

…Vanellope almost regrets asking. Yeesh. This guy gets weirdly dark when he talks about code. Or—maybe it’s just her-? “…I mean… everyone out there tells me I’m not meant to exist at all. I don’t really know… what’s… better.” She half shrugged, slumping where she sat. “I can’t leave either, cuz… well, I mean—”

“Glitches can’t leave their games.”

”…Yeah. They can’t.” …She flopped onto her bed, landing on her back. “Just one of the joys of… being me.” She spoke in a deflated, defeated voice.

Turbo spaced out for another solid few minutes. His fingers twitched, his mind absent enough for him to sporadically glitch without him remotely being aware of it. Vanellope Von Schweetz, the character with broken, broken lines of code. “The Glitch.” A bad guy, a bad kid, for something she didn’t ask for, nor something she probably didn’t even want. It almost made him laugh. What kind of faulty developer would do something like that? …Well—that’s where it ends then. He snapped himself back to reality, and stood up. “…Okay—I got an idea.”

”Hm…?” Vanellope hummed, lazily looking over.

He dug into his pockets, holding his alternative pair of gloves in both hands. “It, uhh… it might work out—go all fine, and dandy,” he started, swapping off his gloves as he spoke, “orrr it could go horribly, and then we both die.” He shoved the normal pair back into his pockets, and stepped back onto the mountains vaguely, crusty pathway again. “You’re just gonna need to—ha—have faith in me, got it?” He knelt down, pressing both hands against the floor.

”W—What??” The girl sat up, blinking rapidly. “What’re you gonna—?”

”Got it.” He briefly scanned the room, before looking back down at his hands. There he goes—getting all of the quickly built up energy charged in his hands, pressing on his wrists, exploding into his palms, and into the world around him. World based altercations are things he’s messed with before, but never like this. He normally only did that sort of strenuous type work in the Code Room back in his game. He didn’t have access to one here, however. So, his body would just have to power through. His signature red glitch spread through the ground like wildfire spreads to trees, causing violent breakages and sparks to fly all about the area. It got into the walls, it got into the Mentos stalagmites, but when pieces broke off, they’d be cobbled back together immediately. The ground, the paths, they had it the worst, arguably. They couldn’t choose a look, they couldn’t choose a form. All of it was just—glimpse after glimpse after glimpse after glimpse after snap after push after pull after break after break after break. He knew what he expected this place to look like, he had an idea on what he was SUPPOSED to be! He just had to focus long enough to get there. Turbo’s body wasn’t taking the pressure all that well, however, his form devolving more and more into nothing but red, black, yellow, white. Red, black, yellow, white. Red, black, yellow, white. Red black yellow white red black yellow white, it invaded his vision, a violent ring filled his ears, his senses were overloaded with nothing to overload them. His body burned, it ached, it stung, sharp pains ran up his arms, through his shoulders, down his spine, straight for his nervous system, and continued from there. But he had to keep going. Turbo was close. He knew he was. He just had to reach a little further. It was difficult trying to change the layout of an entire room, if only slightly, if he couldn’t find the right, existing pieces. That’s what he had to find. That’s what he needed. And it was taking long, it TOOK long. His body was on the verge of potentially imploding on itself, if he didn’t tap into it soon—

And then he found it. Just like that, everything came to a standstill. Turbo’s arms immediately went weak, and he faceplanted the fresher, more paved road. “—TURBO!” Vanellope rushed over, but absolutely did NOT touch him due to him still aggressively glitching. “Turbo-?! What the HECK?! What did you—what’d you DO?” Her eyes darted around. Clearly, the room looked different. Something about it was… cleaner-? More, uhhh… geez, what’s the word—complete? Yeah, that’s it. “Geez, are ya’ even capable of talking??”

“Y—Ye—” Turbo wheezed, beginning to try and sit himself up, albeit painstakingly. His glitches began to subside, but he did NOT feel any better. “…Yeah—yeah, I’m—… ‘m Turbooo—nnhh… good—” He trembled against his own will, the lightheadedness he was now experiencing nearly sending him lying down again. “I’m… aauugh… i-it—di… di-did it work..?” He unintentionally ended up leaning against Vanellope, who at least was strong enough to keep him steady in that position.

