It's All In The Code

The Thrill before the Storm

Author's Note: There are a couple characters here that have been given non-canon names for the purpose of better writing them. Also, this fanfic starts a little bit before his first mention in the movie. 

"All Racers ready? On your mark, get set, and go! Let's have us a fantastic race!" The crowd cheered and whistled from their stands, and the announcer could barely finish his words before the bullet he fired in the air echoed with a thunderous roar, blocking out everything else for one beautiful moment.

Again and again, day by day, those words and the sweet sound of impeding victory rang in Turbo's ear. No matter how many times he had heard them, the adrenaline rush never faltered. Putting the pedal to the metal, he gazed at his fellow racers, Speedster and Blitz, who were already falling behind. Those twins of blue and white loved the game just as much as he, but they never could quite match him in skill.

Indeed, part of that was the luck of the draw. Players came in all shapes and sizes, after all. But given that Turbotime was locally renowned for its high performance, many video game champions came to try their hand, and Turbo was more than willing to perform for them. One could even say he lived for it.

But in this particular race, the player was by his standards, lacking. Stealing a glance towards the screen that constantly hovered in the distance, he saw the problem at once; they seemed distracted, fighting with their friend for control of the wheel. While he barely registered it, he began to grit his teeth, distorting his pixelated face into something ugly. Distraction was one thing he could never afford if he wanted to win, and win, was all he ever wanted to do from the very moment his code was written.

"Hey, Turbo! You're looking a little shaky there!" Blitz teased as his go-kart skidded past him in a plume of dust. That side sweep of his was an iconic move, and it was one Turbo wished he would never get the chance to repeat.

He allowed himself to cough once or twice in response, not wishing to waste words on losers. Lifting his right hand to his chest, he tapped until he was certain everything was out of his digital lungs. 2 minutes left, and he had a lot of ground to cover.

Spying a nearby incline in the track, it was time for a little trickery of his own. There was nothing like a bit of height to gain a field advantage. But just as he climbed up the ramp, Speedster was hot on his tail. "You're still using that old tactic? Get a life!" Speedster chortled out, squealing with delight as he launched himself into the air using Turbo's very same strategy, almost missing the landing. "Hey, guess what? I like your style, but it's mine now. A little more practice, and this game's 'bout to get a new name!"

Before long, the two brothers were riding side by side, creating a moving wall with their karts. Normally, Turbo didn't mind their antics. They were childish and snide, much like him. At the best of times, he could easily have seen them as his own kin. The only thing was, he couldn't stand true competition, and competition, they were becoming.

"Those kids better start playing this right..." Turbo muttered, doing his best to readjust his position on the track. But for the moment, he could only do what he was instructed from the outside to do, like a mere puppet on a string.

The clock was down to 10 seconds, and no amount of last-minute luck was going to save him now. His player realized this too, for his kart skidded to a halt by the grass that surrounded the stands. The crowd this time, was going berserk with confusion as he wearily lifted his helmet from his head. He... hadn't won his own game, the one literally named after him. That only happened once in a blue moon, and boy, did it wound his pride.

But the kids weren't finished yet: they wanted another round. "Let's just throw in one more coin. I got it this time, I swear." He could hear one of them say, followed by the clink of a shiny quarter a second later. Again, a grimace appeared on his face as he shook off a headache threatening to form. Darn it. Why couldn't he just be left alone until someone else came to play?

Well, he wasn't going to race for them if they acted like that. Instead, he was just going to sit in his cart and wait for them to take the hint. He had done that before, and it usually worked. The kids of course, tried pushing the wheel back and forth to make him start up the engine, but he had learned over the years how to resist it, at least to some extent. And today, he was going to be sure he wasn't played for the fool twice in a row.

"Dude, what are you doing? You're ruining the race!" Speedster hissed, watching Turbo's muscles twitch as his hands moved instinctively towards the controls before he forced them back on his lap. He could feel his programming wanting him to just give in, but the mere thought of losing again today was too much to bear.

Again and again, the players tried to get the game to work, until finally, the wheel simply stopped turning. For a moment, Turbo thought they had given up and left, but they were still there, arguing over what had just happened. "Great, look at what you've done! You broke it!" One of them called out, pointing an accusing finger at the other.

"Turbo, Turbo, Turbo... this wouldn't have happened if you had just let us race..." Blitz scolded, like he was a misbehaving child. Okay, that was it. Nobody was going to insult him for a mistake a player had made. "Why won't you idiots just leave me alone?!" He cried out, realizing a little too late that he had spoken loud enough for a speech bubble to pop up on the screen. The players in unison, turned towards the game with eyes wide as saucers. "Did Turbo just insult us? There's no way that just happened. We gotta get Mr. Litwak."

Mr. Litwak? Was he really coming over here? The idea of that sounded so absurd, so completely out of the question that the severity of the situation didn't immediately register to him. Once it did, the realization slammed into him like a ton of bricks. This was bad, very bad. It took a lot to get him to shut up, but for once, he placed a hand across his mouth, his stomach tightening into a noose. Everything was on the line here, and what could he do? Nothing. If he dared to turn his head towards his peers, he already knew they probably had several choice words for him; they just were too afraid to speak.