Author's Note

Among the frequently utilized story premises in the Wreck-It Ralph fandom is Turbo's backstory. I'm definitely late to the game on this type of fic, but I'm nonetheless tempted to try; I'd like to think I can offer something new on the topic. At any rate, future stories I have in mind necessitate my writing about Turbo's life during the 1980s first [no, I am not going to have him survive his demise in Diet Cola Mountain so if you're expecting that, prepare to be disappointed]. So, here we go. I hope, dear readers, that you can enjoy this story, despite the well-trodden nature of the ground.

Prologue

It was to be a racing game. That was the thing now, in the CEO's mind- a racing game. It would have the latest in graphics and gaming technology, and would revolutionize the industry, he said. Arcade owners would kill to have it, was the expression he used. It was a metaphor, of course, but it reflected the passion which he felt for the project, and which he hoped his employees would pour into it. With the premise already mapped out, the concept artists were already hard at work, designing the backgrounds, the race course, and the characters. There was just one hitch, however: they had no design for the titular character.

It was maddening, the team knew. They had to have something. Indeed, one of them was already hard at work, attempting to come up with something satisfactory. Unfortunately, he was stuck. He'd gone through design after design but always, the paper would end up crumpled on the floor, or in the trash bin.

There was something he was missing. Something elusive: almost forming in his mind, but not quite sticking.

He glanced down at the figure he had just sketched. The short figure was swathed in a suit of green, gold, red, and blue- almost a jester.

Too ostentatious he decided. Too eccentric. Besides, he'll blend in with the surroundings like this. He needs to stand out.

Selecting a new sheet of paper, he sketched the figure again, this time adding a slight paunch.

A little cartoonishness is to be expected.

He stopped before adding the head, however. Something else had caught his attention.

The suit. What if the suit is mostly white? Add red on the cuffs, the collar…a red stripe low down on each side…red shoes with white bottoms.

He glanced over the body, observing it closely.

"Excellent," he said aloud.

He drew the head next. But once again, something seemed off. He called one of the other concept artists over to his desk for a second opinion.

"It's too realistically proportioned," the artist replied. "Make it bigger, goofier- more cartoon like."

"Aren't we trying for some realism here?"

"Some, yes. But we want to entice the kids here. Make the head a little bigger and more cartoonish."

The other concept artist returned to his own table, leaving the man to sigh and re-sketch the body as he had drawn it before, this time with a round, cartoonish head beneath the racing helmet.

He looked the figure up and down. He hadn't added facial features yet, but he already knew know that he would never get away with anything too realistic. So he made the eyes rounded, yellow, with no irises around the pupils. Quickly, deftly, he sketched a broad grin on the face, with yellow teeth.

Again, he called the other concept artist over for a second opinion.

"Much better," the artist told him. "He could probably use a few more touches, though."

"Like what?"

"Well for starts, his name is Turbo, right? Any way we can reflect that in the design?"

The man looked thoughtful for several moments. Abruptly, he raised one index finger.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "Wait just a second!"

Setting the sketch back on the table, he added a red 'T' across the top of the white helmet.

"Very good," said the concept artist. "We just need one more little touch. Some special pose that we can show him in to the boss."

"Give me a few minutes," said the man. "I'll come up with something."

Ten minutes later, he called concept artist back yet again.

"Two thumbs up," he said, showing his colleague the picture he had just drawn. "He's got both thumbs up in a victory pose."

"That's it," said his colleague. "Get the boss in here. He'll want to see this."

Giddy with excitement, the man picked up the phone and dialed the CEO's office. When he had set the phone down, he remained giddy, staring eagerly at the drawing.

For reasons unknown even to himself, he was suddenly enthusiastic about the less then realistic design.

Perhaps it's his delight, his enthusiasm, his…confidence. He's magnetic, charismatic…a winner. They'll love him. The kids will love him.

He's…why, he's Turbotastic!

It was the daft little slogan the team had come up with for their lead character, a simple, catchy line that could be implemented into the game. He'd been puzzled by it at first, had thought it had sounded inane. But now, as he thought about it, he was becoming increasingly convinced that it was perfect for this particular character.

The boss entered the room. The man watched as he approached his desk.

"May I see it?" the boss asked him.

He held up the sketch. The CEO's eyes went wide.

"Perfect," he said. "That's exactly what we need."

The CEO took in the image of the racer for a few more moments.

"Do you know what you have here?" he said quietly, still gazing at the picture.

"Of course I do," said the man. "He's Turbo. And he's the greatest racer ever."