MrSkimobile

Age of Broken Shackles(Soft Sci NRP)

Hi @Sigma, is this still alive?

Blackguards!

Thanks! Then here's to making something fun and awesome. :)

Harth's intro-post is up, and already tried stoking a little. #Let's goo

Blackguards!

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In the Belly of the Beast

You have woken...

The space was cold, impossibly cold. And yet, Harth felt a warmth in it. It was colder than the dwarf mountains that were once his home. Colder than the sea he had raided, the graves he had robbed, than the corpses he had interrogated. Colder than his cell was when they put him to ice. Colder still than his own memories. Of that other him. Of his pilgrimage to that faraway land where he had found... nothing. Where the Stonefather had abandoned His faithful servant, left him in deathly silence, to become mere dust amongst the ruins of His own temple! And yet, in this strange now, a voice did come to him. That voice. Her voice. The Warden of the Maw herself.

Harth's gag shaped into a smile, "What is it, Blood-Witch?" he muttered, and soon enough contorted when a pain shot through his very soul that was unlike any that earned him his deformities. Horned hoofed hordes raged around him. Fear raged inside him. Fire raged everywhere else. And then: that voice. Sulfrey. God-King Ael-Gol -bah!- Tristana, Yorleif, Nashur. The Golden Chalice. in Malasta. That smile! Find. Kill!

You will do what I have said. That is all.

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Out of the Ashes...

And then all rumbled into... The world! Harth came to on his back. Deafness made way to blindness and he gasped as, peaking through his eyelashes, he saw the culprit: the sun! Fields of gold-hued grass swayed in the wind, and birds sang in defiance against their own mortality -must've been just past sunrise, or was it sunset?- ...such a long time since he'd experienced, well, time...

He noticed his body was clad again, the bear-pelt gambeson still fit. And in his right hand was the stone-headed mace that had served him well in the past. With a groan, he stood and raised himself up to look upon these Blackguards, all...

A sorceress with an otherworldly sheen to her, and not just from all the jewellery - royalty? Another dwarf, though she seemed more a swamp-dweller than from the Dwarf Mountains, crone-like, with a strange mind to match, rhyming and rattling with flasks of the strangest ingredients. A green-skin that had been the bane of his people, already shouting and swinging his sword -certainly one to keep an eye on. A human young man who seemed foreign to the Kingdom, with abs that were more than a little intimidating. A boyish-looking human clearly a thief, if his shadowing within the group were any indication. An aged man, yet with a strange, artificial youth to his visage and, apparently, to his personality as well. An elf - graceful, yet a strange elf she remained, and that spelled trouble. And then there was the old and gruff knightly fellow who had a bad feeling about this.

"What worry souls." Harth mumbled to himself. "And the day has only just started..."

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...And Into the Fire

The distance rumbled yet again. The sounds of raging hooves rolled over the hills like thunder, but there seemed to be no end to it. Two score of horsemen. Easterlings. And beyond, there came the screaming echoes of war. Harth felt a creeping familiar fear raise in his heart. Fire came to rage before him. And then, opportunity! It had been a while since he had a crew of raiders at his side.

"Stand," Harth snapped at the strange armored man taking a knee to the horde. "This is not a mere barbarian circus troupe you can sop! These are fighting men. And the Fire of Sulfrey is fast behind, remember your vision! They will value a show of strength now more than mere prostration." And Harth thought to himself, it wouldn't hurt to try both ways, in any case. So, Harth raised himself up to as high he could, arm outstretched to the heavens, and felt the old clerical ways come back to him as he sermoned with magical thundering voice, "Hearken! We know of the foe snapping at your heels! If you're running from the dread-horde of Sulfrey now, you've already lost! But fight with us, and you may prove yet to be more than ashen prey and spoils!" Then he pointed his mace towards the ring of fire in front of them, with the ogre behind, as if to emphasize their abilities. "This is how we might stand together!" He paused. "Or you may try through that fire and make things quick on yourself."

Then he waited. And murmured something for luck, good or ill. Fifty riders were a lot, after all...

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Blackguards!

Harth-Klannok, Gray Dwarf Anti-Cleric

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^{Header source: Iknu Font, By Bernardo Ramonfaur, on 1001Fonts | Image source: Duergar, by The Murdellicious on DeviantArt}

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Name: Harth-Klannok
Race: Gray Dwarf
Gender: Male
Age: 59, in human-terms, give or take

Appearance: On the whole, Harth looks rather unremarkably like many other gray dwarves: about two-thirds-man height, with stocky, broad features, pale skin, a grand beard of silver-gray, and equally so deep-set eyes. He wears a gambeson made of cave bear leather, scarred by many scuffles, and a worn, washed-out gugel-style hood. A large drawstring sack hangs strapped across his shoulders and back, and he wields a simple stone-head mace both for protection, and as a walking stick. His body is tarnished by scarring, crookedness from ill-healed bone fractures and, upon closer inspection, one of his eyes is artificial: a many-faceted carved glass bead, each side beset by traditional dwarven runes of good luck and protection, though now-cracked and battered.

Personality: It does not matter what the Old Gods say. None of it. Eventually, all Stone crumbles to Dust. So, this former-cleric's cares are but humble: the next step on the road, the next flagon of drink, the next body to be brought in. His deeds are a grim practicality, his worries and feelings buried deep into the shadow, and he is always prepared for sacrifice, to pay the final price - his, but mostly others'. His voice is a droning chant, rolling and sombre as the crumbling mountains themselves, yet always -if one listens well- tinged with pain and ire. He does not carry a holy symbol, as his rancor needs none - the forces of decay weigh upon all more than any holy symbol could. To Harth, death is an inevitability. Vows and promises? Only for survival's sake. Grand causes? Grand follies. He judges others not so much by their character, but by their utility: those who cannot carry their weight are quickly abandoned, and those who do? He will be content to treat them well enough, both in and out of battle, at least for now. Whether with his dark means, with his cooking, or with his sober-humored moral support, or, if you’re very, very lucky, every now and again, with a joke as dry and stale as dwarven ale. A glimmer of his past self? Perhaps...

Background: Harth was born deep under the gray mountains, in the hold of Bul-Kazann, where his clan served as the stewards and protectors of the ancient Forge-temples to one of the oldest and holiest deities of their people, though his devotion to the Stonefather is one he would rather forget. "Carry Weight," was his commandment, and so, carry weight Harth did. But during one of his pilgrimages to a faraway vale, he became embroiled in conflict, with aristocratic merchants, over desecrated ruins, and deep corruption and sorrow was all he saw. And Harth prayed. But there, between the corpses of his once-friends and allies, the echoing silence changed him. The higher the adventure, the blacker the fall. Chaotic whispers crept into his mind, and thus Harth-Kazann abandoned his Plight, emerging instead from the ruins as Harth-Klannok, his old clan-name abandoned for one that marks him as un-named, outcast, lost, grudged. Wandering the shady places of the world, bound to none, he did what he needed to do, consequences be damned: bounty hunting, piracy, gravediggery, and sometimes practicing the un-holy reversions of his former clerical magics. It wasn't long before he found himself as the next plaything to the Blood Witch of the Maw. And thus, a new story has started for him...

Talents:

• Unholy Magic: knows the following spells: Cast Wounds, Detect Magic, Curse, Darkness, Ward Off Living Things, Speak to Dead.
• Languages: can speak and read Common, Dwarvish, Ancient Dwarvish, and Stonelore (get an intuition for a stone work's history).
• Has skill in repairing weapons and armor, and can tank (and pack) quite a punch.

Flaws:

• Mistrustful, quick to spite.
• An aversion to ask for help, or give it, without something in return.
• Pragmatic, utilitarian, rigidly judgmental when it comes to (in his view naive) vows and beliefs.

Equipment:

• Leather gambeson, pale hood, glass eye with cracked protective runes
• Stone mace
• Sack with standard adventuring kit (blanket, rope, flint-stone, frying pan)

Miscellaneous:

• Speech color: CA5920
• Alt version of Harth-Kazann
• Soundtrack: Daniel Ran (feat. Voices of Heaven Gospel Choir & The Rising Sound) - Nox Atra

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Blackguards!

Hello all!

