ResonantWaves

Apologies... must have mistook the KSP staff flair for Moderator

@Vanamonde @Just Jim or any other moderator, is it possible to lock this thread? I've handed the story over to a friend, and he'll republish it sometime later.

Sorry all, this fic will be on hiatus. I'm not sure whether I can continue on the forums for IRL reasons, but a friend of mine could publish these in his own threadif you'd all like to see this continue. Peace.

I'd tend to agree with the 'no' side here. The fact that the game hasn't been out ten years yet plus the diversity of the community's opinions make it just silly. Plus, I still don't really agree with singling out stuff for TOTY: it's fine I guess, but choosing one thread from a massive catalogue seems like a subjective task.

@LittleBitMore That's a good idea, and in a common location too! Alrighty!

Fair enough, but I'll wait for some more details. @Ultimate Steve said those are only the main characters, so maybe I could voice a minor character or something? My internal 'Chad', for the record, had a stereotype Aussie/Californian surfer dude accent: 'Aw bro, we're like, so totally in a spaceship right now, bro! Totally rad bro. Bro.'

Could this 'Chad' have a different accent? Mine is a weird mix of Aussie/Kiwi and British. Failing voice acting, I'd be happy to fill in as a storyboarder or something such. Have you got a Discord for us to centralize our efforts?

The forum filter has unfortunately changed around the meaning of a few sentences. I do apologise.

Is this thread alive? I'd love some feedback on my story or even just what you like, what you don't etc.

Glad to hear the new chapter is wrapping up, @DarkOwl57

Well done, @ManEatingApe thoroughly deserved from what I've heard!

Sorry for the long wait.. Here's a rather smaller chapter, as exams are encroaching upon my sanity once again. Hopefully we can enjoy further discussion of the story now that I've restarted it. CHAPTER FOUR Aquarian Superprix, Qualifying. “Well, Jeremy, we’re here again. Just over five minutes until the Formula K grid is allowed to exit their respective pit boxes and begin qualifying for the Aquarian Superprix. Jeremy, old buddy, first of all, I’m glad to see you’ve changed your shirt since yesterday. Secondly, what are your predictions for the qualifying?” “Well, Jim, seeing as your career as an aspiring comedian hasn’t worked out yet, I suppose I’m resigned to telling you what I think, if your tiny brain can comprehend it.” “Careful, Jeremy, if you want to put people to sleep you’d better stop using big words and start using chloroform-” “Unfortunately they’ve stopped me from using it, or you wouldn’t be talking right now, Jim. Anyway, let’s get on with the proceedings before I lose my rag-” “Can’t be worse than the mind you’ve lost already, dear old chum-” “Shut up, Jim, before I call the trackside security!” “Fine… get on with it then…” “Right. After a predictably rapid time put Louis Kerman at the top of the timesheets in Free Practice, and given the Aquarian circuit’s suitability to the Ferram car, he’s the red hot favorite to qualify on pole. Melcan and Dre Kerman round out the top three on the timesheets, with Velocity Motorsport’s George Kerman as an outside prospect in fourth. Arcazon Kerman takes the OTech to sixth, behind Carlos Kerman in fifth. Jim, what are your predictions for today’s qualifying?” “Well, Jeremy, it’s clear for all to see that despite some spirited advances by Melcan and Dre, Louis Kerman is still faster than a greased ferret with a lit firework up its-” “Shut it, Jim! D’you want our budget cut again?” “Right, Jeremy. Oops. So Louis Kerman, for lack of a suitably idiotic metaphor, will take pole. However, the rest of the grid is looking as changeable as a roulette table spinning on a knifepoint, with strong lap times from rookies George and Arcazon Kerman, not to mention veterans Carlos, Dre and Melcan putting in some very solid laps. Of course, the bright glare from your clearly whitened teeth might put them off-” “I HAVE NOT HAD MY TEETH WHITENED, YOU-” The rest of this message has been censored by Acuario Televisio. Please stand by. The buzz of the pit lane is somehow more alive to me than ever before. Cars are roaring in their pit boxes as a last minute check, and the sharp blares of car horns and screams from fans mingle with the whirr of wrenches, chatter from commentary boxes and the raw throated screams of cars flying past. The sun blazes down on the thousands of eager spectators, faded national flags and gleaming Formula K cars. I grin, in spite of the trials ahead. This is where I belong. This is home. I depress the clutch, shift the paddle up and cruise out of the garage. The sun blinds me momentarily, like a heat lamp flicked on in a dark room. I squint against the glare and roll towards the pit exit. This race could make or break my hopes of staying with OTech, and the enormity of this situation crouches on my shoulders, breathing down my neck. I disengage the pit limiter, and the chirrup of cold tires gripping on to sunbaked tarmac revitalises my poor mood. This has to be it. You need to pull it off here, or we might never make it to K1. The raucous wail of the engine vibrates my luridly-helmeted head as I pin the accelerator downhill towards Turn One, brushing the apex lightly before the cold rear tyres squirm and squeal in protest. Teddy bursts onto the radio with all the subtlety of a rabid and slightly cross bear. “Arcazon, you idiot! Those tyres are supposed to be warmed, not torn to shreds before the flaming lap starts!” I grit my teeth, choosing not to reply, and instead gripping the wheel with both hands and clenching as I swing wide into Turn 2. Outside in, inside out, I thought, internally repeating the age-old racing mantra in my head. Somehow, I doubted a mantra would be enough. Qualifying Circuito Internacional de Acuario, 2037 2 minutes, 34 seconds remaining. “OK Arcazon, this is Sid from telemetry. We do not have enough fuel to finish two laps. I repeat, this is your final flying lap.” barks a gruff, northern-accented voice in my comms unit as I round Turn 24 and shift up into max revs for the main straight. “Roger that, Sid; I’ll make it a good one for you. Radio silence guys, please.” I responded. To tell you the honest truth, I’d driven like a complete lousefest. I was currently sitting tenth, four places below my expected target of sixth. It was starting to look a bit hopeless. But