Turbo-Teen-Terminal

Day 19 of the 25 Days of TF-mas! (Contains girl to car tf) Human anger was a curious thing. It was volatile and variable and wreaked absolute havoc on the minds and bodies of those that experienced it. For an anger like Elliott’s, born from an innumerable series of frustrations and confrontations, it was like a self-powering engine turbine. It churned and roiled under her skin even after the outburst she’d had, causing an itching, coiling discomfort that pressed itself into every available crevice and corner. In self-defense, Elliott’s mind began to shift away from the object of her anger and seek out any and all available distractions. Now that Kat was integrated into Elliott’s mind and body, even it was not immune to the malady of rage. This was not a feeling Kat was used to, as its own experiences with rage were more akin to a wrathful god striking down dissention. This felt much more intimate and personal, and Kat too began to offer up distraction from the clenching

Bret Gregory Matthews Per his insistance, he always spells his name with one T. Birthday: March 11th, 1983 Height: 6'1" Weight: 215 Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Brown Favorite Color: Red Favorite Food: Pizza Abilities/Special Skills: 1984 Crimson Red Camero SS - ‘Turbo Teen’ Date combined: April 8th, 1999 Talents/Hobbies: Auto body Home: Diego City, CA; Anchorage, AK Relations: Pattie Jones, Alex Carter, Carrie Cirroth, Dr. Thomas Chase Parents: Greg and Carol Matthews License Plate: CA TR9729 AK UG553S Bret was a regular high school student when he got mixed up in a road race. He drove his 1984 Camero, a vehicle that he and best friend Alex Jones rebuilt in the course of a summer auto-body class. That camero was a vehicle that father Greg used for police work in the

Another fifteen minutes later, Michelle put on a brimmed hat and I wore my Twins cap as we piloted the canoe out to the far side of the lake where Tessa, James and Shelly were casting lines. "Hey, look at that," James said as we approached. "A car in a canoe." "James, keep it down," Tessa scolded. "That's not very nice," Michelle said. I smirked. "You're doing it wrong." "What?" Tessa asked. "Yeah," Michelle said. "You see, Greg weighs as much as a car, or maybe more, because his end of the canoe is deeper than mine." "Nah, nah," Shelly said. "Greg weighs as much as Summer." "At least I don't need license tabs," I replied. "No, but you need a speaker that goes 'beep' 'beep' 'beep' when you moonwalk," Michelle smirked. "Oh please," I muttered as I moved the middle of the canoe to help balance it. "Should we test your theory or what?" "That's more like it," Michelle replied. "Now I know I've hit a nerve." "Oh," James smiled nervously as he cast his line. "Maybe I

If things looked better in the morning, I couldn’t tell all that much. Michelle told me that she had received a text from Cauldwell about a meeting. I later checked my phone after a trip to the shower, and then it became clear that we had a meeting scheduled for nine am. No continental breakfast could be found, but the Hilton had room service. A full menu at that. Good thing I had gotten up with more than enough time to make the deadline. It’s not my fault the FBI paid for the room and the hotel didn’t give us any other option. Their eggs bennedict was good, as was the blueberry muffin. I seem to recall that Michelle got a rather aromatic Denver omlette with fresh fruit. Michelle and I went to the meeting. Collette wasn’t there, and neither was Rio. Neither of us asked why. As was the case all week, nobody was wearing a mask and the need for one had not yet arisen. I found it curious, though, that Agent Mellner was not present. Any reason for her absence was not

About an hour passed before either of us did much of anything, though Michelle might’ve been the first to visit the bathroom. I don’t think we even turned on the television; both of us mostly drifted off and took a good siesta. My phone might’ve rang around 3:30, when Agent Jepson arrived at the hotel. Two moments later, he arrived at the room. He delivered our luggage, but wanted to show us the race transmitter and the tablet, which had been brought seperately by Agents Hawthorne and Hannibal. He asked that we join them in a private meeting room on the hotel’s second floor. Inside was your typical hotel conference room, though this one was more upscale than most I’ve been to in recent memory. Several tables had been set up with chairs, though I couldn’t see us needing more than one. Hawthorne and Hannibal were there waiting for us. On the nearest table to the group was the tablet and transmitter from the race. “There won’t be any need to sit,” Hannibal said. “Please

Cruising through the wash of the hydrant, there was no disputing what would happen next. Stratocaster overruled my brake, however, choosing to accelerate and speed up enough so that she continued past LaSalle and into Lincoln Park, where she came to rest surrounded by bushes and trees. Just enough cover, I thought, for what’ll come next. I collected my phone from the cup holder and quickly pocketed it. The details in the dash began to fade as Stratocaster’s reversion began. “Gregory? What is happening?” “Just stay still,” I said. “We're okay. You’re not in danger.” “The car is shrinking!” Sure enough, Stratocaster began to shrink as the details of her cabin faded and retracted into herself as everything reverted beneath us. The seat shrank and faded before forming into Michelle’s back as her body materialzed beneath Rio and me. The contents of her cargo hold soon appeared behind us as well, as Rio and I were now sitting - or perhaps crouching - onto Michelle’s back as

The train came to a brief stop at the next station, Hastings, which was a much larger city compared to the previous stop. Amtrak officials were there to collect Rick, and as it was still raining quite steadily, we rode onward. Fortunately, the rest was brief and the train continued moments after rolling to a stop. By then it was almost two in the afternoon. The rain would have to let up before we had any hope of rejoining the race. Riding by train felt a little like cheating, but hey, we were moving. I also made a point to send a text to Jepson about picking up a pair of shoelaces somewhere before we met up again. Afterward, I leaned back into the seat and watched Nebraska prairie pass us by outside. Around a quarter to four, two things happened. The announcer informed us that the California Zephyr was approaching Lincoln, Nebraska and that the train would be stopping for a brief layover of approximately six minutes. Second, I discovered that we seemed to be ahead of the

