onepointsixkm

[onepointsixkm]

"nico, it's gabi. you have no idea how happy i am for you, you're an absolute legend"

[onepointsixkm]

so uh... hey...... i vanished for 100 years........ life's been CRAZY

i'll be back soon(ish) i hope!

[onepointsixkm]

edited a deeply embarrassing mistake I made before publishing. editing in app rather than on the website SUCKS!!! seriously i admire whoever uses phone/tablet to primarily write…

also lightly edited to fix a continuity error i noticed. thanks for understanding!!!

Across the Stars (and back to you)

Summary: A chance encounter with a mysterious girl leads to love at first sight, and Zhou Guanyu chases that feeling through Neo Monos, learning new things about himself and the world around him through her eyes as he does.

featuring: ZG24 x fem!reader (nicknamed "Nova"); cyberpunk!au

notes: happy chinese grand prix! had to write something for my fave ♡ inspired by cyberpunk 2077 (specifically edgerunners). i really want to stay at your house by rosa walton was on repeat (mv contains edgerunners spoilers!). i love this genre so so so much. i have so many more ideas and would like to keep going with this AU! (i may have a part 2 planned tee hee) also photo manipulation is my worst enemy, putting takemura's cyberware onto zhou was such a pain!!! but it looks good so... worth it. no second person (you pronouns) used.

word count: 7,019

It was the way his heart stopped beating when he saw her that he knew.

The way it skipped wasn't just a cyberware malfunction, wasn't just his blood pump not working. It was love at first sight, and Zhou Guanyu knew it.

"Zhou, what the fuck, man—"

"Are you okay?"

He ignored his friends, Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc, as he pushed himself out of his seat. The lights and the people were both dancing in Atlantis, the biggest club in Neo Monos. It was so hot and so bright and so claustrophobic that Zhou was surprised he even saw her standing on the dancefloor.

He noticed her implants first. Her back was completely covered in wires and carbon fiber, the metallic shell running down her spine. Her backless dress didn't even bother hiding what she was. He could see her neural implant on the back of her skull, attached to her metal spine, and he winced, running his hands over his own implants that covered his neck.

She noticed him as soon as he was a couple meters away from her, her eyes locking with his. He faltered in his step.

"Sorry," he said softly as he approached, his voice barely audible over the music and the crowd. "I just…"

He bit his lip, his words failing him. A smile played on her lips. She reached out a hand — he tried to ignore the way half of her arms were cybernetic, wires and metal joints keeping her together — and moved when he took it to shake. Instead, she pulled him towards her. She pressed their bodies together, swaying to the infectious beat of the club music. He stood, stiff, unable to force himself to move.

They locked eyes. Her eyes were twinkling playfully, a smirk toying with the corners of her lips. She reached for his other hand, pulling him to sway to the music with her. He flushed; he'd never really danced before. He swore that he could hear Lando's laughter echoing over the music, and wondered if Oscar had said something funny, or if Lando was laughing at him.

Zhou couldn't blame him. He probably looked like as stiff as a tree.

She leaned in closely, her lips ghosting over his ear. "Relax," she whispered. He shivered, her voice caressing his brain in a strange, yet soothing way. "Let loose a little. Dance with me."

"I don't know how," he admitted.

Pulling back, her amused smile only grew. "Put your hands here," she dragged his hands to rest on her hips. His brain nearly short circuited. "And just… feel. Let yourself go."

His fingers twitched, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "Let go… yeah." He slowly started to move along to the almost tribal beat of the music, briefly wondering if he looked as insane as he felt. When she started to move with him, his shoulders relaxed. He stared at her, watching as she closed her eyes and let herself sway rhythmically.

His heart started pumping faster in his chest. He made a mental note to have Oscar look at his blood pump later. His fingers tingled against her skin, and he took another breath, hating how it shook when he exhaled.

She opened her eyes. "You nervous?"

"No," he quickly shot back. "Just not used to this."

Lifting a delicate eyebrow, she reached up and let her hands rest on the front of his jacket. "So, you don't dance with strangers at random clubs on a Thursday night?"

"Not usually."

"I'm honored." The song ended, and she stepped back as the beat renewed, another roar of life surging through the dancefloor. His hands fell from her hips, and already found himself aching for her touch. He swallowed dryly. "Buy me a drink?"

He mindlessly followed her to the crowded bar, barely noticing when the bartender wandered over. "Whatever she orders," he said. The bartender looked at his company, eyes flickering in surprise. Zhou frowned at the mild disgust that crossed the bartender's face when he laid eyes on the girl's chrome.

"You guys do special drinks?" The bartender nodded, although he looked reluctant. A flash of anger ran through Zhou's veins. "A shot of vodka in mango juice, soda water, and a chili garnish on top." The bartender nodded and set to work, although he threw an unsure look at Zhou before he did.

Zhou leaned against the bar, staring down at the girl. "Chili garnish?" he repeated, eyebrow raised at the strange choice.

She shrugged. "If it's good, it's good." She paused. "I'm Nova, by the way," she told him. "I saw you looking at me from that fancy booth of yours. What's a VIP like you doing down here in the dredges of this shithole?"

Shithole?

Atlantis was owned by Max Verstappen, a successful corpo who'd left the life a few years back after an impressive run of deals that left him filthy rich. As one of the most exclusive clubs in the world, Atlantis was known for being the epitome of the glitz and the glamour that Neo Monos had to offer. It was easily the most successful club in the city, not to mention one of the nicest. Max made damn sure of that before opening it.

"Shithole's a strong word." She rolled her eyes, although she was clearly still smiling. Zhou smirked, amused by her disregard. "You caught my eye. Not many girls walk around chromed up like that."

The bartender passed them their drinks. "Well, that's boring." Nova shrugged and took a long sip. "Chrome can be sexy." She paused, studying him. "You don't sound European."

"I'm not. Chinese." He followed her lead, making a face at the chili hitting his lips. He couldn't say it wasn't unpleasant. He hummed; it was smoother than he thought it'd be going down. "That's actually good."

"Actually?" She laughed, shaking her head. "I have good taste, what can I say?" She took another sip. "Chinese, huh? Must be a big corpo name if you're hanging out in the VIP booth."

He hesitated. He wouldn't normally say he was a big deal, but he assumed that his status as head technical strategist at AloTech — a rising star in automotive development — would be considered impressive.

He pursed his lips; he hated upselling himself. He just shrugged. "I get by." She looked at him expectantly. "I'm at AloTech. Used to be at Sauber Electronics, but when they changed hands, I left." He shrugged.

"AloTech, huh? That's pretty cool. You must be smart for that. I've heard Alonso only brings on the brightest minds of the generation."

He flushed. Hating how he could feel his skin heating up. "I mean, um…" He quickly brought his glass to his lips and chugged, feeling the sweet and spicy drink bite at his taste buds.

She nudged him playfully. "Don't be coy. If you're a VIP in this place, you've got to be somebody." He grinned bashfully. She leaned in, probably to tease him even more, but paused as something caught her eye, her movements slowing. Zhou turned to follow her gaze, but she quickly reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand and pushing him to face her. "Don't move. Trust me."

His brow furrowed, but realization pricked his skin. "You're not here for pleasure," he guessed.

"Fuck no. Not my scene." She let her hand fall, grazing over his cyberware, and turned her gaze back on him. Gone was her playful smile, and in its place was a determined hardness. "Listen—"

"—Zhou—"

"—Zhou. Okay well, listen, Zhou. I need you to get me into the security room in the back. Think you can help me out with that?"

"I… I can't do that."

She sighed. "I wasn't really asking." She lifted her hand, the one she'd touched him with, and he saw the sparks dancing over her palm. "Sorry. You're cute, and any other night, I'd follow where this is going." Her lips were pulled in a sad half smile, and Zhou's heart fell.

He took a step back, his hand flying to his neck. "What the fuck—" His outburst was interrupted by pain blossoming in his implants, shooting up and down his entire cyberware system.

His optics malfunctioned, sending shockwaves through his brain, and he cursed. He'd just upgraded, too. He could feel his OS rebooting, his entire system sparking. His knees buckled, and he felt his body hitting the dancefloor.

Nova squatted in front of him. "It's not lethal. I just need you to cause a scene." She paused. He could feel her fingers grazing his hair. "I'm sorry."

When his optics came back into focus, he was sitting outside the club, the worried faces of Lando, Charles, and Max in front of him. He blinked, looking to his side and seeing another of his close friends, Oscar Piastri, sitting next to him.

Of course they'd called Oscar, a talented cyberware doc, to help him. Oscar grinned as he noticed Zhou's eyes on him. "You're back with us?" he asked, patting Zhou's shoulder. "Gave us all a scare there, mate."

"What happened?"

"You collapsed." Oscar's smile turned serious. "Your entire system was hacked. Force reboots, minor malfunctions, the works. You're lucky it wasn't a complete collapse. Whoever hit you was good."

Ah, right. Nova.

Zhou pushed himself up, shaking his head to hopefully get rid of the ringing. "Why are we outside?"

"You hitting the ground caused mass panic." Max crossed his arms. "Our security feeds all cut out, alarms started going off, and everything went to shit."

"It was a cyber attack," Charles added. "A big one, too. The whole club is down. We don't know what they wanted, what they got, or who they were."

Zhou's eyes darted to each of his friends. Max was furious, clearly, and Charles would probably side with Max. Lando and Oscar were relieved that Zhou was okay, but definitely wouldn't let it go. Cyberware attacks were incredibly dangerous, and to have a hacker who could — and would — attack someone with the most up-to-date implants running around in the city was dangerous.

"You don't remember anything?" Charles asked, his voice deceptively level.

Zhou looked up at his friend. Max ran the night scene, but Charles ran Neo Monos. If he went looking for Nova, she'd be executed by dawn.

"No, sorry," he replied. "Not a thing."

Oscar had insisted Zhou come to his for a checkup the following day. Zhou had been hesitant, knowing that Oscar was good enough to find traces of whoever had done this.

"Looks like you're all good. No traces of leftover hacks in your system." Oscar sat in front of him as he pushed himself to sit up in the operating chair. "Zhou. You know who did this to you."

Zhou had always been bad at lying to Oscar. They'd been friends for years. "I do," he admitted with a sigh.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"They would've killed her if they found her, Oscar." Zhou ran a hand through his hair. "There was just… something about her. She was chromed to hell, man. Never seen anything like it."

Oscar's brow furrowed. "What d'you mean, chromed to hell?" he asked tentatively.

All Zhou could do was make gestures with his hands, unable to find the words to describe her. "It was like she was more machine than person," was what he settled on. "Her back was… it was gone. All of it was just wires and metal and carbon fiber."

Raising one eyebrow, Oscar leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "She, huh?" he mused, a mixture of teasing and disappointment in his voice.

Zhou hesitated for a moment, glancing up at his friend for a brief moment. "I…" He trailed off, mouth moving, but no words leaving him. He hung his head when he heard Oscar sigh. "Mate, I know it sounds crazy, but—"

"No, I know exactly what happened. You thought she was pretty before she hacked your system. Zhou, she took advantage of you. She could've done real damage to you, and you're protecting her?"

"It's not like that!" he protested, although when Oscar laid it all out, it sounded absolutely ridiculous. "I don't know, it just… I saw her, and that was it. I needed to… to get close. To know."

Oscar sighed. "Well, that sure isn't any hack I've ever heard of." He blinked, looking at Zhou. His face softened as he watched Zhou hang his head, running his hands furiously through his hair. "Mate…"

Zhou looked up, looking exhausted from the whirlwind he'd just been through. "What do I do? If Max doesn't kill her, Charles will. I… I don't think she's a danger, not really. I want to find her, but I…" He reached up, gripping the front of his shirt in his fist, right above where his heart was.

"I'm gonna choose to trust you on this," Oscar murmured. He hesitated, eyes glowing for a brief moment as he connected to Zhou's system. "You should contact Lewis Hamilton. He knows everyone who's anyone in this city. Maybe he can help you find the girl you're looking for."

An almost smile formed on Zhou's lips. He slid from Oscar's operating chair, clasping his friend's shoulder. Oscar patted his hand, then turned back around, focusing on the cybernetics on his desk.

"Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it." Oscar paused, looking up at him with a half grimace. "Seriously, don't mention it. They can't know either of us know."

Zhou nodded in understanding, letting his hand fall from Oscar's shoulder before leaving the office.

Finding Lewis Hamilton was easy. Getting the chance to talk to him was hard. Unlike the rest of the company that Zhou was used to keeping, Lewis wasn't a corpo or a politician. Rather, he was a former merc, famous for being one of the only survivors of a suicide mission that saw the fall of Deckard Inc. nearly a decade ago. According to what information Zhou could find, Lewis had lost everything, and had ultimately retired from the mercenary life, choosing instead to run the Neo Monos underground from behind the scenes rather than as one of its formative members.

Zhou had met a lot of people in his life, some more intimidating than others. Hell, at AloTech, he worked for one of the most terrifying men in the whole world. But Lewis was a whole other brand of intimidating.

The older man, dressed in a red, velvet suit, sat on the couch across from Zhou in his Neo Monos penthouse. He held a glass of wine in one hand, while Zhou sipped nervously at his own. "So," Lewis began, his eyes flashing. "What's a corpo like you want with a washed-up merc like me?"

Zhou had weighed his options before coming here. Of course he had. He had to be able to assess risk before making moves, but sitting in front of Lewis was different than he'd figured.

"Word is you know who's who in Neo Monos." Lewis quirked an eyebrow. "I'd like your help finding someone."

For a moment, Lewis was silent. He studied Zhou closely. Zhou squeezed his wine glass, fearing that he would shatter it if he held much tighter. Lewis hummed, picking up the tablet beside him.

"Guanyu Zhou. Born in Shanghai. Impressive record for someone so young. Four years at AloTech — you must be special to last even a year under that guy. Before that, you were at Sauber Electronics, and before that, the Schumacher Institute. That's where you met Michael's son, is it? Met a bunch of your Neo Monos contacts there. Leclerc, Norris, Piastri… Verstappen." Lewis looked up, his eyes flashing dangerously. Zhou could feel a chill shoot up his spine. "If you know Max Verstappen, then why are you coming to me?"

His throat was dry. Lewis Hamilton was much more dangerous than Zhou had realized. The way he said Max's name was all Zhou needed to understand why Oscar had asked to be left out of it.

He took a deep breath, forcing his heartrate to slow. He studied Lewis; the older man's body language wasn't threatening. It was defensive. He knew that he wouldn't get answers from Lewis by being dishonest or hiding anything. In just the few minutes he'd been in the room, Zhou understood that Lewis wouldn't help him if he didn't at least give him something to work with.

"Last night, there was a cyber attack on Atlantis," he began softly. Lewis nodded. He'd clearly heard about the event. "Someone hacked my system and shut it down, then used the commotion to attack the club. No one was hurt, and Max can't figure out what was they were after. And he doesn't know who did it."

"You want to find who attacked you, but you don't want to involve your friend whose business was attacked?"

Zhou hesitated. He wasn't sure how to properly explain his reasoning, but he bit his lip. Lewis was staring at him, a little sparkle of understanding deep in his eyes. Zhou felt himself latching onto it.

"Have you ever felt love at first sight?" he blurted. Lewis blinked in surprise, the first real crack in his armor.

He quickly relaxed, leaning back with an easy smile. "I see. You want to find her before your friends do. See if she's who you hope she is. See if she's someone worth protecting." Zhou took a hasty sip of his wine, feeling the alchohol burn on the way down. "I normally don't help corpos. Especially not people aligned with AloTech. But… I guess today, I'll make an exception."

He stood, dusting his pants off. Zhou watched as Lewis crossed the room, his eyes lighting up to indicate a holocall. He remained completely silent as Lewis spoke to whoever was on the other end of the line, his hands shaking. He quickly swallowed the last bit of wine in his glass, practically tossing the empty cup onto the table. He took a deep breath, the knowledge of what he was doing finally settling in.

If anyone else figured out where he was and what he was after, he could kiss his safety in Neo Monos goodbye.

The thought made him nervous, he wouldn't deny it. He'd been friends with his group for so long that losing them wasn't an option for him. But he had to know. He had to see where things would lead him.

"Alright." He snapped out of his thoughts as Lewis spoke again, turning to face him from where he stood in front of the window. "Got a lead for you. Turns out, there's a VIP in Neo Monos. First time he's been spotted in literal years. Carlos Sainz, a merc from Spain."

"Sainz?"

"Yep." Lewis popped the "p" sound, picking up the tablet. Tapping away, he added, "If you've heard the name, he's one of Norris's buddies from a few years back. They were at McLaren Industrial together before Norris left for AloTech, and McLaren got cannibalized by Porche." He paused, turning the tablet and holding it out to Zhou. "He doesn't show up a lot anymore — mostly sticks to his office in Mansell Corp — but whenever he goes anywhere, there's a cyber attack. He's got a hacker he's rumored to run with."

Zhou carefully took it in his hands, brows furrowing when he read the article.

Carlos Sainz, 29. Currently head technical strategist at Mansell Corp.

Known associates include Lando Norris (AloTech) and Alexander Albon (Mansell Corp).

Has an unknown hacker associate, code name: Nova.

"Nova…" he breathed out, running his finger over the name.

"That's your girl, then?" Zhou wordlessly nodded. "Shit, glad you came to me. Nova's been a ghost for since she came on the scene. There really isn't a lot of information about her, just that she showed up out of nowhere about two years ago. Just that she's Sainz associated. Not even an image of her." Lewis frowned. "Can you describe her for me? I'm guessing I won't get an image out of your optics since she fried 'em while you were together."

"Honestly, the most distinctive part about her is her implants." Lewis looked at him expectantly. "She had implants all over her body. I could see all the exposed wire and shit in her back, and her arms… they looked like they were barely covered in NuSkin. And her neural implant… it was over half of her skull."