Dad always said, when the going gets tough, the tough get going. As I switched the car into rich revs and short shifted into Turn 1, the angry rev of the redlining engine brought me crashing back to reality. Maybe it was hopeless. Maybe I wouldn’t make into K1, I considered as I slingshotted my car through the inside of Turn 2, but I’d sure as hell die trying. I brake hard into Turn 3 and mount the kerb, carrying my speed onto the tunnel straight and barely slowing down for the kink of Turn 4. Flying out from under the bridge, I rapidly shift down and stamp both the accelerator and brake, acting on instinct. The rear starts sliding, but I counteract it with a flick of my wrist in the opposite direction, sending the car howling towards Turns 6, 7 and 8. Careful light pulls on the wheel send the car straight through the bends without breaking a sweat. Going into Turn 9, I brake aggressively late and swing the car across the apex of the hairpin, almost hitting the wall. Before I have time to chide myself, I’ve flown through Turns 10 and 11 and am halfway through Turn 12, my body operating on autopilot and weirdly separated from my mind. I lock up slightly into 13, missing the inside line and sending an acrid cloud of blue tinted smoke up into the stands. Fans are clapping and some joker is blaring an airhorn in the stands somewhere. I ignore them and instead upshift massively into Turn 14. The engine yowls like a scolded cat, and I slingshot out of T14 down the home stretch, hitting 305 kph before ramming the brakes and mounting the kerbs at the Turn 15-16 S-bend. A perfect exit sends me with a brilliant run down to turn 17. I nail a perfect apex and manage not to repeat my mistakes from practice, avoiding lock-up.Spinning the wheel left and right impossibly quickly as I round the technical triple corner series of 18, 19 and 20 nearly distracts me, but I hold on through the conflicting lateral g-forces. Pinning the accelerator down, I savagely attack the kerbs on turns 21 to 24- no conservative lines. It’s a good lap, maybe even top 3 material. The strangled screech of the tires as I brake heavily into Turn 25 seems like razors to my ears, sharpening my focus and intensifying my resolve as I fly out of the inside of T25 and down the straight. The engine whines as I cross the line; nearly starved of fuel, it auto-shifts into reserve fuel mode. The fans scream as I back off the revs down to Turn 1, and I switch on the comms. “Guys! Guys! How’d I do? That has to be at least top 5, right?” “Not top 5, son.” says Teddy. My stomach drops like a kerbonaut in a parachute capsule. “How-” I croak out, before screaming drowns my eardrums. “You’re on provisional pole. POLE, you sweet little stand-up guy!” Teddy roars. I bang the steering wheel. “YES! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEES! WAAAHAHAHAHOOOOOOO!” I scream into the microphone, doubtlessly deafening everything in a two-mile radius of the OTech pit box. At this point, I pull to the outside absent-mindedly, letting fast-lapping cars through as I coast on momentum down the straight from the Turn 14 exit. I’m so wrapped up in the news of the provisional pole that I don’t notice a backmarker car- the Virtuolli Motors of Antonio Kerman- directly behind, presumably trying to catch a tow from my slower car. I turn slowly, going quite wide into 15, when- CRUNCH. The rear spins out and I’m engulfed in a cloud of smoke: while not as dramatic as a fully under-braking collision, even a slight bump at those low speeds can cause major damage to the car’s internals. I take my hands away from the wheel and allow the car to roll into the gravel. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Antonio’s tattered car rolling back on track and out of sight. The fans are booing- something’s happened to their hometown hero. I radio in. “Teddy, what the hell was that! Did Antonio ram me or something?” I say, trying to keep myself calm. “He hit you going into 15- you didn’t see him, so you weren’t quite wide enough to allow him through the inside. His front wing hit your rear, and judging from the tatters it’s hanging in, it’s not looking good for his hotlap.” Crap. I crashed into the home hero driver on his hotlap. Keeping my thoughts practical, I ask quietly: “How’s the car looking, guys?” “Not great,” says Stuart from engineering. “The right support beam on your rear wing is toast, and your rear right suspension has taken a small bump. Nothing we can’t handle mate, bring her in nice and gentle for us. “Roger that.” I reply tersely, and coast the car back to the pits on what I can only assume is condensed fuel on the inside walls of the fuel tank. As I cruise back into pit lane, I hear shouting and vaguely familiar Aquarian words. Translating with my admittedly poor grasp of Aquarian, I shudder. Not good at all. Pulling the car to a gentle stop, I lever myself out of the cockpit with the car parked in the outer bay- a common practise for angry drivers. The team back off as I put my head in my hands and hobble unsteadily a few steps away. Antonio’s going to press a penalty, and I’m going to lose the only pole I’ve ever had. Without looking at the team, I sigh: “Did we get pole?” A quiet voice I recognize as Barzon the fuel technician pipes up. “We did, by 0.064 seconds.” I chuckle derisively and walk a few steps further away. Suddenly, Teddy’s voice shouts across at me. “Arcazon! Behind you-” A blinding pain hits my senses like a freight train at top speed. I crash to the ground, holding the left side of my head and dimly registering a luridly patterned helmet, loud voices and the angry face of Antonio Kerman, who now occupied the #1 spot of Who Hates Arcazon The Most Right Now list, dethroning Louis from a surprisingly long stint at the top. His screamed Aquarian was a mess of swearwords and abuse, but I managed to catch the most important bits. “¿Crees que puedes echarme de la carrera, gilipollas? ¿Vos si? ¿Cabrón?” Ah. Not pleased, then. As I pass out, I hear a snatch of excited conversation from the commentary box, where Jim and Jeremy were going bananas. “Antonio Kerman is being restrained by stewards! He’s bashed Arcazon Kerman over the head with his helmet!” “Not since the days of Nelson and Elias Kerman back in ‘04 have I seen such a thing, and in the middle of the pits too-” Wonderful. Now I’ve got my head bashed in and my name all over the paddock gossip circuit. Not exactly how I imagined celebrating pole position.

