WGP2 Season III [Roleplay Thread]

[Hapilopper]

Crossbay Circuit, Nimbus Bay, Nimbus System
After the Nimban Deuxième Prix
Drake Stevenson climbed out of his strange eight-wheeled Imagination-powered contraption and peeled off his red and yellow helmet. It was over. The dream he had harbored since he was a child would not come true. His final race as an open-wheeled driver had come to an end. He would not compete for the World Grand Prix Championship. He would not stun the world with some amazing performance in the rain in a place like Audioslavia or Nekoni or Eastfield Lodge. He would not be known for his breathtaking drives, making up thirty seconds in thirty laps to beat the world’s greatest drivers. Instead, he would be known for being one of the biggest “what if?” stories in the history of the World Grand Prix Championship.

But some of that magic came out on this rainy afternoon in Nimbus Bay. Drake had run up front for much of the race, and while he wasn’t known as a wet-weather specialist, he made the most of the conditions, thinking back to his time running on dirt in Hapilopper. The 9th place finish was deceiving. It was clear that he should have been up near the front when the flag dropped, but racing luck being what it was, he fell back in the last quarter of the race.

And while Drake was incredibly happy to finally be free of what had been the worst season of his life, he couldn’t help but feel melancholy for what had happened. He couldn’t help but question the decisions he had made so many months before. He couldn’t help but wonder that maybe, if he had gone a different route, this past season wouldn’t have been such an unmitigated disaster. Sure, he scored points, but everyone expected him to contend for the championship. Everyone expected him to win races and be one of the threats to watch for the upcoming World Grand Prix Championship season.

If anything, he probably should have wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t checked out mentally from racing for Nexus Racing. Early on in the season, several incidents happened that sapped his confidence away, and by the time the second half of the season had gotten started, it was plainly obvious that Drake was going on autopilot. His track walks had been much shorter and much less detailed than they had typically been in the past. His living quarters in Nimbus Bay, not far from the Nexus Racing shop, a very nice apartment he had rented for the past year, became more and more deserted as the season progressed, and it got to the point that Drake probably spent one day a month there, if that.

Drake had chosen to spend more and more time with Team Blue as a way to rebuild his confidence, and chose to spend more time living in his old apartment in Hapilopper City with roommates Chris Holmes and Claire Randall. Maybe, had he spent more time in Nimbus Bay instead, he might have been able to get more acquainted with the Chase Cutter, a car so wildly different from anything Drake had ever driven in his life. But there were things that had happened throughout the season, both professionally and personally, that sapped away his desire to be with the Nexus team, and at one point, his will to live. It wasn’t a reflection on the team, and when Drake wrote a farewell letter to Nexus Racing, he made that point clear.

To the entire Nexus Racing Staff:
Thank you very much for the opportunity to drive your car for this season. While this season has certainly had more difficulties than successes, I will forever be grateful for the chances I have been given as a driver for one of the premier teams in international motorsport. However, it has become crystal clear that I must return home, and the dream I have had since I was a little boy, the dream of becoming a World Champion, has come to an end.

Those difficulties, however, should not be blamed on you, the hardworking staff of Nexus Racing, who put in very long hours and probably spent more time away from your families than you’d like to admit, to produce racing cars for both myself and Janne. My mental state has not been what I wanted it to be this season, and I will admit that my dedication to this team has not been what it should have been throughout the season, and for that, I would like to personally apologize to all of you. You deserved better than what I was able to provide. At a better time, and given better circumstances, I think I could have given you the results you truly deserve.

I wish all of you luck in the future, in the World Grand Prix Championships in the future. I know I will be watching from home to cheer you and your bold idea on. And anytime y’all come to Hapilopper to compete, let me know. We’ll get together for a party.

Until we meet again.
Drake C. Stevenson

There were just a handful of Drake’s personal items in his Nimbus Bay apartment. There were pictures – of himself and his family; of him and his old high school sweetheart; and of him and the Eelandii VTGP crew after he took that third place finish in Vilita. That picture meant so much to him, even more than any others. That picture to him meant hope. It meant that dream, the dream he told all his friends and family about, was probably going to come true. A few tears ran down his eyes as he put the pictures and other items into boxes the morning after the race. That picture of him and the Eelandii team would be put up in a very prominent place in his new house in north Hapilopper City.

A friend of Drake’s in Nimbus Bay helped him get to the airport, to board the plane back to Hapilopper City, as well as get the boxes onto the plane. There weren’t many, as Drake didn’t have a lot of stuff with him, but everything he had carried some kind of meaning. Drake hugged the friend and said goodbye, but expressed a promise that they would indeed keep in touch.