Lewis's breath caught, and he shook his head. "Man, that's… that's something else."

"What do you mean?"

"That girl's a project." Zhou's eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Lewis held up a hand to stop him. "No, I mean it literally. Before it went under, McLaren Industrial was dipping their toes into cybersecurity. They were trying to do something no one else was doing. Instead of focusing on ICE like most companies were, they wanted to create a group of hackers. They took a bunch of nobodies, kids off the street that no one would miss. They turned 'em all into what you saw. Most died. Couldn't handle that much tech. Nova must be a survivor." Zhou's blood ran cold. He'd heard rumors of such projects existing, but to know that Nova was part of one — was the product of inhumane testing — had his heart dropping right into his stomach.

"That's…"

Lewis scoffed. "Fucking awful? Yeah, you got that right. But that's corpos for you. Shit like that is why I don't work with suits anymore." He sighed, grabbing the bottle of wine and refilling his glass.

When he offered Zhou a refill, Zhou took it without a second thought. He practically downed the entire glass in a single swig. "AloTech… we aren't…" He couldn't even finish his sentence.

"Probably not. At least, not on the books," Lewis agreed. "I don't have any love for Alonso, but he's not a complete piece of shit. He wouldn't experiment on kids, at least." He paused. "Doesn't mean that place is shitting rainbows, though. It's got its own secrets."

Zhou could feel his worldview shattering as Lewis spoke. His whole life, he'd been primed to work in the corporate world, to rise the ranks and eventually, run an entire company for himself. To know that corpos were capable of such brutality shook him to his core.

"I… I need to find her." He staggered to his feet. "If anyone else finds her, they'll…"

"They'll kill her. Yeah." Lewis stood as well, a hard look on his face. "I'll help where I can. But I have to ask: what are you going to do when you find her?"

He didn't say "if" Zhou found her.

Zhou glanced out the window at the city below the penthouse apartment. Neo Monos was beautiful, practically a utopia for corpos. But he'd never seen the world from the perspective of someone who was already at the bottom, who had nothing left to lose. He wondered what Nova had been doing in Atlantis.

What was she searching for?

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm not going to let her go back to whatever… shithole she came from."

Lewis almost smiled. He extended his hand to the younger man.

"That's what I like to hear."

Zhou was looking for her in every corner of the city. His eyes kept darting around, sometimes causing him to lose his train of thought.

"Mate, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Lando finally snapped. "You've been in your own world since Atlantis! I thought you said Osc cleared you — I thought Osc said he cleared you!"

Zhou blinked rapidly. "He-he did." He looked around.

Ah, that's right. I'm visiting Charles's office with Lando as "representitives" of AloTech.

Charles was staring worriedly from where he sat at his desk. He glanced between Lando and Zhou. "Do you want to reschedule?" he asked softly.

"I…" Zhou faltered. He looked at Lando, who shrugged. "Lando can catch me up to speed. I think I'm going to head back to Marine Plaza and get some rest." He stood, offering a stiff, yet apologetic smile to his two friends.

He barely lifted a hand when Charles wished him well, and only nodded when Lando reminded him about dinner with Max and a few others. He thoughtlessly thanked Charles's secretary when she handed him his belongings, his mind racing a thousand kilometers per second as he staggered into the elevator.

His thoughts absorbed him as he emerged into the center of Neo Monos, his eyes wide as he took in the sights. If he had been as lucky in business as Max, or maybe had decided to pursue politics like Charles, he would've been able to settle down in this city. It was only the third time he'd been to Neo Monos, and in that moment, he was really seeing it for the first time.

There were people bustling around, happily chattering to themselves and to each other. It was like they were unbothered by the plight of the world around them. He wondered if any of them knew about the debate over art preservation happening in in Milan, only a four hour drive north, or about the industrial worker uprising in Montpellier, the same amount of travel time to the west. He wondered if they knew what was happening to the sex workers in his hometown of Shanghai, or even about the ongoing corporate scandal in Northern California.

These people were all living in a utopia, one that would be so easily shattered if they bothered walking outside of their bubble. But, then again, maybe that was why Neo Monos existed. To allow people to get away from it all.

And then, there was a familiar voice on the air, shaking him from his thoughts and violently yanking him back to reality.

"Thank you very much. Have a good one." His eyes immediately locked onto the source. He saw her — Nova — walking away from a food stall, probably a pop up by one of the local places, a pastry clutched in her delicate hands.

His feet carried him forwards before he could even think. He kept his eyes trained on her back as she made her way back into the crowds. Even with her cybernetics almost completely covered, he could never forget that voice.

His heart almost stopped when she made to turn the side of a corner building, and he pushed himself to move just a bit faster. He caught her arm as she began to round the corner. She spun, eyes wide, almost dropping her pastry. He reached out and caught it before it could hit the ground, still not letting go of her arm.

"Nova," he breathed.

Her eyes went even wider, and she took a step back. She tried to yank her arm from his grip. He only tightened his hold.

"Let go," she warned, her voice low. "I'm not afraid to do it again."

"Wait." He held up her pastry. She looked at him warily, and he sighed, letting his hand slide down her arm until he was cupping her hand in his. He turned her hand so the back of her hand rested in his, and he put the pastry right in her palm. "I'm not here to hurt you. I-I'm sorry I scared you. I just… wanted to talk."

She watched him for a moment, searching his eyes for any sense of dishonesty. When she couldn't find any, she sighed, relaxing. "Just talk?" she asked, still staring at him like he'd change his tune.

"Just talk."

Nova bit her lip and looked around. She seemed to sag in relief. "C'mon. Let's go somewhere else." He nodded, feeling his fingertips tingle as he allowed her to take him by the hand and lead him through the city center to the waterfront.

She stood at the edge of the harbor, looking out at the ships as they came and went. Zhou only watched her, taking a seat on the bench just behind her.

"I really am sorry about what happened a few days ago." She paused, biting her lip. She dropped his hand, and his fingers twitched, already missing her touch. "I mean. What I did."

Zhou shook his head. "I can't really say I understand. But I'm not hurt. There was no permanent damage. I'm okay. It's okay." He stopped himself from word vomitting any more than he already was, instead watching for her reaction.

She fidgeted under his gaze. "It must've hurt, though."

He shrugged. "If it did, I don't remember it." He reached out, wanting to put his hand on her arm reassuringly, but he paused. She was so small, curled into herself. His fingers curled, and he pulled his hand back, instead gripping his knee.

Taking a large bite of her pastry, she chewed slowly, making a face when she swallowed. "This place is so expensive, and somehow, the food tastes like shit." She sighed, sitting next to him. In silence, she took another bite, this one so much smaller.

For a second, Zhou watched her. "Why are you here?" The question slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

Her fingers tightened around the pastry, crushing it in her grip. "Because… because I have to be." She pursed her lips. The crushed pastry fell, hitting the ground, as she hung her head in defeat. Zhou could see the NuSkin covering she wore on the back of her head to hide her neural implant, and he frowned. His heart ached.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

She laughed humorlessly. "For what?"

"I… I did some digging. Asked for help finding you." She looked surprised, but that surprise quickly morphed into something akin to horror. "I'm sorry, I—"

"You know about me, then?" she asked. His stomach turned at the hardness in her voice. "About…" She gestured to her body — her implants.

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. Suddenly, the ships entering the harbor seemed much more interesting. "Yeah."

There was a long, tense moment of silence between the two. Zhou could feel his stomach aching, acid bubbling in his throat. He wanted to vomit out another apology or some sort of comfort, but he couldn't find the words. He cursed himself internally.

She stood sharply, purposefully stepping on the remnants of the overpriced pastry. She dug her heel into the pavement as she turned, leaning down to bring their faces close. He almost jumped out of his skin, eyes wide at their proximity.

"Well, you found me, so it's my turn. Let me show you something." She reached down, grabbing his hand. "C'mon." He couldn't say a word as she pulled him off the bench. His feet mindlessly followed her, his eyes trained on her back as she pulled him through the city. He didn't even pay attention to where he was going as she turned corner after corner, dodging people and cars, until they reached a hidden stairway that led to a doorway.

She pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them. He gaped at the little one room apartment. It was maybe the size of his closet, with only a tiny window letting in light. The room was practically covered in monitors, their light illuminating the mattress in the middle of the floor.

"Is this…?"

"Mine? For now, yeah." She knelt down on the mattress, grabbing a cardboard box and rummaging through it. "Sit down, I want to show you this." He obeyed, still transfixed by her living space. The mattress was hard under him. He wondered if she'd ever been comfortable a day in her life. "Stay still. This'll be weird, but I promise it's safe."

He sat as still as he could, so much so that he felt like he would freeze in place. She gently turned his wrist, pulled out his personal link, and jacked it into the port on her wrist. He shivered; it was such a strange experience, linking to someone else. She never took her eyes off him as she plugged her own personal into his wrist, a deep, shuddering breath leaving her body.

Careful to not disturb the wires that linked them, she leaned forward and lifted a dark cloth to his face. He leaned back. "What—"

"Trust me. It helps with immersion." He nodded slowly, ordering his body to relax. She was gentle as she tied the cloth around his eyes, darkening his vision completely. "Okay. Close your eyes."

He did.

There was a buzzing in the back of his mind, a soft itch in his wrist, and then, his thoughts were flooded.

It was so dark.

Zhou had never experienced darkness like it before. He looked around, panic creeping through him.

"Hey."

Nova.

"Relax. It's safe." It was like she appeared from out of nowhere, emerging from the darkness. "I'm showing you why I'm here." She took a deep breath. He couldn't see much, but he could feel her fingers twining with his. "Just follow me."

He obeyed without question. They walked through the darkness, her hand tightly wrapped around his, and he stared at her. He knew it was a dream, something she was sharing with him through their link. He wondered if that was why she wasn't hiding her implants.

He could see her neural link, could see her metal spine, her carbon fiber back, and all of the wires wrapped around her. His chest hurt with a deep pain that he couldn't quite place.

"It doesn't hurt." He blinked. "These implants, I mean." She turned to shoot him a half smile, one filled with an emotion he couldn't identify. Her smile widened at his confusion. "We're linked, Zhou. I can hear your thoughts."

Oh. Does that mean you can see my memories?

"No, but only because I'm not looking." She squeezed his hand. "I'm letting you see what I want you to see, and I'm only trying to hear your thoughts so we can talk."

I see.

"You don't understand at all, huh."

Nope.

She laughed. It was a pretty laugh, clear, like a bell. "C'mon." Like she had only a few minutes before, she pulled him with her. "We're almost free."

His ears perked up at the word. She said it so reverently, so wistfully. He held his breath as the darkness parted, a light at the end of the tunnel growing brighter and brighter as they picked up the pace. They went faster and faster until they were running, breaking away from the dark.

Zhou blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the darkness was gone.

Instead, they were standing on a beach. He was taken aback by how much he felt. The sand against his skin felt so real. He'd never smelled the ocean before, not like this, but he knew it was just as real. He stared out at the sea, letting the sound of the waves crashing against the shore echo. It was so loud, but it was so soothing, too. The setting sun bathed his skin with its warmth. He couldn't remember feeling anything like it, even if it was the same sun as he felt every day.

"This is where I lived after I got out of that place." He didn't look at Nova, but he squeezed her hand encouragingly. "This is freedom. I can be whoever I want to be here."

"Then why aren't you still there?" he asked, glancing over at her.

She smiled wryly. "Because I don't belong to myself." She took a step closer to him. "I have a friend who helped me get out. But he can't protect me forever. They tried to take me back, and he negotiated for me. We can buy my freedom if I do enough for those people."

His eyes widened. The pieces were falling into place. "That's… that's barbaric," he choked out.

"That's business." She shook her head. "It's okay. One last job, and I can go back to this place. It won't be a dream in just a few days." She smiled, this one filled with genuine hope, and Zhou's heart skipped a beat.

"One last job, huh?" he mused. "It'd better be an easy one."

She was silent for a moment. He hated that her smile fell right off her face, regret and sadness taking its place. "The job… it's to get rid of Max Verstappen," she admitted. He suddenly felt sick. "They want him taken down, and they think the best way to do it is to make him guilty of insider trading and manipulation. To make his deals illegitimate."

It was a smart plan, as much as he hated to admit it. Max was practically untouchable in the grand scheme of things, positioned as one of the most loved business owners in Neo Monos. With allies like Charles and Lando, both wielding power in their own ways, Max was protected from most outside attacks. But if internal data implicating him in a criminal scandal was to emerge, there wouldn't be anything anyone could do to protect him.

"I…" He was at a loss for words as he took a step back, the shock rocketing through his whole body. He didn't even notice as he dropped her hand.

She followed him, stepping forward. "That's why I was at Atlantis. I wasn't there to take anything." She took both of his hands in hers. Their eyes met, and he could see the remorse and desperation shining in her eyes. "I don't want this. You can help Max, tell him whatever you want. Keep this from surfacing. Or, at least, keep his enemies from finding proof."

"Why?"

"That night, you looked at me like I was a person."

"Because you are."

She shook her head. "Not to most people. They look at me, and they see a chrome freak. A cyber addict. Or, worst of all, a tool they can use." She squeezed his hands again, and took another step closer to him. He didn't move, his fingers still limp in her hold. "You're the first person since I got out to not look at me like that at all."

"How could I?" he replied, the words finally coming easily to him. His fingers slowly closed around hers, gripping her hands tightly. "You're… incredible. Most people wouldn't last a second with that much tech. You've got to be seriously strong to not just live, but keep your mind whole."

She almost laughed. "That wasn't your first thought when you saw me, though."

He froze. "No." His admission was slow, but not hesitant at all. "It's because I think you're pretty."

"Even when I'm made of wires?"

"Doesn't make you less of a person." He summoned all his bravery and took another step closer, dropping her hands in favor of wrapping his arms around her. "I wanted to know."

"Know?"

He could feel his breath hitting her lips. "I wanted to know if what I felt was real." He paused, feeling his heart beating out of his skin. "It is." He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

She pulled back, gently pressing her palms against his chest. "Wait, Zhou." He paused, worry creasing his forehead. "Sorry, no, not a bad thing, I promise. I just… want it to be real."

He immediately understood. "Jack us out," he murmured.

The world began to flicker. The sunset over the ocean disappeared. The ocean, too. Then the beach. And finally, her.

He closed his eyes.

His senses slowly flickered back to life. He opened his eyes, but he still only saw darkness. He remembered that he still had the blindfold on, and he reached up to take it off.

A pair of hands stopped him, the touch achingly familiar.

"Wait. Just one more minute." Her voice was wavering. He paused, letting her pull his hands down from his face. "Was that… real?"

"Is what real?"

"You fell in love with me that night? And still felt that way, even after I shorted your tech? And even now, knowing that my job was to hurt your friend?"

He could hear her trembling, could feel her shaking. He reached out blindly, running his hands up her arms until he reached her shoulders. They were cold to the touch, the NuSkin unable to mask the carbon fiber and metal that made up most of her body.

"It's real."

The next thing he felt was her lips pressed against his. They were warm, fully hers, without any augments or changes. So were her tears. He held on tighter, reveling in the way her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. Even though she her body was still wracked as she silently cried, he held her, letting her use him as her rock.

When they parted, she pulled the blindfold off, and as his eyes were adjusting to the light, he grinned widely. "Any chance that beach of yours has room for two?" he asked.

"Maybe," she teased, running her fingers over the cyberware on his neck. "You'll have to stick around to find out."

He took a deep breath in, a pleasant shiver running up and down his spine. He hummed, leaning to press his forehead against her neck. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise." He was worried that his words would be muffled, but, judging by the way her breath hitched, there was nothing to be worried about.

"By the way, my name isn't actually Nova," she admitted. She leaned in and whispered her real name into his ear. The sound of it sent a shiver down his spine. She pulled back with a small smile. "Now you know something no one else does."

Message: Lewis Hamilton Found Nova. You were right about where she's from. Those bastards are still blackmailing her. Making her buy her freedom. You said you've got no love for corpos, right? Any chance you'd be willing to make it so they can't hurt her anymore?

Message: Guanyu Zhou Abso-fucking-lutely. Just let me know what you need. Oh, and congrats on getting the girl.

[onepointsixkm]

dream on, dreamer ┊ part 1

Summary: Life is a series of disappointments. Overwhelmed by everything crashing down around you all at once, you head to Monaco in hopes of finding yourself, only to find something else entirely.

featuring: LN4 x fem!reader (other drivers x unnamed wags mentioned)

notes: truth be told, this is a bit of a therapy piece for me. I hope you enjoy the product of this recorded therapy session between me and my word document lol (this got so monstrous that I broke it up into 2 parts; part 2 should be coming soon!)

word count: 7,414

You had always liked to believe that you were destined for greatness.

Whether it was when you were the star of your soccer team when you were only five, or when you scored the lead role in your school’s play at nine, or when you got that solo in chorus when you were twelve, or the time you made varsity as a freshman, or any of the times where you knew you were special. When you knew that one day, the whole world would stop to look at you, stare at you, and finally see how special you always knew you were.

But that day never came.

Instead, you graduated high school — at the top of your class, mind you — and went on to university. One of the top universities in the country, too. You couldn’t have been prouder of yourself. You knew that you would continue to shine brightly well into your college career.

You wondered what it was that killed that spark.

Was it when you walked into class that first day, and no one turned to look at you? Was it when you failed your first test, or got a below average mark on your essay? Was it when you sat alone in the campus café, eating lunch by yourself? Or was it when you cried into your pillow, debating whether to call your parents to come get you because you had failed to make friends?

You weren’t sure who you were anymore.