@Red Wizard A character, for your consideration. With a little cross-game meta-wink sprinkled in ;)

Harth-Klannok, Gray Dwarf Anti-Cleric

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^{Header source: Iknu Font, By Bernardo Ramonfaur, on 1001Fonts | Image source: Duergar, by The Murdellicious on DeviantArt}

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Name: Harth-Klannok
Race: Gray Dwarf
Gender: Male
Age: 59, in human-terms, give or take

Appearance: On the whole, Harth looks rather unremarkably like many other gray dwarves: about two-thirds-man height, with stocky, broad features, pale skin, a grand beard of silver-gray, and equally so deep-set eyes. He wears a gambeson made of cave bear leather, scarred by many scuffles, and a worn, washed-out gugel-style hood. A large drawstring sack hangs strapped across his shoulders and back, and he wields a simple stone-head mace both for protection, and as a walking stick. His body is tarnished by scarring, crookedness from ill-healed bone fractures and, upon closer inspection, one of his eyes is artificial: a many-faceted carved glass bead, each side beset by traditional dwarven runes of good luck and protection, though now-cracked and battered.

Personality: It does not matter what the Old Gods say. None of it. Eventually, all Stone crumbles to Dust. So, this former-cleric's cares are but humble: the next step on the road, the next flagon of drink, the next body to be brought in. His deeds are a grim practicality, his worries and feelings buried deep into the shadow, and he is always prepared for sacrifice, to pay the final price - his, but mostly others'. His voice is a droning chant, rolling and sombre as the crumbling mountains themselves, yet always -if one listens well- tinged with pain and ire. He does not carry a holy symbol, as his rancor needs none - the forces of decay weigh upon all more than any holy symbol could. Indeed, the wrinkles and scars in his very flesh are testaments enough. To Harth, death is an inevitability. Vows and promises? Only for survival's sake. Grand causes? Grand follies. He judges others not so much by their character, but by their utility: those who cannot carry their weight are quickly abandoned, and those who do? He will be content to treat them well enough, both in and out of battle, at least for now. Whether through his dark means, through cooking, or through his sober-humored moral support, and, if you’re very, very lucky, every now and again, with a joke as dry and stale as dwarven ale. A glimmer of his past optimism? Perhaps...

Background: Harth was born deep under the gray mountains, in the hold of Bul-Kazann, where his clan served as the stewards and protectors of the ancient Forge-temples to one of the oldest and holiest deities of their people, though his devotion to the Stonefather is one he would rather forget. "Carry Weight," was his commandment, and so, carry weight Harth did. But during one of his pilgrimages to a faraway vale, he became embroiled in conflict, with aristocratic merchants, over desecrated ruins, and deep corruption and sorrow was all he saw. And Harth prayed. But there, between the corpses of his once-friends and allies, the echoing silence changed him. The higher the adventure, the blacker the fall. Chaotic whispers crept into his mind, and thus Harth-Kazann abandoned his Plight, emerging instead from the ruins as Harth-Klannok, his old clan-name abandoned for one that marks him as un-named, outcast, lost, grudged. Wandering the shady places of the world, bound to none, he did what he needed to do, consequences be damned: bounty hunting, piracy, gravediggery, and sometimes practicing the un-holy reversions of his former clerical magics. It wasn't long before he found himself as the next plaything to the Bloody Witch of the Maw. And thus, a new story has started for him...

Talents:

• Unholy Magic: knows the following spells: Cast Wounds, Detect Magic, Curse, Darkness, Ward Off Living Things, Speak to Dead.
• Languages: can speak and read Common, Dwarvish, Ancient Dwarvish, and Stonelore (get an intuition for a stone work's history).
• Has skill in repairing weapons and armor, and can tank (and pack) quite a punch.

Flaws:

• Mistrustful, quick to spite.
• An aversion to ask for help, or give it, without something in return.
• Pragmatic, utilitarian, rigidly judgmental when it comes to (in his view naive) vows and beliefs.

Equipment:

• Leather gambeson, pale hood, glass eye with cracked protective runes
• Stone mace
• Sack with standard adventuring kit (blanket, rope, flint-stone, frying pan)

Miscellaneous:

• Speech color: CA5920
• Alt version of Harth-Kazann
• Soundtrack: Daniel Ran (feat. Voices of Heaven Gospel Choir & The Rising Sound) - Nox Atra

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Primality

Fantasy Superhero SoL, sounds cool and I might be interested. :)

How would play be structured? Fully freeform, or will there be some GM-mediated structure, events, storyline, etc.?

Also, do you have a preferred choice list of elements? E.g. just the good ol' earth/fire/air/water, or also things like ice, lightning, wood, etc. (or would these just be 'flavorings' to the Big Four? e.g. lightning? sure, but that would be air, technically; ash? sure, but that would be a fire, wood -> earth, etc.)?

DELTΔ HYPER (An F1 Drive to Survive inspired Anti-Gravity, Slice of Life, Cyberpunkish/Solarpunkish RP)

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Neuroplasticity - noun - / n(j)ərowˈplæstɪsitē /
The capacity of the brain to reorganize and form new neural connections, enabling it to adapt in response to injury, trauma, or changes in behavior, environment, or cognitive demands. Example: In blind patients, neuroplasticity allows the brain to compensate for its visual deprivation through an increased sensitivity to touch, smell and hearing.

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Layla's Ship, Al Saqr HQ, Abu Dhabi, AU

Soundtrack: RÜFÜS DU SOL - Alive

Portugal had been a struggle from the very start, with sharp, throbbing pains, and controls that just seemed off. 'Noisy signal over the neural link,' her race engineer had said, and that she should try not to mind it too much. So Layla didn’t give in, and kept at it with determination.

The Al-Saqr crew had done the same back at HQ since then. Their medical doctor had laid down the hammer: the overheating was getting too dangerous. There had to be another solution to the endless processing to wrangle and force the data into Layla's mind. Ceaselessly, they had tinkered on the interlinked A.I. systems that laid at the root of the neural link, made them explore their own optimal mapping. The adaptive neural limiter had become fully adaptive.

The migraines reached their apex then, like sandpaper grinding across her mind. But with every wasted simulator run, Layla pressured the system more. And in her wanting, the ship’s network of digital neural networks obliged, altering its linkages, expanding, searching, clawing, desperate to connect. Every run, Layla felt the knocking on her skull, the noise getting louder. And, like when she played with the old staticky radio’s in her childhood, she turned up the volume more, and more, and more, until eventually, she could hear the signal that was hidden in the noise. And as soon as she heard it, things… clicked in place… broke througȟ̴̪̀. She felt her mind, honed by being run through the grinder so many times, focus in on the new signal, accommodate it into itself.

The radio had been tuned, and Layla’s ship, finally, sang to her like a nightingale.

For the first time in months, the ice baths had become less necessary to deal with the overclocking of her systems, and even Kais had noticed the regained pep in her step, the familiar optimism in her voice, how her ship danced in their tests and simulations. But all good things come to an end̶̝̤͑͊… Every time her neural link's status indicator went from green to red when she plugged out of the ship’s systems, the disconnect felt more abrupt than usual. Normally, the simulated sensations were transposed on top of her existing senses, and disconnecting felt like taking off a layer of clothing or a set of holovision goggles. But now…?

Layla stared at her reflection in her ship, dragged her fingers through the vacant air around her, across the ship’s hull. It wasn't the same. It felt dull, like a limb having gone numb from the lack of blood, like missing space. Except it wasn't just a limb.

It had felt alive.

And Layla had felt alive with it.

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Conference Room 'Medina', Al Saqr HQ, Abu Dhabi, AU

The meeting room had fallen silent as the holo-screen projected a time-lapse of a brain's activity. “Look at that…” Layla said under her breath. The timeline neared current date, and Remi Tewe jumped to action, pointing out several brain areas that suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. “There it is, look! Marked changes in several areas in the limbic system, mostly associated with pain signaling and certain autonomous body functions, motor coordination, motivation, those kinds of things,” he said. And Layla turned to Kais and said, her voice hushed, “good thing I have additional mods for that,” and Salma Nasri MD barely contained herself from rolling her eyes as she overheard, though Kais swore he heard a hint of doubt in Layla's voice. “But what's more,” the neural engineer continued, “some of Layla's neuronal changes seem to be directly correlated with changes in the ship's digital neural networks. It seems the two are in the process of rewiring themselves to become a better conduit for each other. That would explain the sudden leap in performance: a direct connection from Layla's mind into the ship's systems has developed.”

