REWIND

There was something awfully odd about the way Jinx raced. It was different, terrifying, fun. It made viewers love her; watching her blue braids fly out from the bottom of her helmet, the speedometer continuing to climb while others pressed their brakes, thinking, ‘how on earth is she going to get herself out of this one?’.

It made engineers curse her; holding clipboards to their mouths, watching their sleepless nights barrel through chicanes with no regard for either of its own axles. Their eyes never dared to waver from the screen as they muttered to themselves, ‘how the hell is she gonna get herself out of this one?’

It made other drivers fear her; glancing quickly between the 90-degree turn ahead and the shiny blue Williams in their rearview, knowing they could either let her pass or consider their race over, thinking, ‘how the bloody hell is she going to get herself out of this one?’

And then there was one. Baby Blue. The epitome of everything the veterans hated. Inside that hand-painted, messy, utterly unprofessional helmet, sat a mind who’s flow state was the very opposite of a state of flow. The confines of her peripheral vision planted a mess of cartoonish sketches and scribbles over the luxury sponsors of a machine historically worthy of its name, ‘The Silver Arrow’. 

Her mission on each and every circuit was to bring an ever-entertaining sense of chaos and disorder to the Kiramman family’s several decade-long dominance. Despite her team - and furthermore, her car’s - mediocrity in the midst of their youthful development, Jinx made a note of bringing a level of uncertainty to the circuit’s pretentious golden family by any means possible. Like here, for example:

The 17th lap of Monza, the track slippery and wet, condensation assaulting their visors and yet, it only seemed to make the silver Mercedes sparkle more. It only made for an easier target. 

See, Ms. Kiramman here was really starting to get on Jinx’s nerves; the Williams had surprisingly held up quite nicely this rainy afternoon, earning Jinx a comfortable 2nd behind the Mercedes in its usual 1st. But this arrow was evasive and technically skilled in a way that made it glaringly obvious why it had so many Championships to its name, infuriatingly so. 

Like the anti-venom to Jinx’s ruthless bite, she slipped through each and every cut. She sometimes let Jinx pass when she saw the fire arise behind her, only to take an alternative line and end up right back in front of the Williams as if Jinx’s presence hadn’t even bothered her. With every pit stop that set her behind, she would climb their way back to the top all over again only to find herself in the same position she was before. It was driving the young rebel to utter insanity.

And so, when Jinx found a chance to gain on her at the end of the 16th lap, you could almost see her eyes glow pink through her foggy visors, shimmering with excitement and opportunity. Approaching turn 1, the Silver Arrow suddenly went wide, narrowly drifting across the front of the Williams. If Jinx could press down any harder on the gas pedal, oh, she would’ve broken through the floorboard by now.

‘Patience now, Jinx~’ she nearly cackled to herself, ‘your chance to burn is about to come!’ When Ms. Kiramman’s brake lights began to glow a vibrant red, Jinx’s foot did not raise one bit. 

In all her races this season, all the times she was only able to catch a glimpse of pristine silver through a trail of cars ahead of her, this is what it had all built to; a chance for this little rookie to not just introduce, but to announce herself to every viewer, every manager, every engineer, and every bird in the fucking sky. Jinx was here. Sit back and watch.

As the Mercedes turned in front of her, Jinx’s mouth curled into a dastardly smile, biting her bottom lip to the point of bleeding just to hold the maniacal laugh bubbling inside her at bay. 

The black and turquoise helmet snapped to look Jinx in the eye with a fear that could be seen through the sleek Petronas logo staring her down. The woman who carried herself as though she was untouchable had, in but a fraction of a second, been satisfyingly reminded that she too bled the same shade of red. And all the while, Jinx thought to herself, ‘let’s see you get yourself out of this one.’

        — — — —

Ever wonder what it’s like to burn? It’s like drowning, but… opposite.

There’s peace in water; like it’s holding you, whispering in low tones to let it in, and every problem in the world will fade away. Water knows full well of its danger and yet, it lets you sink further and further in regardless. 

Fire screams at you. 

It does not let you peacefully rest, no, it kicks and punches and slaps at you until you wake up and muster the strength to move out of its grasp as though it is shouting at you to get out. 