If you weren’t special, if you weren’t the center of attention, you didn’t know if you were anyone. Your entire life, you’d been taught that you were gifted, talented. Exceptional in every way. But now, you were swimming in a sea so much bigger than you’d ever imagined, and you were doing it alone.

So, you kept your head down. A few months in, you finally made friends. It took your ego being completely crushed for you to walk into a club, months after registration, with a new humility in your step. It felt so easy, to smile back at people, to sit with the girls your age as you laughed and talked, the feeling that you were better — special — finally just a dull ache in your heart.

Maybe, you thought, this was maturity.

But in the back of your mind, there was that quiet reprimand of the you that you once were. She berated you for forgetting how brilliantly you once shone, for letting that sparkle slip away. She screamed at you in the quiet of the night, her scornful words accenting the sirens that rang through the city and kept you from sleeping. You laid awake at night, staring at your dormitory ceiling, and tried to fight back. Tried to keep her cruel words from latching onto your brain and tearing you to shreds.

She’s right, you eventually started to think. What am I doing?

It was all too much.

Your brain and your heart were at war, and you were being torn in two by their vicious game of tug-o-war. It was months of you shredding yourself into pieces, working yourself towards a degree you weren’t even sure you wanted anymore. You were angry at yourself, at the world, and at the people who had turned you into this.

“Gifted,” they’d called you. You wondered if they were laughing at you as you failed another easy test.

It only enraged you further. With every bad mark, you lashed out. And you lashed out harder and harder until it was impossible to forgive. Your friends were patient with you, they knew that you were spiraling, but it got to the point that they could no longer make excuses for you.

“We can’t keep letting you treat us like this,” your best friend (ex-best friend?) explained calmly as she held your hand. You sobbed, holding onto her like she was your only tie to this world. “I know you’re having a rough time. But you need to pull it together. You can call me when you’re ready to be a person again, but for now, I have to put myself first.”

Months passed. Grades slipped. Friends left.

Until it was only you.

You weren’t sure what finally broke you, but maybe it was when you spilled coffee on your old laptop. She wasn’t much, but she was yours, and she’d been with you before your life had started to fall apart. And all of those memories were gone, short circuited by the caffeine you had become reliant on to make it through the day.

You called your parents the next day.

Less than twelve hours later, you were on your way back to your parents’ house, your meager belongings packed up and all of the bad memories abandoned. You didn’t know what you were going to do now, but you knew that it would be better than this.

It wasn’t long before that thought became a wish.

Letting yourself go was easy. It was so easy to just sit around and hope that things would be better the following day. You began to waste away, the monotony of day in, day out settling into your bones. You worked a shitty part time job with shitty people that you hated, came home, ate dinner, and let the exhaustion that had seeped into the very core of your being drag you down into your blankets. It was like that every single day. Things were not getting better.

“Mom,” you finally declared after months of sitting around, promising that tomorrow would be the day you got your life together. “I’m going to go to Europe. I think it’d be good for me. To figure myself out.”

Your mom hummed. “It’s only been—”

“It’s been nine months, mom,” you cut her off dryly. She sighed, the type of sigh that she only sighed when she knew that you were right but didn’t want to admit it. “I can’t just hide in my room for the rest of my life.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic. You’re only twenty-one.”

“And I’m old enough to drink in the States. I want to do something amazing with my life, and that won’t happen if I’m stuck here. Or just… stuck. In general.”

She offered you a smile, one you recognized from her years of trying her best to understand, even when she didn’t. “Okay. Let me talk to your father. Come up with a game plan before he asks you about it, and we’ll go from there, okay?” she gave in, wanting to appease you and for you to find that spark again.

She missed you while you were gone, and if this helped bring you back, she’d agree to it.

Your plan was simple. Your dad worked with a guy who owned a vacation house in Monaco, and you would ask to stay there for a few months. You weren’t entirely sure what your plan was going to be once you were in Monaco, but you figured that you’d find your way as you spent time in the city-state. Until then, you’d just let it happen as it happened.

Your mom always told you that “everything happens for a reason,” so you wanted to believe that things would work out the way they were supposed to.

Three weeks later, you were on a plane with just a suitcase in the bottom of the plane and your backpack filled with the things you held most dear. It was painful, seeing your mom tear up as she hugged you goodbye. Your father tried to keep it together as he held you tight, but you swore you saw his eyes growing glassy. You had to turn away before your own tears fell.

College an hour away and a country halfway across the world were so vastly different, you realized. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to you until you were handing your ticket to the boarding agent and getting on the plane.

You remained lost for the entirety of the plane ride. You weren’t sure how many episodes of Friends you’d made it through, your mind too distracted by the twists and turns of what led you to this moment. To a flight to Nice, France, where you’d catch a train to Monaco, where you would stay for the next few months.

No job prospects, no friends, no college education.

Just you and your laptop against the world.

And so, as your first day in Monaco began, you found yourself sitting in a café, sipping on an overpriced coffee, with your laptop in front of you. A blank word document was displayed on the screen, the cursor taunting you as you stared into the white void. Your favorite album played on repeat through your headphones, the lyrics you normally loved beginning to sound more like your own special version of purgatory.

You almost wanted to drop your head to the table and groan, but you knew that you’d seem like a crazy foreigner. Instead, you slowly closed your laptop and reached your shaky hand for your coffee, taking a long sip like it was some sort of cure for the loss inside you.

“Sorry, is this seat taken?”

And then came him.

Lando Norris waltzed right into your life, like something out of a shitty romance novel or Hallmark movie. All smiles and confidence. Even though you didn't know who he was at first, you could feel the wealth oozing from him in every sense of the word. If the way he carried himself and the way he dressed didn’t tell you everything you needed to know, it was the car he’d rolled up in.

(You’d checked — that car was likely worth more than your entire college tuition.)

But he spoke to you like a normal person. He’d politely thanked you when you told him no, the seat’s not taken, please feel free to sit down, and proceeded to strike up a conversation with you. He asked you about where you were from, clocking that you weren’t from around here thanks to your accent, and what you were doing in Monaco. He just sat there and listened to you speak as he took miniscule sips of his own drink.

You were vague, because there was no way that you were going to spill your life story to this guy you just met, but he was empathetic when you admitted that you were going through a rough time and had come to Monaco to try to find yourself, whatever that entailed.

“Well, there’s a lot of ways to find yourself here. Monaco may be a small city, but it’s got a lot to offer. Why don’t you let me show you around?” he offered with a cheeky smile.

Even though you knew, deep down, what kind of person he was, just from that, it was hard not to fall for it. He was a sort of endearing confident, the type that you knew would shatter if you decided to reject him. It was a facade. The same kind of mask that you were wearing. And so, you’d agreed, giving him your WhatsApp and telling him that you were free the following day.

“Sounds good,” he’d replied easily, sending you a message so you could contact him. You heard your phone chime, but didn’t reach for it. “Tell you what, send me where you’re staying, and I’ll drive you around. Give you the grand tour of this wild, wonderful place.”

He’d winked at you as he left, his nearly untouched coffee in hand, and you’d stared after him.

You’d gone back to the apartment you were staying at, your mind in a daze as you put your things down. You pulled your phone out and stared at the contact at the top of your screen.

Lando Norris.

You knew Monaco was filled with rich and famous people, and you found yourself switching to Google and entering your new acquaintance’s name before you could even take a second to think it through.

Lando Norris, born 1999. Formula 1 driver for McLaren since 2019… holy shit, how much is he worth?

You nearly dropped your phone at the amount of money Lando supposedly had. You wondered if there was a mistake with a decimal or something, because there was no way someone like him had stopped to speak to someone like you.

Things like that just didn’t happen to you.

And so, when you tentatively sent him a text with the Maps location of your temporary housing, you didn’t actually expect a reply. But less than ten minutes later, he’d replied, promising to pick you up around noon the following day. You gaped. Was this really happening?

You barely slept that night, still wondering if you would wake up and it would’ve been a dream. But when noon the following day hit, and you got a text from Lando simply saying be there in 15, you realized that it was definitely not a dream.

You dressed as nicely as you could with the clothing that you’d brought with you, but you knew it was nothing compared to the girls Lando had been seen with before. You bit your lip, staring in the mirror. You forced a smile, but dropped it when you saw your face twist unpleasantly. Was that really what your smile looked like? You made a mental note not to smile too much with him.

But as you slipped into his (far too expensive) car, that note went out the window. He made you smile, made you laugh, more than anyone else had in your entire life. He took you around Monaco, pointing out all of the things to do in the city. He showed you the casino, of course, and laughed when you dryly pointed out that it was definitely too rich for your blood. So, instead, he took you to a nearby café that he claimed was his own secret spot. He called it a hidden gem, one that only the locals knew about.

He greeted the workers inside like they were friends, and the workers clearly recognized him, too. They brought out his usual order in what could’ve been record time, and asked what you wanted with a kindness you had yet to receive in Monaco.

You glanced at the menu and stammered, unable to figure out what you were craving. Lando stepped in, asking for what you’d gotten the previous day at that other café, the one that was probably twice as expensive as this cute little hole in the wall place.

“Are you sure you’re okay sharing this place with me?” you asked quietly. “I don’t want to… invade your privacy.”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m sure. One person knowing won’t turn this place into a circus.” He paused and narrowed his eyes, although you could still see the playful twinkle in them. “You’re not gonna post this anywhere, are you?”

You held up your hands. “Not a chance. I don’t even have social media to post on.” You laughed, adding, “Not like anyone would be there to see it.” But even though you were laughing, he frowned.

“Is that why you’re really here?” he asked quietly.

“Sorry?”

“You said you don’t have socials, and that no one would look at them if you did. Something went wrong for you, didn’t it?” You froze in your seat, staring at him in horror. He bit his lip and shook his head, panic overtaking him. “Sorry, forget I said anything. My friends are always joking that my mouth is faster than my brain—”

“Yeah. That’s why.” He stopped when he heard your quiet admission. You stared down at your coffee like the latte art held the secrets of the universe. “Honestly, I… I needed a fresh start. Away from the feeling that I’m letting someone down by just existing.”

Silence fell between the two of you, and for a moment, you were worried that you scared him off. But instead, Lando sighed. “I get it. Expectations suck.”

“Tell me about it. I just wanted to be a writer, but I… I think I’m not even cut out for that.”

He studied you for a moment. “Tell you what, have you ever been to a Formula 1 race?” he asked. You shook your head, wondering where this conversation was going. “Well, let’s change that. I’m on summer break right now, but we’ll be back in full soon. Come with me to one of the next races.”

“Lando, you just met me.”

“So? You’ve never just,” he snapped his fingers, “clicked with someone before?”

“Not someone who’s offering to take me with them around the world. Fuck, man, I’m a struggling college dropout who’s here on a shoestring budget.”

“Let me worry about the details.” He grinned, like he knew you’d eventually give in. You gaped at him. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“I’m sure it will be, but—”

“No buts! Let’s do this.”

You leaned back in your seat, wondering if you ever stood a chance against this impossibly stubborn man in front of you. His grin never left his face.

And that was the start of your friendship with Lando Norris.

You weren’t sure exactly what he saw in you, but you clicked instantly. You spent the following few weeks with him, wandering the streets of Monaco and taking fun little day trips all around Europe. He showed you new places and had you trying new hobbies, like sim racing, which you found out that you were quite bad at.

He even had you meet his colleagues and friends who lived in Monaco. You got along well with all of them, but you spent the most time with Carlos, Charles, Max, Alex, and George. They were always happy to tell you all the most embarrassing stories about Lando, much to his protests, and took you out to clubs and fancy restaurants.

Sometimes, you felt guilty, since you knew that you wouldn’t have been able to afford to even step foot in some of these places without them. But they always assured you that you weren’t a burden, and that they were happy to have you with them.

You even met some of Lando’s childhood friends, like Max Fewtrell. Embarrassingly enough, Max F. had burst through Lando’s front door when the two of you had been relaxing, you typing away at your computer and him playing Call of Duty.

“Oh, fuck me,” you heard Fewtrell swear. “Lando, you muppet, you didn’t tell me you had a girl over.”

You turned a bright red while Lando hissed, “Max!” and pulled his old friend away to chat in the kitchen, where you couldn’t hear them. All you could hear were some vague whispers as they spoke, and you did your best to ignore them, pushing your curiosity down.

But as you looked at the clock, you bit your lip.

It was way past dinner, and you and Lando hadn’t eaten yet. Had you really lost track of time so easily? You pushed yourself up from the couch and stuck your head into the kitchen. Fewtrell and Lando looked at you with surprise, and you smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, I’ll let you get back to whispering about me, but I just wanted to ask if you guys were hungry?” You gestured at the clock. “It’s almost 8:30.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s why I was here,” Fewtrell said. “I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner, Lando. But, um, if you’d like…” he trailed off, not knowing your name. You quickly gave it to him, and he smiled in relief. “You’re welcome to join, too, if you’d like.”

Lando made a face. In the few weeks that you’d known him, you recognized that look of disgust. He was definitely not feeling up to going out, not after the paparazzi had snapped pictures of the two of you at lunch a few days prior. People were already searching for you on social media, and you were suddenly thankful that you’d scrubbed all of your Internet presence clean months ago.

“I think I’d rather stay in,” you replied with an apologetic smile. Lando glanced at you, but said nothing. “But we could get takeout instead? All three of us?”

Fewtrell glanced at Lando, who was only looking at you. “Yeah,” he finally said, his voice quiet and slow. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You beamed. “Great. I’ll call that pizza place you like, Lan.” You bustled out of the kitchen, but not before you heard Lando.

“My card’s in my jacket!”

“I know!”

As you laughed and made your way to the front hall closet, you heard just one sentence from Max Fewtrell: “I like her. Make sure you don’t fuck it up, muppet.”

The dinner itself was uneventful. The two best friends took turns telling you stories about the other, competing to see who could embarrass who the most. You laughed at every story, almost choking on your pizza a few times as you glanced at Lando in disbelief. He was turning a deeper shade of red with each story, but Fewtrell didn’t let up on his torment.

It was after Fewtrell left, throwing a pointed look at Lando before he slid out the door, that things turned. There was silence as the two of you sat in Lando’s apartment, trying to return to what you were doing before Fewtrell had joined you. You sat at your computer, all inspiration drained as you stared at where you’d last left off, the sounds of Lando’s game echoing through the otherwise silent apartment.

Finally, Lando sighed, pausing his game. He turned to you with a hesitant grin. “Sorry about him barging in like that,” he said. “He sometimes does that. I forgot to, uh, tell him that you were here.”

“Oh, it’s no issue, Lan,” you replied easily. “He’s your best friend. Of anyone who could barge in, it’s him. I’m just sorry I interrupted your male bonding time.”

He made a face. “Don’t put it like that.” You laughed, shaking your head, and returned to your computer. Lando was quiet for a moment, but he then added, “And I’m sorry about his… um… comments. He’s not used to me having girls over that… well, you know.”

You hummed. Lando’s reputation preceded him. “It’s okay, Lan. And if I’m ever in the way of you wanting to ‘you know,’ just tell me and I’ll get out of your hair.” You glanced up to shoot a smile at him, but faltered when you saw him staring seriously at you.

“No, no, you don’t understand,” he protested. “I don’t want to have any other girls over.” Your mouth opened, and you made a soft noise of realization. “Max was… he told me not to fuck it, but here I am, fucking it.”

You quickly shook your head. “No, Lan, you’re not… but are you sure?”

He moved to sit in front of you, closing your computer and moving it to the side. He grabbed your hands, holding them, and stared into your eyes. You couldn’t look away. “You have to stop asking me that at some point,” he murmured.

It was magnetic, the way your lips touched. There wasn’t a spark or fireworks, but it was safe and warm and comfortable. Your eyes fluttered closed as Lando pressed forwards, kissing you with all of the feelings his words failed to convey. You squeezed his hands as you kissed him back, and he squeezed back.

As he slowly, tentatively, pulled back, your eyes met his. “Wow,” was all you could whisper, and he laughed, quiet and breathy.

“Yeah. Wow,” he echoed, his lips turning upwards in that familiar smile.

The two of you fell into a rhythm that night, sharing kisses and warmth and everything else. He looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and you looked at him like he made the sun shine.

It was natural, you realized, like breathing.

He held your hand delicately, and he shielded you as best he could whenever you went out in public. But you couldn’t escape forever. People began to speculate.

Your picture began to show up on gossip sites and social media pages, attached to Lando’s name. He advised you not to look at the comments, and you listened. You weren’t keen on going back on social media sites anyways, so you stayed blissfully ignorant, just happy to exist in your bubble with Lando.

You were snuck into the paddock at the next race by Lando’s team, and you hid in his driver’s room during the actual race. He wasn’t ready for you to be with him in public, and you couldn’t say you blamed him. He was protective, and he saw all of the comments that were hurled at you online, so you agreed easily when he asked if you could wait just a little longer to be official in the eyes of the fans.

Still, you had a great time. You hung out with some of the people you’d met back in Monaco, and met new people, like Lando’s teammate, Daniel Ricciardo. He was easy to get along with, and kept you company at dinner when Lando got up to get drinks the night of qualifying.

“So,” he asked, “how’d you and our favorite muppet meet?”

“Um… he approached me in a coffee shop like a month ago. I was new to Monaco — still am, to be honest — and he offered to show me around. We kind of clicked, started hanging out, and… well, here we are.”

“Here you are,” Daniel echoed, a grin on his face. “He’d best be treating you good. You’re putting up with a lot, dating an F1 driver.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” you admitted. “I don’t have social media, though, so I’m lucky enough to not see much of anything. Lan’s pretty protective, too. But, honestly, Danny, even if it’s a lot, it’s worth it to me.” You smiled at him, and he smiled back, a knowing settling between the two of you.

