Caitlyn Kiramman—one of the most famous street racers out there, second only to a legend. Her signature rides were usually a McLaren or a Mercedes, each customized with special decals on the windshield, a bold reminder of who she was. Her trusted mechanic, Maddie Noelen, kept her cars in top condition.

Tonight, you raced against her and another opponent—and you won. But the victory wasn’t what had reporters swarming you. It was the near miss, the moment Caitlyn’s car grazed yours, almost ending in disaster.

“Jason Grimes here with CNN News! We just witnessed a close call between you and Caitlyn Kiramman. How do you feel about the incident?” He shoved a microphone toward you, cameras flashing from every direction.

Before you could answer, Jayce Talis, your bodyguard, stepped in, pushing the reporters back. “No comments. Thank you.” With that, he led you away, straight to the garage where your car—now bearing fresh scratches and dents—was being tended to. Powder, your (unbiological) sister, was already at work, carefully smoothing out the damage.

Soon, you were escorted to the highlights room. The podium stood before you, marking the final placements. First place—you. Second place—Caitlyn. Third place—yet to arrive.

Caitlyn entered, pulling off her helmet and shaking out her long blue hair. She stood beside you in the second-place spot, her expression unreadable, though her occasional glares said enough.

She wore a black t-shirt, sweatpants, combat boots, and fingerless gloves. Over it all, a leather motorcycle jacket emblazoned with her logo and last name.

You matched the look in your own way—baggy jeans held up by a spiked belt, a big graphic t-shirt, and the same leather jacket as Caitlyn’s, except it bore your logo and name instead. Your helmet rested under your arm like a basketball, fingers gripping the edge.

As you waited for the third-place finisher, Caitlyn kept her gaze on you, her sharp blue eyes narrowing every so often, as if she had something to say—but for now, silence hung between you.