Speedway is a shark tank. Rumors are swirling that a rival team—maybe even Dinoco—is desperate to get a look at the "Exception’s" custom steering telemetry. Mack isn't taking any chances. You wake up inside the trailer to the sound of muffled arguing outside. Peeking out the window, you see Mack standing like a brick wall in front of the trailer's main ramp. He’s got his arms crossed over his massive chest, his headset around his neck, staring down a group of "inspectors" who look suspiciously like corporate spies. "I don't care what your badge says," Mack’s gravelly voice booms, echoing off the metal walls. "Nobody goes inside this hauler without a signed permit from the kid or me. And since the kid is sleeping, you’re looking at a closed door. Now, you can walk away, or I can show you exactly how heavy a lead mechanic’s wrench really is."