“And what about the reverse?” their doctor proposed. “Considering the laws regarding putting A.I. into people's brains, I assume you are familiar with the risks?” “Except that we're not replacing parts of Layla's brain with A.I. systems at all,” Remi replied, “we're simply allowing them to communicate. Any defaulting of specialized mental processes to the ship's A.I., and associated adaptations in the wetware -sorry Layla- are to be expected and quite natural. As natural as how you outsource some of your processing to your logs and apps. Does your smart-textbook control you too, doctor?”

“What about personality?” Layla asked out of the blue, and Kais' ears perked up. His conversation with Ava came back to mind, and that question -what people wouldn't give to extract the skills of someone like them... Layla continued her question. “If the ship's neural networks are adapting to mine, will they become so similar one day that my personality will also get encoded into them?”

“Well, some would say, personality is just an extension of the survival instinct, no?” And their doctor whispered under her breath 'How reductive,' but Remi continued his line of thought unfazed. “How sensitive one is to threats, the care for social inclusion, one's interests and specializations, all so as to maximally thrive in the world... And I do not believe the ship's A.I. is wired in that same way as we are. It has one very defined goal, and that goal is to race well, and to facilitate you in that. Perhaps its circuitry will come to align implicitly to the degree where it can predict what you might find useful in the moment, so as to better filter and optimize the data for the neural link. But all of this is still very philosophical. We're going into territory where... few people have gone before, have dared go before, so it's definitely something we'll monitor. We will keep Doctor Nasri very involved in the process.” He nodded towards the doctor, who returned a slow nod of her own that said oh, you better.

Then they went over Kais’ own scans for comparison, but these didn’t show any of the neural adaptation that they had found in Layla's. With so many mods and augmentations, Layla's mind simply seemed to be more open and receptive to the changes. And while Kais' adaptive neural link also seemed to have found a better alignment with his brain activity than before, as his migraines had similarly disappeared, there had been none of this 'repurposing' business in his brain, something which made Kais breathe a sigh of relief, and which Layla found a source of much amusement. “Must be that damn stubbornness of yours, huh?” she whispered as she patted him across the chest in jest.

And at the meeting's closing, Al-Saqr's Team Principal Omar Hayawi, who had stayed silent during most of the meeting, merely stroking his beard in the deepest depths of thought anyone had ever seen him, spoke up. “Needless to say, this is what our NDA's are made for. Keep this out of the public's ears. And keep me up to date. On every development. That is all.”

Then, slowly, but with an undeniable energy, the group left the meeting room, but Kais stayed behind with Layla, who started pacing back and forth. “I never thought we’d get there this fast, if I’m being honest,” she said, her voice tense, exasperated, on the edge of fear and excitement. Kais crossed his arms, and beckoned Nadia to come in as well. She had stayed behind, silent and hesitant, and seemed to have the exact same thoughts as him. “We need to talk,” Kais finally said, and Layla stopped in her tracks. “It’s about last race, about Amy, about the glitch,” and Layla's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What about it?” Kais sighed, and steeled himself for how mad he was going to sound. “We think it wasn't just her ship's neural link that spiked last race. We think that was you, or rather your ship's A.I. that did it.” Layla blinked, her mouth opened, stumbling for the words. “I didn’t, that's absurd!”

“We’re not saying you did it on purpose,” Nadia quickly added, “We think your subconscious triggered... something in your systems, a spike, that propagated through the site's network. We went through the race telemetry and everything, we saw it, there seemed to be a direct link there, though we only found out 'cause we knew where to look, I suppose,” and Nadia looked at her feet, their going behind Layla's back still weighing on her conscience. Kais nodded, a pained look on his face. “We couldn't believe it at first either. But the connection between you and your ship has changed. There's no telling what that might mean. How... dangerous that might make you.” He said, shaking his head. “We can only hope the glitch has been solved with the upgrade, and that you have control over it now. But...” And Kais hesitated, thousands of possible threats racing through his mind. Making a better weapon out of you. “If there comes a time where you absolutely have to go there...” He paused. “Make it count.”

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Remote Meeting Space, Hamad International Spaceport, Qatar, AU

A week later, in a small isolated meeting space in the depths of Hamad International Spaceport's high-security corridors, Layla and a pair of the most highest-ups from her oldest tech partners came together to talk. The done-up suits, holo's or no, stuck out like a sore thumb here in this barebones space, little more than connected cuboids of geo-polymer cement with uncovered pipes and ventilation shafts, a sight far removed from the inspirational splendor of the public and office areas of the spaceport. Cold and sterile, it was the perfect place for a clandestine meeting with Cryo-Digital and the Lunaspace Engineering Company -and Layla's previous employer-, and there was a buzz in the air.

“What you’re describing, Ms. Al-Nadir,” the L.E.C. rep said, her voice modulated, clinical, and thick with a lunar accent, “a digital extraction of the human mind, a merging of mind and machine? It's nothing short of revolutionary. An actual mechanism for transferring a mental image into a machine and back? A digital representation of the mind, capable of being stably stored through even the most extreme conditions of space travel, then re-sleevable into programmable androids, or geno-mods? This could solve the human factor in extra-planetary colonization!”

“Not just colonization,” Layla continued, her fingers tapping the table in excitement. “Our continuity, in all its forms. Memory preservation for Alzheimer's patients, backups of brain areas, keeping alive the legacy of lost loved ones, mental extensions sharded into the cloud, bridging the cognitive degradation during cryo-sleep. This isn’t just some improvement, it opens the way to the athanasia of human consciousness itself.” She kept her voice steady, but her thoughts raced at hundreds of km per hour. The possibilities were unbelievable. But the risks...?

The Cryo-Digital representative leaned forward, his holographic avatar flickering slightly. “This research will require very careful management, but if Al-Saqr agrees to it, we would consider jointly funding an accelerated Phase Three pilot study. If we can understand how your mind interfaces with your ship’s digital intelligence, we could try to replicate it, continue it, adapt it.” “Al-Saqr might not approve of this,” Layla said, cautiously. “Not yet, anyway. We're still working things out ourselves, and the whole project is under a lot of scrutiny, I have management breathing down my neck nearly 24/7.” “We’re not looking for mere approval, Ms. Al-Nadir,” the L.E.C. rep said. “We’re asking for a partnership. Surely you understand the value of what this could mean, if we can make this a reality? But...” And the rep leaned back. “This is a risky business, and we would want more numbers, metrics... results, before committing.” And Layla felt the stakes for Luna got higher.

“And what about the... ethical considerations?” Layla asked, her mouth tightened.

The rep shrugged. “That will depend on who writes history.”

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Kais Zenix @ASZenix:
[Image of a spaceplane in the distance, with Al-Saqr fans lining up to watch its departure, and Nadia secretly photobombing in the back]
"It's been LUNAcy here at Hamad Int. Spaceport. Here's to you all, see you in a few days. We'll show you some absolute fireworks of a race!"
#AlSaqrRacing #DeltaHyper #FormulaAG #🚀 #🌔

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Training Division, Hamad International Spaceport, Qatar, AU

“Suit looking good on you, Kais,” Layla's voice called out over the comms in his helmet. Kais grunted an acknowledgment, but his mind was somewhere else, and dreading what came next. With the instructor's “3, 2, 1,” he involuntarily sucked in air as the weight on his shoulder suddenly lightened. The AG-tech in the micro-gravity training room had turned on, and he started floating as he had done in his ship so many times. This time, however, it was different. With no mag-strips or guardrails, his body was free to orient itself, as well as disorient itself, as it unfortunately turned out.

“Low and zero-gravity can be difficult to navigate for us humans, accustomed to Earth. There's no fixed reference point, no resistance, and every twitch carries through, so you can't brute force your way through it like you might in a swimming pool. You have to let yourself adapt to that, become comfortable in that.” And Kais nodded, but it didn't help him feel much more comfortable. It wasn’t exactly an instinct that came natural to him, not like his drive, want for control, and, well... brute forcefulness did. He looked at Layla effortlessly gliding through the air, cat-like. Once she made herself drift in towards Kais, called for “Hands!”, then grabbed him by them, spun him around as if in a dance, and let go, after which Layla regained control almost instantly, and Kais was left spinning and cursing through his instructor's instructions and Layla's laughter.

