Chapter Text
"This hearing finds Mr. Benelli eligible for parole."'
With the resounding bang of a gavel, Blackjack Benelli was a free man once again. It'd been four long years for the race fixer, but now he was free to take revenge on the man who'd ruined his career and sent him to jail.
Rex Racer.
Just thinking of the name set rage boiling in Benelli's chest. That little bastard always had a whole lot of nerve, but Benelli thought he'd made their positions clear when Rex wised up and joined Uniron. Clearly he hadn't.
Everyone had heard about last year's Grand Prix- all ruined by the audacity of one Speed Racer- so it was clear the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. Benelli was planning on teaching that little twerp a lesson and getting some posthumous revenge on Rex while he was at it. But then Benelli had long suspected there was something fishy about the Casa Cristo crash.
Obviously, he hadn't done it. In all the years since, not one person had taken credit, and not one valid suspect had been named. A job like that, on a driver like Racer would've been a risk, and an expensive one too. Just cutting the Quicksave wouldn't be enough, you'd need to make sure he needed it, and the hit was bad enough to kill him and destroy the evidence. Not many fixers would take that kind of risk on a driver whose career was already in ashes. Everyone knew that would be Racer's last season, one way or another. (That was why Benelli had briefly suspected suicide. There was some nonsense Rex had spouted long ago about racing being a religion, and maybe the thought of never driving professionally again was too much for him to take. But then the Rex Racer who said that hadn't survived contact with reality.)
No, the more Benelli thought about it, none of the official stories made sense at all. And then in what turned out to be his final month in prison, an informant slipped him a note that cleared it all up. Rex Racer was alive and well, having faked his own death with the help of the CIB. No doubt he'd gone into the program and was cooling his heels in whatever backwater they hide the infamous people in, while Benelli got stuck with the jail sentence.
As Benelli watched the prison walls disappear through a tinted car window, he couldn't help but smirk. He was going to show Rex Racer, once and for all.
-----
Three Months Later, Thunderhead Raceway, 2:30 pm
Following Speed's Grand Prix win nearly a year ago the Racer family had been busy. Not only were there cars to build, races to practice for, and a business to run, but nearly all of them were called on to testify at some point in Royalton's trials, and the following trials of Cruncher Block, Snake Oiler, and several other members of the criminal enterprise. It was exhausting work, but if Speed's words could keep these people out of racing, if he could spare new drivers the same stress and anguish he'd gone through that would mean the world.
He could live without the attention, though. Especially when the same newspapers that tore Rex to shreds just a few years ago built Speed up into some kind of savior of the sport. He knew well the only thing that separated him from Rex was some luck and his family knowing better than they had nine years ago. It was so unfair, it made him want to scream. But everyone was already worried about him, so he went to Thunderhead instead.
Right now he was sitting on the edge of the track, overlooking one of the iconic drops. It was a place Rex and he would sit sometimes after a lap. Rex would bug him about his classes, and if he'd made any friends, and a thousand other inconsequential things Speed would give anything to tell Rex about now. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't hear Trixie approach.
"Penny for your thoughts, Superstar?"
"Trix!" Speed jumped to his feet, "I was just thinking."
"No kidding." Trixie's smile faltered a bit, concern filtering through. Speed wasn't in the mood to be worried about though, so he grabbed her hand.
"The Mach 6's all ready to go, I was just waiting for you."
They'd agreed to test some modifications Pops had made in preparation for Speed's next big race. Speed needed to focus on driving, so Trixie would be along to check the readings and make sure everything was working optimally. And if that meant they had a little guaranteed Spritle-free time together, who was Speed to complain?
On their way up the track, neither Speed nor Trixie noticed a figure in a faded red Uniron jacket slip away from the parked Mach 6, tool box in hand.
---
Racer Household, 3:00 pm
Mom Racer sighed as she sat down at the kitchen table, a fresh sketchbook page before her. She hadn't had much time to herself in the past year, but things were finally slowing down. Pops and Sparky only had one car they were working on so she'd been able to take the afternoon off.
Speed and Trixie were at the track doing some test laps, and she'd not so subtly hinted that her feelings wouldn't be hurt if they didn't get home in time for dinner. Goodness knows they needed some together time that wasn't on a race track or in a courtroom. Spritle wouldn't be home from school for another hour or so. She'd have plenty of time to do some drawing before she had to start dinner. She'd been gravitating towards more organic subjects lately- mostly birds. It made a good contrast to the sharp lines and angles popular in racing cars and graphic design.
