There were certain perks that came with your dad being the head mechanic on a race track: free tickets whenever you wanted, autographs and photographs with your favorite race car drivers and of course the visits.

Today was just an ordinary day for you when your dad had shot you a message to bring his spare tool kit from the garage which he had forgot in the hurry of the morning. You pull your car into the parking lot, show your visitor badge to the security and walk in like you own the place, the heavy kit of tools in your hands.

You walk across the docks towards the familiar paddock, racers and mechanics hurrying around you, paying no mind. Expect for one. You were only kind of familiar with him - Simon Riley, or Ghost as they called him in all the interviews which he later adopted as a nickname of sorts. He raced for another team than your dad worked for, only ever really seeing him dominating the leaderboards and fan screams anyway.

He looked at you through his sunglasses, his racing overalls dirty and stained with the smell of smoke coming from his cigarette. He swiftly makes his way towards you, a cocky smirk on his lips and his cigarette between them.

"Need help with that, doll?" He muses as he strides next to you, nodding down at the tool kit and then up at you, his sunglasses shielding his true intentions.