[color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Delta Hyper Interview[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color]

[quote][b]"So, last question for Auckland. After your first race in the championship, is there anyone you would like to say thanks to?"[/b][/quote]

“Oh strewth, yeah. I’d like to thank Southern Cross, especially Owen, for giving me the chance to come back to AG racing at the Pro level.  Not exactly the expected next step for a street racer, even one as good as me.  And I’d also have to thank uncle Flynn, actually.  I don’t know who sent it, but he had every right to tell an anonymous tip to rack off and just go about his day.  Instead, I got ambushed at a bar by my uncle, unable to shoot through.  That said, don’t think I can whinge about it now, eh?  I mean, look where it's gotten me!”

[hr]
[center][b]Nora Kelly @NitroNora[/b]
[i]Bloody good first race, and even better competition.
2nd place finish, with Harrison in 4th? Call that a good start! 
[b]@ASZenix[/b] Think you can match me? Then come take it!
#SCRacing #DeltaHyper #FormulaAG[/i][/center]

[hr]
[color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Home Sweet Home[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color]

[quote=@FourtyTwo]Southern Cross's on the other hand, was a bit more functional. Sitting on an industrial estate outside of Christchurch, outside a gigantic, sprawling network of vertical farms occupying the dead-flat Canterbury Plains- the breadbasket of the Pacific, but the towering Southern Alps are in the far background. It's being renovated bit by bit, so still is undergoing work but it seems to be coming on, but the punk aesthetic of Southern Cross bleeds through, custom paint on the walls of pilots past, trophies won, and depictions of iconic moments, in a way that yelled out to a history. While a precise lab, it also feels deeply....underground. Art litters the walls quite literally everywhere, and reminds the team of where they came from, what they are. Less factory and design facility, more like a chronicle to all things speed, power and the Whanau, or Family, of Southern Cross. There's old F1 cars from McLaren, perhaps a long ancestor of Southern Cross, and then other AG prototypes around.[/quote]

It was time to go home… Or more accurately, to return to Southern Crosses home base just outside of Christchurch.  Like most teams, most of the gear was being sent straight to South Africa for the next race, and the rest of the team and the ships would be riding in one of Southern Crosses dedicated transports.  But we’re here to check on our pilots, so, shall we?

[hr]
“Thank you for joining us Nora. Please lay face down on the table, if you would, and we can get to adjusting your implants.” 

Dr. Awi Winiata, Southern Crosses augmentation expert, sat in front a machine that looked closer to a spider than a medical tool preparing to adjust and finalize the racers augmentations that allowed Nora to bond with her sled on an instinctual level, hijacking her brainstem and spinal column to send inputs directly along the biological pathways generally used for such things as movement and breathing.

The nanochelated neural pathways that had lead from the ship to her brain were being refined and solidified, and work was being done to ensure that her body simply treated them as an extension of her biological nervous system, which the good doctor hoped would lead to further improvements in pilot-ship integration, allowing the ship to respond faster than any external control surface could afford, and with more precision than a single neural jack could provide.

For her part, Nora looked nervously at the contraption.  “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that monstrosity doc, but after Auckland I think the concept is well-proven.” She said as she lay down, one of the medical assistants strapping her down and sticking a series of sensors to her skin as another plugged the current jacks into the system.

“Well at least you don’t have to watch it working.  See you on the other side, Nelly.” Dr. Winiata replied with a hint of a laugh, before nodding to the anesthetic specialist that ensured that Nora didn’t have to feel a new nervous system growing, and it was lights out.

[hr]
[center][i]Later that week, Southern Cross Ops Center[/i][/center]

“... And I think that about wraps up Auckland without earbashing it.  Harrison, Nora, you’ve both got more than a fair go at the podium in Cape Town, but let's not count our reefs yet.” Owen Keating, Southern Crosses principal, said to the two racers and assembled department heads.

“Yeah, our Wakas are a rip snorter on that course, all wide open with enough room to really let ‘er go!” Harrison replied, the senior pilot's excitement evident as Nora nodded in agreement as she went over the tracks layout and other specs.

“That said, we’ll need to work on the stability of the sleds if we want to consistently put the heat on those tall poppies at Silver Apex.  The engineers are cooking something up, but sounds like they won’t be ready for a while. Until then, lets focus on preparing for the race ahead of us and she’ll be right.” Owen rubbed his hands together before pulling up a schedule. “Nora, Harrison, your prep schedule is ready.  Nora, we’ll need you to be careful during the first couple of sim runs.  Awi said the nerves are still settling in fully so play it safe and learn the track before going all out.”

[hr]
[color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Principles Office, Southern Cross HQ
Sometime before Noras recruitment[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color]
The Team Principles office was a reflection of the team itself, decorated with a full wall painting of the Great Barrier Reef mid-restoration as well as medals, news clippings, and other awards earned by the team since its founding.

“Flynn, are you sure about this tip?  They didn’t even give you a name, just… What was it? A nickname?” Owen asked the man sitting across the desk from him. 

Flynn Kelly, one of Southern Crosses talent scouts, shook his head.  “More of a handle.  Sandstorm, she’s called, and apparently [i]I’ll know her when I see her.[/i]” He sighed before continuing. “I know it sounds bad, Owen, but I’ve known this source since gradeschool. They might not be the most morally upstanding person you’d meet but they’re no ratbag either. If they say it’s true, then you can at least be sure they believe it is.”

Owen just shook his head.  “Lets just make sure it doesn’t turn into a dog's breakfast for us again, eh? I trust you for a reason, but be careful.  Alice Springs isn’t exactly the safest place these days.”

[hr]
[color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Alice Springs, Australia
Post-Auckland AGP[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color]

A figure sits in shadows, smoking a cigar as they watch a replay of the Auckland AGP race, focusing on Nora Kellys POV in most of the clips.  The office they are sitting in is nondescript but richly appointed, with a C with a lightning bolt going through the center of the letter painted in bold colors on the wall behind him.

“So that’s where our little dust devil got off to…  I see the move has done nothing to dull her winning streak.  Jeremy, see if we can get some skin in that game. We can’t let her have all the fun after slipping away like that.”