Hapilopper Airlines Flight 96
A few hours later
Perhaps it was appropriate that the plane from Nimbus Bay to Hapilopper City was so empty. With his eye on purchasing a new house in the north end of Hapilopper City after having been thrown out of his apartment, Drake opted to take a cheaper seat in coach rather than the usual first-class tickets that Preston Autos had purchased for him. But Preston Autos had pulled the plug weeks before, stating they would not support Drake competing in Grand Prix racing moving forward.

But Drake looked around the massive flying machine and could only spot a handful of people. The plane just felt so quiet as he looked around. The plane had yet to take off, and Drake was harboring some second thoughts. Maybe he could cause a scene on the plane, get thrown off and stay in Nimbus Bay, and maybe, just maybe, try one more time with Nexus Racing. Maybe those dreams could still come true.

He looked out the window and took a long look at what was outside. It was too much for him, emotionally. This dream he had harbored since he was seven years old was ending, the dream of being a World Grand Prix Champion, and he couldn’t take it. It had truly come to an end.

Andrew’s Pub, Hapilopper City
Thirteen hours later – and an hour after landing in Hapilopper City
Chris Holmes, Frank Bronson and Chet Byrd waited at the terminal at the Hapilopper City Airport for Drake to arrive. They figured they’d give Drake a proper homecoming. They figured that Drake would be more than happy to see his Hapiloppian friends, and maybe they’d get positively shitfaced at Andrew’s Pub to celebrate. When they saw Drake come out of the jetway, they saw he was in no mood to celebrate. For the last twelve hours, Drake had contemplated what could have been, and the more he thought about it, the more upset he got.

Nevertheless, the four went to the pub, possibly as a way to lift Drake’s spirits. It only made him more upset. It was here that Drake made the official announcement that he would be competing for Nexus Racing, and it was here that he had kicked off what he thought would be the start of a magnificent Grand Prix career.

“You know, I shouldn’t have signed with them,” Drake said sadly. “I probably had a race seat with Eelandii waiting for me and I blew it. Or, I could have run with you guys for a season.”

“Drake, you had no way of knowing that wasn’t going to work,” Chet said. “You had no way of knowing you’d be driving a shitbox. I mean, shit pal. Eight wheels? Imagination? I ain’t ever had any idea of whatever that meant.”

Drake cringed at the word “shitbox.” The Chase Cutter was not a shitbox, he thought, and instead, he felt like the car could have won races had he felt more motivated.

The next morning, however, was somewhat refreshing. For the first time, Drake had woken up as a former Grand Prix driver. He was called into the Team Blue office, where team principal Amanda McAlister officially welcomed him back to the team. For the remainder of the season, Drake would compete in the HASCAR Challenge Cup, while possibly running for the second open charter in NSSCRA from time to time. He took the position with decidedly mixed feelings. On one hand, he was grateful Team Blue had welcomed him back, and he was ready to pick up where he left off in the Challenge Cup. On the other hand, he wondered what he could have done differently. Leaving the shop, Drake went over to a local diner to have some lunch and think about it.

As he walked out of the shop, Rudy Edwards walked in, walking right by Drake as he sauntered in. The two nodded their heads curtly. Drake and Rudy knew why the other was there. Edwards, the leader of the national championship car series, was set to discuss a potential World Grand Prix Championship bid with Marty Lewis, the head of racing operations for Preston Autos. Edwards, 22, had his whole career ahead of him. His dream was still alive. His goal of becoming a World Grand Prix Champion was still very much in play.

[Togonistan]

Kaylan Pit Garage
Post race

The worst possible scenario they could see happening... happened. First blow below the belt had been Barnabas Mate's engine stopping any sort of cooperation during as early as lap 3. Next had been Fanene attempting an overtake on race leader Dom Falepeau during lap 6, which resulted in the two having a collision, causing a safety car to be brought out. While it gave them a chance to do a pit stop and fix any body damage, it still cost them the comfortable grid spot Fanene was in. However, a final nail in the coffin had been Fanene commenting on the radio about his engine acting up as well. While he did manage to bring the car to the finish, it was still for nothing. P16 did not award any points. Even worse, both UrGa as well as Bitten Heroes had managed to pass them in the constructors standings with their result.

The final race left a very sour taste in their mouths. From an almost solid P6 to below average P8. Yes, the point difference was small, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they had failed to hold on to their current position. The start of the season had been really positive for them, yet... half way through, something had happened. Eventually, they had failed to even meet the expectations the board had set for the team. All these countless hours they had put into training, all these sleepless nights the mechanics had spent to iron out the issues with the car engines... it all felt as if it had been for nothing. No matter how hard they had tried, in the end, it was still not enough.

