Starlance

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Fireteam Poseidon

---

”Get a room, you two. One without bioweapons in it.” The Cameroonian chuckled with an audible roll of his eyes at the flirtatious giants as he, Ban and Chuck peeled off from Adam and Freya to do their thing.

That was when the floodlights flickered on and the PA crackled to life. He really hoped it would take longer to go loud. ”Over the loudspeaker? At least the mercs I worked with had class.” Ebrima groaned. He would have to give some good-natured grief to Purna later, with the whole Ghukra-Kukri mythos and meanwhile this Jap is here stopping bullets with his sword like a real-life cartoon protagonist. Where and how did Skye keep finding these people, it was a superpower at this point. Good thing that was a thing of hers that Rose didn’t share.

But he thrived in environments like this, was molded to it by his uncle Monday - and no small amounts of unkind fate - and even though the algae farm was a far cry from the jungles of Northern Cameroon where Ebrima was trained or Eastern Nigeria where Monday cut his teeth before that, there were enough similarities to make it count. Close quarters, obstructed sight lines and no need to take the other side’s lives into consideration. A few leaps and jump pack boosts and he was on the top deck following Chuck’s plan, cutting off the option of getting attacked from above as a bonus.

Up on the catwalks with no cover to speak of, speed would mean survival. Speed, or making his own cover. Ebrima took off running toward the nearest hostile, the USP barking twice to make room for the Kukri in the other hand. The PDW clattered on the grated floor along with the hand holding it, the same arm that did it wrapping itself around the freshly-minted pirate like a hydraulically-powered constrictor snake, holding him close to Ebrima while the knife found a gap between the kevlar collar and ballistic mask. Ebrima felt the rounds impact his plates harmlessly, losing enough oomph going through the Artemis merc to be a non-issue for the Raven merc. More rounds continued striking as he ran forward, holding the dead body like a shield until he reached the two others, throwing the body at one and launching himself at the other with the jump pack.

Ebrima’s boot slammed into the left merc’s stomach like a forging press, ducking under a left hook while swiping the knife to his left to knock a pointed weapon away and following up with another side kick to reinforce the lesson that the guy should stay. Fucking. Down, the Artemis operative’s head leaving a dent in the railing it got slammed into. He followed up with a jump pack-assisted roundhouse kick to unsettle the man on the left and a likewise boosted shoulder barge sending him clean through the railing and tumbling down toward where Ban was no doubt slicing up bad guys like a Teppanyaki chef; Ebrima keeping the momentum from the charge to keep moving because speed? Speed meant survival.

Enri Uemura
Fireteam Viking

---

She didn’t even look up from her work, merely raising her voice over the clattering of the keyboard. Touch screens and AR were good for the civilian sector, but defense needed simple, reliable and, if possible, fixable with a screwdriver and a fourth-grade education. ”I don’t need you to like me, and if I want your opinion of me, I’ll just read your emails.” She still wasn’t discounting infecting Raph’s personal computer with some particularly annoying adware for his meddling in Colombia, but despite the harsh words she sounded happier than before, her mind in her own world, one of ones and zeroes where death was an abstract concept. About as true as weight loss commercials, but at least it was an effective coping strategy her mind cooked up to compartmentalize this end-of-the-world, action movie shitshow she’d been thrust in. Worse, one she went into voluntarily.

Kicking off the wall and covering half of the distance between herself and Raph on the office chair with what was definitely a practiced move, Enri gestured for him to turn his back to her. ”Don’t move.” She opened up his backpack, trying to reach in and having to tap his shoulder to get him to bend down slightly. Reaching in, she shoved a spool of cable into his hands. ”Hold this.” She pulled out the toolkit she needed, putting the spool Raph was holding back in and zipping the bag back up. ”You’re free.” Up until she got talking to Shalev’s warehouse manager once, she had no idea how much something as stupid as packing a bag could be optimized. Old German guy had a point, otherwise she would’ve put the heavy stuff low and light stuff high and now would’ve had to throw out half of the bag to get what she needed.

She disappeared in the server room with an impressed whistle, coming back out a few minutes later. ”If he wasn’t a genocidal asshole, I’d suggest hiring their network tech. Everything in there’s neat and labeled down to the last cable, beautiful.” She sat back in the chair, double-checking everything once more. ”It’s ready, on your go.”

Wizard Mafia (Harry Potter Organized Crime RP)

I'm still here if you lot are.

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

DELTΔ HYPER

Episode One: Finding Their Feet

---

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

”Obviously that starts with my dad for always being behind me one hundred percent ever since I got this wild hair and my mum for never trying to pull the plug even though she hates that I do this.
Next of course, everyone at Carrera Condor, those in charge for taking the leap of faith, the rank-and-file for working ‘til their fingers are sore to give us the best shot and Ava for being super helpful the entire time since I signed up.
Can’t forget my physical coach, they don’t get enough credit, even if I sometimes think mine might secretly be a sadist.” Bea jested.
”And last but not least, you.” Bea turned her head from talking to Aurora to speaking directly to the camera, ”The people watching at home or in person, since without you none of this would be happening. Cheers, you legends, you’re paying our bills.” She raised the water bottle she had beside the couch for a toast.

---

Monday March 8th, 2094, 08:15 UTC (11:15 local)
Buenos Aires, AR

Carrera Condor HQ

The conference room offered a stunning view of the Río de la Plata, the expanded Costanera Sur Ecological Reserve and the rainforest beyond from a corner window on the 23rd floor. A U-shaped table lorded over the room, locally produced bamboo and brushed aluminium, backs toward the window depriving everyone of the gorgeous view and keeping them focused on the task at hand, far away from the praying eyes of Delta Hyper or other cameras.

At the peak of the table sat Léon Alonso, the team principal. Racing was in the 57 year old Spaniard’s blood, having inherited it - as well as his eyebrows - from his grandfather, a triple-crown holder and three time world champion in the sport that could be considered a grandfather to Formula AG. Himself a double 24 hours of Le Mans winner in the Unlimited category, Léon hung up his helmet with the birth of his first child, but quickly found a way back onto the scene with zero risk to his person and his knack for pushing people to the peak of their ability made him a natural team principal.

To Alonso’s right sat a portly Colombian woman, practically never seen without a long, brightly colored skirt. Flávia Flores de Costa, the team’s head of communications, was practically born for the role. Despite being only in her early 30s, she exuded ‘Grandma’ energy as not even a pathological liar could claim they ever saw her angry, but if you ever disappointed ‘Abuelita Flávia’, it stung to the depths of your soul. She was half of the driving force behind Bea’s signing, recognizing the advertising potential the young woman had and fully intending to capitalize upon it.

The last person on that side of the table was the familiar face of Ava Villarosa, sitting up straight and attentive. If one squinted, it wasn’t hard to imagine the military flight suit and preflight briefing room instead of the business casual blouse and pants and corporate conference room.

By Alonso’s left sat a tall, wiry Brazilian man who looked at least 500 years old and seemingly carried wisdom appropriate to that age. Ronaldo Suárez, Carrera Condor AG Team’s technical director, had been there from the very beginning of the team, cutting his teeth in the aerospace manufacturing sector and holding several patents in the fields of additive manufacturing and composite materials engineering. Widely considered overqualified for a team such as Carrera Condor, held down by their budget, but fierce patriotism and desire for stability in his last few years before retirement turned him into a white whale among the midfield teams. Suárez was the other half of Ward’s signing, dialling Alonso pretty much immediately after seeing the Pridwen tech on offer.

