Work Text:
“Yea can I get the classic Big Mac, some nuggies, aaaaand… a small coke.” Stone said.
“For just five bucks extra you can upgrade that coke to a large.” The cashier said.
“Damn that’s a steal but I’m on a diet…” Stone slapped his iron clad stomach, which was dressed in a black jump suit covered in ads.
“Aha.” The cashier said with the face that only screamed depression. She pressed a button, and a little stainless steel shelf to her left popped out Stone’s order. He grabbed the tray and walked over to one of the window seats. Whether it’s the 1900’s or 2400’s, looking out the window was always the best part of eating at any place. If you got lucky enough that is.
The Micky-D’s Stone sat in was about a hundred stories above the ground, surrounded by sky-scrapers that also pierced the clouds.
Stone devoured his food all the while looking out the window, staring at the cars that flew by. They weren’t actually cars, they were floating blobs of technology that had giant magnets on the side of them. They were like rail carts without the rails.
If someone didn’t find out how to make magnets disgustingly strong, Stone figured that they’d actually have flying cars right about now.
He finished his big mac, and all he had left were his nuggie wuggies, which he pondered eating. Despite it being McDonalds, the food has gotten healthier, and their reputation over the centuries has cumulated a relationship between its customers akin to a loving one.
“We serve you…” is a common saying floating in the business world now a days. What did Stone know? He devoured the nuggets and got up. He threw his trash away, kept his drink, and walked out of the restaurant.
/-/
“WHERE THE FUCK IS STONE!” An old man with white hair shot his neck outwards looking through a crowd of men all dressed similar to Stone, except their jump suits were blue instead of black.
This group of fine gents were standing on the outskirts of a bustling city, surrounded by mobile homes. Hundreds to be exact, each one placed to make a single racing track. If any of the cars smash into these homes, it’s a free house for the damaged goods.
The men in blue shrugged, while in the distance they could see their competitors getting ready. Placing their own drivers into their own cars.
The cars in question, are heavily modified. Most race cars have gone extinct as manufacturing has ceased for a couple centuries now, but cars still exist. People with passions still build, and something as bodacious as cars never really goes out of style.
That’s why Stone’s car is a mustang with rocket boosters attached to the back. Of course, the boosters are on the lowest setting, just enough to leave burn stains on anything nearby.
The old man was holding a metal clipboard, and after looking around a couple more times, he started smashing it against a metal pole nearby.
“MUTHER FUCKER WHY DO I FUCKING WASTE MY GOD DAMNED TIME” He kept on muttering but by then Stone had walked into their little bubble, sipping on the same small coke he got from the city nearby.
“What’s his problem?”
“Don't mind him, just get in.” one of the men in blue started pushing him towards his car.
“Alright alright.”
Despite society deciding cars should go out of style, NASCAR was still kicking it. Despite it practically being an old man with two broken legs, but refusing to use a wheelchair, the organization is still kicking. The ads on Stone’s jumpsuit are real… but the money still isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough, but that didn’t matter.
Stone looked at his baby, in which he took the time to build. A new requirement to become a racer. All you need is a car, and they’ll provide a crew for you. All nice and neat. Stone placed the coke on the car roof and started to put on his seat belt. The crew helped it on, and he got in the car.
“What about this?” One of them grabbed the drink and held it. Stone grabbed it and winked at him.
“Almost forgot.”
The car was already on, and Stone revved the engine. Most of the cars were already at the line, but not all of them. That’s when the old man came to Stone’s window. It was clear that he was still fuming, and he didn’t say anything once at his window. Only tried his best to calm his breathing.
“You’re going to catch a heart attack…” Stone said.
“I’m ninety-two years old. I’d love one!”
“What do you want Old man.”
He brought up his clipboard, which was now a mangled mess, but the paper that was clipped onto it was still in tack. He tried his best to look at his real notes, but then got mad and threw the fucking thing out towards the mobile homes that surrounded them.
“LOOK. The plan is simple… don’t fucking down shift.”
Stone was slurping up his coke when he told him this, and almost choked on it.
“Down shift’s my thing. I can’t not down shift.”
“That’s the problem. You always down shift. They’ll see it coming.”
“Look… Sully. My pal… it’s going to be alright.”
“No! It’s not going to be alright, look—” Sully was interrupted by the sound of a bell, and Stone drove off just as quick as it sounded. Forcing Sully backwards in fear of his feet.
“Fucking ass hole.”
/-/
Stone drove up to his spot on the line. There were about seven cars racing today. Like his suit, the car was also black, and an old model mustang. Of course its trunk didn’t look anything like the old models, but there was a good reason for that.
Sitting idly next to him, was a lime green car, with the number 52 plastered all over it. The time for numbers was long gone, but the fucker that sat next to Stone had a thing for it. A red haired curly twink with a yellow jump suit, and freckles that’ll make a teen age girl want to cut… Ferland.
He looked over to Stone who was sipping on his drink with a devilish smile and a twinkle in his eye.
“Eating your pain away?” Ferland said.
Stone drank until it started to make bubbling noises. He tossed the drink at one of the mobile homes to his left, splattering the rest of it.
“Taking it easy…”
“Already given up then?”
Stone looked up at the street lights that hung above them. They were made out of random scraps. It was almost time.
“Nothing to say?” Ferland said.
Stone started to laugh, “The only thing I’ve given up on, is finding someone worth my fucking time.”
By then the count down hit zero, and the green lights started to fall downward. The cars all around started to rev up, and Stone drew his window up. Ferland bit his lip, and turned his focus, revving himself.
Once the light landed on red, and the bell rang. Everyone slammed the pedal, so did Stone, but immediately jiggled the stick, and down shifted all the way to the highest setting. Activating the boosters in his trunk.
Originally hidden by the butt; activating through the stick shift motioned it to pop out like some transformer, revealing the two massive rockets. The rest of the cars had left already, as Stone’s car had to build up real quick.
“STONE GOD FUCKING…” The old man slammed his new clipboard against his knee, snapping it in half, and signaling the car.
/-/
The race lasted about a hour and a half. Stone overtook most of the drivers with the makeshift nitro boost from the get go. Forcing the others to follow suit in an attempt to catch up to him. Ferland didn’t fall for the trick, and saved whatever trick he had up his sleeve for later, easily placing him second for most of the race.
As the two flew through the caravan maze, no one managed to hit or side line any of the vehicles, which in of itself was a miracle, but Ferland got close a couple of times, and every time he attempted to overtake Stone, whether it was through a boost of some sort, or cutting corners, as he was very proficient in drifting, Stone would put himself in front of him.
It was like a cat and mouse game but reversed. No matter how many times Ferland was sure he would get in front, Stone found a way to stop him in his tracks.
The race ended with Stone winning first place… obviously. Ferland won second, and the two dropped their cars with their teams. Fortunately, their stations were right next to one another. Stone got a small medal for his achievement, but he would get the check later.
/-/
The old man was somewhere else, probably kicking a dent in one of the RV’s. Stone walked over to Ferland, who was watching his men clean his cars wheels. They were a hybrid of a ferrari and porsche. Stone had to give it to him, Ferland knew how to make a car. He was smoking a Lucky Strike, and noticed Stone.
“What do you want?”
“Got another?” Stone asked.
Ferland let out a cloud, and shook his head. Stone nodded, and stretched.
“Why’d you do that?” Ferland said.
“huh?”
“What was that? Nitro? Some new button on your car?”
“I connected it to my shift.”
“You down shifted?” Ferland let out a chuckle.
Stone nodded.
“Why?”
“Felt right.” Stone then grabbed the Lucky Strike from Ferland, and walked away.
The End.