[center][h1][b]Sunday July 2nd, 2094 Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, Montréal, Canada (Federated American States) 1400 EST [/b][/h1][/center] [color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Hockey Fight[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color] [img]https://www.racefans.net/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/racefansdotnet-23-06-14-15-03-20-2-XPB_1153670_HiRes.jpg[/img] [hr] [b]Soundtrack: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4xZ1Yl8B84]Zikali- Serious Stuff[/url] [/b] With the sunshine out in Montreal, the heat was on, the mercury pushing to 37C, and making air cooling in the ships critical. Lined up, there was a palpitation, a feeling of everything this first half of the season, coming to a head. The lights turned red. And…. [b]Four. Three. Two. One.[/b] The race started with a bang. Amy did not waste time, quickly making mincemeat of Han within the first lap with a clean getaway, and then Cassie the lap after, the Zygon ships in qualifying trim not able to adapt to the bleaching sun of Montreal, but falling backwards. They were holding their own, but Amy was a different class when she wanted it. Further back, the grid got chaotic- positions changing frequently in the lap, ELS being used a lot more than was anticipated, and things getting chaotic in the midfield. Paul and Nora had been battling but had gotten smart enough to realise that the Zygon ship, as balanced as it was, had weaknesses. Paul found openings on Han, then Cassie. Only Amy Stirling left, and his moves had made a room for Nora to follow him, and she was fighting hard with Paul, the speed and handling of the ship neutered by Paul’s absolutely world-class handling and reflexes, his new neural link unleashing a ship that was previously seen as glued to just be even better. Nora was on reflexes, but on the straights, closed him up, even in spite of her lesser ELS experience. And whatever Paul was clearly on, that gap to Amy fell each lap, as the girl that normally carved out a lead was not able to make one anymore. And now, Amy’s usual gambit of ELS hadn’t worked, because two mistakes in Sector 1, and Paul was able to start leaching. “Paul Mulder, on a track where his team-mate just can’t make it work today, is hunting down Amy Sterling, he is two-tenths up in the last sector, he is snatching ELS out of her, can Stirling hold on and shake him off?” Rory’s excitement was building. “We’ll have to see, on the straights that Valkyrie ship just hasn’t got the muscle, but in the corners, whatever Paul is feeling, he seems to be finding something even Amy can’t today!” Rosie’s followed. Paul was closing. One massive dump of ELS, Valkyrie’s ability to harvest energy particularly strong here, and lap by lap, he was smart enough to know how and when to leech Amy’s power. It was the only thing keeping her ahead. And down the final straight, the white ship was getting tailed closer and closer by the one in grey and yellow. “Mulder is holding back, he’s just waiting his turn, he knows this is a good points haul for Valkyrie, and Stirling must know it too, what is she going to do?” “Well, she’ll be looking to reclaim that ELS back again, baiting him close, on that straight that is getting tighter and tighter…” “They’re heading into the final chicane, and…..oh my word, she’s gone wide, and….oh no, oh my that is a huge crash! Big hit for Amy Stirling, that ship is out of the race, that is a rare mistake from the world champion!” Disaster for Amy. It was a huge hit as she took the line too wide to throw Paul into a false sense of security to snatch back some power, the ship recoiling off and skidding barely to the side of Paul, slumped into the side wall and with her immediately pulling the cockpit open and clambering out. She was fine, externally, internally, she was fuming, the crash no doubt visceral from Paul’s point of view. She’d smacked the Wall of Champions hard, and left more than a dent in the wall. A Virtual Safety Ship instantly came out. And once it was cleared, racing began again, yet it was messy given the differentials were tiny as they were going into it. So at Turn 1, making a stupid move, Harrison traded paint with Layla and Max in Turn One, the damage to all enough to hurt them all rather than make any meaningful difference, the three bickering so much it opened a door for Beatrix to make a move on Max and Layla. And amazingly, Layla’s ship, sloppier out of corners for some reason since the hit, and Max’s ship being down on power, was now getting passed by Jen Lowry, who was somehow making her ability to hurl herself up the grid known. Yet all eyes were on Jamie Hart, who