World Grand Prix Championship Season 16: RP Thread

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Nexus Racing HQ, Crossbay Circuit, Nimbus Bay, the Nexus Wardship of Former Citizens of the Nimbus System
25th of May

Victoria Light sits back on her bed, headphones over her ears, fingers ablur. Synthesised notes, vibrancy taken from across the world’s soundscape and made manifest as harmony, entwines with the human spirit’s thrum channelled through guitar and bass. Through it all, Victoria plucks at the air, digits and hands moving in patterns with the music - trying to capture, in some small way, the artists’ vision, the movements of their souls that revealed themselves to humanity in this music.

Her work, for the moment, is complete, as is that of Tiffany and Alex. Everything has been checked, double-checked and (thanks to a certain someone) triple-checked and, as such, they can be confident that everything is functional, even after reconfiguring the ISISU for Jean’s impromptu chassis improvements that were integrated into the base design. Victoria will be needed for Practice, of course, but for now, she can just relax.

And yet…

Her mind buzzes. This is the final race weekend of the season! Sure, there’ll be WGP2, but it isn’t quite the same as working at the pinnacle of motorsport, where every result matters just that little bit more and, because of that, far more emphasis is put on reworking things on the fly and every moment is one that might need to be spent on harmonising new systems, correcting system conflicts and glitches, ensuring that everything is flowing as smoothly as possible - a task made doubly challenging and doubly thrilling by the increased complexity of the UHSGV-2 over the UHSGV-1. Even now, one hand still tracing the song’s twisting melodies, Victoria flicks through her messaging accounts on her laptop, just checking that there’s nothing more to be done yet.

There isn’t.

Smile fading slightly, she closes her eyes, letting the piece wash over her. One small corner of her mind wonders what the other two are doing. She has come to care for them over these past years and, while she would perhaps still consider herself an individualist, that care has changed her. One being might move a mound, and do it capably and efficiently, but a team might work as one and, though they might not do so as well just as often as they’ll find a better way, they’ll also accomplish something far, far more valuable.

As thoughts of that nature thrumming through her mind, something about the colour and light passing into her eye from the very edge of her vision shifts. She glances leftward to see Ryker Lane walking past through the small gap between her door, ever so slightly ajar, and its frame. She isn’t able to tell much - he is gone almost in the instant that he appears - but something about how she has perceived him seemed dead.

Something sparks.

Hmm.

Audioslavian Grand Prix
Pre-Practice

Just before he is due to go out on circuit, Timothy Guard approaches Nexus Racing’s Esmerelian driver and gives him a soft tap on the shoulder. “Jean? Might I have a word?”

“I’d like to say briefly that we’ve been immensely proud of you this season,” he continues, benevolent smile on his face. “Given Ryker’s stumble, your driving has been carrying the team, which you have done exceptionally. The entire world is impressed; that will be true no matter what happens this weekend.”

He places his left hand on Jean’s shoulder. “And as for that… We all have the ability to make this work, we know that. You have won an exceptional amount of races in a very short time and, as for us - well, we helped Ryker to pull off his last-minute title victory last season.”

Guard places his forearm across his chest, fist against his heart, in one of the most common Nimban gestures of solidarity. “If you’ll have us, we have your back.”

[WGPC]

CUT OFF for Practice and Qualifying at Crossport Raceway.

[WGPC]

Friday Practice
Crossport Raceway

Drivers had ninety minutes to record up to thirty laps of the track (including in and out laps to and from the pits). Only each driver's fastest time is shown in the table below.
Conditions: WET

Pos # Driver			Team		Fastest		Behind Leader
 1 42 Alex Dimitrianov         	0:01:39.862	0:00:00.000
 2 16 Alexander Lund           	0:01:39.937	0:00:00.075
 3 56 Terho Talvela            	0:01:39.969	0:00:00.106
 4 25 Jessica Franssen         	0:01:39.971	0:00:00.109
 5 14 Sigur Bjarnason          	0:01:40.010	0:00:00.148
 6  1 Ryker Lane               	0:01:40.017	0:00:00.154
 7 51 R.L. Cruisin             	0:01:40.035	0:00:00.172
 8  2 Jean Mercer-Daly         	0:01:40.040	0:00:00.178
 9 27 Gregori Krupin           	0:01:40.069	0:00:00.206
10 50 Jang Xiaopeng            	0:01:40.075	0:00:00.213
11 47 Erica Okumura            	0:01:40.119	0:00:00.257
12 78 iBen Toralmintii         	0:01:40.164	0:00:00.301
13 23 Jasmin Kranjska          	0:01:40.189	0:00:00.327
14 10 Jennifer Johnson         	0:01:40.202	0:00:00.340
15  8 Sebastian Vacantson      	0:01:40.223	0:00:00.361
16 17 Lourdina Westgrens       	0:01:40.250	0:00:00.388
17 71 Rustom Ibuna             	0:01:40.288	0:00:00.425
18 64 Moe Himura               	0:01:40.411	0:00:00.548
19  5 Juliano Lemos            	0:01:40.493	0:00:00.630
20 99 Nate Jackson             	0:01:40.503	0:00:00.641
21 52 Sayono Souzare           	0:01:40.532	0:00:00.669
22 11 Luc Kennedy              	0:01:40.533	0:00:00.670
23 20 Mick Schramm             	0:01:40.590	0:00:00.728
24 55 Asao Nadakei             	0:01:40.633	0:00:00.770
25 22 Kyoko Fujisaki           	0:01:41.143	0:00:01.281
26 31 Cesaro Whittaker         	0:01:42.605	0:00:02.743

Qualifying Results Imminent

[WGPC]

Saturday Qualifying
Crossport Raceway

Drivers had seventy-five minutes to record up to ten flying laps of the track. Only the fastest lap is recorded below
Conditions: DRY

Pos # Driver			Team		Fastest
 1 42 Alex Dimitrianov    	0:01:31.015
 2 16 Alexander Lund      	0:01:31.056
 3 25 Jessica Franssen    	0:01:31.094
 4  2 Jean Mercer-Daly    	0:01:31.109
 5  1 Ryker Lane          	0:01:31.133
 6 71 Rustom Ibuna        	0:01:31.142
 7 20 Mick Schramm        	0:01:31.150
 8 14 Sigur Bjarnason     	0:01:31.164
 9 51 R.L. Cruisin        	0:01:31.177
10 56 Terho Talvela       	0:01:31.190
11 23 Jasmin Kranjska     	0:01:31.191
12 50 Jang Xiaopeng       	0:01:31.193
13 22 Kyoko Fujisaki      	0:01:31.194
14 27 Gregori Krupin      	0:01:31.224
15 78 iBen Toralmintii    	0:01:31.243
16 99 Nate Jackson        	0:01:31.271
17 10 Jennifer Johnson    	0:01:31.275
18 55 Asao Nadakei        	0:01:31.282
19 17 Lourdina Westgrens  	0:01:31.300
20  8 Sebastian Vacantson 	0:01:31.326
21 31 Cesaro Whittaker    	0:01:31.380
22 64 Moe Himura          	0:01:31.381
23 47 Erica Okumura       	0:01:31.477
24  5 Juliano Lemos       	0:01:31.514
25 11 Luc Kennedy         	0:01:31.545
26 52 Sayono Souzare      	0:01:32.478

Race results will be posted either on Sunday Evening or on Monday Night. Once again I'm not sure what's in store for my social life so I can't give you a guaranteed cut-off time for the final GP.

Thanks to everyone who took part this season. We have, for the third time in a row, broken the record for the amount of posts in an RP thread in the WGPC (although the extra couple of races have helped). Good luck for the race, and I'll see you all in either WGP2 or next season x

[Aboveland]

Crossport Raceway
Crossport, Audioslavia
Pre-Practice

Terho tapped his index fingers on the top of his steering wheel to the rhythm of the plops in the puddles just ahead, strapped in and ready to set off on his final practice session of the year. To his right, car number 77, the digits not perfectly aligned with one another, the first seven centered on the nose of the car, the second one aligned far right. It was a sloppy job for sure, but it fulfilled its goal. On its headrest, the name of his mentor, resting atop a slightly matte and differently hued patch of bodywork. Both Nanna² and her sister machine grumbled complaisantly, awaiting the go ahead to roll onto the track.

The off week before Audioslavia had been nothing short of spectacular. iBen's return injected an electric atmosphere into the Lintulahti garage, an air of celebration carried down and ever present in the TRÆ paddock at the season finale. The Abovians were happy with the presumed surge of inspiration in Terho with iBen's return, and the Vilitans were happy because their national hero had returned to scrub away the tainted legacy of the driver that could have been—after he'd received the shocking news, Juracai never returned to Lintulahti, meaning the task of letting the rookie down easy was in the hands of the Vilitan contingent back at Tropicorp's HQ.

Their preparations began with the world's fastest joyrides around the Abovian circuit, for iBen to get acclimatized to the TRÆ machine, and for Terho to take cues from the veteran, in addition to making sure he was an annoying enough moving obstacle on the circuit to keep him alert and occupied. The actual track trials were later followed by a rigorous training program for both drivers. Once iBen had gotten up to speed, the two were locked into the simulators, despite Terho's initial reluctance. By the half hour of driving, the two were almost in perfect sync, the consistency (and speed) with which the laps came in absolutely striking, Terho's reimagined finesse attributed to the Turorian (albeit secretly between the team's higher ups).

The TRÆ duo arrived in Crossport, then, with their confidence through the roof. Winning either championship would be a big ask, and surely conceding defeat would be a tough pill to swallow.

Therefore, conceding defeat wouldn't be an option.

Car 77 sprung to life beside him, kicking out the rear as it railed itself into the pitlane, splashing a bit of water over the engineers just behind it. Nanna² grunted with determined excitement, rolling steadily onto the damp asphalt, her display flashing blue as the engine kicked its revolutions down forcefully with the pit limiter. iBen crossed the line and wailed his machine's V10 into action. Nanna² strode past the pit end and sprinted away with the roar of a warrior. Thus commenced the beginning of the end.