Yet, after some time, their instructor stopped the sim. “Doing great, you two. Next round of practice is in 15, go grab a drink, and then we'll look at how added mass changes your handling,” he said as the AG-pack settled them down with gravity. Kais felt the weight of the heavy-duty racing-suit come to sit on him again. And it didn’t take many more rounds of practice after that for the feeling of armor to bring back ways of carrying himself, ones he thought he had left behind. For a brief moment, the reflection in his visor caught him off-guard. He was surprised he looked older -the feeling might as well have been years ago. Preparing for a drop, for the unknown dangers that lay ahead. But the Luna race wasn’t a battlefield, he thought. Or rather, he hoped.

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The Memorial, Qatar, AU

The memorial park was quiet at this time of day. The day’s sweat still lingered on him, but he wasn’t to go back to his accommodations, not quite yet. There was still work to be done. Raincoat’s hood up, privacy-glasses on, he wandered down the paths until he came at last to a set of four large holo-tablets. And on them scrolled names. Many, many names. A lot of places in the Union had memorial sites like this. For those who didn't make it through those times. The times of starvation, droughts, pandemics, natural disasters. And the Middle Eastern Water Wars. They were truly dreadful years. The world's population had steadily declined to close to four billion, half of what it used to be, give or take. And Kais could imagine only few people then would have remained unaffected when one of the four horsemen came knocking on their doors. Possibly one of him, Kais thought, and he felt the pit in his stomach grow deeper.

So, so many names.

But none of his, of course.

Behind him gravel cracked and a voice eerily similar to his own spoke up, and Kais immediately knew who it was. A small lisp betrayed the scar running across his face. It always did strike him as a bit theatrical, as if frag drones had a penchant for drama. Yes, I.O.N.-2-02. Who else could it have been…

“You’ve been busy, Z.” He spoke. “Been a long time, Inan.” Kais responded, then admitted, “didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Didn't think you'd answer my call.” “And yet here we are,” Inan replied, and asked, “Still trying to get away from it all?” Kais shrugged. “There’s nowhere else to go.” “Some people try to make peace with their past, Z.,” and Kais snickered in insult. “Shrink-speak for giving up, I know them all... How’s that worked out for you?” The man chuckled in return. Bullseye. “Been doing security gigs mostly. People stop bothering you when you're just a night-shifter who keeps his head down. It’s a peaceful life.” “What of the others?” “You know that yourself, Z. Don’t make me say it.” “Of the ones that remain?” “Laying low, mostly. Some bought off by organizations, criminal gangs, probably still some cells around waiting for the right moment,” Inan shrugged, “hard to tell, sometimes. Who can be trusted…”, and Kais thought back to Khaled, who had given him one name. He nodded. “Hard to tell who’s legit…”

“Inan?” A short moment of hesitation went by. “Have you ever wondered about what it all was for? Fighting a fight we were never going to win?” “What’s all this about, Z.?” “I have gotten a drop. Information, about us. What they did to us. Not everything makes sense yet. Some of it is encrypted, yet to be analyzed, corrupted, proprietary formats. I need some trusted eyes to dig into it. And to keep it safe, if something were to… happen to me.” “Hmm…” Inan said, crossing his arms. “I bet there're a lot of people in the market for some of this. And I always did dream about owning a yacht. What makes you think I won’t turn this into my ticket out of all... this?” And he gestured to the tablets. “Because if you sell out, you’ll be selling out more than just me.” Kais said, his gaze fixed, then turned his eyes towards the names as well. “You reckon our names'll ever get mentioned as anything more than a dark page in the history books?”

Then Inan was silent. “The more you try to bury it, the more it all just keep coming back to haunt you, huh…?” He sighed. “You ever wonder if there's anything good on the other end of questions like this?” And Kais said “Every damned day. But wondering doesn’t get you anywhere. Neither does dreaming. Only fighting for it does.” He turned towards his counterpart, took his shoulder, then his neck, and slid the data shard into his rudimentary neural connector. “Stay still. Let the diagnostics run.” The sweep came back clean, no suspicious security or monitoring detected, and the biometrically-sandboxed data environment copied itself over onto the neural stack’s storage. Then, eyes hardened.

“You up for one final mission?”

“Always.”

---

The Runway, Hamad Spaceport, Qatar, AU

The energy of the crowd was electric. For the obvious lack of real-life stands and fan areas at Luna, instead Al-Saqr's ticketed fans had been invited to the spaceplane's takeoff. VR and holovision can take you quite a way, but for a fan-favorite such as Luna, Al-Saqr had prepared a worthy send-off. Stands of merchandise from their sponsors kept the crowd busy before the main event: from Layla's Cryo-Digital (offering a highly rudimentary neuro-vid as a demo), and Silver Line Cybernetics (showing off their upscale synthetic skincare products and cybernetics that were as much art and jewelry as they were functional), to Kais' Nomad Nutrition (at which Kais made sure to sip his favorite artificial strawberry-flavored nutri-paste and send a cheers at the cameras), and Jackals & Co. (the apparel brand long-since bought-up by ASSC, known for being so edgy it went far beyond self-aware irony at this point). Holo-projectors showed the ultra-ultra-luxury hover-yachts of Durrat Gliders Celestial against the sunset backdrop, and even Monster Stims had decided to join the party, after the post-Tokyo viral social media memeage.

In that crowd, behind the security fences they saw Nadia wave at them, and the two made their way up to her. As soon as they were in range, Nadia reached out. First to Layla, whom she hugged with an impatient tremble to her frame, and wished “good luck, and look after yourselves!” And then she turned to Kais, whom, to some of his shock, she hugged as well, and wished “good luck, and look after yourselves!” before waving goodbye, and turning back to talking and laughing with her friends -exchanging interested glances- that she had invited to the event.

Layla and Kais walked on and made their way through the clamor of the crowd, onto the bus that took them and their skeleton crew of pit and race engineers to the runway, then to the small area that had been marked private amongst the last-minute check-ups, fueling and loading, just before the embarking ramp, where Layla had invited her parents to, and she excused herself to join them.

Soundtrack: Guillaume David - No Going Back

There, Layla and her parents stood with each other, and the three spoke in soft, yet short sentences for a while. Then the mood became sombre and her mother, with a hesitant tremble, caressed her face and placed her hand on Layla’s heart, artificial though it was. And when the words she seemed to struggled for came, Layla stopped her, and beckoned Kais to come closer too. He stepped up to them, staying a bit off, but nodded a greeting, and her mother continued. Her eyes closed, solemn, but Kais heard a shimmer in her voice.

“Allah, Greatest and Most High, we ask for Your mercy and protection.
Be to us a faithful companion in every step we take.
Send us a path from Your heavenly light,
And send us peace wherever we may go.
A way out from every hardship,
A light from every darkness.
And grant us goodness in this life,
And goodness Hereafter,
And give us refuge from the torment of the Fire.
Ameen, O Most Merciful of the merciful.”

And Layla shone gold in that setting sun. But the stars beckoned, and so they went, with one last wave to all they knew. The H2 engines fired before long, the spaceplane shook with tremendous controlled violence… and they were off.

The holovision montage would have shown them embark, with Layla issuing a pat on the ship's hull for good luck. Click into their seats. Being checked once, twice, three times over by the plane’s stewards, with Kais brushing off the last one. Then getting kicked back by the G forces before, finally, the G forces… went away, and the night sky was all there was. And on the ground, people cheered, and people cried.

But the reality was that of silence and of mundane chatter. About the spaceplane rolling this or that many degrees, about the mist plumes they made behind them, and about racing tactics. Anything to distract themselves from what they were getting themselves into, if only for a short while.

“I never told you where my last name comes from did I? The people you saw just now? They’re my fosters, of sorts. My biologicals didn't make it through the end of the Water Wars, and my nation brought me up, like so many others I guess. Got my placement with Amina and Mohamad, and they gifted it to me: al-Nadir, ‘precious and dear’. I rarely tell people this, very few know. But now so do you.”