Lando set your drink on the table in front of you, sliding to sit between you and Daniel. He slung an arm over your shoulder. “Well, the two of you are getting along, aren’t you?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, we were just talking about Danny’s incredible podium tradition,” you replied dryly. “Have you been made to do one yet, Lan?”

“Do what, a shoey?” He laughed in disbelief. “Fuck no, and I hope that I’ll never have to.”

“Oh, just you wait, Norris. You’ll do one before my time on this team is up.” Daniel leaned back with a self-satisfied grin, taking a long sip of his drink.

Lando rolled his eyes and sipped at his own drink before turning to you. “You good, love?” he asked softly. You nodded with a smile. “Good. Let me know if you ever want to get going.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry, Lan. I’m good.”

Lando kept his arm around you as he turned back to Daniel, who had begun to wax poetic about how, even if it was the last thing he did, he would ensure that Lando did a shoey on the podium with him at least once. The two began bickering, with Lando loudly protesting that there was absolutely no way that he would ever drink from a shoe, while Daniel kept telling him that it was an inevitable podium tradition.

You laughed at the two of them, shaking your head as you watched with an amused twinkle in your eyes.

The following night, you joined the rest of the grid to celebrate the race. The music was loud and the drinks were flowing, and you finally met some of Lando’s gridmates’ girlfriends. They quickly added you to what they called “the WAG chat,” and, despite the intense abnormality of the life you’d found yourself being thrown into, you felt at ease.

You’d made friends in this weird world you’d suddenly found yourself living in.

“You sure you’re comfortable?!” Lando asked, having to raise his voice for you to hear him over the music pulsing through the club. “We can leave if you’re tired!”

You giggled with a shake of your head. “Lan, go celebrate with your friends!” He looked at you, like he was waiting for a different answer, but you pushed him away. “Go!” you urged with a grin. He flashed his own winning grin at you before he planted a kiss on your forehead and scurried off to join Max and Charles on the dancefloor.

“That was sweet,” Charles’s girlfriend said. “I’m glad Lando’s finally found someone. You’re good for him.”

A blush took over your face. You looked away and cleared your throat. “He’s good for me,” you admitted.

“I’ve never seen Lando like this before. I didn’t know he was such a lover boy when he was super into someone. I’m glad you’re here.”

Those words echoed in your mind for the entire night, even as you finally flew back home to Monaco. Lando was curled around you during the flight, snoring softly as you stared out the window. From across you, Max was watching intently, a small smile on his face.

“What?” you whispered.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just happy for him. Take good care of him, you hear?” You nodded in agreement, reaching up to run your hand through Lando’s hair.

Every race weekend was spent like that. You flew out with Lando and some of his friends, snuck into the paddock, and watched the race from his driver’s room. You celebrated with the grid and their partners, and forged strong friendships with each of them.

With each weekend, you and Lando’s relationship deepened. You finally confessed everything to him. You told him about the mental health issues that plagued you, about the voices that rang in your head and pulled you down with them. He held you and kissed you, and promised that he would keep the voices quiet as long as you would let him. You buried yourself deeper into his warmth, taking in all of him as he swore that he would protect you.

But all good things had to come to an end.

Your time in Monaco was coming to a close, and you would have to return home. You’d barely been back to your temporary residence since you and Lando started dating, just to gather some of your essentials to bring back to his place with you. But as you stood in front of him, explaining that you needed to go back, you weren’t sure you were really ready to leave.

Lando didn’t seem to fully understand either. He agreed to take you back to the apartment complex pretty easily, probably not registering that you’d told him you needed to pack. He’d watched as you packed the remainder of your clothing and other possessions into your bags, and brought them back to his apartment.

Finally, as you pulled your suitcase into the bedroom, his face dropped. “What… Are you packing?” He followed you into the bedroom. “I thought you were bringing the rest of your things here.”

“Lan, sweetheart. My flight home is in three days.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” he asked, staring in stunned horror at the half packed suitcase in front of you. “Going home?”

You blinked at him. “Yes? Lan, I was only ever staying for a few months. My dad’s friend let me stay at the other apartment as a favor, and it was always going to be a temporary thing. I have to go home at some point.” You turned to put another of your dresses — a new one, one that Lando had bought for you — into your suitcase.

“No, wait. Please, just… wait.” He grabbed at your arm, holding your wrist tightly. His eyes were wild with desperation. “Stay with me. Don’t go home yet.”

“Lando… It’s not that simple, you know that,” you tried to explain weakly. “Monaco won’t let me stay longer unless I apply for a long stay visa, or fill out some other form of paperwork. And then, I have to pay to get that paperwork filed on time, plus the application fees and the cancellation for my plane ticket. I just… I can’t afford it, Lan.”

“I’ll pay for it. Just… I need you with me.” He sniffled, his desperation warping into sorrow. “I love you,” he managed meekly.

Your heart dropped into your stomach just like your dress dropped to the floor. The two of you stared at each other. You searched for any hint of a lie in his eyes, but for once, there wasn’t that mischievous twinkle. There wasn't even a glimpse of teasing in his blue-green eyes, and you felt yourself choking up.

“You love me?”

He nodded frantically, sliding his grasp from your wrist to your waist, gently pulling you closer to him. “I do. I love you. And I… I don’t want to lose you. Not when I just found you. Please.” His pleading gaze met yours, and you could feel your resolve breaking.

You sighed. You pulled away from his hold and picked up your dress. He almost let out a whine like a hurt puppy as you shook out the dress, but brightened when you walked back into the closet and hung it up.

“Fine, Lan. I will pay you back someday, but for now, thank you.” You planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’ll stay for a little while longer. But,” you paused, hating how you had to say it, but knowing that it had to be said, “I can’t stay forever. You get that, right?”

He easily nodded, his head bouncing so fast that you swore his hair bounced with it. “I get it, I do, I promise!” The assurances fell from his lips so quickly that you struggled to believe that he actually did get it. “Just a little while longer. I just… I want to treasure you.”

Any remaining willpower you had left to argue, to hesitate, drained from your body the instant he said those words, so filled with affection that it blinded you. You rushed forward, hugging him tightly, and he held you just as close. He buried his head into your hair, breathing in like he was trying to memorize your scent.

“Then treasure me, Lando.”

He held you tighter.

He continued to hold you as you phoned your parents, asking to video call with them so you could break the news. You could see the hesitation in your father’s face and the joy in your mother’s. Both of them were thrilled for you, of course, relieved that you’d found whatever it was that you’d been searching for. Something worth staying in Monaco for. Although your father had to be convinced that it was the right idea, to let you go and run free, Lando stayed by your side and vowed to care for you. He swore up and down that he would provide for you and protect you and ensure that your family wouldn’t regret letting you stay. With every solemn promise, you could see the fight leaving your father.

“As long as you’re sure,” he said softly at the end of the call.

Lando kept holding you throughout the rest of the day, barely prying himself away from you as you unpacked all of your things. Your clothes filled his closet, your toothbrush sat on the sink with his, and your life was entwined with his. Something bubbled in your stomach, but you pushed it down.

This is the right choice, you told yourself. I’m happy. I deserve this.

You repeated those words to yourself as the months went on. You attended more Formula 1 races as the season drew to a close, and your constant appearances with Lando were drawing more scrutiny and media attention. You tried to keep your head down any time you went out, but photos of you were being spread like wildfire across the Internet, to the point that even people who you hadn’t spoken to in what felt like forever were sending you messages. You ignored every single one.

Lando was there every step of the way. “Do you want me to post something?” he asked, his brow furrowed worriedly as you confessed that you had basically shut down your messages app. “I can ask for privacy. Most fans will be good about it, but I can’t guarantee all of them.”

“That’d be nice, but maybe not right now,” you replied, trying to reassure him with a smile. “I’m not ready to be a public figure yet.”

He bit his lip, looking like he wanted to say something. You knew it would be something along the lines of I’m sorry, you might not have a choice, but you weren’t exactly ready to hear that. He seemed to understand your wordless plea, and quickly changed the subject. He talked to you about updates to the car, and you nodded along, despite not understanding much.

“I really am sorry,” he said that night as you both went to bed. “If it was up to me, you’d have all the privacy you wanted. I’m sorry I can’t give you that.”

You shook your head, pecking him on the nose. Despite everything — the shameless photos that were taken every time you stepped foot in public, the unwanted messages from people who barely knew you, and the whispers and rumors that spread about you by strangers — you wouldn’t trade him for the world. Even if it wasn’t okay, he would make it okay.

“I’ll get used to it.”

You didn’t get used to it.

As the Formula 1 season drew to a close, you and Lando began to discuss going public and allowing him to confirm your relationship on social media. He reasoned that it would cause the speculation to die down, which would help lessen the pressure on you.

His PR team agreed. They were excited to have a new focus for their young driver, thrilled that they could spin a story about him being in love and bring attention to how he changed your life. To your relief, Lando immediately shut it down.

“If we go public — which will only happen with her permission — I’m going to ask that you leave her out of this. She’s not interested in being a public figure, and I don’t want her to have her personal life dragged up and flaunted. Isn’t it enough that she’ll publicly be my girlfriend?”

You looked at him gratefully as he sternly stared down his PR officers. They looked sufficiently chastised, and sheepishly apologized as they looked over the plan that the two of you had come up with. They made some suggestions, kindly leaving you out of the spotlight, and agreed to allow you to do as Lando suggested.

Three days later, Lando had posted you for the first time on social media.

It was a picture of the two of you on the plane to the final race of the season, captioned with “Lucky charm acquired.” He promptly turned his phone off and wrapped his arm around you, pecking your temple as he assured you it’d be fine. You tried to believe him as you, Lando, and the rest of the drivers that flew on Max’s private plane tried to relax before the weekend began.

“Try not to think about it,” Max’s girlfriend told you sympathetically. She was the only other woman on the flight, and probably the only one who could empathize with you. “I can’t lie and say it gets easier, but you learn to ignore it.”

Well, at least she tried to.

The news had made the rounds by the time you got off the plane. Your phone had exploded with notifications. Anyone who hadn’t already reached out to you had tried to contact you, not to mention the people who already had. Rage boiled inside you as you scanned the names; most of them were people you hadn’t spoken to in years. They were people who’d left you when you were at rock bottom, but now that you were finally happy, they were swarming you, trying to get a piece of whatever you had.

Fucking vultures.

You almost wanted to throw your phone to the ground and shatter it, never wanting to speak to anyone again. But you refrained, instead throwing it to the bottom of your bag and pushing its existence to the back of your mind.

You held your head high as you made your public paddock debut, now officially labeled as “Lando Norris’s significant other.” Although you were shaking inside, his warm hand holding onto yours grounded you. He spoke for you when you were accosted by the press, explaining that you weren’t exactly ready to be a public figure yet, and asking for privacy as the two of you navigated a relationship. Although many reporters looked put out, most of them agreed to his not-so-subtle demands and left you alone.

The news of your relationship died down pretty quickly as the weekend progressed, however, with the race being incredibly controversial, to say the least. The celebrations were extremely awkward.

You were so desperate for anything to distract you from the tense silence of Max’s celebration dinner that you gave in to the WAG chat all begging you to make an Instagram now that you were an official WAG. You were hunched over, staring at your phone under the table as you made your new account. You immediately privated it, of course, and copied your username to send to the chat.

“Did you just make an Instagram?” came an incredulous whisper from your side. You blinked as you turned to see Lando leaning in as close as he could possibly get. He glanced between your phone and you, before pouting. “Hey, give me your username. And don’t accept any of the girls first!”

He pulled out his phone and, faster than you thought fingers could move, typed in your new username. His pout turned to a giddy smile as he pressed the “request follow” button, proudly turning his phone to show you. You shook your head with a smile as you saw the notification pop up. Turning to lean against him so he could watch you, you scrolled past the WAGs who had requested your private account and right to his name, dramatically pausing before hitting “accept.” His smile only grew wider.

“Ha! I’m first,” he bragged, sending a triumphant smirk over to Charles’s girlfriend on the other side of the table. She made a face, then checked to see if anyone was watching before flipping him off. He just laughed.

Charles noticed the interaction and lifted an eyebrow with an amused smile. “What’s all this? Haven’t we had enough drama this weekend?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“Lando’s rubbing his win in my face,” she replied, showing him that Lando was your first follower. “Kind of rude, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” Charles agreed easily, pulling his own phone from his pocket. “Incredibly rude.”

Before you knew it, your Instagram handle was being spread across the table. It turned out that most of the drivers had private Instagram accounts to follow their friends and be a little more unfiltered than they were on their public accounts. Of course, they still had to be careful, since accounts could be hacked, but they were all very excited that you’d decided to join them, even if it wasn’t in a public capacity.

You felt a bit of a buzz as you stared at your follower number. You’d made sure to follow every single one of them back, as well as the public accounts of the rest of the grid, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was what friendship as an adult felt like.

That feeling progressed throughout the off-season as you continued to hang out with some of the drivers and their girlfriends. You posted pictures of every outing to your private account, and always received comments about how “we should hang out soon!” from multiple people. You always made sure to follow up later. Although it only panned out some of the time, you were grateful for the companionship when it did.

So, you wondered, why did it still feel like something was missing?

[onepointsixkm]

"yuki has earned and deserves the red bull seat" and "under no circumstances is a move to red bull a good thing for yuki's career" are opinions that can live in harmony. i'm mad that he didn't get the promotion and at the same time I know he should NOT go to red bull it will kill him.

[onepointsixkm]

Zhou Guanyu for CN Harper’s Bazaar 2025

[onepointsixkm]

ZHOU GUANYU for Harper's Bazaar China

[onepointsixkm]

Across the Stars (and back to you)

Summary: A chance encounter with a mysterious girl leads to love at first sight, and Zhou Guanyu chases that feeling through Neo Monos, learning new things about himself and the world around him through her eyes as he does.

featuring: ZG24 x fem!reader (nicknamed "Nova"); cyberpunk!au

notes: happy chinese grand prix! had to write something for my fave ♡ inspired by cyberpunk 2077 (specifically edgerunners). i really want to stay at your house by rosa walton was on repeat (mv contains edgerunners spoilers!). i love this genre so so so much. i have so many more ideas and would like to keep going with this AU! (i may have a part 2 planned tee hee) also photo manipulation is my worst enemy, putting takemura's cyberware onto zhou was such a pain!!! but it looks good so... worth it. no second person (you pronouns) used.

word count: 7,019

It was the way his heart stopped beating when he saw her that he knew.

The way it skipped wasn't just a cyberware malfunction, wasn't just his blood pump not working. It was love at first sight, and Zhou Guanyu knew it.

"Zhou, what the fuck, man—"

"Are you okay?"

He ignored his friends, Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc, as he pushed himself out of his seat. The lights and the people were both dancing in Atlantis, the biggest club in Neo Monos. It was so hot and so bright and so claustrophobic that Zhou was surprised he even saw her standing on the dancefloor.

He noticed her implants first. Her back was completely covered in wires and carbon fiber, the metallic shell running down her spine. Her backless dress didn't even bother hiding what she was. He could see her neural implant on the back of her skull, attached to her metal spine, and he winced, running his hands over his own implants that covered his neck.

She noticed him as soon as he was a couple meters away from her, her eyes locking with his. He faltered in his step.

"Sorry," he said softly as he approached, his voice barely audible over the music and the crowd. "I just…"

He bit his lip, his words failing him. A smile played on her lips. She reached out a hand — he tried to ignore the way half of her arms were cybernetic, wires and metal joints keeping her together — and moved when he took it to shake. Instead, she pulled him towards her. She pressed their bodies together, swaying to the infectious beat of the club music. He stood, stiff, unable to force himself to move.

They locked eyes. Her eyes were twinkling playfully, a smirk toying with the corners of her lips. She reached for his other hand, pulling him to sway to the music with her. He flushed; he'd never really danced before. He swore that he could hear Lando's laughter echoing over the music, and wondered if Oscar had said something funny, or if Lando was laughing at him.

Zhou couldn't blame him. He probably looked like as stiff as a tree.

She leaned in closely, her lips ghosting over his ear. "Relax," she whispered. He shivered, her voice caressing his brain in a strange, yet soothing way. "Let loose a little. Dance with me."

"I don't know how," he admitted.

Pulling back, her amused smile only grew. "Put your hands here," she dragged his hands to rest on her hips. His brain nearly short circuited. "And just… feel. Let yourself go."

His fingers twitched, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "Let go… yeah." He slowly started to move along to the almost tribal beat of the music, briefly wondering if he looked as insane as he felt. When she started to move with him, his shoulders relaxed. He stared at her, watching as she closed her eyes and let herself sway rhythmically.

His heart started pumping faster in his chest. He made a mental note to have Oscar look at his blood pump later. His fingers tingled against her skin, and he took another breath, hating how it shook when he exhaled.

She opened her eyes. "You nervous?"

"No," he quickly shot back. "Just not used to this."

Lifting a delicate eyebrow, she reached up and let her hands rest on the front of his jacket. "So, you don't dance with strangers at random clubs on a Thursday night?"

"Not usually."

"I'm honored." The song ended, and she stepped back as the beat renewed, another roar of life surging through the dancefloor. His hands fell from her hips, and already found himself aching for her touch. He swallowed dryly. "Buy me a drink?"

He mindlessly followed her to the crowded bar, barely noticing when the bartender wandered over. "Whatever she orders," he said. The bartender looked at his company, eyes flickering in surprise. Zhou frowned at the mild disgust that crossed the bartender's face when he laid eyes on the girl's chrome.

"You guys do special drinks?" The bartender nodded, although he looked reluctant. A flash of anger ran through Zhou's veins. "A shot of vodka in mango juice, soda water, and a chili garnish on top." The bartender nodded and set to work, although he threw an unsure look at Zhou before he did.