Post-Qualifying

Terho drums the back of his neck with his thumbs, his hands clasped around his head, humming nervously. His eyes dart from the tenth time to the pole lap listed on the screen.

Hm hmmmmm.

FRA 3rd

JMD 4th

TAL 10th.

Hm hmmmmm.

A queasy bug of anxiety gnaws at the bottom of his stomach.

Defeat wasn't an option.

He'd win or die trying.

If he died trying, he hoped it'd be chasing first on the final lap, not while controlling first after lap three.

He needed someone to pat his shoulder and tell him he was the best.

Would iBen?

Would Edvin?

He shuts his eyes and squeezes them shut. He shakes his head and hums louder and drums harder and clenches his jaw.

A pat on the back.

Time for a pep talk.

[Sorlovia]

Crossport Circuit
Pre-Race

So it would all come to an end at Crossport. The end of his rookie season had come much faster than he'd thought it would. It seemed like just the other day he'd signed his contract with VMR and now he found himself faced with the closing race of WPCG 16. The season seemed to have flown by in a blur amid the roaring of engines and the raucous cheering of the crowd. He'd never managed to get his hands on that podium finish but he'd earned valuable experience that would serve him well in the next season. After all, he couldn't expect to claim a list of podium finish in his rookie season. That was foolishness that would set him up for disappointment. A racer's rookie season was a time of learning the ropes and getting a feel for how the WGPC worked. Next season would be better.

"This is it," he said with a slight note of sadness in his voice "I can't believe it's over already."

"This season seems to have gone by in a flash," his young redheaded mechanic replied "but we've still got one last race ahead of us."

Gregori smiled at the young mechanic fondly. Pyotr had been the only one who'd believed in him at the beginning. The baby-faced twenty one year old mechanic had left Sorlovia with him to set off for the WGPC with nothing but his own car. They'd become firm friends since then and he had been a constant support to him on the bad days. Gregori was thankful to have Pyotr with im each step of the way. They prayed together before each race, shared a joke in the pit and he offered a sympathetic ear when things went bad. The slightly mischievous mechanic had even introduced him to Natalia in an effort at making him happy.

A condition of Gregori's contract had been that Pyotr be allowed to serve as a race engineer on his crew. He'd refused to abandon his friend when he'd received his lucrative contract with VMR and he'd deftly negotiated a place for Pyotr on his team. After all the young Sorlovian was his biggest fan and supporter. Not to mention the fact that he was a mechanical prodigy that had brought immense good fortune to VMR.

Pyotr spotted the media before Gregori did and warned him by way of a sharp whistle;

PRESENTER: We're here with Gregori Krupin. Gregori, can you tell us how you're feeling ahead of the title race? I'll bet the nerves are pretty high?

GREGORI: If I'm honest, I'm not actually that nervous. I learned mid-way through the season to let go of expectations. Things can all get to be too much when you spend all your time worrying about standings and rankings. There is a peace and a joy in simply focusing on the race itself.

PRES: That is a rather enlightened way to look at it. Can you speculate on your performance in the title race?

GREG: I could but I don't like to. A practice run is always different to a race. There are so many different factors to account for. No matter how well prepared you are there are still things that can surprise you. I don't like to speculate on how I'll do in the race but rather prove it on the track. I've trained and practiced hard. The Vannish Motors team has equipped in with a highly performing chassis and all I can do is give it my all on raceday.

PRES: Do you plan to return in future seasons?

GREG: I can assure you and all of my fans that WGPC 16 will not be my last appearance on the international racing stage. I've stated my interest to sign on with WGPC 17 with VMR but that is a matter that I'll have to discuss with the executives sometime after the season. I am also interested in taking part in the WGPC 2 event.

PRES: The Vangazi public has been aflame with rumors of a brewing relationship between you and Natalia Mirakova. Can you shed any light on this for us? I know that a lot of people are hanging on news.

GREG: Haha, people do like to gossip don't they. At this point I can confirm that I am indeed in a committed relationship with Natalia. We've been friends for awhile now and it just felt right to take it to the next level. She has been a huge support and encouragement to me during the season and I just felt a spark with her. But it's still early days so we're taking thing slowly.

PRES: That is good news indeed! I'm sure that will get the fans going and disappoint a few of your female fans. Perhaps there are wedding bells on the horizon?

GREG: I'm not comfortable discussing such personal matters this openly. Natalia and I have only been together for a short time and it's hardly proper to talk about marriage yet. We will discuss that if and when the time comes. But yes, I do see a future with her. She's a wonderful woman with a heart of gold. I'm so luck to be with her.

PRES: Fans of have noted your habit of praying before each race. This has singled you out during the season. Could you comment on this for us?

GREG: I'd be happy to. I'm not ashamed to say that I am a Christian. I'm also not ashamed to be seen praying. It's a practice that brings me a lot of peace and I feel that is only right. All racers have their pre-race rituals and I like to spend the time with my God.

PRES: Thank you for your comments. We wish you the very best of luck in the title race.

GREG: Thank you! I intend to give my fans in Sorlovia and Vangaziland a good show. If I'm going to finish I want to finish in style.

[Vangaziland]

The indigo & red was driven especially aggressively in Jessica's qualifying session. Her style was balanced heavily to the technical, but there was a hint of aggression in her pace. It was that which she tapped into while running her typically efficient lines across the track. After a rainy practice session, Jess got to experience the course under the Audioslavian sun. It kept the course dry, changing the dynamics from day to day.

The Dragon chassis has done relatively well in rainy weather across the season. A top practice time in wet weather was good, but the pressure was on Jess to perform in better weather. Qualifying times are also faster, the places where most lap records were set. On a track with so many tight corners, starting positions were at a premium. Qualifying well here would be more important than at most tracks, even if its prominent role late in the season were not considered.

It was this that motivated Jessica to push around the track. She spoke of this after her effort. "It wasn't easy fighting back from 17th last week. This track would be a little too fast and fenced off to do that sort of thing. It was important for us to start well." When asked why that was so important, she added, "we want to run a mostly defensive race. There is a low margin for error, here at Crossport."

On her 6th lap, Jess pushed things going into the 'Turn of the Century'. She pushed the braking point late enough to lock up the brakes on entering the turn. She had coasted, just coasted a little faster when she should have braked. Her car went from a quiet calm to a roar of screeching tires and the rumble of locked brakes fighting for traction. The smell of burning rubber and hot brakes filled the air around the #25 with a foul, acrid smoke which rose from her wake. Some could say it was as close as the fire came to breathing fire, except for the two times it burnt out its engine.

Crossport Raceway was a fast course that wasn't as open as many on the schedule. There were a lot of obstacles around the relatively fast technical section made of the first turn through the chicanes ending at 'Loose'. Jessica notoriously clipped a wall after leading much of the Vannish Grand Prix. The street course was also a heavily walled track. At a press conference, the topic of her chances of wrecking came up. They wanted to know how she had prepared leading up to the event to minimize a crash.

"Well. Where some teams may have focused on simulators for this event, VMR lew out to a similar course in Barnicea. It was a little more open, like... There weren't any walls. But the layout was similar. We ran it as if it did have walls. The technical section was a little more challenging. It's like running underwater to practice sprinting. We got on the simulator at VMR the next week. But I think running on the second track was good practice." The second half of Skora Raceway in Esportivan Vangaziland is similar to Crossport in that it has a long, wide turn which led back to a straightaway of equal length. The Vannish course was a little shorter, and therefore slower on the straight.

Jessica was asked what this race meant to her and the team. "This race may be the toughest test VMR faces as a team. It's also the most pressure I've faced in my WGPC career. "I think that pushed me to move up the field in the last race. It was almost an anxiety-like level of motivation that got me from 17th into the top 5." She continued by mentioning a major part of VMR's strategy. "We've always been told on the team's driving line. Aim for the top 5. If you fall to 7th, it can even out in points. You might push to 3rd. Sometimes, you can even win with that strategy. Now, I'm not sure if aiming for 5 is enough."

They asked her where she was aiming, in that case.

"We have to aim for the win. Now if we fall to 5th, I hear we have a high probability of winning. We can't afford to aim for 5th and fall to 7th here. But I won't get reckless. I trust my lines here. Over the distance, we should be able to put up a good time. So it's best not to take too many chances."

Her teammate earned a top 10 qualifying spot in the season's spotlight race. If he could find the right strategy in the pits, mixed with nicely timed passing, he could earn a good finish. The driver has earned many fans across Vangaziland's many spheres of influence. He's picked up many fans in Esportivan Vangaziland, which is not far from Sorlovia. Many people there see themselves as more closely related to Gregori than Jessica. Krupin even had fans in outlying territories, like the Scandinavian tropical chain of the Svennish Isles. Fans in the African land of New Gazi wore Krupin signature race gear. He hoped to do well for multiple reasons.

The lineup starting behind the #25 car is full of cars in contention for one of the cups VMR is competing for. Jean Mercer-Daly is right on her heels at 4th. His teammate, Ryker Lane, is in 5th. Both drivers look to help Nexus push for a Constructors' victory. Mercer-Daly hopes to run at the Drivers' Championship.

Mick Schramm finds himself in 7th. Jang is farther back in 12, but has shown an ability to make up space from a great distance back. They represent a credible threat to win in team points. Many analysts think if anyone has the right blend of aggression and technique to make up space and pull an upset at Crossport as the top underdog, it would be Jang Xiaopeng.

Terho Talvela rounds out the Top 10. Based on his starting position and season points, his odds to win are above Xiaopeng, but under the top 2. The Abovian has shown he is a perennial title competitor. Many expect to see an amazing performance from him that brings him into position to win it all.

Of course, the story to come out of Qualifying was the performance of McPahan. They have wedged themselves into the top two spots after doing the same at practice. Dimitrianov can walk away with the race with the right strategy. Lund has just as good of a chance to do the same, especially with his innate knowledge of the course. Each team competing for The Cups will have to contend with the most veteran team on the grid.

With qualifying behind the teams, only one raceday remained. It would prove to be an exciting one, one way or another.

[Aboveland]

"Trust me."

***

The whoosh of the vacuum.

The rattle of the glass.

An enveloping plume of steam.