Two holograms made up the rest of the table. Frederick Ward was the picture definition of an old school businessman. A bespoke suit and slightly wrinkled face with a neatly trimmed goatee, hiding an analytical mind that accurately judged where the defense sector was going a few decades prior and kept the company out of the dire straits many others became mired in. A real ‘swords into ploughs’ story, Pridwen Solutions may have lacked the wide market reach of Fitzroy Orbital in the aerospace sector, but they were the first choice for specialized farming, mining and heavy haul equipment both on the ground and in space, rightfully flying slogans proclaiming the battle-tested heritage of their equipment.

Lastly Bea, who looked like death. Jet-lagged to yesterday by the Auckland-London flight and then finished off by having gone long dissecting the race with Alistair as well as transcribing the shuttle conversation with Amy into an email for Flávia to read before the meeting, her hologram looking like she’d fallen asleep in whatever seat she’d been sitting in right after the debriefing and only woke up a few minutes ago - because that was pretty much what happened - and including a sizable mug, more of a pot really, of tea to keep her awake.

“The start of the season was a mixed bag, but we take the good with the bad, roll with the punches and make what we can work work.“ Alonso began before turning to the technical director, ”Ronaldo, how are the upgrades coming?”
Suárez leaned forward to speak. “Engineers from Pridwen’s Porton Dawn site have finished the first prototype of the new control moment gyroscope and accompanying redesign of the control surfaces.”
“We’re putting a CMG from an agricultural craft into a racing ship with a fraction of its mass, how will this impact the craft’s stability?” Flávia wanted to know.
“Our racers are a fighter pilot and a rally driver. They can handle an unstable ship.” The team principal said, looking at both pilots as he spoke. ”We’re third from the end on craft performance, we need to get something right as opposed to everything okay.”
On both wings of the table, the racers in question nodded. And even if they thought they couldn’t handle it, they’d nod anyway for their pride alone and come up with excuses later.
”Simulations show the gyro will be able to completely replace control surfaces for steering and stability. We will be keeping them on as backups of course, as mandated by the regulations, but they will primarily function as air brakes now that they aren’t needed for attitude control. We expect this upgrade package to be ready no later than Italy.”
“Very good. That will be right in time.” Alonso nodded, pleased with the situation. “And the other project?”
“Unfortunately, the Alicorn propulsion unit has encountered some issues. Simply put, it’s a Pegasus-II engine you may know from Pridwen’s Antares line of interceptors, lightened and brought in line with Formula AG regulations. Unfortunately, the ships’ current cooling system is not sufficient. If deployed in its current state, we would be looking at a 19% chance of total engine failure and another 32% chance of partial failure that would nonetheless severely impact performance, and those figures are per ship, every race.” Suárez added some hard data to the explanation.
”Ask Nordic Call how that went.” Bea quipped from behind her tea pot to a few chuckles.
”Given the calendar order, it’s better this way than if the control upgrade suffered delays. But presently, I can’t say when the new cooling system will be ready.”
“That leaves the question of driver augments in the technological segment. Frederick, do you have something in your portfolio?”
“We are a vehicle manufacturer, not a biomechanical company.“ Ward shook his head apologetically, ”There were some military aviation neural modifications that were being developed some time ago by one of our more recent acquisitions, but they were never fielded beyond ground tests. The development was halted due to persistent headaches from prolonged use.” He explained reluctantly.
“Surely that could be tolerated while the problem gets corrected.” There was a notable shift in Frederick Ward’s stance when those words were spoken.
”That research was also only legal in wartime Russia, if even that.” Suárez interjected, ”I believe we’re better off keeping with the original plan of hiring specialists and subsequent in-house development. The only ones who bungled that department like we did are Valkyrie. Get it right and tailor-made for our needs while growing the team for the future and not exposing ourselves to risk of sporting or legal penalties.” With Pridwen Solutions basically giving the team propulsion and control tech for free as well as signing over several engineers, the budget suddenly had room for expansion where the team had always been third rate.
”Not to mention the media fallout of having not just illegal, but potentially unsafe equipment.” Flávia added her two cents.
“Very well.” Alonso conceded, seeing the points being made. ”Next, driver time management before we go to Cape Town next Thursday.“
”I think simulator time is in order.“ Suárez said with a sideways glance at Bea, ”Both to improve with the current ship as well as start getting used to the new parts, depending on the expected deployment schedule.”
”Actually, Bea sent me something a few hours ago that I think would be worth pursuing.” Flávia interjected, Stirling’s proposal appearing on the holographic displays in front of the attendees. ”It is an opportunity that plays into Bea’s unique strengths, is sure to bring good press and if we play our cards right, we will make friends who will be useful down the line.“
Alonso nodded after skimming the proposal. ”I like this. That tech could be a vital step forward if we can secure it.” In more ways than one. It could be tech, it could be know-how, could be a line for potential new hires or a combination of any.
”Since we’re talking about driver time management, I think we should ask the drivers.” Ward turned to the drivers in question.
The two looked at each other, an unspoken ‘After you.’ coming from each side of the table. ”After you, superstar.” Ava beat Bea to the punch, cracking a smile at the last word and mimicking the same joking tone Bea used to call her by her old rank before the race.
”I’m biassed, but there will always be time for simulators.“ Bea spoke up, aware she was pretty much arguing in favor of tooting her own horn. Even if the tech deal fell through, she’d still get exposure for her own brand. ”Like Flávia said, we have a limited-time offer that doesn’t occur every day. I think we should seize the opportunity while we still have it.”
And maybe drawing some new fans to the team by proxy would offset her performance in Auckland.
”You’re going into a lion’s den.” Ava cautioned the younger driver.
”I know, but you can’t tell me we’re considered a threat.” Bea countered, ”I’m looking out, but I also don’t want to bite a feeding hand. That hand of all of them.”
”I wasn’t disagreeing with you, just checking that you know what you’re doing.” Ava clarified.
”We’ll handle the big picture. Beatrix is just the foot we need to get in the door. Make it happen, Ronaldo. Whatever tech we can get out of this, if using it can’t be legal, at least let it be hard to find on the ship.” Alonso summarised.
”We still expect both you and your race engineers here on the 16th to start sim runs of the Cape Town AGP.” Alonso turned back to the pilots before removing the meeting to administrative matters.

As the meeting ended and the attendees cleared out or disconnected, Frederick asked León for a few seconds in private.
“Let me be perfectly clear, Mr. Alonso,” Ward began unusually coldly despite his polite words, “I am grateful that you’ve given Beatrix this chance at the cost of another, popular pilot. But it will be cold in Hell and sunny in Scotland before I allow you to force harmful augments onto my daughter. That is not a line drawn in the sand, it is hewn into the bedrock of this partnership. Have a pleasant day.” He ended with a perfectly cordial tone before disconnecting.