Vanellope looked around again. “Iiiit depends on what you mean by ‘work,’ cuz… I mean—the paths here look different!”

”..Pa—yeah—yeah, it… it worked, then.” Turbo nodded, weakly. “I—ther-there’s—this… I-I thought this was s’posed to be, like… a different… track—level, so—I… con-converted it… to—that. Yeah.” His speech was a little slurred, and it was hard to speak on account of how out of breath he was.

”…Woah… you—you did that for me?” Vanellope blinked, eyeing the winded racer in surprise.

”Mhm. We’re gonna… agh—sorry.” Turbo forced himself to sit back up again. “We’re gonna… we’re gonna get you driving. Uhh… learning to, I mean… cuz you can’t be a racer if you can’t… drive, hhheh… hm…” He placed a hand on his forehead. “I’ll get up in a second here, kid, I’m just… dizzy.”

Vanellope lightheartedly scoffed. “No kidding! You could’a knocked yourself out cold doing all of that!” After a moment of silence, she mumbles, “…thanks, though.”

Turbo didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t know why he feels so off about… “…mhm.”

”…Hey—can I ask you something?” Vanellope asked.

”As long as it isn’t something complicated…” Turbo replied amidst a sigh. “Go for it, kid.”

”How’d you learn to do any of that-?” She patted the newly installed track. “Like—like your gloves—how do those help you with your tricks?”

Turbo went quiet. He lazily eyed down at his hands, the wired gloves adorned, yet without much actual flare when idly worn. “…It’s a long, long story. I…” He leans forward. “It… became a whole thing when I… m—my game, it…” His voice constantly trailed off. “…I’m—from TurboTime. Not something that’s installed at all—it got unplugged years ago, but when it was around, it… well, it was a popular game! It was my… fame, my glory… since I was the main racer. Only one you could play, heheh…” He stiffly chuckled. “…But it started to dwindle when this other racing game, RoadBlasters, got installed, and, I…” His face began to scrunch, his body more prone to curling in on itself. “…I-I was a little rattled, you could say, since—I mean… TurboTime was all I had. All we had. Me, Jet, Set… wha—what-what would we be without TurboTime. What would I be without TurboTime? It just… it just got worse, n’ worse, and… wi-without… our game, it… we—we wouldn’t…” He stopped to take a deep breath, considering he could feel the air getting caught in his throat a few times. “It’s… scary for anyone. It was scary for us, we’d… lose everything. So, I-I panicked. And I knew about our code room for a little while before that—found it on accident, hm… but I took it as an opportunity to… try and save our game, so… I-I—well—”

He stopped to look at Vanellope. She had her head resting on her knees, which were curled further inward towards her. Her expression at least read that she was invested, yet also a little worried. She wasn’t sure where this was going just yet. “…I—took the code, and… tried to… make it—better. Make it better than RoadBlasters, mainly. Because if we were better, we’d… be okay. B-But, uh… it didn’t—it—it didn’t go… too… well…” He shrank. “…I broke it.”

”—You broke your own game?!” Vanellope raised her head in shock.

”I didn’t mean to! I was—just so caught up in trying to—make everything better, I-I didn’t—r-realize the—th—the damage before—” Turbo turned his head away slightly. “Before everything just… kind of… felt apart on itself. The Twins, they weren’t left with any permanent scars… but—” He looks at one of his hands. “…I did. Technically. Sure, they’re useful when I make it be, sometimes… but otherwise, they’re… it-it’s out of my control, it… only ends up breaking things. It only ends up causing chaos… or harm, or… y—you know.” He half-heartedly… barely half-heartedly, actually, shrugged. “…l—like a virus. That’s…” Deep breath, come on. “…what everyone else tends to call me. Because I have these… little—cheats, I guess. I… I don’t know—I try so hard to—prove them wrong, but—I think I only end up proving them right, hhhahaha… ha… hm.”

…

”So, yeah-! That’s that.” Turbo clapped abruptly. He doesn’t wanna talk about it anymore. He’s sick of being all vulnerable, he’s sick of venting to a child, he’s sick of acting like it all happened yesterday—he’s sick of all of it, like Vanellope even actually cares. “Now—let’s go get that kart over here, we’ve got a bit of work on our—no, my hands, haha-!” He pushed himself to a stand, not minding the way he stumbled awkwardly.