Zhou leaned against the bar, staring down at the girl. "Chili garnish?" he repeated, eyebrow raised at the strange choice.

She shrugged. "If it's good, it's good." She paused. "I'm Nova, by the way," she told him. "I saw you looking at me from that fancy booth of yours. What's a VIP like you doing down here in the dredges of this shithole?"

Shithole?

Atlantis was owned by Max Verstappen, a successful corpo who'd left the life a few years back after an impressive run of deals that left him filthy rich. As one of the most exclusive clubs in the world, Atlantis was known for being the epitome of the glitz and the glamour that Neo Monos had to offer. It was easily the most successful club in the city, not to mention one of the nicest. Max made damn sure of that before opening it.

"Shithole's a strong word." She rolled her eyes, although she was clearly still smiling. Zhou smirked, amused by her disregard. "You caught my eye. Not many girls walk around chromed up like that."

The bartender passed them their drinks. "Well, that's boring." Nova shrugged and took a long sip. "Chrome can be sexy." She paused, studying him. "You don't sound European."

"I'm not. Chinese." He followed her lead, making a face at the chili hitting his lips. He couldn't say it wasn't unpleasant. He hummed; it was smoother than he thought it'd be going down. "That's actually good."

"Actually?" She laughed, shaking her head. "I have good taste, what can I say?" She took another sip. "Chinese, huh? Must be a big corpo name if you're hanging out in the VIP booth."

He hesitated. He wouldn't normally say he was a big deal, but he assumed that his status as head technical strategist at AloTech — a rising star in automotive development — would be considered impressive.

He pursed his lips; he hated upselling himself. He just shrugged. "I get by." She looked at him expectantly. "I'm at AloTech. Used to be at Sauber Electronics, but when they changed hands, I left." He shrugged.

"AloTech, huh? That's pretty cool. You must be smart for that. I've heard Alonso only brings on the brightest minds of the generation."

He flushed. Hating how he could feel his skin heating up. "I mean, um…" He quickly brought his glass to his lips and chugged, feeling the sweet and spicy drink bite at his taste buds.

She nudged him playfully. "Don't be coy. If you're a VIP in this place, you've got to be somebody." He grinned bashfully. She leaned in, probably to tease him even more, but paused as something caught her eye, her movements slowing. Zhou turned to follow her gaze, but she quickly reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand and pushing him to face her. "Don't move. Trust me."

His brow furrowed, but realization pricked his skin. "You're not here for pleasure," he guessed.

"Fuck no. Not my scene." She let her hand fall, grazing over his cyberware, and turned her gaze back on him. Gone was her playful smile, and in its place was a determined hardness. "Listen—"

"—Zhou—"

"—Zhou. Okay well, listen, Zhou. I need you to get me into the security room in the back. Think you can help me out with that?"

"I… I can't do that."

She sighed. "I wasn't really asking." She lifted her hand, the one she'd touched him with, and he saw the sparks dancing over her palm. "Sorry. You're cute, and any other night, I'd follow where this is going." Her lips were pulled in a sad half smile, and Zhou's heart fell.

He took a step back, his hand flying to his neck. "What the fuck—" His outburst was interrupted by pain blossoming in his implants, shooting up and down his entire cyberware system.

His optics malfunctioned, sending shockwaves through his brain, and he cursed. He'd just upgraded, too. He could feel his OS rebooting, his entire system sparking. His knees buckled, and he felt his body hitting the dancefloor.

Nova squatted in front of him. "It's not lethal. I just need you to cause a scene." She paused. He could feel her fingers grazing his hair. "I'm sorry."

When his optics came back into focus, he was sitting outside the club, the worried faces of Lando, Charles, and Max in front of him. He blinked, looking to his side and seeing another of his close friends, Oscar Piastri, sitting next to him.

Of course they'd called Oscar, a talented cyberware doc, to help him. Oscar grinned as he noticed Zhou's eyes on him. "You're back with us?" he asked, patting Zhou's shoulder. "Gave us all a scare there, mate."

"What happened?"

"You collapsed." Oscar's smile turned serious. "Your entire system was hacked. Force reboots, minor malfunctions, the works. You're lucky it wasn't a complete collapse. Whoever hit you was good."

Ah, right. Nova.

Zhou pushed himself up, shaking his head to hopefully get rid of the ringing. "Why are we outside?"

"You hitting the ground caused mass panic." Max crossed his arms. "Our security feeds all cut out, alarms started going off, and everything went to shit."

"It was a cyber attack," Charles added. "A big one, too. The whole club is down. We don't know what they wanted, what they got, or who they were."

Zhou's eyes darted to each of his friends. Max was furious, clearly, and Charles would probably side with Max. Lando and Oscar were relieved that Zhou was okay, but definitely wouldn't let it go. Cyberware attacks were incredibly dangerous, and to have a hacker who could — and would — attack someone with the most up-to-date implants running around in the city was dangerous.

"You don't remember anything?" Charles asked, his voice deceptively level.

Zhou looked up at his friend. Max ran the night scene, but Charles ran Neo Monos. If he went looking for Nova, she'd be executed by dawn.

"No, sorry," he replied. "Not a thing."

Oscar had insisted Zhou come to his for a checkup the following day. Zhou had been hesitant, knowing that Oscar was good enough to find traces of whoever had done this.

"Looks like you're all good. No traces of leftover hacks in your system." Oscar sat in front of him as he pushed himself to sit up in the operating chair. "Zhou. You know who did this to you."

Zhou had always been bad at lying to Oscar. They'd been friends for years. "I do," he admitted with a sigh.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"They would've killed her if they found her, Oscar." Zhou ran a hand through his hair. "There was just… something about her. She was chromed to hell, man. Never seen anything like it."

Oscar's brow furrowed. "What d'you mean, chromed to hell?" he asked tentatively.

All Zhou could do was make gestures with his hands, unable to find the words to describe her. "It was like she was more machine than person," was what he settled on. "Her back was… it was gone. All of it was just wires and metal and carbon fiber."

Raising one eyebrow, Oscar leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "She, huh?" he mused, a mixture of teasing and disappointment in his voice.

Zhou hesitated for a moment, glancing up at his friend for a brief moment. "I…" He trailed off, mouth moving, but no words leaving him. He hung his head when he heard Oscar sigh. "Mate, I know it sounds crazy, but—"

"No, I know exactly what happened. You thought she was pretty before she hacked your system. Zhou, she took advantage of you. She could've done real damage to you, and you're protecting her?"

"It's not like that!" he protested, although when Oscar laid it all out, it sounded absolutely ridiculous. "I don't know, it just… I saw her, and that was it. I needed to… to get close. To know."

Oscar sighed. "Well, that sure isn't any hack I've ever heard of." He blinked, looking at Zhou. His face softened as he watched Zhou hang his head, running his hands furiously through his hair. "Mate…"

Zhou looked up, looking exhausted from the whirlwind he'd just been through. "What do I do? If Max doesn't kill her, Charles will. I… I don't think she's a danger, not really. I want to find her, but I…" He reached up, gripping the front of his shirt in his fist, right above where his heart was.

"I'm gonna choose to trust you on this," Oscar murmured. He hesitated, eyes glowing for a brief moment as he connected to Zhou's system. "You should contact Lewis Hamilton. He knows everyone who's anyone in this city. Maybe he can help you find the girl you're looking for."

An almost smile formed on Zhou's lips. He slid from Oscar's operating chair, clasping his friend's shoulder. Oscar patted his hand, then turned back around, focusing on the cybernetics on his desk.

"Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it." Oscar paused, looking up at him with a half grimace. "Seriously, don't mention it. They can't know either of us know."

Zhou nodded in understanding, letting his hand fall from Oscar's shoulder before leaving the office.

Finding Lewis Hamilton was easy. Getting the chance to talk to him was hard. Unlike the rest of the company that Zhou was used to keeping, Lewis wasn't a corpo or a politician. Rather, he was a former merc, famous for being one of the only survivors of a suicide mission that saw the fall of Deckard Inc. nearly a decade ago. According to what information Zhou could find, Lewis had lost everything, and had ultimately retired from the mercenary life, choosing instead to run the Neo Monos underground from behind the scenes rather than as one of its formative members.

Zhou had met a lot of people in his life, some more intimidating than others. Hell, at AloTech, he worked for one of the most terrifying men in the whole world. But Lewis was a whole other brand of intimidating.

The older man, dressed in a red, velvet suit, sat on the couch across from Zhou in his Neo Monos penthouse. He held a glass of wine in one hand, while Zhou sipped nervously at his own. "So," Lewis began, his eyes flashing. "What's a corpo like you want with a washed-up merc like me?"

Zhou had weighed his options before coming here. Of course he had. He had to be able to assess risk before making moves, but sitting in front of Lewis was different than he'd figured.

"Word is you know who's who in Neo Monos." Lewis quirked an eyebrow. "I'd like your help finding someone."

For a moment, Lewis was silent. He studied Zhou closely. Zhou squeezed his wine glass, fearing that he would shatter it if he held much tighter. Lewis hummed, picking up the tablet beside him.

"Guanyu Zhou. Born in Shanghai. Impressive record for someone so young. Four years at AloTech — you must be special to last even a year under that guy. Before that, you were at Sauber Electronics, and before that, the Schumacher Institute. That's where you met Michael's son, is it? Met a bunch of your Neo Monos contacts there. Leclerc, Norris, Piastri… Verstappen." Lewis looked up, his eyes flashing dangerously. Zhou could feel a chill shoot up his spine. "If you know Max Verstappen, then why are you coming to me?"

His throat was dry. Lewis Hamilton was much more dangerous than Zhou had realized. The way he said Max's name was all Zhou needed to understand why Oscar had asked to be left out of it.

He took a deep breath, forcing his heartrate to slow. He studied Lewis; the older man's body language wasn't threatening. It was defensive. He knew that he wouldn't get answers from Lewis by being dishonest or hiding anything. In just the few minutes he'd been in the room, Zhou understood that Lewis wouldn't help him if he didn't at least give him something to work with.

"Last night, there was a cyber attack on Atlantis," he began softly. Lewis nodded. He'd clearly heard about the event. "Someone hacked my system and shut it down, then used the commotion to attack the club. No one was hurt, and Max can't figure out what was they were after. And he doesn't know who did it."

"You want to find who attacked you, but you don't want to involve your friend whose business was attacked?"

Zhou hesitated. He wasn't sure how to properly explain his reasoning, but he bit his lip. Lewis was staring at him, a little sparkle of understanding deep in his eyes. Zhou felt himself latching onto it.

"Have you ever felt love at first sight?" he blurted. Lewis blinked in surprise, the first real crack in his armor.

He quickly relaxed, leaning back with an easy smile. "I see. You want to find her before your friends do. See if she's who you hope she is. See if she's someone worth protecting." Zhou took a hasty sip of his wine, feeling the alchohol burn on the way down. "I normally don't help corpos. Especially not people aligned with AloTech. But… I guess today, I'll make an exception."

He stood, dusting his pants off. Zhou watched as Lewis crossed the room, his eyes lighting up to indicate a holocall. He remained completely silent as Lewis spoke to whoever was on the other end of the line, his hands shaking. He quickly swallowed the last bit of wine in his glass, practically tossing the empty cup onto the table. He took a deep breath, the knowledge of what he was doing finally settling in.

If anyone else figured out where he was and what he was after, he could kiss his safety in Neo Monos goodbye.

The thought made him nervous, he wouldn't deny it. He'd been friends with his group for so long that losing them wasn't an option for him. But he had to know. He had to see where things would lead him.

"Alright." He snapped out of his thoughts as Lewis spoke again, turning to face him from where he stood in front of the window. "Got a lead for you. Turns out, there's a VIP in Neo Monos. First time he's been spotted in literal years. Carlos Sainz, a merc from Spain."

"Sainz?"

"Yep." Lewis popped the "p" sound, picking up the tablet. Tapping away, he added, "If you've heard the name, he's one of Norris's buddies from a few years back. They were at McLaren Industrial together before Norris left for AloTech, and McLaren got cannibalized by Porche." He paused, turning the tablet and holding it out to Zhou. "He doesn't show up a lot anymore — mostly sticks to his office in Mansell Corp — but whenever he goes anywhere, there's a cyber attack. He's got a hacker he's rumored to run with."

Zhou carefully took it in his hands, brows furrowing when he read the article.

Carlos Sainz, 29. Currently head technical strategist at Mansell Corp.

Known associates include Lando Norris (AloTech) and Alexander Albon (Mansell Corp).

Has an unknown hacker associate, code name: Nova.

"Nova…" he breathed out, running his finger over the name.

"That's your girl, then?" Zhou wordlessly nodded. "Shit, glad you came to me. Nova's been a ghost for since she came on the scene. There really isn't a lot of information about her, just that she showed up out of nowhere about two years ago. Just that she's Sainz associated. Not even an image of her." Lewis frowned. "Can you describe her for me? I'm guessing I won't get an image out of your optics since she fried 'em while you were together."

"Honestly, the most distinctive part about her is her implants." Lewis looked at him expectantly. "She had implants all over her body. I could see all the exposed wire and shit in her back, and her arms… they looked like they were barely covered in NuSkin. And her neural implant… it was over half of her skull."

Lewis's breath caught, and he shook his head. "Man, that's… that's something else."

"What do you mean?"

"That girl's a project." Zhou's eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Lewis held up a hand to stop him. "No, I mean it literally. Before it went under, McLaren Industrial was dipping their toes into cybersecurity. They were trying to do something no one else was doing. Instead of focusing on ICE like most companies were, they wanted to create a group of hackers. They took a bunch of nobodies, kids off the street that no one would miss. They turned 'em all into what you saw. Most died. Couldn't handle that much tech. Nova must be a survivor." Zhou's blood ran cold. He'd heard rumors of such projects existing, but to know that Nova was part of one — was the product of inhumane testing — had his heart dropping right into his stomach.

"That's…"

Lewis scoffed. "Fucking awful? Yeah, you got that right. But that's corpos for you. Shit like that is why I don't work with suits anymore." He sighed, grabbing the bottle of wine and refilling his glass.

When he offered Zhou a refill, Zhou took it without a second thought. He practically downed the entire glass in a single swig. "AloTech… we aren't…" He couldn't even finish his sentence.

"Probably not. At least, not on the books," Lewis agreed. "I don't have any love for Alonso, but he's not a complete piece of shit. He wouldn't experiment on kids, at least." He paused. "Doesn't mean that place is shitting rainbows, though. It's got its own secrets."

Zhou could feel his worldview shattering as Lewis spoke. His whole life, he'd been primed to work in the corporate world, to rise the ranks and eventually, run an entire company for himself. To know that corpos were capable of such brutality shook him to his core.

"I… I need to find her." He staggered to his feet. "If anyone else finds her, they'll…"

"They'll kill her. Yeah." Lewis stood as well, a hard look on his face. "I'll help where I can. But I have to ask: what are you going to do when you find her?"

He didn't say "if" Zhou found her.

Zhou glanced out the window at the city below the penthouse apartment. Neo Monos was beautiful, practically a utopia for corpos. But he'd never seen the world from the perspective of someone who was already at the bottom, who had nothing left to lose. He wondered what Nova had been doing in Atlantis.

What was she searching for?

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm not going to let her go back to whatever… shithole she came from."

Lewis almost smiled. He extended his hand to the younger man.

"That's what I like to hear."

Zhou was looking for her in every corner of the city. His eyes kept darting around, sometimes causing him to lose his train of thought.

"Mate, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Lando finally snapped. "You've been in your own world since Atlantis! I thought you said Osc cleared you — I thought Osc said he cleared you!"

Zhou blinked rapidly. "He-he did." He looked around.

Ah, that's right. I'm visiting Charles's office with Lando as "representitives" of AloTech.

Charles was staring worriedly from where he sat at his desk. He glanced between Lando and Zhou. "Do you want to reschedule?" he asked softly.

"I…" Zhou faltered. He looked at Lando, who shrugged. "Lando can catch me up to speed. I think I'm going to head back to Marine Plaza and get some rest." He stood, offering a stiff, yet apologetic smile to his two friends.

He barely lifted a hand when Charles wished him well, and only nodded when Lando reminded him about dinner with Max and a few others. He thoughtlessly thanked Charles's secretary when she handed him his belongings, his mind racing a thousand kilometers per second as he staggered into the elevator.

His thoughts absorbed him as he emerged into the center of Neo Monos, his eyes wide as he took in the sights. If he had been as lucky in business as Max, or maybe had decided to pursue politics like Charles, he would've been able to settle down in this city. It was only the third time he'd been to Neo Monos, and in that moment, he was really seeing it for the first time.

There were people bustling around, happily chattering to themselves and to each other. It was like they were unbothered by the plight of the world around them. He wondered if any of them knew about the debate over art preservation happening in in Milan, only a four hour drive north, or about the industrial worker uprising in Montpellier, the same amount of travel time to the west. He wondered if they knew what was happening to the sex workers in his hometown of Shanghai, or even about the ongoing corporate scandal in Northern California.

These people were all living in a utopia, one that would be so easily shattered if they bothered walking outside of their bubble. But, then again, maybe that was why Neo Monos existed. To allow people to get away from it all.

And then, there was a familiar voice on the air, shaking him from his thoughts and violently yanking him back to reality.

"Thank you very much. Have a good one." His eyes immediately locked onto the source. He saw her — Nova — walking away from a food stall, probably a pop up by one of the local places, a pastry clutched in her delicate hands.

His feet carried him forwards before he could even think. He kept his eyes trained on her back as she made her way back into the crowds. Even with her cybernetics almost completely covered, he could never forget that voice.

His heart almost stopped when she made to turn the side of a corner building, and he pushed himself to move just a bit faster. He caught her arm as she began to round the corner. She spun, eyes wide, almost dropping her pastry. He reached out and caught it before it could hit the ground, still not letting go of her arm.