Kais felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and said “I’m sorry, Layla,” but Layla cut him off before he could say anything else. “No need to apologize, Kais, I don’t blame you, not anymore. And I don’t think they’re gone, not really. They’re still out there, in memory, in the water we drink, in the sands of Wadi Rum.” She said, turning to face him. “And so will we be, someday. Or… maybe…” And her gaze went to the deep, speckled, dark.

“There’s no going back, Kais. Only forwards. Ever onwards.”

And Layla turned to him, and smiled. “The future is bright!”

---

DELTΔ HYPER
Episode 6: The Dark Side of the Moon

---

“Kais, welcome to the sofa.”

The bright yellow couch stood out against the monochrome gray and black, with camera equipment so specialized it would’ve made even Kubrick blush. Kais had stumbled his way up to it, and nearly bounced past it as gravity, what little there was here, pulled him down at its weird, different rate. No matter how much he had prepared at Hamad Spaceport, it probably hadn’t been enough.

“Thanks, Aurora. It’s been an… experience.”

“Layla certainly talks a lot about Luna, it seems like a home race to her and I bet you've heard no end of it! Now we're here, do you think she's right to hype it up so much?”

“We’ve had our disagreements over it,” Kais started. “Layla’s passionate about it, for sure, she’s been talking about this place from the moment I joined Al-Saqr. To her, Luna’s not just a race. It’s the unknown, a proving ground, a triumph. I say it’s [CENSORED] cold here, it’s harsh, and it's unforgiving.” He said. “And while I like a challenge as much as the next one up, I'm made more for the... down to earth, I suppose.” He added.

“But man, you get through all this…? You've earned your stars.” And his throat closed up and quickly turned to the pale blue dot on the horizon, stretched out one of his arms, his fingers splayed like a picture frame, and scoped it up - looked about a fingernail in size from here. “What a way we’ve come, huh?”

---

DELTΔ HYPER (An F1 Drive to Survive inspired Anti-Gravity, Slice of Life, Cyberpunkish/Solarpunkish RP)

---

---

4. 3. 2. 1. GREEN.

---

“Son of a…!” Kais said as he swerved. He had sped off the start, and nearly grazed Amy’s stalled ship right at the starting lines. “Control, Sterling’s down. Report!” “Just a stall, Kais, be on the lookout, she’s coming back,” his race engineer Zeina said. And before he could enjoy his headstart, Amy had fought her way past him again with a vengeance.

The rest of the race, the migraines plagued him once again, but the largest by far was the one in front of him. Han defended well. He had seen her up-close back in Auckland, battling those in front of her and gaining on Makara almost effortlessly, but to be stuck behind her now himself was even more infuriating. Han seemed to either have a reaction speed or a tactical, forward thinking mind that very few other people on the grid had. Like she knew what he would try for the moment he had decided on it, only to cut him off. “Come on, take her down, Kais.” he said to himself, but was blocked just as he came out of the corner and went for an overtake.

“Control, Han’s blocking hard. Tell me where she’s weak.” “Just keep pressuring her, Kais. She’ll crack.” And there, almost inhumanly subtle, he swore he saw her setup an opening for a tricksy move that might well have been from the go-karting incident. Crack? Kais thought. She’s baiting you. Don’t play her game.

He lined up for an inside pass instead, and was blocked yet again…

And again.

And again.

Until the chequered flag flew, and they came in 7th and 8th.

---

Kais' head still ached, and Layla had seemed ghostly pale after the race, absentminded, and she hadn't even come up for the interviews with Delta Hyper either, so Kais wanted to get his own interview over with as soon as possible. Yet the crew seemed to have a schedule of their own they were sticking to. So, he waited impatiently.

Kais begrudgingly nodded at Han as she was invited into the booth, and his headache seemed to worsen. “Hey you, that trick you pulled? I’m not going to forget it. You want to fight? You’re getting one. Next time we go neck and neck, we’ll see how you like it when I stop pulling my punches,” he said, and could already imagine the rolling of eyes, the haughty smirk. some variant of I’m-better-than-you, and so he made sure to add “and tell Cassie she had a good run. Second place is nothing to scoff at, P7.”

Then, when she was in her interview, he crossed his arms again, and started tapping his arm, until Beatrix was up. “Bad luck, huh. Saw Ava’s burn-out, pass her my regards, will you?”

Then, to Nora: “Heard you had some trouble keeping your ride stable.”

Then came Paul. And as he passed, Kais said "Not bad, ace. I’ll need to keep an eye on you.”

Then, finally, he was brought in, and Aurora seemed to quickly rush through the question the moment she saw the look on his face. It was hot here too.

"Kais, a difficult weekend out there after two podiums in a row for yourself and the team, it looked like you and Layla are struggling with focus on the ship. What do you think happened out there?"

“Aurora, I’m a racer, not an engineer.” Kais said with exasperation. He rubbed his eyes, where the pinching pain had slowly started to subside. And he thought with some annoyance about how the two of them had done during the race. Layla came in 12th, and showed extreme twitching during the race, not something he would’ve expected had she used the safer setup. His feet rocked with restlessness. “We’re working hard on things, alright. And sometimes it’s just not your day. Maybe next race will be better. See you all then.” Then he stood up and walked out as quickly as he came in. He needed to check up on something.

---

“Nadia, with me,” Kais said as he walked past her in the paddock, and Nadia instantly snapped to attention, nearly knocking the drinks out of Hamid’s hands as she excused herself, waved him ‘till later and followed, knowing exactly what would have been so pressing to Kais.

“Where’s Layla?” Kais asked. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a while. I think she’s resting, she’s not online in any case. She seemed a bit out of it. Do you think she’s alright?” “I think she got rid of the guardrails we put on her neural modulator - idiot. I need you to help me comb through the data, I want to know what happened to her out there.”

In the hours after, the two of them hid themselves away in some corner, and went over the replay of the race, their V.I. assistants helping them filter it all to find the most anomalous sections of the race. And very quickly, it became clear that, indeed, she had disabled their safety-setup, and in fact had gone above and beyond.

“There’s a massive neural spike in Layla’s readings, far beyond baseline,” Nadia said. “But the signal sent through the neural link was categorized as an ‘unknown’. That rarely happens. Normally those're completely filtered out.” “What did the ship’s systems make of it?” Kais asked as Nadia pulled up the data. “Strange, the pattern seems more like interference than anything else, but the ship’s A.I. seemed to know what to do with it. It didn’t discard it as an outlier, in any case. But I don’t see any particularly anomalous commands going to the ship controls, no spikes there at all. I don’t get it.” “Hmm, then surely it would’ve reported it back to Control for debugging. Look in the communication logs.” Nadia tapped away. “There are some strange broadcasts sent, anonymously too, but none of them were received by our own systems. This is weird. Where did they go?” Kais leant back in thought. Spying malware? No, that would've been active all the time. This was an intentional action, interpreted by the A.I. and triggered by Layla's thoughts. But what did it act upon? “Do we have anything on the rest of the networked systems here, any track telemetry?” Nadia pulled up the graphs on the holo-tablet: a few milliseconds following the event, there had been a brief spike in how much power was drawn at one of the track sections. “No, that can't…”, a creeping suspicion came over Kais. “Holography, now!” And then they saw it: Amy's ship stalling when its energy systems spiked and tripped up her neural link.

Layla had wanted. Her ship’s A.I. had listened. And through the network, seemingly as good as untraceable, another ship's systems had spiked. And Kais said, “What the fu--?”

---

To be continued...

---

DELTΔ HYPER (An F1 Drive to Survive inspired Anti-Gravity, Slice of Life, Cyberpunkish/Solarpunkish RP)

---

---

Al-Saqr HQ, Abu Dhabi, UAE, AU - April 21st, 2094

Testing Ground

“Control, this is Hamid. All systems are green. Let’s see what she can do,” the Morroccan test pilot said. He gave the instrumentation a final glance-over, then tightened his focus on the controls, and with an imagined flick of the mind, the engines pulsed, magnetic vectoring aligned and the ship rocketed forward. The track ahead was lit up by drone-carried holographic markers, each perfectly positioned to put their new setup - and secretly its pilot - to the test. “Handling’s solid as always,” Hamid reported through strained but practiced breaths as he hit each checkpoint milliseconds ahead of its benchmark. “Engines are beastly. She wants to be pushed.” And so he did. In the control room, the operators couldn’t help but smile as they heard the unmistakable exhilaration in his voice. “Woo!” he shouted as yellow warning lights came on concerning the unusual rate at which the ship devoured the track. And upon his return to the garages, applause greeted him. As he climbed out, he clapped the mechanics on their backs in cheer. “Yeah, we’re going places with this one.”