Vanellope quickly jumped up too—but not before grabbing onto his hand. “Wait—Bo, hold on! Uhh—listen—” She looks Turbo right in his weird… creepy yellow eyes for this one. “I gotta admit, that’s… a lotta junk you did—and yeah, a lot of it was stupid, and yeah—your powers ARE pretty weird! And I can see why people probably don’t like you, and call you names. But—… if… if it’s anything, you’ve—“ She hesitates. “…You’ve done a lot for me-! With the powers, without the powers—so… uhh… yeah. Just wanted to tell you that, because… maybe you aren’t all bad! Y’know?”

…

Turbo struggled. He struggled to say anything back. A weird whirlwind of emotions span through him at once, before it all settled. She’s… being way too nice to him for his own comfort. He’s not used to this. He’s not used to people being this genuinely kind to him. What does he say? What… does he DO? For a moment, staring at her… could… could he…? …No. No, it was hard enough trying to alter this room, if he f##ked up with Vanellope, she’d be a goner. And he’d really be all bad. “…” He huffs. “…Thanks. Vanellope. …Now—come on, we seriously gotta get started.” He pulled away, rubbing his hand like it was burned while walking off.

He should change his gloves.

Vanellope’s problem wasn’t that she lacked the skill to drive, actually. Turbo learned they just had to get the basic mechanics down, like the gas, the brake, the gearshift, how to maneuver it to get it to do what you wanted, etcetera. It was a slow-ish process, considering Vanellope only learned so fast. And on occasion, Turbo got rammed into—he was fine, but OW. Not to mention, she had to work on her coordination. She kept bumping into the disjointed pillars that were scattered around the place. She bumped into one so hard it knocked out one of her teeth! Generally, he tried his best to be patient with her, but his annoyance was obvious.

When the time came that they finally had it all figured out, it was like Vanellope ALWAYS knew how to drive. The second she was riding the track, open walled and all, she was practically… a perfectly functional racer! Turbo couldn’t help admitting that he was downright proud (NOT OUT LOUD. IN HIS HEAD.) of her. Proud of her for learning (relatively) quickly, proud of her for being able to hold her own solidly—and… proud they came this far. God, he’s still weirdly sentimental. He hates it. He thinks he does.

At least now, he’s one step closer to getting the medal back! Ha! He just remembered! She can drive now, and if she WINS—it’ll be all Turbotastic for—… are the Reactive Mentos she scraped from the ceiling trying to drive over the ledge but glitched far too high falling into the Boiling, Hot Soda. Right. Now. 

He DEFINITELY did not prepare for that! Turbo ended up just ducking, praying nothing hit him, flinching at all of the geysers bursting from the body of liquid, and protruding into the air, causing faint ruptures. He only peered his eyes open when Vanellope came to a screeching, sliding halt beside him. “…So how’d I do?” She asked with a grin, her hair a total mess—at least the front of it was.

”…” Turbo slowly unraveled. “…W—Well—the, uhh… the mountain… the-the mountain’s still in tact! Tha-that’s good.” He shakily stood, a wobbly smile present on his face—though at the same time he spoke, another piece of Mentos fell, sending another geyser shooting into the air. The two flinched.

“Right—right, that’s a good note.” 

“…Uh… we… you really need to—the-the glitching thing, it really—”

”I know! I know, we can maybe spare a few extra minutes to work on that too—!” …Vanellope stopped. “…Do—… do you think I got a chance…?”

Turbo stared, blinking a few times. “…” He cracked a proper grin. “Yes.”

”—YYEEES! I’M GONNA WIN, I’M GONNA WIN, I’M GONNA WIN, I’M GONNA WIN, I’M GONNA WIN!!” She sprang from the kart, hopping all around both it, and Turbo, while the other racer in question snickered in amusement.

”Mhm-! …Up top.” Turbo held out his hand for a high five.

Vanellope was more than willing to take it. “WOO!” She hooted. “I’m gonna WIN, Turbo!”

