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‘What could be better than this?’ Felix thought to himself, ‘Ending the day surrounded by friends.’
Felix leant back in his armchair, looking over the room. It was cabinet neighbours’ night. The guests and Nicelanders were at ease, chatting amongst themselves while sharing drinks and finger foods. Pac Man wolfed down half a dozen cherries, Roy from Asteroids laughed as he shared a cocktail with Gene, and… There was no sign of Turbo.
His co-racers, Dash and Go-Go, sipped on root beers as they lounged on a couch, quietly talking amongst themselves. Go-Go set down his now-empty bottle.
Felix hopped up, “Oh! Let me get you a refill!” With a hop, skip and a jump, he fetched the navy racers crisp cold bottles from the cooler and set them down in front of them.
“Ah, thanks,” the racers said in unison.
“No problemo, friends.” Felix smiled, “Say, d’ya know if Turbo’s coming?”
They shrugged.
“I dunno.” said Go-Go.
“He’s probably still at the track.” Dash added.
Norwood piped up, “Of course, where else would he be?” eliciting a snicker from the two. Felix slightly laughed as he settled back into his chair, but stole a glance at the clock. It was typical for Turbo to be late — despite being one of the fastest characters in the arcade, he always took his sweet time to arrive — but it’d almost been an hour. And he’d never no-showed like this before.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
“Speak of the devil…” Dash sighed.
“I’ll get it—”
“No, no,” Gene interrupted, beating him to the door. “Relax, Felix. You, sir, had a busy day.”
Felix jokingly tutted, “Fine.” but smiled thankfully. It had been a busy day after all, with a near-never ending line.
Gene opened the door, and—
“Turbo-tastic!” The pale racer bursted in, exclaiming with a giggle, “I hope I’m not too fashionably late!”
A chorus of hellos rippled through the room as he waltzed over, trekking in mud and dusting off dirt from his tracksuit. Gene visibly bristled, closing the door without a word.
“Pac Man! Still cherry chasing, I see! And Roy! You didn’t accidentally bring in an alien, did you?” Turbo chortled before calling out to Don — the closest Nicelander to the bar, “Barkeep! A root beer float! Sans the beer and double — no — triple the float!”
He guffawed as he flopped down between his co-racers and made himself comfortable, sprawling out. Both of them shifted to the very edges of the couch, their smiles tightening.
Don presented Turbo with a pint glass full of vanilla ice cream and topped with a cherry, and the racer noisily dug in.
The mood felt… off tonight. Felix couldn’t help but notice how the conversations around them had died out upon Turbo’s rambunctious arrival, turning into stilted silence and awkward smiles.
Felix cleared his throat, “So, pal… How was your day?”
With a spoonful still in his mouth, Turbo eagerly spoke up, “Oh, it was so busy!” he whined.
Felix laughed, “Tell me about it, it—”
“I was racing nonstop alllllllllll day!” Turbo interrupted, “It’s so hard being so popular, but — haha — that’s what I get for being the best!”
“Not for long. Maybe.” Dash muttered.
Turbo rolled his eyes, chuckling as he popped the cherry in his mouth, “Oh please, like either of you will ever beat me…”
“You haven’t heard?” Deanna asked.
“Haha, about what?”
“It’s been the talk of the town!” Norwood chimed in, “Rumour has it that a new game’s getting plugged in soon.”
Turbo blew a raspberry, “Games come and go, ha, so what?”
“A new racing game.” Dash added.
Turbo fell silent.
Deanna mused, “Ooo, I do wonder what kind of racing game it’ll be!”
More and more Nicelanders joined in on the conversation as Felix listened on passively. They speculated about what theme it could have, throwing out ideas.
“Space?”
“Another racetrack one?”
“Oh oh! A candy themed one!”
“Is that an actual idea or just your stomach talking, Norwood?”
The group erupted in a bout of laughter, shaking their heads at such a silly idea. Felix clocked how uncharacteristically quiet Turbo was for the subject matter, looking over at him. The racer’s lips were tightly pursed as his yellow eyes flitted between the Nicelanders. He gripped onto his glass tightly, abruptly slamming it down.
“Regardless,“ he said tersely, laughing through gritted teeth, “I’ll still be the best racer in the arcade.”
Go-Go shrugged, “Dunno… You’re losing your edge.”
Turbo scoffed.
“C’mon, you know how close our races have been.”
Turbo waved his hand dismissively. “Because of the players,” he huffed, “and the controls. They get stuck, y’know.”
“And after hours?” Dash questioned, raising an eyebrow. Turbo merely shot him a death glare.