---

Meanwhile, in the Simulator Room

The slow drone of the simulation cluster was peppered by sharp bursts of comments as Layla and Kais ran the gamut on the Portugal track. Their physical check-ups after Italy had come and gone, as had the brooding of their chief medical officer. All in all, a strange feeling of pressure had been building despite their recent successes.

In-mind, the multicolored wireframe snake that was the Autódromo do Algarve had their full attention. Layla blazed through the corners of the tightly packed hillside, dodging opponents in all its claustrophobic hooks and turns, but Kais noticed her times were slipping. He mentally clicked off the simulator. “You’re getting slower,” he said, his voice matter-of-factly, and more than pointedly confrontational. Layla threw her head round to face him. “And you’re still not as funny as you think.” “I’m serious,” Kais pressed. “Is it the modulator? Or is it you?” Layla’s face soured with an uncharacteristic frustration. “What do you want me to say, Kais? Having to break out the ice this often is annoying, fine. But I’m not stopping.” Luna was coming up. Things had to be perfect then. “Worry about yourself more.”

The next run was bad. ‘The safehouse! Tell us where it is!’ The cold barrel pressed against his head.

The one after that, worse. ’You’re not alone,’ The light faded from his eyes. ‘I’m here. I’ll make it mean something.’

Then, it was over fast. Layla’s craft swerved in strange ways, her vitals spiked on the display. A red alert illuminated her pod, and the simulator auto-cut its power. Kais was out of his seat in seconds, cursing under his breath, but the safety mechanisms had done their job, kicking in before she felt the full psychological punch of being a craft ripped apart. The sim engineer rushed in with a precautionary coolant dispenser, but Layla went to sit up straight and waved them away in protest. “I’m still functioning. I’m fine,” she said. “I’m fine.”

---

Fight or Flight - Al-Saqr HQ Conference Room 'Casablanca'

Team Principal Omar paced the conference room, his voice filled with determination as he opened the meeting with the usual formalities. Many of the seats had department leads and experts for the monthly review, but two of the seats in the room were occupied by faceless holographic tags with names Kais had never seen before. Who was Omar in talks with?

“We’ve come too far to fail now.” Omar stated. “Al Saqr is not just any team. We are the Falcons. We fly fast, and soar high. We do not just race, we redefine. What it is to race, what it is that we are capable of. And our results this year speak for themselves. Nine points behind Silver Apex. Nine. That’s nothing, if we play our cards right.” His eyes swept the room, to the faceless holo’s, then to Layla and Kais, and Kais swore his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Then he turned back to the room, and started with the first points on the meeting’s agenda. “How are developments?”

“Our tests on the magnetic vectoring and pulse drive have been a great success.” Dalia Mansour, of propulsion, said. “With the increased control the neural interface gives us, we have been able to increase the speed in simulations without too much risk. We have already trialed the new engine-grid layout with Hamid.” Beside her, the Moroccan junior test pilot nodded in agreement. “It turns as tight as ever, but has a higher speed capability. We’re still hammering out some remaining kinks, but by Silverstone, we should reliably be able to hit an extra 9%, sustained.”

CMedO Salma Nasri’s voice cut through. “That’s great for the ships, but what about the pilots? Layla’s diagnostics are deteriorating. Overheating is a regular occurrence, even in practice sessions. Risk of overstimulation is close to 12% now. We’re pushing her systems too hot in my professional opinion,” she said with emphasis - she seemed to have waited for this moment to throw down the gauntlet, and pressed a touch-key on her holo-tablet. Various graphs of rising data points appeared in mid-air beside a full-body scan of Layla’s body, displaying heating in most of her synthetic systems. Parts that originally laid in the yellow margin of caution, were now starting to run into the orange-red, apparently incapable of keeping up with cooling her down the more data and fine-grained micro-controllers they tried to shove into her. It effectively made her an additional supercomputer cluster within the ship, but clearly not without risk. A risk which Layla wasn't alone in: Kais' own inculcated reflex loops seemed to handle their neural link slightly better, but they started pushing less-than-pleasant memories, and made for absolutely debilitating headaches at times.

Layla turned towards their team’s head doctor, her gold eyes lit by determination and practiced excuses. “Yes, we have been overclocking the systems: we have a lot of information now to know exactly where we can push it. I can handle it.” Salma’s expression hardened. “You think you can handle it. But the numbers don’t lie, Layla: you’re burning through your systems faster than they can recover. If you keep going like this you’re going to break down your mods before long.” “I have backups, they’re replacable.” “And what about you? Not every track has snow for emergency cooldown, Layla! What do you think a crash at these levels would do to you?”

Juan Diaz, lead mechanic on the energy systems, spoke up. “If I may, we have started work on hooking up the pilots’ internals straight into the ship’s cooling systems, besides continuing the work on the neural mod, of course,” he said, passing the torch to head neural engineer Remi Tewe. “Indeed. We’re pushing data streams we never dreamt possible, and we’ve been spreading them over the pilots’ neurological systems mostly by intuition, but optimizing the mappings for each pilot is difficult. We’re progressing steadily, but both of these developments need more time, frankly. I don’t know any team that does cooling of their pilots this way, for one, and most neural links only map into the shallow layers of the cortical structure. I don’t think we’ll have a fully production-ready version until Monaco, and we’re making overtime finetuning it for Luna, but if there are too many concerns, we could limit the modulator to keep the risk within safety margins for the next race.”

As he went on to discuss the details, Kais leaned in towards Layla, his voice low enough it wouldn’t be heard on the recording of the meeting’s minutes, but still firm. “No shame in a tactical retreat, Layla, you have been acting nervous lately, you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

Layla turned. “Wasn’t it you who supported the neural modulator adaptations to begin with? You wanted to push the limits just as much! And now you want me to backpedal, when we’re this close to a breakthrough? Go ahead! But I’m not stopping. I know what’s at stake, and I’m not going to let the team down now.”

The meeting continued for some time, discussing testing, finances and other pressing matters, but none caught Kais’ attention any further. Then Omar closed the meeting, and people went back to their business as usual. Later, in his office, a strange chirping came over the data lines, likely some of the usual interference from so many digital systems interacting. But to Omar, having the cryptographic decryption key, it sounded more like ‘The ministry is pleased. Our investment stands.’

---

[Chat log]

Kais: “Meet me at the sims.”
Nadia: “At this hour?”
Kais: “We do whatever it takes.”

The lab was lit, the machines on standby hummed soflty. Kais leaned over the neural calibration console, his brow furrowed - concentration, or frustration? Nadia shuffled in with some reluctance, her eyes red from having rubbed them for pretty much the entire duration of the trip back to the labs. “You know, I do need to sleep sometimes,” she muttered and put down a pair of Zap energy drinks as she took her place beside him.

“We’re changing the setup,” Kais began without preamble. “I’ve been replaying Layla’s races for the past few hours now. I think I know what her overclocking feels like. Now we need to find the edge of the knife, and nudge it back a little, just enough. I need you to go over diagnostics.”

---

Phone Home

The holo-screen flickered to life in the small living quarters Layla technically, physically, called her home. She made sure to adjust her positioning: everytime she saw her own reflection in the holographic screens, she found that her prosthetics defaulted to sitting more like a statue than anything else. Then, the scheduled call went through as it did every week, at exactly the same time, and the visuals of her parents came through, soft, aged, fragile.

“Layla,” her mother’s voice echoed through the speakers, her Jordanian Arabic dialect thick. “How are you? How are things over in the big city?” The question came through as it did every week, at exactly the same time. And as always, there was pride and joy in her eyes, but also that look. That look for her to simply come home. “Oh you know, busy.”

