Playlist
MACHINAS CON PASSIONE’S SHITBOX ADVENTURES PART 3
Intro - BRAND NEW DAY
October 21st, 2023.
Family had been the first thing on Ryouchi’s mind for the better part of 20 years now. Whether it was Machinas Con Passione, Katou Racing Engines, or some muddled collaborative effort between the two, he’d been under the thumb of his family’s influence his entire racing career. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, he was looked after, he’d never found himself wanting for much, anything that was affordable was bought, any seat that was free could be arranged with a few handshakes, and even if nobody wanted him, all he had to do was say the word and he’d be in a racecar before he finished the sentence.
Ryouchi was knocking on 20 years spent racing, and despite his youth found that all the experience in the world could never erase or make up for a certain inadequacy. Ryu grew up on the same hopes and dreams anybody in a racing family came up with, get to F1, win a title, get a trophy wife and retire before the gray hairs settle in. In each of these pursuits Ryouchi had been met with abject failure. It had taken him just 3 years to flunk out of Formula 2, he had admittedly won a title in Formula Vee, all of 12 years ago, and the less said about the trophy wife search the better.
It’s hard to say where he first got the idea. Ryu was always a passionate kid, and was more than happy to make the most of what he had through his career rise, having even been able to grow a bit of an ego into his Formula 2 career before reality sunk in and he found himself trading his wins and podiums for points and prayers. A few years racing in the states found him able to pick up the pieces, but for all the little wins and the bits of respect he found himself earning, he could never shake off a feeling of missing something from when he first got on the plane to america.
He knew he had to strike out on his own if he ever wanted to reach his goal. The little wins gradually ate away at the young man, and he gradually recoiled from the team as he started setting the pieces in motion for him to strike out onto his own. He’d gotten himself a manager, the renowned former Barrister Lola Hart, later in his F2 career, and would be seen staying up until the wee hours of the morning discussing contracts with her and drawing up plans for the 2023 season. A few handshakes, a moving of some dollars and an auction or two to get some run down facilities and vehicles later, Ryouchi Katou Motorsport was born.
Ryouchi sits at the desk he now calls his own, hunched over a weathered, yet well maintained book as he writes the latest passages of his hopes, dreams and ruminations down into what has been his closest friend for the past 5 years, his diary. Though everyone else in the trailer he called home had called it a night, Ryouchi found himself unable to sleep owing to the knot of anxiety and doubt that formed in his mind ahead of the crossroads he found himself in.
Ryouchi sighed to himself as he kicked his feet up upon the desk as he gave his weary hand a break, staring into the ceiling and reflecting upon where he’d been in his career. He returned to his previous position as he thought out what to write for his final entry of the day, the light prick of stubble stinging his finger as he ran his thumb across his chin. That’s a first. He thought to himself, and collected himself once more before placing pen to paper.
“There’s a lot of change in the world. Not least of all in the automotive one. The old school blocky, practical and restrained designs have gone out the window in the pursuit of everyone chasing that futuristic look. Between the 2030 headlights, 2040 consoles, 2050 powertrains, everyone’s looking ahead these days. In the world of racing, I’ve seen the change happen first hand. I used to always give Alessio shit for his schtick about change and eras but, hell, even though I’ve only been here a few years, I’ve seen the whole world, seen philosophies I could never have dreamed of, and yet… I still struggle to find a place for me. I know what I want but… In this industry, if you’re not the next big thing, you’re nothing at all. I had that chance already, and blew it. I crashed one too many times and before you knew it, the money ran out. The patience ran out. The hype ran out. And I was out the door.
If it wasn’t for my family, I’d probably be pushing carts or working a field somewhere. Being the “son of a legend” has its perks, I guess. Well, famous names can only get you so far in this business, and I don’t know how much further I can get on name value alone. They think of me and my mom’s the first thing they see. The first thing I learned when I started racing was that my actions aren’t just my own. And, well, that much is true, but any action I make is overshadowed by 30 of hers.