I'm wheezing.. why is this crudely edited egg so funny?

That was the guide I followed.. unfortunately SXT Continued's status as a required mod makes CKAN install difficult, so will try manual download and extract

Some sort of error with RP-1- SXTContinued got a 403 error and failed. RSS and RO installed fine, but RP-1 throws up problem after problem on 1.2.2, 1.3.1, 1.6.1 and 1.7.3. It's enough to make a guy scream! Will attach files when I get them: just wondered if this was a common issue with an easy fix.

Demystifying Mysteries... Patting Terrier... Saluting the Skipper... Achieving Escape Velocity... Constructing Launch Clamps... Ensuring Appropriate Flag Flutter...

I personally enjoy Matt's videos- his inane, quintessentially British rambling, good eye for cinematography and fairly decent engineering skills when building craft have led to some really entertaining stuff, and we can't forget the multi-part epic cinematics of the Expedition Eve series.

I have a small YouTube channel, and was planning to create a basic cinematic of a few missions in my current save file. Are there any mods or equipment that are recommended for this?

Kredits. Always Kredits.

New chapter out- sorry it took so long (Exams are very time-consuming, yet I believe my grades will be worth it) CHAPTER THREE Three days before Aquarian Superprix “Mr. Kerman, what are your thoughts on the recent Carthia Super Cadet Karting Cup race? We know you attended the race in the torrential wet, what did you think of the young kerbals’ performance?” I clear my throat. Usually I like press conferences, but this one is a little sporadic and, if I’m totally honest, the female reporter slightly unnerves me. Not for obvious reasons, but her gaze is very intense. It feels like she’s turning up the thermostat in the room- I pull my collar away from my neck, which is sweating like a Baskay dam during a storm surge. Damn Teddy. Why’d I agree to wearing this fancy shirt! It makes me look like a kerblet preaching in a church! Massively embarrassing! She scrutinizes me intensely. “Well?” I clear my throat. “The standard of driving in the wet was absolutely impeccable. All drivers were driving fantastically in the wet, and so many drivers displayed tenacity and courage- traits that K1 drivers have in spades.” The female reporter jabs the microphone at me. “What would you say to our winner, Capeta Kerman; he’s won six out of seven races so far this season, and is leading into the final race? I gulp. “He’s doing a brilliant job- I’m really impressed. I’d advise him to keep his head down and focus on the task ahead: the last race is never one to slack off, even if he’s leading the cup.” The reporter nodded, seemingly appeased, then lunged with an off-the-cuff question. “What about your off-track life? Any romantic activity?” I blush. “Uh… well, I’m not at liberty to answer...” A loud BEEP echoes as the interview cuts off; the portly news chief waddles over and starts to yell at the reporter, who starts biting her lip and apologizing. As Teddy ushers me out, I catch some snatches of the conversation. “You embarrassed him- totally unprofessional- ridiculous thing to do-” She raises her voice. “Sir, you specifically said- intel on other than racing-it’s what the readers want!” He turns and speaks curtly and gruffly. “It’s not what the sports section want, Aisling; do you want this column or should I put you back to celebrity watch?” I am ushered out the door into baking sunlight. Instantly the dry heat of the day washes over me; Aquaria’s hot days are really hot. My tongue is parched, I’m sweating buckets- it wasn’t just the reporter, no, it wasn’t- and I really need to dive into the air-conditioned limo. Which is a bit of a problem. Because the limo’s not bloody here. Teddy curses. “Balls. Stay here, I need to call the mechanic. He’s supposed to send through the limo driver to pick us up. He KNEW we were here. Stupid. Stupid.” He raises his phone to his ear and walks around the corner, jabbering into the mouthpiece. Awesome. Sit on the kerb like some abandoned litter. Great plan. I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself when something brushes my shoulder. I jump up and spin around, instinctively pushing my hands up and backing up a bit. There’s a little scream: it‘s the reporter from earlier! I rearranged my face into something that doesn’t look like a startled cat, and smile. “Hey, how’s it going?” I say, cringing at myself. She grins, and for some reason I find my eyes were drawn to a perfectly golden lock of blonde hair trailing over her bare shoulder. Her reporter’s shoulderless dress looks pretty good… Shut up. Look at her face, NOT DOWN. The female kerbal is cunning; look down and you show weakness. Stand your ground. Shut up. MORON. She bites her lip again. “Not so good. My editor Ken’s got me on the ropes. He says women shouldn’t ‘disrupt the integrity of motorsports journalism.” Plus, he says I’ve got to workout for my TV appearance at the Aquarian Superprix; got to look good on camera.” She blushes involuntarily, and somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind’s control room, jaws hit the floor. Stammering a bit, I answer: “So what do you do now? You still look pretty fit?” I wince inside. You stupid, idiotic, blathering MORON. Tie a black bag over your head and throw yourself in a bin because you’re completely unfit for any sort of social interaction. She smirks, looking me up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself… sorry. Sorry. I should introduce myself. Aisling Kerman, eighteen. Junior motorsports intern at Carthia News.” I smiled at her. “My turn? Arcazon Kerman, seventeen, Formula K driver for OTech GP.” She giggles. “Sorry I, uh, messed the interview up back there. I don’t know what came over me.” Uhhhh… brain shutting down… “It’s no trouble, really.” I say, blustering my way through a hopefully decent comeback line. “Spiced up a boring afternoon. Although, I have to ask, why did you say it? It was really out of left field.” I grin. “Any particular reason?” Now it’s her turn to stammer. “No, uh, real reason especially. Just personal interest.” As I’m about to reply, Teddy and the limo arrive. Teddy rolls the glossy tinted window down and hollers out the window. “Arcazon, get over here! You’ve got- oh, hello…” he chokes out as he catches sight of Aisling and me together. I nod imperceptibly. Turning back to Aisling, I offer my hand. “Well, it was great to meet you. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow for Practice?” I ask, turning on the full charm. She grins and once again my knees feel weak. “Not if I see you first!” She shakes my hand, then as if on impulse, leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I smile back and leave towards the waiting car. Just a polite way of saying goodbye. Yes. Definitely. Most certainly. I wave one last time as I open the door of the car and settle in next to Teddy in the mercifully air-conditioned backseats. He whistles lowly at me as I get in. “ “What?” I say, annoyed. “Boy,” he says, chuckling, “you have much to learn.” I sigh and recline into the cushy black leather seat. “Well, it wasn’t a total disaster.” Teddy snorts as the limo swings back into Nomlas, and towards my next trial. A few hundred feet away, in some scrubby brush, Gunther Kerman rifles through the photographs he took of the Formula K driver and the girl. Yes- there it was- the one taken at the exact point they kissed, which would make the front page tomorrow, he was certain of it. No more pictures of pond algae for Gunther Kerman, oh no sir, this time next year he’d be toasting at the Annual Journalism Ball in Owlia, and drinking to a successful career. This dream, however, was rudely interrupted by the arrival of a security guard. “HEY! Get outta here, peeping tom! Gah!” Ah well. The indignity would soon be forgotten, thought Gunther