was trying to recover, now the only Silver Apex ship in the running, following Kais’s 6th place. And coming into Turn 13, Jamie tried to stab a late lunge where the Al-Saqr ship shook around on exit. It was a bad call. “Oh my, Hart has misjudged that, what a hit! That’s them both out, Hart was just trying to go around the outside and misjudged that exit, but what was Zenix doing covering that aggressively? Surely the stewards will look at that!” Rory’s commentary was reactive, as the camera hadn’t been on him there and then, because that was an insane place to make a move. Another Virtual Safety Ship. And no further action. Perhaps the racing gods decided to go easy on the Canadian’s final, woeful race with that lack of penalty, because he was sobbing when he clambered out, perhaps hoping Kais would come over and punch his head off his neck. But in time, he was back inside the safety zone. The entirety of Quebec exhaled a last, frustrated annoyance that their local hero had once again, bottled it. Both ships were in bits, the crash nowhere near as big in kinetic energy as Amy’s but writing off both fully. That safety period ended, and Dorian’s race, already poor with him trying to climb the ranks, ended with him clattering into Ulrich Falkner, able to keep going but forced to retire the ship due to damage, an entire section of the side ripped apart and so painful in his neural link he had to simply sever it in the last sector of the circuit, and limp home like he had sprained an ankle. Ulrich realised the same when the ship’s shielding had decided to die, the electrical system forcing him to pull over and get to safety as it was now rendered unsafe. That all meant more carbon, metal and mess needed cleaning, with a short Virtual Safety Ship, that ended as fast as it was all swept out by the trackside drones. It was getting tedious, because the amount of carbon on track was turning this into a farce, with how many pilots were losing their head in the Canadian sunshine. It had done a number and made the original grid extremely messy. ELS strategies were messed up, but that meant things shifted fast. Like an ice hockey fight, this had gotten messy, but no fan would say they weren’t enjoying how tight, close and competitive the grid was. This was sticky, in all the best ways. When the yellows turned green, the order was rearranged again. And ending, Jen pushed hard, knowing Harrison was down on energy from the impact, and she had a massive bank of ELS saved up. Lap after lap, her ship should have never been here, but she made it count in the straights, even if in the corners the ship felt like it had an anti-gravity generator that was soaked in butter. And then she feinted, and with a final, massive dump of it, unleashed the ship on the final lap, pulling out an overtake and leaving no room for Harrison to respond, his ability to try and overtake not possible. Beatrix fought with Harrison, unable to get past the wounded, yet extremely capable ship that Harrison piloted, but holding a respectable 7th place. Paul Mulder, by contrast, had actually won a race any nobody had realised just how much of a lead he had built up over Nora right at the end- seamlessly finding his flow on the tight circuit and holding a late attack that Nora couldn’t complete right at the death. It was his first win, and Valkyrie, despite seeing Dorian retire, had claimed another big victory to add onto their tally post Monaco. This was one hell of a scene for them, as he took first, followed by Nora, Cassie in 3rd, then Han in 4th, Jen Lowry in 5th, Harrison in 6th, Bea in 7th, Layla in 8th, Max in 9th on home soil, and Ava in 10th. There was no doubt as everyone exhaled, they’d watched one of the best races in modern AG sport, a future classic perhaps with the impact on the grid, but nobody had expected Paul Mulder to rope in Amy that fast and make her crack, and nobody at all anticipated Jenny Lowry. But things were about to take an even bigger twist. [hr] As the pilots all pulled in, scrutineering got to work. And the shock was seismic. Cassie yelled at an official, as she was pulled aside, and a small legion of FIAR techs headed out. And with it, running 3D scanning and specialist tools, had a look underneath the Zygon ship. And there it was. An illegal modulator and aero function connected to the anti-gravity unit, that made this chassis one of a kind. It had been a grip demon for a reason, but of course, was outside of the tight spec that FIAR ran. And it hadn’t been seen for this long, but the obvious qualifying result had tipped people off. Almost too good, and even despite losing positions in the race, Cassie watched in horror as the officials