The older racer gazed slightly down at her with a prideful expression. Definitely.

Chapter Text

“Find that Glitch. DESTROY that kart. She CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO RACE.”

That’s all he told them to do. That’s all he expected from them. There Emperor Cocoa was, in his palace, sitting in his massive throne with a weary, tempered expression. His head rested atop his hand, while the other tapped rhythmically against the left armrest. His eyes remained fixated on the doors. He waited, and waited, and waited, with his two servants by his side, one slowly fanning him to ease his stress, the other only stiffly standing on his right. He continued to wait.

At last, Winchell and Duncan entered through the massive doors. But their heads hung in shame. That wasn’t a good sign. “…” The entire room was quiet. If only for a minute. “…Have you found her? Tell me you did.” He watches one of them shake his head, while not daring to look up. Cocoa stared, harshly at both cops. “You didn’t. You lost her?” He clenches the armrest of his throne. “How can you both be so INCOMPETENT!?” He shouts, the reverberation bouncing against the sugary walls. Everyone flinched. “Go back out there, and patrol. If you see her, don’t even hesitate to get her to me. GO!” He pointed to the doors. Both cops jolted, and scurried out.

He let out a drawn out, heavy sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lightly shaking his own head. This isn’t good. This is nowhere near good. Cocoa glared daggers into the floor. If that Glitch gets into the race—crosses the finish line—everything, everything he’s built up here. It’ll all be for not. And for what? And over something as pathetic as a medal.

Wait.

A medal.

That’s it. 

He snapped his head back up as an idea crossed his mind. He turned on his heel, and marched behind his throne, pushing back the light, satin curtains. Sour Bill and Cherrywood both followed hastily in order to keep up with their emperor. Past the curtains, was a simple hallway. Laminating blues flashed quaintly across the edges as Cocoa, and his two servants moved behind him. A sharp turn to the right brought the each of them to a vault door. He eyes the large, metal door, and then the half-as-large buttons right beneath it. He happened to remember the entrance key rather well. Up, up, down, down, left, right, B, A, and at last, start. 

The door opened. Cocoa’s fully aware of the necessity to keep himself tethered to the entrance so he doesn’t end up lost. However, he doesn’t have time. That, nor does he have the patience. Wordlessly, he nudged himself off of the floor edge of the vault, and swam his way into the Code Room. His Code Room. It was merely like swimming through water, really. Particles fell against his skin, only to depart seconds afterward. His movements were swift, but as he got closer to the boxes, he was rather delicate in his movement. He couldn’t afford to break anything here, or—

Ah-ha! There it is. “…Winner’s Cup.” He muttered to himself. Giving it two good taps, he shifted past each available option there was. Which primarily consisted of coins. “No… no… nno…” He mumbled. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe—oh! “—There you are.” He pinched the little code between his fingers. “Come on—I’ll give you a nice, new home.” He swam up past the rest of the boxes to stop at his own.

His box of code was LARGE. Compared to everything else, it was gigantic. And once opened, Cocoa watched every bit and piece he had stockpiled in there go on the fritz. As they usually do. Cocoa eyed the medal code in his hand, before bringing it towards his code box. It flung from his hand, and snapped itself into place, wires forming on both topside and bottom-side. Eventually, the medal formed on Cocoa himself, held on his neck. “—…Hm. Too easy.” He cracked a smirk. “Cherrywood, Sourbill! I’m going out for the time being. You two are in charge of the castle until I return!”

He’s setting things right, here and now.

Nothing is going to get in his way.

Walking for miles was… actually very exhausting! Who would’ve thunk. So, Calhoun and the Turbo Twins opted to take the hoverboard again. At least for a few minutes. They were all looking about from the sky, down below. They haven’t really… found… anyone yet. It feels kind of empty. At least, to them, it does. At least the Twins were able to keep themselves company, though that led to distractions amongst the two of them. And it didn’t take long for them to try and get Calhoun herself into one of their weird… hostile-ish, yet friendly-ish back and forths. She was only mildly amused by… anything they say. They always had something to say, huh?

Well. That… was definitely true. Especially the Jet one. He—

Urgh. He said something completely idiotic—and it set her off. When she came to, she was careening the hoverboard to the ground, and stepping off of it. “Off.” She hissed. 

