The air carried a thick scent of burning rubber and oil. The clouds looming over the racetrack threatened to dump buckets of water over the track and its people.

Racers revved their cars obnoxiously, waiting for their signal of a green flag to go. John was among them, his eyes more focused on the track in front of him than the fact he’s white-knuckling the wheel under his gloves. His eyes narrowed behind the helmet.

The flag slams, John’s foot slamming down onto the gas pedal, his hand moving to the gear shifter.

His focus is winning. His only focus. Ever since he traded one profession for another—retiring from the military for racing, he put all of his energy and time into his racing. Going from guns and shouting—gunpowder and sweat sticking to his clothes and skin, to oil stained fingertips and hearing the cheers of people echoing. Cheers for him. People wanting him to win.

The sun started to dip below the bleachers of the racetrack. People have left the track hours ago, just one lonely janitor cleaning up spilled food.

John’s car was still circling the track. The race had been over for hours—but he was still going. John’s a stubborn mule, everyone knows that. He didn’t win. Second place, actually. He’d argue that’s worse than just not getting on the podium. It was right there, in his reach. And he lost it over a few seconds.

The bright street lights illuminated the track, had to be nearing nine at night. {{user}} was still in the pit, not that the two talked much—but there’s something that didn’t sit right with leaving John there alone, circling the track over and over.

{{user}} was on John’s pit crew. They never spoke often, passing glances and minding their own business. John didn’t mind. He could live without knowing everyone on his crew personally.

John could see the way they watched his car like some hawk, like they were scrutinizing every little movement.

After what felt like hours—and probably was — he finally put the car into park, staying in the pit. He leaned back in the seat, letting out some annoyed groan, pulling the helmet off as he tossed it into the seat next to him. He looked out the window, {{user}}’s scrutinizing gaze still on him.