---

Wednesday March 10th, 2094, 21:52
London, GB

Highgate, Fitzroy Close

Perhaps it was a little ironic that the current CEO of Pridwen Solutions lived on a street that shared the name with his company’s competitor. In one of the mansion’s ground floor reception rooms recently upgraded to a 360 degree cinema - a circle of couches around a central holographic projector displaying the movie as an actual three-dimensional hologram as opposed of the sorry excuse for 3D from the start of the century, although each always had an indicated ‘intended viewing angle' - two people watched a frightened young man carefully rummage around a long-abandoned archive, the old filing cabinets loudly squealing every time he opened one, the homemade armored vest rattling with every motion regardless of how careful he was, his fear conveyed with nothing more but the wide-eyes seen through his gas mask’s lenses and loud, labored, rapid breaths. No wonder that performance won the actor an Oscar.
He finally found what he was after, steeled his resolve and slowly opened the door, the beam of his headlamp anxiously scanning the ruined library for threats. Seeing nothing, he started running, every step and every rattle of his magazines against his breastplate echoing through the dark hallways until the scene faded out into credits.
”Jesus Christ…” Bea sighed in relief as the episode ended, having been unknowingly holding her breath the past 20 seconds.
”It will never cease to amaze me how you can make jokes while racing down a forest road at a hundred kilometres per hour, but fictional monsters still scare you.” Frederick Ward chuckled.
”Do you remember how on Eva’s tenth birthday, she found ‘Aliens’ in your collection and demanded to watch it because ‘she was big enough’?”
”Yes?” He nodded, already seeing where this was going.
”That’s why.”
”And yet you sat through it.”
”I saw Ripley with Newt on the box and wanted to see their happy ending. In hindsight, I wasn’t the smartest kid, was I?”
”Evangeline must have inherited the brains, yes.” Frederick joined Bea in laughing at their collective mistake, ”And speaking of your sister and family, would you happen to know anything about the young lad she’s been meeting with every Friday the past two months?”
”I do, but snitches get stitches, I’m not saying shite.” Bea flashed her prying dad a toothy grin.
”We’ve raised you well, even if it’s sometimes frustrating.” He patted her on the back, ”But you know the monsters aren’t real whereas the trees are, surely?”
”They’re not real as far as we know.” She stabbed a finger in his direction, ”And one, I’m in control of my fate when racing and the trees aren’t actively trying to kill me and two, I can see the trees.“ She counted on her fingers in a fruitless attempt to defend her honor, ”Fear of the unknown and the dark is an evolutionary trait that enabled our ancestors’ survival. If it was a night race and I had no headlights you bet I’d be scared of the trees.”
”Speaking of braving the unknown, how is the charity deal with Miss Stirling going?”
”Good. I reached out to some people who’ve been to that area and they sent over a whole mountain of pictures for reference. She’ll come over on Friday to do her painting and I’ve already got all the templates and two paintings done, I reckon we could get six, maybe eight pieces in time including the one from her.” Bea leaned against her dad and rested her head on his shoulder, ”But I keep running it through my head, wondering where, how and why she could pull a fast one. She’ll ride the wave too, obviously, that’s how collaborations like this work. When Hubert Stigler asked for helmet art a few years ago, I wasn’t just doing that out of the goodness of my heart either.” Having a double RedBull Air Race champion fly with a helmet of your design was great advertising. ”But she inherently stands to gain less.”
”I wouldn’t concern myself with that if I were you. You’ve bounced back from worse than anything she could do with this, and she’ll know that since she clearly did her research.“ Frederick put his arm around her shoulders, ”Remember when you called Demetrio Ambrogi inbred over team radio?”
”I stand by what I said, he sent three of us into the wall and that fine I got for ‘unsportsmanlike conduct’ was utter bollocks.” ‘And this is why siblings aren’t allowed to procreate.’ A few people had taken objection to those words back then, and saying that about an Italian driver in Italy didn’t help.
”It’s Alonso and Suárez who have to worry. The latter doubly so: Not only does he have to score from this pass, but then his people will have to mate whatever they get to the team’s current technology properly.
But enough serious talk, we still have an episode left. Unless you’re scared?” Frederick teased.
”Very funny.” Bea stood up, grabbing their mugs from the cup holders, ”Queue it up, I’ll get more tea.”

---

Thursday March 11th, 2094, 12:00
London, GB

Richmond, Lauderdale Drive

”Welcome back to my abode!” Bea walked through her garage as she recorded, a lime green and red 2088 Honda Civic Type R to the left and a road legal Audi Quattro A2 kit car in Walter Röhrl’s 1984 Portugal livery on the right; phone in one hand and a bucket of cleaning supplies in the other. ”This time with the usual invitation for an unusual stream at Bea Draws Stuff tomorrow, a few hours earlier than we normally meet because we’re having a guest! Some of you have figured this out already - I see you, Zero, you Security Service LARPer - but we’re having Amy Stirling over! You might have heard of her, unless you’re one of my purely artistic followers; yes, that Amy Stirling, three-time Formula AG world champion. Once again, I appear to be failing upwards, it’s a talent at this point.“ Bea grinned, her natural charm meaning she pulled it off without looking like the age-old ‘Hide the Pain Harold’ meme despite feeling a little like that on the inside.
”Which unfortunately means that I have to clean, I hate this, whose idea was to host this here?” She stopped in the hallway and set down the bucket, standing in such a way the camera was looking into a mirror over her shoulder in which she was pointing at herself behind her own back with her free hand. ”It’s a good thing I don’t have to tidy up the studio, because that’s an artist’s space, that’s never going to be organised on the best of days, nevermind when being used. Tidy individu-” She paused for a second before sneezing, ”Bloody Hell, that’s the physical labour allergy. Tidy individuals in the audience might have an actual aneurysm if they saw what the stream doesn’t show, although if you do want a glimpse of the art cave beyond what the cameras normally pick up and more, join us tomorrow at three thirty PM. Fair warning, even though normally I let you guys run wild I’ll have modbot and the moderators policing chat a bit harder for this stint.“ Bea leaned in closer to the camera with a devilish smile, ”We wouldn’t want to scare Amy, would we? I’ll see you then.” She winked at the camera before cutting.

---

MissedApex: Lmaooo, Bea drawing a picture of Amy painting while she was working to give her at the end was such little sister energy. XD Fuck it, I’m following, I understand the hype now.
UrbanMaverick: Welcome to the fold. ;)
NineIron: Wouldn’t mind this as a full British lineup at Silver Apex when Ward gets her bearings around FA machinery.
Zero: Make the Empire Great Again! :p
GaryFromIndiana: Hard pass.