Mom had only been drawing for a few moments before the doorbell rang. She sighed and put down her pencil. The birds would just have to wait a little longer.
"Hello?" She slid open the front door, taking in the man who stood outside. He was well dressed, almost too well dressed. There'd been a parade of lawyers, agents, and reporters at their doorstep ever since Royalton went to trial, and Mom had gotten good at spotting them.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Racer," the man greeted, "I was hoping to borrow just a moment of your time."
"Of course, what can I help you with Mr…?"
"Roberts. I'm a freelance reporter, and I was hoping to ask a few questions."
Ah, there it was. "I won't discuss any of the current cases."
"Of course, I understand your position. But my article isn't about any of the current cases."
"Oh?"
"It's a retrospective article, about Rex Racer."
And just like that her brain stopped working. The ghost of Rex had haunted every inch of her house ever since he died. With time the pain had dulled, and the memories that suffused every surface became more bittersweet than painful. She thought about him everyday, but she rarely thought about him. She'd had five years to grieve before he even died after all. But now…
"About Rex?"
"Yes, you see everyone thinks they know who Rex Racer was, but no one's done any new reporting in four years. I can't help but feel any article would be incomplete without at least one family perspective."
"Oh, I um… Why don't you come in, Mr. Roberts."
She stepped aside to let him enter. They'd been approached by reporters before, in the lead up to Rex's trial, but none of that had been in good faith and Pops had told them all where they could put their questions. This seemed different though, and it would be nice to see something about Rex that wasn't purely sensationalized.
Now that she thought about it, Mr. Roberts did look familiar. Perhaps she'd seen him on TV at some point? She was about to ask when she was grabbed from behind. Mom let out a sharp shout before a cloth was forced over her mouth and nose. None of the Racers were strangers to a fight though, and she jabbed her attacker's gut with her elbow. Her efforts were rewarded with a sharp gasp from the man, but his grip held firm. She tried again, if she could get into the kitchen proper she could get a knife… But by then the drug on the cloth had taken its toll. Her second and third attempts to free herself weren't half as strong as the first, and soon she was slipping out of consciousness.
Her last thought before the world went dark was that she had seen "Mr. Roberts" before- nine years ago, at Thunderhead- and he'd been talking to Rex.
----
It was a quiet afternoon in the Racer Motor's garage. Not that Pops minded the quiet. Their lives had been far too loud for his taste lately, and he relished the return to normality. Maybe that's why, after they ran low on a part, he sent Sparky out to the store instead of waiting to pick up more tomorrow. While his mechanic was out, Pops busied himself with some cleanup. With the boom of attention following the Grand Prix, Racer Motors needed to be in tip top shape.
Pop's chest swelled as he remembered Speed pulling into victory lane. His son had become a good man, and a damn good driver. Thanks to the win, the company that had once seemed like a pipe-dream was finally blossoming into all it could be. His only regret was that Rex wasn't here to see what it'd become.
Shit.
Maybe he shouldn't have sent Sparky out. When the garage got too quiet Pops could still hear the squeak of Rex's old racing boots, the tinkering of tools, the quiet way he hummed to himself while he worked. Things had never been the same since Rex left. The world may have known Rex as a race car driver, but he was one hell of a mechanic too.
Pops shook his head to clear it. He still had two sons, and he wouldn't fail them. He turned to get back to his work, before a sharp cough interrupted him. He looked up to see a well dressed man, flanked by two men in business casual. Hired security. Great.
"Excuse me, are you Pops Racer?"
"Yes, can I help you?"
"I had a business inquiry."
Pops fought not to roll his eyes. These sorts of clients were better left to Mom or Sparky, or really anyone but him. He had no patience for rich assholes who thought they were too good to step all the way into a garage but still wanted a racecar. Resigning himself to a tedious customer service experience, Pops stepped forward and offered his hand.
"Well, I'd be happy to answer any questions you have," Pops shook the rich man's hand, "Our office is right through here, if you'd like-"
Pops was cut off by a sharp cry from the house. On instinct he turned, putting his back to the rich man and his body guards.
"Aya?!"
If there was a response, he never heard it, just the telltale buzzing of tasers. And then everything was dark.
---
Cosmopolis Intermediate School, 3:45 pm
Spritle was thoroughly ready to go home. 5th grade, he'd decided, was a needlessly long and involved affair, and there was far too little candy involved to make up for the number of grammar tests. Plus if he got home early enough he might get to watch a full episode of his favorite show before he had to help Mom with dinner. It was these thoughts that carried him along on the route home from Cosmopolis Intermediate. At least until he saw it.
