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You remembered your last memory with Turbo as clear as day.
The two of you had just sat down at Tapper's. You had the perfect conversation starter.
"I've always wanted to beat up a car."
"...What?"
"Y'know. Like they do in Street Fighters?"
"Not mine, right?"
"Hahaha! Of course not, just like... I meant in general."
"Why, though?"
"I dunno."
"Then you can't drive it anymore, it's pointless!"
"Seems fun."
"Not to me."
"I know. You like cars. I can't even picture you destroying one. It's not... Turbo."
Turbo began absentmindedly doodling on a napkin.
"...You said this is in Street Fighters?"
"Yeah. Fun game, I've heard- from the kids. Never got a chance to visit the place for myself."
"But you want to?"
"Sure. I'd like to. Only if I get to beat up a car, though."
"You're weird."
"You're weirder."
"...Wanna go?"
"To Street Fighters?"
"Where else, numbskull?"
"Hey! I just thought.. I don't know. Right now? Why?"
"Why not? You said you wanted to go! Unless you forgot already, which seems very likely-"
"I meant, like- eventually! I don't know about tonight, Turbo, we both have work in the morning, and-"
"Wrong! Tomorrow's Sunday, stinkbrain."
"Oh. Right. I see you have two new nicknames for me?"
"Yup! Learned 'em from the teens during work. How do you like them?"
"They're horrible."
"Glad to hear it! Hehehah!"
"So? Are we going or not?"
"Why does it sound like you want to go more than I do?"
"Well, I-"
For the first time that evening, Turbo went quiet. He seemed to be thinking about something quite deeply, as if contemplating what to say next.
...
"You never know if you'll.. regret missing out on stuff like this later, y'know?"
"Like.. if some kid whacks you too hard and you get put out of order, or something."
"What, you think something like that's gonna happen?"
This time, Turbo didn't just go quiet. He went silent.
...
"Of course not! I'll- You'll be fine! Just saying, you know, you only live once! And I intend on living forever, by the way."
"Sure. I guess I'm just not used to seeing the Turbo so.. sentimental."
"Who said sentimental? I'm just stating facts. Now, are you gonna make up your mind or what?"
"...Fine. Let's go."
You did eventually end up in Street Fighters, destroying a car like you had always dreamed of. Although Turbo originally decided to sit out, you somehow managed to convince him to join you. When he did, he seemed all too ecstatic to jump straight into the violence.
You saw a different side of him that night. You brushed off his intensity as hysteria he developed while in the moment, but you couldn't shake it from your mind. The way he demolished the car was so full of rage, a rage you couldn't describe. It came from seemingly nowhere, and left just as quickly as it came.
You couldn't have ever guessed that the rage he exhibited that night came from a burning envy.
Envy so fiery, it burned and scorched him.
You had only gotten a glimpse of it that night. Barely a taste of what was to come.
That was the last you saw of Turbo. He didn't visit you on Sunday. He was gone by Monday. You learned what had happened by Tuesday.
You never could've predicted it. Anything that happened. Turbo hid it quite well. He never even mentioned RoadBlasters that night. You wondered if he told anyone at all- his plan. What he intended to do, who he was putting at risk.
Even though Turbo now held a ghastly low reputation in the arcade, you never forgot the moments you shared with him. Even if they meant nothing to him. Even if he had been manipulating you that entire time- for what, you could never know.
Even if he never truly cared about you. You're not able to say if he did for sure now, and you definitely couldn't before. Maybe he did hold some affection for you. Or maybe, just maybe, there was something more important there as well. It was equally just as possible that there wasn't.
One thing you knew for sure. He cared about himself more than he cared about you.
But that's just how Turbo was. He couldn't care about anyone else more than himself.
He was bound to end up this way.
So, why does it still hurt?
Why were you ever hurting in the first place? If you knew.
Why did you let yourself get too close? He flew too close to the sun. You feared the same thing could happen to you. So, why?
Why were you here? Back in the place that started and ended it all?
Why were you trying to recover?
You got over the whole "going Turbo" thing a while ago. You didn't mind hearing his name being spoken in vain. In a way, he did deserve it. You had even let the phrase slip out on occasion.
The one thing you couldn't do was revisit Tapper's. Until today
Tapper happened to notice you on your way in. Of course he did, you haven't been here in over a decade.
"My, my, is that you? I haven't seen your face around here in, what-"
"-12 years?" You completed his sentence, sitting down at a nearby barstool. "Yeah, I.. stopped. A while ago."
Tapper hummed. He knew why. Thankfully, he didn't probe further into the subject.
"Well, I'm glad to see you finally came back," he flashed you a grin, "Now, just the usual?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Tapper."
"No need. It's my job, after all."
You were served your drink in under a minute, something you forgot you were used to. Once he was far enough away, you sighed, staring down at the countertop.
You were absentmindedly twirling dust in your fingers, taking barely a sip of drink, when you spotted something unusual on the countertop.
A few inches away from where you were sitting laid a slightly stained napkin with blue writing scribbled on it. Just like how...
...
Curiosity overtaking your actions, you reached for the napkin.
..Huh.
"'Up, up, down, down...' 'Left, right..-' Hey- Tapper?"
Tapper perked up, holding a finger up to you to signal as to signal 'one moment'. He was at your table within thirty seconds.
"What can I do for ya?"
"Do you know what this means?" you slid the coded message on the napkin towards him. He picked it up with just one scoop of his hand.
"Ah," he sighed, "Yeah, I think I know what this is. Or, well, I know who it belongs to. Some old, sugary-looking chap came in here a few hours ago- left that here after scribbling it down."
Tapper returned the napkin to you. You analyzed it closely.
Is that..?
No.
No, it couldn't be.
"I've got no clue what it means. I'm certain he'll be back for it any minute now, though. Maybe you could ask him? If he does come back."
"Hm," you took a few moments to get one last look at the code before responding, "Maybe."
You made sure Tapper was facing fully away from you before burying your head in your arms.
That was Turbo's handwriting.
You could recognize it from a mile away. You were surprised you didn't notice it sooner. Without a doubt, it was his. Maybe you were just feeding into your own delusions, but it seemed unlikely.
You knew him for the five years he was plugged in, he had the same habit of scribbling, sometimes doodling on the napkins in Tapper's. With the same color. The same handwriting. It was all too familiar to you.
You wanted to believe. You needed to believe.
He was alive.
Oh, god, he was alive.
You supressed the strange, sudden urge to cry.
But, then- if he was- what Tapper said didn't make any sense. Sugary? Since when was Turbo sugary?
Unless..
You sighed, exasperated.
Of course he did, you thought. This was Turbo, who were you kidding. Of course he did it again.
Sugary, sugary... yes, that had to be it, you thought. The cabinet that just got plugged in, what, two years ago? Candy Rush, you thought it was called. Something of the like.
It was a racing game, you remembered. Of course it was.
That was it. There were still so many unanswered questions you had, but you didn't care.
He was alive.
He was alive.
And, apparently, in some other racing game.
For the first time in 12 years, you were going to go visit him.
Clutching the napkin in one hand, you left Tapper's.
In the back of your mind, you silently hoped you were right.