Terho's hair flutters, ruffled by the warm breath of the sauna. It smells of tender cedar, evoking memories of Lintulahti's forests.

He takes a firm step into the safe-house, feeling the callouses on his bare feet meld with the gaps in the pale planks on the floor. With a flick of his wrist behind him the door seals shut. He sits on the wooden bench opposite the entrance and rests his back against the mellow lumber, breathing in the viscous atmosphere which barely passes through his nose. Only a thin sliver of orange evening light seeps through the dark. He feels at ease as he closes his eyes, the sticky air tugging at his skin.

You’re a hunter, and scurrying away is your prey. Its slated fur waves, its hind legs kicking inspiredly at the snow dusted ground. Your eyes are fixed on the frail creature; you salivate, entranced by the primitive desire to kill. Your prey zig-zags left and right, narrowly missing the inspired jabs of your arrow tipped spear. It stops and scrambles to the right, slipping under your legs, dazing you, yet only making you angrier and thirstier for blood. You’re slow to chase after it, and before you’ve gotten up to speed the creature shifts left again before looping back around to the right and scampering away. This time, you’re quicker than the hopeless animal, and you run after it like a feral child, following it left, right, left, before it shoots off into the distance. You hold your breath and let loose after it. It crests a hill, obscured for just a second; once you’re past the top, you see it again, stumbling for its dear life as it sprints downhill. The spear, grasped in your engorged right hand, thrusts violently with each step you take; the chilled wind petrifies your cheeks and locks your eyes in place. Your prey is as close as it’s ever been at this point, and it disappears under the snow. But you’re a hunter, a hungry man on a mission, and failure means death. Failure simply is not an option. Out of a bulge in the snow jumps the critter with a plop, and your legs tear at the solid tundra. You’re running, desperately, your spear armed, chasing after the animal with bloodshot eyes. You hold your spear over your head with both hands and jump, lunging at the soot colored wolf with utmost determination. You close your eyes and plummet into the plush snow below you, the sound of torn flesh a delectable treat to your ears. You can feel the trickle of warm liquid on your fingers. The prey is yours.

A tiny bell tinkles dully in the wooden room. Terho opens his eyes slowly, yawning. He can feel a film of sweat developed on his body. He runs his hands through his hair, too hot to touch, and stretches out his once sore, now warmed legs. He stands with a strong but lazy step, rubs his eyes, and gently pulls the magnetic door from its frame. The vacuum wooshes again, this time pulling him away from the sauna into the frigid, tile-lined, cavern-sounding locker room. A small square window to his right, opened just a crack, aerates the room. He stands bare, trembling, staring at the shower head a few steps opposite the window. He clutches his towel from the hook just outside the sauna and shuffles lightly to the shower. The warm water shoots down at him, penetrating his scalp, draping him in its warmth. He smiles menacingly.

He’s ready.

[Esmerel]

Crossport Raceway, Crossport, Audioslavia
Saturday, 26 May 2018

As the sun began to set on the city of Crossport, Jean looked up towards the evening sky and had one last thought before heading back into the mobile garage for extra tune-ups. This season felt better than the last. It may have sounded obvious, but... it was more complete. He had come in with good experience and would be leaving with even more. But whether he would be leaving with a World Championship was uncertain.

Nexus had his back all the way. And he had qualified in fourth, which would help him greatly in his quest for the win. A second place finish would also work, but had much worse odds of actually succeeding- Franssen had to finish 9th or lower and the race winner couldn't be Talvela or Xiaopeng. If Jean won, he'd just have to hope that Franssen finished 5th or lower- he didn't have to worry about anyone else in that case. The circuit was, certainly, more tailored to technique-favoring cars and drivers, but Ryker was able to pull off a drive from 16th to 3rd last year, in a car much, MUCH worse than the car Jean was standing not too far from. Things were looking fairly alright. Odds were low, but not too low. Unless it rained, as it did in practice. Then the odds would be beyond astronomical.

For now, Jean could only hope.

---

Sunday, 27 May 2018

"...And what do you think would happen after this, regardless of the actual result?"

"I can't really answer that, and you sort of just explained why. The results matter a lot in what could happen. There's a gargantuan difference."

"Well, Jean, that does make sense. Thanks for the time; good luck out there."

Jean stared out of the window overlooking the circuit. Mysteriously, he could barely see what the skies looked like- there were no indications of what the weather was supposed to be. That was bad. But, it wasn't, too. Jean knew something. Fate was sometimes a cruel mistress, and you could only hope it wouldn't be. You couldn't change her mind, either. You just let her choose the path.

Jean let out a loud sigh and went down to the paddock to prep Transcendence. It would be race time in 90 minutes.

---

"All Imagination systems are go."

"Tyres are prepared and race strategy is programmed."

"Rayshields initializing."

"Everything's set, Jean. Ready when you are."

Jean understood that, but he said nothing. He was tense. Too tense. Suddenly, two people walked into the room.

And when Jean noticed one of them had a prosthetic left leg, he immediately knew who.

It was his parents. Christopher Daly and Jennifer Mercer. The first, a long-since retired racing champion. The other, a veteran (and still successful) fashion model.

Well, Jean had a brother, too. His name was Evyn. But he ran away to Esterlon 15 years ago and hadn't been heard from since.

"Son."

His dad spoke first.

"We want you to know that we love you and will always be there for you. We didn't come here to cheer on other drivers, after all!"

Jean ran over and embraced both of them. Unprofessional? Yes. Wrong? Hell no.

"I've got one tip for you. Race. You don't need to worry about what else happens. And you need to block out the fact that you're running for a championship."

Jean had a confused look on his face, but kept following along.

"If you put your mind to it, you can do absolutely anything. So just race. Put your mind to that, and you can't lose."

The two of them left, likely to take their seats in the grandstands. Jean didn't stop them; he had no reason to. He just knew something new. Everything would be alright. It was the most important moment of his life, but there was no reason to stress. Or even try to race. He had to do the race.

---

Not long after, all of the cars lined up at their grid slots. And Jean took a quick scan of the crowd for his parents- he found them at the very top of the left side. They waved, and he waved back.

And as he took in a deep breath, he had one more thought before everything was racing. This was it.

And nothing was going to stand in his path.

[Vangaziland]

The Legend Of The Maiden Beast

On the evening before the night of the race, Jess cozied up in her hotel suite. With her was her trusty (but brand new), razor-thin laptop. It was still pretty large, giving it a wide screen. Not only did Jess use it to check her email and browse the web. She used it to watch Vannish TV shows online. A new digitally animated series was out that she thought sounded interesting. She wasn't into animation, but the story was based on an old Vannish legend.

The colors on the screen were rich, vibrant and dramatic. Each scene seemed to glow on the screen, making the world seem alive. A purple sky, hung over the world, a haze forming closer to the ground from the humidity. Perhaps it was from a temperature change from the colder sky. Near the start, the world's sun was shown. It was smaller than Earth's sun and was bright red. A montage showed the sun crossing from west to east over a river as red as the star in the sky. A closer look at the river showed the water was rough, forming rapids in some places. It weaved around tight bends, turning to curve around a rocky landscape.

The view panned away from the river, showing a forest from high above. Jutting from the center was a tall, rocky mountain. The top of it was snowcapped, a glacier reflecting the colorful hues of purple and red from the sky. The view shot to a village from an overhead view. Different people were shown moving about their lives. The narrator mentioned life in the village. It was simple, but based on trade. Their community was growing. One thing was vital however. Hunters. They needed the food, as well as so many items from the animals.

The only issue was that the woods were dangerous. Hunters were not the baddest animal in the forest. There were wolves and great bears. Worse than that was the Maiden Beast. It claimed dominion over all the winding game trails. She carried a spear too heavy for any man in the settlement to carry. She was as quick as a rabbit, as fierce as a wolverine and as strong as a bear. The hunters believed if they were allowed to eat, it was because she allowed them to.

She could smell blood from miles away and could arrive faster than the hunters could evade. A party set out to compete with the hunter. Around them, the wind blew a chill. Leaves fell around them in bright colors. Autumn always brought changes. Every year, it was time for another big hunt. They had to get through the winter. Some hunters never came back if they faced a tough enough autumn.

The monster was new to the land. Three autumns ago, she made her arrival. She burst onto the scene in a bright green cloak. She roared and fought with the hunters. She made a name by taking an elk from someone who was destined to be the top hunter in the land. After she snatched that elk from him, he was never the same.

His son finished the hunting season bringing the most food and provisions in for the winter season. The next season, her green cloak turned into a green vine. It kept her frozen in the mountain where she spent the winter. She watched the hunters from high above on the hill all the following autumn.

The hunters ate well off slower prey. The whole time, the maiden beast knew she would be engorging herself if she was freed from her vine. But she did not stay in her cage in sadness. She worked out the entire time, squatting her weight repeatedly for the entire hunting season. She would return once the vine froze and cracked with faster legs under her.

Finally the vine froze, late that winter. The beast roared, her high-pitched siren's call echoing across the hills as the cage snapped around her. She returned for the third autumn as angry as ever. She had gained weight after feasting on a great bird all spring. Spring was considered the hunting season for greenhorns. The bird had wandered far, only to find itself as a meal. It was here where she began to train the other monster known as the Golden Brother.

Early in the fall season, she fell after chasing an elk. It caused an injury which lingered. She spent autumn outdoing the hunters, despite an injured foot. At one point the Golden Brother used her injured foot to his advantage, stealing an enormous boar from the Maiden after a kill.

Towards the end of the story, the hunters were competing for the biggest prize in the land. A great moose had been spotted drinking from the red river's rapids. It had horns of solid gold which shimmered under the red light of the sun. Although there were no clouds in the sky, a bolt of bright blue energy struck in the mountain, which was framed in the background of both the beast and hunters' journeys. Legends said the energy was an angry spirit, a jealous one out to strike hunter and beast alike. Neither flinched under threat of the blast.

In a surprise, it was shown the Golden Brother was also rushing to catch up to the river.