Sol_de_Mayo: Just me or was it weird to see Stirling acting, I don’t know, human? Wasn’t a half-bad picture she made either on just an hour-long crash course.
Richie: Being at the top does that to people. Why I’m glad Kelly, Ward and Falkner are on the grid. Makara can only carry it so far.
DadManWalking: Stirling used to be a lot like that. Wondering how long these three will last.
Laugh_Ness: yea, always bit sad to see someone forget how to have fun, innit?
Crossfit_Crusader: I think she’s got a few spare notes laying around to dry her tears. :D
CloroxEnjoyer: @MadBea Any chance we can get the rest of the grid too?
MadBea: Go ask politely, but I won’t say no.
Hotstuff: pretty sure we get a skewed view of the lot cause we mostly see them trackside
DohnJoe: reason why bea draws crowds like she does even without amazing results or bikini pics are the behind the scenes and keeping it unsanitized, even if some cunts fuck it up every now and then.
Cats4Life: WYM?
UrbanMaverick: Last year someone on stream asked her why she stopped doing pedal cams during her WRC run and she said one of the reasons was a fan once told her he found the footage on a foot fetish site.
CloroxEnjoyer: Fuck is wrong with people?
Zero: She also kicked the camera loose during a rollover once and it hit Gazza in the face.
Shel1: That’s wild. Anyone got a link?
Shel1: To the interview. TO THE INTERVIEW!!
IronBeer: Not saving that mate. XDD
TruckerTim: Here ya go: youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ?t=43

Timothy Hill @TruckerTim:
"All y’all nonbelievers owe my cuz an apology.”
#FormulaAG #JusticeForCuzBrian

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Of course it made sense in hindsight, there were Star League tunnels used to build up the planet when it was first settled all over the continent, why wouldn’t there be one under the fort? And clearly neither the NPDRE nor the Crimson Fists knew about them, why would they know about that one? And neither would the Knights if Cassandra hadn’t told them. It was extremely lucky someone in the fort found it when they did. She briefly entertained herself with the thought of breaching the prison through the tunnel with their ‘Mechs directly, a smirk creeping up to her face and tugging on the bruise on her cheek that has changed colors at least four times since the brawl, before returning to the real world quickly for the briefing.

”Assuming I had a shot at everything, what’s my target priority order between the barracks, power plant, comms tower, hostile air and ‘Mechs?” Marit turned to Ingrid as the one who’ll be making decisions in the field, though the question could just as well be answered by the Colonel. From looking at the map, they’d have to get rid of a decent amount of the turrets to have a good shot on anything in the first place, making her wonder just how useful hitting the generator would be.
”You also mentioned minefields, do we know where?” She turned back to the Colonel specifically.

Marit didn’t share Raven’s enthusiasm for what she saw as the Colonel’s audition to Valhalla. ”Colonel, is there even a remote chance this diversion will work, given your… Uhh…” She wiggled the fingers of her left hand to illustrate what she meant, trying to avoid the word ‘disability’. That, and putting on a show didn’t mean it would be above board, as Keahi has clearly demonstrated. If the Crimson King wouldn’t bring at least a second ‘Mech to sit in the treeline and snipe at the Colonel’s with a five- or ten-class autocannon or two - cheating while making it look like an actual duel to most outside observers - Marit would be officially surprised.

But this was good. They had a good plan, a dirty trick or two up their sleeve, a Raven with just the right type of madwoman at the stick, a Lance Leader who could see it through, three PPCs between the upgraded Shadow Hawk and Marauder - she subconsciously glanced at the latter ‘Mech’s pilot at the thought - outranging the large lasers.. An actual chance.

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

DELTΔ HYPER

Episode One: Finding their Feet

---

"Ava has smiled just once!" Aurora chuckled, smiling, as Bea continued to respond, the literal Aurora in hologram chuckling.

"Well, I'll hold you to that, Bea. #RallyBrave! Any last words for the crew before you get started?"

”Why ‘last words’, I don’t plan on leaving this early.” Bea shrugged with a cheeky smile, ”On a slightly more serious note the team did a bang up job not only with setup and preparation but also adapting the ship to tech they’ve never worked with before. They’ve done all they could, up to me to deliver now.”

---

Sunday March 5th, 2094, 13:15
Auckland, NZ

Grid photo

With the photoshoot done, Bea was eager to get back to the paddock and get out of the suit for a few more hours. Without the immersion liquid, it was getting toasty in it. Hearing her name called out by a voice she couldn’t readily assign to a face she turned around, in no small amount of disbelief at who she saw waving her down. Walking backwards and slowing down to allow Amy to catch up, Bea didn’t know what she expected from the ensuing exchange, but definitely not that.
”Flustered? Who, me?” She pointed to herself with a smile, perfectly timed as she went slightly red in the face. She turned around to walk forward again when Amy caught up, not feeling Amy’s hand much through her suit while her own probably weighed down on the other Brit’s shoulder. ”I’m all ears.” She replied when Amy said she’d be in touch, not getting another sentence in before the three time champion slinked away.

Nearing the team area in the paddock, Bea caught up to Ava. ”Good luck today, Comandante.” She gave her teammate a light-hearted salute before the two parted ways.

---

Sunday March 5th, 2094, 17:00
Auckland, NZ

Paddock

The interview might have been over, but the Delta Hyper cameras were still rolling. In one of the Carrera Condor garages, a ritual was taking place. Bea stood in the back of the garage, arms held out to the sides, a crew member working on her suit. Noticing the lurking camera, she beckoned it closer with her hand, the camera remaining outside the garage to be out of the way, yet close enough to pick up audio.

“Aight, should be solid.” Larry, a 72 years old and 108 kilogram Pridwen employee in charge of the liquid immersion tech said after rechecking the fit of her suit.
Bea took a step back and did a series of stretches and jumps to run the suit through its range of motion and make sure it was settled properly and not shifting. ”Feels good.”
He handed her a rubber cap that held her headset, head cam and kept her hair dry and in check inside the helmet, attaching four laryngophones contained in patches about the size of a post stamp to her throat - defense sector equipment from a few decades back made available to the public maybe 30 years ago - as she fastened the cap and connected the comms.
”Radio check?” Alistair’s voice came over the radio after getting a thumbs up from Larry.
She moved her head and jaw around to make sure the laryngophones were secure. ”Good check.” Bea answered without moving her lips, her voice coming through the team radio and the suit’s built-in speaker. Speaking with the helmet, mouth and lungs full of liquid would’ve been a tough ask, requiring subvocal recognition to circumvent the problem. Using the neural link was initially suggested but quickly discounted as unnecessary, and since Bea’s headcam was recording mic input as opposed to the radio itself, her inner monologue would be audible in the recording as an added benefit for the fans.
Next came the breathing mask that helped move the liquid in and out of her lungs before she put on the helmet and the suit was pressurized to verify the seals held tight. “Seals aight, good for the liquid?”
”Am I ever?” A mix of unease and disgust apparent in her voice despite the attempt at humor.

The suit filling was never pleasant, but it was tolerable. Yet no matter how many times she’d done it, her heart always started racing as the liquid started rising past her shoulders and her brain had to confront the fact that she was about to inhale something that felt like water and smelled like rotting apples. Good thing Larry had been in charge of that program since the first flight tests and knew how to talk people through it.
All in all pretty good. The first time they’d done this four months ago, she had a full-blown panic attack.

Final checks complete, she approached the ship, the typical Carrera Condor eight-bit rainbow with the name “Akela” airbrushed under the canopy on the left side in Bea’s handwriting, and took her seat in the cockpit, wiggling around to sink into the gel-like crash couch almost like sitting on a beanbag chair. Doing up the safety harness, Larry disconnected the portable liquid circulation unit, connected the immersion liquid hoses to the ship and rechecked her straps. The HUD came on; track map, lap counter, start lights and current flags, a compressed 360° view around the ship and proximity indicators among others supplementing the neural feedback. “Good luck today.” Larry patted Bea’s shoulder, returning her fistbump.

