It all started after that qualification race in Lincoln, Nebraska for the Wings around the Globe Rally. Ever since that day, Roper, the small yet loud-mouthed and feisty forklift who judged the event, had experienced some odd goings-on.

First, he started getting random phone calls with a caller ID that read "Unknown." Roper ignored them for a while, but he lost his patience when they kept calling him every day for two whole weeks.

"Hello?! Who is this?!" Roper snapped after picking up the phone before going to bed one night. The caller would normally bother him in the middle of the day, but never during the hours of the night.

Roper waited for a voice to respond and resolve the mystery of the stranger constantly calling him, but no one spoke. Instead, all he heard was soft static and whistling winds. If he listened closely, Roper could have sworn he heard something else, something that was constant and low…like an engine.

After another moment or so of no response, Roper placed the phone back on its hook in confusion. Whoever this joker was had a weird sense of humor.

The calls stopped about a week later, but Roper still had a terrible feeling, especially at night. He never saw anything, and he didn't live with any friends or family that could play tricks on him.

He knew something was still wrong, though. Everything was unnaturally silent, which didn't make sense since he was staying in a hotel while judging the tryouts for the Wings Around the Globe Rally. Looking out the window did nothing to ease Roper's nerves; in fact, it did that exact opposite. The sky was filled with blood red clouds, and the land was flat with fields of pitch black corn and wheat.

The city that the hotel was in was gone, as well as all of the inhabitants. Roper began to hyperventilate, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and why. He looked up when he heard the sound of a plane flying by overhead, and gasped when he saw the shadow that closely resembled a plane as it flew away.

"Wait, wait!" Roper shouted, despite knowing that the plane couldn't hear him, and rushed out of the empty hotel.

However, as soon as Roper was outside, the plane was gone and everything was silent again. The only thing he could hear was a gentle wind, which proved to be surprisingly chilly. Roper shuttered and looked around, slowly driving into a field of lifeless wheat.

He turned around after driving for a few minutes to see how far he had gotten, but gasped in horror to find that the hotel had disappeared. He was in the middle of nowhere.

"What's goin' on?" Roper muttered to himself, figuring that his only hope of escape was continuing on, and failing to notice that his voice echoed around him.

It wasn't long before Roper came up to the edge of a tall cornfield, which rustled and shook even more in the wind. The closer Roper got, the more he could swear he heard faint whispers within the stalks of corn.

"Hello? Is someone there? Can you please tell me where I am?" Roper begged.

The whispers halted. The wind ceased. The stalks stilled.

Roper waited in a frozen stance for a response, but nothing happened. That was all that ever seemed to be happening in this place. Nothing.

Roper was just about to turn tail and try venturing in a different direction, but a large object suddenly burst out of the cornfield. It landed a few feet away with a loud clank, indicating it was made of metal. Roper remained shaken from the sudden flying object, but eventually approached the object out of curiosity. After further inspection, he realized it was a disembodied wing of a plane.

But something about this wing was strangely familiar to him, he just couldn't figure out what. He then noticed some traces of writing on the edge of the wing, and flipped it over to see if he could find anymore. Once again regretting his actions, Roper's eyes popped wide when he saw "COME TO ME ROPER" written in dried blood.

Roper woke with a fright, his chassis dripping with cold sweat and his breath rapid. He glanced around for a split second before rushing for the closest window, and sighing in relief when he saw that the city and the sky were back to normal.

It was just a nightmare. A kind of nightmare that should only haunt the minds of those with some form of mental illness, but proved to be a rare exception tonight.

Roper brought a fork to his head and closed his eyes, slowing his breathing in an attempt to calm down. Why bother worrying about something that he mind just so happened to cook up in his sleep? That what he gets for eating sugar before bed, he supposed.

But just as Roper was starting to recuperate, the hotel phone on his desk suddenly started ringing. Immediately remembering the bloody message on the plane wing in his dream, Roper mentally panicked at the thought of being a victim of paranormal activity.

Although, Roper knew he probably wouldn't get any sleep tonight, or any other night, unless he dealt with the problem now. So, he slowly and reluctantly reached for the phone, but realized it was too late when it finally went to voicemail.