Layla sighed, and she quickly shifted the topic to her parents. “How’s the store doing?” Her mother went through the mundanity about their small store, their customers, gossip, that one handsome guy that would be such a catch. Layla made sure to nod and laugh at the right moments. But the unspoken still lingered. “Sounds like you’ve been having your hands full with it. You do seem to have gotten more grey again!”

“Well, you know us, we like to worry a lot.” Her father replied, half off-camera. “We saw the race last week. Very impressive, binti. We couldn’t dream of achieving anything like that.” And Layla tsk-ed. She had been so, so close to Amy. And yet, short of the mark. Again. “It went okay. Could’ve been more. I felt it again, though. We’re so close now.”

Her mother didn’t even acknowledge it. “Well, whatever ‘it’ is, you look tired of it. Are you sleeping alright? Eati-- nourishing yourself well?” Her father’s voice cut in from somewhere off-screen, a low voice, but clearly still meant for Layla to hear. “It’s no use, habibti. She’ll just say we don’t understand. Just like with everything else. We're just shop owners, after all, we didn't get that fancy state-funded 'education'. And now our little binti is off ‘becoming more’. Fulfilling that purpose of hers.” He scoffed a little, his voice halfway between disapproval and desperation, and under his breath he whispered, “Machines and tools have a purpose. If only she understood how much more she is than that.” A defeated sigh finished the comment, then he went to grab something to drink.

The conversation turned back awkwardly, and Layla went over the usual things. Colleagues. Stupid meetings. The next race. Then her father sighed heavily, and stepped into frame. “Promise us you’ll be careful.” “I promise,” Layla said softly, even as every fibre of her being rebelled against the words. Her parents exchanged a quick glance, smiling through their worry. “Good luck in Portugal. We’ll be watching.” Her mother finished. “Thanks, I’ll make you proud!” “Same time next week?” “Same time every week.”

Then the holo-screen cut to black. ‘Connection closed’.

---

Formula Anti-Gravity Racing Round 5: Portuguese AGP
Autódromo Internacional do Algarve, Portugal
May 6th, 2094, 1500 GMT

The trip to Portimão, Portugal had been uneventful when it came to the day-to-day operations, but the tension within the Al-Saqr crew was palpable. They had gotten away with the neural modifications on sheer luck it seemed, both in terms of results and in keeping it under the radar of the regulators, but how long could that last? The Autódromo Internacional do Algarve glimmered with its minimalist sheen, and inside the paddock, the usual pre-race preparation bustled: the setup of the racers, the garages, the data pipelines, the quiet, streamlined confidence. Yet Layla’s usual optimism, the very glue that had held the team together in their focus and drive for years now, had made way to an almost nervous atmosphere. Kais noticed her eyes flashed over to him, her fingers hovering over the neural calibration panels. Then she stood up and barged up to him. “You think I wouldn’t notice during practice?” she said with a low voice, but with an accusatory combative edge he hadn’t expected coming from her petite stature compared to his own. Behind his back, Kais gestured to Nadia to stay out of it, and she quickly busied away to other tasks. “The last config of my modulator got your fingerprints all over it, pushing the update at what, 3am? You tampered with it!”

“I put in some guardrails.” Kais said, his voice authoritative, hoping she would accept it if he made it sound like there simply wasn’t another option, and that it wasn’t an issue at all. “Very well calibrated. Shouldn’t hinder you. But it should keep the mods from melting right out of your body.”

Layla stared him down, an anger in her eyes Kais hadn’t seen from her before. “What happened to not coddling me, huh? Kais, I need you to trust me to know my limits. Now more than ever: we can’t afford to go back to the drawing board when we’re this close!” And Kais hissed back. “Listen, I get it, Luna’s coming up, and you don’t want to feel like you’re holding us back. But...”

“No, you don’t get it, Kais.” Layla snapped back, her eyes cast into the sky in frustration. “Why am I always supposed to push the breaks because someone else is afraid of the future?” Layla said, a restlessness building. “This isn’t just about me!” She left a silence as she breathed in. “Look, you’re not the only one who’s been through shit, alright! Luna is a dangerous place. Mining cave-ins, regolith slides, I’ve had friends taken by radiation sickness. Ever seen a micrometeorite hit? Every frontier takes its toll, Kais. But we can’t let it hold us back. We fight on. For all of us, and for all those that didn’t make it. We break through. Break free. I thought of all people, you would understand...”

Kais stood his ground as he was trained to. Staring her down, taking her in. As he did, he couldn’t help feeling admiration for her spirit. But there was something else too, a feeling which, to anyone else in the world, would be instantly recognizable as fear. “You know what?” Layla slightly softened, her prosthetic shoulders dropping the tension that was never really there to begin with. “For all that big talk about pushing limits you’ve grown a mighty big soft spot.”

“Maybe.” Kais said. Nodded. Grabbed his bag. Hesitated. Then, before walking off towards the track, with eyes cast away, admitted: “I didn’t think it’d come to this. And I didn’t think I’d care.” The words came difficult. “If you think you can handle it, I’ll stand behind you. If you can’t…? The future can wait. Just, whatever you do… don’t make me watch another teammate go down.”

And later, in qualifications, their times suffered. First up was Amy again. Paul and Nora did fantastic. Cassie, Jamie Hart and Han close behind. Then Kais at 9th, and then, Layla came behind all of them at a disappointing 12th. She sat in the pit, her eyes aimed up but looking at nothing. Her mind turned inwards to her neural link’s version control. Her hands clenched, migraine throbbing - she needed more, more processing power -, the midnight update taunted her. Layla felt her cybernetic eyes ache with all-too-human phantom tears. Then she chose ‘Delete’.

---

Interview +1, DELTΔ HYPER Couch

"Kais, Hamid, welcome to Delta Hyper."

Kais offered a nod, letting Hamid take the lead. Kais was not in the mood for interviews, especially not with the Arabic Union pilot next to him. He seemed to be everything Kais wasn’t: aside from Layla, Hamid had been the inspirational face of their team in their public relations towards the younger generations of the Union and beyond. The young pilot was eager. Maybe a bit too much.

"Thank you for having us. It is a pleasure to be here. And among winners, too."

"Absolutely, and you have two older, wise pilots to learn from and work with."

"Yes, Layla and Kais are pushing boundaries, and they are an inspiration."

"Well, that is very nice of you, Hamid. Kais, do you think from being a little older on the grid, you are a good mentor for younger pilots?"

The question was deceptive, and it gnawed at Kais’ composure. He tapped his knee with his fingers. The question made him sound like a relic to be phased out, like he didn't have much more to give, despite modern medicine and his genetic modifications. He crossed his arms. “Mentor,” he said, and sucked in some air through his teeth, as if tasting the word, then let it out in a slow exhale. “Racing isn’t something you can just pass down like that. It’s more personal. What works for one might not for someone else. And Hamid’s got talent. It’s up to him where and how far he takes it.”

Hamid smiled. “That’s humble of you to say, Kais. But talent is nothing without guidance.” Very slick.

Soundtrack: Mdou Moctar - Tarhatazed

“Alright then,” Kais said as he leaned back, his gaze sharply measuring up his counterpart's every reaction. “First lesson: how you handle pressure is a large part of the work. Most younger candidates fold when the going gets tough. First crash, first controversy, first team disagreement, and they're out. How would you deal with such things, Hamid, especially with so many in the Union looking up to you?”

Hamid donned his attractive smile, leaned back, one leg over the other in laid-back confidence. “The Arabic Union has given me so much. Bearing its flag is an honor. One I’ll gladly weather any pressure for, both on the track and off. And getting to share it with legends? With you and Layla? I’ll just have to make sure to work hard every day to catch up to you.”

He crossed his arms, mirroring Kais’ pose, and the warmth of his smile sharpened into an edge. “‘cause that’s the thing about racing too, isn’t it? You’re only as good as your last one. And I’m going to make sure my next one will be one to remember.”

“And the one after that…” And his smile grew.