---

The race

”Mulder point oh nine behind, point one five per lap faster.”
”Are we racing him or not?”
”Our fight is elsewhere.”
She moved off the line on the next straight, the video and eye tracker showing she checked to see if he waved like they joked before the race, unlikely as it was. Taking a hand off the controls at that speed was closer to her levels of insanity.

”Yellow yellow, sector two.”
”Who? They alright?”
”Falkner. Don’t know yet.”
Bea glanced at the wreck as she passed it a few seconds later. ’Come on, man, get out.’ The recording voiced her thoughts.
”He’s out and walking.” Alistair informed her not 20 seconds later.
”Good.”

”Lowry point three behind.”
”Power?”
”Charged.”
Bea took an early apex, narrow-exit line through the next corner to set her up for the ELS charging passthrough on the next straight. At the same time, Lowry braked early and went for a pass down the inside, allowing her to get on the power early and shoot out of the corner like a kicked football with Fitzroy taking advantage of the opportunity and following her through.
”Fuuuuh!”
”Head down, he’s slow in tight corners.”
’And I’m in the head.’
She ended up having to use the energy to close the gap she created by wasting her time charging. She had a look down the inside into the next turn, a right-left chicane on and off Domain Drive, Henry covering his back in the first kink but the move compromised his line through the following left-hander and allowed Bea to switch over, stick her nose in before he turned into the corner and slip through with maybe three centimeters between her ship and the wall, but by that point Lowry had expended her ELS charge and was too far ahead to catch in the remaining two laps.

---

Post-race interviews

"Hey Bea, a nice and steady race for you there and tangling with the back of the mid-pack, with lots of cut and thrust. Looks like lots of lessons learned in your first round on strategy and ELS, but you showed some promising pace and I imagine with more underneath you, you'd do better! What do you think you've learned the most from that race?"

”You’re too kind. I don’t know what race you were watching, but that was everything but nice, I drove like a complete bellend. Take away the technical failures and poor Ulrich’s incident and I’d be P19. Yeah, you could say ‘that’s racing, it still counts’ but we all know that’s not the case outside of the leaderboard. I’ve got work to do.” Bea took the brutally honest route, ”Definitely lessons learned today, some stupid mistakes that could’ve been easily avoided, figuring out when charging is and isn’t worth it…
Congratulations to Ava, an amazing result given the machinery we’re working with. Clearly there is some pace in the ship, it’s just a matter of figuring out how to get it out.
And shoutout to Nora, obviously. Even if their ship is second best on the grid, beating an experienced teammate on debut is nothing to sneeze at.”

---

Bea Ward @MadBea:
"Not the result I was hoping for today, but the past is to be learned from and the future to be looked toward.
Shoutout to @FlyingAva for a stellar performance today, keeping the Kittens looking over their shoulder. Looking forward to making that a proper 2v2 next race!”
#CarreraCondorFA #FormulaAG #AGRacing #AucklandAGP

CarreraCarmen: P11? Could it be? Could this be hope? After all these years? O.O

Zero: With Ava P11, I can’t wait to see what you’ll do once you get familiar with the ship.
Xinny: Don’t forget the upgrades. Imagine what the Pridwen tech will bring!
MadBea: Can’t talk about that, but it will be big!
DohnJoe: they finna roll up with a whole fighter jet
Xinny: Imagine an Ikeya or an Antares-B pulling up on the grid.
GalwayGirl: Oh she’d do it if it was legal.
User420: Ain’t cheating, ain’t trying ;)
MrSmooth: That Silver Apex grindset :D

Mate0: We really lost Joaquin for this?
IronBeer: He had twice the JFA time, half the points to show for it, the media presence and charisma of a dead fish and the best sponsor he brought was a catering company.
Javi: shut ur bitch ass up, nobody asked u
Briat77: Dude she’s not gonna do you no need to suck up.
Mate0: Pirata copium.
UrbanMaverick: Seethe, Argie.
Sol_de_Mayo: Agree it was quite sad. Maybe should stick to painting, she’s actually good at that.

UrbanMaverick: All you haters need to seek grass. You’re chatting shite about someone whose art helped pull me through depression. The hell did Ibanez ever do for anyone but himself?
MadBea: Glad to know you’re doing better and I appreciate your support, but try to keep things civil, please.

Richie: Tad disappointed with Bea honestly. She’s cute and all and we still stan our national goofball in this house, but she needs a few good ones if she wants to prove she belongs in FA, otherwise she should go back to rallying and get that Driver’s WRC.
AndesAG: wouldnt mind if she did, she and burns were comedy gold. That polish stage without power steering sends me everytime
DohnJoe: bro imagine the team radio if he was her race engineer :D please make it happen @CarreraCondorFA

Hotstuff: pretty shitty of villarosa to fuck off into the distance like that, literally starting behind one another FFS
TheMassive: It’s called a motor race, they went motor racing
MadBea: A bit of help would’ve been nice, or we might’ve both ended up in the depths of Hell. Remember that in the end, all 20 of us are there to do the best for ourselves.

Timothy Hill @TruckerTim:
"YOOOOO! My cuz is a cargo handler at the Auckland airport and he just saw @SilverStirling and @MadBea boarding Stirling’s shuttle together!”
#Auckland #FormulaAG #ConspiracyTime

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The Colonel’s call found Marit in the middle of several scrap piles, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds as a seam of her jacket kept finding some of the spots visited by the whip. Turning to follow the tracks a pair of small feet left in the mud that she’d been ignoring the past 30 seconds, she tapped on an old overturned oil drum with her knuckles. ”Found ya.” When the barrel remained silent, she rolled it with her foot, eliciting a surprised yelp followed by giggling from the inside.
”Come out, the Colonel’s calling.” She knocked again, a curly-haired boy sticking his head out of the drum. ”You’re it, I have to go. Thierry and Gemma are somewhere near that old red crane over there, haven’t heard the others.”
The boy saluted, crawled out of the drum and ran off in the indicated direction.

Marit covered the distance between the far scrap piles and the briefing tent in an impressive amount of time, barging into the briefing tent like the No Leaf Clover making a combat drop. ”Already?“ She asked with surprise and joy in her voice, bereft of any shadow of doubts. If the Colonel said they were ready, they were ready. ”Hello, Ingrid.“ She said with a smile as if she’d only then noticed the Duchess standing in the door the whole time. ”That’s a lot earlier than I hoped.” Finally. With no hostages to be held over them and constant fear for their safety, they’d finally have free reign to act. And they’ll get the old Family Man back on top.

Marit hoped, for the Crimson Fists’ sake, that they were enjoying their lives. Because they were about to get short.

Wizard Mafia (Harry Potter Organized Crime RP)

”Noted, Bobby. Alícia” She returned the handshake. She stood back up to greet another one as soon as she sat down, introducing herself by her first name to the lanky, bald man - Greek, as indicated by the ‘malaka’ - approaching the table. It reminded her of the year at Durmstrang and having to get a Comprehension Charm cast on her every day. Worth it though. She greeted the second arrival in the same way before realizing something was wrong, moving to a seat as far away from the danger noodle as the booth allowed and Alícia spent the rest of the meeting giving the serpent the side eye. Pretty famous name on that one, perhaps just a coincidence, but at least she’d be easy to remember.