Roper withheld a sigh of relief after not having to speak directly to the mystery caller, for he still couldn't expect what message they would leave afterward. After a few more seconds past, the message began recording while the sound of someone clearing their throat followed.

"Uh, hi there. My name is Sparky Flies, I work in a small town called Propwash Junction, Ohio, and, um…listen, I think you've been receiving a lot of phone calls, and it's partially my fault…actually, it's completely my fault. Ok, look, I don't have a lot of time, I just, uh…wanted to apologize for taking up so much of your time with these phone calls, and please, whatever you do, don't-."

The caller was interrupted when the recording ended, peaking Roper's interest. The voice on the phone sounded rather nice, and obviously had a Canadian accent. There was always that stereotype about how nice most Canadians are.

And considering this "Sparky Flies" guy was nice enough to apologize for all of those random calls, Roper figured that their reason for calling couldn't be all that bad. If he was going to get any sleep tonight, or any other night, he was going to need some answers.

He needed to go to Propwash Junction.

After days of riding in the back of a delivery truck with terrible with terrible driving skills, and gaining dents because of said delivery truck's poor driving, Roper eventually found the small town of Propwash Junction. He arrived and gave the delivery service a good scolding, and was then greeted by the same fuel truck that accompanied Strut Jetstream at the tryouts.

"Excuse me? Fuel Truck!" Roper shouted, easily getting the fuel truck's attention.

"Hey, there! Name's Chug. Can I help you?" the fuel truck asked politely.

"Yes! Please, tell me this is Propwash Junction."

"Sure is."

"Oh, finally! You know, you're not even on the map!"

Chug chuckled, "Yeah, pretty drive, though, ain't it?"

Roper deadpanned, "Oh, yeah. Especially if ya like lookin' at dirt and corn. Anyway, I'm lookin' for a 'Sparky Flies'. Is he around?"

"He should be down in that old hangar at the end of the runway."

"Thanks, man."

"Why're ya lookin' for him anyway, Stranger?"

Roper squinted at the truck in suspicion, "What's it matter ta you?"

Chug shrugged, "He's one of my best friends."

"Whatever. He left me a message a few days ago, said somethin' about bein' responsible for a bunch of phone calls. I just wanna to find out why he kept callin' me."

Roper managed to put a few yards between him and Chug before the latter realized something seemed off.

"Wait, Sparky? That can't be right," Chug muttered, "No one's been makin' excessive phone calls lately except-gah!"

Roper stopped in his tracks when he heard Chug grunt in pain, but failed to turn around in time to notice Chug's pupils flash bright red. Chug blinked his eyes and shook the sudden twinge of pain from his head, much to Roper's confusion and concern.

"You alright, man?" Roper questioned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a headache," Chug reassured with a meek smile.

Roper gave Chug one last look of concern, but nodded in response before turning to leave. Following Chug's directions, Roper soon came upon an old hangar at the end of the runway. He quickly approached out of curiosity, and knocked on the main door.

The door eventually slid out of the way to reveal a large and old warplane, whose mere presence was enough to make Roper feel small and insignificant.

"What do you want?" the warplane growled.

"Sorry for showin' up uninvited, but I'm lookin' for someone named 'Sparky Flies'. I was told he lives here," Roper quickly explained.

"Sparky's my assistant, but he never mentioned any visitors. Now, buzz off," the warplane hissed and slammed the door shut, much to Roper's annoyance.

Maybe he shouldn't have trusted that fuel truck. Roper figured he should try looking somewhere else around town, and turned to leave as a pair of silver eyes peaked through a window and watched him leave.

Roper found a motel to stay in later that night, and was reminded of his nightmare when the sunset tainted the sky with crimson colors. But he ignored it for the sake of keeping his sanity, and visited Chug and Dottie's Fill n' Fly for dinner.

He spent what little money he brought with him for a few cans of oil and Red Bulldozer. He sat at the bar in silence, wondering why Chug had acted so weird and why that warplane was so cold.

"A tragedy has occurred today…" the television behind the bar announced, catching Roper's attention, "…one of the contestants, known as Fonzarelli, for the Wings Around the Globe Rally has mysteriously disappeared. Authorities say he's left without a trace, and we're hearing from the judges that the runner-up will take Fonzarelli's place if he doesn't show up soon."