''Okay, this is the end of the race and end of the season. We'll see you in the pits.''

Tanielu sighed and took off his headphones. He looked at Jared sitting next to him, and after a brief moment, the two shook their hands, with rather depressed looks on their faces. Neither of them were positive about the result. The last few races had been a total nightmare, and they were glad it was over for now. Tanielu nod and made his way out of the garage, not paying much attention to the final results nor the celebrations that took place.

---

Dom did not even realise what had just happened. He saw Fanene's Kaylan in his mirrors when, next moment, sparks were coming out from the back of his car, as he spun quite a few times around himself, before coming to a stop.

''Dom, are you okay? Please confirm you're okay!''

''...I'm fine.'' Dom replied shortly, ''Safety car is out, I shall pit.''

By the time he managed to get out of the pits, he had fallen all the way to the bottom of the grid. Dom had not yet given up though, as he floored the pedal and tried to catch up with the rest of the back. He did managed to have a few overtakes, however... during lap 19, the suspension on his car let him down as he drew over a small curb. Probably it had got some damage during the earlier contact already, anyways, Dom felt how he lost any control over his car as it smoothly slid across a wall.

''Yup... I'm... I guess I'm out,'' Dom said a moment before hitting the wall. As the car came to a halt, Dom let his head fall onto the steering wheel.

''Tough luck mate... engine off, it's over.''

''I'm really sorry. Tried my best, it wasn't good enough.''

''It's okay. No matter today's result, you had a great season nevertheless. It has been a pleasure working with you. We'll go to a bar and have a few beers later, okay?''

Dom smirked as he climbed out of his car. Indeed, it would have been foolish to complain at this point. It had been a solid season.

[Auruna]

Crossbay Circuit, the Nexus Wardship of Former Citizens of the Nimbus System
Post-Race, Viska Garage

"Good effort out there, you two did great. In the end it's our fault, we couldn't get you guys the car that you deserve."

The race ends, the two Viska fighters could only finish P12 and P13. With no points scored, their rivals overtook them in the championship and eventually winning the title fight. It was an interesting season nonetheless. Whatever the result is, it is a success for Jöna and the team. Mixed emotions fill the garage with either joy or sorrow, and Artur is one of the latter.

"Artur, it's alright, nie nera ton. (don't worry mate.) It's just our first season here, don't expect to be winning the championship."

A brief pause before Artur replies, "I though we were expected to place at the top of the ranks..?"

"No, the win back home at Akresna is enough for the MNA to fund us more for future seasons. Besides, competition here is tougher than what we are up against back home. Our competitors here have been racing in this series for a long time now." Jöna takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, "We did an unexpected performance from a new team. Not enough to do a Brawn GP but it's enough for us to be near the top and continue our fight. We'll get them next season."

"You're right."

"Well then, let's get the others, we're all going to eat out. My treat."

The depressed atmosphere in the garage fades away after what Jöna said. The two went gathering everyone in the team for a celebration.

Viska's performance was a surprise being a new team in this series, they were only lacking the experience needed to be a bit more competitive. Support for them back home only strengthened due to their performance. With that, more drivers are coming to Viska and some amateurs are joining their junior programme.

The eagles will be back on track... soon.

[TJUN-ia]

That "last-to (?)" got turned into "Last-to-1st" after 9 laps, somehow. Carter was somehow leading. He fell back as the championship fighters passed him, but he was calm as he finished 7th to end his season. Not bad, but things should have been different. Luck wasn't on Carter's side for most of the season, and that showed - definitely.

William Archer, son of Gil, had won this race. Abdoulaye Goita's 2nd was enough to take the title by 9 points over Sara Luna, the drier who took the opportunity Carter turned down. Would he have been in Luna's shoes if he chose Adelphia over UrGa? He may never know for certain, but that question will remain with him for a long time to come.

He finished 15th in the standings, just behind Isaia Fanene on countback (1 3rd place for Fanene, compared with 0 for Carter). UrGa finished 6th in the constructors, ahead of Bitten Heroes Academy and Kaylan Racing Team by a single point. The 4 points he scored had given the team that standing, but it didn't feel like his achievement. It was UrGa and Taras who had delivered, even though Carter was only 5 points off his teammate.

He had written a letter in Ukrainian which he slid under the door of the office of Vasily Gatutin. Afterwards, he walked out and never looked back. WPGC doesn't require Lane Carter and neither will UrGa. In the end, Lane Carter ended just as he started: as the Forgotten Galarian.

