World Grand Prix Championship season 17 [RP Thread]

[Esmerel]

Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna, Miago, Mytanja
Saturday, April 13, 2019

Out of the two guest circuits on this year's calendar, Jean enjoyed the looks of this one far more.

The practice runs of the circuit in the previous session made him enjoy it even further. The lack of runoff areas (except for the heavy Preokret corner, which was acceptable), the mix of uphill and downhill areas, and the absolute speed of the circuit when you got it right made it feel just perfect. Of course, Jean had only placed in nineteenth in practice (albeit just five tenths back), but there was always still time to make up for what was lost.

Besides, what had happened in practice was an extension of the latter half of the Liventian GP- a bit of experimentation. After Jean had realized he wasn't making it to the points last weekend, he just used the remainder of the race as a practice run for the future. Lose the battle, win the war, that kind of stuff. Anyways, it worked. That whole brain control stuff was working, and it was only getting better. The full implementation was waiting until the first midseason test, but Jean didn't need everything immediately. Either way, if practice had gone decently, it wrote a good future for qualifying.

Of course, it might have misspelled a few words. What with the rain and all.

"Oh, you're shitting me," Jean said as he witnessed the clouds set in over the circuit. "The first rain of the season, and it comes during potentially the most important qualifying session yet." There were plenty of variables that existed within the WGPC, but if there was a constant, it was this: Nexus sucked in the rain. "We haven't tested for any rain yet, I don't even know if we've run the car on the inters and the wets... gods damn it, I don't want to start last again!"

Max, meanwhile, watched as Jean broke down. "Thor definitely isn't watching out for you," he mentioned. "But, the hand's been dealt. It's time to play it, isn't it, Jean?"

Jean conceded to Max's remarks. "Yeah, I know. And maybe the car won't be as bad in the rain. Get the inters on and pass me the gloves. We're going now before more rain comes."

"Alright, Jean, you're the boss," Max said. He shouted to everyone else in the garage. "You heard him! Let's get our lap in now!"

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Jean quickly set out for his only planned hotlap. The forecast didn't signify too much of a difference in intensity between the beginning and end of the session, but it would be getting slightly more intense at the end, so Jean wanted to move before that happened and likely would end up sending both him and Lucifer to the depths of Oblivion.

Jean was at least quick to notice that while Lucifer still handled poorly in the rain, it was a definite improvement over the absolute ineptitude of Transcendence, at least when it was wet. Maybe they did test this, and I was just an idiot assuming they hadn't.

Even still, it felt like Jean had to learn the circuit again in the wet. The inclines to and from the Kukolja corner felt the most off. "Jean, remember," Max chimed in. "Just one fast lap. Take your time getting to it, but no speeding unless you plan on making it work. In case it rains in the race, we need those tires."

Jean was ready for the sole lap. He floored it out of the Parabolična and ran down the main straight, systems operating at maximum. The already massive run down to turn 1 was even longer due to the reduced speeds of the intermediates. There wouldn't be much of an need for a runoff at Preokret, only traveling at 317 km/h by the corner. Turn 3 threw a left hand into the mix, leading up the the two corners that barely even existed, only there due to crossing an old bridge. Going back downhill after Kukolja, except at full speed, felt awkward. But Jean needed an opportunity for the next day, and he was reaching for it no matter the consequences.

The Lakat corner was when it all seemed to come together. Jean nailed the apex perfectly despite the lack of traction, and made it through the rough Parabolična without any further issue. However, despite the good speed, it would only be 13th.

"Jean, that's a tenth and a half off the current pole time... except that's only 13th. It won't be bad, though. Races have been won from back there. Bring it in and let's assess anything else we have to do. No Q2 for you."

"Wait, there's a Q2 here? Oh, thank the gods we're not advancing. This was a nightmare to drive." Thirteenth in the wet was more than enough.

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10:00 PM

Jean retired to the paddock in the evening. Qualifying just in the top half wasn't normally good, but it was wet, so it was good today, at least. Ryker had made it to third, so if the weather was good, there might even be a broken curse tomorrow. Overall, Jean felt great.

It wouldn't last much longer after Jean entered his bed and went into a state of rest. The lack of worry in the real world, for some reason, translated into worry in dreams.

It was a dream about forgetfulness. About sorrow and loss. And... something missing, but potentially found.

Jean felt very odd within the dream. Then, all of a sudden, he was in it. He heard voices. "Why would they leave?" they said. "He had so much promise, and now he's gone." Jean couldn't make sense of it. Then, it all went dark. It was just him, in an ethereal realm, and a woman standing across from him. That woman was his mother, Jennifer Mercer. "Mom?" Jean wondered. "What's happening?" Jean approached her.

"I can't believe it," his mother said within the dream. She was sobbing. Jean, still clueless, stood next to her, and laid his cybernetic left hand on her shoulder. "I'm here, mom," he said. "It'll all be alright."

His mother recognized him. At least, within this mysterious realm. "I... thank you, Jean..." She continued to cry, but less so now that her son was there. "Even in the darkest hour, there's something to comfort me." Jean asked her a question. "I'm having a dream, right?"

Whatever forces dictated the dreams of the human mind were happy to oblige, at least. "We're both dreaming, Jean," his mother said. "But it's not just any dream. It's a memory."

Jean added that fact to his mind. Alright. Definitely a dream. But why's all this even happening? And a memory?

A flash of light occurred. "I read the note he left us. He isn't coming back to us... Oh, by the gods. Jean, come closer," she said. Jean felt compelled to do so.

If it's a memory... maybe this is something that actually happened in the past, between mom and me, and this is what happened. Except in the real world and not in the aether. Jean, however, could not put his tongue on it. Come on, think. What was this?

As if the forces heard his thought, a black flash happened, and a shadowy figure approached. "Jean, I'm leaving," it said. "I want something new. Something exciting. I want to be free from the mundane life we have here."

As the shadow spoke, the pieces started to come together. "We won't be seeing each other again, I don't think." Another piece.

No. It can't be this, can it?

The final pieces were placed in the next moment. "And you aren't going to follow me. Ever." The shadow was standing next to Jean, who now realized what this was. He just needed... certainty. "Your face," he said to the shadow. "Let me see it."

The shadow was happy to oblige. For just a moment, Jean could see who it was, before the shadow engulfed him. Jean woke up. Another one of those. Got to get those checked out. His arm's neural network sometimes glitched out and created these odd dreams. This was the sixth or seventh time. But now, Jean knew why it was that moment. He detached his arm, to avoid it haunting him for the rest of the night, and sat up.

All he did was mention it to Ryker that one time. And now, it had found a place in his mind at all times.

Him.

Jean now knew what he had to do. First we race. But then... I'm going to find my brother and put this to rest.

[Aboveland]

Arriving in Mytanija had been a welcome smack of fresh air for Terho. An all new addition to the WGPC was always an exciting premise; after the strange weekend in Hodori, when he'd felt perpetually zoned out for the greater part and entirely out for most of the race, falling flat on his face after a self branded "amateur mistake", the idea of tackling a new-to-everyone challenge was certainly exciting. He'd seen the track layout prior to the weekend, and in practice his positive outlook had been confirmed. The circuit was a blast to drive.

Turns one and two were fairly straightforward corners, and out of turn three the going became slightly more relaxed as the circuit headed uphill, threading the needle through the bridge of turns four and five and plateauing at turn six before rocketing back down the hill towards the basin-like technical sector of turns 8-11. It then rockets on down another long straight through the treacherous parabolic turn 12, walls lining it on either side.

In practice, Terho's bandaged AGP 002 had worked wonders on the dry asphalt, and with a time good for ninth place and an adequate race setup Terho was flying high with confidence. The car carved through the corners, glued to the tarmac, everything from its winglets to its tyres to its passive four-wheel steering bang on the money. His times were good only for ninth place, but he wasn't far off the leaders. He parked the car after his runs, checked his times, chatted with the engineers about his telemetry readings, where he should lift, where he should accelerate, where the aero was whisking up its magic. The data and Terho's face alike were bearers of good news: the repairs had been successful on Unnamed, and Terho was feeling no ill effects from his Hodoran accident.

Well, none apart from a pang of guilt.

Terho, through his nods and mhms and aahs, hid the remorse biting his gut. Poor Hunter, poor McPahan, victims of his own dumbassery. While the energy at Miago had renewed his spirits and freshened up his outlook, the accident still clung to his shoulders, a weight he needed to get off of him. Throughout the practice session he'd been locked in the TRAE paddock, and had barely seen his own teammate, let alone anyone else.

Once Edvin and Aada had signed him off after debriefing, once he'd asked iBen what went wrong and was told his aerodynamic computer was off, once everything was in his duffel bag and ready to go, Terho set off directly towards the McPahan garage, a tad hesitant the closer he got, to find the Vadknessian to apologize, again, for what had happened. To his surprise, everyone had gone already, the new Motorworks team efficiently closing up shop quicker than anyone else. Thus, Terho headed back to TRAE, got in touch with Edvin, and retreated to his hotel room, relieved he hadn't received a punch or worse, disappointed that he hadn't had the chance to receive one at all.

---

"Fuck," Terho mutters walking toward the circuit, having parked just outside, as the first drops of the day fall from the sky. He's slept well for once, far better than he had in Hodori, but his high hopes for qualifying begin to wane under the threat of a soggy Saturday. Of the perhaps hundreds of times he's driven AGP 002, he could recall, at best, four times he went for a spin in the wet, and one of those had ended in the barriers and with another driver flipping him off. Edvin, a few steps further back, runs towards Terho once he's rummaged through the rental car's trunk and found the umbrella.

"Big day today," he pants, slowing his pace to a walk, a hand in his trenchcoat. "You ready?"

"Meh," Terho replies through his teeth, grimacing, his mood leaking through his scrunching nose. "We're kinda fucked, aren't we?" He turns toward Edvin, who looks up at him confused.

"Nah," he says. "In any case, we can talk with iBen and his engineers and find a common setup. Relax." He pats and shakes Terho's shoulder, making him smile warmly.

The two make it inside just as the rain begins to worsen, and as they walk towards the garage, the intensity of the precipitation fluctuates wildly, reverberating off of the metal roofs of the paddock. At the TRAE garage, Aada is working closely with the Vilita and Turorians to set up his unnamed 56 car. There isn't any sign of iBen, or his own machine, and the only indication he's there is the timing boards showing a whopping pole time over the rest of the runners. Upon closer examination, none of the other runners have any times marked yet.

Edvin waves to Terho, reminding him to get ready to hop into the car, and dives straight into the action in the paddock, leaving the Abovian behind with his duffel bag slung on his shoulder, at the entrance of the garage. Before taking a step, however, he tends to the anxieties he feels rumbling in his stomach, organizing his thoughts. The rain, the car... the name of the car... He zones out for a second, grasping at the final thought that escapes him. Hunter! That! His eyes spring into action and his muscles tense with excitement, and a little fear. Determinedly, Terho heads for the TRAE paddock, chucks his duffel bag onto a chair, waves to the mechanics around that chair, so as to not be rude, and begins his determined stride towards the McPahan garage. Along the way, the rain intensifies.

Once he's there, he hides behind the dividing wall of both McPahan and the team he's inadvertently infiltrated, trying to stay out of sight, and peeks into the Motorworks' garage. Deep inside, he feels rather stupid, a little juvenile, and ridiculously unprofessional. But while he knows he's on thin ice, sneaking into his new rivals' garage like a puppy ripping into his hidden bag of treats, he needs to apologize. Meanwhile, the rain thrashes the roof of the garage; a godsend which clouds his thoughts and channels his judgement into action, rather than ponderance.

Luckily, Hunter looks to be alone, slipping on his balaclava, getting ready to set off on his qualifying laps. Strange, Terho thinks, in this weather? Steadily, overcoming his terrible, visceral, mischievous fear, he begins to take a step inside, but a hand slapping his shoulder makes him jump like a startled cat, his gasp so hard its inaudible, his voice cracking halfway through. His soul doesn't sputter out of his body, but it comes close.

He turns around to find a McPahan mechanic quite sternly looking him in the eyes, barking out a string of insults in a peculiarly quiet voice. Terho, still in awe, the hairs on the back of his neck quite gone, pleads him to settle down and begs him to keep quiet, grabbing his hands (a risky move) and shaking them down until the mechanic apprehends the rage bubbling in his face enough to listen to the Abovian. Scared out of his mind, Terho asks him to tell Hunter he's sorry, deeply sorry, for Hodori, that he hopes he can forgive him, his voice trembling all the way through. The mechanic, now more understanding, shoots him a Finnish nod and walks back into his team's garage, apparently immediately delivering the message. Terho scrambles out of the enemy's sphere of influence, runs to the TRAE paddock, and gets dressed for action. When he slips his helmet on, the rain seems to have calmed down.