"Nova," he breathed.

Her eyes went even wider, and she took a step back. She tried to yank her arm from his grip. He only tightened his hold.

"Let go," she warned, her voice low. "I'm not afraid to do it again."

"Wait." He held up her pastry. She looked at him warily, and he sighed, letting his hand slide down her arm until he was cupping her hand in his. He turned her hand so the back of her hand rested in his, and he put the pastry right in her palm. "I'm not here to hurt you. I-I'm sorry I scared you. I just… wanted to talk."

She watched him for a moment, searching his eyes for any sense of dishonesty. When she couldn't find any, she sighed, relaxing. "Just talk?" she asked, still staring at him like he'd change his tune.

"Just talk."

Nova bit her lip and looked around. She seemed to sag in relief. "C'mon. Let's go somewhere else." He nodded, feeling his fingertips tingle as he allowed her to take him by the hand and lead him through the city center to the waterfront.

She stood at the edge of the harbor, looking out at the ships as they came and went. Zhou only watched her, taking a seat on the bench just behind her.

"I really am sorry about what happened a few days ago." She paused, biting her lip. She dropped his hand, and his fingers twitched, already missing her touch. "I mean. What I did."

Zhou shook his head. "I can't really say I understand. But I'm not hurt. There was no permanent damage. I'm okay. It's okay." He stopped himself from word vomitting any more than he already was, instead watching for her reaction.

She fidgeted under his gaze. "It must've hurt, though."

He shrugged. "If it did, I don't remember it." He reached out, wanting to put his hand on her arm reassuringly, but he paused. She was so small, curled into herself. His fingers curled, and he pulled his hand back, instead gripping his knee.

Taking a large bite of her pastry, she chewed slowly, making a face when she swallowed. "This place is so expensive, and somehow, the food tastes like shit." She sighed, sitting next to him. In silence, she took another bite, this one so much smaller.

For a second, Zhou watched her. "Why are you here?" The question slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

Her fingers tightened around the pastry, crushing it in her grip. "Because… because I have to be." She pursed her lips. The crushed pastry fell, hitting the ground, as she hung her head in defeat. Zhou could see the NuSkin covering she wore on the back of her head to hide her neural implant, and he frowned. His heart ached.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

She laughed humorlessly. "For what?"

"I… I did some digging. Asked for help finding you." She looked surprised, but that surprise quickly morphed into something akin to horror. "I'm sorry, I—"

"You know about me, then?" she asked. His stomach turned at the hardness in her voice. "About…" She gestured to her body — her implants.

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. Suddenly, the ships entering the harbor seemed much more interesting. "Yeah."

There was a long, tense moment of silence between the two. Zhou could feel his stomach aching, acid bubbling in his throat. He wanted to vomit out another apology or some sort of comfort, but he couldn't find the words. He cursed himself internally.

She stood sharply, purposefully stepping on the remnants of the overpriced pastry. She dug her heel into the pavement as she turned, leaning down to bring their faces close. He almost jumped out of his skin, eyes wide at their proximity.

"Well, you found me, so it's my turn. Let me show you something." She reached down, grabbing his hand. "C'mon." He couldn't say a word as she pulled him off the bench. His feet mindlessly followed her, his eyes trained on her back as she pulled him through the city. He didn't even pay attention to where he was going as she turned corner after corner, dodging people and cars, until they reached a hidden stairway that led to a doorway.

She pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them. He gaped at the little one room apartment. It was maybe the size of his closet, with only a tiny window letting in light. The room was practically covered in monitors, their light illuminating the mattress in the middle of the floor.

"Is this…?"

"Mine? For now, yeah." She knelt down on the mattress, grabbing a cardboard box and rummaging through it. "Sit down, I want to show you this." He obeyed, still transfixed by her living space. The mattress was hard under him. He wondered if she'd ever been comfortable a day in her life. "Stay still. This'll be weird, but I promise it's safe."

He sat as still as he could, so much so that he felt like he would freeze in place. She gently turned his wrist, pulled out his personal link, and jacked it into the port on her wrist. He shivered; it was such a strange experience, linking to someone else. She never took her eyes off him as she plugged her own personal into his wrist, a deep, shuddering breath leaving her body.

Careful to not disturb the wires that linked them, she leaned forward and lifted a dark cloth to his face. He leaned back. "What—"

"Trust me. It helps with immersion." He nodded slowly, ordering his body to relax. She was gentle as she tied the cloth around his eyes, darkening his vision completely. "Okay. Close your eyes."

He did.

There was a buzzing in the back of his mind, a soft itch in his wrist, and then, his thoughts were flooded.

It was so dark.

Zhou had never experienced darkness like it before. He looked around, panic creeping through him.

"Hey."

Nova.

"Relax. It's safe." It was like she appeared from out of nowhere, emerging from the darkness. "I'm showing you why I'm here." She took a deep breath. He couldn't see much, but he could feel her fingers twining with his. "Just follow me."

He obeyed without question. They walked through the darkness, her hand tightly wrapped around his, and he stared at her. He knew it was a dream, something she was sharing with him through their link. He wondered if that was why she wasn't hiding her implants.

He could see her neural link, could see her metal spine, her carbon fiber back, and all of the wires wrapped around her. His chest hurt with a deep pain that he couldn't quite place.

"It doesn't hurt." He blinked. "These implants, I mean." She turned to shoot him a half smile, one filled with an emotion he couldn't identify. Her smile widened at his confusion. "We're linked, Zhou. I can hear your thoughts."

Oh. Does that mean you can see my memories?

"No, but only because I'm not looking." She squeezed his hand. "I'm letting you see what I want you to see, and I'm only trying to hear your thoughts so we can talk."

I see.

"You don't understand at all, huh."

Nope.

She laughed. It was a pretty laugh, clear, like a bell. "C'mon." Like she had only a few minutes before, she pulled him with her. "We're almost free."

His ears perked up at the word. She said it so reverently, so wistfully. He held his breath as the darkness parted, a light at the end of the tunnel growing brighter and brighter as they picked up the pace. They went faster and faster until they were running, breaking away from the dark.

Zhou blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the darkness was gone.

Instead, they were standing on a beach. He was taken aback by how much he felt. The sand against his skin felt so real. He'd never smelled the ocean before, not like this, but he knew it was just as real. He stared out at the sea, letting the sound of the waves crashing against the shore echo. It was so loud, but it was so soothing, too. The setting sun bathed his skin with its warmth. He couldn't remember feeling anything like it, even if it was the same sun as he felt every day.

"This is where I lived after I got out of that place." He didn't look at Nova, but he squeezed her hand encouragingly. "This is freedom. I can be whoever I want to be here."

"Then why aren't you still there?" he asked, glancing over at her.

She smiled wryly. "Because I don't belong to myself." She took a step closer to him. "I have a friend who helped me get out. But he can't protect me forever. They tried to take me back, and he negotiated for me. We can buy my freedom if I do enough for those people."

His eyes widened. The pieces were falling into place. "That's… that's barbaric," he choked out.

"That's business." She shook her head. "It's okay. One last job, and I can go back to this place. It won't be a dream in just a few days." She smiled, this one filled with genuine hope, and Zhou's heart skipped a beat.

"One last job, huh?" he mused. "It'd better be an easy one."

She was silent for a moment. He hated that her smile fell right off her face, regret and sadness taking its place. "The job… it's to get rid of Max Verstappen," she admitted. He suddenly felt sick. "They want him taken down, and they think the best way to do it is to make him guilty of insider trading and manipulation. To make his deals illegitimate."

It was a smart plan, as much as he hated to admit it. Max was practically untouchable in the grand scheme of things, positioned as one of the most loved business owners in Neo Monos. With allies like Charles and Lando, both wielding power in their own ways, Max was protected from most outside attacks. But if internal data implicating him in a criminal scandal was to emerge, there wouldn't be anything anyone could do to protect him.

"I…" He was at a loss for words as he took a step back, the shock rocketing through his whole body. He didn't even notice as he dropped her hand.

She followed him, stepping forward. "That's why I was at Atlantis. I wasn't there to take anything." She took both of his hands in hers. Their eyes met, and he could see the remorse and desperation shining in her eyes. "I don't want this. You can help Max, tell him whatever you want. Keep this from surfacing. Or, at least, keep his enemies from finding proof."

"Why?"

"That night, you looked at me like I was a person."

"Because you are."

She shook her head. "Not to most people. They look at me, and they see a chrome freak. A cyber addict. Or, worst of all, a tool they can use." She squeezed his hands again, and took another step closer to him. He didn't move, his fingers still limp in her hold. "You're the first person since I got out to not look at me like that at all."

"How could I?" he replied, the words finally coming easily to him. His fingers slowly closed around hers, gripping her hands tightly. "You're… incredible. Most people wouldn't last a second with that much tech. You've got to be seriously strong to not just live, but keep your mind whole."

She almost laughed. "That wasn't your first thought when you saw me, though."

He froze. "No." His admission was slow, but not hesitant at all. "It's because I think you're pretty."

"Even when I'm made of wires?"

"Doesn't make you less of a person." He summoned all his bravery and took another step closer, dropping her hands in favor of wrapping his arms around her. "I wanted to know."

"Know?"

He could feel his breath hitting her lips. "I wanted to know if what I felt was real." He paused, feeling his heart beating out of his skin. "It is." He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

She pulled back, gently pressing her palms against his chest. "Wait, Zhou." He paused, worry creasing his forehead. "Sorry, no, not a bad thing, I promise. I just… want it to be real."

He immediately understood. "Jack us out," he murmured.

The world began to flicker. The sunset over the ocean disappeared. The ocean, too. Then the beach. And finally, her.

He closed his eyes.

His senses slowly flickered back to life. He opened his eyes, but he still only saw darkness. He remembered that he still had the blindfold on, and he reached up to take it off.

A pair of hands stopped him, the touch achingly familiar.

"Wait. Just one more minute." Her voice was wavering. He paused, letting her pull his hands down from his face. "Was that… real?"

"Is what real?"

"You fell in love with me that night? And still felt that way, even after I shorted your tech? And even now, knowing that my job was to hurt your friend?"

He could hear her trembling, could feel her shaking. He reached out blindly, running his hands up her arms until he reached her shoulders. They were cold to the touch, the NuSkin unable to mask the carbon fiber and metal that made up most of her body.

"It's real."

The next thing he felt was her lips pressed against his. They were warm, fully hers, without any augments or changes. So were her tears. He held on tighter, reveling in the way her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. Even though she her body was still wracked as she silently cried, he held her, letting her use him as her rock.

When they parted, she pulled the blindfold off, and as his eyes were adjusting to the light, he grinned widely. "Any chance that beach of yours has room for two?" he asked.

"Maybe," she teased, running her fingers over the cyberware on his neck. "You'll have to stick around to find out."

He took a deep breath in, a pleasant shiver running up and down his spine. He hummed, leaning to press his forehead against her neck. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise." He was worried that his words would be muffled, but, judging by the way her breath hitched, there was nothing to be worried about.

"By the way, my name isn't actually Nova," she admitted. She leaned in and whispered her real name into his ear. The sound of it sent a shiver down his spine. She pulled back with a small smile. "Now you know something no one else does."

Message: Lewis Hamilton Found Nova. You were right about where she's from. Those bastards are still blackmailing her. Making her buy her freedom. You said you've got no love for corpos, right? Any chance you'd be willing to make it so they can't hurt her anymore?

Message: Guanyu Zhou Abso-fucking-lutely. Just let me know what you need. Oh, and congrats on getting the girl.

[onepointsixkm]

not me walking in right as the season starts with all the stuff i've been writing since mid 2024 season LMAO HELP

[onepointsixkm]

just call me yours ⛐ 𝐙𝐆𝟐𝟒

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 “you know, if this were a drama, this would be the part where the love interest gives the hero some kind of incentive before his big moment.”

♫ starring: zhou guanyu x childhood crush!reader. ♫ word count: 3.2k. ♫ includes: romance, friendship, fluff. mentions of food. ferrari reserve driver!zhou, childhood friends, one-act and open-ended. anon requested yesterday by jay park. ♫ commentary box: jumped with joy when i saw a zhou request and of course i had to do something hometown-hero adjacent in time for shanghai. ‹𝟹 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Zhou isn’t hiding.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he stands in the dimly lit snack aisle of a convenience store just outside the circuit, hands tucked into the pockets of his Ferrari team jacket. The store is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the paddock, where team personnel scramble to adjust strategies and media personnel wait like vultures for a comment.

He should be in the garage. Should be going over last-minute preparations, listening to his engineers, doing something productive. But instead, he’s here, staring blankly at a shelf stocked with shrimp chips and hawthorn candies, the same ones he used to buy as a kid.

He’s never subbed in for a race before. Not like this. Not at home.

It should be a dream come true. And yet, all he can feel is the crushing weight of expectation pressing down on him. 

China’s first F1 driver, back in Shanghai, stepping in for Charles Leclerc. The headlines write themselves. He knows what people are saying— that it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance, that he needs to prove himself, that this could be the opportunity that changes everything.

He believes that. Really, he does. Right now, though, he just needs a second to breathe.

The jingle of the convenience store door barely registers in his mind, drowned out by his own thoughts. It’s only when someone steps into the aisle with him that he glances up, and—

Oh.

You.

It takes a second for the recognition to settle in, for the years to melt away and for him to see you as you were back then. Before he left, before England, before everything. You, standing there with a basket in hand, looking just as startled to see him.

“Zhou?” Your voice is hesitant, like you can’t quite believe it’s him.

A stunned beat passes. 

Then, suddenly, he’s a kid again, racing down familiar streets on a bicycle too big for him, laughing breathlessly as you try to keep up. He remembers summer afternoons spent swapping snacks, the endless debates over whose mom made better dumplings, the way he had promised— so earnestly, so naively— he’d come back soon.

He never did.

He swallows, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. It’s been a while,” he greets in English, because that’s what he instinctively clings to nowadays. 

You huff out something between a laugh and a scoff. “That’s one way to put it,” you say, though not unkindly. You ignore his English, jumping right into the familiar, sharp lilt of Shanghainese. 

Just like that, the tension in Zhou’s chest loosens a little. Because if there was ever a moment to be reminded of who he was before all the pressure, the expectations, it’s now. Standing in a convenience store with an old friend, surrounded by childhood comforts. Speaking a language that he knows like the back of his hand. 

Maybe, just maybe, he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

Your eyes flicker toward the screen above the register, where the news ticker rolls on a muted sports channel. It takes a second to register, but then you must see it. Zhou Guanyu to drive for Ferrari this weekend; Leclerc ruled out with food poisoning.

You glance back at him, arms folded as he pretends to be very interested in a bag of shrimp chips. “So,” you start, watching for the moment his shoulders tense, “Ferrari, huh?”

An easy, practiced smile slips onto his face like a mask he’s worn a thousand times before. “Yeah,” he says, giving a light chuckle as he finally slips into the mother tongue you share. “Crazy, right? Big opportunity.”

He’s always been good at looking composed, but you still know him too well. You catch the way his fingers tighten around the bag, the way his breath isn’t quite as steady as he wants it to be.

“Guanyu,” you say, and his name still feels natural in your mouth despite the years. He blinks at you, smile faltering just a fraction, and that’s all the confirmation you need. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m excited,” he corrects immediately.

“You’re lying,” you counter just as quickly.

Zhou shakes his head, looking down at the snack aisle like it holds some sort of escape route. “I forgot you were always annoying like this.”

“You forgot a lot of things,” you tease, plucking the shrimp chips from his grip. “Like how you’ve never been able to lie to me.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him. “Maybe,” he admits. Then, after a moment. Softer, quieter, “It’s just… a lot.”

You nod, understanding without him needing to explain. The weight of it all— especially here, in front of a home crowd. He doesn’t have to say it. You can see it in the way he’s hiding out in a convenience store, looking for something familiar to ground him.

“Well,” you say, turning toward the counter, “at least you don’t have to face it on an empty stomach.”

You ignore his questioning look as you hand the cashier a bill, motioning toward the shrimp chips and grabbing a couple more snacks while you’re at it. Zhou’s eyes widen as he realizes what you’re doing.

“Wait— no, I should be treating you,” he stammers, reaching for his wallet. “I’m the driver here, remember?”

You scoff. “Please. It’s the least I can do for a hometown hero.”

He huffs a surprised laugh, but doesn’t argue any further. His parents would probably admonish him for having such terrible bill game, and against a family friend, no less. He lets you win, though, because he can already barely keep his head on straight. When you hand him the bag, he takes it with a quiet, sincere “Thanks.”

One look at his face gives you the impression that he still doesn’t want to head back out. He’s recognized at every corner, revered for being the one who made it. It’s not something he wants to face. Not yet. Not at this moment. 

You exchange a couple of words with the cashier, who— despite undoubtedly recognizing Zhou— has been benevolently normal this entire time. The driver think it might be some skewed sense of pity, the one aunties and uncles shower him with when they coo about how young he is. How fast his cars are, and how his mother probably worries about him all the damn time. 

You beckon at Zhou. He hesitates for just a moment before following you toward the back of the store, casting a glance toward the circuit entrance like it might drag him back by force. But he doesn’t resist when you push open a door near the stock shelves, leading him into a dimly lit backroom filled with extra inventory and an old, humming fridge.

“I used to hide back here all the time,” you say, settling onto an upturned crate. “The store owner’s my uncle. He never minds as long as I don’t mess with his stock.”

Zhou watches as you dig through the plastic bag of snacks you had insisted on paying for. He knows he should be heading back soon— Fred will probably be calling in the next fifteen minutes— but for now, he allows himself this reprieve.