She observed the heated exchange between Bobby and the other guy, briefly considering trying to defuse the situation before deciding it wasn’t really her problem to deal with. She did, however, reach into a front pants pocket under the table, her fingers finding the textured ebony wood handle of her wand inside the modified pocket, the words ‘Petrificus Totalus’ staging on her tongue just waiting to jump into action.
”I wonder why he got passed over. Noooo clue at all…” Alícia noted idly when the booze barrel sauntered away, letting go of her wand. ”Is there a full name to the face, just in case all the hot air blowing from that direction ever brings a monsoon?”

With a plate of waffles on the table and the serpent in her field of view at all times, Alícia listened to Bobby’s briefing carefully, taking mental notes. Animagi. That could go two ways: Either they were like her and this would go smoothly, or they would end up in a fight with a polar bear or a jaguar or somesuch nonsense.
”Nothing like taking a nice walk through the park and stopping for a drink. But street rat fingersmiths to underground speakeasy proprietors? That’s got to be a whole pile of Dragots to get started, right? Even if they’re targeting the No-Maj’s because there’s more of them and their police are useless at dealing with magical crime, how much can they be making picking pockets and stealing bicycles?” She wondered.

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

DELTΔ HYPER

Episode One: Finding their Feet

Saturday March 4th, 2094, before qualifying

---

"We'll have to see what comes up later today! What do you think of Ava Villarosa, your team-mate? You say you want to be comparable- what do you think splits the two of you?"

”We’ve done a lot of sim training together in the off season and I think we complete each others’ skillsets well. Ava is a very smart pilot, good with all the energy stuff. I’ve got more of the raw driving skill. It’s a mixed track this week so between me and Ava it comes down to who can make up more time in the sections they’re good at to cover the deficit on the other half of the lap. For the race, if we’re competing, it’ll be down to consistency. She’s got me beat there, I’ve been known to pull some boneheaded manoeuvres in the past. But if we play our cards right and play the team game, we can make up for each others’ shortcomings on a track like here, Spa or Rift Valley.” Bea explained. ”Racers who came up through Rallying like Ulrich and I also have this thing, I like to say that we’re ‘Rally Brave’ because we’re fine doing up to 180 kph through a forest down a narrow gravel road so up to 600 kph on a wide, purpose-built track with runoffs, soft barriers and forcefields is almost like a grocery run to us, but the reality of the situation is that we’re plain mad with no self-preservation instinct.” She added semi-seriously. That could be both an asset and a drawback, being both the core of her racing style and th reason behind those early boneheaded maneuvers.
”Off the track, I think we’ll work great. Every comedy act needs a straight man to the weird one and Ava is perfect for that. Besides, I’m already used to having a responsible older sister trying to keep me- Well… Not ‘grounded,’ that would be pushing it, ‘within sight of the ground,’ that we can talk about, so now I basically have two. Let’s see if they can manage.” She ended with a cheeky grin.

”Has she smiled in your interview at all?” Bea asked, laughing when Aurora’ hologram answered, ”Just once? We’re working on it. Results by the Lunar AGP, I promise!” She said with her right hand raised in a pledge.

---

Saturday March 4th, 2094, 20:05

The video was shot on her phone as Bea ducked and weaved through the crowds, the format indicating a short, spontaneous video rather than something planned. If she was normally excitable, she was practically bouncing off the walls. ”Oh my God, I just learned that Keira Weaver is in the Southern Cross VIP zone! Hang on, I gotta go through the restricted areas, I feel bad rushing past the fans trying to flag me down.” She went through a door and continued down a sterile white corridor, a completely different world to the vibrant fete outside. ”Okay, for those who don’t know, not only is ‘Raven Squad’ both my favourite action movie and my favourite comedy of all time, Sam Dalton also happens to be my favourite character in that movie, so she’s not leaving the paddock until I get my hat signed. I don’t care what it takes, I will eat the false imprisonment charge if I have to.” She laughed before the video ended.

Saturday March 4th, 2094, LA:TE

Bea wasn’t a racer who came up from the grassroots nor did she try to cultivate the image of one, she came from two generations of money and everybody knew it, but she understood the power of the common folk. Yes, those who could afford VIP passes paid a lot, but those who couldn’t were a lot more numerous. A lot of the time, they were also more pleasant. Not always - and even among the regular people there were those who felt like the world spun around them - but the money crowd tended to bring entitlement along in greater numbers, or more likely greater concentration. As always, a loud minority souring the reputation of the greater whole. So she always made sure to slip out of the VIP zone at somewhat regular intervals to get amongst the actual pillars of the sport. Security wasn’t happy about that, but they agreed to a compromise that she’d stay near the entrance of the VIP zone where those stationed at the door could keep an eye out on her without leaving their posts.

That’s how a video of Bea singing ‘The Wild Rover’ with a trio of drunken Irish fans before excusing herself with an apology and a maybe-true-maybe-false line about sponsor commitments when they suggested ‘Come Out Ye Black and Tans’ next, recorded by someone in the crowd, made it online before midnight. That wasn’t a topic she wanted to risk. She’s had enough of dancing on a similar edge for three years in Rally, with a co-driver from Inverness bringing in fans from all over Scotland.

---

Sunday March 5th, 2094, 13:00

She felt a little out of place in her racing suit, the segmented hard polymer plates covering as much of its surface as possible making it look like she could shrug off a sledgehammer to the chest, her helmet - similar in construction to the one worn by SR-71 crews a century go and adorned with a sharkmouth-style design of her own making depicting a Siberian Husky, each eye pointing in a different direction and the tongue comically hanging out down the left side of the helmet - held underarm. The suit bore the team’s black and white colors with lime green accents, though if it were painted battleship gray with white numbers, fake rivets and a balkenkreuz it would’ve felt right at home on ‘The Panzer’. The team took full advantage of the mostly flat plates, the chestplate proudly flying the vine-wrapped Anglo-Saxon shield of Pridwen Solutions - ‘Planting dreams, harvesting future’ - among the usual smattering of other sponsor logos all over, the team’s own looming large over her back positioned in such a way that when she moved her arms, the motion of the small, overlapping shoulder plates made it look like the stylized Condor was moving its wings. The girl in charge of placing the logos was pretty talented, and Bea had spent several hours nerding out about graphical design with her when the suit’s appearance was being finalized.

”Big step up from my school in the dress code department. Especially the Falcons, who did your suits and do they take orders?” Bea noted following Henry’s comment, trying to paint over Cassie’s words. ”And hold off on the fighting, the network doesn’t have rights for UFC. If one must get slapped around, might as well get royalties from it.”