---

Terho shoots down the final straight before the Parabolicna, the rain drumming his visor as the car speeds down the slick asphalt. He keeps to the dryer line on the circuit, but isn't hesitant to bite the wetter edges of the tread marks to keep his temps down. He glares nervously at the time remaining on his steering wheel; his earlier anxiety about apologizing to Hunter has been replaced by now by his fear of fucking up the qualy. The rain had seemed to die down when he'd arrived again at TRAE, but during prep his car had had an issue with the aero computer. It was strange, since it had worked fine during practice; for some reason the chip was locking the wings down in their maximum deployment state, and while both the wet weather called for more downforce and the complete removal of all pre-established braking points on the system, the team deemed it excessive. Thus, for a good half hour, the engineers ran diagnostics on the chip until it was decided to replace it entirely, and by then, to Terho's dismay, there were but six minutes left in the session, and he hadn't yet set a time. iBen, one of the earliest runners of the day, now back in the paddock because the rain had worsened and the track soggied up, still clung on to Q2.

Unnamed, as Terho has called his particular AGP 002 machine throughout the weekend, goes around the final turn of the circuit just fine, hugging the inside line of the turn, the aero in full force keeping the car on the road, Terho's right foot oscillating between full deployment and preventive lifting. The rain feels more violent than before, and irregularly beats on his visor, as if the gusts of wind were picking up. The forces through the steering and the unstable back end confirmed his theory. He swallows hard while he launches down the main straight, fighting with the wheel to keep the car pointed straight ahead, the winglets fighting the treachery of the weather and flapping comically in the wind. The first breaking point is already a tricky test of his wits, the car catching a small—perhaps the only—puddle and sliding towards the apex, but Terho catches the car before the situation goes critical. He navigates the first two turns carefully, not too slowly but not too eagerly, and crossing his fingers that the rain will have eased off by the time he's gone around the top of the hill after turn six. Through four and five safely, the uphill section drier than the corners at the bottom, around six and down again, and the rain hits harder than ever. A couple drops of rain make their way through the hinges of his visor and catch on his eyelashes, and as he pants the inside of his visor clouds up for a moment.

The tight elbow complex of turns eight through eleven are far drier than Terho thought they would be, and he takes advantage of his machine's agility to round the bends with relative ease, planting his foot down out of the final corner and heading for Parabolica with a weary smile on his face. He's sure he's made up some time on that sector, but he worries whether it'll be enough or not. The timing marker for sector two is purple. Terho smiles harder.

Into the final corner, the rain has become a drizzle, and with a heavy yank he turns into the apex without lifting, the walls of the circuit scarily close. With full faith in the aero, he doesn't lift, and halfway through the car seems to hold. And yet, right as he starts to exit the turn, the car twitches, the rain surges, and Terho snaps his arms to correct the oversteer; it isn't enough against the slick edges of the dry line, which Terho has inadvertently crossed, and the rear of the car steps out. With a bang and a shower of sparks the rear left scrapes along the outside wall, but despite the impact Terho keeps his foot down, the car pulling slightly to the right.

"Fuck!" he yells through the radio, realizing it's the third time in the day he's said the word.

"00:01:42.743," says Aada, nonchalantly, devoid of emotion. "Shame."

Terho withholds his rage for a moment, even despite Aada's characteristically monotonous report, and presses the PIT button. His screen flashes with the notification that the session is over. His position: P27. Penultimate.

Pitiful.

[The Sherpa Empire]

Vijay Tripathi was still getting used to racing abroad. His lodgings were comfortable, but they weren't home. The food was decent, but it wasn't that great tandoori place up the street from his apartment. The basic principles of driving were the same, but the tracks were all new to him. He still followed a lot of the same routines getting ready for each race -- practicing in the simulator, watching race videos, regular exercise, talking to people in the paddock to get everything organized and plan out their strategy, talking to the media, coming out to see the fans for photo-ops and autographs... But it was different too. Different cities. Different tracks. Different people. Different car. The Sherpa Empire and Vangaziland are both ethnically diverse, so if you looked around the paddock, it was not always obvious who came from which country -- but other times it was obvious. When you looked at them all as a group, you could tell you weren't in Delhi.

People talked about Tripathi being a rookie, and it sounded strange to him. He was 31 and he had several years of professional racing experience back home in SIMS. So when the foreign press started talking about rookies, newcomers, fresh faces, etc. it sounded odd to hear his name come up. Sometimes he felt insulted hearing his name thrown in with drivers that were young and inexperienced. He had to remind himself that those young and inexperienced drivers might be talented in their own right, and the comparison wasn't insulting if they turned out to be good. It still rankled, though. He had grown accustomed to his role as a veteran that the young up-and-coming drivers in SIMS tried to catch up with. It was a little unnerving to be a newcomer again, to be facing new challenges every race and trying to make a name for himself where he didn't already have one. It was exhilarating too, and he knew he needed to rise to the occasion. It got him thinking about the implications of age...

SIMS was a well-established league that had been around for years. Everyone knew who the stars were, and when someone challenged them, it was usually some young hot-shot at the start of his career. Outside of SIMS, it was a different landscape. In international racing, the politics were more complex, and that caused drivers to get shuffled around more. The Sherpa Empire was relatively new on the scene too, so Tripathi had to blaze his own trail.

He still followed the news from back home as much as he could, both SIMS and IRACT.

In SIMS, Chungba Thapa was trouncing the competition and Karma Subedi was bickering with Kyidawa Sherpa. Last weekend, Subedi and Kyidawa had allowed their feud to spill over onto the track and crashed with each other, taking both out of the race. Business as usual.

Tripathi talked on the phone with his old friend Asmira, who was still racing in SIMS. She said she missed seeing him around the track, even if it was frustratingly difficult to win against him. Tripathi smiled. "Even if life leads us apart, we will always have our memory of the times we spent together. I only remember the good memories about you."

IRACT was less familiar and predictable than SIMS. It was only in the second year of its existence, which meant a lot of people were still getting mobilized and learning how it worked, and new drivers could come out of nowhere to shake up the standings. Last year, people had poked fun at "Captain Kebab and the Carpet Khan," a pair of poorly-funded drivers that exemplified the league's lack of professionalism. They regularly missed races or had to retire due to mechanical problems. This year, "the Carpet Khan" had a new sponsorship deal that fixed his funding problems, he was first in the league, and last year's top drivers were getting questions about whether they still had what it took to keep up with him. ("Captain Kebab" was still about as effective as plunking an actual kebab in the driver's seat.)

Liangmei Li, who had finished IRACT's spring season in 4th place, was blowing a fuse and hurling accusations of misogyny against AutoModi because they sponsored the Khan instead of her. "Rinzi Zakhilwal was an exciting untapped talent and we wanted to see what he could do," an AutoModi spokesperson said. "That was the only reason we chose him over any other driver. Misogyny is not the way we do business. We strive to build great cars for every customer and provide a positive working environment for all of our employees, no matter who they are."

Li also went after TMW for sponsoring Kai Qiang. Qiang rolled his eyes when someone asked him what he thought about it. "If Li wants to accuse my sponsors of misogyny, she needs to stop pretending I'm a woman," he said. "I mean... I'm obviously a guy, but you have to admit that first, before you complain that I'm benefitting from male privilege. She's just jealous because I'm a better driver than she is."

Tripathi laughed when he saw that interview. He didn't envy Qiang having to remind people that he was male.

Later, Tripathi's thoughts drifted back to the subject of age. Qiang looked like a teenager, but he was actually 26. His first season in NSSCRA, he had been the youngest of the three drivers from the Sherpa Empire. The next season, he was the oldest. If he got to go back for a 3rd season, he'd be the youngest again. Rinzi Zakhilwal and Dinggu Wang were just starting out in their careers, but they were 28 and 50-something respectively.

Tripathi sympathized with them, trying to launch their careers so late in life. He was going through something similar with his transition into WGPC. Though he'd probably be retired from driving before he got to be Wang's age...

The weekend came and it was time to get ready for another race. He was in Miago, Mytanija at the Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna. The place was packed with fans and very loud. The riot of color around the track and the roar of engines and cheers was overwhelming. But inspiring too. It got Tripathi's adrenaline pumping and he was ready to make something happen!

He was satisfied with Friday's practice, at least as much as he was ever satisfied with anything. He was still adjusting to the challenges of international competition, but he knew what he was doing, and the car seemed to be running well. Of course, he would have to push harder during qualifying and the race itself when the times actually counted for something. That went without saying. Telling himself "push harder tomorrow" was a deeply-ingrained habit by now, something he did almost every day, regardless of whether "tomorrow" was a race day or not.

On the day of qualifying, it was drizzling and everyone had to be a little extra cautious on the damp pavement, making the lap times slower than they had been in practice. It took a bit of guesswork to judge how hard he could push without skidding on the slicker pavement, but Tripathi was experienced enough to have a feel for this sort of thing. He did well in the first round, getting the 7th fastest lap. He went into Q2 feeling very pumped up. Maybe a little too pumped up. He pushed too hard and skidded clumsily. He managed to avoid crashing, but he was still stuck with a thoroughly unimpressive lap time: 00:01:43.203.

Well, never mind that. He would start the race in 8th position, and he'd have a chance to work his way forward from there. Push harder tomorrow... Or maybe, if the track is slippery again, don't push so hard.

[Esmerel]

Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna, Miago, Mytanja
Sunday, April 14, 2019

After the previous night, Jean felt invigorated. Invigorated to do stuff, that is.

With the race starting in two hours, everything had to be ready to go before it was too late to make any adjustments. That's what Jean was doing at this moment. Making minor adjustments to the car for any situation (since the weather forecast was unclear at the time) and preparing for experimentation. All of the systems looked good. They ran correctly, as well. It was just a question of whether or not the systems would keep running good.

Max walked in as Jean was analyzing the rear wing for defects. "Jean? What's happening, man? You're not usually working at this hour, are you?"

"Yeah, not normally. I just need this race weekend to go as well as it can so I don't have anything to worry about when I leave for home," Jean replied.

Max was already confused. "I understand wanting a good weekend, definitely, but leaving for home? We're going back to the HQ afterwards, aren't we?"

Jean didn't mince his words. "You probably will be. And so will the rest of the guys. But I have something else to do. I'm going after my brother."

This threw Max off even further. "You what? Why go after your brother in the middle of all this?"

Jean stopped his work for a moment and stood up. "I can explain," he said. "Come over here." Jean and Max sat at an unoccupied corner of the garage. "It's related to my arm, and something that happened last night."

Max was now intrigued. "Go on."

Jean did so. "I had the weirdest dream last night. Thing is, it wasn't the first one. Maybe the sixth or seventh. It's due to minor glitches within the neural network of my arm's systems. Because it has access to my brain and all of the neural connections, which it needs to function completely, and because it has so many other things within it, it can easily access my short-term memory and make me dream about stuff I thought about recently."

Max followed Jean's words, but it seemed a bit too expository. "Isn't that how the brain works anyways? You dream about stuff in your mind?"

Jean realized he needed to be more precise. "Technically, that's correct. Thing is, my brain isn't just up here now, it's down here." He motions to his forehead, then to his arm. "And this part makes it more vivid. I remember the first time was just relaxing in a park in Westbrook- simple, but it felt more vivid and real than other dreams. I don't fully know how to describe it. Then it was stuff like traveling the Verse, having entirely different careers... and and alternate Liventian Grand Prix where I made it all the way to tenth place from the bottom. I would have liked that one to be real, honestly."

Jean seemed like he was getting tired to Max as he spoke. Max took Jean under his arm. "That's very interesting, isn't it? So where does your brother come into all of this?"

Jean continued. "Well, last night, I had another one of those. But it was more than just a dream. It was a memory."

Max looked at Jean with an intent to comfort in case the memory was uncomfortable. He was knowledgeable like that. "At least, that's what my mom said, in the dream. Looking back at it now, it was the events of something that happened back in 2008. When my brother decided to leave us."

Jean didn't feel sad or remorseful, but it was strange speaking about the memory. "He wanted a life that had a bit more action. I was still in Esmerel's Wreckfest series, with a pretty stagnant career, while my dad was still in rehab from the crash that ended his career in 2003, though it was almost over."

Jean had to take a heavy breath before he continued. "My mom, a fashion model and freelance journalist, was basically our lifeboat back then. I think my brother, his name's Evyn, born in 1988, might have thought he was saving us all by leaving the boat. Less stuff to take care of. Thing is, he was a pretty rebellious teen. I worry he might have gone into a life of crime or something. If he's even alive."

Max interjected. "Wow, what a story. So you've decided to go after Evyn?"

"Yeah. Last night, I think my brain was trying to tell me something. When Evyn left, he took a bit of all of us away. If I can find him, dead or alive, I can probably get those pieces back. Take care of something left in the past, and put it to rest. Yeah, that's the story."

Ten minutes had now passed. "It's all good to know, Jean. And, here's Trondheim Tip number 15. Know your friends like you know your family. We don't really have time for me to go through my life story right now, but another time, definitely."

"Thank you, Max. Now, let's get to work and do this damn thing."

[Savojarna]

Autodrom Rebecna, Miago, Mytanija

Sigur Bjarnason couldn't have asked for anything better than this race. Mytanija was a beautiful track that nefitted the Savojar's style, and even though some other tracks may technically have benefitted the car a bit more, he wouldn't trade the enjoyment of a combination like the Macja Kolijevka and Lakat for some technical street circuit. The training session had been great to blow his mind free of the trouble of the previous weeks.