Jessica's phone rang just as the Maiden Beast and the hunters were closing in on the golden-horned moose. They both followed their path, chasing down the river hoping to stumble upon the moose first. She ended up getting distracted and didn't get to finish the show before her bedtime. She still had to meditate and do her mental laps around Crossport.

As she focused more and more on each progressive lap, tales of the Maiden Beast drifted from her mind.

Her focus was on her lines. This time she thought of what kinds of strategies other drivers might bring. She imagined definsive lines, cutting off their angles of attack. She thought of aggresive lines, braking late and making a rush of a pass before a corner.

She has been ready.

[West-East Timor]

Crossport Raceway
Audioslavia

"So that was the last qualifying this season then."

"Seventh is pretty good."

"Yeah. Now if only I wouldn't drop out of points in the race."

"Why do you think that will happen?"

"What else is supposed to happen, Max? Look at the last few races. Twelfth. Twelfth. Fourteenth. Each time I started from within the top ten."

"You also got on the podium some times..."

"And all other races I didn't even finish in the points. So apparently, either podium, or no points. I doubt I'll get on the podium tomorrow. So, apparently, no points."

"Well, that did apply for the entire season..."

"Exactly. I just hope it will be better next season..."

"Mick."

Linus had joined the two.

"I know this season has been... has maybe not quite gone as expected for you."

"You don't say!"

"But still, our team has been one of the best. We're still in the race for the constructor's championship. We can still win that! And Jang also still can become driver's champion..."

"As much as I'd like him to, I don't think he will. Franssen is gonna take it. If not, well, there's Mercer-Daly. Or Talvela. I'll be happy if Jang wins it. But I don't expect he will."

"I know, but, Mick. I also know that you aren't too motivated for this race, but please, at least try the best you can. I know you are a great racing driver. Show us that. Do it for the team. We all count on you, Mick!"

"I always try. However, I rarely succeed. I ensure you that I will do all that I can to get the best result possible in this race. But I can not ensure you that I will succeed."

"I won't be disappointed if you don't. Just go out there tomorrow, drive, and show them that you're not some paydriver who rarely has some luck in getting on the podium! Because I think you are one of the best drivers there are. That's my opinion."

"I shall try. I shall try."

[Vilita and Turori]

Hmmm what to watch today? @WGPC Grand Prix of Audioslavia or #WC80 group stage matches? Like for @WGPC re-twii for #WC80

Well if #TRAE can finish 1-2 today maybe @terho56 can win the drivers title and #TRAE can take the constructors?

Wait wait wait... @iBen is racing again?? SWEET!!!

Wonder if @cruisin51 is still strung out after all the celebritory @VILAYE he drank this week?

[Audioslavia]

Tyre covers start to be stripped away from the 26 waiting cars. The white noise chatter of the crowd is occasionally overladen with the sound of engines gunning in neutral. Four by four, the teams, in brightly coloured overalls, start to drip away from the track, leaving only twenty-six cars and twenty-six racers.

*chhkbzzt*
"Testing. Testing."
"Loud and clear"
"Alec, from all at McPahan, best of luck today mate. We're all gonna miss you"
"Thanks guys. It's been a pleasure. We're in this one to win this one. Let's have a good race guys"
"Roger's gonna say a few words"
"I thought he might"
*chhtbzzt*

The last of the stragglers makes their way over the top of the pit wall. One by one, the cars start to trundle forward for the parade lap.

*chhtbzzt*
"Now then Alec, mate. Keep it together out there. Proud of you after last week. Let's go out on a high. Dylan Thomas it"
*chhtbzzt*

The cars round the Turn of the Century slowly, each taking it in turns to weave left and right, trying to heat up the tyres. They'll need that heat to grip the tarmac properly when they start the race, processing as much of the engine's power into traction to propell themselves forward as quickly and safely as possible

*chhtbzzt*
"You've mentioned this guy a few times. What's a Dylan Thomas?"
"Poet. Aelsh, I think. Wrote a famous one. 'Do not go gentle into that good night'.
"Never heard of him. Apt title though"
*chhtbzzt*

Turn two is followed by the hammerhead, each car following one another in procession. The pole sitter, Alex Dimitrianov, practices his start, careering up the straight uphill to turn four. Lund waits, and then follows, gunning the engines, taking in what little of the crowd's cheer he could make out over the engine.

*chhtbzzt*
"No title on the line this time, man. You're racing for yourself. Screw the rest of them. Hit the apexes. Show them how well you know this circuit. Keep them behind you"
*chhbzzt*

Lund reached turn four, slowing down to a crawl as he rounded the hammertail, weaving left and right as made the exit from the corner, eyeing the cars behind in his wing-mirrors

*chhtbzzt*
"Was that it?"
"Was what what?"
"Was that the poem?"
"What? No. I'm not reading poetry at you over the radio, Alec"
"Fine with me. 90 seconds before the start of a big race is no time to try to intellectualize me. You've the rest of my life to bore my pants off"
*chhtbzzt*

Knock. Hold. Loose. Alec arrows over the crest of Lund hill, slowing to cruising speed as he glides over the crest and down Bunn hill. The two shallow corners, up and down a small rise, are named after the former World Champion and his former McPahan team-mate.

*chhtbzzt*
"Hang on, Alec, I'm trying to find that poem on my phone."
"'Hang on'?"
"Well I mean.. wiggle your tyres a bit. Balls, my connection's dropped out"
*chhtbzzt*

Lund approaches the new version of the Rail Tunnel, opened out a little compared to previous years. The wall had been set much further back. Much less chance of a horrific crash.

*chhtbzzt*
"Just tell me it from memory"
"Err. Basically, what it says is... oh wait my connection's come back on. Just twenty seconds"
*chhtbzzt*

Alec coasts round the final corner and gunned the engines once more. He turned left and right once more. If the tyres weren't warm enough by now, he'd just have to deal with it. He settls his car down just behind his team-mate and waited for the pack to settle in behind him

*chhtbzzt*
"Ah here it is... no wait this is in Spanish"
*chhthey*
"Stan McPahan here. Alec. Thanks for everything. Drive fast. I'll see you in a couple of hours."
"Aww, where did Roger go? No poem to warm my spirits before my final journey"
*chhtbzzt*

The crowd starts to fall into a silence punctuated only by occasional shouts of 'come on Alec' and similarly themed calls from foreigners with a different accent and different objects

*chhtbzzt*
"Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas. 'Ahem'. 'My name is Dylan Thomas and I think Alec Lund is a slow balding arsehole who couldn't race his way out of a burning building. The End.'"
"What?! That Aelsh bastard! Disrespect me eh? I'll show him!"
*chhtbzzt*

Four lights, five lights, and...

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Audioslavian Grand Prix
Post-Qualifying

Timothy Guard looks at the results of the WGPC16’s final qualifying session as listed on his screen. He is calm, focussed, yet simultaneously hopeful and determined. That, after all, is his role.

Of every team, we have the best opportunity of those on the grid to take the Constructors’ Championship from MRT. We need to make up only seventeen points; to do that, so long as MRT do not gain - which, if Practice demonstrates anything, they may well not - we need to collectively gain three places. A small yet confident smile marks his face. That is more than possible. Of ourselves, VMR and Omni Racing, we stand the greatest chance of overcoming the Mattijanans; one of each of their two drivers will be significantly positionally disadvantaged. Certainly, that ground can be made up - Guard fondly recalls a certain Nimban driver at this very race last season - but it is nonetheless something that we must leverage.

As for the Drivers’ Championship, Jean, should he win here, can make up a total of ten places over Franssen. In those circumstances, even if she were to come fourth and equal him on points, she would lose by having one fewer victory than he does. Otherwise, were he to come second… He thinks to himself. Unless she crashes, it is unrealistic that Franssen will fall lower than seventh. Plausible but not realistic.

Guard nods. We need to give Jean every possibility of victory. Rain is possible, as Friday demonstrated, so we should give him his faster tyres at the start; besides, we know his defensive ability from the Mountain Challenge last year. A two-stop strategy, supersofts onto softs.

He taps his finger on his foreleg. Ryker will need to be our shield. Franssen needs to be kept away from the podium and our three competitor teams behind us. We will outaccelerate her off the line, of course, and even if she manages to defend there is the 3-4 straight to utilise, but after that he will need to hold our competitors back like Marika did for him last season. A reactive strategy, then; keep his tyres in line with Franssen, Schramm and the MRTs as much as is possible. Our stops will be faster than theirs - I still don’t know why the other team haven’t automated their pit procedures, he wonders idly, before refocussing - and the more they do so and we respond in kind the more they render their grip advantage less meaningful.

He nods to himself again, confirming his thoughts to himself. Then he frowns. That does mean that Ryker will be the lynchpin of the strategy. With the poor mental place that he appears to be in… I hope that he can bear the strain.

Though, obviously, we must do more than hope; we must help, for his good and for the team’s. Indeed… We should begin as soon as possible.

…

We need get the simulations out of the way quickly, then rest before tomorrow. We have work to do and I have preparations to make.

Pre-Race

Ryker stands in the cave, pole aspin, afire and alight before him. His will is focussed upon it.

Nothing more is true. Much like his performance in yesterday’s Qualifying session, the ritual is just that: a ritual, something done out of habit, routine, rather than of courage, self-belief or ambition. Then, he fell back on natural ability and half-recalled knowledge of the circuit from his drive last year. Rather than innovating, he repeated, for he could do nothing else; there was a void where his mind, his spirit, should have been and thus he lacked the ability. He still lacks the ability - still lacks the spirit - and thus he does nothing else.

---

Guard strides into the garage, purposeful in his motion - forward, unrelentingly and unstoppably. He moves to stand upon the same workbench that he had delivered his speech before the Grand Prix of the Imperial Commonwealth barely a year and a half ago. A lot has changed since then - for instance, now there is a hush that falls upon the room, if a somewhat grudging one. The team know that he is to give a speech. The same rhetoric, still inspiring if a little tired, will be delivered to invigorating effect.

Heh. I’ll enjoy this, Timothy thinks.

“A few times now, I’ve spoken to you all about what I believe our strengths as a team are and told you to channel them.” He glances upwards, a wry smile on his face. “Perhaps more than a few times.” A rumble of laughter courses through the room.

