The scream of the Ferrari JYX-81 tore down the main straight, the engine so raucous, Victor's soul vibrated as he flew by, blurring into a streak of scarlet and yellow. It was a different world inside the cockpit. Cramped, stifling, smelling like leaded fumes, and toasted tread. Victor was already eleven laps into the drilling session, his neck muscles starting to scream, but he kept his eyes locked on his visor's highlight as the world turned into a messy smear of grey asphalt and green grass.
**"Copy, Vic. Losing two-tenths in Turn 8 apex. You've got the downforce, so stay off the brakes. Trust the entry speed. You're clear behind.**
Victor breathed out hard after the relay. The team watched him meticulously slice through the same corner Rodnick crashed in last year at 224 km/h. He began racking up the pace again to offset what the braking zones had taken.