Things had started in Kranjagrad, at his party. Everyone was there, in the new apartment overlooking the city. His memory was patchy: MRT staff, other drivers, some mechanics and even a WGPO official or two flooding into his place. A group of Vangazis, mechanics of Jess Franssen, who had dug through his music collection and complimented him on his collection of music from their home country. Sitting on the couch, bringing out the good Sumani berry vodka he had gotten from back home and drinking it with Krupin, his teammate's girlfriend Elena, and Lara. Krister's flashy smiles as he was flirting with Maria Jamasova, a look so absurd that the four had a good laugh about it. His memory cut out sometimes after the first bottle. He was pretty sure that Krupin had drunk him under the table. He enjoyed working with the Sorlovian and even brought back some of his memories from Russian class in high school, but they didn't share much of a personal connection thus far.

The next day, he woke up with the mother of all hangovers. He was alone in his bed, but stumbled upon some of his teammates when he slowly stumbled into the living room. Two mechanics were leaning on each other on the couch, causing the Savojar to smirk as he woke them up. On the floor below it, Krister was snoring loudly, lying on the floor like a dead animal. Two young engineers from TU Pawlograd were lying on the other couch, hugging each other tightly. He remembered they were Russian, but couldn't quite recall their names. All he was sure about was that they were analysts in Krister's personal team and had started going out together while they were stuck in Mattijana, and that he had mentioned they did a good job. Maybe he should thank them at some point, he thought, before letting the two alone and starting to prepare for the flight to Turori.

Maybe the testing sessions were taken too lightly? Sigur Bjarnason was never one to slack off visibly in a session, but after the first two great runs, he got a bit complacent. Testing had gone well, but coming dead last in a race where he couldn't get the setup right was humiliating. They knew the setup was tricky, and the engines didn't like the track, but it worked. The team did decently in the practice session, and tired as he was, Sigur just ran with it. By the time qualifying rolled around, everyone had upped their game. Sigur, meanwhile, failed to squeeze that last bit out of his car, and as a consequence suffered from it. And in Talbott, all it took him was one careless attack against a seasoned veteran in the wrong moment, and his race was ruined. Mytanija, with its flowing and technically challenging course, would be his redemption arc, Sigur decided.

On the morning of Saturday, things looked even better. Rain. Sigur Bjarnason's rallye instincts kicked in whenever the track was wet. Back in Vulkanas, in the last season, he carried his car to a dominating victory in pouring rain. Now, he was determined to show what he was made of in the qualifying. The fans had come out in droves, and the Groznicavi put on a show unlike anything he had ever seen on a track. It was loud. It was powerful. It was spectacular. And it was overwhelming for the first time he saw it, only to give way to empowering. The only problem was that things also got incredibly fickle in the rain. MRT had opted for a rather dry-oriented setup for their Nr. 1 driver, knowing that Sigur would be able to control the car. They waited anxiously for the window to go out onto the track when the times came in. Sigur grew impatient and giddy.

Finally, the rain lightened up. One of the two lovebirds from Krister's team - Sigur finally learned he was called Juri and was a master student in meteorology, doing an internship with his team - came up with a report showing that the window would be best in the next seven minutes. Finally, Sigur thought, jumping into his car. As the vehicle was ready, he rolled out of the box, all set to start a new fast lap on intermediates and a top setting. As he was about to complete his warmup lap, the team looked onto the telemetry screens when anxious Russian cursing came from the back of the box. "Krister? The wind changed!", Juri shouted. "The model has shifted. Rain will intensify over the next three minutes. From the weather front, it'd be best to call in the car. We'll be losing time on this lap compared to the leaders", he said. Krister's face froze. "No time for that. Sigur has warmed everything up and is ready to go. We'll keep it down to save on tyres", he grunted before shooting Sigur a message.

As he exited Preokret, Sigur heard the clicking that announced a team radio. "Weather is getting worse. One flying lap only, Sigur. One flying lap. Push hard", Krister said. Sigur sighed. "Copy. One flying lap only, push hard", he answered. Then, he shifted down into Most Dolenec, flashing over the track with all his power. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as the raindrops bounced off his helmet. The tail of the MRT slingered a tiny bit as he exited Kukolja, and he gritted his teeth, a curse dying on his lips. The times were too tight for this to be okay. The noise around him grew as he approached the stadium section around Macja Kolijevka. The fans were pushing their Rushmori hero. In the very last moment, he hit the breaks and shifted down as he guided the nose into the first turn, carefully pulling the car around the apex. He slammed down the throttle, the MRT roaring along with the Groznicavi as the tyres slid into the next corner. A slight tug on the wheel brought it straight again and sent it flying out of the corner, water spraying up left and right. He finished the lap and heard the familiar click. "Great lap, Sigur! P5, 0.3 back. Come back to box", Krister said. Three tenths was good. Finally, an important session went his way.

Until it didn't, that is. The rain went down, and the times started to come down. The top was getting incredibly tight. He had hardly seen something like that before, but he had to counter. Suddenly, Sigur had an idea when he looked outside and saw the road drying up. "Krister? Do you think the slicks would work?", he asked. "You can try. It seems to remain a drizzle until the end of the session. But be careful", the engineer said. Sigur nodded. "Do it", he said, before drawing the blue and white helmet over his head. He left the garage shortly after, testing the waters in the first lap. "Seems alright on the line. Just a bit slippery, but probably worth it", he reported back as he exited Lakna.

In the box, the team was glued to their screens as Sigur fell down and down, now ranked 14th with his old time. This better worked. The meteo team studied their model, Juri still being the one to report to Arlund. "Weather should be stable. No more rain until the end of the session", he said. Krister relayed the info to Sigur. It meant two more laps, if everything went well. And so far, it did. The Savojar made his way around the first section, improving his time a little bit. Then came the important part. The last sector. Sigur stuck religiously to the line, aiming for the best course through - and it worked. The time was brilliant. Arlund excitedly grabbed the mic. "Purple, Sigur! Purple in Sector 3. Keep going!", he shouted. The car approached Parabolicna. Sigur hit the breaks in the last moment, digging in. But it was too late. The car slid outside a few centimetres, entered the corner wide, then grew wider... and hit a puddle. Leaving the dried up ideal track, it slid sidewards. Sigur ripped the steer around, entering a sideways slide, and just about averting the spin. But the time was gone. One more lap - and it would not be enough.

They managed a tiny improvement, beating local Jelena Colac-Strek and scratching the time of Tyra Tabuso, but in the end, it was too little and too late. Sigur Bjarnason, starting from place 19. With no more than 3.5 tenths of a second lost to the top, the time was actually completely acceptable, but the session had been so tight that it gave him yet another horrible starting spot. At least he beat Harris-Jones and Terho Talvela, Sigur thought as he exited the car, growing more desperate by the second.

[Vilita and Turori]

Ibuna holding things together for Eelandii VTGP

Mytanar Grnad Prix, Miago, Vojovitica, Mytanija :: Two races into the 17th World Grand Prix Championship season and iBen Toralmintii's Race Eelandii! World Grand Prix Motorworks team has already proven to be fast out of the gate earning an impressive 28 points over the first two Grand Prix weekends with a Runner-Up finish in the season opener in Hodori followed up by a fourth place finish at the Talbott Autodrome in the Grand Prix of Liventia. The only sign of early concern for the Race Eelandii VTGP team is that all of their production thus far has come from a single driver, Filindostans Rustom Ibuna. With one veteran returning after an extended absence from the sport and one relative newcomer on their team there was no designated #1 driver for Race Eelandii VTGP at the start of the season but Ibuna has certainly driven the #71 machine like a true #1 seat driver and that momentum has carried through to the seasons third event in Mytanija. After posting the second fastest time in the Friday practice session, Ibuna was fast once again in qualifying advancing to the second round of qualifying posting the third fastest lap of all drivers in the first session.

Unfortunately, Ibuna couldn't keep things together in the second session and fell back to the 9th starting position but still demonstrated lightning speed and giving the team confidence they will once again contend for points on race day. That is in stark contrast, however, to Ibuna teammate the former world champion Jai Kardaeri. After looking sharp in pre-season testing, Kardaeri seems to still have much work to go in re-acclimating to the pace of a Grand Prix race weekend and never was this more evident than during Qualifying for the Mytanar Grand Prix where Kardaeri was nearly five seconds off the pole speed with the slowest timed lap of all drivers. The Starblaydi former world champion will roll off dead last in the 28 car grid with no where to go but up as they continue to search for their first points of the new season.

Also looking for their first points of the new season will be Vilitan driver R.L. Cruisin and Turori's iBen Toralmintii.

While Toralmintii's new-look Eelandii VTGP Motorworks team has posted a pair of Top-4 finishes in the opening rounds, Toralmintii has struggled to close the deal in the Tropicorp Racing Aelund #77 machine despite having now started in the Top 5 on the grid for all three Grand Prix races on the season. Toralmintii will roll off alongside pole winner Jessica Franssen at the front of the grid in search of their first Grand Prix victory in three seasons and hoping to erase the goose egg in their points total towards the Drivers Championship this season.

As for R.L. Cruisin who has now made more World Grand Prix race starts than any other driver in the field, it has been a game of patience as the newly re-formed Mirrors Racing team out of Starblaydi continue to fine tune their Purple and White racing machine in an effort to catch up with the rest of the pack on speed. Cruisin could only post the 24th fastest time in Qualifying for the Mytanar Grand Prix and that is about where the Mirrors team have been running thus far as Cruisin was only saved the indignity of being the last placed car on the track in Liventia by mechanical trouble that forced the Purple #51 car into the paddock with less than five circuits remaining at the Talbott Autodrome.

Thus far, Ibuna has been the lone bright spot in Vilita and Turori Motorsports campaigns this season helping keep iBen Toralmintii's Race Eelandii World Grand Prix Motorworks team on the board and in contention if they can figure out how to get Jai Kardaeri's ride up to speed. If things don't happen quickly for the Starblaydi driver, however, and Ibuna continues to collect points for the Turorian based team, there is always the possibility that interim team principle Gary Cook looks at a driver change with such names as former WGP2 champion Jang Xiopeng potentially on the market at the mid-season point.

[Aboveland]

"We leave in 20," says a muffled voice which creeps in through the bathroom door, lost in the white noise of the shower. "Okay," hollers Terho, rather groggily, the caffeine still working on getting into his bloodstream. He feels the water with his hand before stepping in, letting it soak for a few seconds. Too hot. He adjusts the temperature. Too cold. Ugh. One more time. A little hot, but it’ll have to do, and he steps into the shower back first, just in case. The water catches his hair and cleanses him of his morning lull. He sighs with pleasure, running his hands through his scalp. He’s not a fan of showering in the morning, and the difficulty he finds breathing through the steam reminds him of that. As usual, he begins to zone out, caught in the stream, looking down at the droplets running rapidly down his body.

He closes his eyes. His mind, massaged by the drumming of the waterjets, finds a certain calm. The week of lukewarm lows dawns on him, his silly childish attitude hanging over his failures. After such a determined pre-season, such an inspired rise from the disastrous testing weeks, after emerging from race one leading both championships by his team, falling to such depths as crashing himself and a rival out with a botched overtake was unacceptable, and even less so was the mental state he’d been left in.

But he’d been world champion once, he now remembers, his eyes squeezed shut, the shower feeling stronger and more powerful than before. He’d risen from a dismal season start before, he’d braved the humiliation of faltering in the deciding race of the season, he’d even held his chin up and his mood optimistic after knowing the title was well out of his grasp and, as he was now remembering, he had been able to climb from 22nd to 3rd once before, in Eastfield Lodge, after a wet qualifying session, just like what was happening now.. Everything had once been against him, and he’d been able to power through.

“Ten minutes!” yells Edvin, distant, barely cracking Terho’s shower thoughts.

Terho thinks even harder, stepping into the real world to squeeze some body wash onto his hand and lather himself while he searches for the answer. And yet, in the process, he knows the answer is right there, cowering, afraid to be brought to light. He knows it’s true, but it pains him to admit it. He used to have something to prove, a point to make, a championship to win, or a team to woo. He scoffs, as if trying to convince himself otherwise, but he knows that’s the reason. As the shower head surges in pressure, becoming stronger than before, he feels the passion he once had gurgle in his soul. He is a racer. It’s what he lives for. And God forbid he have nothing to prove ever again.

Another pressure surge, another visceral manifestation of desire. His mind snaps back into the frame it had been in in Hodori, ruthlessly focused, incredibly determined, mature and developed like never before. He whispers cheesily to himself, in an attempt to ingrain his newfound hunger into his head for the upcoming race, just hours away.

“The day I lose my desire is the day I stop racing. Today is not th-”

The door swings open. An arm reaches into the shower and shuts off the water. Edvin, distinctly annoyed, opens the shower curtain in one quick motion and shoves a towel into Terho’s face, making him slip and fall back onto the bathroom wall. With one hand, he holds the towel against his body, to avoid letting it fall onto the wet floor. With the other, he grasps the handle to his side to stop him from flopping into the bathtub and banging his head on the faucet.

“Get dressed, come on!” Edvin shrieks, fully dressed himself, his fabricated tough voice cracking as he raises his tone.