as he ran off, camera equipment spilling out of his arms. The next day Drivers’ Common Room, Circuito Internacional de Acuario, 2037 Early morning I groan as I pushed my way through the double doors of the Drivers’ Common Room. It certainly wasn’t a good idea to stay up late re-studying the lines for the Aquarian circuit. I rub the dust from my eyes tiredly as I head towards Charles and Brendon, sitting near the window. A decent cooked breakfast and some sunfruit juice will cure this morning fatigue, I’m sure. I pour myself a glass of sunfruit juice from the nearby dispenser and order a double sausage and egg deluxe from the service counter. The jovial chief winks and nods to his crew, then turns to me and says; “Hola, señor Arcazon. ¿Quieres sal en tus huevos?” He grins as I stutter a reply. “S-Si, por favor.” I chuckle awkwardly. He gives me a thumbs up as I stumble over to Charles and Brendon, who are reading the morning newspaper with such vigour that their heads are nearly touching. I cough dramatically as I slide into a seat. Brendon’s eyes go wide and he nudges Charles, who starts slightly. I chuckle. “What’s so engrossing about the newspaper then? Some K1 drivers retire?” I ask, jokingly. Charles just stares. “You don’t know the news? It’s about YOU.” Now it’s my turn to stare. “What?” He shoves the newspaper at me. On the second page, there’s a full color photograph of me… being kissed? What? Oh no… holy crap! I throw the paper down to the table, suddenly realizing that a paper is open on almost everyone’s tables. Dear Kerm… Charles looks agape and Brendon’s eyes are as big as dinner plates. “Hol-hold on…” I stammer. Seeing my discomfort, Louis strides over and grabs the armrest of my chair. “It’s only Friday, and you’ve already-” he smirks. “Congrats, you can finally figure out the days of the week without using your fingers!” I retort. He waves off the insult, as if it was an unpleasant perfume. “Like I said. It’s already Friday, and you’re already getting mixed up in some sordid affair. Can’t you ever stay out of the limelight, or is it a deliberate move to distract from your terrible racing and,” he glances briefly at Charles and Brendon, “poor social habits?” I rear up. “Just because I got caught kissing a girl doesn’t mean I’m some glory hunter. It means I’m a normal guy, which to you seems odd as you wouldn’t go near a girl with a ten-foot pole.” Louis’ face darkens. He grabs the cup containing the dregs of my sunfruit juice and flicks his wrist, spattering it on my face. Brendon leaps up so fast his chair hits the floor, and steps towards Louis. I catch sight of Melcan rushing over, and Charles grabbing Brendon’s shoulders to stop him from knocking Louis’ front teeth out. I catch the eye of a very confused waiter carrying my breakfast and shake my head. Idiot ruined a nice breakfast. Well, I can’t stay here any longer. I stalk out, leaving a raving Louis and struggling Brendon to each other. Pit lane, three hours later Circuito Internacional de Acuario, 2037. Round 6 of 10. Free Practice “Hello all tuning in on Owlia National News, KTV, Acuario Televisio or whatever your preferred TV network, and welcome to free practice for the Aquarian Formula K Superprix. I’m Jim Kerman, your commentator for this weekend. Beside me in the other seat is some hobo we hired as part of a community outreach program, and by Kerm, he smells.” “Very amusing, Jim. I’m Jeremy Kerman, official co-commentator of the Formula K World Championship, and not, as Jim so politely suggested, an unemployed homeless community member.” “All right, old bean. I apologise. Although you might want to wash your shirt.” “Shut up, Jim. Now, the Aquarian circuit is home to some of the most compacted turns in modern motorsport, with 25 corners spread along its 2.3 mile length. We’ve had some incredible battles here; one can’t forget Murray Kerman holding off Jenson Kerman for sixteen laps back in 2021, or Phil Kerman’s dominant race win in 2030, where he beat second place by almost a minute.” “Of course, Jeremy, this weekend is no different. We’ve got Arcazon Kerman, whose brilliant podium from fourteenth on the grid in the last race in Bradley raised more than a few eyebrows from the more established teams, whereas Dre Kerman’s win in Owlia brings him within four points of Louis Kerman, who finished a dismal fourth after a problem in the pits and a huge mistake on the final corner of the last lap, which allowed Arcazon Kerman to take the last podium spot.” “Indeed, Jim: today we’re going to see who sets quickest times in preparation for the qualifying effort tomorrow.” “It’s all well and good talking about close racing, Jeremy, but mind you don’t get too close to me; or indeed anything else apart from a good shower.” “SHUT UP, JIM! I WILL HAVE THE COMMITTEE SUE YOUR cheeks FROM HERE TO GRESTIN IF YOU DON’T STOP-” “Excuse me, watchers, but our dear Jeremy looks like he may explode at any minute. We’ll cut to the driving before I have to call the Health Service.” I grin as the commentators’ inane babble fills my ears. Good old Jim was doing his utmost to drive Jeremy into a hissing frenzy, and it seemed to be working. Teddy’s breath rasping through my comms unit jerked me back into focus as the pit crew fitted the medium tires and the telemetry team booted up the race strategy simulation. “All right, kid. We’ve got the strategy sim up. Set some good, consistent laps, keep tyre wear minimal, and come back in after five laps. “Roger that, Teddy.” I reply, flipping my visor down and flashing a thumbs-up to the nearest technician, who nodded to Teddy before pointing out and nodding. I revved the engine up to 12,500 rpm, then released the clutch and pulled out of the garage, settling in behind a Vernier Motorsport car on my way to the pit exit’s white line. The tortured roar of a car gunning it down the home straight echoes off my eardrums as a silver blur rockets past. The black and blue Vernier car passes the pit line and screams as its driver takes off the pit limiter and shoots off in a cloud of burned rubber and tyre smoke. I pass the limiter, shift up and grin maniacally as the acceleration pins me back in my seat and the raucous wail of my now-freed engine fills my ears. Now this is why I get out of bed in the morning, I grinned to myself as the car flies downhill towards the apex of Turn 1, and around the kerb before slingshotting away around the exit. The car feels amazing as I use up all the space exiting the second turn and hammer away down the straight. My head instinctively tilts in preparation for the hard braking into Turn 3, and the car’s carbon ceramic brakes glow as I twist the steering wheel into the apex, then pinning the throttle wide open, a tortured scream echoing from the engine and a cheer from the thin crowd braving the heat to watch the less expensive practice sessions. The slight kink of Turn 4 looms under the home straight bridge. The sonorous roar of the high revving Formula K engine echoes, multifaceted, off the walls off the softly lit tunnel. Passing through Turn 4, I emerge into bright daylight and right into the entry of a sharp, near-180-degree, low speed hairpin: Turn 5. I kick the back end out slightly and judder across the inside kerb, small stones becoming dislodged and scattering in the car’s wake. I twist the wheel 180 degrees and hunker down through the right-left-right complex of turns 6,7 and 8. It’s another long straight, ringed with spectator stands and enclosed spectator bridges arching over the track. I scream under the four consecutive loops, readying myself for Turn 9. Turn is a vicious hairpin, in which the fastest cars can pull 3 to 4 G’s speeding through the apex. I brake hard and late, feeling my eyes straining against the deacceleration from 280 kph to barely 50 kph in just under two and a half seconds. I redline the engine, and the rear wheels smoke up as the