---

Василь, (Vasily)

Я приєднався до UrGa, тому що хотів довести себе гідним змагатися у WGP. Зараз я можу сказати, що я провалив вас і що я провалив цю команду. (I joined UrGa because I wanted to prove myself worthy of competing in the WGP. I can now say that I have failed you and that I failed this team.)

Я не була такою послідовною, як хотіла бути, і натомість показала, що я була чутливою. Я був нічим. ( I haven't been as consistent as I wanted to be, and what showed instead was that I was a phoney. I was nothing.)

Я не звинувачую ні вас, ні UrGa за те, що ви побудували машину, яку ви побудували. Ви зробили цю машину для Вільяма Арчера, і коли він захотів поїхати в іншому напрямку, я заповнив порожнечу. Я не звинувачую Тараса в тому, що сталося між нами у Філіндостані. Я до дня, коли помру, скажу, що це був гоночний інцидент. Це не було жодної з наших помилок. (I don't blame you or UrGa for building the car you built. You made that car for William Archer and when he wanted go to in a different direction, I filled the void. I don't blame Taras for what happened between us in Filindostan. I will, till the day I die, say that it was a racing incident. I was none of our faults.)

Людина, яку я звинувачую, - це я сам. Коли Тарас був сильним, я був слабким. Я знаю, ти скажеш "але ти був лише на п’ять очок за Тарасом!". Він отримав ці очки через високі показники, в той час як я залишився з послідовними фінішами. Але цього недостатньо, і я мав би зробити краще, коли міг. (The person I blame is myself. When Taras was strong, I was weak. I know you will say "but you were only five points behind Taras!". He got those points through high finishes, while I was left with consistent finishes. But that is not enough, and I should have done better when I could.)

TJUN-ia - це не нація з гордою гоночною історією, але не була і Reçeuçn - і подивіться, що зробив Гойта. Галар завжди буде моєю батьківщиною, але я відчуваю, що відпустив свою прийняту батьківщину. Я повинен був бути людиною, яка показала шлях вперед, але я не була. Я вас підвів, команда, мої брати. (TJUN-ia isn't a nation with a proud racing history, but neither was Reçeuçn - and look what Goita did. Galar will always be my homeland, but I feel like I've let my adopted homeland down. I should have been the person that showed the way forward, but I wasn't. I've let you down, the team down, my brothers down.)

Отже, з цим треба попрощатися. Я не можу візуалізувати себе в WGPC з такими виступами. Мені потрібно вдосконалюватися, і мені це потрібно зробити в наступному сезоні. Але не тут, бо моя машина належить комусь іншому. Цей автомобіль - Вільям Арчер, і завжди буде Вільям Арчер. (So, this must be goodbye. I cannot visualize myself going to the WGPC with performances like that. I need to improve and I need to do it next season. But not here, because my car belongs to someone else. That car is William Archer's, and always will be William Archer's.)

Якщо Арчер не вирішить повернутися до команди, з якої він почав, я можу повернутися, якщо хочете. Якщо ви хочете когось іншого, це добре. Я зрозумію. Цей вид спорту перерізаний, і якщо мені потрібно піти, щоб задовольнити вищі сили, то я буду. (If Archer doesn't decide to come back to the team he started with, I could come back if you wanted. If you want someone else, that is fine. I will understand. This sport is cut-throat, and if I must go to satisfy the higher powers, then I will.)

Вибачте, що я вас опустив, але сподіваюся, що моя поїздка принесе кращі дні для цієї команди. (I'm sorry I let you down, but I hope me leaving will bring better days for this team.)

До побачення. (Goodbye.)

Lane Carter

[Recuecn]

Epilogue

The celebrations were over. The trophies had been handed out, the champagne had been uncorked and sprayed and drunk. Abdoulaye had seen three back-to-back-to-back award ceremonies: first the podium ceremony for the Nimban Deuxième Prix, then the award ceremony for the constructor’s championship. He and Roman had stood with Markko and their other teammates as Krister had accepted the prize. And then, for Abdoulaye, the big one: he had pulled his whole team along with him to take the championship trophy. And what a party it had been.

They’d celebrated again that night in Nimbus Bay, but already Abdoulaye had started to have mixed feelings. As he’d looked around at the faces of his teammates, his new friends, his mind had jumped ahead to how he would be leaving them so soon. The unspoken fact that no one knew what would happen or who would go where when the WGPC started infused the sweetness of victory with a bittersweet flavor. But the infectious joy of a freshly victorious Grand Prix team was hard to quell, and the laughter and partying had lasted until the early morning.