Terho, snapping back into reality, jumps out of the bathtub and runs to his bed, obliging his friends’ commands, wetting the floor on the way. Still wet, he wriggles his way into his clothes, and with the heels of his shoes tucked under his feet he runs out of the hotel room, Edvin speed walking ahead of him, neither of them having uttered a word. In an instant, he’s in the car and pinned to the back of his seat, speeding towards the circuit.

By the time they arrive, his thoughts have reorganized, and as if on autopilot he wraps himself in his overalls and straps himself in Unnamed. His eyes, through all the commotion, stay fiery red with motivation. His focus, uncorrupted. His desire, reignited. The lights, off. The clutch, dropped.

The race, on.

[Krytenia]

It had taken a while, and a lot of pain dawdling around the back of the grid, but finally his Mirrors car had decided to unlock some pace. Steb had gone toe-to-toe with the polesitters, and had admittedly come up a little bit short, but P7 is P7.

Steb's gaze was ice-cold as he strolled onto the grid. All business. Him, the car, and six drivers to overtake. Plenty of time, he mused, let's do this.

He reached the grid, and walked past position 28. His steely gaze warmed into a smug grin as he saw the board in front of the grid slot.

It read, simply, "KARDAERI 33".

[Nekoni]

Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna, Miago, Mytanja
14, April 2019
09:30

The droplets of the morning shower bounced off the side of the purple and orange trailer of Erica Okumura, rhythmically tapping as they hit. She always found it calming. As a child, countless times the light, steady sound helped soothe her off to sleep, and it was no different nearly two decades later. However, this was morning, she'd just been out for a run following breakfast, and she was soaked. With her wet hair drying whilst wrapped up in a garish monogrammed Polaris-themed towel, she continued her exercise in the warmth of indoors. As she got her weights out from under the bed and began her arm curl regime with the 25lb dumbbells, she thought hard about the start of the season.

In her own words, it was consistently inconsistent. The last two races played almost exactly the same story: her qualifying had been poor, but she was able to make up for it on the track with a steady, measured performance. However, the steady performance hadn't resulted in a single point, despite being in the top half of the field. A twelfth and a fourteenth were OK results given her start positions, but if she had actually put the effort in on qualifying, she'd have been able to properly convert those into points, and she wouldn't be currently sharing her place on the championship leaderboard with someone who failed to finish a single race at all.

It angered her, and in retrospect, it may have been a bad idea to think about it when not doing an exercise like a heavy bag where she could punch the anger away, but she did need to face it, and face it soon. The inaugural Mytanar Grand Prix was in a few hours, and once again, she had failed to make the top 10, coming up a third of a second short in position 16. The field may have increased to 28 drivers this year, but 16th still was as mediocre as it ever had been. Eschewing the dumbells and now taking up position for some sit-ups, Erica closed her eyes and visualised the track. It was a fast one, but had some very challenging sections to catch unprepared drivers out, namely turns 8-11, Kolijevka through to Lakat.

As much as she found the complex here difficult to do at speed, at least she handled it better than the Liventia circuit on qualifying day. Ah, Liventia. She still winced at the thought of it. On the track, she felt fine. The first couple of warm-up laps went well...and then she overcooked turn 7 and spun the car into a wall. That was her Saturday over. Despite it being a week ago it still felt raw to her, and maybe she could potentially blame her poor performance yesterday on it? No, that wasn't how Erica did things. It was her own fault, and she had to own it.

The start of the race was crucial, if not the most crucial start for any track on the calendar. The first half of the circuit was quick, and if she could pick through the field when the light turned green, maybe she'd be able to get into the points. She'd need to beat at least six drivers to do it, and with most of the circuit being full-throttle there wasn't that much in the way of chances to do that outside of the first minute.

Just as she was in thought about the race at hand, she was interrupted by her phone buzzing. It was Alexandra Mayari.

"This is your four hour warning, Eri. Haven't seen you about this morning, I just wanted to check that you're alive."
"I've been out on a run around the infield the last hour," Erica replied.
"In the rain!? Christ, you're a glutton for punishment. Anyway, after the race, I've got an extra bit of training for you. I think I might have something that'll nip the qualifying issues in the bud."
Erica wasn't convinced. "And that something would be...?"
"Well, if I told you the surprise, it wouldn't work," Alex continued. "Just show up at noon on Monday at the airstrip. I'll explain everything there."

With that, Alex hung up, before Erica had a chance to further respond. What on earth could she be having me do at the airstrip, she wondered briefly, before she reasoned that whatever it was, it shouldn't be on her mind right now. She had a race to run.

[Vangaziland]

A rather lanky looking fair-skinned man carried a microphone in front of a camera. Short, dark and messy brown curls flapped in the wind. A slight squint kept whatever light shone from above out of his light eyes. "Hello and welcome to WGPC Live", he said with a Television presenter's charm. "I'm Marvin Brentsen and we're live... Today! At Nacionalni Autodrome Rebecna."

Brentson had a clear speaking voice and projected a bit of the local accent into the track name as he said it. "This is a place known for strong local support for Mytanars, Rushmori and whoever else floats their boat. The Groznicavi will make their hearts known and it really shouldn't be any other way. Mytanija should make for a colorful setting, despite the bubbling controversy over excluded tracks."

The man starts off each pre-race session by walking down the pit and talking about each team. "Today is race day. A day every driver has been looking forward to since the end of the last race." In the background, he strolled up to the VMR paddock. Random crew members scurried about, monitoring the engineer's laptop that was connected to the chassis. Simon Marton could be seen in the backdrop, looking over figures on a tablet.

"Vannish Motors Racing had a bit of a slow start. No points for either driver in race one. Then we saw a dual points finish at Talbott. Franssen and Tripathi combined to tally 9 points. This places them 8th behind fellow Esportivan rival MRT. Surely they'll be looking to surpass that gap today."

Brentsen added, "Jessica found herself a pole winner after a sluggish start to the season. Vijay Tripathi is starting 8th. He improved from a 14th place practice run, and looks to be in top form now. The SIMS veteran is anxious to show he's not like the other so-called new drivers. That man there will hope to see good things from both drivers throughout this season." He had begun walking towards the team principal and was closing fast.

The cameras moved closer to the cars, getting a nice shot of both chassis and the staff scrambling around them. Brentsen called out to Simon Marton. "How do you feel your chances are today?" He spoke loudly, but the voice carried since no engines were currently running.

The VMR principal moved a little closer, tablet in hand, team polo upon his chest. "We just have to stay consistent", Simon said coolly. "I think we've had a good week. Jess is feeling 90% better. It should be a sporty race." Simon was trying not to reveal any team plans or strategy. After a short chat, the host moved down the line.

Brentsen and the film crew moved to the next team. They were moving in order of qualifying results. "Starting second is the infamous iBen Toralmintii. WGPC 14 Constructors' champ. Some analysts think Jessica Franssen first run in the league got in the way of iBen's chance at a driver's title. Other's say Terho would have outrun him either way. More recently, Mr. Toralmintii has been seen racing charters in NSSCRA."

"Tropicorp Æland paired iBen with none other than Terho Talvela. After winning the first race of the season, Terho is tied for the most wins in league history. This comes in just 38 races. iBen and Terho have not been seen together since the black cars of season 14. With iBen starting 2nd, the team can find themselves in a similarly strong position if iBen manages well at Rebecna."

Brentsen spent long enough talking about Tropicorp, so he moved towards the next stop. They moved through the line until they reached the Nexus Racing paddock. "The Nimbans. Nexus brings us the standard of technical innovation every year. The Chase Cutter program is a modern marvel of race engineering. Nexus is sitting on a smooth 17 points. A strong start today gives them a chance to progress closer to the front of the pack."

"Ryker Lane will be starting 3rd. He's a great driver, known for taking the season 15 driver's title without winning a race. That shows consistency. Skill. Neither Jess Franssen nor iBen Toralmintii can rest easy knowing the Nimban is close behind."

Brentsen moved on to Ryker Lane's teammate. "Nexus has paired Lane up with Jean Mercer-Daly... JMD. Easily one of the most household names in the sport. The way his season ended last year was terrible, but he's strong enough to fight on. That makes him an inspiration to fans around the multiverse."

The host turned to gesture towards the Nexus garage. "Not as great of a start today from JMD at 13th. He's the type of driver that can still pull points from a mid-pack start."

It was only a matter of time until Marvin Brentsen hit the next paddock. Fans were watching online on several outlets. The media company really hoped to build more international recognition with the segment over the course of the season. Brentsen and his easygoing ways might be set to become synonymous with pre-race events.

After he finally went over each team and spoke to a few staff, it was almost time to prepare the cars. The race was fast approaching.

Back in the Vannish Motors paddock, the pit crew for both teams began to ramp up their pre-race procedures. It was just about time to get these cars loaded onto the track.

A buzz seemed to swirl around the Vannish drivers, their cars and crew. As a one of the left rear tire changers turned to Jessica and asked if she was ready, she winked and smirked. "Always."

[Mattijana]

Johan held out his outstretched hand from underneath the MRT pit wall. Qualifying was well underway, but with the mad rush to get out on track before the rain came going on behind him, he was happy to leave the cars sitting in the garages for a little longer. The rain was still several minutes away according to a green splodge on his radar and trying to set a good lap in the traffic jam that was developing on the Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna would be tricky. Sigur already had a benchmark lap on the board, but it was one he'd expect to beat on his later runs in the first session. That too had been set just before an earlier shower that had dampened the track, but it seemed the track had dried out enough to set a lap-time on slick tyres before the next one came.

Johan generally trusted the rain radars. They could never be foolproof, but they were the best tool in the MRT shed short of hiring staff to sit around at various distances and directions from the circuit, phoning him when the wet stuff arrived. Now he thought it, Johan realised that that wouldn't be a bad idea, but although opening MRT up to sponsorship had increased their funding pot a little, they were still largely Ministry of Sport funded and Julian Petrov wasn't a guy who would approve of using public money like that.

As much as the rain radar showed that there would still be a few minutes before significant precipitation, Johan's rather more low-tech test confirmed what the more anxious part of his brain had been thinking.

"Shit. Rain's here. Let's move guys."

On the team principal's command, a flurry of activity began around Sigur and Gregori's cars. Tyre blankets were cast aside, last minute adjustments to the wings were made and the roar of the MRT's V8 started to ring out from inside the garage. Down went the jacks and within 20 seconds of that first spot of rain hitting Johan's hand, the two green and yellow machines crawled into the pit lane.

Johan had told Arlund and Stepanov that their men would have to get a shift on with their formation laps before the shower started properly coming down and making the track too moist to set a full-pace lap on. He had hoped however that their would be a slightly bigger gap between the bulk of the field and his two cars.

Nevertheless, Sigur and Gregori managed to get onto a lap without any significant change in the weather. The final sector would be the crucial one though, the track was getting slipperier and there was a little more traffic around from cars who were on in-laps or had bailed out of a hot-lap.

The parabolicna would eventually seal the two cars' fate. Sigur's slick tyres combined with the greasy track caused the rear end to momentarily get away from him, pushing him wide of the corner and off the dry line. He went on to set a surprisingly decent effort on his next attempt, but his chance of a really competitive time had gone. Gregori meanwhile got bogged down in traffic on the entry to the turn, pushing him into dirty air, destabilising the front end and costing him time.

It would be easy to blame the drivers for not being able to control the car his team had given them, but that would be more unreasonable than expecting an Alpine Marmot to drive the thing. In reality, he had left it too late to send the cars out and whilst avoiding the rush seemed like a good idea at the time, he should have sent the two out at the optimum time and trusted their ability to make some room amongst the pack. He would have to take the responsibility for this poor showing.

Johan ruefully crossed the pit lane towards where the cars were being pushed back into their respective halves of the garage. As soon as they were out of the cars and ready to talk, he apologised to them for sending them out too late, making their jobs nearly impossible thanks to the slippery conditions and heavy traffic, thanking them for the effort and performance they had still managed.

It was not how he had wanted to end the day, but he wanted to be the sort of team boss that took responsibility for his errors. Whilst he expected his drivers to pull their weight, he didn't expect them to be miracle workers and recognising that would hopefully be the sort of move that earnt him more respect over the course of the season.

Their chances of points were far from over either. Gregori was only just outside the points in 11th and despite being down in 19th, Sigur was hungry to move up the leaderboard and certainly had the car to cut throught the field. Besides, if the rain came to cause havoc again, anything could happen...