“Look, end of the day, Turbo, you’re getting sloppy.” Go-Go downed the rest of his root beer, “And one of these days, a new racer’s gonna pull up and beat you.”
Turbo glowered at him, his ashen face reddening as he braced himself to launch what Felix could only anticipate being a slew of expletives.
“Now now, fellas.” Felix spoke up. “Let’s not get unfriendly… For now, Turbo’s the best racer; nobody can deny that,” he offered him a smile, “And a little bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone, right?”
Turbo scowled, folding his arms while avoiding Felix’s eyes.
“...Right…?”
With a growl, Turbo stormed off and knocked over the remainder of his ice cream, which was now a melted, soupy mess. The front door slammed behind him.
After a long pause, conversation very stiffly resumed. Gene hastily retrieved a cloth to clean up the spillage before it dripped onto the floor. The prior topic had been dropped in favour of stilted small talk.
Felix stood up, “I’m… I’m gonna go check up on him.”
The group nodded and mumbled in acknowledgement. As he stepped into the hallway, he overheard Gene sighing, “Why do we even invite him…”
Something crinkled under his boots — a candy wrapper. Felix looked up the hall, following a trail of them all the way to the rooftop door. He quietly opened the door and peered out.
At the end of the line, there he was. Turbo stood by the edge, grumbling to himself as he furiously chewed on a bubblegum candy cigarette. He tossed the wrapper to the ground, amongst a pile at his feet.
“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” he muttered, his tirade broken up by angry giggles, “No no, they don’t. I don’t need competition — I’m the best. Yes, I am…”
“...Turbo?” Felix called out.
The racer immediately fell silent, his gaze snapping onto Felix as he peered over his shoulder. “Fix-It-Felix Jr.” He stated coldly.
Felix forced a smile as he approached, weaving between the wrappers littering the ground, “There you are, pal! I was looking for you.”
Turbo looked away.
“...Buddy…” Felix hesitated before lightly placing a hand on the racer’s shoulder. Turbo tensed, but didn’t move, “They didn’t mean anything by it—”
“Ohoho, they did.” Turbo huffed, unwrapping another candy cig.
“—And anyhow,” Felix continued, unperturbed by the interruption, “You don’t need to be the best.”
Turbo slowly turned to him, a look of pure incredulousness etched onto his face. “What.”
“Look, I know you like being on top ‘n all…” Felix said softly, “Don’t we all, hah. But eventually, things are going to slow down, and… and, well. You’ll still be good enough. Even if you’re not the best.”
Turbo’s expression softened.
“You…” Turbo started with a shaky breath. Felix gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“You… Ha. You almost got me.” Turbo chuckled, his brow furrowing as he sharply inhaled, “I’m the best. I’m the greatest racer in the whole arcade. And nobody — nobody — will take that away from me.”
Felix’s hand dropped to his side as a chill ran down his spine. Turbo’s eyes bore into him and a wicked sneer contorted his lips. He was almost feverish with rage, trembling and turning red.
But he almost had him. Maybe… Maybe he could…
“There’s more to each game than winning.”
“Like you would get it!” Turbo snapped. Felix flinched, stepping away. “YOU!” the racer shrieked, punctuating every other word by poking Felix’s chest, “And your pies and your medals for WHAT?! Waving that old hammer of yours and fixing a building?!”
“Hey, now—”
“You haven’t EARNED those ‘wins’ like I HAVE!” he pointed to himself, “That is MY trophy—!”
“Turbo—!”
Turbo grabbed Felix by the scruff of his shirt, dragging him closer as he roared, “NOBODY’S GONNA TAKE IT FROM ME! NOBODY—!”
“What! Are! You! Doing!”
They both looked towards the rooftop door. Gene marched over, “What are you doing?!” he asked again.
Turbo looked at Gene. He looked at Felix.
“Turbo…” Felix uttered.
Turbo pushed Felix away from him. The handyman barely stopped himself from falling. Without another word, Turbo shoved past Gene.
“Hey!” Gene yelled, “Stop!”
“Gene,” Felix sighed, “Let him go.”
It wasn’t like his words mattered. The racer was already gone.
Gene scowled towards the door before hurrying over, placing a hand on Felix’s back, “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I…” Felix tried to find the words, but his mind was elsewhere. He peered over the edge, watching as Turbo jumped into his race car and sped off into the night. He left shredded grass, kicked up dirt and tire tracks in his wake.
He looked at Gene, offering a weary smile, “I’m okay. Fit as a fiddle.”
Felix didn’t know why he was thinking of that night, which was now almost 30 years ago.
He looked out of his window, beyond his game’s vista and beyond the cabinet screen, out into the empty arcade.
He supposed that recent events hit a little too close to home.