I’ve tried to make the most out of the situation I’m in, using the last of my cash to open a small team using some dated cars with a few friends I can trust. It’s hard, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, we’re constantly in the red and I can’t go two minutes without getting a call from Lola, though on that front, I don’t think I mind very much… Well, either way, we’re competitive enough, at least. No titles to contend for, but I get the feeling we have at least a bit of respect. Respect will get us a place in their hearts, but money is what’s gonna get us on the track. I’m not sure what the right way forward is now, but, well, I’ve winged it before. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Ryouchi Katou sat at his desk, putting the final touches in his diary the night before the biggest race in his life. Though the pages were wrinkled and frayed, the diary having been a present from Lola for his 19th birthday, the American driver found it to be a valued friend as he found himself in various stages of his young career as a racing driver, thinking of it as someone he could go to and yap on about whatever was on his mind that day, week, month, or even year.
Checking his phone to realize he’d been writing for a good hour past his bedtime, Ryouchi scrambled to hide his keepsake somewhere safe as he tried to make up for lost time by quickly shoving it under his dresser and diving straight for the bed as if racing the against the clock to get to bed before time itself could. Before he could get to sleep, though, he found his mind occupied with the various messages from Giacomo, Hikiko, and others had sent his way- all still left on read, and mulled over what the future held, as he was prone to do. He’d sent out a few feeler emails to any interested Formula One teams a few weeks ago, and last he’d heard, he could expect a response in the next few days. He took a deep breath, and found sleep came quickly as he anticipated the big day ahead.
It was seemingly no time at all that Ryu found himself embedded in the all too familiar experience of the interior of a cockpit. In the stressful environment of needing to hit target after target, Ryouchi found a comfort in the familiar smell of fuel, the sting in his eyes, the aches in his arms and legs from running circuit after circuit, the sensations of his body being flung about the cockpit, the G-forces wringing the life out of his neck as he clung to the wheel with his very being. The feeling of determined solidarity, crunching at the bit, a slave to the numbers and data that his every move generated, obsessed with the single motive of speed for hours on end. This is what Ryouchi lived for.
Everything was going according to plan during his first session as a Formula One driver, he’d outperformed expectations and had seemingly all but guaranteed a call up to a race seat, which is why the most terrifying thing in Ryouchi’s mind at the moment was the awful vibration shaking him to his very core every time he made a right turn. He hadn’t said anything earlier, not wanting to look like an amateur and hoping to show the team he could hang with the rest of the grid, but it became apparent that something was terminally wrong.
“Last lap Ryouchi, last lap.” Came the voice over the radio, cold and calculated as ever. Ryouchi breathed a sigh of relief, taking comfort in knowing his first practice session had gone off without a hitch. That was, however, until he glanced in his mirrors, the realization hit him as his left side was taken up by his rear tire, fully delaminated and headed straight for the wall ahead of him. Ryouchi’s world became a jumbled mess of panic and muddled prayer as his car pitched onto its side at over 200 miles an hour, dooming both car and driver to an impact neither would survive.
Algarve, Portugal.
October 22nd, 2023.
Ryouchi awoke from his nightmare with a sudden jolt, the fright flinging both himself and his blankets off the bed, with both hitting the ground with a painful bang.
“What was that?”
“Sounds like sleeping beauty finally woke up.”
Ryouchi could make out a few muffled voices from outside his bedroom, which had taken the place of a motorhome in the pit garages of the Circuito De Algarve. As Ryouchi slowly recalled where he was, one glaringly important detail struck the youth as he came to from his nightmare:
It’s race day.
Ryouchi could only groan at the realization as he heard a knock on his door. He had little time to reply before he found the door slowly swinging open. In a scene straight out of a b-grade horror film, Ryu was met with the familiar sight of the one person who found joy in tormenting him so early in the morning, his little sister Koharu. Though the siblings had spent a lot of time apart during Ryu’s stint in Formula 2, owing to Ryu’s need to travel the world and Koharu’s need to get a good education, the two siblings remained as close as always, much to the joy of Koharu and the looming dread of Ryouchi.
The thing is, though Koharu had grown into quite the ambitious young adult, she found that school wasn’t necessarily all that eye-catching. During her freshman year, she found out she had a natural talent in her chosen field of music, starting a band (“light music club”) with her best friends and getting into mosh pits on a near weekly basis. One way the two would keep in touch during Ryouchi’s racing career would be the “accidental” booking of Koharu’s band at the local venue Ryouchi would be racing at, though that wouldn’t be the reason why Koharu was about a minute away from exploding the local power grid just to make enough noise to possibly wake up Ryu. Through some finagling, Koharu had managed to convince their mom to let Ryouchi take her to Portugal for the race for Koharu’s career week, leading to the predicament Ryouchi found himself in now.