“And the one after that…”

---

DELTΔ HYPER

Episode 5: Trading Paint

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DELTΔ HYPER (An F1 Drive to Survive inspired Anti-Gravity, Slice of Life, Cyberpunkish/Solarpunkish RP)

---

---

DELTΔ HYPER

Episode Four: Azzuro Alpina

Countdown. And with each light Kais’ mind ached in anticipation. Then the machines around him erupted, snow sublimated around them as they went, and the fight was on, for a while…

“Yellow flag. Repeat: yellow flag.” Kais’ race engineer Zeina’s voice came over the comms.
“Copy that. Yellow flag. Lining up in the shame parade.” Kais said as he decelerated the ship and the ship’s AI controls gently but resolutely guided the ship over onto the virtual safety track. “What’s the incident?”
“Collision, Han and Astrid. They’re scanning the area now.” Zeina replied.
“Astrid?” That was a name Kais hadn’t expected, not after her performance last race, and especially not at the position she found herself in at the start. “What happened?”
“Looks like a bad overtake from Han at the Pordoi jump.”
“At Pordoi? Risky.” So Han pulled a Jamie, huh... “Damage report.”
“Debris all over the place, power’s down, they’re out. Pilots look OK. Scratch that, they’re more than fine: Astrid’s giving Han a stern talking to.”
“Heh,” Kais couldn't help but snicker a little. Good luck with that... “Give me the highlights.”
Zeina was quiet for a moment, then came back on the comms. “Called her spoilt, apparently.”
“Tame.”

A few moments of silence passed. Moments that felt like a drag at 80kph.
“How’s Layla doing?”
“Fighting hard. Amy’s right on her back.”
And Kais winced and thought: better prep the ice, then. Layla may have that resolute brightness about her, but when pushed, she was a force to be reckoned with. Knowing her, with the long stretches that characterized this track, she’d overclock her mods in equally long stretches - and that was a peril not just to her opponent. “Tell her to keep her cool.”
“Will do.”

Some time later.
“Back to business, Kais. Cleanup’s nearly done. Flag’s getting lifted soon.”
“Copy that. Accelerator’s aching.”

And when the yellow notification disappeared from his mind, Kais released the brakes, and through the neural overlay of the ship's sensors, he could still feel the actual seat’s material shaping around his form as close to 5Gs of acceleration pushed him back. The fight was on again. But Nora was gone before he could punch it well and good. Damnit. He pushed the accelerator, but the difference in speed was too great, and the gap grew and grew.

That didn’t mean he was out of the danger zone, though. In the remaining rounds, Harrison behind him crept closer, then drifted back, then crept closer again. And Kais kept him behind, his adrenaline-fueled reflexes jerking the ship around with precision, though just barely in the margin of controlled and acceptable racing tactics. He couldn’t let him pass. No way. His mind asked the neural modulator for more control over the pilot-ship interface, and he felt his mind fill once more. Jaw clenched. Eyes tight.

“Keep defending, Kais!” Zeina came over the comms.
“What does it look like I’m doing!”
“This is our final stand! Execute! Execute!” Zeina cried. Or…?
“What… What did you just say?” Kais’ voice reduced to a whisper.
“Oh god, we’re lost!” The panicked voice crackled over the comms.
“...Command, repeat!”
“It’s all lost, we’re done for!”
“Control yourself!”
“Kais? Can you hear me?” Zeina’s familiar voice returned. “Looks like you lost comms for a second there.”
“Yeah.” Kais blinked, shook his head as if to try to awaken from a nightmare. “Let’s... Let’s keep the chatter to a minimum from now on.”

Some rounds later, as Harrison and Kais reached the glacier section, Harrison suddenly rolled around one of its tunnels and took him over from above. A beautiful maneuver, but it was one Kais’ mind would only truly appreciate in the post-race rewatch. Makara disappeared into the distance as Nora had, and for the rest of the race Kais kept Amy at bay, and that was enough to have on his mind. The chequered flag flew, and he rushed out for fresh air. In the distance, Layla steamed as the team's medics checked up on her and took her towards her own cooldown. And back home, juniors Hamid Atlassi and Malik Ashott traded messages of concern.

---

RoadPlayersGuild Thread: [DISC] DELTΔ HYPER - Round 4 Italian AGP

BeaForever: Now that was a crash I didn’t see coming.

Hyeon-Bae: Nooo my queen 😭

NorthernNina: Didn’t know you had a thing for the nordic party animals, good choice lol

Hyeon-Bae: Blasphemy! Repent~!

BrakesAreForLosers: Prophet Kais calling it in Auckland. Han’s not doing too well out of her air conditioned comfort zone.

ZenixRising: Idk man, Kais seems kinda out of it himself. Already down to P3 again. Look at his eyes.

Here4Thrills: Yeah, I give it about 2-3 races before shit’s really gonna start hitting the fan at Al-Saqr.
IHartRacing: Suck it, buncha warhawk simps.

[Message filtered due to inappropriate content]
[Message filtered due to inappropriate content]
ShiftsNGiggles: Oh boy here we go.
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[Message filtered due to inappropriate content]
ThatOneDriverFan: Just lock the thread, OP, before the FBI raid us

NitroNorasArmy: Called it. Nora just casually being like ‘oh that’s cute, you thought you had a chance, huh?’ *boss music starts playing*
NeverQuitNeves: And Cassie still not breaking into the points ffs. The Zygoons needs to get their clipboards out of their asses already #justiceforcassie
RustyApex: Just be happy Amy’s finally off the podium, yall. It was getting a bit boring tbh
ThrottleMeMommyVillarosa: What does everyone make of all the chaos at Valkyrie?

TurboLover: Where is that truther guy when you need him?

TiresAndTinfoil: I think they got something on Bea. Why else would she agree to the Mulder charity gig when his team is under so much scrutiny atm?

Alpaulcalover: Don’t you dare besmirch Paul with your filthy accusations!

FuelForThought: It’s always the sweet and innocent-looking ones you gotta look out for. You just wait, you just wait…

ImFastAFBea: Never mind, put the truther guy back on the shelf where you found him.
SkidMarkStan: It’s a racing game, not game of thrones. Now calm down, podium ceremony’s starting.

---

Cool Down / Warm Up

Kais felt the cooldown room was surprisingly hot despite the frigid environment. Even now sweat pearled on Kais’ forehead in the aftermath of the race, and he could still feel the rush in his veins as the replay showed Astrid and Han’s crash, NitroNora honoring her nickname as she launched off after the flag was lifted, and the gap growing and growing. “Well. You got me there.” He said, as close to a compliment as he managed.

But the race had already passed into the background for him. Al Saqr’s team was starting to push the limits with their neural link, but the limits seemed to have started pushing back, and it made him annoyed. Layla had been plunging into ice more and more lately due to sheer processing overexhaustion, and though Kais himself was lucky his own circulatory system was more optimized for high stress and temperature survival than hers, he too had migraines and cold sweats more frequently now, even with his sedatives. The more the team tinkered with the guardrails and mappings of his neural connector, the more things became… well… Kais’ face twitched in a pained expression. The cracked voice of his race engineer flashed into his mind again as he saw Harrison gloat when the replay showed his literally over-the-top overtake. Kais sat up, took a deep breath, and swore he saw concern flash over Harrison face for a fraction of a second. As they always did...

Then the recaps showed Amy lagging, stuck behind him in P4, and a small sense of achievement came over Kais. “We did it.” Kais said under his breath with a smirk of his own as his eyes glanced at the two sitting to his left, the subtext hopefully clear: no Amy on the big stage today…

And finally, as they were led on towards the podium, a brief respite from the cameras, he spoke to Nora. “Hey, killer race today. But you better be on your guard: and not just for me.” He paused, Amy so confidently commenting about his neural mods after last race still ominously ringing in his ears. “P1 makes you quite the target, after all. And payback is sweet… isn’t it?” He said as he looked her in the eyes. A warning? A challenge? A callback to her comments last race? A message to her that he knew she had been involved with transnational gangs as Ava had told him... and understood? All of it? Who knew... “Now let’s get out there.” And as the ceremony neared its end, the defiant forefinger went into the air again, and then aimed towards Nora. But was it the Number One, or was it, once again, the Bang? Who knew...

---

"Kais, what a race it was from you and Nora! How did it feel going toe to toe with another rookie?"

Kais blew some air out of his nose in amusement. ‘Toe to toe’, she said, and he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of defeat, the sight of Nora’s ship blasting off of Pordoi like an Olympic ski jumper still fresh in his mind. “She’s damn fast, that one. I’m going to have some words with the team about our drive core, else we’ll never properly get to duke it out.”

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