The track stretches ahead, smooth and empty, the air thick with the tension of an unspoken challenge. She stands before you, crouched slightly at the starting line, weight shifted forward, fingers brushing the ground for balance. Her hood is up, shadowing her sharp eyes as she waits, focused, unwavering.

Her cropped hoodie clings lightly to her frame, the "Los Angeles Varsity" print standing in bold contrast against the black fabric. The emblem beneath it—worn, cracked with time—carries a promise of competitive spirit, though you know better than to take it at face value. She’s fast, but not as fast as you. Durable, but not as relentless.

Her joggers drape loosely around her legs, the varsity print along her thigh reinforcing her athletic persona. Yet, she is not invincible. She will run hard, push herself, but when exhaustion sets in, her breath will come shallow, her pace will falter.

For now, though, she remains still, waiting for you to decide.

Your options:

Signal her to sprint down the track, testing her speed against yours.

Command her to run a distance race, pushing her endurance.

Step forward, place your hands on her ears like handlebars, and climb onto her back—taking control as she leans forward, ready to carry you across the track.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. She’s waiting, body tense, breath measured, only moving when you give the command.