Now Abdoulaye, content but thoroughly exhausted, was on the flight back to Savojarna with the team. He leaned against the window of the team jet watching the clouds go past beneath him like so many memories, ever distancing themselves on the winds of time. So much had happened in the last twelve weeks. It didn’t feel like it could possibly be only three months ago that he’d been preparing himself for pre-season testing in Willitya. And when he looked at where he’d been four months ago—his whole life had changed.

The memories came back to him, one by one. Sitting in the lounge at the karting track in Reçueçn, watching the constructors be announced. The letter he’d sent to SVJ as a backup plan. The look on Mate’s face as Abdoulaye gave him the Kaylan seat. His first press conference in Savojarna. That moment he’d seen the new UHSGV for the first time. His first, abysmal practice session. The safety car that had given him his first win in his first race. The phone calls with his father. Another safety car in Auruna and another podium. The Savojar headlines, never sure whether to celebrate SVJ’s performance or bemoan that it wasn’t a Savojar leading the charge. That split second in Esmerel where he’d lost control. The crash.

The pain. The hospital. The neckbrace. Pole position in Hapilopper. Stevenson, telling him he’d be quitting: “It just felt right, friend.” The hours of data review. The feel of the firesuit. That moment above the world at the church in Ile Saint-Joseph. “Caulfield is out:” Markko’s voice on the radio; finally another podium when he needed it most. The pressure of the final week. Olivia’s voice, “See you in WGPC, okay?” leaving out the definite article as if she had a word limit to meet. And then, just when everything seemed lost, Stone in fourth and himself down to sixteenth, the safety car came out one last time, and when it retired, Abdoulaye performed one more of his climbs through traffic to make it to second, but Stone was still in fourth with the fastest lap and she’d win on countback… and then she fell back and it was victory.

It seemed unreal that one man could live through so many things. Suspended there in limbo, looking down on the clouds from a plane on a flight between two worlds, Abdoulaye saw again that it hadn’t only been about him. His was only a part in the story. Someone had handed out the roles, and had drawn ‘young aspiring immigrant turned champion.’ He hadn’t chosen that, not anymore than he’d been responsible for the safety cars and the rain and the engine problems. Surely being the champion was worth something?

No—it wasn’t the champion’s story. It was Olivia’s, it was Drake’s, it was Gertrude’s. Somewhere far away, drivers were writing letters of apology Abdoulaye would never read. His thoughts turned to his competitors. During the season it had been kill or be killed. There hadn’t been too much contact between the different drivers. But after the shared experience, the intensity of what they’d undergone together, Goita knew that they had a bond—they all had something in common. “See you in WGPC, okay?” Stone had said. Abdoulaye knew he was being uncharacteristically overly sentimental to look forward to that as a reunion, but somehow he did. The WGPC… That was still so far away, such an ephemeral concept, no more concrete than the clouds below. Abdoulaye’s head fell limp against the window as he drifted into much-needed sleep.

In Savojarna, there was more partying to do. The team that bore the nation’s name and colors had won. There were parades and galas and parties. The team had vindicated itself and its nation. Abdoulaye shared the sentiment, but despite being the drivers’ champion, he still felt a bit of an outsider. The celebrations in Savojarna were deservedly an occasion for the expression of a patriotic pride, a pride in everything the nation had produced—and that didn’t include him. Abdoulaye understood that. It was only fair. If he wanted his own parade, he’d have to return to Reçueçn. But that would mean Reçuecians would need to know who he was.

At some point during that week in Savojarna, full of celebrations and press conferences, he got a call from his dad.

“Ba?” Dad?

“Ndenkɛ!” My son!

They exchanged the traditional greeting, but his dad had something to say.

“Congratulations! I saw your win in the newspaper.”

“I was in the newspaper!?”

“Yes! On the front page of the Reçueçn Times’—”

“The front page!?”

“On the front page of their sports section, there was a little line that said ‘Reçuecian wins WGP2, see S4’. And then on the fourth page of the section they had an article about you.”

“Ah, I see.”

“It was two whole columns! And they even had a photo! But it was the moment you crossed the finish line, so it just looks like a Savojarna car.”

“Well, that’s still cool.”

“I’m so proud of you son.”

Abdoulaye felt a lump in his throat. It wasn’t like his dad to verbalize that kind of thing, and a wave of guilt washed over him for not having called him right away after the race.

“Thank, ba. I’m coming home soon. I can’t wait to see you.”

“K'an bεn.”

“K’an b’u fo!” Greet them for me!

“U n’a mεn.” They’ll hear it.