[WGPC]

CUTOFF

for the Kikinda Mytanar Grand Prix at Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna

[WGPC]

Week 6: Race

Conditions:      	Dry	
Laps:              	52	
Nation:         	MYT	
Circuit:        	Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna	
Event:	Kikinda Mytanar Grand Prix	
Safety Car Deployed on Laps:	49, 50	
Cars on Grid:	28

Fastest Lap Bonus Point: 42 DIM	92.228

Start          After 13 Laps               After 26 Laps               After 39 Laps			
 1 ▍FRS	 1 ▍LAN +0       	 1 ▍LAN +0       	 1 ▍DGR +0
 2 ▍TII	 2 ▍DGR +5.578   	 2 ▍JMD +8.74    	 2 ▍JMD +54.83
 3 ▍LAN	 3 ▍TRI +15.022  	 3 ▍DGR +10.967  	 3 ▍LAN +56.942
 4 ▍DGR	 4 ▍KRU +16.812  	 4 ▍NVX +35.994  	 4 ▍ORK +68.49
 5 ▍CAR	 5 ▍CAR +18.945  	 5 ▍RHJ +38.174  	 5 ▍NVX +78.794
 6 ▍NVX	 6 ▍KRA +21.109  	 6 ▍SCH +56.359  	 6 ▍KRU +82.071
 7 ▍GUI	 7 ▍JMD +24.81   	 7 ▍KRU +57.782  	 7 ▍CAS +85.291
 8 ▍TRI	 8 ▍OKU +26.464  	 8 ▍ORK +58.199  	 8 ▍DIM +86.658
 9 ▍IBU	 9 ▍TBS +33.254  	 9 ▍TLS +58.935  	 9 ▍RHJ +90.062
10 ▍ORK	10 ▍IBU +34.163  	10 ▍KRA +60.373  	10 ▍TAL +91.957
11 ▍KRU	11 ▍RHJ +36.606  	11 ▍DHL +68.901  	11 ▍DHL +Laps: 1
12 ▍DIM	12 ▍NVX +37.989  	12 ▍TAL +69.185  	12 ▍OKU +Laps: 1
13 ▍JMD	13 ▍SCH +40.206  	13 ▍DIM +73.101  	13 ▍KRA +Laps: 1
14 ▍SCH	14 ▍TLS +43.246  	14 ▍CRU +73.544  	14 ▍TLS +Laps: 1
15 ▍TLS	15 ▍GUI +43.717  	15 ▍CAS +74.27   	15 ▍CRU +Laps: 1
16 ▍OKU	16 ▍ORK +51.147  	16 ▍TBS +77.263  	16 ▍GUI +Laps: 1
17 ▍CAS	17 ▍DIM +59.363  	17 ▍GUI +78.723  	17 ▍IBU +Laps: 1
18 ▍TBS	18 ▍CRU +60.331  	18 ▍CAR +87.009  	18 ▍SCH +Laps: 1
19 ▍BJA	19 ▍JCS +66.258  	19 ▍IBU +90.732  	19 ▍TBS +Laps: 1
20 ▍JCS	20 ▍DHL +66.344  	20 ▍OKU +Laps: 1 	20 ▍SZR +Laps: 1
21 ▍RHJ	21 ▍CAS +71.378  	21 ▍JCS +Laps: 1 	21 ▍CAR +Laps: 1
22 ▍DHL	22 ▍TAL +75.602  	22 ▍KRD +Laps: 1 	22 ▍KRD +Laps: 1
23 ▍KRA	23 ▍KRD +Laps: 1 	23 ▍SZR +Laps: 1 	23 ▍JCS +Laps: 2
24 ▍CRU	24 ▍BLK +Laps: 1 	24 ▍BLK +Laps: 1 	24 ▍BLK +Laps: 2
25 ▍SZR	25 ▍SZR +Laps: 1 	                                        	
26 ▍BLK	                                        	                                        	
27 ▍TAL	                                        	                                        	
28 ▍KRD

POS DRV Name                         Team			Time		Pts
  1 27 KRU Gregori Krupin           ▍MRT     	 	  	01:30:27.776	25
  2 65 DGR Hunter Digri             ▍McPahan     	   	00:00:01.047	18
  3 49 TLS Benjamin Talison         ▍Fireline       	 	00:00:03.279	14
  4 56 TAL Terho Talvela            ▍TRÆ       	 	00:00:07.866	10
  5 41 JMD Jean Mercer-Daly         ▍Nexus Racing        	00:00:08.051	8
  6 15 NVX Tabita Novax             ▍Camden      	  	00:00:12.382	6
  7 94 LAN Ryker Lane               ▍Nexus Racing        	00:00:13.234	4
  8 64 ORK Carsten O'Rourke         ▍Badai Angin        	00:00:14.698	3
  9 47 OKU Erica Okumura            ▍Polaris        		00:00:27.933	2
 10 37 RHJ Ryan Harris-Jones        ▍Omni        		00:00:35.857	1
 11 51 CRU RL Cruisin               ▍Mirrors        		00:01:25.766	
 12 22 KRA Jasmin Kranjska          ▍SinVal        		00:01:28.489	
 13 63 DHL Dalia Dahl               ▍SinVal        		Laps Down: 1	
 14  3 CAS Darius Castellammare     ▍Camden  		      	Laps Down: 1	
 15 20 SCH Mick Schramm             ▍Omni        		Laps Down: 1	
 16 29 GUI Esteban Guilhermez       ▍Mirrors        		Laps Down: 1	
 17 42 DIM Alex Dimitrianov         ▍Badai Angin     	   	Laps Down: 1	
 18 52 SZR Sayono Souzare           ▍Polaris        		Laps Down: 1	
 19 71 IBU Rustom Ibuna             ▍Eelandii VTGP   	     	Laps Down: 1	
 20 33 KRD Jai Kardaeri             ▍Eelandii VTGP        	Laps Down: 1	
 21 17 CAR Evdaden Carnétier        ▍Obey        		Laps Down: 1	
 22 23 JCS Jelena Colac-Strek       ▍McPahan      	  	Laps Down: 1	
 23 18 BLK Taylor Blake             ▍Obey        		Laps Down: 2	
DNF 48 TBS Tyra Tabuso              ▍Fireline   	     	Ret. lap 48
DNF  7 TRI Vijay Tripathi           ▍VMR        		Ret. lap 19	
DNF 77 TII iBen Toralmintii         ▍TRÆ        		Ret. lap 9	
DNF 14 BJA Sigur Bjarnason          ▍MRT       	 	Ret. lap 8	
DNF  1 FRS Jessica Franssen         ▍VMR        		Ret. lap 6

Pos # DRV Name                      Team                     Pts
 1 56 TAL Terho Talvela             TRÆ                      35
 2 27 KRU Gregori Krupin            MRT                      34
 3 42 DIM Alex Dimitrianov          Badai Angin              30
 4 71 IBU Rustom Ibuna              Eelandii VTGP            28
 5 49 TLS Benjamin Talison          Fireline                 24
 6 41 JMD Jean Mercer-Daly          Nexus Racing             22
 7 37 RHJ Ryan Harris-Jones         Omni                     19
 8 65 DGR Hunter Digri              McPahan                  18
 9 64 ORK Carsten O'Rourke          Badai Angin              17
10 15 NVX Tabita Novax              Camden                   14
11 94 LAN Ryker Lane                Nexus Racing             7
12  7 TRI Vijay Tripathi            VMR                      6
12 23 JCS Jelena Colac-Strek        McPahan                  6
14 48 TBS Tyra Tabuso               Fireline                 4
15  1 FRS Jessica Franssen          VMR                      3
15 52 SZR Sayono Souzare            Polaris                  3
17 14 BJA Sigur Bjarnason           MRT                      2
17 47 OKU Erica Okumura             Polaris                  2
19 20 SCH Mick Schramm              Omni                     1
19 17 CAR Evdaden Carnétier         Obey                     1
21 77 TII iBen Toralmintii          TRÆ                      0
21 33 KRD Jai Kardaeri              Eelandii VTGP            0
21  3 CAS Darius Castellammare      Camden                   0
21 18 BLK Taylor Blake              Obey                     0
21 22 KRA Jasmin Kranjska           SinVal                   0
21 63 DHL Dalia Dahl                SinVal                   0
21 51 CRU RL Cruisin                Mirrors                  0
21 29 GUI Esteban Guilhermez        Mirrors                  0

Pos NAT Team                       Pts
  1 FID ▍Badai Angin               47
  2 MTJ ▍MRT                       36
  3 ABL ▍TRÆ                       35
  4 NIM ▍Nexus Racing              29
  5 VLT ▍Eelandii VTGP             28
  6 ETH ▍Fireline                  28
  7 AUD ▍McPahan                   24
  8 WET ▍Omni                      20
  9 LIS ▍Camden                    14
 10 VNG ▍VMR                       9
 11 NEK ▍Polaris                   5
 12 ESM ▍Obey                      1
 13 EFL ▍SinVal                    0
 14 STB ▍Mirrors                   0

[The Sherpa Empire]

Yuan Qiang wanted to be a strong independent woman who didn't need to rely on men, but it was easier said than done. The world kept throwing obstacles in her way. Her mother had died giving birth to her, her father had died in a workplace accident when she was 12, and she had been sent to live with some backward and impoverished relatives in Guangdong while her 16 year old brother stayed behind -- alone -- and tried to support himself on the old family farm. The relatives in Guangdong had bound her feet as soon as she arrived and married her off to an abusive jerk as soon as she was old enough to marry. She had a son with her abusive jerk of a husband.

When her brother's racing career took off, her husband tried to extort money from him, saying that he needed it to take care of her and their son. The first time, Kai Qiang sent the money, but when the demands became more frequent and more unreasonable, he refused. Yuan Qiang's husband became angry when he couldn't get what he wanted, and he took it out on her. It got worse and worse, until finally Kai Qiang drove down to Guangdong to rescue her. Now she was staying at his apartment in Guilin, and her feet were healing after an operation to correct the damage from the foot-binding. She was looking after her son and using Kai Qiang's money to pay for their day-to-day needs. From time to time, family friends stopped by to check on her. Kai Qiang's business partner Arjun was helping her with a lawsuit to get compensated for the foot-binding. It was more comfortable than the shack where she'd lived with her husband in Guangdong, but she was still acutely aware of how much she relied on other people, especially her brother. She hated the thought of being a burden to them.

8 months earlier, Kai Qiang had stumbled into Mendok Sherpa's hotel room in a drunken stupor and got her pregnant. The two of them did not have much in common, except that both of them were ambitious people who didn't want to put their lives on hold to stay home and look after a child. One other thing they had in common: both them were opposed to abortion.

They were expecting a daughter, and they wanted Yuan Qiang to look after the girl while Kai Qiang went on with his racing career and Mendok finished college. She sort of owed it to them after all the time and money they had spent bringing her back to Guilin and fixing her feet -- but how was she supposed to have a life of her own if she was stuck at home looking after the kids? Taking care of her son already kept her at home and made it harder to look for work. If she had to look after her niece too, that was an extra responsibility that she really didn't need piled on. It didn't seem fair that she had to stay home and change diapers while Mendok got to finish college and follow her dreams.

It had been several months since the Guangxi Telecom 400, where Yuan Qiang met Vijay Tripathi and he made a pass at her. She had blown him off because of his reputation as a womanizer and his sometimes-cocky demeanor, but now she was having second thoughts.

If Kai Qiang told her what to do, she had no leverage to push back and make her own demands -- and really, no right to push back after everything he had done to provide for her since bringing her back to Guilin. She was dependent on him for almost everything, and he didn't need anything from her. With Tripathi, she would have leverage. Kai Qiang felt obligated to take care of her, but he didn't necessarily enjoy it. Tripathi would enjoy it. He wanted her, and it did seem to be more than a passing fancy. He had brought it up again a couple of times since that first time they met.

Her son slopped rice congee on his face and the table because he was too clumsy to handle a spoon properly. She wiped it up for what felt like the millionth time and tried again to show him how to use the spoon. There had to be more to life than this...

[Vadkness]

Hunter's determination to finish well in the qualifying must have been obvious, given he had finished fourth. After last race's incident, like hell he was going to be caught slacking. He had headed back into the McPahan garage after qualifying, only to find Jelena, Johan, and Brice already waiting for him. Jelena's face was not a happy one. Hunter approached and received a strong hand on his shoulder from Johan.

"Fourth, son! Way to tell the world last week's accident isn't putting you down!" Johan grinned, and Hunter offered a smile back. Jelena wrinkled her nose a little. She had come in twentieth, and knowing what she could be like, he imagined she was not happy about the pair of them placing so far apart. His joy was not related to that at all, though.

"Jelena, I'm happy about Tervo Talvela coming second-to-fucking-last while I'm in fourth. Karma at her finest," he shot her a wide grin, and he could swear he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up into the smallest smile.

The rest of the weekend passed by fast and soon and sure enough, Hunter found himself in his car, tightening his helmet, making sure everything was prepared and still basking in the glory of being able to see Carnétier and a long line of other drivers behind him. He felt great, but if his past experience had taught him anything, it was not to let that go to his head. No, he'd made that mistake before. He wouldn't let himself get too comfy and he was going to push himself. Fourth was a great start, but that still left three other places for an even better finish. Engines revved, and just like that, they were off.

Thirteen laps in and he had wormed his way past the others up into second and Tripathi was hot on his tail. A short battle for second ensued before Hunter got a wide gap between the pair of them, and space allowed Hunter to stop worrying too much about losing his hard-earned spot. Coming close to the end of lap nineteen and when he looked back, Tripathi was no longer behind him anymore. Murmers from the radio suggested he would not be seen again this race. By twenty-six, he had grown a little complacent which had allowed Mercer-Daly to snag spot two from him, but that only stirred him on and with just thirteen laps to go he found himself at the best position he had had all season - first place.

Of course, he still had to hold that place if he wanted to win. Coming around bend five, he heard the radio talk of one Gregori Krupin making up the spots fast, and soon enough there he was, right behind Hunter's car. The other driver seemed to remain in a steady second for a few turns as if planning his final move to overtake and place nicely in first. Hunter had great respect for Krupin, but like hell he would go down without a fight At least he felt confident neither of this pair would cause a crash like fucking Talvela.