“Didn’t peg you as a troublemaker,” he murmurs, accepting a bottle of water when you pass it to him.

“You’d be surprised.” You flash a grin before tearing open a bag of dried plums. “So? Are you going to pretend for much longer, or are you going to admit you’re terrified out of your mind?”

Zhou fingers pausing where they’re picking at the label of his water bottle. “I—”

You tilt your head, giving him a knowing look. “Come on, Zhou. You still can’t lie to me.”

He sighs, shoulders sagging slightly as the tension in his frame unravels. “I should be excited,” he admits. “This is what I’ve worked for, right? A shot in a Ferrari, in front of my home crowd. But I just— I didn’t expect it to happen like this.”

“You wanted it to be on your own terms,” you offer.

Zhou nods, rubbing his temple. “And it’s Charles’ seat. I’m just keeping it warm.”

“But you’re still driving it,” you counter, nudging his knee with yours. “That has to count for something.”

He looks at you, then, searching for doubt in your expression, but he only finds certainty. The same certainty you always had when you were kids, when you’d tell him he’d be a champion one day. Back then, he had believed you so easily.

“Guess I just need to keep the car out of the wall,” Zhou grumbles, mostly to himself.

“You’re capable of a lot more than that,” you say, popping a dried plum into your mouth. Then, after a beat, you smirk. “Though, I should be honest— I’m mostly being nice because of the embarrassing crush you had on me back then.”

There it is. 

Zhou chokes on his water. “What?”

You laugh, watching his ears go red. “Oh, come on. You thought I didn’t know?”

“I—” Zhou gapes at you before groaning and pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “That was so long ago.”

And it has been so long ago. Some 17 years, in fact, since he was helplessly, hopelessly enamored with everything you did. It’d been the classic ‘first love’ trope, the one that had both your parents consulting fortune tellers and shamans for a read on how well this might pan out. 

Zhou never bothered to ask what they found when they went looking, but he’d always secretly hoped that it was something good. An invisible cord of red, tying the two of you two together. 

“It was still pretty cute.” You grin, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. “I mean, you followed me everywhere. You’d blush so hard whenever I held your hand—”

“Okay, okay,” he grumbles, but there’s no real frustration in his voice. Just a quiet sort of fondness.

“You should’ve just told me,” you tease, popping another dried plum into your mouth. “Maybe I would’ve liked you back.”

Zhou chuckles as he leans back against a stack of crates. “Too late for that now, isn’t it?”

You hum, glancing at him. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Oh. That’s— oh. 

He swallows around the lump forming in his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of how warm it is in the backroom. Or maybe it’s just his pulse hammering in his ears. He hadn’t expected you to tease him about this, and he definitely hadn’t expected the look in your eyes when you did. 

Amused, yes. Something else, too. Something much mote honest.

He licks his lips, stalling. “You’re only saying all this now ‘cause I’m in F1, aren’t you?” he teases, though it doesn’t come out quite as lighthearted as he hopes. 

He’s trying not to sound desperate, but he is. Just a little. Because if you tell him yes, that the past doesn’t really matter and it’s all about the here and now— well. He’s not sure he’ll like that answer.

You scoff, rolling your eyes before breaking off a piece of the candy bar you’d been working on. “Don’t be an idiot,” you snap.

You hold the chocolate up to his lips, and before he can think twice about it, he lets you feed him.

That, too, is something that reminds him of his childhood. The easy consideration the two of you would trade. Always picking each other first on the playground. Your favorite Kai-Lan band-aids in the pocket of his backpack; his class schedule, scribbled on the back of all your notebooks. 

You watch him for a moment before adding on to your answer. “You think I just woke up one day and decided, ‘Oh, that Zhou Guanyu is pretty cute now that he’s a Ferrari driver’?” Your lips curve in a way that’s almost rueful. “Come on. Give me some credit.”

Zhou watches you, trying not to let his face betray just how much he’s hanging onto every word.

“I thought you were cute when you were just the boy next door,” you admit, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “Before all of this.” 

You gesture vaguely, as if to encompass his career, the world of Formula 1, the pressure he now carries on his back. “You were already Zhou Guanyu before you were the Zhou Guanyu.”

A mix of affection and relief settles warm in Zhou’s chest. It’s stupid how much he needed to hear that. How much he needed someone, you, to remind him that he’s still just him, that the world can blur around him all it wants, but the parts that matter— the parts that make him— don’t have to change.

“You could’ve told me that back then,” he says, watching you with something like wonder.

You shrug before offering him another bite of chocolate. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He takes it from your fingers, holding your gaze. He chews slowly, considering his words before finally speaking.

“You never reached out,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice light. “All these years, and not a single message?”

You blink at him, a little caught off guard. Then you raise your shoulders raise in a shrug. “Didn’t think I’d matter much to you anymore,” you say in that clinical, cutting tone that reminds him of his elementary teachers. 

Zhou frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“I mean, look at you. F1 driver, racing in front of millions, rubbing elbows with celebrities. I wasn’t sure if I—” You pause, toying with the wrapper of your snack. “I didn’t know if I belonged in that world. Your world.”

Zhou’s throat feels tight, because it’s ridiculous. The idea that you, of all people, could think that.

He shifts slightly, tilting his head at you. “That’s dumb.” There’s no real bite to his tone. “You didn’t even try.”

You shoot him a half-hearted glare. “What, and risk finding out that you’ve completely forgotten about me? My ego isn’t strong enough for that.”

“I wouldn’t have forgotten you.”

“Please. I’m sure you had plenty of other crushes after me.”

At that, Zhou falls quiet. Not because you’re right, but because… well.

He sorts through his memories, combing through years of traveling, of new places and new faces, of fleeting affections that never quite lingered long enough to mean anything. And yet, somehow, some of his fondest memories— the ones that have stayed, steady and stubborn— involve you. 

The curb outside your house where you sat with fruit-flavored popsicles under the rancid, summer heat. Plates of peking duck and bowls of egg drop soup shared for every birthday, every end-of-school celebration. The one and only time he was brave— the chaste kiss he pressed to your cheek the day that he was set to leave, and how the warmth of your skin had lingered on his lips throughout the 16-hour flight. 

He’d been young then. A kid with a crush. 

He’s older now, which he supposes makes him an adult with a crush. Infinitely worse, he privately decides. 

Zhou clears his throat and forces a smirk on to his lips. “Yeah, of course,” he lies, casual and smooth. “I’ve had loads of crushes since you.”

You don’t call him out on it, but he sees it in the way your eyes linger on him, in the way your grin widens just a little. You know. Of course you do. But you let it slide. Instead, you just laugh under your breath as you pick up another snack. “Figured as much,” you tease. 

The next couple of moments pass with the cursory small talk. You trade stories about your parents; you tell him about your job. When you mention having tickets for Sunday, he tries not to think too deeply about it.

Everyone will have their eyes on him this weekend. Now, though, you’ve cursed him to only look out for yours. 

Zhou stretches his arms over his head, eyeing the empty snack wrappers scattered between you. The small escape you carved out for him has come to an end, and you both know it. He needs to head back. The team is probably already wondering where he disappeared to.

Still, Zhou can’t resist one last jab. 

“You know,” he starts, voice as casual as he can manage, “if this were a drama, this would be the part where the love interest gives the hero some kind of incentive before his big moment.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Zhou leans in slightly, feigning deep thought. “Something like, ‘Win the race and I’ll go on a date with you,’ or ‘If you finish in the points, I’ll give you a kiss.’” He grins. “That kind of thing.”

You roll your eyes, but the upward tilt of your lips betrays you. “Is that what you want? Some cheesy incentive to get you through the weekend?”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t say no to it.”

After a beat of consideration, you fix him with a look— one that’s exasperated undeniably sincere. “Alright, fine,” you concede. “If you finish the race unscathed, maybe I’ll give you a proper confession.”

Zhou blinks. “A confession?”

“You know. The whole ‘I like you’ speech, but a little more eloquent.”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “You’re telling me you’ve been holding out on me?”

“Maybe.” You break out into a grin that makes his ribs ache. “Or maybe I just want to make sure you make it to the end in one piece before I say anything too heartfelt.”

“If you finish in the points, though,” you continue, tapping a finger to your chin in mock contemplation, “maybe I’ll throw in a little something more.”

He straightens, eyes sparking with interest. “Something more?”

You don’t elaborate. You just smile at him, slow and knowing, before standing up and dusting off your hands.

Zhou follows suit, walking with you back toward the front of the store. His mind is already racing, trying to guess what exactly something more entails. He doesn’t get a chance to ask, though, because as you reach the door, you pause— turning back to look at him one last time.

“Oh,” you say, like it’s an afterthought. “Just so you know, I don’t usually kiss on the first date.”

This wasn’t a date, wasn’t it? Zhou’s confused by the sudden statement, and it’s evident in the way he drags out a befuddled “Okay…?”

You grin, your voice dropping just slightly. “But I suppose childhood crushes have some exceptions.”

Zhou barely has time to process what you’ve just said before you step outside, leaving him standing there— completely gobsmacked, mouth slightly open, brain short-circuiting. By the time he recovers, you’re already halfway down the street, a bounce in your step.

It’s a threat as much as it is a promise.

It’s a reminder that what the two of you have is not the red string of fate that he once so fervently hoped for. 

The two of you are a taut rubber band, stretched across continents and decades— something that was always meant to snap back into place. 

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for when he ducked into this convenience store, but now, as he steps back into the light of the Shanghai afternoon, he knows one thing for certain.

Zhou is done hiding. ⛐

ScuderiaFerrari Putting the "hero" in "hometown hero" 🇨🇳 ZhouGuanyu24 finishes P7!

[onepointsixkm]

Part IV: Brilliant Red

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix went up in smoke as the end of the world began. You and a group of your friends managed to escape, but not without loss, as the dead began to walk.

featuring: SV5, CL16, OP81, LS2, & GR63. (mentions of LN4, DR3, + others)

warnings: zombie apocalypse! features character death, gore, and other genre conventions/staples. please do not engage if you are uncomfortable with any of the potential warnings! this chapter specifically contains major character death.

notes: I am sorry.

word count: 4,825

You wondered how it had ended up like this.

You’d made it out of the Rifle Club, feeling like you had more of a fighting chance, although the gun still felt like a weight on your belt. Logan had managed to find holsters for some of the pistols. You, Oscar, and Charles held them, while Logan just tucked his into his belt. Although you felt more secure with your newfound firearms, you knew you were no safer.

For a few minutes, it was quiet. The silence between the five of you was thick, unsaid words floating around your group. You could hear Logan fidgeting with the straps of his bag, could hear Oscar gently trying to soothe his nerves. You didn't want to look back at the two of them, not wanting to force Logan to act strong.

But as you walked down the street, making sure to keep close to each other, a hand suddenly stopped you. Charles had reached out, arm blocking you from moving. You glanced up at him, and he just nodded towards a large group of zombies gathering near the end of the road, the one that was closer to the heart of the city. "That way's the quickest back," he murmured, "but it's too dangerous."

You bit your lip, eyes darting from his nervous stare to the converging zombies his eyes were fixed on. "There's probably another way, right?" you asked softly.

"We can go through the back streets," Seb interjected. "It'll take longer, but it'll be safer. All we can do is avoid them."

"And if there's more?" Charles challenged.

Seb was quiet for a moment, his eyes hard as he and Charles stared each other down challengingly. You glanced between them, wondering when the tension between the two had grown to be so palpable. You chanced a look back at Oscar and Logan, who looked just as confused as you felt. When you met Oscar's eyes, he shook his head and shrugged. Unable to stop yourself, you turned and reached out to grab Charles's arm. He barely looked at you, but forced himself to relax.

Seeing this, Seb sighed heavily, running a hand over his haggard-looking face. "We'll figure it out."

As Seb led you through side streets that would bring you back to Lando’s apartment, trying to avoid the main stretch of road as much as possible, you fell back to walk with Charles.

"What was that?" you asked, keeping your voice level. He grunted in feigned confusion, and you wanted to roll your eyes at his willful ignorance. "With Seb, Charles."

He nearly groaned, reaching up to ruffle his hair. "It's childish, I know."

"Charles, I don't get it. You and Seb have been close for a long time, longer than I've known either of you. Why did it seem like you wanted to fight him?"

Charles hesitated. He stared at Seb's back as the older man walked several meters ahead of you, peering down different streets as he crept along the sides of the streets. "It's nothing. Just that… he's making all these calls, and I don't know if they're the right calls. He's smart, I know he is, but this isn't like a race. It's not tyre management or overtaking on track, it's… it's life and death. If he makes a bad call, he puts all of us at risk." Charles looked sick as soon as he said the words.

You knew then that it wasn't about Seb. It wasn't even about Charles. It was all fear and worry for his loved ones. For as convinced as Charles had been that others were alive — that they had to be alive — he'd clearly been shaken by what he'd seen in the streets of the city he loved so much. You'd heard the way his voice had trembled when he'd asked you to swear that you'd never let him end up like the people in the rifle club had.

"Charles…" You bit your lip, your words failing you.

"He's doing his best. I wouldn't have made different choices," he admitted, eyes still trained on Seb. "I just feel this… this pit in my stomach. Like something has to give. Like the world is still hungry for our misery." He finally looked over at you, and your heart jolted at the sheer sorrow. "It feels like it hasn't taken enough yet."

You didn't know what to say to him. You wanted to reassure him, wanted to say anything to make him believe that his gut was just playing tricks on him. That pit in his stomach wasn't real, and you'd all make it to see the next morning. But you didn't know if you could promise that.

The sun was still high in the sky. It was a beautiful day, but as you let Charles's words simmer in your mind, it started to feel ominous.

"You should check on Logan," Charles finally said to you. You hated how he was always doing that, always putting the feelings of those around him before his own. "You've always been looking out for him. I think he needs that more than I do right now."

You nodded and allowed yourself to slow down, pacing yourself until you were walking with Logan and Oscar.

"Hey," you began. Logan managed a weak smile. His hand was tracing over the grip of his pistol as he turned it in his hands. "You both doing okay?" As soon as the words left you, you faltered; of course Logan wasn't doing okay.

"We're good," Oscar quickly scrambled to reply. "As good as we can be, y'know?" He nudged Logan, who didn't reply, just kept his eyes on the gun. Concern flashed over Oscar's face, but he pushed it back.

You both struggled to find something to say as you both kept glancing over at Logan, who was still lost in thought. You weren't sure how long it was before he pulled himself out of his thoughts with a sigh so deep that it practically echoed. His grip tightened around the gun, then he slid it into the belt of his jeans.

Logan smiled tightly. "Can you give us a minute?" Although Oscar hesitated, he nodded, jogging a bit to catch up with Charles. As he did, Charles glanced back at the two of you with a worried frown. You sent back a short nod, trying to reassure him. Logan waited until no one else was looking at you. "It feels like it's been a lifetime, but it's been less than two days," he murmured.

"It's been a long two days. A lot's happened."

"Yeah… yeah." He laughed humorlessly, his blue eyes the dullest you'd ever seen them. "I keep thinking about Daniel. And Carlos. And Fred. And why I got to live while they didn't." He hesitated. "I heard a little of what you and Charles were saying back there."

The promise.

"I don't think I could do it," he admitted, not waiting for you to speak. "Not again. Call me a coward if you want, but… I don't want to see anyone else die. And especially not for me."

You slowly reached for his hand and twined your fingers together, hoping that your touch could comfort him where words couldn't. He squeezed back, although he was hesitant.

"Promise me that you won't try to save me if it comes down to it."

"Logan…" You shook your head. There was no world in which you could promise that. If he was bit, if he was in front of you, you knew you'd rush to his side. "I can't promise that."

"You promised Charles that you'd kill him before he could turn." His grip on your hand grew firmer. "Promise me that if… if saving me means getting yourself killed, you won't do it. You'll let me handle it." You couldn't stop yourself from continuing to shake your head, trying desperately to deny what he was saying. "I mean it. I know I may not look like much, but I'll at least try to face death with dignity. Enough people died saving me." He let go of your hand, and suddenly, your skin felt much colder. "I won't let that happen again."

All you could do was watch wordlessly as he shifted his backpack and moved to catch up with Oscar and Charles. Seb had stopped by a convenience store at the end of the block, and was peering into the front window. Oscar threw you a look, and you bit your lip. His eyes narrowed, and he silently waited, letting Charles and Logan catch up to Seb, until you stood next to him.

"What'd he say?" Oscar practically demanded.

Words caught in your throat. You looked up at Oscar, seeing the frantic worry for his friend in every aspect of his body language.

"Logan asked me to… to promise him that we wouldn't try to save him if anything happened."

Oscar was deathly silent. "What?" He'd gone pale.

"Daniel really took a toll on him, Osc," you murmured. "He doesn't want anyone else risking their life for him."

He shook his head, eyes narrowing as his face paled even further. "No, no. He doesn't get to decide that. We're practically family, and I-I can't… I wouldn't just leave him. We don't leave people."

"I know," you tried, but Oscar wasn't hearing any of it. His face had clouded with fury, and you could only watch as he stormed up to Logan, stopping him before he could follow Seb and Charles into the store.

They spoke quietly enough that you couldn't hear them as you passed. You kept your head down, not wanting to get in the middle of the two of them, and followed the others into the store.

"What's that about?" Charles asked. Your only reply was a stiff smile. He made a noise of understanding.

"Prioritize any food that doesn't go bad or water," Seb ordered quietly, already raiding the shelves. "We'll need water more than anything if the system is down." You looked over at Charles, who only hesitated for a moment before following Seb's lead.

It only took five minutes before Oscar and Logan joined you. They wordlessly began shoving food and water into their bags. Less than fifteen minutes later, you left the store, bags significantly heavier.