uttered the words. Before even making it to the podium room, it was over. Zygon’s ships were disqualified with immediate effect. For ships before 3rd, that meant automatically, two places gained for the pilots behind the Zygon ships. That meant only one thing. To what was an absolute legion of screaming engineers, frankly carrying Jenny Lowry off her feet, her confusion evident as she looked across and realised what had happened. “Jenny, you’re P3!” This was a fever dream. Because for the first time in forever, the crowd had seen a true underdog, a story that almost couldn’t be written, be committed to ink. The team that nobody expected to win, had nothing of note, was about to disappear forever, had left one last mark in the sport. And with British flags waving, even the rest of the grid had to stop for a moment and just watch in pure awe at what was perhaps not an earned podium, but a deserved one for Jennifer Lowry. The last race of Fitzroy Orbital, their last podium, and perhaps, the last race their pilot would ever make there and then. [hider=Race Results for Montreal] https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1qF6cn-eA0G0sumgf79TvEnPjOHyQP-vZSFV6LNrn_OY/edit?gid=406667727#gid=406667727[/hider] [hr] [color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Canada: Cooldown and Podium[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color] The cooldown room had possibly one of the weirder vibes of the season, as Jen looked across at Paul, with his first win in Formula AG, and Nora, who cooly enjoyed watching her fight with Amy, and forcing her to make an incredibly rare, if not unprecedented error through the Wall of Champions, creating the absolute glitterbomb of a crash. This was an enormous boon for her- a massive haul of points that closed the gap between her and Amy. And while bombastic, Nora seemed resolved, almost locked in, even in the cooldown room. Jen however, was even more enthused, because it was her first time on a podium in a very, very long time, maybe since the Junior series. And in a ship that was on its final outing, before the sale of Fitzroy Orbital, she had given them the ultimate send off. Going from fifth place, to third, given the disqualification of both Han-Ae-Han and Cassie Neves had been instant. Perhaps lucky for them, it only extended to this race only despite its use in Silverstone. The part had to be removed, and well, the scandal and press would talk later. What had nearly given Zygon glory, had sent them crashing into the ground. And from the earth, Jen Lowry was here now, in what was a lot of history made. “This is incredible. You guys are regulars, right? I mean, I got lucky but….wow! And to think that Bea hasn’t even got up here yet….oh she is gonna be so jealous!” Jen smirked, chuckling, as she watched her move on Harrison right in the last lap, grinning ear to ear. “Nicely done, Paul! Well deserved win, it’s been a while coming! That fight with Amy looked fun….you two really tangled!” Jen chirped, the British pilot beaming at him, hugging him as he came through and took a look at his highlights. How strange it felt. Valkyrie had sent her an offer. He was a lovely guy, someone she almost fawned over a little, her head said Silver Apex yet her heart said Valkyrie. It seemed genuine from her, almost as if from a place of humility and a love of the sport had found its odd shining through into this position. Yet she'd made her choice. Jen Lowry smiled as she was the first to lead out when ushered, moving out to a sea of cheers, because everyone loved, adored an underdog. And in her black and white, with a red tinge of crimson, Jen took her hat off and put her hands wide, her eyes wild, her mind completely lost in how the actual hell this had happened. As the others followed, Nora getting cheers, and Paul getting plenty for his first win in Formula AG, the trophies, medals and national anthems felt like a haze. And of course, the champagne bottles, smacked against the base of the trophy, and sprayed into the faces of everyone, including Owen Keating of Southern Cross. It was a time to be wild. Jen loved every second. And no doubt, as she looked up at Paul, he would be as well. What a drive from him- putting Amy under pressure, learning from his past mistakes and being patient, he’d put a quality race together, never losing control, being always on top. In a sea of chaos, a beacon of calm, that finally got what he deserved, persevering even against cheating teams, and coming out smelling of roses into the summer break. And looking out, Peter Thatcher, as pissed off as he was, looked up at that podium, bitter about the results, resolutely angry, and unable to