Timothy looks out through the crowd, his smile becoming wide, joyful. “I still mean those words! Those things still carry us forward! We hold our values as medals of honour; they prove that we are not merely capable of building the greatest racing cars in the world but that we are capable of doing that in a way that is right.”

“There’s something that I’ve neglected to mention, though. Something really, really important.”

Now a true hush falls upon the room - one of interest and anticipation. This is new.

“There is a myth from a place in this world called Greece. It tells of a king by the name of Sisyphus. His actions were reprehensible - he betrayed his brother, killed his guests, refused to die and so for a time chained up Death itself without considering the consequences for the world - and, as such, the gods saw fit to punish him for his crimes by sending him to the darkest part of the Greek underworld, Tartarus, and condemning him to push a boulder up a hill for eternity. The boulder, you see, would get heavier and heavier as it neared the top and so Sisyphus would always drop it before getting there, leaving all his work undone.”

“There is also a philosopher who said that Sisyphus, after all of this, would be happy with his lot. There is meaning, he said, in struggle. Our failings give us purpose - for if we did not fail, we would have nothing to overcome. Fighting to overcome that failure is the crucial part.”

“We have done that! We have done that so, so often! Remember our reliability problems at the beginning of the season? We haven’t had a single mechanical issue since Rivoli!” A few cheers at that. “There will always be struggles, but we will overcome them. I truly - truly - believe that this is the greatest team on the grid, not just because we are true but because we are strong. We persevere, even through hardship, together.”

He looks for a moment at Ryker. “Steel is forged in fire, not burned by it. Our toils and trials make us who we are, make us stronger. To stumble, to err, is entirely human and we are better humans for it.”

Timothy spreads his arms wide. “Let’s all show that today! We are strong because we fail, not in spite of it! We have failed and it is because of that that we can succeed! Onward, through and by the chaos and the pain, as one!”

The garage roars.

Ryker, slowly, places one hand in the other, in a grip that strengthens each. He holds them together tightly, head bowed.

Then he raises his head again.

A little light dances in his eyes.

---

As Ryker Lane lines up on the grid for the final race of the WGPC 16 season, his mind is calm. It is not, however, still.

He had been briefed by Martin before the race about his role in the team’s strategy, as usual; he was, it seems, to act as Jean’s rearguard against the advances of their opponents, in their pursuit of both Championships. At the time, he had accepted the instructions as they were - he processed them and nothing more, for he was devoid of spirit.

Now? Now his spirit stirs. Where was once a void, something has taken residence. It is not as it used to be - like an adult returning to their childhood home to find that the home had changed with them themselves - and yet it is very clearly there.

This can work. I’m good at adapting; I’ll be able to handle the variable pit timings. Jean deserves this shot and I can give it to him.

We can do this.

The lights moments away from flicking on, Ryker speaks over the radio to his teammate. “Jean? Just so you know, if I can’t get in front of Franssen outright I’ll stay to the inside on her right, try to squeeze her and force her to slow down. You should be able to get a good run around Century. I have your back. Good luck out there.”

He breathes. And good luck me.

No. No, I make my own luck. He settles his hands on the steering wheel - and then he smiles, ever so slightly, as he realises what his hands are resting on. No, all of us do. And they do it for me.

Thank you for that.

Finally, there is a Coalescence. It too is slight.

There is one nonetheless.

[WGPC]

IT'S THE FINAL
CUT OFF
OF SEASON 16

get hype

[WGPC]

Raceday
Crossport Raceway

Conditions: DRY
Laps: 57

Start  |  Pos. After 14 laps  |  Pos. After 28 laps  |  Pos. After 42 laps
 1 DIM | 1 FRS Aft. 14 laps   | 1 FRS Aft. 28 laps   | 1 LUN  Aft. 42 laps
 2 LUN | 2 LUN +8.336sec      | 2 LUN +10.865sec     | 2 FRS +0.82sec
 3 FRS | 3 TAL +16.485sec     | 3 BJA +29.305sec     | 3 BJA +15.418sec
 4 JMD | 4 FUJ +27.063sec     | 4 FUJ +30.962sec     | 4 CRU +18.516sec
 5 LAN | 5 BJA +27.41sec      | 5 CRU +36.227sec     | 5 IBU +26.177sec
 6 IBU | 6 SCH +28.142sec     | 6 TAL +39.077sec     | 6 TAL +32.549sec
 7 SCH | 7 JOH +28.376sec     | 7 JOH +45.577sec     | 7 FUJ +40.915sec
 8 BJA | 8 LAN +30.522sec     | 8 IBU +47.659sec     | 8 TII +50.014sec
 9 CRU | 9 DIM +36.96sec      | 9 TII +53.404sec     | 9 KRA +50.47sec
10 TAL |10 TII +38.413sec     |10 SCH +54.084sec     |10 KRU +53.455sec
11 KRA |11 CRU +40.403sec     |11 JNG +60.465sec     |11 SZR +54.17sec
12 JNG |12 JMD +44.02sec      |12 LAN +60.929sec     |12 LAN +55.985sec
13 FUJ |13 JNG +45.847sec     |13 DIM +64.143sec     |13 JNG +67.422sec
14 KRU |14 IBU +50.069sec     |14 KRU +66.082sec     |14 JOH +68.023sec
15 TII |15 KRU +56.797sec     |15 SZR +69.686sec     |15 DIM +68.56sec
16 JAC |16 SZR +66.042sec     |16 KRA +77.341sec     |16 JMD +78.755sec
17 JOH |17 WTK +70.015sec     |17 JMD +90.574sec     |17 SCH +80.07sec
18 NDK |18 KRA +71.779sec     |18 WTK Laps Down: 1   |18 WES +89.114sec
19 WES |19 WES +75.832sec     |19 WES Laps Down: 1   |19 WTK +91.369sec
20 VAC |20 VAC +77.819sec     |20 VAC Laps Down: 1   |20 VAC Laps Down: 1
21 WTK |21 LEM +78.486sec     |21 JAC Laps Down: 1   |21 JAC Laps Down: 1
22 HIM |22 OKU +81.287sec     |22 LEM Laps Down: 1   |22 NDK Laps Down: 1
23 OKU |23 JAC +89.627sec     |23 NDK Laps Down: 1   |23 HIM Laps Down: 1
24 LEM |24 NDK +89.942sec     |24 OKU Laps Down: 1   |24 LEM Laps Down: 1
25 KEN |25 HIM Laps Down: 1   |25 HIM Laps Down: 1   |25 OKU Laps Down: 1
26 SZR |26 KEN Ret. Lap 6     |26 KEN Ret. Lap 6     |26 KEN Ret. Lap 6

Pos # Driver               	Team			Race Time	Behind Preceding car	Points
 1 16 Alexander Lund         	1:29:46.344	0:00:00.000	25
 2 51 R.L. Cruisin           	1:30:34.000	0:00:47.656	18
 3 25 Jessica Franssen       	1:30:35.299	0:00:01.299	14
 4 78 iBen Toralmintii       	1:30:51.719	0:00:16.420	10
 5 22 Kyoko Fujisaki         	1:30:57.642	0:00:05.923	8
 6 71 Rustom Ibuna           	1:30:58.947	0:00:01.305	6
 7 56 Terho Talvela          	1:31:04.085	0:00:05.138	4
 8 50 Jang Xiaopeng          	1:31:06.449	0:00:02.364	3
 9 27 Gregori Krupin         	1:31:09.401	0:00:02.952	2
10 42 Alex Dimitrianov       	1:31:10.720	0:00:01.320	1
11 14 Sigur Bjarnason        	1:31:16.879	0:00:06.158	
12 52 Sayono Souzare         	1:31:20.204	0:00:03.326	
13 23 Jasmin Kranjska        	Laps Down: 1	0:00:05.222	
14 20 Mick Schramm           	Laps Down: 1	0:00:20.417	
15 17 Lourdina Westgrens     	Laps Down: 1	0:00:00.134	
16 31 Cesaro Whittaker       	Laps Down: 1	0:00:27.167	
17 64 Moe Himura             	Laps Down: 1	0:00:04.216	
18 99 Nate Jackson           	Laps Down: 1	0:00:21.355	
19  5 Juliano Lemos          	Laps Down: 1	0:00:00.646	
20  8    Sebastian Vacantson    	Laps Down: 1	0:00:04.745	
21 47 Erica Okumura          	Laps Down: 1	0:00:01.095	
22 10 Jennifer Johnson       	Ret. Lap 54
DF  2 Jean Mercer-Daly       	Ret. Lap 51		
DF  1 Ryker Lane             	Ret. Lap 47		
DF 55 Asao Nadakei           	Ret. Lap 48		
DF 11    Luc Kennedy            	Ret. Lap 6

Pos	#	Name			Team			Pts	Wins
1	25	Jessica Franssen	VMR			127	2 WGPC16 World Drivers' Champion
2	2	Jean Mercer-Daly	Nexus Racing		98	2 [ahead of Talvela on countback]
2	56	Terho Talvela		TRAE			98	1
4	50	Jang Xiaopeng		Omni Racing		95	2
5	71	Rustom Ibuna		MRT			84	1
6	14	Sigur Bjarnason		MRT			83	2
7	16	Alexander Lund		McPahan			80	1
8	42	Alex Dimitrianov	McPahan			61	0
9	51	R.L. Cruisin		MSA-SinVal		58	1 [ahead of Okumura on countback]
9	47	Erica Okumura		Polaris			58	1
11	23	Jasmin Kranjska		Kissan Motorsport	57	0
12	20	Mick Schramm		Omni Racing		55	0
13	64	Moe Himura		Arada			49	1
14	1	Ryker Lane		Nexus Racing		46	0
15	27	Gregori Krupin		VMR			37	0
16	22	Kyoko Fujisaki		Kissan Motorsport	35	0
16	77	Juracai Klianiota	TRAE			33	0 [ahead of Souzare on countback]
17	52	Sayono Souzare		Polaris			33	0
19	55	Asao Nadakei		Arada			18	0
20	10	Jennifer Johnson	WGPC Eelandii		16	0
21	12	Ranveer Singh		TIF 13			12	0
22	78	iBen Toralmintii	TRAE			10	0
23	99	Nate Jackson		TIF 13			 9	0
24	17	Lourdina Westgrens	Bitten Heroes		 8	0
25	31	Cesaro Whittaker	MSA-SinVal		 5	0
26	8	Sebastian Vacantson	WGPC Eelandii		 4	0 [ahead of Lemos on countback]
26	5	Juliano Lemos		Bitten Heroes		 4	0
28	36	Reva Izalio		WGPC Eelandii		 1	0
29	11	Luc Kennedy		TIF 13			 0	0
29	7	Ethan Ellis		Kissan Motorsport	 0	0

Pos	Team			Points
1	MRT			167 WGPC16 World Constructors' Champion
2	VMR			164
3	Omni Racing		150
4	Nexus Racing		144
5	TRAE			141 [ahead of McPahan on countback]
5	McPahan			141
7	Kissan Motorsport	 92
8	Polaris			 91
9	Arada			 67
10	MSA-SinVal		 63
11	WGPC Eelandii		 21 [ahead of TIF13 on countback]
11	TIF 13			 21
13	Bitten Heroes		 12

[WGPC]

WGPC Modern Era Statistics

The Modern Era is generally accepted to be the period after WGPC 8. Here are some updated statistics as of the end of WGPC16.