Right there on the side of the road was a racing car, a darn nice one too. And Spritle just had to check that out! If Pops or Speed had new competition in town, they would need to know about it! Closer inspection proved him right, it was an off-track racing car. While it was nothing compared to what Pops built, it wasn't a shabby job either.
"Pretty sweet, huh?" a voice caused Spritle to turn. A blonde woman in racing leathers came to lean against the car. Spritle didn't recognize her as any of the drivers that frequented Thunderhead. She must be new to town.
"It's okay," he crossed his arms, trying to look cool. The woman chuckled.
"Are you a connoisseur?"
"My pops builds race cars."
"Hmm I see. It is an older model, I'll admit, but it's had some upgrades recently," she glanced over at him, "Want to see what it can do?"
"Really?"
"Really," she opened the side door.
Spritle all but leapt in. Speed never took him racing, he'd hardly ever been in the front of a racing car in his life. As they pulled away from the curb Spritle didn't notice the subtle click of the doors locking into place.
----
Thunderhead Raceway, 4:00 pm
Speed and Trixie glided through the finish on their seventh lap with all the readings still looking good. The conversation had drifted towards where to get dinner. Trixie had just about convinced Speed to try the new sushi place when the roar of an engine let them know they weren't alone. Speed- always one to chat, or race, with his fellow drivers- pulled to a stop next to the mysterious new car. Trixie noted that it had no company logo- not too strange in between racing seasons- but it seemed vaguely familiar.
The driver emerged, a woman with long dark hair wearing a faded racing jacket. It took Trixie a moment to recognise the old Uniron logo. (They'd done a series of redesigns and rebrands in the past four years.) A quick glance at Speed told her he'd noticed as well.
"So, you're Speed Racer," the woman asked, almost casually, "Our new grand prix champion."
"Yeah, I'm Speed. This is Trixie, my spotter."
Trixie waved, but the woman's eyes seemed to pass right over her and back to Speed. Rude.
"Arethusa May," she offered a hand that Speed shook, "It's good to see the legacy's in good hands."
"The legacy?"
"Rex's legacy," Arethusa said, like she hadn't casually torn open the most obvious wound Speed had, "Your brother was a genius on the track, but so few people saw him actually race. I had that honor a few times."
"Really?" Speed's voice faltered. Trixie winced internally. They needed to get off the topic of Rex, and just who was this woman anyways who showed up and started talking about him? From her jacket she'd worked with him at Uniron, which didn't exactly inspire trust in Trixie.
"Don't suppose you'd care to race? I haven't had a good challenge in a few years now."
"Oh, uh, sure."
"On the count of ten then?"
"You got it."
Speed was already restarting his engine. All it took was one glance at him for Trixie to know his mind was anywhere but here.
"Hey Speed, don't you think that's a little fishy?" she asked. His brow furrowed.
"What? Rex had to have known other drivers, he was with a major sponsor."
"But why is she here now? Just to race you?"
"I-"
But then the ten second count was up, and they were shooting forward down the Thunderhead. Trixie knew Speed needed all his focus on driving, so she trusted they could finish their conversation once they weren't moving in excess of 150mph. Speed had home-court advantage if anyone ever had- and he could've set the track record if he wanted too. Sure, he wasn't racing like that today, definitely not with Trixie in the car, but Arethusa May was still keeping good pace. Maybe she really had trained with Rex.
A moment later though she'd fallen behind, and Trixie settled in for the rest of the ride. Once Speed broke from the pack there was never much chance of catching him, especially once he was past the dogbowls. Trixie had tried it herself a good number of times. In fact they were just about to hit the dog bowls when something slammed into them hard, sending the Mach 6 flying forward uncontrollably.
Speed let out a string of curses as he frantically tried to steer them anywhere but off the track. She rammed us! Trixie should've known a Uniron driver would play dirty! Speed managed to save them from going off the track, but the Mach 6 was still wildly out of control. One more ram from Arethusa and they were sent into a roll.
The Quicksave warning sounded. Trixie grabbed onto Speed's arm and braced herself as the device activated. In all the chaos, neither noticed another device that activated moments before the Quicksave, which filled the cabin with a clear, odorless knock out gas.
---
Arethusa May pulled to a smooth stop next to Speed's Quicksave bubble. It wasn't her cleanest work, but then kidnapping wasn't her specialty. She pulled out a burner phone, and dialed a number she knew by heart.
"I got him."