Krupin's overtake technique was a little dangerous and aggressive, consisting of moves and choices Hunter himself knew he would take. Maybe that was the plan - think like Digri to beat Digri. But Hunter was able to neatly cut him off each time and maintain his first position. With just one lap to go, however, Hunter hit turn nine a little faster than he had wanted to since he felt pushed to keep a higher speed to stay ahead of Gregori. So he came out of the turn a little wider than he intended, which allowed Krupin to pass by him on the inside of turn ten. Hunter huffed a little, wishing he planned out the turns a little better but still keeping a close second on Krupin. The rest of the race was mostly straights now, and Hunter would be lucky to find a chance to pull a crafty and regain first. He did not find his chance and crossed the finish line just under two seconds behind Gregori.

Coming to a stop, Hunter jumped from the car and removed his helmet and balaclava. His heart was thundering inside his chest. Second. Second, finally, after such a rough start to the season. Maybe he knew better than to let it get to his head, but he decided that, just this once, he was truly allowed to feel proud of his achievement.

[The Sherpa Empire]

It had stopped raining, which was both good and bad -- good because it meant Tripathi didn't have to worry about sliding around on the slippery pavement, bad because it meant nobody else did either and he thought it might have thrown some of them off worse than it threw him. The lights counted down to the start of the race and the cars sprang into motion. Tripathi started well, quickly climbing to 3rd, and soon he was battling Hunter Digri for 2nd. They came up side by side as Digri didn't want to let him by and Tripathi didn't want to back off. They brushed against each other coming around a turn, not a hard collision, but enough to convince Tripathi he needed to back off before they wrecked each other. It was still early in the race, and he thought he could try again later, but he never got a chance. A couple of laps later, he was trying to fight off Jean Mercer-Daly, who had come up behind him, when one of his rear tires started wobbling. He cursed as Mercer-Daly pulled ahead of him. Amarnath saw the problem. "Box," he said. Tripathi couldn't make it back to the pits. "Ah, pull over. Stop the car." Tripathi stopped the car and slammed his fists in frustration. Franssen was already out of the race, so VMR was done for the day.

Talking to the press was no fun. "Today was a terrible result for us, and obviously we can not let this happen again," said Tripathi.

He was sure there would be lots of trash talk back home too. He left the track feeling like he wanted the day to be over and the memory of it to disappear. In the evening, he watched SISN's race coverage to see how they had spun it, and to see if the footage from his last few laps told him anything about how he'd gone wrong.

He was interrupted by a call from his agent. They talked a little about the race, and then his agent mentioned that he'd gotten a call from Kai Qiang's sister, trying to get in touch with Tripathi. Tripathi had been slouching in front of the TV, but now he say bolt upright. "Yuan Qiang called you?"

"Yeah. Do you want to talk to her? I've got her number, or I can give her your number... I'm not really sure what she wants to talk about."

"She can talk about paint drying for all I care!" Tripathi said dreamily.

"She's pretty, then?"

"The most beautiful woman in the world!"

[Sorlovia]

Raceday
Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna

At last! Gregori’s dream of securing a podium finish had come to fruition. He’d remained focused on this self-given goal throughout WGPC16 only to have it elude him and had gone into WGPC17 with the same steely focus. It was every racer’s aim to win a spot on the podium with the first, second and third positions glittering like elusive prizes just out of reach. But only a few racers ever managed to claim one of those coveted podiums spots and even fewer ever took at first place. First place was the lofty goal that every racer, veteran and rookie alike, aimed for from their very first day on the track. Their very being fixed itself on that elusive sight and their minds were conditioned to hunger for it. To seek more speed and greater skill in hopes after claiming that prize for themselves.

Gregori had finished the race close on Terho’s tail taking out second place for the first time in his racing career. He’d put intense pressure on his Abovian rival in the closing minutes of the race. He’d refused to give him any reprieve and had followed as close as was safe while looking for any sight chance to get ahead of him. Terho had likely expected nothing less and had perhaps savoured that challenge just as much as he had. There was nothing quite like the intensity of the first and second placed racers vying for the prime spot in the final stages. The racer in first place to defend his place while keeping his pursuer from getting by him. The true intensity of the race was in the first three cars. That was where the media was most intensely focused and where the fans fixated on. It went right down to the wire as the three leaders fought against each other.

But just as Gregori had put pressure on Terho he’d been put under pressure by Alex Dimitrianov on his tail. Gregori still found himself pondering if Alex was a fellow Slav. Dimitrianov was a very Slavic name. Was it Alexander or Alexei? Or perhaps even Aleksandr, the Slavic form of Alexander, but it didn’t really matter. They were there to race. Not ponder linguistics and ethnicities. But he liked the idea of Alex being a Slav like him. There was something distinctly satisfying about having a fellow Slav so close on his tail. Slavs were a minority on the international sporting stage. Most Slavic nations tended to keep to themselves and as such their people weren’t as prominent as other ethnicities. But a Slav was equally worthy. A Slav was a different sort of person with a culture and very way of being that was entirely their own. A strength of character, a fiery spirit and an ethnical way of being inherently confident in oneself. They were Slavs and they were proud. They made no pretence of ever being anything else and were proud of their culture.

Gregori shadowed Terho every step of the way and Alex shadowed him. To put it a distinctly Slavic way they were like three great wolves vying for the deer that was first place. They raced against each other snapping as they went. Alex refused to give him even a momentary break and he refused to give him even the slightest chance of getting by him all the while continuing to put pressure on Terho in the lead. Gregori made repeated attempts at passing Terho on to be denied time and time again. The contest for the podium would make very attractive media fodder and their respective race teams would be watching very closely. TRӔ, MRT and Badai Angin hotly competing places on the podium. There was nothing the international race media loved quite as much as clos finishes like these. They drove viewer statistics through the roof and sent the fans into a frenzy. Elena and his fans, who called themselves Krupin’s Crew and wore various items of clothing with his car colours and number on them, had likely to raucously cheering him on in those closing moments.

[Vangaziland]

"The field is alive Jess.. Holy moly", the fiery VMR principal Simon Marton called out over the net. "Lots of position changes." He watched from the control room, numbers blinking and updated times flashing. Since Jess started in the front, it was more important than ever for her to understand the field behind her.

"Gotcha", Franssen replied over the screaming V8. Although Vangaziland moved from a formula V10, there were no plans to downsize to a V6. Almost every Vannish driver has spoken out against what they would mean for the sport. The lack of sound alone might turn away Vangazi in droves.

There was one thing that wouldn't drive Vangazi away from motorsports. That was a bad race. Jessica had been here before. She notoriously flamed out on the first lap of last season's Vannish Grand Prix. The home crowd watched in horror, only to watch a motivated Jang Xiaopeng keep victory in Vannish hands.

Jang Xiaopeng was not here today.

Since this wasn't the home crowd, the events of lap 6 were minimized compared to season 16's early exit. The local stands would likely roar with pleasure at the Esportivan's impending doom.

Co-hosts Lars Nelson and Vanna Parker covered the race on VSN. Their voices were quickly becoming synonymous with the sport within the Vannish Empire, having covered the WGPO since WGPC 14.

"Franssen speeds into turn 8. Toralmintii on her tail", called out broadcaster Lars Nelsen. He was joined by co-host Cora Langley.

"These two have been at it since qualifying", said Cora. "They'll be fighting all race."

The two cars had been pushing hard through each of these early six laps. Franssen was not giving iBen any space. This came with aggressive maneuvering. With a track as fast as Rebecna, keeping cars at bay was no easy task. The truth was that Jessica should have given her position. Perhaps iBen sensed Jessica's defensiveness and feinted passing more than he really had to at this early stage.

Both teams clearly wanted to win for their region in the Rushmori territory.

"Whoa, and Jess is a little fast into it." The #1 machine locked it's wheels just slightly, with the faintest smoke puff before Jess regained control. She dug in, but had lost time. iBen had a better angle. It was still early enough in the race where Jessica had open road ahead of her. The track was scooping towards a series of turns set to twist into a short straight, around Lakat and down a faster stretch.

iBen moved towards her inside and had faster speed. The Eelandi car was capable of putting up a lot of speed quickly on a track like this. Jess turned in to try to block Toralmintii, but it was too late. They were both going to wreck and Jess lightly being forced was off line. She could have cut into iBen and wrecked both of them, but there was no honor in that.

The tight set of turns 9 and 10 left little room for error after the decision had already been made.

"Oh no! Lars called out. "She goes wide! Terrible, terrible day for VMR as Jessica Franssen hits the outside wall and out the run off.

"It looked like the only safe decision", said Cora. It appeared as if Jessica threw her car away from the majority of contact with iBen in order to slam into the wall. "She was just a little too fast. I think she thought she could beat iBen in that little space."

"She really pushed the braking zone with bad results." Lars added. Cora continued to describe the scene as the other cars worked their way around Franssen's folly. Her car had wrecked against the outside wall and slid into what felt like the smallest runoff area on the calendar.

Less than three seconds after impact, Jessica called up over the radio. "You know. Maybe I miss the Mattijanan Grand Prix after all."

Simon Marton laughed in the control room. "Glad you're alright Jess. We can get through this." From Jessica's perspective, she couldn't tell if iBen had made slight contact. He had to retire only three laps after her incident. Perhaps even the stress of trying to avoid contact led to other issues with the Eelandii machine.

Jessica has shown a penchant to push late braking. The habit even rubbed off on her protégé Karli Schmitt, who has scrubbed a few races of her own. Jessica walked back to the paddock from this spot. It really wasn't far away and she was already in the emergency zone. The expensive wreck was summarily cleared and the race finally resumed.

Droning engine noises of the pack under caution swarmed around the Vangazi as she took the walk in front of the home crowd. They were surely alive with joy at the pure spectacle of the sight. It wasn't necessarily personal. The defending champion had just wrecked on their home track. If there was one way to generate history in the WGPC, this was it.

It also didn't hurt that VMR wore the big target of the #1 car.

Franssen took her helmet off during the long walk, partly for comfort, but also so everybody could see the calm look on her face. It was a resigned look, but there was a smile underneath it all. No song, jeer or anything else could deter her. Surely there would even be some that would applaud her bold driving style.

The only thing on her mind was a voice telling her that it would have been okay to fall back. She knew she should have. Jess was just caught up in the lights.

Simon Marton made the media wait until after the race to talk to Jessica. He wanted her to relax unwind and stay fresh. There was no point in rushing to the cameras. They would still be there.

Marton spoke first. "It's a poor result, but it's not a surprising result", he said. "Jessica has said it to the media before, as have I. Reliability will have a higher risk of issues in these first few weeks. We've done well since pre-season. Jess is still finding her form. It's about creating the chance."

"Vannish Motors has never been about one circuit or one good starting position", a fresh-faced Franssen told reporters. "If we don't work hard to get as good of a start as we can every week, it's all for naught."

"Points would have been good", she admitted. "Mytanija is definitely now a missed opportunity. But it isn't the only one." She brought up the silver lining. Vannish Motors really came together to put up a good car for the weekend. I think we'll be a lot more reliable in the future." After a slight laugh, she added, "I think I also found the car's limit."

This brought the reporter to ask how she felt about changing her driving style. "I'm known as a technical driver", Jess said. "There's still aggression in my balance." Jessica is more of a balanced driver in truth. She sometimes runs into problems when trying to force risky moves. The balance in her means she tries them fairly often.

"I'm not deterred at all", Jessica said. "We've got the first mid-season break soon. The team is flying equipment out to Esportivan Vangaziland. We'll have a run at Drosopol. Vannish Motors is building a facility there. The first simulator should be installed shortly." There was talk that Drosopol might replace South Stead as Vannish Motors Racing's WGPC HQ in the near future.

Jess was asked how she felt about Gregori Krupin's podium. "That was a great drive from him", Jess said. "Everybody knows this is the driver he has always been capable of being. It's good for my former team at MRT. It's also great to see Esportiva take second in Rushmore."

Her teammate Vijay Tripathi's lap 19 exit also came up. "It's unfortunate that Vijay found himself in the same position as me. He's been doing so well arund the paddock. Simon compliments him all the time. I know he's living up to team expectations. It was a good weekend with a poor raceday. That's better than a generally poor weekend."

Simon Marton also spoke on the impact of the Mytanar Grand Prix. "Having two drivers fail to finish is better than having them both fall out of the lead lap. Vijay spent some time in the top three. There was a solid potential for a one-two finish today. It didn't happen. The fact that we were here should remind the team that we were on the right track."

Vannish media analysts added that Nacionalni Autodrome Rebecna was a relatively unforgiving track. Shakeups like those seen are to be expected. It appeared VMR was not caught guard, nor do they appear to be deterred.

[Sorlovia]

Petrovijanka, Mattijana

To celebrate his podium finish at the Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna track Gregori had taken Elena and his pit crew out for dinner at the Grande fine dining restaurant in Petrovijanka. Securing his first podium finish had been an important step in his racing career and a validation of him as a racer. A first place finish demanded a celebration. It had been a long-time coming and necessitated a suitable celebration to acknowledge the achievement that it was. Gregori had insisted on inviting his pit crew in order to recognize the central role they had played in his second place finish. After all, he wouldn’t even be able to race without them and their expertise. They were the ones who kept his car in peak race condition and who fixed everything that went wrong.