She took the first bit of time when they were not being corralled to marks taped to the ground by the director to make rounds around the rookies, specifically those she knew from her two years in Junior Formula AG to shake their hands and wish them good luck, starting with Mulder to tease him about his mechanical failure a bit.
”Your ship was looking nimble in the street section. Well, maybe not yours.” Bea grinned.
“I wanted to give you guys a chance.” He mirrored her expression and tone.
”That’s the spirit. But they know what died, right, or is it dead dead?” She mimed slitting her throat with a thumb for emphasis.
“We’re racing today.”
”There you go, looking forward to it. And fans love it when their driver fights through the field.”
“That they do. I’ll give you a wave when I pass you tomorrow, for your fans.”
”Cheeky bugger.” Bea laughed, ”Good luck, mate.” She moved on after a handshake.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Fireteam Poseidon

---

Ebrima was the last one out of the SDV, hanging back as the now unburdened submersible ascended a few feet. Once he made sure it had stabilized again, the autopilot was compensating for any currents trying to shift it around and the locator was working, he enabled the image intensifier in his helmet and swam for the surface, trying not to think about the depths below him which naturally made him think about the depths below him. The fish that almost bumped into him, completely unbothered by this unfinned alien creature in its front yard was almost taunting him, but imagining all the ways he could cook the cheeky prick proved a nice distraction.

Switching off the NODs he climbed out of the water, pouring it out of the weapon barrels and scanning the structure above them, Ebrima gave Ban a pat on the back to indicate he was behind him, ready to move and that he’d let him lead. Skye clearly trusted the man, but Ebrima would’ve preferred to see how he worked at least a little bit in person. Ideally that wouldn’t be done on an operation, least of all one with stakes such as these, but life had a way of being an absolute bastard. He suppressed a snicker at the thought of Freya, the second biggest person in the team, being the sneaky one, but technology was amazing like that.

Enri Uemura
Fireteam Viking

---

Her efforts to mess with Artemis comms were repelled with annoying determination and when she couldn’t get anywhere with it in the next 60 seconds without getting a signal analyzer between two Artemis radios, she went petulant and instead turned her sights on IFF systems. Not much she could do about automated emplacements without the involved dance she did with the AA guns, but the personal IFF beacons weren’t as protected, Artemis likely expecting their troops to be able to discern targets on their own, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t have a harder time when every single Artemis man and woman on the field suddenly lost BLUFOR tracking. She’d been so deep in the zone she had to be shaken out of it by Raph when it came time to get out.

Dismounting added another step into the communications daisy-chain. Tablet, personal radio, hovercraft, allied network up to several steps, hostile network again with more steps possible. They were losing whole microseconds here! Her inward grumbling was interrupted by the sounds of Jamie going to work. She was involuntarily captivated by the carnage for a little bit, but only until she saw a torso and legs go flying in different directions whereupon she huddled up into a ball behind a solid looking container, holding onto her head as if worried her brain would bail out and flee.

But then her brain got some traction, the perfectionist in her recognizing a golden opportunity. SHe reached out to grab Raph by the arm, probably throwing off a shot or two. ”I need one of their radios! Any radio!” There was half a body not that far away, but Enri’s voice made it clear that this was her hidey hole and she was not getting out until they had to move on the tower. Maybe 25 seconds later, Raph came back with not one, but three Artemis radios, correctly deducing that some might have been damaged by the carnage. Connecting them to the Rosetta Tablet, it worked on the second try and Enri Uemura now had access to the Artemis local communications network. She set one AI to analyze the ongoing communications, record voice patterns and figure out which voices belonged where in the command structure while a second one cooked up bogus orders and reports, sending them to one of the allied ships for a final yes or no before transmitting them.

Just in time for the repeater control center to be cleared. She desperately wished she had a closed helmet like she saw some of the Raven operators had to keep the iron smell of blood out as she entered the structure, blissfully unaware of what had just transpired in there. Setting the Rosetta Tablet on a nearby table to alert her to any problems outside that needed her attention, she pulled up a blood-free chair to a terminal and sank into it. ”Highball estimate, ten minutes.” She let everyone know and then she was mentally elsewhere again.

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

Friday March 3rd, 2094, 08:15

The video opened on a slow pan of Auckland, the camera drone hovering some 25 meters above the ground in front of the main entrance of the circuit and getting a good view of the nearest track features, the mag tracks over the harbor and the sky tower corkscrew in the background as well as the gathering crowds. As it finished a full 360° pan, it rapidly descended to head height to get Beatrix Ward into frame, the new Carrera Condor driver clad in a team branded zip-up hoodie, black pleated skater skirt and wearing a pair of aviators from her merch line and a wide smile while walking backwards toward the gate, arms wide open to welcome the audience. Longtime viewers and people giving it a bit of thought would’ve known the drone had a screen on it showing what the camera saw, allowing her to essentially reverse with a rearview mirror on foot, but at a quick glance she was walking backwards without checking over her shoulder with complete confidence.
”Welcome to Auckland, lads and lasses. Beautiful city, amazing people, one Hell of a race track and my first weekend as a bona fide Formula Anti-Gravity pilot. What a feeling. Obviously we’ve been here for the pre-season testing last week, but… that doesn’t even compare. The last time my heart was racing like this we were 17 points off the leader in WRC 2090.
And I thought to commemorate this, I’d do something weird.” She took off the hoodie and tied it around her waist to reveal a lime green long-sleeved shirt with an image of her 2091 Junior Formula AG craft sliding sideways along the ground in a shower of lenticular-printed sparks and smoke after her antigrav repulsor had failed halfway down Kemmel straight and the caption ‘Slightly suboptimal’ above it printed across the front and a velcro grid along the sleeves holding patches depicting the individual images she had painted on her arms attached to their respective places.
”What do you guys think?” She spun around mid-step with a waltz spin to show it off, ”Merch that grows with us as life keeps going. Pick your favourite colour and print, and instead of me trying to sell you a new shirt at the end of every season, you can just get the patches. It’s cheaper for you, uses less resources to make it and if you only want some pictures and not others, maybe you only want the good without the bad, you can! Or maybe you don’t like me and you want to make a wall of shame out of the left arm pictures.” She giggled at the self-deprecation, ”This is just a one-of prototype so far, so let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in, or if you have some ideas for improvements. I’m all ears.
And with that said,” She beckoned the drone closer with a hand gesture, leaning in closer to whisper to it as if to share a secret, ”Let’s see what mischief we can get into.”
The video continued sped-up, filmed over her shoulder like in a third-person video game as she entered the circuit and headed toward the paddock occasionally stopping to chat with someone, take a picture or sign something, only interrupted once by a slow motion shot when she tripped on a staircase and just barely managed to stay upright, finally fading to black as she entered the Carrera Condor area.

The next one was shot with the drone in front of her as she walked through the paddock.
”So, there was a meeting I can’t show you, hence the cut, but I’ve just been told that Ava and I have Delta Hyper interviews coming up. Now, I have two options here:
Option one, I go find her and we go to the interview.
Option two, I leave her to her fate and go straight away because a little birdie told me the boom mic guy is cute.”
There was a pause as if she was weighing her options.
”Now as much as a cute guy with a big stick sounds interesting, I’m thinking I’ll start the season by being a responsible teammate and go find mine. Good thing she’s like 19 feet tall, she’ll be hard to miss.” Bea grinned, craning her head to look around. ”More in the official interview, and don’t forget the scheduled fan meets, Saturday at eight PM and Sunday an hour after the race.” She blew the camera a kiss before the video ended on a screen with links to her social media and merch store.