car exits the turn, accelerating like a stone out of a sling. My brake management sees me getting a brilliant run into Turn 10, then out in a screaming blur of tyre smoke and blue and white. Turns 11 and 12 pass in a blur of kerbing; before I know it, I’m flying up out of 13 towards the fast right hander of Turn 14, and down the home stretch. The paddles flick up gears at the tiniest response from my fingers, my eyesight seems muddied and blurred, spots of light dance across the track as the car shoots under the wide boughed willow trees. I shift down, take my foot off the accelerator slightly and shoot straight through the S-bends of Turn 15 and 16, then another long straight before Turn 17 and 18. I’m glad I told the guys to be absolutely silent during the first lap; really gets me in the zone. No distractions. Just me, my car, and the track! I brake late into 17 and lock up, barely keeping off the grass as I fishtail through the fast three turn complex of 18, 19 and 20, somehow maintaining the drift. Stupid rookie mistake, I chide myself. Watch the circuit. Don’t lose your braking line. I conservatively take the outside line through Turns 21, 22,and 23, leaving me to attack the kerb on Turn 24’s apex and giving me a perfect exit onto the straight. I begin to pass the braking boards and slam on the anchors into the final corner, Turn 25. It’s a sharp and nasty turn where many a driver has misjudged his braking point and slid into the gravel. It’s not getting me today, though; the deceleration rattles my teeth as I slide beautifully into the apex, roaring out and flipping open the DRS. As I pass the start line, Teddy breaks his no-speaking vow and shouts into the comms. “You’ve burned up the rears, your engine is over revving and you’re forcing the car too much into the turns. Please, take it easy!” I roll my eyes exasperatedly. Some things never change. I think to myself as I rocket down the home straight towards Turn 1. After Free Practice Media paddock Circuito Internacional de Acuario, 2037. “Arcazon, how do you feel about setting the sixth-fastest time in today’s free practice?” “Are you feeling ready for qualifying?” “Any comments on the photographs appearing on the Aquarian Herald’s front cover this morning?” “Arcazon! Got time for a quick chat?” I spin around, trying to find the vaguely familiar voice that had spoken the last question. Flanked by Teddy and some scary, mute Securidado personnel from the circuit’s staff, we cut a swath through the intrusive journalists until we find the voice’s origin; unsurprisingly, it’s Aisling, the female reporter from earlier. I flash her a quick smile. “Hey.” She looks at me, businesslike but with the fastest traces of a smirk playing around her lips. She shouts back to a harried gaggle of camera kerbals loading a shot rig into a truck. “Any of the Interview Rooms open?” she shouts. A silver haired female kerbal turns and shouts back: “Yep, Interview Room Two is all set up and ready.” Aisling nods and jogs around to a squat modern building, ushering me to follow. I walk over the faded pavement and through a white, windowed door, following Aisling. Inside, there’s absolute pandemonium. Lights blare down in a blue-carpeted corridor as journalists shuffle, coffee is spilled and orders are shouted. I duck and weave, following the cornflower blue of Aisling’s dress through the maze of kerbals, desks and paper stacks, all the while feeling the heavy blast of an industrial aircon. Finally, after many muffled apologies and one spilled sunfruit juice, I reach the end of the corridor and push open the plain grey door- indistinguishable from the others except for the golden number 2 screwed just above the doorknob. Pushing it gently open, I’m greeted with a pleasantly open space, filled by the soft glow of studio lights and ringed in cushy seats; Aisling already has her camerakerb aiming at her, she’s sitting on a maroon sofa. I sit casually at the other end. She turns to me and whispers: “You’ve done this before: just some quick questions, a goodbye and a wrap.” I smirk. “Does this include more awkward questions and kissing?” She chuckles quietly. “It might do if you behave. Now shut up and smile for the cameras.” She turns to the camerakerb. “Lester, take it from a soft 37 and a pan. Zoom 4 then focus on me at timestamp 2-38. Got it?” Lester the camerakerb gives a silent thumbs up and switches a red light to orange, counting down with his fingers. Five, four, three, two, one- the light goes green, I affix my face into a relaxed smile, and Aisling launches into a well-rehearsed introduction. “Hello, Carthia! This is Aisling Kerman, here in sunny Aquaria with Arcazon Kerman, who has just finished driving in the practice session for the Formula K Aquarian Superprix! Arcazon, how was the drive?” She points the microphone at me and I clear my throat. “Well, it was great to be back in Aquaria today; the circuit’s always been a favorite of mine and I’m so glad to be back. The car felt great- that’s all down to Teddy, Joe and all the boys in the garage. They’re up working on this amazing machine to ensure it performs at its peak: I’m just the guy who turns up and drives it at the end of the day.” Polite chuckles from Aisling and Lester bolster my goofy grin. Aisling, more serious now, jabs the microphone back at me. “Was sixth place an accurate representation of your qualifying pace for tomorrow?” I put on a diplomatic smile. “I’m just getting used to the track; obviously we’d have liked to have placed higher but I’m sure we’ll show our true pace tomorrow for the qualifying session.” Aisling smiles, pleased with the neutral answer. “What about your championship battle with Melcan Kerman? You’re only thirteen points behind after leapfrogging Hansibald in the standings with your podium in Owlia. Do you think you can catch him?” I shrug. “Melcan is a fantastic racer and he’s incredibly consistent, showing the benefit of several seasons’ experience. I can’t honestly say whether I’ll catch him or not; but anything can happen, and we’ve got to focus on these next races.” Aisling nods. “One final question: what do you think about your chances of landing a K1 seat for 2039?” The question momentarily stuns me: after a moment’s hesitation, I jump in with an answer. “Well, it’s too early to say. Some would argue another year in Formula to hone my skills would be the best bet, but I reckon if I keep up my good form, I could be contending for a seat at OTech next year.” Aisling turns to Lester. “Thank you, Arcazon. Unfortunately that’s all we have time for today: catch our live broadcast of qualifying tomorrow, and stay tuned for more development on the Aquarian Superprix. Back to Kyle in the studio!” Aisling whoops with the kind of joy I can only imagine comes from a successful live interview. I’m getting to my feet and smiling- I can’t say I didn’t enjoy an interesting interview in a quiet, secluded room- better than talking to the media vultures out there. My train of thought is interrupted by a hug from Aisling. Startled, I instinctively return the hug. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lester gaping as he returns his equipment to the bag. I shoot him a death glare and he looks down, sheepish. Aisling’s hair smells of prickle berries and freshly cut grass: a wonderful shampoo, no doubt. She lets go and grins. “You did great! Oh, I’m so looking forward to qualifying!” she enthuses wildly. “See you there?” I smile back. “Who knows, I might even get a top 3!” She smirks, her enthusiam infectious. “I hope so. Catch you later, hotshot.” I wink back as I head for the door. “In a while, reporter extraordinaire.” She grins as I wave goodbye, and push back through the corridor. I’m already preparing myself for qualifying: I’ve got to keep showing OTech I’m worthy of a future in K1, and it all starts here in Aquaria. I can feel it. END OF CHAPTER THREE