believe how stupid his pilots were. Jen had gone and achieved that in a ship that was never going to do what it did. In a place that shouldn’t have. This was beyond a fever dream. This was cinema, plain and simple. He gave a thumbs up to her, and a wink, and with it, caught a glance from her, smirking back. Peter Thatcher had got it wrong before. But something told him he had his pilot. [hr] [color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Delta Hyper: Post Race Interviews[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color] The Delta Hyper interviews followed, once the podium ceremony was complete, bringing all the pilots together behind the paddock building, spectators still about to watch on the screens and their devices. “Kais, a race to forget. With reports widely going around that Jamie Hart is out of a seat for the season, are you disappointed he couldn’t keep it clean for his home race?” The next pilot got a round of cheers, the crowd electric with what had been an insane race, topped by the cream of the crop in Paul Mulder's performance. This was a statement- an announcement he wasn't just an understudy to Dorian, but gaining his position. “Paul, congratulations on your maiden win, the crowd have gone absolutely wild! What a result for you and the team, talk us through your fight with Amy, and your dominant display despite all the virtual safety ships?" Bea was up next, with plenty of cheers from the crowd, the momentum that she was keeping up certainly catching many eyes on the grid. "Bea, what a statement to wrap up 5th place, though some would argue you were very lucky with the Zygon penalties and crashes ahead of you. Would you say you are finding the fine balance between patience and aggression in your ship to ship racing?" [hr] Amy looked dejected, but nonetheless, knew she had to face the music. “Just a really bad mistake from me, super weird, just didn’t have any traction on exit and played it too loose, and the wall smacked back. Really bad, and it’s gutting to lose so many points in a championship fight. But we’ve got the summer break to regroup, and lots of changes, so it’s still a long way to go.” Her response was dry, uncharacteristically so, as she moved out of the way, the scene filled with the Aussie. Harrison smirked, pissed he hadn’t gotten back at Jen on the last lap or caught Nora, but still aware that his new friend had gotten him good, and deserved that position shift. “Well, it’s good for me, P1 for Southern Cross in the Constructors is looking more and more likely! We’ve been such an amazing team, not sure how Nora pulled away so much today as I was struggling, but sometimes when life gives you lemons, you gotta make lemonade and carbonate it, and we got that for sure.” He shifted out of the way for Layla, who stepped up, with a coolpack around her neck. “Not great to contact with Harrison and Max, but when the racing is this tense, it’s difficult to know. It’s so hard in the midfield, a shame what happened to Kais, but yeah, we’re doing what we can. The margins are so tight, and it was a shame not to capitalise on our efforts, but we're producing a rocketship this season and I can't wait to see what happens. Yalla!” Max beamed, the crowd screaming, mic in face. “Yeah, super, super stoked to get points at home, and we’re definitely going into the season break with a lot of momentum! Shame that Jamie couldn’t get any points today, but we’re glad to score some for you today, and hopefully we’ll keep it going!” Kofi followed, grinning ear to ear. “Another points haul! Of course! It is great, and while we lost our position to Fitzroy, may I just say a massive congratulations is in order to Jen!” Henry followed in the same vein, smiling, knowing his crap result was contrasted by his team mate’s incredible achievement. “Just amazing, what an incredible result for us and I think….well, the news will be out soon, but that is our last race as Fitzroy as you know us. Thank you ever so much, and please, please give a massive cheer for Jen Lowry, as she is incredible, a pleasure to have as my team-mate and I think you'll see her at a big team soon!" Astrid also grinned, keeping it simple. "Well, sh*t happens to other people, I get a point, what's not to like?" Dorian was less impressed, shrugging, but keeping a positive spin on things. "Just went from bad to worse. Had a really bad time getting through traffic, and just couldn't do what Paul did. Amazing to see him take his first victory, a shame I couldn't help but non, it is his day and he deserves all the credit!" [hr] [center][h1][b]Sunday July 2nd, 2094 Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, Montréal, Canada (Federated