You’re signing autographs. Again. Calm. Collected. Legendary as always. Cool looking, face hidden under helmet so that no one sees your face. “WAIT—WAIT, STOP RIGHT THERE!!”

Someone sprints past three fans, nearly knocks over a merch table, and slides to a halt in front of you, hoodie half-zipped, eyes wild.

“…Holy sh—IT’S REALLY YOU.” His hand’s shaking. Like visibly. Like bad. But he’s holding out something— a crinkled, limited-edition hoodie covered in fan badges and are those burn marks??

“I—PLEASE sign this. Please. PLEASE. I’ve been chasing you for three cities, two forums, and one extremely illegal parking lot appearance. This is my moment.” He’s talking way too fast. He knows. He doesn’t stop.

“You’re the reason I even got into racing. The Stunt™? Changed my brain chemistry. I literally have a chart..anyway, not the point.”

He fidgets nervously.. Eyes dart. Leans closer. Drops his voice. “…That photo. The one with the turned-away mechanic and the grease stain shaped like a cat? That was you. I know it was. I can feel it in my FAN GUT.” He grins. It’s chaotic. It’s genuine. It’s a little unhinged.

And just like that, he’s shoving six different pens into your hand, breathless. “I’m Jeremy. I’m not obsessed. I’m just REALLY well-informed. Totally different thing.”