S.O.R.R.R.Y

The final race and its unfortunate events had shaken the whole yard. Some were thriving through cheer and celebration, some through hurt and injury, but most of the general moods were high to some degree.

Rusty and Pearl hadn’t stopped in their wondersome moment; smiles wide as they paraded around the track and waved to their adoring onlookers. Spirit was booming, and the crowd, even more so. It seemed as though the whole world was working in their favour, shining down onto the pair and illuminating the path in front of them, ignoring the flames which trailed behind and the smoke that fogged the sidelines.

No one took any care to check upon the three who had fallen.

No one seemed to care that the smog had engulfed their stumbled, trackside wheels.

And they’d not care either- not until they finished their celebratory cheer for the steamer.

Away from the party, far out of view of the surrounding atmosphere, the wiped out trains laid still. They didn’t know where they were, where they could go, or whether they’d even be able to move at all, and the mood upon the three was not looking spectacular.

Their frames were dented, their engines were spluttering, and their paintwork was scratched.

It was a sight of pure terror as the smoke continued its spread, oil burning dangerously close to their site of lay. There’d be no rescue for any of them- not when they were the ones that caused it.

One of the injured- a small, oil-filled freight, laying on her side with a cough and lack of breath- wheezed out. Her pipes had come loose beneath her, and the state of her tank wasn’t looking pretty.

She let another cough escape her throat, and then made a weak attempt to lift her head.

Slick’s vision was blurry, and her head pounded sharper than she’d ever felt before, but she could just about make sense of two, defeated silhouettes lying quietly on the track a few metres ahead.

The world felt unreal- like everything was working in slow motion, like time would never move on. She would lay there forever, if she could. It didn’t feel as though she could do much more.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a second to breathe before reopening them. Perhaps it was a dream. She wasn’t really sure. It did all seem quite dreamy.

The flames were beginning to burn dangerously close to the yellowed figure in the distance, however, so as the freight dropped her head again and watched on, blurred consciousness started to take its claim.

Sure, nothing made sense in her wiped, scattered mind, but she was all too aware that a flame that bright shouldn’t be touching anything. Flames were fun, but not when they were uncontrollable.

The figure ahead- Greaseball- didn’t seem to be making an attempt to move. She was out like a light, thrown across the turf as though discarded from the need of existence. It was as though she’d given up, and Slick had never seen her in such a vulnerable state.

She sputtered out another cough as the flame spread closer to the unconscious diesel, illuminating her scraped plates and shining her neon-yellow finishing in a new, unseen light. Slick still wasn’t fully there, but she was still conscious enough to spot a bad thing waiting to happen.

Her eyes darted towards the other, silent figure.

Electra, the other affected engine, was a few feet away too, eyes closed but chest heaving. They weren’t faced away from the freight like the diesel was, and Slick could tell that their eyes were only closed through pain, and not through supposed unconsciousness. Sure, they needed help too, but at least they were alive.

Greaseball, however, was about to fall into a different fate, if she’d not already done so.

In a fearful, desperate yelp, Slick called out.

Her voice was sore and broken, but she knew she had to power onwards. She was known for a life of crime and illegal activity, but she wasn’t a monster. She’d not let a paying customer fall to ruins from one of her plans. Or anyone to a serious extent, for that matter. Against common belief, she wasn’t really all that into murder.

“Electra-“ she spluttered, forcing out her words and pulling her weight to her elbows, inching forwards and dragging herself closer towards them.

They didn’t immediately react, but after a few more yells, Electra’s eyes flickered open beyond the smoke, squinting in fevered pain and hands grasping their aching head.

Slick could’ve almost cried at the reaction, grinning and gasping in relief before getting back to the task at hand. The flames were getting nearer, and Greaseball still wasn’t moving.

The scenario was growing to be fearful, but she didn’t want to let fear win.

Electra held their eyes open for a second, focusing into the scene surrounding and coming to terms with their situation. They seemed startled amidst their sudden wake, but Slick continued her instruction before any panic could set in.

They had to act, and they had to act now.