Unfortunately for Ryouchi, though, this gave her the perfect opportunity to act as an alarm clock for her brother. Ryouchi, upon noticing the giant amp she’d placed mere inches from his face, sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable. Knowing his time was up, and that he’d gotten to live a good 24 years, Ryouchi asked one final question of his executioner on his day of reckoning. “So, it’s the bass today, huh?” The prisoner uttered. Though he couldn’t see her, Ryouchi knew his sister was beaming from ear to ear, and that the time of his demise was near. “You know it. Can’t let sleeping beauty miss his big race. Dig it!”
At that, she gave her bass a hearty slap, and, owing to the mess of pedals she’d connected to the thing, the normally dulcet tones found themselves violently twisting and warping into an oppressive wall of sound that assaulted every fiber in Ryouchi’s very being. Ryouchi thought he felt his heart stop for a second as the reverb was hard enough to bolt him a good inch off the ground. Ducking for cover, Ryouchi flopped under the bed as he tried to recover from the utter violation of his eardrums.
“Alright! I’m up! Jesus!” Ryouchi screeched. “Why did mom let you bring that thing here?” A small trickle of blood escaped Ryouchi’s ear as he looked up at his sister. Koharu merely shrugged as she wheeled her amp out of the room, satisfied at another job well done. Ryouchi could do little more than sigh. Lacking the energy to get moving, Ryouchi slowly clawed his way to the kitchen, needing his daily caffeine boost to get up off the ground.
Waiting for him were his fellow F1 rejects, and soon to be co-drivers, Rod Mackenzie and Thibault Prosper. The two were well respected racing drivers in their own right, though their differing personalities and career paths made for some clashes on and off the track. At the end of the day, though, the two were consummate professionals…. To an extent.
Thibault, on one hand, had enjoyed a mild F1 career, spending 5 years in the top flight of motorsport, and would find himself peaking with Haas in a reserve role during the 2020 season. The Frenchman was well respected in racing circles for his icy demeanor and stone cold racecraft. F1 had been a failed side project for The Terminator, a nickname earned in his formative years, as his real bread and butter, was Rally, where he’d spent the majority of his career honing his craft and earning the respect of his peers and of the greater world at large.
Though he’d been relegated to last during most of his recent racing career, Thibault very much remained the textbook definition of a professional throughout. Staying clean shaven, waking up early, exercising constantly, and showing up to anything 30 minutes ahead of time “just to get on top of things.” Thibault would’ve been a real catch for any racing team if he wasn’t 33 years old, which in racing terms meant he was old and decrepit. While it was true that father time was knocking at his door, Thibault still had the desire he’d say any racer should have, and would likely find himself at the highest level of motorsport for some time.
Meanwhile, Roderick, known as Rod to his friends, was much older and fully fed up with the idea of needing a diet plan to finish 12th. He’d once been known in his younger days for his supermodel good looks and eye-catching charisma, and while the supermodel was definitely still there, he’d been sequestered away underneath a thick beard, tired eyes and a receding hairline that was more salt than pepper. Roderick had gotten his start in sports cars as well, and originally met Ryouchi as a driver coach when he was driving in Formula 2. Rod had won plenty in GT cars, and after 20 odd years of sitting in the victor’s circle, had finally realized that winning wasn’t all that it was cut out to be when you’re constantly doing it. As such, he was very much here to build the team more than his own personal glory, and was already hard at work finishing his third donut of the day as Ryouchi made his way to the kitchen.
"Mmmph ‘’ is all Ryouchi can muster as Rod places a freshly made cup of espresso on the floor in front of his shambling corpse. “You really outdid yourself.” Thibault noted as he nudged Ryouchi with his foot. “Normally I give Roderick some shit for sleeping in, but you actually beat him for once.” Ryouchi sat up as he took a sip of his Espresso, the scalding heat seemingly having no effect on him as he asked his teammates for the time. “It’s 20 minutes to lights out. Get dressed.”
Ryouchi nearly choked on the coffee as he jolted awake, the news apparently having more of an effect on him than the coffee did. “Fucks sake! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” Ryouchi shouted as he scrambled to his room, desperate to get dressed in time for the race start. Rod scratched his head, meekly telling Ryouchi that they’d tried multiple times, to no avail. “The bass was actually our last resort.” Added Thibault. Koharu, watching the chaos unfold, was astonished to see “top level professionals” at work, and asked if things were always like this. The looks Rod and Thibault gave her were more than enough confirmation that yes, everyone here is a mess.
