Dusty paced the wooded floors, impatiently, the wood creaking and groaning as he wheeled back and forth, up and down, side to side. His mind was racing just as fast as it would during any other race.

Granted, he wasn't exactly racing at the moment.

It being only 4 am in the morning, at this time he'd be training with Skipper or helping Chug load a bunch of cans of oil, or even occasionally receiving a lecture from Dottie. Were it a race day, he'd be revving his engines with the other planes, the roar exciting the crowd. But on a day off? Well, he hadn't had one of those in ages, it seemed.

The life of a racer is never boring.

His mind wandered to his friends back in Propwash Junction, crowding around the small television just to watch his every race, every interview, every meeting. Chug cheering on anything, Sparky following along like an obedient puppy, Skipper criticizing every move he made, while Dottie thought up of lectures left and right. A smile crept upon his face. Right now, they'd all be deep in slumber.

Except Leadbottom, of course. Someone had to tend the fields, and ever since Dusty left being a crop duster, he had twice the work. It was a nice reminder to the older days, when Dusty had just joined the business, and was still being trained. Leadbottom had had to tend to the fields by himself, with a certain little orange crop duster, younger and inexperienced trailing behind, asking question and after question about every little detail, action, anything he could think of.

Now Leadbottom was older, and the daily workload was a strain to his rusting propellor and roughed up wings. But it had to be done. After all, without the foul-smelling vitamina-mulch, the corn wouldn't grow, and without corn, no fuel. And no fuel would mean Propwash would be forced to close. And that would mean he and his friends would have no where to live. Which would mean...

Dusty shuddered suddenly, the thought of what would happen a haunting ghost in his head. Why was he thinking of this?! It was just depressing. Still, he vowed that when he got home, he would offer his help, the little he had to give, to Leadbottom and his weighty task.

The mic crackled suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Propwash Junction to Dusty, Dusty, you awake?" Dusty smiled at the sound of his wingman; it was always a relief to hear his commanding voice. He wheeled over to the mic pedal and pushed down.

"Hey, Skipper."

"He—"

"HA!! Told you he was awake!" A faint voice buzzed through the mic, interrupting the Corsair.

"Is that Chug?" Dusty chuckled at hearing the fuel truck's ranting in the background."

"What do you think?" Skipped was clearly annoyed, he had that sarcastic edge in his voice. "We weren't sure if you were awake or not, but SOMEFUELTRUCK..." The raised voice made it blatant that he was referring to a certain green truck "...wouldn't leave me alone until we called."

"Well, that fuel truck sounds like a real jerk." Dusty chuckled, and shook his head with amusement. Chug was his best friend, but sometimes, he could be a little mentally dull.

Ok, most of the time.

"Well, hey, what are you doing up? I would think you'd want to sleep late, seeing as I'm not there for you to train."

"What are you talking about?  Its only 11 pm here."

"Wait....really?"

"Think you forgot about the time skip."

"Hehe yeah." Conversations between the small plane, the Corsair, and Chug bounced back and forth, and before he knew it, it was already 6:30 am, and he could hear Chug yawning in the background, and as much as he fought to do so, the exhaustion in Skipper's voice was very clearly coming through.

"Hey, you two should get some sleep. You sound tired."

"Nonsens—" Skipper trailed off as he could feel a yawn approaching. There was no way he was going to yawn in front of Dusty, HANGAR no!!

To him, he thought Dusty saw him as a tough oldie. Yawning was a sign of weakness.

"Ok, see ya later, Dust." Chug cut in, having truly wanting to go to sleep but not daring to interrupt the master and his pupil. The mic cut off, and silence fell on the hangar. Sighing, Dusty's eyes wandered from the mic to the interior of the room. Nope, still the same as yesterday.

A faint rustling alerted Dusty to the other half of the hangar door being rattled slightly, before, through the faint cracks in the paper divider, cold wind seeped through, a sharp contrast to the warmth the heat lamps gave off.

"My hangar-mate...."  Loud deafening screeching filled the room, and through the thin paper, spark were very clearly seen flying out. A shadow appeared on the paper, and Dusty examined it, his mind fixed on trying to figure out who it was without asking.

"Wait a second...that shadow...thats...."

"Yo! Crophopper!" Roper's voice came from the other side of the paper, and very suddenly, a large tear appeared where he popped through. "Good, you're awake."

"W-Woah, yeah, what was that for?"