Hey there! Welcome to the forums! I myself haven't been here long but from what I've experienced so far these fellows are a wonderful bunch! You'll enjoy your time here, I can tell you.

A general overview really- not too in-depth, just a reflection of what you enjoyed or what you think I could have done better.

Hi! I'm a relatively new fanfiction writer and I've just published the first two chapters of my story Find The Gap, a KSP racing fic set in the same universe as @DarkOwl57's Life at The Top. Any advice, critique or feedback would be appreciated. Thanks, and goodbye!

CHAPTER II Owlia Grand National Raceway, Owlia 2037 A temperate breeze ruffles the pine trees lining the Owlia circuit, disrupting a measure of wildlife. Close by, the scream of fans and engines signals the ongoing Free Practice 3 for the Owlia Superprix. I squint against the sunlight, and roll the OTech car into the pitlane, cruising at the pit limiter and absorbing the shouts and whistles of the crowd. Flicking the cover on the pit limiter switch and pressing the button beneath, the car shot out of the pits like a heavily greased ferret towards Turn 1. The car responds well as I turn in, and I hit the apex, grinding the undertray on the kerb and prompting a heavy verbal finger-wagging from Teddy. “Kid, what’d I tell you about the bumps? Stop being so aggressive!” “Sorry, Teddy, they get in my way!” I reply as I cut through Turn 2. “Hmph. Don’t be such a smartass, Arcazon: it ain’t gonna get you anywhere.” “Roger that, bossman.” Turns 3 and 4 are gone, quick as a flash, and I pass traffic up to the exit of Turn 11, where I finally get some clean air up to Turn 12. Rounding the banking, I can feel the lateral G’s pulling at my body and sticking the car to the inside. Pulling out and into Turn 13, I blast onto the grass, clipping it with my rear wheel before shifting up the gears and letting the engine loose: the car howls its way across the line before I slam the brakes and slide slightly into Turn 1, the rear end skittering away from me before I snap it back into place. This’ll be a good race. I can feel it. After eleven laps, my testing is over for the day and I peel off the track into the pitlane, slowing down for the markers and pulling into the box. “Great practice, we’ve got some good data for the race tomorrow. Reel it in Arcazon.” Teddy calls from the computer monitors at the rear of the garage. I step out of the cockpit, ripping off my helmet and balaclava, pausing to high-five a technician. Teddy saunters over and sets his hands on my shoulders. “Kid, you gotta get it together for quali- your lap times are quarter of a second down on the HRM cars through Sector 1, and your overall laps are nearly half a second off. OTech aren’t used to losses, and this season isn’t shaping up too good. Problems?” I shake my head, grin weakly and walk dazedly from the garage. OTech aren’t used to losses. Could my performance get my contract terminated? At dinner that night, I’m picking at my food, and have barely sipped my sunfruit juice. Mum The All-Seeing, notices; with a theatrical eyebrow quirk she puts down her fork and speaks: “You seem moodier than usual, Arcazon.” “It’s nothing, Mum…” I reply, mentally cursing myself for even speaking. But then again, Mum gets grumpy if she receives the silent treatment. “Is it about your dad again? I told you, I’m here to talk about it whenever you want. You don’t have t-” “I said, it’s FINE!” I shout, then instantly cringe at myself. Idiot, why yell at Mum? She’s got well more than enough on her plate! I push back my chair and leave- exit is preferable to a painful, upsetting talk about random crap: neither of us needed to go through that. The next morning, we barely talk. The memory of the fight last night, and the stress of qualifying coming up afresh in my head does away with conversation. I bolt down my breakfast, grab the flowers for the cemetery: Mum smiles at me from the table; surprising me. I didn't think she was forgiving enough for a smile. “Be careful in the qualifying session today, Arcazon. Do your best. Do your dad proud.” I swallow a watery smile, slip on my shoes and head for the door. Twenty-three minutes later, I've got a stitch and l'm nearly doubled over in front of the gravestone - worth it for the new jogging speed record. OK, maybe I ran a little, but no one else knows except me, right? Gently, I pat the flowers down onto the coarse grass of the grave, the flowers a huge, multicolored contrast to the weathered brown and gold of the grave. Dad had a bigger, cooler grave back in our old hometown of Terras, Baskay- fitting for the city's best couch manager. I laugh, remembering the way he'd school me up on racing techniques from his armchair, and take me along when he had an engineering job on some supercar. The wound of his death still hadn't healed: I constantly tortured my mind with guilt over what had happened. I should have told him to stay. I shouldn't have shouted. I wish I’d been a better son- There's a blink, and I'm jerked back to reality. Wish you were here, Dad. Hope the racing's good up there. I walk back home- no need to run- and begin thinking about the day ahead. Gotta prepare first! Qualifying Owlia Grand National Raceway The tarmac blurs beneath me, tweeting birds and blurred brake markers spinning into my vision as I flick back the gears and hit the apex through Turn 14. This is my final qualifying stint of the day- without a good lap here, I'll be tenth on the grid. Not good enough. The car is absolutely planted, amazingly grippy, unlike practice. “Thumbs up guys, car feels way better in quali today.” No reply. I perform the 220 kerblometer per hour equivalent of a shrug, angling my shoulders slightly as I bump over the kerbs of Turn 5. No angry rant from Teddy about preserving some microscopic bit of the undertray: now I'm totally confused. Turns 7 and 8 scream past, with a chirrup from the rear right tyre on the exit of 8. Is the radio equipment damaged or something? Pulling into 12, with the g-forces pushing my head against the seat, I slide it out, neatly into Turn 14 and along the back straight. Two tenths quicker: I'm up to eighth! Two laps later, I'm on my final lap of the stint. Lap 2 was eight-hundredths off, while Lap 3 was a full three and a half tenths up- I'm up to sixth. This lap looks to edge it out, although I lost a little time in Turns 3 and 4 after a weird, blackout sort of thing. Probably just a headache. It'll be a yowzer of a pain when I get back home. I put it to the back of my mind as I complete a perfect run through 10, leaving me a great line in the run-up to Turn 11. Rounding the turn flawlessly, I see a chance to gain some time with a full throttle run through Turn 12. The car shoots into the banking, and my vision swims as I pull an insane G turn. No- The car hits the wall, scraping the front wing and right sidepod. My head flops forward, and I pass out, gratefully welcoming the blackness. An ambulance tears through Bradley's tight city streets, heading towards Owlia National Hospital. The siren blares, its piercing blue light and wow-wooow sound a clear message to other cars to get the Kraken out of the way. The ambulance driver, a particularly harried single father, Glenning Kerman, glances at the unresponsive body in the back, somehow managing the dual concentration required to drive quickly, avoid traffic and think at the same time. That's the kid Capeta won't shut up about, thinks Glenning. Arca-whatsit. I thought it was way worse than it ended up being - he's got a mild concussion and some bad bruising, but overall the safety system of the car seems to have preserved him from the severe injuries. Still, I've seen worse. I had to cart Phil Kerman’s body to the morgue last year after his massive K1 crash. Kerm, that was awful. And Capeta wants to drive these things… If he was a bad driver he wouldn't make it, and he'd live out a nice safe life, but with the upcoming finals of the Carthia Super Cadet Karting Cup that he has a strong chance of winning, he might actually get his wish. He's only thirteen cycles old, but he has a raw talent and and an analytical mind that bests drivers in faster karts. Whatever happens, I promised Mariella I'd keep our boy happy, no matter the cost.” The next day… I arrived back in the pit garage to cheers and whoops from the