Roper couldn't take his eyes off of the news report on the screen. He knew he was a little buzzed from the Red Bulldozer he had been drinking, but there's no way he was imagining this. How and why would Fonzarelli just up and leave before the big race?

Unless…he didn't leave willingly.

Whispers just like the ones he heard on the phone started to fill his head again, and he irritably followed them outside. The sky was dark now, causing the fields to be blanketed in eerie pitch blackness. Roper felt even more unsettled when he swore the whispering was coming from within the cornfields.

It wasn't until Roper got to the edge of the stalks that he realized it looks just like the field in his dreams, which means that there should be something else nearby…

As if on cue, Roper rolled onto something hard that was buried beneath the grass and dirt. It bent and clanked like metal underneath him, making his blood run cold. It didn't take long for him to brush the dirt and grass aside, and reveal the undeniable yellow paint of Fonzarelli. Just to confirm his theory, Roper flipped the wing over and saw the bright blue stripes that decorated the top half of the wing. He knew the wing in his dream looked familiar. There weren't any words written on this wing, but it was covered in dried blood stains nonetheless.

"If this is Fonzarelli's wing, then where's the rest of him?" Roper muttered to himself.

No sooner had he said that had a foul stench invaded his nostrils, and he heard the intense buzzing of a swarm of flies. If he didn't know any better, he would say something died out here. But no matter how revolting the smell was, something drew Roper deeper into the field, as if he just had to find what was making that smell.

The buzzing grew louder and the smell grew stronger, as Roper eventually stepped out into a small clearing with a large wooden pole in the middle. Roper thought it was probably a scarecrow, but he was confused when noticed the flies buzzing around the scarecrow. Flies wouldn't hang around scarecrows…unless something died inside or near it.

Squinting into the darkness, Roper caught a slanted side view of the plane shape the scarecrow had. A slight breeze caused the scarecrow to turn a little, which revealed the stub on its left side. It must've been missing a wing.

Missing a wing…Roper pondered slowly, as he glanced back in the direction he came from, where he was sure that yellow wing was still sitting.

Intrigued, Roper switched on his headlights, but he immediately regretted doing so. The body impaled on the pole was no scarecrow, but instead the bloodied, ripped and torn body of Fonzarelli. The pole was shoved up his tailpipe, and the sharp tip emerged from his dislocated jaw. Fonzarelli's lifeless eyes stared up at the night sky, and another breeze caused him to rotate a little on the pole.

Roper was frozen in place, his heart beating faster and his lungs hyperventilating. just when he was going to scream, something grabbed him from behind and gagged him with a rope. He thrashed against their forces, but to no avail when they quickly pulled him out of the field and looked hi right in the eye. It was a small grey forklift, with equally grey eyes and bags of tools on his sides.

"I'm going to remove the rope, but you have to promise not to scream," the smaller forklift whispered demandingly. Roper instantly recognized the Canadian-accented voice, the same one the left him a voicemail.

Not thinking things through, Roper nodded rapidly and allowed the forklift to remove the gag.

"You…you're …Sparky Flies…" Roper stated between pants, trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah, and I told you to stay away! Why didn't you listen?" the forklift hissed.

"I didn't hear you say to stay away."

Sparky blinked in confusion, "What?"

"I swear, you didn't say anything like that. All you did was apologize for the calls, and you told me where you were."

"Oh, no…oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!" Sparky quivered as his eyes focused on nothing, and he grabbed his head with his forks, "I've damned you, too."

"Damned? What're you talking about? What's going on?" Roper asked rapidly, and then recalled what he just encountered, "And what the hell happened ta Fonzarelli?!"

"That doesn't matter! You've gotta get outta here now!" Sparky pleaded as tears filled his eyes.

As soon as Sparky looked up at Roper, his attention started drifting away again. But this was different. Not only did it seem like Sparky was looking at something right behind Roper, but his grey irises started fading into a crimson red.

"Hey there, Roper," a voice greeted nonchalantly.

Roper nearly jumped out of his metal, and yelped in shock when he turned to find the crop duster from the contest standing behind him. He was smiling at him calmly, acting as if he was completely oblivious to the obvious stench of decay in the air.