Fire is not ruthless; in a way, it’s worried about you. One could even feel bad for the poor soul cursed with dealing its damage. Lady Fire knows she cannot contain the wrath she is forced to inhabit, so she beats her hands bloody and helplessly tears her throat begging you to save yourself before she is forced to kill you. If you listen very carefully, you can hear her cry.

The fire tickled at her arms with a consistency that nearly incited a chuckle from the woman hunched over her wheel, unmoving. 

Wait, what?

As soon as she picked her head up, she was left in a daze. Her cracked visor collided with her confusion to create a kaleidoscope of colours, reflections, and shapes. And Jinx couldn’t quite make out any of them.

Bam. She felt her head slam against her head rest in a way that both regained a fraction of her consciousness, and took it away just as quickly. Suddenly, she was aware of the sound of her heavy breathing, her heartbeat, and a piercing ringing in her ears; suddenly, she could feel her chest rise and fall against the confines of her fire protective suit, and she could only thank Janna for it.

She fought against the colours swimming around in her eyes with the senses she had in check, clumsily slamming both her hands onto the sides of her cockpit. It was oddly relieving to have something solid to hold onto while her mind raced in a haze. She pulled herself up, feeling her muscles strain as hard as they possibly could to inch her body upwards; but far faster than she could process, she felt herself go limp once more and crashed back into her seat.

Then, something grabbed her. A set of unfamiliar hands yanked her wrists upwards, only to change their position and wrap around her entire torso when they got the chance. Jinx was all too light-headed and powerless to provide any resistance as they picked her up, but once she felt her feet hit solid ground, she practically forced herself to.

Immediately, her legs gave out under her weight and Jinx dropped to her knees. Invisible hands tried to grab at her through the ocean of dancing oranges and reds that fogged her view as far as her eyes could see, but now, she refused to let them. She clawed away with all the might in her body, grunting in discomfort as she scrambled her way through the sand.

More hands grappled at her sides, and she fought tooth and nail to claw each and every one of them off her body; whether they were aid or danger, she couldn’t think enough to differentiate the two. As though evolving with every clasp of the sand in her hands, Jinx’s scramble quickly transformed into a crawl, then it became an unstable excuse for a run, and then a full blown sprint.

It felt like whiplash when she finally managed to break through the smoke. In an instant, a seemingly inescapable fire that stretched as far as her tunnel vision could see had suddenly switched to a sea of pure blue and grey. Jinx unclasped her helmet and practically hurled it down into the sand beneath her. She took advantage of the sudden fresh air, gasping for it again and again as if the amount of oxygen in the atmosphere was concerningly finite. 

All around her, Jinx saw rows atop rows of faces who looked at her like she was a ghost. Crashing on turn 1 meant the stands, hundreds of feet tall and filled with thousands more, were all staring at her. Not the cars speeding by them, nobody else, just her. 

Her plan had worked, no longer was she just another face on the grid for the mighty Caitlyn Kiramman to pass on her way to victory. Jinx commanded not just attention, she commanded focus. And that’s exactly what she had just accomplished. Amidst the wreckage she’d caused, the thought of it caused her to erupt in laughter.

Jinx was here.

        — — — —

Caitlyn was just beginning to dream the most exhilarating of dreams. Her back pressed against a bucket seat oh so constricting, but it hardly mattered to her here. She brought her right hand down to a large handle in the place of her gear shift. In the matter of a split second, her right foot raised less than an inch of the gas, her left foot slammed down on the clutch, and her right hand drove the gear backwards into 4th. Her right foot pressed back down onto the gas, and her engine roared its satisfaction at yet another perfect shift.

“Right 2, over crest.” Her co-driver advised. Oh dear, Caitlyn thought. A 2 indicated a near 90 degree turn just up ahead; and given her current speed, she might as well pull the handbrake now. 

So that’s exactly what she did.

Caitlyn grabbed the handle of the handbrake – easily mistaken for the handle of her gear shift, as she was once rudely (and expensively) made aware of – and held it down and she subtly turned her wheel to the right. She could feel her wheels lock immediately, and felt the effects as her car began to rotate to the right whilst still moving in the same direction. Completely lifting her foot off the gas, and replacing it with her left foot on the clutch, Caitlyn quickly moved her hand over and grabbed hold of the shifter. Her eyes narrowed as the question at hand crossed her mind, could she get herself out of this one?