team. Even Saul gives a grudging nod of respect. Teddy clasps me in a hug. “We thought it was over… Thank the Kerm for the Owlian Health Service. So glad to have you back and ready for the race, kid. I'm sorry I pushed you too hard..” Over? Surely he didn't think I was- At that moment, all though was stopped by a bloodcurdling scream followed by a sob. In runs an insane whirlwind, also known as Mum. “Arcazon…I thought I'd lose you!” A fresh round of sobs ensues, and this awkward moment seems to stretch for eternity. Then Mum straightens up, looks enraged, and begins belting Teddy round the back of the head with her handbag. “YOU… ARE SUPPOSED… TO KEEP.. MY CHILD.. SAFE!” she bellows angrily “Ow! What the Kerm! HE’S… OW!... FINE, WOMAN!!” complains Teddy. I catch the techies smiling as I attempt to wrench Mum’s handbag from her grasp. I glare daggers at them, silently communicating an indignant Shut up at them. This isn't exactly the situation you want the day before the race. Race Day Owlia Grand National Raceway Racers’ Lounge 10:17 “Ahhh…” I exclaim as I lower my glass and glance at Charles and Dre. “Nothing like a glorious cup of sunfruit juice after a cooked breakfast!” Charles nods, his mouth so full of roasted koobish that I wouldn't be surprised if it shot out of his ears. Dre, however, wags his finger over his HellPhee porridge and beefwater. “You two want to be careful! You’ll break the scales if you keep going like that. Although maybe you could sumo wrestle Louis after a while…” It’s too much for Charles who bursts out laughing, turning his meal into a haphazard projectile that splatters the table in semi-chewed multi-coloured glory. I laugh so hard I fall off my chair, and from the floor I see Dre shaking his head and Brendon sneaking up behind him with a cup of ice. I grin sneakily as Brendon winks and tips the cubes on Dre’s head. “AAAARGH!” yells Dre as he stumbles off the chair and bellows a fearsome roar, chasing after the laughing Brendon. Amid the disapproving glances of other diners, the unresponsive form of Charles face down in his regurgitated breakfast and the increasingly loud swearing coming from Dre and Brendon’s direction, I grin goofily. I love this nutty group, I grin to myself. Three hours later… “Welcome to Owlia, Formula K fans, and in just ten minutes the sixth round of the Formula K championship will be well underway. In the drivers’ standings, Louis Kerman leads with a record 133 points, Dre Kerman in second with 116 points, Melcan Kerman third with 107 points, Hansibald Kerman fourth with 100, and Arcazon Kerman rounding out the top five with 97 points. Today is a strategic day in the championship- mid-points results from Arcazon Kerman, despite being some of the season’s best drives, have done nothing to help his championship standings. His championship hopes could be in real danger. Meanwhile, Louis Kerman leads the championship by a record amount, beating Phil Kerman’s record of 128 points by Round 6. Arcazon Kerman starts sixth on the grid, ahead of Konstantin Kerman in the HRM car, while Louis Kerman sits on pole with teammate Melcan locking out the front row. Charles and Brendon Kerman will be the ones to watch, with Brendon in tenth and Charles thirteenth. Could we see a battle for the lower points positions? There’s only one way to find out… Welcome to the Owlia Grand National Superprix.” My breath smells a little minty. Did I take enough mint supplements? I think I took too much. Wait. Focus, focus. “Teddy, strategy please, mate.” I radio into the pits. “Right, kid. Ultra-softs, pitting in lap 7, then super-softs till the end on lap 18. Saul is going to be driving supersoft to supersoft. Watch out for Turn 1, Rinno right behind you in P8. He’s gonna try a dive into Turn 1. Keep a clear head today, and we might just scoop another podium.” “Right, copy that Teddy. Ultras to supers, careful into Turn 1. Cheers.” I rev up the car, the grid kerbs back up to the pit wall and the start sequence begins. My breathing is really loud in my ears- maybe I should see somebody about it. The last red light blinks out. I floor the accelerator and my wheels spin like mad. Oopsie. That’s more rear tyre wear. Teddy’s voice blasts insistently into my earpiece. “Arcazon, what the hell? Rinno’s right behind you, he’s gonna take you into Turn 1 now!” “Sorry, Teddy,” I hiss back, “but I’m slightly preoccupied right now…” As we thunder into Turn 1, Rinno dives down my inside, then locks up. I’m helpless to avoid him striking my rear tyre, sending me into a huge spin. Two other cars are involved, and both of them are out, a Vernier Motorsport car with a buckled front wheel, and a Carillo car on its side, driver shaking his head dazedly.. I’ve got minor damage to my rear wing, but my rear right tire has kerb scarring- I hit it backwards, at the wrong angle, at 130 kph. I scream into my headset, not caring about the ear damage it must be causing Teddy and the techies. “AAAAAAAAUUUGHHHH! WHY CAN’T ANYONE DRIVE PROPERLY? TAKE ME OUT, CRASH AND I’M THE FALL GUY!” I bellow as I steer back onto the circuit in thirteenth: five seconds off twelfth position. “EVERY TIME! IT’S ME WHO GETS SCREWED OVER! ME!” Teddy sighs, his voice the audible equivalent of defeat. “Arcazon...come in please. We’re going to the hard tires to last the rest of the race. With luck, we’ll salvage a top 8 finish. Sorry mate, not our day.” The cars behind me have varying degrees of damage, or are just unlucky because they’re packed into the blockage. I gun the engine, and roar off into Turn 2, definitely feeling the loss of grip as I navigate the turns. “Lot of catching up to do. Teddy, I’m boxing in, see you in a mo.” I furiously blame Rinno in my head, but in my mind, I know it was my poor start that ruined my race. I can still claw this back. Just got to focus. If Jeb Kerman were watching right now, he’d tell you to go for it. In the pit box, around a minute later… I pull into the box, seeing with an appreciative smile that the pit crew are already kneeling with the wheel guns to make things quicker. Teddy’s face is a mask of stone, saying nothing as the car is lowered and I roar onto the track in fourteenth position, overtaking Kelsie Kerman as I pull out of the pit lane. The car feels decent on the fresh hards, however there is distinctly less grip than the supersofts, making Turn 1 more tricky. “Teddy, requesting position information, over.” “Roger, roger Arcazon: gap to Palugi in thirteenth is 4.7 seconds. He's got wing damage, you’ll pass him easy. Flick the revs up into rich please and burn some fuel. P10 is 16 seconds away- let's keep pushing. You can do this, kid.” My eyes narrow as I fly through Turns 5 and 6. Passing round Turn 8, I spy the struggling Carrillo Racing car up ahead- with his teammate out and a damaged front wing, it looks like Palugi will be going another race without points. I pity him slightly as I fly round his outside through Turn 12 and brake for the entry to Turn 13. “The car feels good guys, I think I’ll definitely going to get some positions here, which will set me up well when we undercut the grid in the pits, and when we slow down nearer the end of the race.” Silence greets me. Just the way I need it right now. If I’m gonna claw this back, I need every ounce of concentration I can muster. Pit Phase One “We’re heading into the pit phase here on Laps 8 and 9: Arcazon Kerman with the bold hard-tyre only strategy is currently sitting P9. Louis Kerman is expected to pit on Lap 13, and re-enter the course retaining P1. Melcan Kerman has lost a position to Dre Kerman, who sits five seconds back from the lead in P2. Charles Kerman in the Cadwell Auto car overtook Saul Kerman for eighth, and the two are swapping places more than bickering team members in a football match. This race is tense and exciting so far, and it's only gonna get better. Stay tuned as KTV goes live trackside…” I whizz along the back straight, following the racing line and traveling at nearly 260 kph. I pass five cars in the pits, putting me in an incredible fourth place! Now if I could just hold on to this… Radio static blasts in my ears. “Incredible work kid, confusion in the pits is handing you a huge lead. Hold the line, and we’ll grab the podium.” I hear furious typing from the telemetry system team. “Dre is faster than you. He’s 14 seconds up the road. You