Twenty miles northeast of Norton, highway 383 came to an end as our choices were either to return southward back into Kanas or bid farewell to our escorts and travel northward into Nebraska. It was time to decide. Fertham called on the phone this time. “Claxion, the arraingment between the FBI and the Kansas State Police only extends while you are within the state borders. It’s your call.” “You’ve been more than accomidating, officer,” I replied. “You have my respect for keeping up with us.” “And mine,” Rio added. “This means a lot to me.” “If nothing else, you owe me a beer next time you’re passing through,” Fertham said with a chuckle. “Marigold too.” “You’re on,” I said. “Thanks for the escort.” “Anytime.” Fertham’s patrol car then turned southward, and once the traffic was clear, I turned northward. Officer Marigold went southward as well and as we passed by the WELCOME TO NEBRASKA sign we were now alone. Okay, so the sign didn’t actually say that - instead it

Sixty miles later, we reached the city I was hoping to overnight in - Limon, Colorado. There were hotels and the like but it wasn’t any major destination in my mind - rather, we’d have been an hour closer to Chicago. Passing through the city’s downtown drive took two minutes, and a moment later I opened up Stratocaster’s accelerator down the onramp to I-70 East. By now we were on the eastern edge of Colorado, and barring any major delays, we might even make it to Kansas before it rains. Needless to say, conversation was light. Truck traffic, however, was not. As it was now Tuesday, there were lots of trucks on the road and I found myself slaloming through them all the way to the Kansas state line. “Gregory?” Rio asked after getting onto I-70. “We have a problem.” “Oh? What’s that?” My mind quickly thought up possibilites. Did we forget the transmitter? A piece of clothing? Cellphone? Or worse? “We seem to be in fifth place.” “Oh.” Is that all. Suppose I‘d been

Although Rio’s room was closer to the elevator - she was in 315 - the three of us ended up inside of room 317. Our group looked over the menu, and my mind was less concerned with noodles or rice. Instead, I was more concerned about the fate of our chasers. The day had been omniously free of detractors, never mind our standing in the race. “So what do you think?” Michelle asked after a moment. “It seems like we can’t be all that alone out here,” I said. “Shades and Rick, or even those girls, can’t be all that far behind.” “Nah, nah,” Michelle said. “Rice, Pad Thai, or General Tso’s?” My eyes narrowed. “Um, how about the Dinner for Three and then that coupon of theirs?” “Is not valid on group orders,” Rio said. “The dinner comes with appetizers, soup and all that.” She lowered the menu. “But I am glad you think that we got off easy today.” “We’re at the halfway point, but I worry that there’s more going on yet,” I said. “Our day just seems too easy.” “Agreed, but I

Inside the travel plaza, Rio headed straight to the restrooms. I followed behind, but only once she went into the ladies’ room did I double back to the windows. Almost as quickly as we had gone inside, Agent Jepson was outside approaching the Ford GT and going through the actions of fueling the GT, which I could see that Stratocaster was more than happy to assist with. “Quite a car out there,” a customer said, startling me. I nearly jumped before looking to my left where a fellow with a thick beard and a flannel jacket faced me, but mostly the GT outside. “Yeah,” I smirked without acknowledging if the car we were talking about was the car I had arrived to the service station with. “Yours?” he asked. Again, I shrugged without fully answering. I continued to watch as Jepson did a full circle, inspecting the vehicle as he put the fuel pump into Stratocaster but did not fully depress the trigger. In the meantime, I saw him drop something near the front bumper, which he then got

My phone’s alarm, as well as the hotel’s clock radio, beeped at exactly 6:20 the following morning. Michelle was human, but I could tell she wasn’t in any rush to go back to work driving another five hundred miles. Realizing I would have set the alarm for twenty minutes later had I not been travelling with women - there's no way around it, they take longer to get ready - I realized it’d still be up to me to get motivated. I threw aside the covers and killed both alarms as I put on my glasses and sat up at the edge of the bed. “Come on, time to get up,” I said. “Breakfast time for drivers.” Michelle groaned quietly from beneath the blanket. I picked up the phone and dialed next door to room 433. Rio answered in a moment or two. “Wha?” “It’s Gregory,” I said. “Would you rather I bring you breakfast or will you meet us in a moment?” She hesitated to yawn. “What time is it?” “Time to get up. I can bring you a plate, but we have to be out the door by twenty after seven to be

Across the parking lot and down a short sidewalk that had been all but built from lobby to lobby was the restaurant known as Oregano’s. Some kind of local Italian chain - they apparently had two locations in Flagstaff alone - the menu featured cleverly-named pasta dishes, Margharita-style thin crust pizza, entrée salads and Chicago-style hoagie sandwiches. As we entered, the place was lively and packed. Nobody wore masks, and nobody seemed concerned about the recent news stories up in Washington state. If were were living in a pandemic, there were no obvious signs confirming it here. Rio and I got a table near the back and wasted no time looking over the menu. I couldn’t read the pasta items without chuckling quietly. “Get this. Coop de Ville Jumbo Chicken Parm. Shrimpley Caprese. Alfredo the Dark. Stuffed Riga Tony.” “And the Lady is a Scampi,” Rio muttered. “Italian food is so filling, it makes me feel so heavy.” Probably the reason why she’s not fat, except