Some time later, I was once again awakened by a cacophony of sounds demanding my attention. My eyes fluttered open as a deep pounding joined the strident beeping from earlier, two incongruent noises forcing their discord on me. I turned towards the pounding first and realized that it was coming from the door I’d seen earlier. Before I even considered what to do, a voice called out to me.

"Red? Red, you there? You didn't show up at my house, and you're never late, so I came to make sure that you're okay…" The voice was feminine, and sounded worried. The pounding continued for a few moments, and then she called out again. "Red, come on! We need to get to work!"

Get to work? I died yesterday and now I have a job? This day was getting more and more confusing… and yet somehow the thought of having a job, a routine, was comforting. For a fire engine, a proper work-life balance meant all work and no life. I'd never been the one making decisions for myself - it was forty years of being directed where to go and what to do. Perhaps a job was just what I needed while I figured out what was happening. I managed to pick myself up, once again noting how easily I moved in this body. It felt natural, as if I'd been doing it forever. Hands and feet pushed me up and off the ground, balancing on two legs as easily as my steel frame had balanced on six wheels.

Without thinking, I called out towards the door. "I'm coming, hold on." I froze - I'd just spoken my first words. I wasn't even sure how I'd made the noise, and thinking back on the mechanics of it did not help. As Red-1, my horn had been a simple speaker with a recording of a siren. It had no moving parts, and was designed for scooting small cars and barking dogs out of my way before my considerable bulk crushed them out of existence. Not that I ever would - I was, of course, the fire engine with the best safety record in all of the north-central-great lakes region. Shaking off my reverie, I walked to the door and pulled it open. "Yes?" I asked.

Standing in the doorway was a voluptuous blonde girl, perhaps a smidge younger than me, dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt. There was a pizza logo on the front, with the words Pizza Palace embroidered underneath. She jumped when she saw me, eyes going wide as she glanced down, realizing just how little I was wearing. Her eyes immediately jerked back to my face, cheeks flushing red in an instant. "Red, you're not even close to ready!” she exclaimed, dashing into the room and shutting the door behind her. She grabbed my hand and pulled me along towards another door closer to the bed. She jerked that door open, revealing a closet full of clothes, all of which were black. Reaching in, she grabbed a black top and a blacker short skirt, shoving them towards me.

For just a brief moment, her fingers brushed against my chest, pushing into the soft shirt covering softer skin.

"Ohhh," I squeaked, involuntarily.

"Ohhh," she squeaked, eyes wide as she bit her lip.

Our eyes locked for a long moment as I tried to think of what to say, though I was having trouble thinking about anything but the memory of her caress. It felt so intimate, nothing at all like having a freight train sheer through a steel support beam in your rear quarter. I cleared my throat, looking down at the clothes. "I'll just put these on?"

"Yes," she said, eyes still on my chest. "I'll get your alarm." With an obvious effort, she turned to the bed to grab my phone.

I turned around but didn't leave the room as I pulled my shirt over my head, freeing my chest to bounce and sway with every movement of my body. I grabbed the skirt first, stepping into it smoothly as if I'd been doing it for years, and pulled it up the sensuous curves of my legs. It ran up and over my hips and nestled around my slender waist, barely coming halfway down my thighs, exposing nearly as much skin as my pajamas had. I looked down at myself in wonder. I'd just put on my first human garment, and it had felt as natural as pulling my retractable fire house back inside my side panels.

From behind me, I heard the beeping stop. "Ahhh," the blonde girl said softly, and this time it almost sounded more like a moan than a squeak. "I love the new iPhones. They are just soooo sleek. I could feel this baby all day."

"My phone, you said?" I asked, glancing at the blonde. She was sitting on the bed running her fingers along the edges of the phone, delicately manicured nails gleaming in the bright light.

"Iphone," she corrected, a lusty note in her voice as her finger lightly touched the charging port. "I can't believe you got the newest one. How did you afford… it…?" Her voice trailed off as she looked up at me, my chest uncovered and breasts hanging free. Her jaw dropped.

"The newest..?" I prompted, hoping for any aid in understanding my new life.

“Red,” she said, sounding strangled as she turned away from me quickly. “Please, for the love of Jobs, put on a shirt!” 

“Oh, sorry,” I said, grabbing the top and pulling it on quickly. It was black as the smoke from a particularly dirty fire, as tight as trying to squeeze the bulk of my engine through a fast food drive thru. I could feel the garment caressing me, showing off every angle of my overly curvy body. It was so restrictive, but at the same time I felt nicely supported and was no longer flopping around with every tiny movement. 

The other girl cautiously looked at me once again, smiling in relief when she realized I’d managed to cover myself. “Finally! Now come on, we’re gonna be so late!" She handed me my phone and a set of keys, grabbing my hand again and pulling me to the door.

I followed her out, wondering how we were getting to work. In my past life, I'd have hit the siren and blazed a trail so fast that only birds could have followed me, but I didn't even know how I got around in this life. Would we have to run? I had seen people running before, and the motion had always left me a little bewildered. How did they stay upright with only two limbs touching the ground? For that matter, sometimes only one limb was touching. It just made no sense, none at all. Certainly not as much sense as the original blueprints that had contained the design for me, Red-1, greatest fire truck of Randle, Ohio.

Once outside, the other girl led me to a parking lot, skipping past a number of normal-looking cars. Some of them were American brands, and I nodded to them even if most of their parts were no longer American Steel. They still paid homage to my generation, and deserved respect. 

The imported foreign plastic did not even get a second glance.

As we rounded the last set of cars, I saw it. A 1969 Chevy Camaro ZL-1, made in the same year I had been. Jet black, it looked to be in mint condition, with a sleek American build that was unmistakable to the discerning eye. I'd honked my horn at a few of these beauties in my time, even sneaking a peek inside the hood of a sultry little red number back in my wilder youth. I'd never forgotten what that engine looked like. It made my oil run hot thinking about it. Seeing this one was having a similar effect on my human body, too.

"Oh, Craftsman above," I whispered, watching as the blonde ran to the passenger side. "We're getting in that?"

She looked at me as if I was stupid. "Uhhh… yeah? It's your car. You drive me to work every day, Red. Are you sure you’re okay?"

I nodded mechanically, staring at the camaro. My camaro. I walked towards her, slowly, respectfully. I reached out and touched the black metal, running my hand along the top. Metal such as this belonged in a museum. People should have made shrines to cars like these. I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of it. "Ohhh," I said, shuddering. "Ohhh, yes." 

Maybe I could get used to this life after all.