won't be challenging him today; just bring it home Arcazon. That’s all we ask.” My voice is raspy when I reply during Turn 10, so I chug the onboard water between bursts of chatter and ignore the chanting, buzzing fans. “Thanks Teddy. Passing through up to Turn 11 now, Hansibald is twelve seconds back, confirm?” “Affirmative, we can confirm gap back to Hansibald is 12.8 seconds. Drive clean and he won’t be catching you.” I grin involuntarily as I fly round Turn 14 to the blaring of sidewall billboards and the incessant drone of commentary in the box. The engine, perfectly tuned and screaming its rhythm of 16,000 revolutions per minute, fills my ears. The entry to Turn 1 and the blue and white smudge of Saul’s car right at the zenith of my sight, fills my vision. I squint into the blinding sun, and thunder as fast as I dare into Turn 1. The rear end kicks out, and a small spray of ‘marbles’ little pieces of degraded tyre left behind by other cars on kerbs and outside lines of corners, is launched into the air behind my rear diffuser. Teddy’s voice, as if telepathically communicating with my tyres, screeches into my ear hole from across the track as I slow down into Turn 2. “Kid, stay out of the damned marbles! How many times do I have to tell you to stop screwing around drifting on kerbs like some kind of Jeb? This isn’t a marble game you want to be playing kid, keep your damn focus.” I grit my teeth, and manage to force out a somewhat civil reply. “Yeah, Teddy, sorry! Just trying to keep the car on the freaking course here!” “Hmph. Stop with the smart-assery, kid.” I grunt an affirming nod, and flick revs to rich as I zoom into Turn 4. I am speed- wait, what? That sounds like a cheesy cartoon catchphrase. Shut up and focus. You’ve got seven and a half laps to do this. Shut up and drive. Lap 13 “Arcazon Kerman has battled up to P4, including a spectacular double overtake on Hansibald and Carlos Kerman. Louis Kerman pits in the lead for super-soft tires to carry him to the end of the race, while his teammate Melcan defends in second place. Just five laps from the end now, and Arcazon Kerman has driven what is by far his best drive this season. I have no doubt this will be eclipsed again soon: this kid keeps pulling these races out of the bag.” I round Turn 14, and the comms go crazy as I accelerate onto the back straight. “Guys, what in Kerm’s name are you screeching about?” One of the techs voices’ blares into the radio. “Arcazon, this is Barzon from Fuel Systems. Teddy has screamed himself hoarse so I’m on the line here, mate. Louis in the Ferram car has had a pit problem, and he’ll be rejoining the pits six seconds behind you on the fresh supersofts. If you can hold a defensive driving style, we can scrape this podium. Go on, mate. We’re all behind you.” Barzon signs off as I fly round Turn 1, and sure enough Louis’ car is just visible pulling out of his box. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you behind. I mean it Louis, this time it’s war. Rounding Turn 3, I get an aggressive line over the kerb. Strangely enough, I kinda miss the obvious retribukes from Teddy’s side. He may be a bit of an ass, but he’s the closest thing I have to a father now. I’d be stupid to give that away just to race in K1. I snap back into focus to concentrate during Turn 7, then lapsing back into my thoughts. But… K1 is the only thing I ever wanted. K1 was the one thing Dad wanted me to do. It’s so close...the pinnacle of motorsport is almost within grasp. Turn 14 passes again. I radio in to Teddy. “Teddy, bossman, what’s the gap back?” His reply comes through instantaneously, almost as if he had thought of it just as I did. “Gap back is 5.7 seconds, you’re losing 1.3 seconds a lap. You should just make it ahead of him…” “That’s all I need thanks, boss.” I switch off the commlink. These last few laps will be done mano e mano. Come on then, I say to myself as I round Turns 1 and 2, show me what you got. Lap 17 It’s almost the end. Louis is hanging back by one and a half seconds, but he’s gaining every second of every minute. Sweat pools on my brow; I daren’t wipe it off. Even a miniscule, split-second mistake could set me back a few tenths, and that means I can’t get this podium. No. Unacceptable, I say to myself as I round Turns 5 and 6. Not okay. You have to show that idiot, or he’ll never let you forget it. It’s today or never again. I squeeze the last drops of fuel into rich mix, and flatten my foot, upshifting massively out of Turn 8. The engine howls like a struck wolf, over-revving. If the comms weren’t muted, Teddy would definitely be telling me how the engine was being wrecked and exactly however much a brand spanking-new engine was. But I also knew that right at this minute, he wouldn’t care. Why tell an injured bull to stop the charge? That was the same reason he couldn’t stop me: I wasn’t listening. I was in the zone, this is how I lived my life- mere blinks of an eye ahead, threadbare tyres and screaming engine against a much fresher opponent. It was going to go down to the wire. Louis tried to dive me at Turn 1, but I defended my line and he had no choice but to back off. So what if it was a little aggressive? We’re all guilty of it! Turn 2 saw Louis slot in behind me and follow me right through Turns 3 and 4, front wing to rear diffuser. The heat haze rose from the side vent exhausts as we battled. Dre won, I think as I hear the commentators and tens of thousands of fans roar for the winner, but I’m in the zone. I’m gone. Louis pulls up alongside through Turns 5 and 6. There are half-dozen heart-attacks a second here as Louis and I run side by side, scraping the kerbs of the track and skirting the grass. He’s too quick, I realize a second before he overtakes down the inside into Turn 7. Straining to keep up, I unmute my comms. “Teddy, initiating psyche out maneuver. Cross the fingers and say the prayers, because this just has to work.” I mute the earpiece lest Teddy actually explode with rage and concentrate on the psyche out as we round Turn 8. Psyche outs are an old technique carried by drivers from karts to K1. If done right, it could make history, win a race, save a car even. But if you failed, it could mean fighting for something else, something altogether more sobering- your own life. To psyche out another driver, you had to unnerve them enough so that they make a mistake and you pass. However, for 99% of drivers, you had to also balance this with aggressive overtaking and obeying regulation rules. I keep all this in mind as I swerve acoss Louis into Turn 9, setting up a fake ‘overtaking move’ for Turn 10. Louis throws up his hand in frustration,but it’s all too close and too rapid to make out anything but a small, shimmery motion of Louis’ racing glove. I dive down into Turn 10 then let him back through with a ‘wheel lockup’. Feinting left and right into Turns 11 and 12, I see Louis start to crack. His car becomes slower, his movements more erratic. Paddy, OTech boss, makes a rare appearance. I squawk awkwardly at him: “Gonna send it.” Then, suddenly, Louis brakes way too late for Turn 14. I slide down the inside as he locks up into the gravel and take third place onto the back straight. A snapshot of the track; Louis rejoining the circuit, me a hundred meters from a huge podium finish. Flags and banners of all supporters and of all shapes and sizes dominate the trackside seating, while as soon as we unpause, a huge blast of cheering will echo from commentators and fans alike. I cross the line. The crowd positively erupts. Comms are screaming, I’m crying and blubbering and trying to drive the car on cooldown lap through misty eyes. “Th-thanks guys! W-we did it, we sure as hell did it! I sniffle and tears run in tributaries down my face. “Thank you so much guys, your support a-and this p-podium means EVERYTHING to me. Thank you-s-so damn much! Podium! PODIUM!” I lift my hands up into the air in triumph. On the podium, I’m with Dre and Melcan. Dre grins at me and sprays champagne in my face. I laugh and spray the crowd. Every bubble and drop seems to fall so slowly… it’s incredible. Victory, (at least P3 for me), feels amazing. I never want this incredible feeling to end. If Jeb was watching, hell, if Dad was watching… I’m sure they'd be damn proud. END OF CHAPTER TWO

Next chapter up tomorrow guys! Thanks for your patience.