Ryouchi, finally getting dressed after nearly tripping over himself multiple times, was just about to completely bolt out of the motorhome when, as if to meet him, the door to the rv swung open, nearly slamming into him,and if it weren’t for his reflexes honed through years of training as a racing driver, it probably would have. Nearly tripping over himself as he stopped, Ryouchi quickly collected himself, coming face to face with his manager, Lola, as he did so. Lola, none the wiser, was pleased to see her client dressed and ready to go ahead of time.
“Ah, raring to go as always, I see.” Rod audibly scoffed, but let the conversation play out. It was all Ryouchi could do to stammer out a reply of “O-oh. Uhh, yeah. That’s me, raring to go! Heh.” a visible bead of sweat trickled down Ryouchi’s forehead. Thibault sighed loudly, placing a hand on Ryouchi’s shoulder as he tried to comfort him. “Hey, take your time, Ryouchi. Rod is starting anyway. Take your time.” Rod chipped in from the kitchen, “Yeah, don’t forget about us, Mr. Superstar!” Ryouchi snorted at that, and, nodding to his crew, stepped out with Lola to go over their negotiations.
Lola and Ryouchi walked in silence for a few moments before Lola spoke up, straight to business as she always was. “Well, Mr. Katou, I’m pleased to report that our feeler we sent out has been received well by some teams, in particular, Haas are interested in hiring you as an American driver, and, a bit surprisingly to me, Alpine also sent a rather receptive email back. Good thing I negotiated that little sponsor package for us, eh?” Lola turned to Ryouchi, only to find that he’d stopped moving when she mentioned Haas. “Ryouchi?” The driver awoke from his trance upon Lola calling his name. “What? Oh, sorry. My head was… Somewhere else.”
Lola held back a chuckle at that. “Dreaming of your first race already?” She teased. “I guess. It’s gonna be hard, though. It’s…” “It’s like you’re so excited, but so anxious at the same time, right?” Ryouchi’s eyes shot up to meet hers. “Uh… yeah. How did you know?” Lola smiled at him, recalling her own past for a moment. “That’s how I felt when I got this job.” Ryouchi smiled back. “Who would’ve thought? Maybe drivers and managers aren’t so different after all.” Lola gave Ryouchi a light punch on the shoulder, the two enjoying the moment before getting back to business. “Alright. What’s the catch?” Ryouchi asked. Having been in this exact situation before, he knew first chances, let alone second ones, were never free.
“Well… That’s the thing. Alpine wants you to drop everything to test their Hypercar, and from there they spoke about Simulators and reserve roles…” Ryouchi nodded along as Lola explained, seemingly intrigued by the offer. “And Haas?” He prodded. “Well, Haas are actually interested in putting you right into a reserve role, but they said that your situation with Ferrari makes things awkward for them. A race seat is… unlikely.” Ryouchi mulled the options for all of two seconds before choosing Alpine. Lola shrugged. “Fair enough, but they want you in France by tonight. I can take you to the airport, if you’d like.”
Ryouchi and Lola had reached his car, a 1992 Honda Civic SiR-II that had been lovingly restored and maintained by Ryouchi as his present for his 17th birthday, though it had really been a present to his inner child. Lola, of course, knew none of this, and waited patiently as Ryouchi was lost in thought again. Realizing he’d been staring at his childhood dreams for all of 20 seconds, Ryouchi snapped back to reality and addressed his manager, right as the cacophony of engines coming to life began mere meters away. “Tonight, huh?” Ryouchi looked up at Lola, whose bronze skin and green eyes shone in the sunlight as smiled gently at her client, as if to say that no matter what he chose, she’d back him. Ryouchi wanted more than anything to open the door. He wanted his future back. To become the driver he should’ve been, to snatch the reality he’d always envisioned as a child.
As he thought this, the faces of his comrades, friends he’d known for years in Rod and Thibault, came to mind. Ryouchi knew that opening the door would effectively leave them to dry. If he got in the car today, there’d be no team tomorrow. Ryouchi, visibly shaking, opened the door, and made his way to Formula One.
Circuito De Algarve, Katou Racing Engines Garage.
Tryhard.