Most Races

Pos	Driver			Seasons	Races
1	R.L. Cruisin		6	74
2	Alexander Lund		5	63
3	Jai Kardaeri		5	63
4	Matthew Portland	5	63
5	Alex Dimitrianov	4	51
6	Asao Nadakei		4	51
7	Sayono Souzare		4	51
8	iBen Toralmintii	5	48
9	Alexandra Mayari	4	45
10	Lee Rogers		4	44
--
17	Terho Talvela		3	38
22	Ethan Ellis		3	34

Most Seasons Entered

Pos	Driver			Seasons
1	R.L. Cruisin		6
2	Alexander Lund		5
3	Jai Kardaeri		5
4	Matthew Portland	5
5	iBen Toralmintii	5
6	Alex Dimitrianov	4
7	Asao Nadakei		4
8	Sayono Souzare		4
9	Alexandra Mayari	4
10	Lee Rogers		4
--
17	Terho Talvela		3
17	Ethan Ellis		3

Most Race Wins

Pos	Driver				Races	Wins
1	André Luís Caconde		40	7
2	Terho Talvela			38	6
3	Jessica Franssen		20	5
4	Jean Mercer-Daly		22	5
5	Alexander Lund			63	5
5	Jai Kardaeri			63	5
7	Bruno Borghi			40	4
8	Matthew Portland		63	4
9	R.L. Cruisin			74	4
10	Joe Allon			40	3
11	Rafael Blanco			30	3
12	Stang Crax			23	3
13	Xeb Kallasdun			12	3

Most Podium Finishes

Pos	Driver			Races	Podiums
1	Jai Kardaeri		63	20
2	Matthew Portland	63	20
3	Alexander Lund		63	15
4	Terho Talvela		38	14
5	R.L. Cruisin		74	13
6	André Luís Caconde	40	12
7	Lee Rogers		44	9
8	Asao Nadakei		51	9
9	Jean Mercer-Daly	22	8
10	Ryker Lane		26	8
--
12	Jessica Franssen	20	7
14	iBen Toralmintii	48	7
22	Alex Dimitrianov	51	5

Most Top Ten Finishes

Pos	Driver			Races	Top Tens
1	Jai Kardaeri		63	38
2	Matthew Portland	63	35
3	Alexander Lund		63	34
4	R.L. Cruisin		74	33
5	Terho Talvela		38	25
6	André Luís Caconde	40	23
7	Alex Dimitrianov	51	22
8	Lee Rogers		44	21
9	Louis Krindle		36	20
10	Asao Nadakei		51	19
--
11	iBen Toralmintii	48	18
14	Jessica Franssen	20	16
15	Ryker Lane		26	16

Most Points (Using Current Points System)

Pos	Driver				Seasons	Races	Points
1	Jai Kardaeri			5	63	479
2	Matthew Portland		5	63	450
3	Alexander Lund			5	63	379
4	R.L. Cruisin			6	74	344
5	Terho Talvela			3	38	335
6	André Luís Caconde		3	40	327
7	Lee Rogers			4	44	233
8	Asao Nadakei			4	51	214
9	Joe Allon			3	40	211
10	Jessica Franssen		2	20	209
--
11	Alex Dimitrianov		4	51	192
12	iBen Toralmintii		5	48	188
13	Jean Mercer-Daly		2	22	187
16	Ryker Lane			2	26	166

World Championships

Matthew Portland	2 (Seasons 9, 10)
Jessica Franssen	1 (Season 16)
Ryker Lane		1 (Season 15)
Terho Talvela		1 (Season 14)
Alexandra Mayari	1 (Season 13)
Alexander Lund		1 (Season 12)
Stang Crax		1 (Season 11)
Jai Kardaeri		1 (Season 8 )

Points Earned Per Race

1	Jessica Franssen	10.45
2	Maria Cattaneo		9.08
3	Terho Talvela		8.82
4	Jean Mercer-Daly	8.50
5	Xeb Kallasdun		8.50
6	André Luís Caconde	8.18
7	Axel Novikov		7.75
8	Jai Kardaeri		7.60
9	Matthew Portland	7.14
10	Edward Masterson	7.09
--
13	Jang Xiaopeng		6.79
15	Ryker Lane		6.38
17	Alexander Lund		6.02
18	Rustom Ibuna		6.00
19	Sigur Bjarnason		5.93

Percentage of FInishes in Top Ten

Pos	Driver			Percentage
1	Jessica Franssen	80.00%
2	Jang Xiaopeng		78.57%
3	Enaut Londoso		69.57%
4	Maria Cattaneo		66.67%
4	Reni Sanderson		66.67%
6	Terho Talvela		65.79%
7	Donal O'Connell		65.22%
7	Vitaliy Aaltonen	65.22%
9	Edward Masterson	63.64%
10	Marc Rangneri		63.64%
--
11	Ryker Lane		61.54%
13	Jasmin Kransjka		60.00%
19	Rustom Ibuna		57.14%

[Esmerel]

okay you ready for a big final post? here's a big final post

Crossport Raceway, Crossport, Audioslavia
Sunday, 27 May 2018

The lights go out like a herd of turtles. If not for Transcendence's automatic start system Jean would have definitely missed it out of sheer anticipation. And off the 26 went. Jean just knew that not all 26 would make it back. They never had. He just didn't know what would happen on this fateful day...

Jean started well, and kept doing so for a few laps. Then the troubles started. Transcendence began to lose pace, and would easily lock up.

"You copy, Jean? The IRASSU is having issues. We can't easily fix it without losing more time than not fixing it, if you can keep up the good work."

"Well, that's nice. Yeah, this probably means we're fucked, doesn't it?"

"Possibly."

Jean had already given up, effectively, and decided to allow fate to, well, decide fate. He just had to race, as his father had told him hours ago. He was just looking for a good finish. But lap after lap, he kept dropping back. Even the perfect pit strategy was doing nothing to help Transcendence get off its spiritual last legs. In a way, time was nothing but an illusion... but the illusion was running out fast. Not too much later and he was the last car on the lead lap, Franssen breathing right down his neck.

By lap 47 Jean was feeling comparatively okay. The car was likely the worst it had been all season, but it was running to the finish.

Then Ryker retired.

Jean didn't care how. But something in the stars made them align in that moment. Transcendence regained its lost power, and Jean started shooting ahead. He was passing cars and setting fastest race lap after fastest race lap. Whether it was magic or simply optimism wasn't known. Jean was going to win. And, as he told himself before, nothing was stopping him.

Then he began the 51st lap. And at that exact moment, the stars became misaligned, and Transcendence gave out altogether. Powered off and simply coasting, the fates of the universe chose to take this chance. Why? Maybe they had been doing too many nice things. Maybe they were angry. Maybe there were no fates, and it was just absolutely rotten luck.

Regardless, Jean was heading towards the wall at the Turn of the Century. All of the Imaginational systems had shut off... but one. The accelerator. And it was sending the car, Jean included, towards the wall at over 360 km/h.

Jean managed to have one last thought before his world went boom.

Well darn.

-----

Miraculously, Jean woke up quickly. His vision slowly started to come back, but at the same time it went away. His brain was functioning enough to tell it was in a living body. But that body was very damaged both emotionally and physically.

"Jean! Come on, buddy, talk to me! You gotta be alive!"

"I... I think I am alive."

"God damn! That's good! Can you get out of the car?"

"I... No, I don't think so. I can barely m-move my jaw as it is. And there's this incredible pain... just everywhere..."

"Marshals and paramedics are headed your way. Just sit tight."

"Like I have a damn choice..." Jean barely had any more energy left. He just sat in the crumpled wreck of Transcendence and indeed sat tight. From there, his memory was shaky. He remembered being lifted from the car and into an ambulance, being in the emergency care room, then suddenly he was on a plane. And that was it.

The next thing he knew for absolute certain he was in Esmerel. In an intensive care ward. This time around, he was conscious enough to look around and get a few bearings. It was the 30th of May. It had been 72 whole hours since the race.

Then came the big reveal. Jean still barely could feel anything (that was still coming back slowly) and lifted his arms so he could see his hands. He only saw one. He blinked. Still only one. He blinked 3 times. One. He shook his head around and blinked another 30 times, just to make sure. Just one.

Oh, no.

Suddenly, his arm felt like it disappeared. His left arm (and hand of course) were gone.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Then he realized the same exact thing was true for his left leg.

HOLYSHITHOLYSHITHOLYSHIT

Was the crash really that bad? God, he was missing half his damn limbs!

Maybe he was just dreaming. He was tethered by a lot of IVs but had enough freedom of movement to reach for the bottle of water by his right hand. He poured a bit of the water on his face.

No... now I just have a wet face. Good Arceus above, this is real life, not fantasy!