"Congratulations. You get the whole hangar for yourself." Roper smiled, a fake one, of course, before pointing one of his forks directly between windscreens. His pupils crossed, watching the rather sharp metal dangerously close to his eyes. "BUT just for this leg. Your mate didn't show up to the race, was disqualified. Don't go asking for more time because you ain't getting any more. Now, get  your sorry Aston Martin to the main room, everyone's already there." Pulling out a clipboard, Roper slid Dusty's hangar door open, and drove out into the wheel-deep snow. A wave of cold air flooded in, blasting Dusty in the side. He shivered vigorously, and stared blankly at the tracks Roper had left.

"What was that about?"

~~~

They were all staring.

Every single windscreen was ogling at him the second he rolled in, all the pairs of eyes focused intently on his frame.

"What is going on."

The second Dusty had rolled into the main room, it had grown deadly silent, conversations trailing, engines cutting off, all the chatter and any movement had seized instantly. All eyes had snapped towards him, unblinking with a look of both confusion, horror, and a little mix of disappointment.

"H-hey?" Dusty dared himself to speak, thoroughly confused out of his mind. His eyes scanned the crowd of smaller racers, planes, and forklifts.

"Strange....where's El Chu...and Rochelle...Bulldog...and Ishani?"

"Ha!" Someone guffawed from in the crowd. Dusty's eyes narrowed as he recognized that dreaded gruff voice. Ripslinger, in all his green jerky glory, pushed through the crowd, until he was face to face with Crophopper. Dusty started up his propellor, a cautionary move. "Well, look who it is. Mr. SAVETHEROOKIE."

Dusty did not like that name. His fuel broiled.

"What do you want?" He snapped.

"Oh, nothing much. Just wandering what it's like being in last place."

Dusty kept his mouth sealed shut: one thing he had been taught was that sometimes, answering made it all worse.

"Reverting back to your rookie stage, aren't you?" Ripslinger scoffed. "Typical. Trying to act like a fragging amateur, getting me to let my guard down. Well it won't work." His eyes narrowed.

Dusty presses his lips together, hard. "Don't give in..."

"You're such an idiotic plane." Ripslinger leaned forward, and took a short harsh sniff. "I still smell that horrid revolting farm stench on you." His scowl slowly turned to a smile. "How is your precious little farm, anyways? I bet Leadbottoms' having trouble keeping in alive, eh? Just think; all those sad measly corn crops, going to waste because THE Dusty Crophopper, the greatest crop duster the world has ever known, abandoned him. How awful. And how's that leaky old Fuel truck, Lug, was it? Surprised he still alive with a brain that small. And what about that old trashy plane? Still haven't forgiven him for that move he pulled. That old lugnut still active?"

Dusty's fuel boiled over the edge. Suddenly, his propellor was spinning wildly, his engine groaning with pressure. His wheels tensed, and teeth clenched, he growled

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, like I'd tell you that." Dusty did not like this response. "But that's besides the point. You still haven't answered my question. Lost your touch, have you now? The previous Wings Around the Globe champion, in last place. Oh, the shock. I bet it must be absolutely awful, being in last place." Ripslinger sneered.

It pushed Dusty over the edge. His propeller spun furiously, his hearing began to ring, the world around him becomes a blurred mess of colors. It was one thing to be making fun of him for being in last place, that he could handle.

But talking about his friends?! That crossed the line.

"WELL, Why don't you go crash and find out for yourself!!" He blurted suddenly, his mind not even registering what he had said until it was too late.

Now Dusty was generally a nice guy. This was the one who sacrificed first place to save a fellow racer. He couldn't think of the last time he had ever meant to be so mean.

But this, well, this took the cake.

The second his mental processors processed what had just left his mouth, he regretted it immediately. The entire main room let out a collective gasp, staring even more intently than before. Dusty let out a gasp as well, and rolled back. Even Ripslinger had rolled slightly back in shock. Then, a sneer slid slowly across his face.

"THERE we go!! Let it all out."

"This was what he wanted." The realization hit him hard. This reaction was just what Ripslinger was seeking, this was what he wanted. To show the world that Dusty wasn't a good plane. To lie to the world, to kill his reputation.

This was low, even for him. This stunt, this game he was playing, it was all a scheme. Of course, Rip slinger had always been known to be especially mean, rude. He would do anything to get what he wanted, as Dusty had learned the hard way.

But he had never imagined that he would treat him this way, that he would go this far.

All the eyes staring at him were like pins and needles against his metal, unrelenting glares or shock and true horror.

"W-wait...no...I..."

"You what, farm boy? Everyone here heard it." Dusty scanned the room, cringing with every stare and ogle that was shot his way. Unknowingly, he began rolling backwards, trying to get as far away from the crowd as possible.

"Dusty..." The soothing voice emerged from the crowd, and a path was cleared as Ishani pushed through the planes. "What-- " Her widened eyes stared intently at the plane, who was now backed up against the door.

"I...I..."He couldn't bare to have all those eyes on him any longer. He felt a cool breeze as the door behind him slid open, and he slipped out, nearly bumping into Bulldog, taxying as far away from that room as fast as he could.

"Mate, are you ok?" The British plane had called after him, the call having gone completely unnoticed. Dusty cut through the shallow snow, disregarding the stinging cold on his wheels. He looked ahead, his eyes unable to comprehend what he saw. His surroundings meant nothing to him, he did'nt know where he was going, not did he care. All he cared was that he got away from that crowd of planes. He could still feel the stares baring into his metal, pushing dents into his frame.

He just wanted to get away.