---

DELTΔ HYPER

Episode One: Finding their Feet

---

The first shot was of a little girl, maybe five or six, sitting atop an overturned boat completely drenched and laughing hysterically.

The second was the same girl, around seven, dressed in a wetsuit and life preserver and standing on the top step of a podium holding a sailboat-shaped trophy above her head.

A mud-stained rallye buggy with a crumpled roof getting thrown around a chicane on a wet, pothole-filled road somewhere in Wales with the co-driver’s voiceover. “... brake, left four tightens into tight hairpin left, don’t cut- cool it, Bea! Mind the cracked frame!”
“Boring.” Came a one-word reply as the engine tune indicated an upshift.

A three axle World Rallye Championship truck hurtling around a long curve along a Finnish gravel road, front left wheel hooked in the ditch on the inside of the turn to help guide it along, the same co-driver reading pace notes at the rate of a machine gun. “...fourty, big jump over flying finish.”
The truck straightened out just before the jump, soaring over the finish line marker boards and landing in a cloud of dust and pebbles, easing to a stop.
“That felt good. That felt really good.” The co-driver breathed a sigh of relief at a normal cadence.
“I sink I bit my tongue on the laft one, fuck.” Was the driver’s response, the same young woman as before.

A Junior Formula AG ship struggling through some corners before understeering into the wall on the exit of La Rascasse, team radio coming on a second later.
“Bea, you alright?”
A dejected, frustrated sigh. “Yes. Just get me out, man, end this fucking pain.”

That same Junior Formula AG craft sending a wild one down the outside of Turn 13 at Istanbul Park before switching over to cover the inside of T14 and clinching her first win of the series in a photo finish, the same woman’s elated voice coming over the radio. “FUCK YEEEEES! BY MILLIMETRES!” A few heavy breaths, ”I’d just like to say ‘thank you’ to everyone in the garage. I don’t know how you pieced that pile of carbon dust I gave you after quali into a working ship, but at this point I’m convinced that if I gave you breadcrumbs, you’d reassemble the loaf in time for breakfast. You guys are absolute legends, each and every one of you. Dinner’s on me tonight. Thank you!”

Beatrix sitting down on the Delta Hyper couch. “My name is Bea Ward, I’ll be racing for the Carrera Condor Formula AG team in the 2094 season and hopefully beyond.”

Aurora asked her first question, Bea smiling at the art compliment in an unspoken ‘Thank you’. “And everyone who likes them can get some for themselves from the Carrera Cordon merch store, because we need every penny.” She grinned, “Sorry, I had to.” She wiped the smirk off her face before continuing.
“Not much of a sketch yet, obviously after the time between the announcement and now plus pre-season testing I got my easel set up and I know what kind of paints I’m working with and who’s painting with me.” She carried on with the art analogy, “But the ship being what it is, the team isn’t expecting podiums. There’s also some people who don’t like that I’m here, they’d prefer someone else to be sitting here right now and to a point I can sympathize, so my goal for this season is to prove to the team that they’ve made the right call and to the sport that I belong. As long as I’m finishing equal or above where I qualified and I’m not too far behind Ava, I think it’ll be an alright year.”
There was a brief pause as the answer was officially over. “Now watch me get outqualified by both Fitzroy craft.” She added in jest.

---

Saturday March 4th, 2094, 19:20

“...and that’s both Carrera Cordon ships done, improving on the Fitzroy times as expected, here’s the team radio:” The commentators’ thoughts were interrupted by the double beep and team radio graphic popping up on screen.
“Okay Bea, that’s projected P18, point six one behind Ava.” Her race engineer’s voice came over the radio, Alistair Vale’s calm, measured voice a contrast to Bea’s response.
“Aaah. That fast sector’s still kicking my *BEEP*.” The whine of the engine going quiet in the background as she eased up the throttle, “But it felt better than pre-season. I think this setup is working.”
“Yeah, not bad for your first Saturday. Engine mode ‘Slow’ please and set to recharge.”

25 minutes later, in time for the grid to have settled around them, Bea was out of the craft and racing suit. Getting the breathing liquid out of one’s lungs was neither quick nor pleasant, meaning she only caught the tail end of Ava’s debriefing before the team principal León Alonso, a broad-shouldered man with thick eyebrows and square jaw, outlined her goals for the race - Don’t let Kovalenko through, get past Mensah, keep Waldgard behind her if possible but let him through if it’s a choice between that and crashing or a prolonged energy battle that would let the Fitzroys catch up.

Straight after that was one of the highlights of a race weekend for Bea as she was off to the fan zone. She always seemed more energized there, signing hats, taking pictures and answering unscripted questions, a more relaxed and honest affair than the usual post-session conferences, while sipping a can of ice tea. No one knew, least of all her fitness coach, that it had a decent amount of brandy in it to help get the lingering chemical taste of the breathing liquid out of her mouth.

“Who do you think is gonna be your biggest competition tomorrow?” A young Japanese woman asked while taking a selfie with Bea, arms around each others’ shoulders as if they’d been long time friends.
“Ava, obviously. It doesn’t matter how good or bad your ship is, your teammate is always racing the same machinery, they’re always the most fair comparison. Of the other teams, that would be Waldgard. He’s right behind us, he’s not gonna want to stay there and he’s got the machinery under him to do something about it, but we like our chances on this track. Mulder I’m not even going to bother, he’s going to run rings around us and not run into a challenge until he gets up to the Al-Saqr ships. Poor bastard though, breaking down straight out of the gate.
What’s your take on the ELS? Think it makes the sport better?” Bea listened to the woman’s opinion before turning her attention to the next person.
“So you see Ava as the opposition.” An 80-something, violently Texan man with a freshly signed cowboy hat said.
“Not entirely, I think we both see each other as assets on this track since it’s a good mix of things we’re both good and bad at. Plus we’re nowhere near the points, that’s gonna cool the team rivalry as well. If points are on offer, that might be another matter.
Are you getting your travel money’s worth so far?”
“So you’re expecting P13?” A handsome bloke with a local accent asked, holding up his can of beer for a toast.
“That would be amazing, but I’ll call it P14, Ava P13. Hope for the best, expect the worst, you’ll live a happier life.” She shrugged as she returned the toast, a few others joining in, “Millers qualified really well, I think they’re beyond reach this time around. If we get a good bit of luck, maybe we could even get 12th and 13th, but I’m also hoping to get invited to Astrid’s parties one day so maybe that’s not such a good idea.” Bea added laughing, the fans joining in. “You’re getting a head start on that I see, recommend some local beer brands?”
“What would you say the best part of being a racer is?” A boy no older than 12 asked.
“Honestly, talking to you guys.” A chorus of “Awwwww!”s erupted, “Don’t get me wrong, the racing itself is a hoot-”
“15 degrees and 300 BPM!” Someone a few meters over shouted over the din of the crowd.
“Exactly! But I think every properly raised person likes to make other people happy, and these informal fan chats are a really easy way to do that.” She continued as she removed one of the patches from the prototype shirt’s right sleeve and handed it to the boy, the look of joy in his eyes illustrating exactly what she meant. “What got you into racing?”