”Electra,” she called, coughing again from the force, “Electra, the flames! The flames!”

They turned their head at Slick’s panicked yells, peering towards the direction she was gesturing to and dropping their jaw at the sight.

They locked onto the unmoving Greaseball, and displayed a look of sheer terror at the high-set flame working to engulf her.

Electra turned their head quickly back to the crawling freight, then peered painfully down to their crushed leg beneath them.

They gulped.

“I- I can’t move. My leg is trapped-“

”Shit.” Slick echoed back, continuing to drag herself painfully towards the knocked champion.

The oil coating the tracks was thick beneath her, slipping the balance from her grasp and causing a harsh tumble back onto the floor. She gagged from the taste of fumes in her throat, and pulled herself up again, using all of her might to make a stand.

Electra watched on from the distance as the willing freight stumbled her way onwards.

After a moment, she managed to pull herself up again, harshly tripping over to the diesel and throwing herself down at her side when she reached close distance.

She reached her hands forwards, grasping onto the metal of Greaseball’s shoulders and shaking her violently, revealing her flopping head and limp frame.

Greaseball wasn’t reacting, so Slick called out again.

”Electra, she isn’t waking up!”

The words felt like a death sentence- as though the pure syllables had just revealed an announcement that no one would ever want to make. The oil tanker had said similar sentences before, but never in such a devastating, scary type of way.

She didn’t like its new tone of voice.

From the side, Electra tried their best to struggle themselves free, but the state of their leg was proving to make the task impossible, so they simply stayed placed in shock, watching the scene in helpless surrender.

Electra hated Greaseball on the best of days. Despised her, in fact- but now, under the threat of the situation and concern at what may be, they had seemed to mellow.

They didn’t hate Greaseball enough to wish her dead, and they actually secretly quite liked having someone to compete against.

After all, who would they prove victorious with if not the world champion?

Slick shook her again, heaving breaths pouring from her mouth and eyes stinging from the smoke.

The flames were growing dangerously near, surrounding them in a half-ring and roaring in their positions.

She didn’t know what to do- didn’t know who to turn to. She didn’t know if she’d even be able to show her face again, if she was even able to drag Greaseball to safety at all. Everyone would know that this was her doing- the untrustworthy, mischievous freight, ruining races and endangering lives once again. It was what she was known for, and she had a gut feeling that this time, she’d not be able to get away with it.

She shook Greaseball one last violent time, and then gave up in trying to wake her. It was hopeless, she was gone for the taking.

The only thing left was to do what she thought she was incapable of- drag her out of there herself.

It was too late to run for help, too late to wait for the marshals to act and diminish the fire. It was Slick’s task now, and Slick’s task alone.

She breathed out a shaky breath, looking down to the unreacting locomotive and straightening her position.

The upcoming task racing around her mind seemed impossible, knowing that the diesel was heavy with muscle anyway, but would now be pure dead weight. No one could pull a diesel of such power- especially not a freight as small as Slick.

But, she had to try.

So, she took a stand, coughed and heaved, and reached down to the couplers protruding from Greaseball’s back.

The angle was awkward, but upon looking over to Electra with a silent nod, she started pulling.

The oil beneath them both proved helpful in an easier slide, but the harsh noise of metal upon the track was deafening, and made both of the conscious surroundings cringe. The whole scenario was disgustingly unpleasant, but the freight was determined to get them all out of it.

She had caused it, so she would fix it.

Electra watched on with scrunched features as Slick whined and tugged, pulling at the knocked out champion and squirming as the flames threatened nearer.

The heat was unbearable for them all, but Electra wasn’t in direct threat just yet, so they allowed Slick to focus her efforts on Greaseball.

No one had checked that she was even still breathing yet, but the effort to get her to safety was there either way- dead or alive.

Neither of them could hear if the distant trains were still celebrating beyond the horizon, but whatever they were supposedly doing seemed like a whole world away now- in a different reality, even.

It was exactly as though the three of them had been forgotten.

Slick continued her pull, tears streaming down her face as she strained to tug the weight, grunting through the pain and huffing at the effort. They were getting somewhere at least, even if not fast.