At the end of the week Markko very graciously offered to help Abdoulaye clear out his apartment in Yarkovo and take him to the airport. There wasn’t too much to do: Abdoulaye had known that he’d only be living in Savojarna for a few months and that he’d only be there half the time anyway, so he’d avoided accumulating too much junk in his apartment. Abdoulaye left a beer and a soda in the fridge until everything was done—all his possessions in Markko’s trunk, the apartment as clean as they could get it. Then he pulled the drinks out of the fridge, cracked them open, and he and Markko went out on his balcony. They leaned against the railing one last time the way they used to lean on the pit wall for a brief moment of meditation before each race. Of course, they could never have drinks before the race.

From the balcony there was a nice view of the stark Savojar countryside outside Yarkovo. Abdoulaye shivered despite the fact that the Rushmori spring had almost become summer. Markko laughed at him. Neither of them quite knew what to say. Abdoulaye finally broke the silence.

“Markko… I, uh, I’m not good at this. But I just wanted to say thanks. I couldn't have done any of it without you. You were a great colleague, and a…” Abdoulaye swallowed the lump in his throat. “And friend. I hope we keep in touch.”

“Abs! Of course! It was an honor to work with you. Do you know how awesome it is that I got to be the champ’s race engineer? I’ll always have that—we’ll always have that. We did that together.” He paused. “I mean, you did it, I was just kind of there. I’m not trying to say—”

“No,” said Abdoulaye. “You were right the first time. We did it.”

The ride to the airport was short. Markko got Abdoulaye’s second suitcase out of the trunk for him. They hugged, said a brief final goodbye, and Abdoulaye walked into the terminal. He could feel heads turn as he walked past—he already stood out in a crowd here in Savojarna, but now he was a celebrity, a champion about to depart. A couple people asked for an autograph and he obliged. Security practically waved him through. Once he was on the plane, a flight attendant who had noticed him asked if it would be okay if she made an announcement over the intercom:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m proud to say that Abdoulaye Goita is on board with us today! That’s right, we have the pleasure of taking our World Grand Prix Two champion back home!” People applauded. Abdoulaye smiled and waved. How strange that another mundane flight meant another journey between worlds, another milestone in his life. Things wouldn’t be the same in Reçueçn.

It was obvious from the moment he got to the immigration desk. The agent gave him the skeptical, up-and-down look he was used to.

“Has anyone ever told you you look like an older Abdoulaye Goita?”

Abdoulaye had no idea what to say. “Non madame.”

“Bizarre, that’s quite the resemblance. I wonder what he’s up to.”

“Probably something like this.”

“Haha, I feel sorry for him then.”

“Me too.” Abdoulaye handed his passport to the agent and she glanced through it before stamping it. She didn’t seem to notice the name.

“Welcome to Reçueçn, sir.”

“Merci.” Abdoulaye shook his head as he walked away. Reçueçn was a weird place.

No one else seemed to recognize him as he made his way home: no one waiting at the luggage carousels, no one in the parking lot, not his Uber driver as he loaded Abdoulaye’s bags into the car. Abdoulaye climbed into the backseat.

Once again, a wave of exhaustion swept over him. “I’ve won,” he told himself. “I’ve earned a bit of rest.” A memory came back to him, yet again, the one memory that had kept coming back to him ever since the race. It was Olivia, shaking his hand, saying with a tone he’d interpreted as concern: “See you in WGPC, okay?”

“See you in WGPC, okay?” That was the hope. That had always been the hope. That was why he’d flown around the multiverse a year ago, chasing down the Grand Prix as if by simply being in its vicinity he could get a ride. That was the hope that had led him to his botched drive for Eelandii, and the same hope for which he had decided it was worth attempting the WGP2 first, even if it hadn’t been what he wanted. It seemed so much closer now than ever and yet, it was still so far away. What would happen? Abdoulaye didn’t know. He wasn’t the one writing his narrative. He would follow the story. Maybe this chapter was over; maybe the next chapter was an interlude.

He pulled his Reçuecian sim card out of his wallet and popped it into his phone. The screen lit up.

1 missed call
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Saint Kanye

[Trans-Dniesters]

William Archer didn't know if he should laugh or cry.

This season in the WGP2 had been very much a journey of ups and downs. Certainly William had started on the up, seeing as he had qualified in P2 for his very first race in WGP2. Oh, if only William had known that it was just the start of a false dawn, and that his WGP2 journey would only take him downhill from there...

But William had to admit that he had fallen for the hype around Bitten Heroes in the preseason. He had to have known better. Teams get hyped up all the time during the preseason. Rare was the team that admitted that they were a ways back from the rest of the field before the start of a season, but preseason testing often separated the true frontrunners from the midfield and the backfield runts.