~~~

"How COULD you?!" Ishani snapped, jerking towards the green racer, who scoffed. "What you did to Dusty was absolutely horrible and wrong!"

"So what?! Did you hear what he said to me? I feel hurt." Ripslinger plastered a fake pout on his face.

"You got it coming, you bastard." Bulldog intervened. "I only heard the ending of it, but from what I did get, you deserved everything you got."

"Oh, Please...." Rip's sentence was sliced off as a can splashed in between his windcreens, splashing him with oil, aboslutely soaking his eyes and propellors with the black sticky stuff. The entire room, fell silent, gasps echoing. Every plane stared, wide-eyed at the now-black plane, who coughed, then let out a soft yet harsh growl. "Who....threw that...."

"What the HELL is wrong with you?!"

~~~

Dusty growled, storming through the snow. Ripslinger just got deep into his nerves sometimes, it pissed him off. He clenched his propellor.

"Eh, Dusty, where are you going?"

"Not now, El Chu." He didn't even bother to turn back and look at the Spanish plane.

"Dusty, are you ok?" Rochelle's voice alerted him that it wasn't just El Chu behind him.

"No." He snapped, speeding up angrily. Right now, he really wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody.

"Dusty, stop!"

"No!"

"Dusty, the ice!"

"Wha--?" Dusty froze, and looked around suddenly. In his rage, he hadn't seen where the snow had ended at the slippery edge of the frozen lake. Slowly, he turned to face the two, who were staring at him, wide-eyed. Dusty's eyes wandered from them down to the ice, under which flowing water could be seen. His fuel tank began pounding as he began panting heavily. The ice was so translucid, it looked like glass. It was clearly thin. He began rolling foward slowly.

CREAK

Dusty stopped as sudddenly as he could as a deafening cracking sound filled the air. A large white crack appeared in front of him, as he jerked back.

"Don't move!" Rochelle called, her voice cracking.

"Yeah, good idea." He called back, eyes still fixed on the ice below him.

"Dusty!" The familiar voice redirectied his attention to Ishani, who rolled up next to Rochelle, staring at him. "What are you doing?!"

"You think I wanted this to happen?!" His propellor clenched as another crack appeared to the side, cirling around in rigid line, unrelenting and seemingly unending. "Wh-what should I do?!"

"Stay still!! Don't move."

"I couldn't even if I wanted too!!!" His line of vision was interrupted by a beam of sunshine as the star peaked it's face over the clouds. "Oh no..."

"What should we do?!" El Chu began panicking as the sunshine began shining on the ice, making it glimmer. On a normal day, it would be a beautiful sight. But when your friend is stuck in the middle of a melting lake, its more of a scene that will make your flaps quiver.

"Find some rope. Maybe we can pull him back to shore."

"On it!" El Chu sped away, entering the nearest workshop. A sudden crashing noise came from the hangar, and Rochelle rolled her eyes.

"I better go help him."

And Ishani was left there with Dusty.

"So...."

"How are you holding up?"

"Well....I'm cold...."

"I'll go get you some warm oil." Ishani sped up towards the main room.

And Dusty was left there alone.

"Great." His eyes scanned his surroundings. Nothing new. Gray Mountains, gray sky, blinding snow. "Well this is fun."

Something struck him on the wing, startling him. He jumped causing the ice to crack even more.

"Don't Move, Grab the rope." A sharp commanding voice came through his comm.

"Um, h-hello."

"Just do it." The voice had an commanding edge to it, and he didn't dare disobey. Dusty stiffened, and wrapped his back wheel around the rope.

"O-ok, its done."

"Hold on." Dusty felt as the rope slowly began to pull him towards the edge. He strained to look behind him to look at who was pulling the rope, but was unable to see over the wing.

"S-So, who are you?"

"I work at the Iceland Official Airport. I saw you roll out on the ice and realized what a stupid fragging move that was. Seriously, what were you thinking?"

"I...I wasn't." A loud cracking noise filled the air, and Dusty watched with pure horror as a large crack began rushing towards him. The ice behind it began breaking apart, large ice chunks breaking apart and floating away. "Oh my GMC..."

"HOLD ON!" The rope jerked him backwards suddenly, and it pulled him along the ice, rapidly. Dusty stared as the crack was growing nearer. He was just staying ahead...

He stopped suddenly, jerking to a stop.

"SHOOT! Line's stuck."

"It's what?!" Dusty let out a whimpy whimper as the crack approached, growing nearer and nearer...

The ice under his front tires, split suddenly, and before he was able to take a deep enough breath, his entire front half plunged into the numbing water.

