Stephan
Zandar has a dark sense of humor.
I look at the Crimson Lotus gleaming under the neon lights and see a perfect trap.
Nora doesn't yet know that that engine has no limiters; she doesn't know that if you screw up a gear at 350 km/h among the skyscrapers of Kowloon, there's no escape, only concrete.
I saw her caress the side of her car with the same care she once used to caress my face. She looked at me for a moment, past the metal, and in her eyes there was no trace of the girl I loved.
There was only the reflection of my worst sin.
I approached, before she climbed in for the warm-up.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" she whispered to me, and her voice was colder than the carbon fiber body. "She's perfect for a funeral."
My heart sank.
Likewise, when I noticed 'that' detail: a small blue line, on the edge of the car's nose.
Only the two of us and someone who's no longer here know its meaning.
Adriano.
That was his color.
Apparently, Zandar knows the secret and came all the way here to rub it in my face.
I sigh and push away the ghosts.
"Nora..."
She raises her eyes for just a moment, assessing the car's power; I'm worried about the survival cell. It's too thin and the car is too powerful to be stable.
"Macau isn't Monza; the asphalt here is treacherous, and if you crash into a wall at high speed, there won't be anything left to carry home."
She rolls her eyes, proud as a queen, and her lips curl into a cruel smile.
"I already took that into account before leaving. I have no regrets."
"What the hell are you saying?"
I step forward, grab her wrist, but she pulls away and steps back, looking at me with burning eyes.
"You don't know! You…"
She stops, takes a deep breath, and I know she's holding back.
Exhales and inhales.
Twice.
"They're calling you. And I have to do a test drive."
She turns her back on me, puts on her helmet, and walks to the driver's side.
She gets in and closes the door, starting to talk to her test drivers on the radio.
A flurry of voices, a mixture of English and Cantonese, fills the garage, and I know my time is up.
I shake my head and return to Liam, who only needs a glance to understand the situation.
She pats me on the shoulder and hands me my helmet.
"Let's go eat up the track."
When the engines all start up, the noise destabilizes every perception.
It feels like we're in a war zone, all that matters is the radio and our lips.
A cloud of dust and smoke rises around us as we line up on the starting line.
Liam and I lead, while all the other cars line up.
At the green light, we begin to drive down the underground track that feels like an opening to the mouth of hell.
The cold neon lights flicker as we pass, while the flashing blue lights, indicating a clear track, announce that our new life is beginning.
Everything disappears in that moment: Nora, the memories, the remorse, the regrets, the pain.
Nothing matters anymore, except me and this mechanical monster that is my Obsidian.
It's as if a barrier is created with the outside world when I drive, as if all that matters is the close connection between me and the engine.
I aggressively approach a corkscrew bend, and in my right mirror, I notice the sharp nose of the Lotus: Nora is hot on my tail.
I close in on her.
I shift down. The engine screams. I swerve to the left.
But she doesn't give up, downshifting, roaring the engine, and swerving to the left: she wants to cut the next bend, but I don't give her any room to enter.
Behind her, Zuri's car has also caught up with us, sticking close to Nora's rear, trying to counter her.
I take advantage of their tussle and accelerate down the straight to gain a few seconds' advantage before the twisty section I'll have to tackle.
"Great job, Wilson, but try not to flat-spot the tires, or the next segment will sap your grip."
Jason's voice comes through clearly in my headphones.
"Copy. I'm trying to understand the potential in extreme situations, but I think the reliability is perfect."
Behind me, things have heated up with the arrival of Peter Walsh, who is showing off his experience and skill.
Gentlemen, he's not called The King for nothing.
Taking advantage of a slight swerve of my car, he pulls up alongside me and glances at me through the window.
I smile to myself.
It takes more than that to intimidate me.
I shift down and swerve to the right, blocking his view and hurtling down the hairpin, all the way to the finish line.
Who's the first to cross.
I slow down and head back to the pits.
Jason has an amused smile on his face.
"Just to show who's boss, eh, Wilson?"
"I didn't come all this way to play. This is a professional tournament," I reply seriously into the radio.
Evidently my open-channel commentary has reached the other pilots, who pass me by, nodding, smiling, or making a sound.
Only Nora still has that icy look.
For her, it's a matter of life and death.
Or just revenge.