Unfortunately, because of procrastination on his part, William hadn't been able to participate in preseason testing, but he had managed to keep up with the test sessions itself. Bitten Heroes Academy, the team which the Fleftic driver would end up siging for, had gone third-last in the standings, but with time running out for drivers to secure their seats, William ended up taking the plunge anyway.

And at first, it seemed to have worked out incredibly well for William. He finished P3 during the practice session for the first points-paying race of the season, in a car that he had barely even driven to boot. And he would have taken pole position in qualifying were it not for an insane qualifying lap from the stock car driver-turned-WGP2 racer Drake Stevenson of Hapilopper.

That was as good as it was going to get for William for the rest of the season. William's time in WGP2 and Bitten Heroes would be marked with starts from the back of the grid, getting lapped at least once, and the occasional DNF.

It didn't help William that he felt that the team was focusing more on his teammate Lourdina Westgrens rather than giving both of them equal attention. He couldn't really fault them for that though. Westgrens was Lisanderan like the team itself; William was the foreigner, the last-minute signing, the procrastinator. He could certainly understand why the team would consider him not that worthy of being given the same focus and attention as they would Westgrens. A pretty high peak falling straight into a deep valley.

And then came William's first ever podium, at the historic Cocoabo Park Circuit no less. After all the misery that he had endured, everything almost felt like it was worth it for William. Almost. Of course, every driver dreamed of taking the top step of the podium, but the mere fact that he had managed to take what had been a very uncooperative machine and put it in contention for the race win was an achievement in and of itself, and that alone warranted a reward in the form of a podium appearance.

But once again a very deep valley followed this steep peak for William. Once again he was getting lapped, but at least it appeared that the engineers had finally fixed his reliability problems. For the most part. Of course, it was all well and good for William that he was finally finishing races again, but what good was that when he wasn't even competitive at all? The abbreviated schedule meant that drivers only had so many chances to get as many points and wins as they could before they were out of contention. And William knew by the second race that he was going to be nowhere near contending for the drivers' championship.

And now this. For some strange reason it was William Archer and the KS-03 of Bitten Heroes Academy which fate had favored to win the Nimban Deuxieme Prix, the curtain-closer for this third season of WGP2. Just before this race, William had been pondering if he was going to take his talents up to WGPC or back to the Coalition Grand Prix Racing Association, or if he was even going to stick to open-wheelers at all or move to stock cars like his father Guillermo. Eventually William made a deal with himself: he was going to let the results of this race make the decision for him. If he DNFed, it was going to be the last open-wheel race in his young career. If he managed to finish the race, his final position on the track would determine if he would go back to the CGPRA or try out another season in WGP2.

But then not only did William finish the race in a points-paying place, he had just gone and won the whole damn thing. Not even in his wildest dreams had William considered that he could even win a race this season, especially in the KS-03. Even as William was spraying champagne on his fellow podium finishers (taking care to not get any in his mouth since he was still technically underage) he knew that open-wheel racing was indeed his destiny. And he was going to take his talents up to WGPC where he hoped that he would be able to get into a more competitive team than Bitten Heroes.

The Nimban Deuxieme Prix trophy was going to go straight into the middle of William Archer's bare (so far) cabinet. It was his first ever race win in his career. William hoped that it was going to be the first of many more to come.

---

Konstantin Zakharovich Rezansov walked into the UrGa Motorsports Division garage in Myrilsk and was surprised to see Taras Gavrilovich Matviyenko sitting on a bench and staring at his UrGa-261. A contemplative and meditating look had settled upon his face, a look that didn't change until Rezansov had made his presence known to Matviyenko.

"Taras Gavrilovich! What are you doing here so late at night?" Rezansov asked.

"I'm thinking, Konstantin Zakharovich," Matviyenko replied.

"Well, now, that's a dangerous thing, isn't it?" Rezansov said as he stood beside Matviyenko's bench. "No, seriously, Taras Gavrilovich, what have you been thinking about?"

"We've been too conservative, Konstantin Zakharovich," Matviyenko replied. "We were too conservative for the whole season. We put too much stock on reliability and nothing much on anything else."

"What are you talking about, Taras?" Rezansov asked him. "UrGa has always been about reliability. Reliability and nothing else. Our roots lie in our military vehicles, and there is no reason why we should treat our motorsports cars any different?"

"See, that's the thing, Kostya," Matviyenko said, standing up from his bench. "It shouldn't be that way! Motorsports is an entirely different thing from the military. Yes, I know, our reputation is about producing the most reliable engines out there. But what good is reliability in a racing car engine when that engine can't help us challenge up front?"

