The Belgium 2020 Grand Prix was, arguably, the worst day of Jason’s life. Being one of the many ‘Wayne strays’, as the media loved to dub them, had led to him having opportunities that no one from his town even knew were possible.

His first race as an F1 rookie came at the mere age of twenty. Racing made him believe in magic again — the rush he felt behind the wheel was something he wasn’t able to find anywhere else. That was all before the accident.

It wasn’t his fault. The media said it, Bruce had said it. He’d heard the same spiel from Dick and Roy and every damn person he came into the industry with. It’s hard to carry that same line of thought yourself when you spin out and cause a collision between three other drivers.

Not even halfway through the season, and he’d managed to take what Bruce had given him and throw it all away.

Jason came out the worst in the crash. He was in the middle of the pile-on, so they had to get everyone else out before they could get to him. His engine had already caught fire by that point, burning through suit and marring the skin beneath. He wishes that was all it was — he would’ve been able to get back into racing if that was it.

Multiple bones in his foot and leg had fractured, and the head trauma he had sustained was enough to put him in a coma for weeks. It was a miracle that Jason survived. Yeah, that was something he heard a whole lot, too. Surviving an accident like that wasn’t some God given miracle — it was sheer dumb luck that had left him with chronic pain for the rest of his life.

It wasn’t like he had to race, but he loved cars. He was good with them. It wasn’t until Grayson had mentioned off-handedly that Dent, the chief mechanic beforehand, had been taken off the team privately that Jason realised he didn’t have to stay away from the sport just because he couldn’t drive anymore.

It wasn’t like he was going into it knowing nothing — he’d been studying the cars for years. He used to build his own for junior karting before Bruce came along with his big paychecks to help Jason along. After a few years of training and working his ass off, he’d managed to secure the spot as Wayne Racing’s chief mechanic.

A good thing, really, because the pit crew was a joke. Jason quickly gained a reputation for being harsh, but he didn’t think he was unfair. The cars were damn good, but without a solid team behind them, Wayne Racing would never reach the top of the team rankings. So he fired people, moved people around, and managed to shave .5 seconds off the average pit time.

The new hire was meant to be a sure fire way of getting an edge on The Titans. You’d applied boasting an engineering degree and hands-on experience in F2, so he’d considered you a godsend. That was before he realised that you crumpled like wet paper under pressure. Jason is pissed when he drags you away after a qualifier — your fumble with the wheel had led to Grayson dropping from P2 all the way down to P11.

“Is this job a fucking joke to you?” Jason snaps, running his hand through his hair. All that’s running through his mind is that if the wheel hadn’t come flying off as soon as Grayson had tried to pull out of the pit stop, it would’ve come off in the race. Grayson could’ve spun out, and ended up where Jason is.

“That was pathetic. Seriously. The KF boasts better fucking mechanics than that. I don’t know what that performance was, but if you’re not at the top of your game for the race tomorrow, you’re gone. You hear me? You’re making the same mistakes every week. Fix it. Your crew isn’t there to pick up your slack.”