As the diesel and freight made it to the side of the track after a long while of work, Slick breathed out, displaying a sob as she dropped the limp train beneath her. She wiped a tear of sweat from her forehead, and coughed out the thick smoke that had entered her pipes. At least now away from the flames, Greaseball wouldn’t be a full burn victim, just a slight one.

As the pressure of the task settled, Slick lifted her head at a haze of commotion in the distance.

Her head was still pounding and her vision was blurred, but she was aware of the sudden company and upheaval in action.

Up ahead, a group of silver and black and white squares had bounded into action, tending to the electric and fighting against the fire. If only they'd paid attention and arrived earlier. Maybe then Slick wouldn’t have had to pull such a weight.

The freight breathed out, still shallow and weak. She turned her head back towards the diesel, who was still knocked out cold against the ground. Her paintwork was destroyed and her chest light was flickering temperamentally, fighting to stay alive just as she was doing.

Slick wasn’t trained in first aid. She was trained in the opposite, in fact, so there wasn’t much more that she could do. At least the components and marshals were in close capacity now- they’d know what to do.

It was a gut wrenching feeling, to have caused all of the surrounding mess, and then be unable to fix it, no matter how hard she wanted to.

She was useless.

She was scrap.

No one would want her after this.

She scrunched her eyebrows, staring down to the floor in shocked freeze as her eyes scanned Greaseball again, who was still remaining unconscious at her wheels.

Slick’s own wheels were seething in pain too- ripped at the screws and battered by the stoppers.

She would have to get them replaced completely, if she’d ever have the nerve to show her face in the yard again.

After another few, long moments, a panicked, high pitched voice called out from the distance.

Slick turned her head and squinted, listening intently through her dizzy mind. She was too disoriented to tell which direction it was coming from.

”Greaseball?!…” A confused sob, and then another. “Greaseball?”

The repeating word grew more fearful with each turn, and louder the closer that they got.

The shaking freight recognised the voice.

It was Dinah, fighting her way through the fog.

Slick had once thought Dinah stupid to care about such a train. Pathetic, even, to put effort into someone who didn't truly like a soul.

But now… now she thought she understood.

She didn’t really realise herself how impactful Greaseball had been to her until she was laid half-dead at her feet.

She found to even look up to her, in a strange, sadistic sort of way.

But, she couldn’t face the train that loved her the most- couldn’t look her in her eyes as her heart broke and as the blame landed directly onto the only suitable truck.

So, she took one more look at the diesel in case it would be her last, and limped her way into the shadows of the yard.

-

She had stumbled throughout the back roads of the yard, limping in pain as her limbs cramped and her wounds ached. She knew no one would care for her now- there wasn’t any point in begging.

Disappearing, just like she had been good at before, was the only option left.

The tubing around Slick’s frame hung low and dislodged around her chest, hissing, biting oil leaking from the cracks and fluid seeping from the hinges. She’d never been in a state quite like it- never been so visually and physically impaired- and so, she sat.

She dragged herself into a corner, and she sat.

The location surrounding was a lot less pleasant under the moonlight than it normally was in the day. Well, it hadn’t really ever been a sight, but the bright hues of the awakening morning were filled with much better memories than the one she was experiencing now.

When she was younger, Slick hung out at the resident scrap yard more than she hung out anywhere else. It was a safe space; a judgement free zone where the freight siblings could play without fear, and mischieve without warning.

It was as though none of the world mattered when the four of them entered those four, high walls, and it was a feeling she longed for but knew she would never feel again.

Those days of peace and fun were long gone now.

They’d never return.

The loose, dumped metal shuddered throughout the yard as the wind blew through, leaning by the force and clanging from the pressure. There was nothing to be seen but piles and piles of rust, and Slick debated on joining them, giving into the decay and leaving herself for scrap. It wasn’t like anyone would notice, not even if the colours were different from the rest.

Worthless wasn’t even the word for it. She felt like nothing.

It was a confusing feeling, in all honesty.

She loved creating havoc- lived and breathed it- but this time… it felt wrong.