Gregori wasn’t content to let them escape a toast. They’d already toasted him with a round of rather raucous cheering and he was intent on returning the favour. He was deeply appreciative for all their hard work and long hours in the pit. He’d been the one to physically come in second close beyond his long-term rival Terho but they had played just as important a role. He’d driven the car with all of his skill but they’d kept it in the peak condition that had allowed him to win a podium finish. So, before they knew what was coming Gregori raised his wine glass with a broad grin. They were too humble to allow a toast in their honour so he needed to spring it upon them.

“Here’s to my amazing pit crew,” he said raising his glass high “without all of you I wouldn’t have been able to take out that second place finish at Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna. You are superstars, every one of you. I could never do what you all do so I just wanted to convey my deep gratitude to all of you.”

The group gathered around the table raised their wine glasses in a toast complete with a yet another round of raucous cheering. After a few moments they all drained their glasses and returned to their loud and energetic conversations. Gregori leaned back in his chair and smiled. This was what WGPC was all about. The camaraderie you shared with your racing crew and the way that you celebrated the good results. The bonds of friendship that developed in the pit and that endured through all the trials and challenges of the season. The tough times and the pitfalls were equally a part of it all. Like two sides of the same coin. It was all part of the experience. A race crew experienced all the highs and lows together emerging stronger at the end of each. A racer’s race crew became their family during the course of the season.

Gregori looked at Elena across the table from him and smiled softly. There was something else he wanted to do but that would have to wait. It wouldn’t be proper to do it tonight. Not when he was celebrating his second place finish and thus his own achievement. What he had planned required a lot of planning and another night. But as he sat looking at her Gregori knew that Elena was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. She blessed him in so many ways. She challenged him to try a little harder and to push himself a little further. She supported and encouraged him through it all. She was with him through the good moments and the trials. She walked with him through the joy as well as the sorrow and hardship. Sometimes in life you just knew. It might seem cheesy but there was that moment you just knew. When you met that person and the sparks flew.

“Patience,” Gregori thought to himself “Patience Gregori. The time will come. It must be a surprise.”

[Mattijana]

"Typical..." Thought Johan Struna.

When you want the track to be bone dry, it's slipperier than a WestStrand haddock and when you want it to rain like mad, it's drier than a summer in Shalkar. The weather here seemed to take after its meteorological cousin at the Kopylov InternazionRing, and that never did what you told it to either.

Still, the team still had a decent chance of some points. Krupin was on the verge of the top 10 to start with and Bjarnason was capable of cutting through the pack even from 19th. Qualifying had been a bitterly disappointing day, particular after the critical strategic error from the MRT pit wall, but today was another day and another opportunity.

Johan watched the two cars trundle out of the garage and out the end of the pit-lane to take their place on the pit straight for the start of the race. There was no quick turn-around needed this time, no drama going on around them. Just the beautifully haunting sound of the V8 in the back of the car. If it went nearly as fast as it sounded like it did, the green and gold would have vanished off into the distance at the top of the constructor's championship last season. Alas, its noise was really its best quality, because speed certainly wasn't.

Come the end of the race though, he thought differently.

The Nacionalni Autodrom Rebecna certainly had its technical sections, but there was a lot of straight as well. To make overtakes and do well in the race, a decent power-unit would be needed, not-least if the rain that had plunged yesterday's qualifying session into chaos stayed away. The MRT car had managed just that as well. In fact Krupin had driven the sleek green and gold machine from 11th on the grid right up to the top.

Of course he had been helped by the surprise retirement of pole-sitter Jess Franssen, as well as those of Tripathi and Toralmintii. He still had some work to do though and he did it beautifully, carving through the field and surviving a late safety car to take his maiden WGPC win.

It had kickstarted Gregori's season. The Sorlovian was now just 4 points shy of his entire WGPC 16 total after just 3 races and was second in the championship, just a point behind Terho Talvela. MRT were go too. Having registered just the 11 points over the first couple of races, they now had 36, not far off the pace of fast starters Badai Angin, who had of course been helped by a rejuvenated Alex Dimitrianov.

Johan had regrets about losing Alex. Of course he had been beaten squarely by the incoming Franssen during WGPC 14, but who on the grid wouldn't have been? He was still a good driver and was in fact the sort of driver who would fit in at MRT. Steady, consistent, yet still hungry for more.

Their bridges were burnt now though. The focus for Johan was on the test in Yarkovo, a chance for Sigur to drive in front of his home fans. Like the Mattijanans, Savojarna had also been deprived of a main Grand Prix in favour of the Somos city circuit, Rebecna and the track in Falcania. Hopefully next season, the dedicated followers of Sigur and Savojar racing would be rewarded for their passion. Now was a chance to do even more work on the car to really get the best out of its superb mechanics and to drag a bit more performance out of that engine.

Onwards...

[Nekoni]

The #47 Polaris rolled into the pit garage after a tiring ninety-minute race. Erica Okumura jumped out, and immediately fell into a congratulatory hug that Alexandra Mayari was offering. "I'm seriously jealous of how good you are at overtaking, mate. I wish I pulled some of that stuff in my driving career, I might still be driving now!" Free from the clutch, Erica was able to remove her helmet and balaclava. "Thanks, boss. If only I actually qualified as decently as I race, huh?"

The somewhat-muted response by Erica wasn't indicative of her performance today. Whilst she only picked up two points from her ninth in the standings, the manner in which she got them was most impressive. From her starting position of 16th, the moment the light hit green, she slammed her foot to the floor and didn't dare to look back, picking off a couple of the drivers in front of her on the first straight alone, and by the first quarter of the race, she'd overtaken half of the remaining field. However, the plan didn't go as swimmingly as she'd liked.

Lap 24 was the kicker. Riding the outside lane of the Kolijevka complex, Novax in her sights. Unfortunately, the focus on her next victim led to not noticing the rather nasty sharp piece of metal discarded on the track from when one of the four drivers who had retired at that point came a cropper. It didn't matter who's it was, the point was that it ended up embedded in Erica's left front tire, and the wheel shredded like it was made of paper. Despite recovering well, the missing tyre meant that she had to nurse the car to safety whilst the pit team rapidly gathered a spare wheel, and that meant driving down the back-straight and final turn (both intended to be flat-out screamers) at a much slower speed. This lost a ton of time, and she'd come out directly staring at the back of the race leader, Ryker Lane.

At that point, it looked over. However, someone must have been looking down at her today, because the form she had at the beginning came back, and came back hard. In the next 13 laps, she took the eight drivers she had taken in the first 13, aided by her early forced pitstop, and she didn't stop there. Now paying more attention to the track around her, just in case, she continued to cut through the field to attempt to grab some points as the final ten laps came, unlapping herself by taking Digri round the back of the final turn with a gutsy display of high-speed bravery, but she was still twelfth, and a great deal of time off of the points. That's when Tabuso crashed. Mayari's pit radio said it all. "Buy a lottery ticket tonight, mate, you've just been given one hell of a stroke of luck The bloody safety car's coming out. You can get some points if you play this one right."

The slow pace allowed her to get close to the two cars she needed to take to score. If the safety car came in before the end of the race, she might be able to actually do it...and it did. Two laps after it had come out, the car went back in again, and the SinVal and Mirrors cars were easily dispatched, and then just for good measure, in the final lap, she took one more for the road. Ninth. Over twenty overtakes. She put one hell of a shift in for those two points.

Without looking at the standings, the performance that Erica was putting in on-track was much, much stronger than she did at any point last season. In all three races, she had improved on her qualifying position, and even her worst performance was an increase of four. Despite being only 17th in the championship so far, she had the reputation of being one of the most competent drivers out there...but, alas, her qualification performance wasn't there when it mattered. Fortunately, Alexandra had ideas.

---

An airstrip in Mytanja
15, April 2019
12:00

"Glad you came, Erica. I was wondering if you were gonna show up," Alex greeted Erica as she came out of the taxi. She was sitting in the open door of a light aircraft, dressed in a black jumpsuit. "I hope you aren't scared of heights. I figured that you weren't going to learn anything about quick thinking under pressure on the ground, so we had to go vertical." Yes, somehow training today would take the form of skydiving. Erica was unconvinced, but she couldn't exactly say no. Besides, she had always sort of wanted to do it, and with a quick brief of the basics, she was kitted out in her own suit, and both were in the aircraft, gaining altitude.

"How exactly is this going to teach me anything?" Erica asked over headset microphone, her normal speech volume not loud enough to be heard over the aircraft propellors. Alex laughed. "You'll find out soon enough." She produced a Rubik's cube from her front pocket. "Now, I know that it's your first jump, so that's why you're gonna be tied to the instructor. I also know that you know your way round one of these", she continued, pointing at the cube.

Erica nodded in agreement. She was known in the Polaris office for being pretty much the only one of the team who could complete it efficiently, frequently winning little wagers for being able to finish the puzzle within a certain time limit. "Eri, you remember when we did that Christmas party last year and you blitzed this thing within a minute, yeah? Well, I did some sums on the back of my ciggie packet, and this thing throws you out at 17,500 feet, which gives you about a minute-thirty of free fall. One lap of Kikinda, pretty much."

"What are you implying?" asked Erica. "I solve one of those as I'm falling?" Alexandra's face beamed. "Precisely!" Erica felt that Alexandra may have gone mad in the week before, because she didn't believe that she'd set something quite like this. "Now...there's one more thing, but I'll let you know when you hit 17,500 feet.

A minute passed, of Erica looking over the cube, still in mild disbelief about what she was about to do, when a bell went off in the cabin. The instructor slipped a pair of goggles on Erica. "17,500. Jumping time."

As they walked to the now open door, Erica looked at Alex, who was still in the cabin. She wasn't going to be jumping out at all, it looked like. The bastard. "Oh! That extra thing!" Alex piped up. "I've told the instructor to not open the parachute until you solve the cube. Have fun!" She gave Erica a properly mocking grin, and Erica, quite rightly, looked shocked, and just before she finished her cry of "Wait, what the FU-"...the instructor jumped out of the plane, taking a screaming Erica with him.

[Lisander]

Sirenia, Camden Automobile Racing Building

It was a discouraging environment. Who would have thought the all-powerful Camden team was going badly? Andrea Lanza, chairman of the Lisanderian Autosports Board, seemed worried. "The curse of the difficult start of the season" had made more victims. Would he have to hire an exorcist, a guru, or a wizard to find out what kind of supernatural force did that?

Climbing up the elevator, he reached the seventh floor. The pilots' accommodations were there. In those apartments, young drivers from distant towns began their lives behind the wheel, and older pilots were sheltered. The man knocked on the door of apartment number 3. In a few moments, Darius Castellammare opened the door.

"Hello Darius, invite me in?"

"Sure, please ... Come in."

Lanza came in and looked around. The apartment was small as if it were a hotel room. There was a kitchen, separated from the rest of the room by a marble counter, and a glass door that showed a bathroom on a wall to the left. All the rest was a large room with a folding sofa-bed, a small table with chairs and a computer on, as well as a cabinet, where you could see several trophies.

"Darius, can we talk for a minute? What's happening? Novax has good results, and you do not? What happens?" Lanza said worriedly. Castellammare also seemed a bit annoyed at the subject, but it was the elephant in the room, it would have to be discussed.

"Camden-Mott does not know, Lanza. It seems that between me and Novax are two completely different teams. It's a strange kind of isolation ... We're doing our best, but I can not do anything, I do not know if it's the different parts we use or the fuel ... I really did not want the intervention of LAB or the Camden Automobile, but I'm losing hope. If you can help us in any way, the Grand Prix de Lisander comes next. We can not give this shame to the nation! - Darius Castellammare had a discouraged expression, it did not remember the man who had almost won the WGP2.

"I'm going to set up a meeting with Augustus Camden and James Camden-Mott, and then I'll see what we can do with the people in Falcania, for now, just take one day of rest and forget the rest of the world. "

"Well, that's what I was already doing ... Do you take an energy drink?"

"No thanks, I'm going to be on my way here, I have to make some things work to save the Lisander GP."

"Please, give your best, Lanza."

"You, too, but not today, go rest, watch some movie or something, no work."

---

Hours later, in the main building

"It's very clear what I'm going to do! I'm going to get my team out of the hands of my incompetent nephew!" Augustus Camden III raged and beat with his fists on the mahogany table. "How can you let strangers come and do what they want?" "While Darius, who has always been here, can not you help him make a point?"

"Why, my uncle, it was not you who were not interested, who thought that was silly ..."

"Shut the fuck up! I should fire you, but you still have some of that team, for now!

From what Lanza had seen, that meeting went from bad to worse. It was up to him to be the voice of reason.