His brain was everywhere. So much so that while it managed to remember this moment clearly, the next few hours- no, days were broken apart. Jean just knew he had completely broken down in terms of emotions. What was going to happen to him?

He couldn't think up an answer, so he didn't.

---3rd June 2018---

His next memory he managed to keep was by the time he had managed to walk again with crutches, though he was primarily in a wheelchair. Suddenly, they wheeled him off to the surgery room. Why would he be going there? He had already recovered as much as he possibly could with two limbs. But he knew what else would happen, or at least he thought he did. He'd be history. Consigned to the wastebasket. The WGPC would move on without him. Maybe Darlington would step up. But a WGPC without him... well, OK, it existed for 14 1/3 seasons without him. But he had made such a mark, leaving so soon would be so large.

For the first time in a week, his brain was rushing. Even as he went under. He was terrified about the future.

---

However, when his surgery was complete, he didn't have to be. The surgery was for prosthetics of all things. But not prosthetics in the sense of plastic. These things were implanted into the organic parts of his body, and constructed to be as close to the real thing as they could. He stood up as soon as possible, testing out the new limbs. It was almost as if he never lost them in the first place.

Well, why did I even worry? These are good.

Then he slipped and fell backwards onto his bed.

Well, they'll still need some adjustment. But, considering I freaking lost two limbs, it's a good damn situation!

Mere hours later Jean was legally discharged from the care center and sent home to Rochester. His home stood empty, waiting for him to return after such a long away time. The vacation with Ryker didn't completely count.

Jean came back a changed man. He had plenty of experience, plenty of fame, new friends, and a new view of the world. Hell, he wasn't even simply human. He was more. He could do things nobody else could. Because he did them.

So, as he settled into the pool (don't worry, the prosthetics were lifeproof) he stared at the setting sun. As it did last year, it was setting on his season.

But, unlike many of those who came before him, he would make sure it would not be setting on his career.

He still had many more years in him.

---Thus ends Jean's story. For this season, anyways. There might be a couple of posts still to come, wrapping up things with Nexus. I don't know yet. What I do know is that I've loved this season as I did the last one. See you again soon.---

-Esmerel

[Vangaziland]

Jessica began moving from 3rd to 1st on Lap 6. In front of her were Lund and Dimitrianov in the lead. Jess knew this race had much to do with pace. Above all else, she wanted to avoid a costly mistake. She was also trying to manage tire wear, as well as her own fatigue. It was around here on Lap 6 that she decided she would make an aggressive push for the lead.

"I think I can make the move this lap", she called up as the indigo & red crested Bunn Hill. She closed just slightly as the three lead cars entered the tunnel. The cars braked and adjusted their throttle, engines reverberating under the enclosed walls of the tunnel, before slowing even more and turning onto the straight. It was here that Jess first tried to push on Lund. Her line was more aggressive here than many she had ran before, running deep into the apex and trying to wedge past the McPahan machine.

It was a little too fast of an exit, and Lund had enough space to open up his engine. The car rocketed down the line, crossing into the 7th lap while running down the long straight. As they approached the Turn of the Century, Jess locked her brakes like she had in practice. This time she managed to force her nose on the inside line of the hometown driver. The Vannish car dug in and made the tough pass. Dimitrianov was still some distance ahead.

Jess caught up to Dimitrianov and stayed on his tail into Lap 8. This time she made her move coming out of Hammerhead. She seemed to get the most out of the car, outrunning Alex on the run out of the straight. She pulled to the far side with a tug on the wheel to find the space.

The Vangazi would hold the lead until she had to pit. She brought it in on lap 34, wanting to stay fresh for the middle end. No incidents had happened since lap 6. She had to take it upon herself to bring it in. The #25 caught back up to 2nd place by the time Jean Mercer-Daly had his terrible crash. The incident shook her up.

From that moment on, the aggressive streak that saw her early success was gone. She knew one crash could seriously harm her chances for the entire season. She went into defensive mode. The team also went with a softer tire compound that wore down quickly, after the caution lap's second stop.

As the checkered flag fell, Jess found herself in 3rd. As she came over the team radio, there were tears in her voice. She thanked the crew and the principal for a good season. She stopped mid sentence, unable to talk. The sounds of her sniffles came over the team radio.

She had ended the season on the podium. She drank from the bottle of bubbly before spraying Alexander Lund. She took a break to take another long swig, before spraying the retired driver once more. She then turned to the cameras and took a bow. Underneath her sunglasses, the waterworks began to flow. She cried and cried as she looked out at all the cameras and people gathered to watch.

Throughout a tough stretch, she made it. Jessica Franssen was now a World Champion. She looked up into the sky, thinking of the fact. It brought a hazy smile to her face, tears hidden behind the sunglasses of her sponsor. Van-Bands.

[Aboveland]

Terho fought back the rough lump in his throat as he cut Nanna²'s V10 one final time, sitting still on the tarp. He could already envision the dejected looks, hear the dull groans, and feel the lingering disappointment around him. He expected a firm pat on the shoulder followed by a stern, "what did we talk about" talk about how he had to take it easy, not take unnecessary risks, and not do stupid shit like flatspotting tyres while a full second behind the driver ahead.

And yet, as he flipped up his visor, revealing his glassy eyes, he realized reality couldn't have been more different.

Confetti flew, arms waved, and chortles bellowed, the Vilitans gleeful at their hero's comeback fourth place and the Abovians finally relieved to have a weekend with a problem free car. There was an almost carnival like atmosphere all over the Crossport paddock, the celebrations and cheers of the MRT and VMR garages audible all the way across the pitlane.

Terho brought his gloves to his eyes, jamming them through the hole in his helmet, to soak up the single tear he'd shed. It was a bittersweet drop, one of knowing and accepting he was unlikely to win, one of remorse for having made a silly mistake, and one of joy at the heights he'd reached. Edvin, wearing a nose-glasses-mustache disguise, saw Terho over the crowd around both TRÆ cars and hurried to his aid, embracing him sincerely.

"Sorry," Terho muttered, defeated.

Edvin clonked his helmet with his fist. "Are you kidding? Relax! Rejoice! You've done your best all year, and third place is just amazing. You could have been nowhere, the car could have been a time bomb, and you could have had to withdraw for the final three races of the year. Everything went as best as it could have. You've exceeded all our expectations, for you and for the team. It's a time to celebrate!"

He brought the lip of a tiny champagne bottle up to Terho's mouth and hamfistedly poured it over his chin and into his overalls; once the bottle had emptied he smashed it over the helmet, evoking a spontaneous tremble of laughter in him. As Edvin left, he looked to his right, to see iBen coming back down towards the floor from the raised hands of his compatriots. The two made eye contact and approached each other to hug firmly and reassuringly.

"Great job," Terho said to him, smiling.

"You too," his mentor replied.

Terho squeezed his eyes shut and shed one last, purely sweet tear. It wasn't so bad after all.

[Savojarna]

Sigur Bjarnason is hunting another podium finish to end the season with, even if it won't bring him the championship anymore - get a good result, and maybe challenge Jang or even Terho who aren't having great races. A bit over ten laps are to go, and the tyres are going down, but he has to push with R. L. Cruisin getting closer, and Jess Franssen taking it much slower now, putting even P2 in the realm of possibility. Following a light mistake in lap 44, he sees Cruisin in his rear mirror. The Vilitan veteran pushes Sigur, using the engine of the MSA SinVal and his fresher tyres to the maximum. Across Lund Hill and Bunn Hill, the car approaches the MRT, still a bit weak on the straight. He shuts the door on the inside for Linco Turn, keeping the Vilitan behind him.

On the home straight, Cruisin inches closer and draws up next to Bjarnason in the Turn of the Century. Bjarnason sees the nose of the MSA appear on his left, at the inside of the turn. Centimetre by centimetre it comes ahead, but now Sigur has the edge as he pushes down the pedal a split-second earlier. Holding the inside in Hammerhead, he takes third place again, the Audioslavian fans cheering loudly at the thrilling duel at their hands. Once again, Cruisin comes closer on the fast part of the track, and once again Sigur holds him off in Hammertail. Coming into the combination of Knock, Hold and Loose, he pushes to get the distance needed to keep the Vilitan behind over the hill. What he doesn't expect is that speeding up out of Loose, the rear tyres slip off the road. As they get traction again, the MRT is launched forward. Sigur reacts immediately, turning the wheel around and avoiding a full frontal crash, but he can't avoid the left end of the wing grazing the wall, ripping off about half of his front wing.

In the MRT box, the mechanics jump off their chairs. Curses fly through the garage as the team prepares itself for the pit stop. Heavy Savojarsk cursing ensues on the team radio, before Arlund calls in his driver. "Box, Box, Box. We need a new front wing, and you get a fresh set of supersofts. Let's push for some points, and make sure we don't lose the constructor's on the home straight". Sigur, seeing R.L. Cruisin disappearing beyond the peak of Lund Hill, now notices the colourful car of Rusty Ibuna come up behind him. Barely able to follow without the left half of his wing, he lets his teammate pass, and on the way to the box also has to watch as Terho Talvela chases his title hopes, flying past the Savojar.

It have been eleven uneventful rounds after that, with Sigur caught stably between Souzare and Dimitrianov. He gets a little closer to the Mattijanan, but nowhere near close enough to challenge that final point. As he crosses the line, he hears Krister's calm voice: "Well done, Sigur. Congratulations on your first WGPC -". Suddenly, the radio transmission ends and a euphoric Johan Struna is on the other end: "YESSS! We won the constructor's cup! Thank you Sigur, you are a champion after all!" A huge weight falls off Sigur's shoulders as he drives around Crossport raceway slowly, with a massive grin on his face as he thanks the team and the crew over team radio. At the foot of Lund Hill, he sees Rusty driving slowly on the side, waiting for him. He drives up next to his Filindostani teammate and nods to him, the two MRT's parading around the track together towards the celebrations awaiting them in the pit lane.