"Strut Jetsream?" Roper asked shakily.

"Uh, it's actually Dusty," Dusty clarified with a chuckle.

A confused look from Roper told him that that wasn't important, so he continued.

"I was just going for a little stroll when I thought I saw something zip through the corn. Everything ok?" Dusty questioned with concern.

"No, nothing's ok! I think…I think someone murdered Fonzarelli!" Roper shouted.

Dusty cocked a brow, "What? Why? What happened?"

"I-I don't know, but he's out there! He's all torn up, and impaled on a pole or somethin'! It's just sick!"

"Let me take a look."

With that, Dusty entered the cornfield to inspect the crime scene, leaving Roper alone with a still-frozen Sparky. Roper was reminded of Sparky's presence when he heard his shaky breathing growing louder, and he was still staring off into space with red irises.

Nothing about all of this felt right. Why was Sparky acting so weird, and why would Dusty of all people be out here…and why was he so calm? If anything, Roper would assume that Dusty would be depressed after failing to become a contestant in the Wings Around the Globe Rally.

In fact, Dusty shouldn't even care about what happened to Fonzarelli. The only person that would be affected would be the runner-up, and that was…

"You should've listened to Sparky," a new voice informed. It was low, demonic and monotonous.

Roper looked around to find the owner of the voice, but his gaze eventually landed on Sparky. He couldn't look away when he watched the whiteness in Sparky's pool with black goo, and his red eyes started to glow brighter and brighter.

"Then again, if you had listened, I guess you never would've come to me—like I asked. That's very polite," the demonic voice continued, as the sound of engines could be heard approaching.

Roper glanced around in fear again, as new and familiar vehicles surrounded him. There was a female blue forklift, but he recognized Chug the fuel truck and the old war plane. All of them, like Sparky, had pitch black eyes with glowing red irises.

Roper spotted another pair of demonic eyes emerging from the corn stalks, as Dusty finally came back from the crime scene. Unlike the others, who wore blank expressions, Dusty's eyes were squinted in a death glare, and his lips stretched into a maniacal grin.

"Y-You…you killed Fonzarelli…to get into the race!" Roper slowly stated in realization, as he tried to back away. But he eventually bumped into the old war plane, and the others formed a circle to trap him.

"Ooh, how perceptive of you," Dusty mused sarcastically, pushing between the female forklift and Chug to get into the circle, "I'm Dusty Crophopper, but that's only outside of these parts. I prefer to be called Dusty Cropdemon."

Roper licked his dry lips, "You're…a demon?"

Dusty smiled with a chuckle, "I knew I'd need your intelligence."

"Intelligence?"

"Of course. You really think I'd drag you all the way out to this…pathetic little town for nothing?"

Roper couldn't help but notice the disgust in Dusty's tone when he spoke of the town.

"You're not gonna kill me?" Roper inquired fearfully.

"Nope. Like I said, I need you, Roper," Dusty began while circling around Roper, but remained close enough to whisper into his ear, "And if you don't comply, well—I'll find ways to make you tick."

Dusty's voice became low and gravelly again at that last, but he paused and nodded at the others. Almost instantly, they broke the circle and lined up side by side.

"Take these four, for instance. Each of them have been hiding horrible sins from their past, and I use those secrets to keep them in line—no pun intended," Dusty chuckled darkly.

Roper didn't know what to say, as he stared at the four other vehicles before him. His silence once again told Dusty to continue.

First, he pulled up to Dottie, "Dear old Dottie here used to be an obstetrician, but she botched a delivery once and it cost the newborn's life. She hasn't been able to forget about it."

He then pulled up to Chug, "Chug used to be a drug and illegal fuel addict, and his younger brother found his secret stash. He got hooked on it, too, and ended up overdosing."

Finally, he pulled up in front of the war plane, "And finally, my personal favorite, Skipper—he was a squadron leader for the Jolly Wrenches, but he accidentally mistook a single enemy ship for a whole fleet. He was the only survivor, and he left the Jolly Wrenches when they branded him a coward and a traitor. He even thought he could hide from his guilt by coming to little Propwash Junction, but you can't just outrun guilt. It lives in you, feeds off of you. Seems like no one ever learns that lesson, huh?"