Koharu was fond of having a bit of banter with the team in the odd chance she did get to visit, and when she first saw Thibault race in person, that was the nickname she’d given him. It seemingly rang true as The Frenchman found himself audibly gritting his teeth through the treacherous, undulating Circuito de Algarve, struggling to take his aging Ligier JS P2 to a decent position as he found himself engulf in a swarm of the latest and greatest, a field of cars all running the renowned Oreca 07.
Though externally, the difference between these two cars was merely aesthetic, the 3 year age gap in car design felt more like 30, as the uphill battle the trio of Katou Racing Engines had faced throughout the season made it readily apparent why the Oreca design was the class of the field, and why the Ligier used by the team had been bought at an auction.
Nevertheless, the fact the grid was relegated to using the same engine was the only reason the team was able to perform such a stunt, though the disgruntled engineers sent by their supplier found the venture less than amusing, as there would seemingly be a new issue with the engine they’d crammed into the car every week, causing many a late night for the understaffed crew.
The problem of the week this time, and the reason why Thibault found himself straining at the limit, was the ECU overheating and sending jumbled messes of numbers and text to the team computer, with various ECU components, namely the power steering, malfunctioning mid corner only to fix themselves at the end of a lap. Thibault’s endurance was second to none, but even he found himself at his limit at an hour and a half in, and given the car was beginning to agree with him, as he slid out of the final corner, he signaled to the team that he’d be coming in, only to be met with silence on the radio.
In the garage, a frantic mass of people wandered into and out of the paddock, as they all sought to find where Ryouchi, who was due to take over Thibault’s stint, had gone. Everyone except Rod, at least, who sat leaned against the wall in the fence, uncharacteristically musing to himself as snippets of conversations long had played in his head.
Rod thought back to the promise Ryouchi made to him earlier in the year. In that dilapidated office, a room that had once been a poster child for the same office layout every middle aged dad seemed to lust after was now a mildew riddled, bare floored cubicle, where two men sat at a table that had clearly been bought second hand after the fact, discussing the terms that would see Rod join Ryouchi’s branch of KRE. Ryouchi, clearly out of place in an authoritative role, had enlisted the help of an arbitrator, his manager, Lola Hart. She’d provided the lengthy binder the two men sat hunched over, having to stand off to the side owing to the lack of chairs available.
Ryouchi paused for a moment, visibly sweating, and, looking up at Lola briefly, steeled himself before he spoke to Rod. “Ah, Of course, I’ll be invested long term too. I mean, it’s not like we have a carpet to pull out from under you. ” Rod let out a snort at that, smiling at the admittedly corny joke as the tension in the room seemed to die down a little.
“Well lad,” the veteran started. “I won’t lie, building the future is something that’s been on my mind for a while. I mean, I can see we’re far from that point, but in a few years, with a kid like you? I think we can really build something… Starting with a new office.” Lola smiled cordially at Roderick as he signed the contract, binding his and Ryouchi’s careers for the time being. “An office today, our dreams tomorrow. Welcome to Katou Racing Engines, Mr. Mackenzie.”
Back in the garage, Roderick could see the dreams he had of finally fostering a home for the next generation gone. A chance to build something with his own two hands, to do the one thing he’d never done, win a race in his own car. A single word described the promises Ryouchi had made, Rod thought to himself. Lies.
In that moment, Koharu walked up to the vet, looking as worried as the many team members scurried about the garage in a frantic search for Ryouchi. “He won’t pick up his phone…. Rod?” Koharu, normally full of energy, found herself completely drained and lost for confidence in the chaos of the situation of Ryu’s disappearance. Looking to Rod for answers, she got none. The two sighed deeply, nearly in sync, before Rod looked down upon Koharu, and reassured her. “He’s alright, if I know where he is. I can only hope I’m wrong, kiddo.” Rod sighed again, as the roar of a low flying jet thundered past overhead.
Circuit Dijon-Prenois, 2 hours later.
Ryouchi arrives at the Dijon circuit, still wearing his Le Mans Series Fatigues, and in a hurried blur of movement and emotions is in the car within 10 minutes. Lola, on the other hand, is met by the head of Alpine’s human resources department himself, a man who perfectly fits the description of the most corporatized “man-in-a-suit” archetype one could draw up, Claude Perot. “Ms. Hart. I understand you represent Ryouchi?” Lola nearly hesitates a bit. Despite her years of experience in negotiations, she still finds herself getting nervous whenever meeting with particularly lofty figures, but she quickly steels herself and meets Claude with the same steel-cold professionalism she met any other client with.