~~~

It is said that on the verge of death, one's life seems to pass before their very eyes. The very highlights of their life bringing along the happiest of memories. A calming sensation that can lead to a peaceful ending. Like the very first cropdust. Or discovering air racing on the small wooded tv in your hangar. The exhileration of flying through the air , feeling the wind rush past your wings, pushing your torque to the maximum. The rush of adrenaline as you cross your very first finish line. These happy moment can bring out the best in you. It is these memories that make one's life worth living, that give all the suffering you endure in your long life a meaning.

Then, come the painful moments. Repeating the exact same job every single day, being yelled at by your boss for daydreaming again. That sickening moment whe you find out your qualifying time was too slow. Finding out one you trusted set you up for a better chance of winning. That dread when the train headlights blind your eyes. Being lied to by your own mentor. Crashing in the pacific. These are the memories that give meaning to the good ones. Without these depressing moments that bring suffering and pain to a plane, there would be no contrast to the happy moments. Then what would be the point? These are the memories that give life meaning, that make living mean something.

At that very moment, that very moment when his nose dipped under, Dusty saw his entire life flash before his eyes. All the happy, all the sad, all the memories passed like planes racing. The ying and yang of life, the balance of living, it all became clear to him.

A small speck of light in the distance began to grow brighter, making itself known. It continued to grow, and he was pulled towards it.

Was this the end? It matched all the stories he had read about the ending of life. It surely seemed so, and Dusty wanted to accept it.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't leave, no, not yet. He wasn't done yet. The rookie was still out there, he was only on the first leg. He didn't want to leave his friends....

He began tugging against the invisible force that was pulling him towards the light, fighting the urge to give in. He searched for any untapped energy reserve that could be hidden in his frame, pulling and fighting. Still, he continued to be dragged towards the light.

"No...No...I'm not ready."

With a sudden whip of air, the light was whisked away from his sight....

Dusty gasped, relief filling his tank as air flooded his fuselage, jerked up in the air with a sudden and final pull. His frame landed in a plush fluffy bank of powdered snow, and he sank down, gasping and coughing.

"Dusty!!" El Chu came rolling from behind, eyes panicking and frantically breathing. "Are you ok, amigo?!"

"Y-yeah...." He panted frantically. "Whoo...." He tried to move his propeller to get a better view of where he had fallen through, but much to his horror, failed to do so. The propeller was tinted with a light white ice coating, which spread from the tips, covering his entire nose, reaching up to his control panel. A small warning light was brought to his attention as flashing a light blue light.

The temperature warning.

El Chu saw it as well. "We should get you to your hangar, or a heat lamp. You look very cold."

"Y-yeah." Dusty rolled forward slightly, then paused, and asked, "Hey El Chu, is there something around my back wheel?" El Chu gave him a strange look, then glanced back towards said wheel.

"No, its perfectly normal."

"What...?" Dusty paused. He SWORE he could feel that rope wrapped loosely around his back wheel, but he knew El Chu wouldn't lie to him.

"Crophopper!" Dusty cringed at the sharp voice, and turned to Roper, who was driving up towards him, Ishani and Rochelle following close behind. "What were you thinking?!" He snapped. "Didn't you see the sign?"

"Erm...no?"

"Look at you, you're all iced up." He wacked Dusty's propeller with a fork, sending a twinge of sensitive tingles up his frame, making him shiver. "And I thought you looked bad last time. Come with me, we gotta get you warmed up. If your fuel freezes, it's all over for you. Yo! Spanish Plane. Get me some warm oil, stat!"

"Th...that sounds nice."

"Eyah, it better, because you don't deserve it. Lets get going. Spanish boy! Hurry." El Chu looked around, confused.

"Me?"

"No, the other spanish plane here, YES, YOU!!" He cringed slightly, then sped away rapidly.

"Dusty, are you ok?" Ishani rushed up to him, only to be cut off by one of Roper's forks.

"Nu-uh uh, don't touch him. Cold metal is very sensative. We gotta take him back to his hangar. He'll warm up there."