We haven't heard from Bin or Ash in several hours, they both missed our scheduled quarterly report meeting (a meeting detailing anomalous coins). Personnel are advised to keep an eye out and inform their higher-ups of any sightings of the Administrator and APRA Director.

The following is a transcript from earlier today, as the pair had called in to our quarterly report meeting (a meeting about living quarters within Foundation structures.).

Written log 2022-10-24
Note: Bin Folks and Ash Ngo were personally investigating an anomaly in southern California, and on their way to a nearby Foundation office after concluding their business there. This call was received from inside of an Aggie's they stopped at along the way. This log has been cut down to only contain the end of their call, as it is what is most pertinent today.

-Bin and Ash walk outside of the restaurant, and continue talking as they enter the parking lot.

Bin: ...anyway if they cost so much we should just fire them.

Ash: We can't fire printers, Bin. They're machines.

Heavy Jim: We've recently caught a lemming sucking the ink out of a cartridge like it was a juicebox, that may be why we're stuck spending so much on ink.

Bin: What does any of this have to do with quarters? I think we've— hold on a moment, where's my car? This thing is hideous!

-The camera moves to show a bright red, yellow, and white racecar. A symbol depicting two tire-like eyes appears on key spots of its body.

Ash: I feel like it's staring at me. Can we stop looking at this thing? Maybe you just forgot where you parked.

-Bin fumbles for his keys, finds them, then presses a button on the fob, and stops to listen for the beep.

-The racecar beeps and its lights flash.

-Bin shrugs.

Bin: I mean a free car is a free car. We're going to be late for the quarterly report meeting if we don't get going.

Ash: Bin I swear if you get in the— you're already in the car.

-Bin is in the car.

-Ash sighs, and the signal drops.

So, good news— no, I lied. Bad news, Ash and I are presently trapped inside of a racecar that seems to have a mind of its own and is taking us to car hell. Probably. We don't actually have any idea where it's taking us, we just know we've been going west-ish.

The doors are locked, and Bin has been playing “I Spy” for the past five hours. If he does it one more time I am going to shove something in his little eye.

Strangely, any signals— such as those used to keep track of us— seem to be blocked. It's like this thing has a built in faraday cage— which can't be the case because the one thing we seem to be able to do is send these emails through a…thing Bin has access to. He refuses to explain beyond simply saying “it's the cloud, Ash.” No internet. No phone. No GPS. No radio— only these secure emails.

We need any available personnel to help track down our current location, so the folk in Investigations can extrapolate where we're going, and intercept this car. We're attaching a map below of our approximate area— we're in New Mexico, so Bin was able to figure out the general area at least— alongside a list of landmarks we've passed.

These locations are provided in the order we've passed them.

I spy, with my little eye; a circus, a black mesa, a gas station, and a funny looking rock.

Once you've figured it out, reply with the coordinates you think we were present at at the time of this message. Good luck.

We haven't heard from or seen anyone yet, is this channel only one way, or is no one looking? Strangely, Bin and I have both noticed a lack of hunger, sleepiness, or other general bodily functions that should kick in on a lengthy road trip like this. Unfortunately this also means I have not been able to sleep through his renditions of various country songs, and I would very much appreciate if those listening could hurry up and get me out.

With the information supplied by personnel, a few teams were dispatched to extract us from our predicament— one of which found us down the highway from the Clown Stone Monument. We saw them approaching— the trouble is, they didn't see us. Worse, they drove right through us, as if we weren't there. We're updating them with information on our current whereabouts and they're tailing us as best they can.

There isn't a lot to do in this thing, except stare at whatever's around, and I keep staring at the dashboard. No matter how fast we've gone, how far we've traveled, or any other external factor— the dials have stayed the same. This is without mentioning the fact that half of these dials make no sense to me.

I'm starting to think these might mean something, or we're going so fast the blood has flooded my head. I've attached a photo below, If anyone can make sense of this please reply as soon as possible— god help us we are now in Florida.

Well, it seems we've arrived at our destination— a remote race track somewhere in Florida, signs seem to indicate that this is the “Nightona International Speedway.” Wherever the hell that is. I don't follow racing, and after this I definitely won't be starting. In fact, if any personnel attempt to chat me up about racing when I get back they will be fired. Immediately. I'm going to go insane, we've been driving in circles for the past several hours, there's no one else here besides us and the personnel who tailed us. No racers. No staff. No crowd. Just endless circles in some invisible race!

From what personnel have been able to discern, the dashboard seems to say “Zoom”— I hate the children over there but we should contact our sponsor Zoomi about this, they may know something. Our communications are still blocked, however, and we'll need personnel to reach out to their social media accounts, which should be...ugh, @Zoomizooms. If you call out their CEO, Saif Mazri, we may be able to get somewhere faster here. Just tell them there's a fast car and they'll be on board, that is literally all it takes with these people.

So if I understand correctly— you want to stop going nyoom?

Yes.

Yes.

Normally I wouldn't help with something so stupid, but I owe Bin a favor. You mentioned some strange eyes on the zoomy? I think I might know what that means! First— Nightona. That's an old testing field we used to use until a few years ago, we had these big plans to open it up to the public but after a particular...incident, we stopped!

Her name was Rashe Ist, but she insisted on everyone calling her “The Raceist,” which we did because she was the bestest mechanic in the entire company! She was the fastest of all of us— to a point where her obsession with speed was outright concerning. The car you're currently trapped in was hers, and she planned to make it the fastest thing on earth.

Last we heard from her, she was muttering something about a “speed demon” and “bleeding for speed” repeatedly, it was too scary for her crew, so she was sent home for the night. We found the car gone the next morning, with nothing but red streaks left in its wake! Neither Rashe nor the car has been seen until now. My guess? She wanted to go fast forever, and the only threat to that would be someone dedicated to containing the supernatural— you.

I am going to have an aneurysm. So, this entire thing is happening just because one woman wanted to drive really fast? That's it?! Seriously?

Going fast forever, without needing to eat, sleep, or drink? This sounds like heaven to me!

We are in a blood car, a car filled with blood. I would very much like to not be inside the blood car.

You just don't appreciate the gift you've been given, but, I am a man of my word! So, the only way to stop a nyyyyoow machine like that is to counteract it with something...god I'm gonna throw up...something slow. Read something boring. Talk about something at length. Play chess. I don't care— and I beg you please do not tell me whatever it is you do, my heart rate cannot go below 120bpm at a minimum!

I'm taking my private jet out there with some of Rashe's former crew, we'll do what we can.

You do realize we are definitely going to have to contain this thing right?

Not if it's too fast for you to catch.

We'll deal with that later— for now, we'll be slow. Any personnel listening, please send in anything slow that you can. Photos of slow animals, slow text, videos, descriptions, whatever you can think of. I want out of this as fast as possible.

Ash spent the past day reciting poetry at an agonizingly slow pace, while I audibly counted the seconds one by one. I have never been this bored in my entire life, but with the combined efforts of her and various personnel, the car finally stopped! The fresh air has never felt better! I'm only taking boats, planes, and helicopters for the next few weeks— no more cars, please.

We could probably have gotten out without the aid of personnel, but I thank you for getting us out faster. Unfortunately the budget we'd use to give you bonuses was spent on these emails. The Cloud is a hungry beast, and it only accepts cash.

I'm never getting in a car with Bin again, unless it's an emergency. Thank you everyone for your efforts.

You idiots left the door open, and now I am going to go fast! Forever!

God, no! Someone stop him— I left my wallet in there!