Her hand moved upwards, 3rd.

Her hand moved down, left, and down again, 2nd. 

As the exit of her turn came into view, her hand shot upwards once more, 1st. 

Her car whined in a cry that was almost irritatingly loud, banging against its rev limiter over and over again, so quickly it couldn’t be counted, the moment she pressed back on the gas.

The wheels spun, sure, but the car was failing to gain the necessary traction to move in her intended direction. Through her side window, she could see herself approaching a blurry, distorted sea of fans at an alarming rate. And just as she felt her car begin to resist its sideways momentum, something licked at her face.

It licked again, and again, tickling her to the point of anxious confusion. 

Suddenly, Caitlyn was made aware of the soft, silk pillow beneath her face. Along with a plush blanket, weighted blanket, and a mattress that had just the right balance of softness and firmness to it. In this, she was also made unfortunately aware of whatever was tickling the right side of her face.

“Mylo!” Caitlyn groaned into her pillow, never daring to open her eyes. An attempt to stay in this wonderful, dangerous dream as long as she possibly could. Despite her attempts to swat his face away, the golden labrador persisted. “Mylo, stop!” Caitlyn groaned again, this time with a slight laugh in her voice. Annoying as it was, the tickling was working.

To Caitlyn’s momentary surprise, the licking did stop. Though, it was only replaced. In its place, was what Caitlyn could only understand as a paw. It touched her cheek a couple times, before slowly progressing into something akin to scratching. “Ow, Mylo, what the hell!” Caitlyn cursed the dog. Nevertheless, it seemed Mylo refused to stop. The dog scratched, and scratched, and scratched against her face, ignoring Caitlyn’s attempts to stop him. Then, the scratching progressed to her arms as well.

Then, the dog was seemingly scratching her entire upper body.

Then, her entire body as a whole.

Then, the scratching progressed to a genuine, animalistic clawing. No longer recognizable as a dog, it felt like a lion was clawing at her. Like the lion was trying to tear the skin of a downed prey, trying to tear her skin off. Or maybe it was still Mylo, desperately begging Caitlyn to wake up in the only way she knew how. Perhaps, there was danger in her academy. So, Caitlyn finally listened.

Crystal blue eyes doused in red shot wide open, and to their surprise, Mylo was half-right. There very much was danger around her. 

Foreign hands undid the clasp of her helmet and took Caitlyn’s helmet off her head with a ferocity she couldn’t quite comprehend. As she was raised above the (physical) halo, it was as though she was entering an entirely new world; a beautiful one, at that. The several hands that were tirelessly attempting to will her to safety were met with a version of Caitlyn that was entirely unresponsive. 

The fire bewitched her. The colours and patterns that danced before her entranced in a way that nothing else had in a long, long time. A base of violent red, drifting into a mix of orange and yellow, only for the red to take over at the top and gain a certain touch of violet as it raised to the sky. 

This was something Caitlyn had yet to see, to her surprise; this wasn’t something that could be captured in the Louvre, this wasn’t something the skyline of an all-expenses-paid trip to Hong Kong could provide. Caitlyn thought she had seen it all; but this, in its own, unexplainable way, this fire was truly beautiful.

By the time Caitlyn was lowered, and her knees crashed down onto the grass, the world was normal again. She could feel the rain being absorbed in her navy blue hair, and trickle down her cheek like the licking of a dog. 

Then, Caitlyn heard a laugh, somewhere off in the distance. It was maniacal, incomprehensible in a situation like this. And as she gazed over, she was made brutally aware of the person responsible for all of this. She had heard rumours about her tenacity, seen glimpses of her rage, sure, but those could be disregarded - those didn’t matter. But this, oh, this absolutely did.

The sight appalled her. A woman so unfeeling, so psychotic, so cold and yet the total, fiery opposite. To Caitlyn, an accident could be forgiven, sure. But an action so reckless, with a reaction so completely devoid of remorse, could not stand. The woman with the most animalistic, primal driving style on the course could go ignored longer. Here, on turn 1 of Monza, a statement had been made.

Jinx was here.