As soon as Sigur parks his car and gets out, a wave of green, yellow and red engulfs him. He makes out Krister's reddish beard in the crowd as the race engineer hugs his driver and greets him with a double-pat on the helmet. The pit crew gathers around them in a massive group hug. On his right, another such crowd forms with Rusty Ibuna at its centre; further down the road he catches a glimpse of a similar VMR-purple-and-red blur. Rusty comes over, and Sigur shakes his teammate's hand in congratulation after the Filindostani just edged him out in the driver's standings on the final day. The previously so busy but orderly Crossport circuit pit lane becomes a chaos of celebrating and less celebrating drivers. At some point, he sees Jess Franssen ahead of him. He approaches the Vangazi that may have ended up being his teammate and offers her his hand. "Congratulations. It was fun to battle with you". It's all he can muster, on a high from the emotions coming from a constructor championship.

Long after, following a cheerful and enthusiastic victor's ceremony and a lot of congratulations from all kinds of people, the young Savojar finally found the time to ahower and change out of his race overall. The jeans and MRT-coloured shirt he is wearing now is definitely more comfortable for the press conference about to happen. Sitting outside the Crossport press centre, he waits with his press rep to be called in while the international media talk to the winners of the race. He can't help but think of their last awkward media moment, back in Esmerel. Something crosses his mind. "Lara?" The Mattijanan woman turns her head. "I think I never properly apologised, you know, back in Forest Cross. I'm sorry... and also, thank you for all the work you've done for me this season. I'm happy you are on my team.". Savojars may not voice their feelings much, and Sigur may be particularly Savojar in that regard, but with his end-of-season high, he finally felt able to get out what had been on his mind.

Eventually, the press centre door opens. The Savojar and Mattijanan media all scramble for some exclusive words from the no-more-rookie, and the photographers drown the room in a series of flashes. The announcement of the conference host is almost surreal to him: "Please welcome, from Savojarna, driver and part of the World Grand Prix Constructor Champions, the Mattijana Racing Team, Sigur Bjarnason!"

[Former Citizens of the Nimbus System]

Lapiz Point Hospital, Vespucci, Esmerel
1st of June

The Esmerelian ward is white, clean, cold. Many other hospitals around the world are as such, Ryker has heard. He looks about the room as he sits, the same conclusion coming to him. It needn’t be so clinical, he thinks. Our hospital has some colour on the walls. Lots of green, blue… Keeps people happier, I’d think.

It does make it easy to keep things clean, though. That’s important in a hospital.

Ryker’s thinking extends no further, so he returns to his purpose for being here in the first place. The Nimban looks down at his teammate. Jean Mercer-Daly lies there, his breathing shallow and slightly laboured, his face contorted into a grimace. Wires and tubes reach down from nearby machinery to connect to his broken form - and it is broken, for Ryker cannot help but feel his gaze dragged towards the stump that remains of Jean’s arm, wrapped in bandages to conceal the inevitable scarring underneath. There is pain here; Ryker feels it.

“Hey,” he begins, somewhat weakly. He doesn’t know why he speaks; Jean doesn’t hear it, after all, and determining things beyond the logical has been a struggle recently. “It’s me. I thought I’d come and see you. Something to do and, well, it got me away. Needed that.” He drums his fingers on the - apparently relatively tuneful - vase in his hands. “Brought you some blue snow crocuses. Looking at the room, they’ll probably be a nice contrast.”

He smiles for a moment, then sighs, resting his head in his hand. “Everything’s happening back at home. With the accident, everyone’s doubling down on safety. Gertrude, Victoria and the rest are going to arbitration soon. Apparently, the Imagination convertors were hacked, like in WGP2 last year. It’s a mess.”

He shakes his head, looking down. “The doctors said that you’re getting prosthetic limbs, though, so it’s not all bad.” Chuckling momentarily, Ryker continues: “Wonder if they’ll be better than our ones. Ours are pretty good, I think. I don’t know.”

Ryker considers for a moment, then moves to clasp his shoulder - before recognising that that might not be the best idea. Instead, he gently puts his hand to his teammate’s brow, perhaps in an effort to calm Jean’s apparent unconscious agitation. “I suppose… Tim said that getting through failure makes us stronger. He’s right, I think. Always has been wise about these things.” The corner of his mouth curls up. “Well, we’ve failed, so we need to take the opportunity, right? Hopefully we can do that.”

Withdrawing his hand, Ryker stands up from the chair. He looks down to Jean, eyes closed, mournful - but also resolute. His forearm moves across his chest, beating against it twice. “See you soon. I’ll look forward to it.”

[Audioslavia]

Scything past champion-elect Jessica Franssen on lap 43 seemed like a distant memory. A different time. A different day. Alec Lund was in the zone for the last time in his career.

On a set of tyres he knew would see him to the end of the race without giving him too much to think about at every corner, except for possibly braking a fraction earlier here and there, with nobody ahead of him but the occasional backmarker that was making a point of moving over further and earlier than usual, Lund was in cruise control. Gun, brake, ease, cruise, hard brake, late apex, gas early, go go go, pump brakes, clip apex, drift down, apex, apex, apex, throttle, drift right, drift right, cruise down hill, brake smoothly and early, clip both apexes, right foot down hard, check pit board, start-finish, check time, check tyres, repeat. Every time he checked the pit board as he bombed down the home straight he dared himself to look the other way, at the thousands of Audioslavians in the main stand, waving their flags harder each lap, raising the decibels every time. Each time he resisted the urge. Last race or not, there could be no Lund-esque crash-out when the race is so close to finishing in his favour. Lap after lap, the pit board was his only suggestion that he was in the real world. He may as well be in a simulator. Clockwork, clockwise around the track, the same routine, keeping the lap-times low, increasing the gap on the others as they started battling with one another.

The second-to-last pit-board showed him the data in as simple a way as possible. Last lap. P1. +44secs. Franssen had long since stopped pushing. Get the car round safely and he was home and dry. Nevertheless, Alec couldn't bring himself to slow down. He made sure he was hard on the brakes, keeping them warm, making sure he carried enough speed into each corner to maximize the effectiveness of the McPahan's wings. He didn't allow himself to come up for air again until the last corner.

Pit board: P1 P1 P1 TYAL P1

Alec cruised to a crawl as he crossed the line on the side of the pit wall, reaching a fist out of the cockpit and punching the air, pointing to his team as he sped past.

*bzztchh*
"Grotesquely hollywood finish, Alec. Not like you at all"
*bzztschh*

Alec chuckled. He pressed the radio button, said a very quick 'thanks guys. See you in a mo' and turned it off. He prepared himself for one final parade lap, noting that some fans were starting to invade the circuit. Not the safest place to be, lads he said to himself, but took an Audioslavian flag from one of them anyway, lifting it as high as he could as he changed down into first gear.

*bzzchh*
"Seriously, though. Saccharine nonsense. You could have at least pranged it into the barricade on your last lap"
*bzztchh*

The voice was, unmistakeably, that of Roger Bunn. It was Roger who was waiting as Alec clambered out of the car after his victory lap to pounce on the Audioslavian. Alec undid the straps of his helmet and Roger took it off, almost taking Alec's head with it.
"I'm a genius" shouted Roger, leaping into a hug.
"You're a genius?" asked Alec, putting his hands on Roger's shoulders and pushing him gently away.
"The gym. Two weeks ago" said Roger, with a smile.
"Aye" said Alec. "I owe you this one. You're getting a bottle of champagne dumped on you"
"How do you feel?" asked Roger.
"Tired" said Alec, truthfully. "Honestly. Never doing this shit again"
"Good lad" said Roger, bumping Alec on the back.

Roger watched as, up on the podium, Alec gratefully received the national anthem and graciously tried to shy away from the spotlight as Jessica Franssen received a deserved World Drivers' Champion trophy. He couldn't quite help, however, going over to the edge of the podium, finding Roger, and trying to spray him with expensive champagne, before dumping the rest of the bottle over his head. Roger got off lightly, watching the rain of champagne hit everyone else around him.
"Oil. Sweat. Champagne. Repeat" came a voice next to Roger. He turned to see a familiar face.
"Jonatan!" he shouted, leaping in for a hug that almost caused both men to fall to the floor. "Shit!" exclaimed Roger, remembering far too late that Jonatan had only one leg.
"Good to see you, Roger" said Jonatan. "The boy came good, finally, after, what..."
"Two and a half seasons without a race win" said Roger. "Trust me, we've been counting"
"How did he pull this one off?" asked Jonatan.
"Blood, sweat, champagne, repeat" said Roger. "Just as you said. Which reminds me..."
"They're words you'll be hearing in a few months" said Jonatan with a wink. "Johanson Racing will be taking part in the Audioslavian Tier 3. Along with a new little team called... now what stupid name have you called it again?"
"The Blunderbus!" said Roger, with a grin. "We thought 'Bunn/Lund Racing' was a bit too obvious. Bunn/Lund became 'Blund', then we had a few glasses of wine and decided on 'Blunder' and then 'Blunderbus'. Registered it before we sobered up"
"It'll be good to keep in touch" said Jonatan. "See each other more often. Even if we won't quite be in the same garage.."
"Looking forward to it" said Roger.

Above, a thirty-something balding Audioslavian named Alexander Lund grabbed his little crystal trophy and tried not to drop it as he stood back atop the podium and gave the crowd one last wave.
"Whelp" he thought to himself. "Hope I don't make a prat of myself at the post-season party".

---

Epilogue.

A thirty-something balding Audioslavian named Alexander Lund wakes up with a start in a strange hotel room. His head feels like a pig is projectile defecating into it. Flashes of the previous day enter his head. He remembered.... had he won the Audioslavian Grand Prix? Had he swam in a fountain? Had he pinched that journalist's bum? Had he pinched Stan McPahan's bum? Was that all just a dream?

He scrambles for his phone. He ignores the fourteen waiting messages. He checks google. Yes. He did just win a race. Google wouldn't lie to him. He checks the messages. Thirteen are from journalists. One is from Roger Bunn.

"Yo. Yes. You made a prat of yourself. I'll do the cleaning up. Get some rest, piss-head. Roger x"

Alec switches on the light next to the bed. He sees a broken bottle of champagne on the floor, scattered among something that looked alarmingly like the shattered remnants of a crystal trophy.

He turns off the light.

"Ugh.."