“Yes. I’ll be handling any negotiations involving him. I’m glad to make your acquaintance.” Claude chuckles at this. “Please, there’s no need to be so formal, Ms. Hart. You’re my guest here, and on such short notice! I’d say we’re off to a great start so far.” Lola gave a curt nod. Lola was prone to keeping a very robust wall of professionalism in her interactions with others, especially during negotiations, though this time she found herself letting loose some of the tension held in her shoulders, as if a part of her knew she could only do so much to influence Claude ’s opinion.
Though Claude was impressed at the moment, everything dictating the way the interaction would go in the coming moments hinged on the man exiting the pits as they spoke. The sound of Ryouchi speeding off left them covering their ears for a moment, before Claude resumed the conversation. “Truth be told, we’re not running a particularly kitted out car at the moment. If Ryouchi ran something in the 1:12s we’d be impressed.”
Lola opened her mouth, but was cut off by the sounds of tires squealing in the distance. Had Ryouchi binned it so early? Lola looked over to the engineers to see them hurriedly talking amongst themselves, though about what exactly was unclear. Lola’s veneer of professionalism was lost for a moment as she rushed over to the pit garage, trying to get a closer view of the track herself. Her fears were quickly put to rest by the thunderous growl of Ryouchi’s Alpine coming across the front stretch, ready to set his hotlap.
“I’ll never be passed over again.”
“I know who I am, that’s all I need.”
“I’m scared.”
Thoughts scrambled Ryouchi’s mind as he began his hotlap of the Dijon circuit. The car was fully incomplete, Ryouchi could feel it in every little instability that rocked the car in the wide open sweepers that made up the opening part of the lap, the section having spun him out entirely earlier due to the tires not being warmed up before being assaulted by his signature brand of racecraft. His breathing became ragged and the adrenaline in his veins palpable as he rapidly made his way to the hairpin.
“I drive for myself. That’s how it’s always been. Me vs. The world. That’s how it has to be.”
“I refuse to lose. Not to anyone. Not to myself. Not again.”
“I’m not fast enough. I never was.”
Thoughts scrambled Ryouchi’s mind, thoughts that had been swirling around for the past 3 years, ever since his racing fund ran out. Ever since his future blew up in smoke. He crossed the finish line, and waiting for him there, waving a checkered flag, was the boss himself. Were they calling the test off so fast? Ryouchi’s mind became a blur as he pulled into the pits. The mechanics muttered amongst themselves, quickly stopping as soon as the Alpine’s engine shut off. It was all Ryouchi could do to avoid shaking as he stepped out of the car, where Claude stood waiting for him, holding out a hand for Ryouchi to shake. He smiled at Ryouchi as he looked up to meet his gaze, the single sentence Ryouchi had waited his entire life to hear leaving his lips:
“Welcome to Alpine, Ryouchi.”
Early 2024. Months later.
Giacomo sets his plan into motion.
It was many months ago now that Ryouchi had left MCP entirely, and in that time the buzz the youngster had created had the racing media in a frenzied rush to publish story after story to turn the rumor mill for both Ryouchi and the MCP team. Giacomo was always one to lavish in the attention, but when the veneer of admiration wore off, leaving a portrait of an eerily empty home full of disheartened staff and broken hearts, media interest soon waned in the lack of any sensational headlines or dramatic stories to follow, leaving Giacomo very disappointed.
As such, life moved on. Though MCP may have been in a sad state, Giacomo knew it was his duty as it’s heart and soul to continue the fight. Giacomo took it upon himself to get the team back together the only way he knew how: Winning. Though it wasn’t ever Giacomo himself doing the winning, he knew his strong suit was in being the brains of the operation (it was in his extremely deep pockets) and the man behind the legendary outfits that took on races around the world from the Daytona 500 and the 24 Hours of Le Mans knew he could make lightning strike again. He knew he could win the 2024 Shitbox Rally. No, he does not know it’s not a competition.
Luckily, Giacomo knew of a site where you could buy great products for cheap. A site with the strictest quality control regiments on the internet. A site where you can make your dreams come true for just the price of shipping, and the site that was listing a rejected Le Mans Prototype for just $1,700!
What’s the worst that can happen?
MCP PROLOGUE - BRAND NEW DAY - FIN