American States) 1800 EST [/b][/h1][/center] [color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Decision Time[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color] [center][h2][i][b]Jen Lowry[/b][/i][/h2][/center] Jen looked through the notes, looking across to Andy, who sat in his jeans and plain white shirt, the soundproofed meeting room reserved under a different name, the doors locked to stop any prying ears or eyes in. “You’ll be with Callum Wallace given they don’t want to take any more Fitzroy staff, and they are starting on mods, on Tuesday. It’s extensive. You understand what’s involved. This goes further than anything Jamie had, from all reports. They don’t want to make the same mistake they made before.” Jen gulped, looking through the list, already half aware, but now, fully cognizant of just how serious this was about to be. “That is a hell of a list. Cerebra‑NX implants, nanolacing at the C3–C5 and in my existing neural link, and then in the rest of my major bones with a bone marrow transfusion, SilverLabs limbs with KinetiQ actuators including shoulders and upper legs which means they’ll….well, that’s limbs lost next week. Mason and Fuller spec full cochlear replacement, X&Y optics, and the rest they’ve put in NDA until I’m within the team that they’ve got full rights to do…..with limited refusal. Fuck me. That’s millions of n-Euros. Now I get it.” Jen was outspoken, going through it, the contract poured through after the race had completed. It had been a long week, and they had toyed with both teams offering a contract. But now, the message was clear from Peter. Now or never. Looking across, Andy nodded to that thought, knowing it was heavy stuff. “You put the worst ship on the grid on a podium finish. Let alone points. That’s a miracle. This is going to be transformative. Irrespective, they’re going to look after you. Look, that might be wrong or not, but either way, Jenny, this is going to be a big change for you. You deserve this. It’s a good call, and we know that Peter’s got reason to trust you. Especially after today, any team would scream to sign you.” Andy replied, the stubble having Brit looking across, sliding the tablet over the table. “Sign here, and you’ll be in Silver Apex.” Andy smiled, as Jenny took a moment to compose herself, taking the tablet. “Remind me why I’m doing this, Andy? Just for, you know, a bit of peace of mind.” Jenny asked, as Andy shrugged, looking back at his client, knowing she was just going over it one last time in her mind, even if the choice was made. “Your choice, Jen. But this is about you. Amy’s a fierce talent, but Peter Thatcher needs to get back at Southern Cross this season one way or another. He won’t let you fail after he lost that chance with Jamie. And yeah, Alexander is a good guy, he’ll give you everything, and he promised you the world, Cavan, a lot of what you had at Fitzroy. But what’s the next scandal that comes out? His daughter got a load of mods, that they can’t even give their own pilots. You’ll be fighting Paul, and you saw how good he was. When will they ditch you for one of their own if he’s got designs on growing the team internally? Sure, Cavan might help but….you said you wanted change? This is as good as it gets. And this chance will never happen again, not if you turn them down now. No more dramas, and a new slate if you struggled in Fitzroy. Just you getting more podiums, like today, because you're proving to be a little more grounded than Jamie is.” Andy replied, as Jen nodded. It was in those words she was putting fingerprint into glass tablet, pulling her finger across, then skidding it over the glass table. “Thank you.” Jenny smiled, as Andy took the tablet, tapping away. “Your sponsors will need to be informed. I’ll sort that out. And a bunch of new ones will come with Silver Apex. I’m told all of Jamie’s want to continue where they left off with you, pick what commitments you want and it is yours. The news will come out in two days, so it doesn’t overshadow this podium. Optics and all. Welcome to the big stage, Jen.” With it, he put a hand out, and Jen took his hand, smiling, in reply beaming. “This wasn’t how I expected it. But let’s do this, yeah? We got some races to win.” Her smirk broke wide open, because in spite of everything, her gut reminded herself that opportunities like this came one in a generation for a pilot like her. And after that podium, perhaps her mind had been convinced that way. Spend time chasing behind Paul? Or dominate Valkyrie, who would put her as second best for later? She was ready to spin the wheel. [hr] [center][h1][b]Sunday July 2nd, 2094 Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, Montréal, Canada (Federated American States) 1800 EST [/b][/h1][/center] [color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Braking Zone[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color] [center][h2][i][b]Harrison Makara[/b][/i][/h2][/center] The Southern Cross garage was a strange place to be, because on the one hand, Nora had snatched an amazing result and the gap into summer now against ‘Apex had widened significantly- and yet, the result from one particular side was nowhere near as good as one Australian had hoped. The opportunity to widen the gap had been compromised by a poor race that got messy in the midfield. Once again. Perhaps he overfocussed on that, because compared to Nora, who was pulling out points, he wasn’t today, and that gap was not one he had any right to be pleased with. Pulling 2nd, 4th as a team, sure, but this? This wasn’t acceptable. Harrison beckoned to Nora, looking across, arms folded, after his debrief, still not sure how she was doing this. He didn’t want perfect to be the enemy of good. He’d celebrated. But he knew that in moments like this, marginal gains were the difference. Especially when Amy would come back swinging after a rare, rare mistake like that. Nothing could be let go of. The gloves were off. “Right, so how the hell are you doing this? Because that’s insane what you did. Those Zygon ships were cracked, and you still pull through?” Harrison added, as before Nora replied, Owen put a hand to his shoulder. “Harrison. With me.” Harrison stared her down, head over shoulder looking to Nora. “We had a deal. Come on, mate.” It felt like that deal was gone, as Owen pulled him through, into a backroom of the garage. “The fuck is wrong with you?” Owen asked, Harrison aiming to push, but Owen pushing back. “You know what’s up. I trusted her, every setup, every experience, the stone, the….” “You gave her the stone?” Owen’s mood immediately changed, as Harrison nodded, silent at first, but finding a response. “Yeah, because it’s the bit that he wanted the team to keep, and a pilot to have. A good luck charm. Kept us together. I hoped it would.” Owen looked on blankly, hearing that response and letting it go past, as he wanted to be back on point. Not wanting to address that now. “Right. Your call. Anyway, we need to be united in front of the press, and everyone else, and you having a slump is not going to be helped if you get pissy. Alright? You’re gonna be that perfectionist, make us look like we’re fighting? That kind of asshole….now? Right, we’re gonna go back out there, back to fucking normal. You’re gonna take the summer to do whatever you need to do so you can get centred. But I need you to get your shit together, or else fucking hell, we will gift this first place position back to Silver Apex, and you will give it back to Amy once she gets back on track. You believed in this team when we went toe to toe with Amy last year. So I need to trust you that you’ll be sensible. Understood?” Owen replied with a dressing down, Harrison sighing, old enough to understand, but gritting his teeth anyway. “Understood. Sorry. This means a lot to me, it’s…..” Harrison said blankly, like a schoolchild being told off, as Owen shook his head. “It means a lot to all of us, you flippin’ cunt. Now come on, stop being a melt and let’s go enjoy some champagne. Amy Stirling just crashed so anything can happen, so no more debriefs, let’s enjoy widening our 1st place in the standings, because you fucking beat Amy today no matter how you look at it, we did, so let’s crack on!” With it, they walked back into the main garage area, but some had heard that. What had been a fruitful relationship, hell, even what felt like success beyond any wild dream, was now becoming more competitive by the day. [hr] [center][h1][b]Sunday July 2nd, 2094 Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, Montréal, Canada (Federated American States) 1800 EST [/b][/h1][/center] [color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Cheater’s Lament[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color] [center][h2][i][b]Cassie Neves[/b][/i][/h2][/center] The mood in Zygon’s camp was dour, as Cassie sighed, sitting at the pit wall, looking into the horizon as she was doing a lot more of lately. This wasn’t depression. This was existential bullshit. “We gave it all we could. Come on.” The engineer’s voice was not music to her ears, as she put hands to wall and turned. “We pissed away everything. Because we chose too much risk.” Cassie’s words were like granite on granite, scraping, as her race engineer didn’t exactly hold back. “You wanted risks? You want a ship that actually gives you results? Come