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Humans.
They’re so fragile.
So delicate, so soft, so easy to break, so weak.
Yet they controlled him. They didn’t just control him, they controlled every car they could get their hands on. He didn’t understand how these bags of flesh and bones that barely ever weigh 200 pounds could hold power over machines- no cars that could run them over in a split of a second. How something so small and fragile could control machines that weigh over two tons or more.
It didn’t take him long to find out. It started when they took him from his home, his family, all he ever had or known of. They took advantage of him being unaware, being vulnerable. They locked his tires and before he could even put up a fight he lost. They treated him like prized property, something to sell and show off. They wanted to break him too. Make him forget where he came from, who his pack was, who he was. Wanted to strip his paint off with special whips with metal spikes again and again and again. They wanted to make him have that all to knowing vacant look in cars eyes he’s seen before at auctions. They wanted to break him until all he knew was how to serve humans.
That is when he realized these weren’t fragile bags of flash almost never weighing more than 200 pounds. That they weren’t just some prey he used to hunt with his pact, his family. No these beings were monsters. Smart and cruel monsters, who were able how to tame the well over 2-ton beasts that were his kind and family. Not to mention how to break them too.
Once he realized how much power these humans truly had over his kind. He realized how much he hated it. All of it. He hated watching cars get tortured to their death or until they are a fraction of who they use to be, patiently waiting for their next command by their human. He hated the sound of metal being peeled apart by their special whips. He hated the silent cries and begs for mercy or death by other cars while he was waiting to be auctioned off. He hated seeing cars being tortured to near death for humans enjoyment. Them begging for one thing only mercy, only to receive nothing and a laugh from the humans. He hated seeing that all too knowing vacant look in cars’ eyes. He hated seeing that the humans were successful in killing a car’s hope and will to live, breaking them.
What he truly hated witnessing or seeing with his own eyes, however, was the treatment of the bitlets. Pure innocent cars who have just entered the world being abused by humans. Humans scaring bitlets so that they splat against walls. Depriving them of love and affection, taking them from their families, forcing them to watch as their siblings were either killed accidentally, died off, or were auctioned off one by one until they lose their entire family.
The worst of it all, however, was the museums. Cars told stories in the head of warning of humans kidnapping cars to shove them in museums while they’re still living. He’s seen them being auctioned off to whatever museum would play the highest price for their model and condition. Taking cars from their homes they spent years searching for to never be found by humans again. Bolting them down against all please of mercy to be killed first before going into that bleach smelling room. Cars would beg and beg and beg to be killed while humans would strip them of any evidence of dirt, of ever being use or ever-living. Tearing families of cars apart all for them to show their history in how they see it. With no respect for the cars that helped them create history. One would wish for death or watching the death of a 100 bitlets before being sentenced to eternity in a museum where all you get is poked and prodded at for hours on end. Only to be cleaned with bleach smelling detergent to do the process all over again. Never seeing the stars or feeling dirt on your tires or paint again. Watching as cars around you die until you’re the last one standing begging for the mercy of death.
He should have been more careful on that dreaded day, he should have never strayed from his pack to explore that little cave that caught his eye. He should have known better, he was an adult car after all. He wasn’t some naive bitlet that needed to be coddled and protected at all times. He should have known that curiosity is what gets you caught and killed by humans. He should have known that the cave was a trap, something to never explore alone but he didn’t listen. He didn’t listen to his gut or anyone for that matter and now he was paying for it.
Maybe he should have fought harder against the humans. There were only four of them after all, four barely 200-pound bags of flesh against him a two-ton machine. He should have won against them, killed them with his tires as he did with all his other prey. But these weren’t naive prey or some innocent doe eye deer who didn’t have the brains to predict their fate of death. No these were geniuses. Humans as a whole were geniuses. They crafted up wheel locks, whips with metal nails attached, ways to take them apart and put them back together in a way where only humans could fix them when they broke down.
Humans had a way to take down any car or machine they pleased and he wasn’t the exception to that fact. Not even close. When he finally realized what was going to happen in that small little cave just far enough that no one in his pack could save him. It was too late, they had already locked and popped his tires. No matter how much he bucked and thrashed against the humans, they opening his door, invading his privacy in every way as if he was nothing. Them going to that special latch in his body to open his hood, stripping him of any sense of privacy in his panicked state. Then just as he realized what they were doing he faded into darkness only to awake when the humans finally had the mercy within themselves to plug his battery back in.
When he finally awoke it didn’t take him long to realized what happened to him in the previous hours, days, weeks, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was far from his pack, his family, all thanks to his stupidity. That he was in a pen that he could barely drive four feet forwards or backward in. That all he could hear were the quiet sobs and whispers of cars around him and the occasional scream from a car or human he didn’t know before silence came once again. He was at the mercy of the humans, the humans who took everything he had and known away from him in a mere matter of minutes. They were in the power of his fate and whether he would live to see another day or feel the dirt under his tires again.
It was then he realized that humans were in fact monsters. Cruel and delicate monsters who rule the world by force. He didn’t want to live a life where every decision or choice was made for him by fragile monsters. He didn’t want to live a life where he was nothing but a showpiece to be beaten and battered only to be rebuilt again.
So when he finally met his “owner” a short, slightly portly man with brown hair in his early 30’s with eyes filled with rage. He decided he wouldn’t bow down to these monsters. In fact, he wants to rule over these monsters no matter what the cost is. They may have taken everything from him but the world will soon know that you don’t mess with a wild Cadillac de Ville even if it’s the last thing he does. The world will respect Tex Dinoco.