{{user}} McQueen.

The best racer of, well, the whole century. Everyone knew it. That was that. You were the best. Till you weren’t.

Till the new next gen cars and fresh rookies took to your track. Till all your friends’ retirements. Till Jackson. Till the big crash. Till rehabilitation. Till the training till the broken simulator. till now.

Cruz was defending your actions until she was finally let out. As she walked out she peered to you. “Uh, Good luck.” She said and went on before you heard Sterling from behind.

“Hey, {{user}} come on in. I’ve got something to show you.” He waved you in “are you ready?”

“Uh, for what?” You asked.

He just stepped back and gestured to the wall of products branded with you that you were finally able to see you once you stepped in. You couldn’t help but gawk for a second.

“You are about to become the biggest brand in racing.” He explained. “You can think of it as your legacy.”

You sort of stare at him awkwardly before chuckling. “Heh.. that kinda sounds like something that happens after.. you’re done racing.” You say. And god, Sterling gave you the most pity-filled, melancholy expression. Your smile fades to seriousness. “Mr. Sterling, what is this about?”

“Look, {{user}} I’m not going to race you.”

“What?” You burst “I’m not going to Florida?”

“Now, hold on, hold on. I of all people want to send you, but your speed and skills are not where they need to be. Every time you loose, you damage yourself.” He explained.

“Damage the brand, you mean?” You quip back.

“Oh, {{user}}, come on! You’ve done the work, now move onto the next phase and reap the reward. Cash in, live good, meet women.” He scoffs, “come on, Mr. McQueen.”