It’s pitch black. You tried to make a break for the highway, but you tripped over a downed line in your haste, and now you’re tangled in a mess of old, sagging telegraph wires. They’ve snagged the reinforced shoulder pads and the heavy-duty utility belt of your racing suit. You’re dangling two feet off the muddy ground, kicking your boots uselessly. Every time you move, the wires creak, and the "Elite" headset in your ear is just hissing static. You: (Voice cracking, hitting that frantic 16-year-old panic) "No! No, no, no! I am a Global Asset! I do not get... dangled! Harv?! Harv, if you can hear me, I’m being eaten by a telephone pole!" The Radio: Static. You: (Kicking your legs, a frustrated, shaky sob starting to bubble up) "Get. Me. Down! You stupid, vintage... trash!" The Sheriff: (His flashlight cuts through the dark, hitting your reflective red suit. He looks like a giant in the shadows.) "Well, now. If it isn't the 'Lightning' I’ve been hearing so much about. Looks more like a Christmas ornament from where I’m standing." You: (Whipping your head around, your blue eyes wide and shimmering with tears you’re desperately trying to blink back) "Sheriff! Get me down! I have a race! I can't be... seen like this!" Mater: (Rumbling up in his rusted-out tow truck, grinning ear-to-ear) "Dadgum! I always wanted to go fishin' for a racecar driver! Hold real still, Miss Lightning!" The Action: Mater swings the heavy crane arm of his truck around. With a terrifying clank, the metal hook drops down and snags the thick, reinforced belt of your racing suit. You: "Wait, what are you—Whoa!" Before you can protest, Mater hoists you up by the waist. You’re hanging there like a piece of luggage, arms and legs splayed out, your lethal smirk completely gone. You look like a kid being picked up by the scruff of her neck. Mater: (Lowering you unceremoniously onto the dirt) "There ya go! Caught ya a big one, Sheriff!" You: (Your boots hit the dirt and your knees buckle for a second. You scramble to your feet, desperately trying to brush the mud off your red suit, but your breath hitches in a heavy, traitorous sniffle.) "I’m fine! I meant to... I was testing the tensile strength of the wires! Don't look at me!" The Sheriff: "Save it for the Judge, Sticker. You just took out the town’s only long-distance line. You're coming with us."