"Both of you ... Be patient ... I came here because the subject is serious The Lisander Grand Prix is at hand, and we need to at least avoid a major disaster.We can not waste time crying out the spilt milk. I'm sure we can turn this game around. We have to work as always, for one result at a time. Mr. Camden, I'm glad these bad results caught your eye ... "

"But of course I would, it's my name that's in those cars!" Even though I do not like these sports, it's a commercial opportunity, and no one buys cars from losers... At least the bird girl is doing something ... "

"So that's it, Mr. Camden. We have to hold on to whatever it is possible and make it work. I must agree with you when I say that James should not continue as team leader.I'm sorry James, but this is the truth. As a majority shareholder, Mr. Camden, I would do that. "

Tiago Camden-Mott did not receive those words so well. Tears of anger streamed down his eyes.

"Traitor, that's what you are, Lanza... I did everything I could to build this team, I spent nights in the clear, I put money out of my own pocket to make it work! Now you join the stronger side and leave me! I will not stay here to see this!"

"Tiago..."

Camden-Mott got up and left, leaving the door to the room open. Soon, the secretary closed it.

"Let's go, he's not in. It seems like everyone who gets into this world needs to take a vacation because of work overload. Speaking of which, where is Juliano Lemos?

"Cap Navarre, he's enjoying a well-deserved vacation at his beach house in Alice Bay. Actually, I had to force him to go, because he wanted to come and help."

"That kid has no sense of self-preservation, really. How're his projects going?"

"Which one? There's a lot."

"If there are so many, do not tell me. He might be my competitor in this racing business ..."

"I'd say yes. But that's not the point here. What about our problem, Mr. Camden?"

"I'll see what I can do. Since I'm the majority shareholder of the team, I'll start by talking to my hard-headed nephew and the rest of the team members, including the Falcanian crew, and we'll sort this out, at least to get in the top ten in Grandeville."

[Esmerel]

The Week of April 15

To summarize it all up, Jean's previous week had been chaotic, to say the least. Chasing after a long-quiet trail on a mystery man was never easy. In Jean's case, it wasn't urgent, but he was giving it a damn go anyways. To sum it all up, this is what ended up happening.

The National Archives, 804 Richmond Boulevard, Saint Lawrence, Vespucci, Esmerel
Tuesday, April 16, 2019

After Jean had made it home on Monday, his search had begun at Esmerel's National Archives, the collection of nearly every piece of past data since the nation's independence, in digital form. Located less than a kilometer from both the Hall of Governance and the Chancellor's Retreat, the two most important political buildings in all of Esmerel, it tended to be near large patches of traffic and the like. Jean had made it there, though, after just a 70 minute from home on Freeway 1.

Jean knew what to do, now that he was there. The travel records. If Evyn had indeed left, there would be a history of where he went and how he got there, as long as he had used public transport. That, and any locations he had lived in, any vehicles he had purchased and used, and any infractions he may have incurred with the law. Thinking about it did make Jean realize that the Esmerelian federal government really had all of the cards. The method they were playing the cards, however, was just fine with him.

Handing over a fee to the desk secretary to access the records, Jean went to work. It couldn't have been possible for Evyn to hide his records. It was both illegal and not really something Evyn was good at anyways. Looking through the system did prove difficult, though. Searching through the records of over 400 million people sometimes placed a strain on the system when looking into the really specific details.

It did take him twenty minutes looking, but Jean managed to find a few years of records for Evyn.

He left in August. Found a place of residence in Norfolk, Vespucci afterwards. Stayed there until November 2010, then moved to Esterlon... but that's about it. We weren't in control of Esterlon yet, so no records. I think I can keep following the trail. Just not with this.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jean's House, 3308 Witherspoon Drive, Rochester, Concord, Esmerel
Wednesday, April 17, 2019

Jean's hunt continued the next day, back at his home. Evyn had moved to Esterlon by 2011, so maybe he was there. Thing is, there wasn't much proof to that. So what else could Jean follow? Well, Evyn had purchased himself a black 02' Ford Mustang for transport. And modified it, given what the database had said. He took the car to Esterlon when he moved. Given Esterlon's more lax laws on basically everything at the time, Evyn's rebellious nature, and the type of modifications on the Mustang (far more suited for racing than showing off) there was a likely conclusion. He became a street racer.

There was a place on the web for street racing enthusiasts. Entirely legal to do in both Esmerel and Esterlon, so long as you kept it safe and within the paperwork. Jean took a look there, and did indeed manage to find a black 2002 Ford Mustang with an unknown competitor as a regular competitor- and the modifications matched what the database said when Jean saw the images of the racing. Certainly pushing the boundaries of safety in those images, yes, but still valuable. That competitor had found a name in the Blacktrail street racing scene, the largest known in Esterlon, thanks to the nearby hills and Japanese-style touge events.

That Mustang kept appearing in races- and kept winning them too. Up until June 2013. Then, the car stopped showing up. It wasn't a gradual slowdown, either. It just stopped. Either Evyn found something new, or he got rid of the car. Given how dominant the car had been, it was probably the former. There was a single piece of evidence on the last race the black Mustang had participated in. A single sentence:

"This guy's gonna be leaving for the city of saints tomorrow."

Jean knew of only one "city of saints" in the entire Verse. Los Santos, San Andreas. That was the problem, though. It was San Andreas, easily one of the most chaotic locations within the Verse. And, given their backwards policies on nearly everything, Jean was likely never to pick up the pieces.

That is, unless Evyn was stupid enough to come back.

Jean had thought this was the end of the trail, for now. Just in case, though, he'd keep it in his mind. He might have to delay this whole going to San Andreas until after the season, but he could totally do that.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Friday, April 19, 2019

Luckily for him, however, it seemed that he wouldn't have to.

He found just one link more. Evyn was indeed stupid enough to come back. That same website had made an update on their latest events.

"Be sure to come down to Blacktrail this weekend. We have some crazy competitors, including an old friend of ours... The Black Mustang is back, except in an even better car," it read. This was it. Evyn was participating in a street race in Blacktrail this weekend. So, what were Jean's options? Barge in, try and intercept before, or meet with him afterwards?

Or, how about... playing along? Yeah. That sounded good. Jean was going street racing.

The race was restricted to cars between 1980 and 2000. Beyond that, anything went. Of course, Jean would need to be in the market for one of those, which was fine with him. He was looking at picking one of those up anyways.

Of course, there was a catch. The race was Sunday evening. Damn.

Either it was missing out on catching his brother, or it was missing out on testing at Yarkovo.

Jean was willing to take the risk.

[Aboveland]

Unnamed's wheels spin, but only for a moment, and not as terribly as they had in Liventia. The rubber quickly catches onto the asphalt, and Terho speeds off along with the grid, only Kardaeri keeping him company behind. Decent start, nothing more, nothing less. The track is satisfyingly dry, which enables Terho to brake late on the outside into turn one. The grid collects towards the inside, clearing his line for turn two, and with a slick switchback he undercuts Taylor Blake's Obey for 26th, his next target Souzare close behind.

The Hodoran, though, with better traction out of turn three, not having had to defend his position, launches uphill towards the barely-chicane turns four and five, pulling well clear of the Abovian by the time the hill crests back downwards. Through the tighter section, however, where the grid collects again, he loses time, and Terho takes advantage of the slipstream on the run-up to the parabolica to launch down his right side (rather dangerously, he later realizes), and cement the overtake. Lap one down, P25 secure. A sigh of relief.

---

Lap 6

As the race carries on, Terho begins to separate from the main pack, coming increasingly within reach of the first place runner and increasingly confined to his lowly 25th, which with a few bouts of foreign misfortune becomes a 22nd. On lap six, while coming down the straight after turn seven, a puff of smoke rises in the distance, down in the basin-like complex of turns eight through eleven. Passing the sector, under yellow flags, he spots the stricken number one car of Jessica Franssen, lifeless and some notable kilograms lighter, by the side of the road. As he’s about to ask what has happened, Aada fills in the gaps. “Franssen out. Collided with iBen.” Three laps later, she tells of iBen’s damage-induced retirement. Terho grunts, while Aada mutters “what an idiot,” inadvertently having left the radio on.

---

By lap 13, the future of the race becomes bleak, Terho finding himself languishing in the same relative position he’d been since the first lap, and with the endlessly unlucky, but leading, Ryker Lane breathing down his neck, leaving him as the last unlapped car. Concerned, Aada crackles back into action.

“Terho, strategy switch,” she begins.

“Copy, go ahead,” he replies, waiting until the pit straight to do so.

“Rollback to plan A, plan Alpha.”

Terho, before answering, frowns. Plan codenames were another new Aada Aaddition, as he liked calling them. Edvin used to be much more blunt, and much more clear. Lost in his thoughts, he locks up into the braking for turn one and nearly flatspotting his tyres. The missed braking, however, is the perfect memory trigger: tyre saving. He smiles mischievously.

“Copy,” he answers. “Tyre sa-”

“Shhh!” Aada interrupts. “Code names!”

---

Plan A ends up a success. From floundering in 22nd for the first quarter of the race, Terho manages to stay out for the absolute maximum that his hard tyres can hold, and pits on lap 40 from tenth place, thanks to the stops of the rest of the grid, for the softest Tropicorp compound available. It’s a miracle his wireframe tyres have carried him as far as they have, but his focus is diverted elsewhere. In the final quarter of the race, Terho exits the pits in 15th and climbs up the order in a gargantuan, heroic effort. With a final lap overtake of Jean Mercer-Daly, he crosses the line in fourth place, netting 10 points which launch him back to the top of the drivers’ standings by the narrowest of margins.

Terho springs out of his car after the race, making quite the effort to avoid the post-race celebrations in the TRAE garage as he can. He cares far more about taking a peek at the podium finishers than waffling on with small talk. With Digri, his new rival, and Kruipin, his old, peculiarly aggressive foe, topping the list of finishers, it's a ceremony he can't afford to miss. Terho sneaks out of the garage towards the crowd under the podium balcony. Standing first, his face drenched in bubbly, and perhaps tears, is Kruipin, deservedly elated with his result.

Over the previous season, and the current one, Terho had grown to like Gregori, albeit from a distance. He was super quick and unbelievably determined to improve himself, but he’d always been somewhat cold and hostile towards him. Truth be told, Aboveland and Sorlovia had never been good friends on an international level; Edvin had been held captive in the Slavic nation in a case of (officially) mistaken identity, which everyone else saw as an act of international ransomware, for one. While Terho had never had hard feelings towards the Sorlovian, the man’s attitude had always repelled the Abovian, and he’d never gone as far as speaking to him for longer than a few words for fear of his glare piercing his soul.

As such, once the podium celebrations have ended, Terho quietly sneaks around the paddock to reach the three very moist drivers: Tailson passes by first, nonchalantly. Second comes Digri, and Terho, believing he’s forgiven him for the previous race, waves and congratulates the Vadknessian. He, however, scowls menacingly at the Abovian, looking as if he were just about to throw a punch at him. Peculiar, for sure.

The final driver past is Gregori, with a tranquil joy in his eyes and a radiantly genuine and contagious happiness escaping his body. Terho, tentatively, stretches out a hand to congratulate him.

“Way to go,” he says, smiling. “It’s about time you won! I’m Terho,” he continues, cautiously, as if introducing himself for the first time, and stretching out a palm to await a high-five. “How about we start over?”

[Audioslavia]

Part Eighteen: James

If it hadn’t already been obvious to James which of his two race strategists was the better, it was now.

Under the tutelage of Johan Johanson, Hunter Digri had just taken second place and a valuable eighteen points for McPahan, neatly quadrupling the team’s tally for the season so far.

Brice McPahan’s team had taken Jelena Colac-Strek, the driver who knew the Rebecna circuit better than anyone else on the grid, and had given her an uncompetitive shitbox to drive for the entire weekend.

It wouldn’t do. Thing is, there’d be no firing Brice McPahan. The contract Brice had signed didn’t give the team any leeway to kick him out the door without some kind of severance package, and seeing as James’s job was to ensure no money at all was wasted, axing Brice with no backup plan in place and no guarantee of money to be gained further down the line would be very difficult to explain to his own employers.

Having his team in the mix and his drivers eighth and twelfth in the standings after three races amounted to James pleasing his employers. A cost-effective and competitive team was what the WGPC demanded, and it was what James was currently delivering.

Part Nineteen: Carsten

After the disappointment of crashing out of his debut Grand Prix, Carsten’s third place finish in race two, and subsequent podium appearance, had served to calm his nerves for the following weekend’s trip to Mytanija, wherein he took an occasionally shoogly car to a points finish to help keep Badai Angin at the top of the standings.

Suffice to say, the meeting with Rudolf Ibuna before the first mid-season practice passed by smoothly and painlessly. The Filindostani beamed a smile at Carsten as the Audioslavian entered his office.
“This is your contract” said Rudolf.
“I thought we were having the meeting about whether or not I was getting this contract?” said Carsten, pretending to be confused. Rudolf nodded.
“Yeah, I figured just throwing the contract in front of you and asking you to sign it summed up Badai Angin’s feelings much better than words. It’s the same money we agreed upon. Get your lawyer to check over it and give it ba…”
Carsten interrupted Rudolf by rudely picking up a pen and signing the contract without reading a word of it.
“By now” said Carsten, finishing his signature, “I know whether or not I can trust you”
“That is very trusting” said Rudolf.
“What’s the date?” asked Carsten
“April 14th”
“Cheers” said Carsten, scribbling 14/4 below his signature. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
“You too”