Roper was quiet for a few more moments, but he didn't know what came over him to make him ask, "What about him?"

Dusty followed Roper's gaze to Sparky, and his smile grew again.

"Sparky hasn't actually done anything yet, but his little heart's just so easy to manipulate that I had no problem getting him to follow me," Dusty explained while rolling over to Sparky, "Then again, I guess that all changes after today. By leaving that message for you, he helped me find a way to spread my darkness all across the globe. Isn't that right, Sparky?"

Dusty looked Sparky directly in the eyes, as they glowed even brighter and tears poured from them like waterfalls. Roper could tell he wanted to sob, but something had a hold of him that kept him completely still.

"W-What does any of this have to do with me?" Roper finally gained the courage to ask.

"It's simple, really. When a small-town crop duster like me wins the Wings Around the Globe Rally, fans from all over the world will come flocking to this place just to know more about my underdog story. And the more visitors I have, the more souls I gain control of, and the farther my power can stretch across the globe. In due time, I'll no loner have to rely on this flat, disgusting, pathetic, manure-plagued town!"

Roper shrank back as Dusty's voice grew louder and more intense, but the latter was quick to regain his composure and smile at him again.

"But now that you're here, I won't have to wait much longer. All you have to do is pull a few strings, and let me race in Fonzarelli's stead," Dusty calmly informed.

"No…no, I won't let you! You'll just harm more innocent people!" Roper exclaimed in protest.

Dusty frowned in disappointment, "I see. You take me for a heartless monster. And you know what…?"

Without warning, Dusty's jaw unhinged and a black mass of goop spilled over his tongue and past his teeth. His eyes glowed brighter until they were nothing but red beacons, and his once flat teeth grew into razor sharp fangs. Dusty lunged toward Roper, as his ever-growing tongue split in two and grabbed Roper's cheeks. His jaw was forced open, and Dusty vomited the black substance into his mouth.

Roper panicked as he was suddenly deprived of oxygen, and clawed at his throat to try and breath but to no avail. He felt the goop expand from his throat to his brain, and it plagued his mind with the same darkness that infected the others. Soon enough, his eyes filled with blackness, and his once brown irises turned bright red.

Just before Roper felt his mind go blank, he heard Dusty's demonic voice utter, "You're right."

No matter how much Roper fought the infectious evil in his mind, he eventually learned to follow Dusty's orders. And he did just that. When Fonzarelli didn't report for the big race, Dusty was entered in his stead. Whether or not anyone believed in a crop duster, Dusty managed to beat everyone and win first place.

Just like he predicted, the event drew plenty of attention to Dusty and Propwash Junction. But even though Dusty was quickly gaining control of more unsuspecting souls like he desired, he knew it wasn't enough. There were still some hard-to-reach places he would require him to be more strategic.

So, on a quiet and uneventful night, Roper was called over to Propwash Junction again. He met up with Dusty behind Chug and Dottie's Fill n' Fly, but he didn't expect to see Sparky and Dottie already there. Roper was especially confused when he noticed they were removing the bolts to the support beams holding up the canopy.

"Good to see you again, Roper," Dusty greeted with a smirk.

"What do ya want this time?" Roper questioned flatly.

"Oh, don't be like that. It's nothing major this time."

Dusty paused before pushing a can of metal shavings towards Roper, "All I need you to do is drop these shavings into my gearbox."

Roper stared at him in bewilderment, "Into your gearbox? You crazy? You could crash!"

"Exactly. I'll spare you the details, but I'm heading out of town—way out of town. Piston Peak National Park, to be exact. It's a good location to set up an 'outpost', if you will."

"Let me go, please! I'll pay you anything, just please don't hurt me!" a panicked cry rang through the air, as Chug and Skipper came backing out around a corner and pulling something with chains between their teeth.

"Ah, right on time," Dusty stated happily while approaching.

Skipper and Chug pulled their captive out into the dim lighting, which was a frantic white SUV wrapped in chains.

"Who're you?" the SUV quivered.

Dusty's wicked grin returned, as everyone's eyes darkened with his "You'll find out soon enough, Cad."