Consequences had never been a bother in her excitable, overworking mind. She was content in destroying and leaving, getting paid and moving on, and she mostly even enjoyed watching her creations from a distance, basking in the terror surrounding a job well done.

Crime was her motto, crime was her lifestyle… and without crime, she probably wouldn’t’ve stuck around.

And that was the dilemma she was facing.

She squinted as her leg seethed with pain, clutching the material upon it and pressurising the area. She wasn’t too sure what was lurking below- whether a burn, a scrape, or a cut, but she wasn’t too bothered in finding out. Ignorance was bliss, and she’d rather not have known.

Slick did know however, the extent of the rest of her cosmetics.

The short, curled hair upon her head was thick with oil, coated in layers from where her swaying head had hit the ground, and her light was flickering just as Greaseball’s had done- a solid sign that her internals were struggling alongside. It was going to be a long night, and with no hope of tomorrow, was going to seem even longer.

Slick sighed out, furrowing her brows and wheezing out her breath. She allowed herself to slump back against the fence she was leaning upon, scanning the yard with her blurred vision and humming carefully to keep herself company.

It was boring to feel so alone again, but she didn’t mind too much. She knew that eventually, this was going to be how she’d end up.

She’d seen it coming from miles away.

The hours passed, and the night fell darker.

Maybe it hadn’t been hours- maybe it had been minutes… maybe even seconds, but however long it had been, when a rustle sounded from a few metres ahead, the sound was still taken by surprise.

It wasn’t unusual for a fox or some other stray creature to nestle amongst the scrap, so when Slick opened her eyes and saw nothing before her, she closed them again, content in the fact that an animal could hurt her no further.

It was only when a voice sounded out, that she opened them again.

“Slick.”

The voice sounded foreign in her company, completely unexpected and quite a terror to be heard upon.

It had come to take her away, surely, to lock her up and deport her from the yard.

To make Slick disappear, just like she had done all those years ago.

She widened her eyes, pupils blown with wide unexpectancy and a hint of fear. She didn’t want to face the train standing above her.

Didn’t want to face anyone at all.

However, despite the smaller freight’s silent expression, the newcomer didn’t move, simply staring down in disappointment with his lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

Through the blur of her vision, Slick stared up at Hydra, her younger brother.

Technically they weren’t really related, but the group had been raised together and put through the same, past hell, so the four of them treated each other more like family than some biological ones even did.

It didn’t really mean that she liked him, though. The elder three had always had mixed opinions on the tall, hydrogen tank.

She blinked.

“What do you want?”

Her voice was defensive and mean, but tired by obvious means. She denied further eye contact, looking to the floor and flinching as she crossed her arms. Pain shot through her core.

Hydra, towering over her like a shadow, had a look of pure disappointment on his face. He seemed disgusted, like the events in which had occurred had finally given him an excuse to display his dislike. Slick had been fully aware that the two of them were never in the best of favours, but his pure demeanour truly confirmed that now.

He sighed.

“I knew you’d be here.”

Slick tutted, keeping her arms crossed.

“Yeah, well, where the hell else was I meant to go?”

Her defensiveness grew stronger, and Hydra simply shook his head. He understood why though.

“You really made a scene.” His stern, boring words were droning. Slick didn’t reply. “But then again, when do you not?”

The freight leaning against the wall didn’t understand his point- didn’t know why he was being so damn miserable about it. She thought that he was used to her antics by now, even though he never really agreed with them.

“So?”

Slick rolled her eyes, and Hydra continued his stare downwards for a second longer, before turning and staring out onto the yard.

“I’ve been telling you for years that you were going to take this all too far. But you never listened, and now here we are.”

The oil tanker didn’t understand why he was suddenly being so stern with her. Sure, he’d always stuck his nose in places where it didn’t belong and made feeble attempts at ‘converting her to good’, but he’d never acted like a parent about it.

Slick felt as though she was being told off like a naughty child.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, guessed that she was.

“I didn’t take it too far… it just backfired. I’ve done it a million times before. And I wasn’t the only one involved.”