"Huh," Rezansov finally managed to say after a moment. "I never realized that that was the way you felt about it, Taras."

"I mean, just think about it, Kostya," Matviyenko continued. "It should have been obvious from the start. It was obvious. But instead we stuck to our old reliable, the -1000 engine, the only modification being the power cap. And that was the thing. It was just reliable. Reliable and nothing else.

"And that's not all," Matviyenko continued. "Lane and I happen to be very similar drivers. Similar in the sense that we are both not that aggressive, and only a little bit technical. And only now am I realizing that that was a big mistake. I do not wish to speak ill of Lane, of course. He put his heart out on those courses just as much as I did. But I feel that our team would have benefited much more if we had a driver driving in a different style than I do."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Rezansov asked.

"I'm saying that if we do make the step up to the WGPC–and that's a big if, Kostya–we need to take more risks," Matviyenko said. "We need to build ourselves a new engine from the ground up, an engine that's actually designed to the max allowed by the competition rules and not capped arbitrarily in some way or another."

"But Taras, we have a perfectly good engine in our shop!" Rezansov said back. "UrGa is reliable; there is nothing else we need to add to our reputation!"

"You may think that, but by not doing anything to our engine, we are actually giving ourselves the reputation of being stuck-up assholes who are convinced that there is nothing else that needs improvement when it's very clear that our room for improvement is huge!" Matviyenko said. "Forget about engine reliability for a second! What good has reliability done for us this whole season? Yes, it always kept us on the track, but never in an actual position to challenge for the win! Barring a few occasions of course, but generally we were never really in contention for either a drivers' or constructors' title. Is that really the reputation that you want UrGa to have? The only team that never bothers with trying to adapt?"

"No, of course not," Rezansov shook his head.

"And also, we need a driver who doesn't drive the same way I do," Matviyenko continued. "And I think I've just got an idea of who we should take should we make the step up."

---

Vasily Semyonovich Gatutin walked into his office one week after the end of the Nimban Deuxieme Prix with one thing and only one thing on his mind. The decision that he had just made a few hours earlier was not an easy one, but it was one that he had made with much deliberation on both the present and the future of the UrGa Motorsports Division.

It wasn't an easy decision to make, that much can be said. And Gatutin also considered other factors such as time of tenure and actual race performances, and in the end he had come to the decision that keeping Taras Matviyenko and letting go of Lane Carter was the best decision to be made. Matviyenko was undoubtedly the face of UrGa Motorsports Division by now, and he was also Pridnestrovian. Gatutin can only imagine the backlash that would happen in the motherland if he had made the inverse decision (that is, if he had kept Carter and let go of Matviyenko).

Gatutin considered himself a polite man, and he thought that it was only appropriate that he inform Carter himself of the decision face-to-face. It was only common courtesy and manners.

Gatutin opened the door to his office and walked in. He heard more than felt himself step on something, and whe he looked down he noticed an envelope on the floor. Apparently someone had slid the envelope into his office under his door. Gatutin picked up the envelope and examined it. It only said that it was from Lane Carter. There was no return address written whatsoever.

Gatutin walked to his desk and slit open the envelope, and then he took out the letter and read it. It was written in Ukrainian. In it he saw that Carter had decided that it would be in everyone's best interests if he were to leave the team now. He also said he was sorry for not being as much of a top finisher as Matviyenko had been. "Oh, Lane," Gatutin muttered as he finished the letter. Thoughts about anything else quickly left his mind, and he immediately swept away stuff from his desk to make way for his pen and a pad of paper.

From the desk of the Head of UrGa Motorsports Division

Dear Lane,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have just received your letter, and while I am saddened by its contents, allow me to say that I do understand where you are coming from.

I am guessing that you could feel that a decision regarding the driver situation in UrGa has been developing for some time now, ever since the start of the second half of the season. And it appears that the two of us have come to the same decision independently.

Let me just say that I had every plan of calling you over to my office to inform you of my decision to keep Taras and let you go. This is a most unfortunate set of circumstances, I must admit, but this decision was reached through taking all of the data gathered in all of the races into account. I had really wanted to tell you about this person because I consider it polite manners to inform someone of a decision that has been made about them.

I am sorry that our paths must diverge like this, but like you said, this is the unfortunate business of our chosen sport. I do, however, wish you the best in your future endeavours. And should our paths meet again, I will be most happy to say that you are part of the history of UrGa Motorsports Division.

Yours most sincerely,
Vasily Semyonovich Gatutin