The Twins remained still in fright, clinging to each-other like frightened kids. “…Is—” Set started, clearing his throat. “Is everything o—”

”I said get OFF my hoverboard!” She snapped, causing him to go silent. The two did what she told them to do eventually. She got the thing folded up, and slung it on her back. “Aerial search isn’t working, therefore—we’re going back to the previous strategy.” She said, quick and cold. “We’re splitting up. You two can see if anyone’s in that castle, I’ll search the open areas.” Calhoun didn’t wait for either of them to make an input. She just left. She stormed away, taking out her tracker and clutching it tightly in her hand.

Those two loudmouths. Ticking her off.

What felt like only a few seconds went straight to minutes. Which went straight to hours. Time moved faster when you weren’t paying any attention. After some time, she was stalking the fields. She moved slowly, cautiously, body lowered in a camouflaged position. She barely blended in with any of her surroundings, sure, but it was better than standing straight up. “…C’mon, I know you’re out there.” She whispered. “…Uuurgh—saccharine saturated NIGHTMARE.” She grumbled, giving her device a firm bump with her hand. It hasn’t read anything useful all day.

It hadn’t. Until… now? Apparently. “…Wh—” Her eyes widened at the growing expansion of green dots within the screen. She spun her head around in multiple directions. “…Where-?” She hadn’t processed the cracking beneath her quickly enough, which sent her plummeting down into some… pit beneath the candy. She hollered, grabbing onto a vine before she hit the ground, but she couldn’t save her tracker.

It fell. It hit the ground. It hit the nest. She could see them all now. Giant Cybugs, all scurrying and screeching, surrounded by dozens of eggs. And some of them were already beginning to glow, signifying the time at which they hatch. Calhoun heaved a breath, and stared down. “…” Her glare was fiery hot.

”Doomsday and Armageddon just had a baby, and it is UGLY.” 

“…”

”What did you DO?” Set spun to face his twin.

“Wh—I-I didn’t do ANYTHING! I complimented her, I didn’t think she’d act all like THAT!” Jet flailed his arms out in front of him briefly. “Jeez, could’ve gotten us KILLED…”

Set huffed. “Okay—okay! Doesn’t matter. We… ah, what was it we…” He shook out his hands, narrowing his eyes while he glanced about. He then spotted the massive castle only a few feet away. They were actually right on the path! “Pretty sure she said we should check around here.” He started off immediately. It was about time they ACTUALLY tried getting this all over with.

Jet stumbled to follow. “And—an-and what exactly are we supposed to ASK whoever’s in there?”

”If… they’ve seen Turbo? It—it isn’t that hard to rule out.” Set side-eyed.

”No, I mean—look, it’s a CASTLE. They’re probably busy—what if they haven’t left all day-?”

”I really can’t tell if you’re playing dumb or not.”

”I’m NOT, I—” Jet groaned. “Ugh—whatever, whatever. Not the point.” He crossed his arms, keeping them there as both twins stopped at the castle doors.

The Turbo Twins looked to one another. Set reached out, grabbing one of the circular handles and giving it a good knock. Knock-knock-knock. And it didn’t take long for someone to answer the door, surprisingly! “Yes…?” The two glanced down at Sour Bill, who stared at them with a rather… sour… gaze, standing in between the crack in the door.

”Uh… hello. I’m Set, this is Jet—” Set started. “We were wondering if you’ve seen… Turbo? Around, anywhere, at all-?”

“…” Sour Bill squinted. “Turbo? TurboTime?”

Jet blinked. Huh-! Color him a little surprised! They’re actually… making progress! “Yeah-! That’s him!” That’s great. Now, if they know where to look, they can finally—

“Should’ve locked him up while we had the chance.”

…huh

”Not making the same mistake with you.” Sour Bill shuffled back before either twin could say another word. Suddenly, the floor practically collapsed beneath them, sending them both falling into a long, dark tunnel. The trapdoor shut itself back seconds afterward, leaving both twins to scream to no avail of anybody being able to hear them. Sour Bill wasn’t dealing with any other racing troublemakers; it was about time they put the dungeon to use.