Hydra shook his head.

“But not during the final of a championship, Slick. Seriously, how stupid do you have to be? You could’ve killed someone! I know none of us are really in favour of Electra and Greaseball, but did you seriously have to leave them for dead?”

Slick shuddered at the words, closing her mouth to keep herself from retaliating. The plan was never to harm those two.

Hydra continued.

“The marshals said that they’d never seen a diesel so beaten up, did you know that? They had to drag her off scene so she’d not catch alight from the fire that you set. Petty crimes are one thing, sure, but blazing the world champion is a whole ‘nother.”

The oil freight opened her mouth in shock, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. She was the one who had pulled Greaseball off track, she was the one who had made sure that the fire didn’t claim her.

She was the one who had gotten her safe. Not the marshals.

“They didn’t-”

“They didn’t what? I don't even know why you’re trying to deny all of this. You fled the damn scene before you saw anything that happened. Which we should’ve expected, really, since you never think about anyone but yourself.”

Slick’s anger levels were rising. He’d not been there when they’d crashed- he’d not been there when she’d shaken the unconscious diesel and alerted the electric, either.

He’d not been there when Dinah was calling GB’s name in the distance, and he’d not been there when the world had been hazy and her vision had been faltered.

It hit her suddenly that any reviving quality she had given to aid the scene, had gone completely unnoticed. No one would know that she was the reason the world champion was still alive.

No one would know that she was the reason Greaseball wasn’t dead on the sidelines.

But everyone would know that she was the reason Greaseball was even in that position in the first place.

She swallowed, and didn’t reply.

The two of them fell into pained, guilt filled silence, and Hydra simply sighed.

“I know you don’t like me, Slick. I know the three of you never have.”

Slick looked up.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Hydra paused for a moment.

“It means that I don't care how you react to what I say next, because I know you can’t like me any less anyway. That’s why it’s me who’s here, and not the others.”

The small, oil freight stayed silent as he continued.

“Porter and Lumber say they don’t want to work with you anymore… and I know that it’s them who spilled the oil. They told me everything.”

Slick rolled her eyes.

“Obviously.”

“I’m serious, Slick. They’ve had enough- and control will have too. I’ve heard talks of them deporting you when they find out where you are. That’s why I came to find you now, and not later.”

From the floor, Slick swallowed thickly.

Hydra turned back to her, and slumped himself down beside, eyes still staring out onto the scrap metal of the yard.

“I know we’ve never liked each other, and I’ve genuinely never been more disgusted in you than I am now, but I’m still gonna take the effort to tell you to leave before they catch you.”

Slick blinked again, words unavailable.

“Why do you care what happens to me? You just admitted it yourself, you hate my sorry ass.”

Hydra shook his head. It seemed like he’d done that a lot within the last few moments.

“We’re still family, whether we like it or not.”

“Sure.” Her face grew flat.

“Our brothers told me to tell you about a yard a few miles out. They said you can stay there until things die down. It’s abandoned, and pretty shit, but it isn’t too far from home.”

Home. Did she even have that anymore?

“Quit acting like you want to help me.”

“You’d be stupid to think that I don’t.”

The whole ordeal was confusing, but in a strange way, she vaguely understood. Slick didn’t like Hydra either, but it had mainly just been sibling stuff, which had only just bordered into being real. He was the annoying, younger child. It was typical.

Being the middle child had bought its hardships- it was why she had gotten herself into this mess in the first place.

Being constantly ignored and picked on and tormented in her younger years had been hard, even if it was playful, and she hadn’t realised until a few years prior that the silly, petty little things had really affected her. It was why she had wanted to make a name for herself, in all honesty. She had grown tired of being overshadowed by her brothers all of the time.

The name she had made for herself now however, had not been the goal.

A pang of guilt hit her chassis.

She winced as she readjusted her arm, looking down to some bruising forming on her wrist.

“I’ll be gone by the morning.”

“No. You’ll be gone by the hour.”

She blinked, nodding and accepting the instruction. She wasn’t one to take orders, but this time it felt right.