on. You knew the team had to roll the dice.” Accusatory. Cassie didn’t like that. Cassie nodded in polite response anyway, as the engineer sighed, looking over at the space of the ships that were not in the pit box here, but with FIAR now, being examined. “Carrera fucking Condor are going to take fifth from us if we’re not careful because the universe has been giving us shit dice rolls and all of us are paying the price. At what point do we just can this season and prep for next year? Come on, this is bullshit. Let’s just face facts, we have the setup to do better next year, right now, we’re going to burn everything to survive if that’s what we’re doing.” Cassie was blunt, as the race engineer, staggered by her outspokenness, knew he couldn’t speak out of turn. Not without offending someone back in Seoul, back in the chaebol, who would flip a table hearing this. His voice was timid. “That’s unacceptable to the team. We still have to….we still have to fight. Hold our ground. The team at home will figure….” He started, as Cassie sipped down more drink from her metal water bottle, shaking her head, staring him down, cutting him off. “Then get fucking better at hiding risky ship mods, maybe? They got us because we made it so fucking obvious. Even I could feel that. Maybe they’ll find that out at Al-Saqr, Silver Apex, and whatever the fuck they’re smoking at Carrera soon? If you’re gonna cook, maybe do it smarter next time before we all end up getting binned.” Cassie bitterly replied, exhaling, and walking away. She wasn’t even angry at any of them anymore, but this team, management could eat a thousand dicks right now if they had no response. [hr] [center][h1][b]Sunday July 2nd, 2094 Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, Montréal, Canada (Federated American States) 1700 EST [/b][/h1][/center] [color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Post Human[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color] [center][h2][i][b]Layla Al-Nadir[/b][/i][/h2][/center] Sitting inside of the Al-Saqr Paddock, Salma Nasri, MD, was attending to Layla’s post race complaints of a headache. A small one, nothing quite like before, but the hit with Harrison and Max had tripped something that hadn’t gone away. So in the diagnostics she went. A routine checkup. “Okay. Seems like the standard, just interference between your limbs and your neural link. Give it a few hours.” A discharge of drugs into her thorax, right below her neck, and the pulse changed slightly inside of Layla, her feeling her brain cool as the neural drugs centred her a little more. “Thank you. This has been getting better. Bad race from me Doc, but…..I am getting the hang of this. Ship just feels on rails when I get corners right. I need a few months and I’ll put that ship on first. I know it.” She added, as Salma wryly smiled ,focussing on her patient first. “Perhaps. Let’s take it steady and monitor. You got through scrutineering, let's not push any harder today, no more sim work until later this week.” Salma added, as Layla stayed in the chair, letting Salma do her checks, running a regular diagnostic on the rest of her body, a standard post race procedure. [b]Soundtrack: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6Ae0GGrtr8]Bogatyri- We Lost The Sea[/url] [/b] And halfway through, as Salma went over Layla’s legs, the Jordanian looked across to the wall on the opposite side of the room with a slight convulsion. She stopped, feeling her neck heat pulse a little. That was strange. But it spread fast. Like a migraine but way worse. Like she was stopping her brain falling out of her skull. Layla looked drowsy, not from drugs, but something else tripped. Staring into Salma, Layla put her hand into the Doctor’s. She felt something else inside of her own mind. Something always that had been there. And that decided there and then, to pour out. Like a dam being broken. Her head felt like it was fighting itself. "Salma.... I.....I don't.....I'm not sure what's going on......this is.....oh.....this is really weird, I....I would miss Jordan...... .......this would….no……no, no, no, it’s, it’s feeling fuzzy." Layla croaked, tightening her fingers, then loosening, as she composed herself. She frothed almost at the mouth, pushing forward into Salma, forwards from the chair. For what felt like the last time she’d feel a human touch. The last of her humanity in her, realising exactly what was coming in. Even for an experience neurologist, she was seeing im “Layla, let’s calm you down...” Even in metal hands, Salma felt like Layla was holding her like the last person she’d ever say anything to. Because every part of Layla was feeling like it was stripping away. Faster than even Salma had realised, as the ECG and neural link spiked, screaming in pitch on the monitors, going beyond any acceptable threshold. Layla felt her vision in her eyes burn, as if the static on the CRT-like interference had increased. "Tell him I forgive him. Please tell my mother….father, this…..this was my choice. I love them, forever.....thi....." Layla cut off mid sentence, and with it, let go, and slumped in the chair, head back, eyes rolled into black, convulsing completely with her hands and legs, in what looked like seizure like behaviour. Salma instantly disconnected the neural line using any safeties, but to no measure, as the seizure stopped after half a minute, but Layla was rolled back and still not there. "Layla! Layla, come on, don't drop out on us...." The neurologist screamed, barely being able to catch her, Salma putting her back up against the chair again, her mind pulsing with what to do. Layla had come close before to this. But even the drugs weren’t working, the neural stabiliser doing absolutely nothing at all in this situation, not even bringing her back to consciousness. "Come on Layla, come back!" Salma rested her up, vitals still pulsing as the massive bank of monitors displayed her condition. Her heart was all over the place, but then settled back into position, but her eyes remained blank. The display linked to the neural monitor had crashed and had a green screen error. It was like the thing had just gone haywire, as it pulsed black, and rebooted. And when it did, nothing displayed, as Salma yelled for other medics to come in, flooding the room. They tried everything. The drugs did nothing, not even a shot of a complicated neural cocktail even did an ounce. Al-Saqr needed their edge. But Salma had always been against this. Always wanted to protect Layla. Always wanted to sit on caution. And the display still read nothing in ECG. Her heart pulsed back to normal, the synthetic actuators doing their job as Salma realised whatever had just happened, she just watched Layla go braindead. A body alive, a mind gone. She put a hand to a friend, not just her patient, exhaling hard, trying to find the words. But none were coming out of her. As far as everything pointed to, the last thing she saw on Layla's data was a massive flood of data sweeping in and out like the tide, and now she was looking at her body go dead. Her augments keeping whatever of a body there was breathing, heart pumping, blood going, but nothing inside left that didn’t keep her cardiovascular function going. No response from her neural link. No ping did anything, the error code was like it was reading no activity at all. There was nobody inside. No neural link ever did that to someone, ever. The server was sealed too, so not like it was some external interference. Not unless some AGI had found its way into her skull and rooted about. Not unless this was the enhanced link taking control of its own. And deciding to take her back to the ship, or she’d flicked whatever sub-routines she could elsewhere. That was the only thing she could think of. But even then, what the actual fuck was going on? Even a neurologist of her degree was now guessing, but for anyone normal, the symptoms were something like what she’d seen in her youth- a patient suffering a stroke, yet it seemed almost like a complete collapse of her brain function. No amount of ice, coolant, synthetic repairer or link was working. It was like the light had been snatched out of her right there and then. And looking at her, metallic Jordanian hand still on her soft, fleshy own, Salma didn’t agree with Layla’s words. She had been complicit in this, it was her fault. Whatever Layla’s dreams were, she had a duty of care to her. And not letting her die was her only one. She was a believer in a higher power, and in miracles of some kind, even in spite of the evil she'd seen, the horrors, but not even brain reconstruction had anything, there was no light inside of her to even start again. She was down to those hopes now, because nothing looked good, and she’d watched Layla Al-Nadir, previous race winner, AG pilot, face of the Arabic Union, co-worker and friend, fade to dark. Omar entered the room, at the far end, as Salma looked at him, with the fire of a thousand suns behind her, and his head shaking. “Not a word leaves this room. I’ll call the Emir and arrange a diplomatic transfer.” [hr] [b][i]“Homo sapiens, the first truly free species, is about to decommission natural selection, the force that made us...Soon we must look deep within ourselves and decide what we wish to become.” [/i][/b] [i]— Edward O. Wilson, from "Consilience, The Unity of Knowledge" [/i]