As Logan passed you on the way out, you caught his eye, gesturing to Oscar. His face fell. "We're good," he said, but the stiffness in his voice told you that things weren't as good as he wanted you to believe.

"I'll talk to him later," you assured Oscar, who followed Logan out. He sighed and nodded, quickening his pace to catch up to Logan. Logan didn't even look at Oscar, just gently patted his shoulder.

Even if you felt like things would be okay, you would soon find yourself taking it all back. All it took was a single moment of carelessness to bring down what felt like the entire city of undead on you.

Maybe you should've listened to Charles's gut.

One of those things had grabbed Oscar. It’d been leaning against an abandoned car, playing dead, as Seb stepped over it, followed by you and Charles. But when Oscar had tried to move past it, it sprung to life with a quickness you hadn’t expected of a corpse, and latched onto his leg with a snarl.

Oscar had yelped, struggling backwards as he swung his golf club wildly. You’d all turned to see him fighting, but Logan had gotten there quicker. He’d kicked the zombie in the face, then brought his club down, his eyes wild.

It wasn’t until after Logan had stopped swinging that you heard it. A car alarm. One of the boys had accidentally shattered the window of the car the zombie had been leaning against, and now, it was blaring loudly, violently, echoing throughout the small, quiet city.

Seb knew there was no use in staying quiet anymore as he yelled for you all to run. Your group sprinted down the street as zombies seemed to pour from everywhere. Every alleyway, every open building, every seemingly abandoned car. Suddenly, there was nowhere to go.

You’d frantically followed Seb, who led you down twisting and turning streets, desperately running through the few openings you’d managed to find. But every opening led you further and further away from your destination.

“We can’t stay out here! We either have to find somewhere to wait this out, or we fight!” Charles shouted, desperate to be heard over the growls of the undead that were closing in on your group. His hands were shaking, you noticed, but kept that observation to yourself.

Seb pursed his lips, sweat dripping down his face as he frantically turned, searching for a way out. “Just keep going!” he yelled back. “We’ll figure it out! We have to!”

Despite his assurances, it’d only taken a few minutes before you were boxed in.

As you slammed your golf club into zombie after zombie, fighting to keep them away from you and the people you cared about, you fought back how sick you felt. These were people once, too. You knew that you weren’t given much of a choice, knew that you had to fight them so both you and your friends could survive. But it didn’t make it easier.

You glanced over at Charles, whose face had gone pale. His hands were still shaking, despite the strength he put into each of his strikes. Sebastian, although steadier on his feet, was wearing a frown on his face as he kept swinging. The rifle on his back bounced as he swung around, jamming his crowbar into the skulls of the undead over and over.

There was no end to them.

The gun on your hip felt heavier with each passing second. You could practically hear the bullets you put in your bag clattering around. But you resisted the urge to pull the gun from its holster, knowing that the bullets you had wouldn’t even make a dent.

Oh. We’re going to die.

It was with a sudden calm that the thought washed over you. Your club almost slipped from your hands as fear settled into your bones. You were almost surprised that you weren’t feeling more than this. It was almost with a resignation that you recognized that you were about to die. You wouldn’t be able to find the rest of your friends. They’d die thinking you left them. And everyone else would die with you. Seb and Charles and Oscar and Logan. And George, he’d keep waiting for you all to come back, but you’d be dead. You wondered how long it would be until he realized that you weren’t coming back.

You wondered when the other shoe would drop.

A call of your name broke you from your trance. Charles was glaring at you, blood splattered across his face. “Get it together,” he growled. “Just because I swore I wouldn’t let you turn doesn’t mean you’re allowed to die on me. So, get out of your head. I need you here.”

You nodded quickly, trying to blink the tears out of your eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I know,” you choked out. “Sorry, I…”

“I get it, but now’s not the time!” Charles swung at another of the zombies, a grunt escaping him as his bat met its skull. “Focus, or we’re dead!”

You pushed past your fear, past everything that told you you’re going to die here, and swung your club at the nearest zombie. You glanced up. Everyone else was fighting. You had to fight, too.

So, you did.

You weren’t sure how long you were fighting.

Your arms were burning, screaming in protest with each swing. You could feel the bodies piling up around your feet, but there was still no end to the zombies in sight. That nagging feeling that you were going to die kept prickling at the back of your mind, but you pushed it back, knowing that it would only be true if you let it.

It was then that the other shoe dropped.

“Fuck, fuck!” The anguished scream from Oscar pierced through the growls of the undead, and your gaze shot towards the two boys. “Logan!”

Slowly, you turned, your eyes taking in the situation and your heart filling with more and more panic by the second.

"Promise me that if… if saving me means getting yourself killed, you won't do it. You'll let me handle it."

Oscar held tightly onto Logan’s hand as Logan laid on the ground, using his free arm to try to desperately pull himself away from the herd behind him. One undead had practically leapt onto him, and its teeth had sunk into his calf. You could see the anguish on his face as he screamed in pain and fear. More and more undead, lured by the smell of Logan’s blood and the sound of his screams. More teeth, more bites, more blood, more screams. Oscar was futilely pulling at Logan’s arm, trying to pull him from the herd. Tears streamed down his face as he fought the bodies that were falling onto his best friend, their gnashing teeth bearing down on his flesh.

You felt sick.

"Enough people died saving me."

“Shit,” you heard Charles mutter next to you.

He and Seb rushed towards Oscar and Logan, but Logan stopped screaming long enough for his eyes to fall on the two men running towards him. A steely look took over his face. Even through his pained tears, he locked eyes with you. “Get out of here,” you knew he said, even if his lips never moved.

"I won't let that happen again."

And then, he pushed Oscar away, right into Seb’s arms. Oscar yelled in protest, tried to fight his way back to Logan, but Logan had already been dragged away, across the pavement, until you couldn’t see him anymore. His screams resumed as the undead tore into him. You could hear the ripping of flesh and the choking as Logan began drowning in his own blood, the undead swarming and beginning to feast on his body.

You prayed it would pass quickly, for his sake.

The crack of a gunshot suddenly rang through the air. You jumped at the sound, a whimper involuntarily leaving your throat. You knew what it meant. Charles had fallen back, swinging at the zombies that had begun to surround you. He looked just as sick as you felt.

“Oscar, there’s nothing we can do!” Seb was arguing as Oscar fought in his hold, his eyes wide with panic. “We have to go! He bought us time, don’t let it be for nothing!”

“Let go of me!” You could hear Oscar shriek, his voice more shrill, more desperate, than you’d ever heard it before. You looked over to Seb, who could only grasp at the back of Oscar’s shirt as the youngest of your group wrenched himself from Seb’s grasp and darted forwards, back to where Logan had vanished beneath the zombies that had swarmed him.

He swung his club wildly, bodies falling around him and beginning to stack. Blood and gore splattered across his skin and clothes, but you could still make out the wild look in his eyes as he screamed and swung, desperately pushing to where he’d last seen Logan.

“Oscar!” and “Oscar, no!” were among the cries that you could hear from Seb and Charles. But Oscar didn’t turn back. He didn’t even react. He vanished into the herd, the gap slowly closing until you couldn’t see him anymore.

You choked back tears as you ran to Seb, who was frozen, arms still outstretched from where Oscar had pulled away. You grabbed Seb and tugged, murmuring, “Seb, it’s too late. We… we can’t stay here.” He remained still, eyes fixed on the feeding frenzy where Logan and Oscar both vanished. You looked desperately back at Charles, who rushed forwards and helped you pull Seb away.

Seb’s eyes were fixed on the feeding frenzy that had begun where you once stood, where you had been fighting for your lives only moments before.

Your group was so much smaller now, you realized, as you and Charles pulled Sebastian into a nearby building. Charles shut the door as you lowered Seb to the floor, the older man staring into the distance, practically catatonic from the shock.

“Seb?” you tried, your wavering voice trying desperately to reach him.

“We can’t… we can’t just leave Oscar,” Seb managed, looking up at you.

You bit your lip. You knew where his heart was. But you also knew that Oscar was most likely gone. That he’d vanished into the herd where his friend had been killed, and it was so unlikely that he had survived that many zombies.

“We can’t go after him,” Charles snapped, running a hand through his hair as he pulled away from the door. “He walked right into a fucking herd! If we find him, we’re not going to find him. If God has any mercy, we’ll find what’s left of him, and not a shambling corpse.”

You sniffled, the shock of your loss finally subsiding and allowing you to feel the real, tangible grief. Two of your friends were dead.

You’d fought, and they still died.

“We… have to get back to George,” you murmured. “There’s nothing… we can’t…” The words wouldn’t leave you.

Charles took pity on you. “We have to regroup. Logan… you heard the gunshot. We all did.”

Seb flinched at the blunt assessment of the situation. “What about Oscar?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

There was nothing but silence for a moment. “We all know his chances,” Charles murmured, although he sounded like he was reluctant to say it. Seb hung his head, anguish causing his entire body to tense.

“Let’s regroup. And we’ll figure it out.”

The trek back to the apartment was mercifully uneventful. You couldn’t help but wonder why it wasn’t like that the entire time. Your hands were shaking as you followed behind Charles, Seb, for once, walking behind you. You worriedly glanced behind you ever so often.

Seb was dead silent as you made your way up to the apartment, the elevator suddenly feeling like an almost safe haven. The adrenaline had long since left your body; the only thing that kept you going was the pain of loss that had settled into your body.

Charles slowly pushed the door open. As you practically dropped your bag in the front hall and collapsed to your knees, the sound of limping feet announced George’s arrival. Charles fell next to you, reaching a shaking hand out to rest on your shoulder. Seb, meanwhile, managed to make it to the couch before collapsing onto it.

“What the fuck.” You flinched at his disbelieving tone. “What happened out there?”

You were sure that you all looked like Hell. Charles and Seb were both covered in blood, and you were almost afraid to look down at yourself to see how stained your clothes were. Your weapons were dripping with blood, too, and you winced at how a small puddle was forming beneath where you’d dropped your golf club.

“Logan’s dead,” Charles said softly. “We were careless. There were so many of them, and we couldn’t…”

“I get it.” George shifted, leaning against the wall. “But what about Oscar?”

Charles fell silent. You glanced over at him, and saw his brow furrowed, his teeth buried in his lip. “We lost him,” you quietly admitted, hating how weak your own voice sounded.

“What do you mean you lost him?!” George demanded, fury lacing his voice.

“Fuck, George!” Charles swore, practically leaping to his feet. “We fucking lost him, okay?! He tried to save Logan, and the herd swarmed him! There was nothing we could do!”

Seb swore loudly in German, his first word in what felt like hours, hurling his water bottle across the room. You winced as it made contact with one of Lando’s helmets, sending it tumbling to the floor. “I can’t,” he managed, his voice strangled as he looked at you and Charles in desperation. “I can’t leave him. I can’t just sit here, not knowing.”

Oscar’s chances weren’t good, and you knew that. But you knew that there was still a chance, however small it was, that he’d managed to escape. And if he was alive, you owed it to him to find him.

“Then go after him.” George had limped over to the couch and sat. “You said you wanted to look for our friends. Oscar’s our friend. And he’s lost, just like the others. So, go after him.”

You took a deep breath, sitting up. “George is right.” You met Seb’s hopeful gaze. “We said that we were going to find everyone that was left. And… there’s a chance Oscar made it. Right?” You glanced over at Charles, who hesitated to agree with you. “There’s a chance,” you said firmly, no longer leaving room for him to disagree.

“Yeah, I mean,” Charles stopped himself and heaved a sigh. “Yeah. There’s a chance.”

“Then we look for him. Same way we said we’d look for every other person who’s still missing.” You pushed yourself to your feet, hating how you were still shaking. “Besides… even if he’s been bit… we owe it to him to not leave him.” You looked directly at Charles as you said that, and you swore that you saw his defensive walls crack.

You knew you were right when he sighed. “Yeah. We owe him that much,” he agreed, his voice soft. He was still hesitant — of course he was — but he knew that you were right.

“I’ll go with Seb. We’ll find Oscar. And hopefully, we’ll find others, too.” You picked up your bag. You had hoped to rest a little, your arms still sore and your legs barely managing to keep your body standing, but this was more important.

Oscar was more important.

“I’ll stay with George,” Charles declared. You frowned. “Between the two of us, we can map out the city. Maybe figure out some likely places that everyone else could be.”

Seb hefted himself to his feet, walking towards you. “Figure out a way to get out of here, too. After today, we know Monaco isn’t safe. We… we can’t stay too much longer.”

You hated how, once again, you knew he was right. Monaco was a populated place, and even more so than usual with the Grand Prix taking place at the time. With time, it would only get worse, and you knew it. With time, the number of survivors would dwindle. There would be more and more zombies, and less chances for you to escape. If you waited too long, you’d be stuck, and you knew it.

“We’ll figure it out,” George promised. “Just… bring them back.”

The apartment was almost dead silent as you and Sebastian repacked your bags as quickly as you could. He handed you the half-full water bottle, and you carefully tucked it away as he returned to counting the bullets you had. Charles easily handed over a few of his, only saving two for himself.

“Just in case,” he said, tension underlying his voice.

You swallowed. You didn’t want to think about what that meant.

You stripped yourself of your clothing, wincing as the blood-stained cloth stuck to your skin. You made a mental note to get more clothing at some point as you pulled on a new pair of pants and a new hoodie. When you emerged from the guest room, you saw that Sebastian had changed, too, his own bloodied clothing nowhere to be seen.

Charles and George were seated on the couch, Charles carefully drawing a street map as they murmured to themselves. They didn’t look up at you as you made your way over to Seb, adjusting the holster on your belt with a shuddering sigh. He glanced at you and nodded, picking up his rifle and shouldering it.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice determined, but almost hesitant. As you moved to follow him, grabbing your bag from where it rested against the side of the couch, you looked back at Charles and George.

Both of them had stopped, looking at you. George smiled encouragingly, while Charles only stared at you with an unreadable expression. “Bring them back,” George said again, his words carrying across the apartment and embedding themselves in your heart. You nodded stiffly, then turned to leave, the door swinging shut with an ominous click.

And so, you pressed forward on tired legs, following Sebastian out of the building and back onto the streets of Monte Carlo. It was quiet, like it had been when you got back to the apartment. It was almost eerie. You’d never seen Monaco so quiet before. You wonder if it would ever be this quiet again.

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[onepointsixkm]

Part IV: Brilliant Red coming today (3/18)

I'm sorry in advance

Serpents [an F1 zombie apocalypse AU]

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix went up in smoke as the end of the world began. You and a group of your friends managed to escape, but not without loss, as the dead began to walk.

Notes: This series is heavily influenced by all sorts of zombie media. Characters will die, so if you’re sensitive to character death, gore, and other genre conventions, this series may likely not be for you. There will be a lot of characters featured, but the main relationship will be platonic!SV5 x reader, as well as others that will be disclosed in each chapter.

—

Chapters

I: Slipping Through My Fingers

II: Burnout

III: We Are All We Have

IV: Brilliant Red

V: God Only Knows

+ more to come . . .

[onepointsixkm]

changed my icon because i miss zhou guanyu so much 🥺🥺🥺

[onepointsixkm]

welcome back formula 1

and what a return it was lol

[onepointsixkm]

angel down

Summary: You've seen his eyes somewhere before. A dream. A memory. As he takes your hand in his, your heart soars. It breaks. You think of forever. You know that your love is on a timer.

featuring: CL16 x fem!reader

notes: based on the short story story of your life by ted chiang and its 2016 film adaptation, arrival by denis villeneuve (director) and eric heisserer (screenwriter). i'm not sure if i would classify it as angst, since there's happiness in between, but i think the majority of it is angst.

word count: 6,577

“If you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change things?”

There’s a child. A little boy with bright blue eyes and a smile that you would go to war to protect. He reaches up to you and you reach down, maternal love wrapping around your heart as you hold the boy close to your chest, laughing along with him.

There’s a man. He has the same bright blue eyes as the child. He looks at you with a soft smile, murmuring words of love as he rests his face in your neck. You can feel him kissing your skin, and you manage a soft giggle as you turn to look at him. He’s staring at you with so many emotions swirling in his eyes, and you feel an overwhelming love in your heart. It’s a different love from the love you feel for the child, but just as powerful, all the same.

And then the world shifts.

The man is pacing with tears in his eyes. The room is dark. The child is nowhere to be found.

He turns to face you, sniffling. “You thought I wouldn’t find out? Were you intending on hiding this from me our entire lives?” he demands, clearly choking back sobs. Words fail you as you open and close your mouth, unable to say anything. He stares at you incredulously. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

You’re lost for words. You don’t know what you were hiding, let alone how to make things better. All you know is that you want to bridge the gap between you and this man, but you can’t. You can’t fix whatever has broken.

All you can do is sit in silence, only able to watch as he falls to his knees, his wretched sobs echoing through the dark room.

And then, you wake up.

You were a college student, dragged to the Formula 1 race down in Texas with your friends. “C’mon, don’t be a killjoy,” they’d begged when you protested. “It’ll be good for you, get out of the dorm for once!”

You knew they were right. You’d been holed up in your tiny dorm room for months, ever since your boyfriend had broken up with you. He’d claimed you were too stiff, too unemotional. Too hard for him to read, and just not what he wanted out of his college girlfriend. You had quietly accepted it, despite your heart breaking as you hugged him goodbye and watched him leave you in that campus café.

“Fine,” you’d relented, unable to resist their pleading faces. “But it’s your problem if I’m not a fun person to be around.”

And so, as you sat in the grandstands, watching as the cars that looked like rockets sped past you, you sipped on your overpriced drink. You eyed your friends as they cheered, each of them wearing a different jersey.

You, however, are not wearing any team merch, and you feel somewhat out of place as you follow your friends. They’re all laughing and buzzing, talking about the qualifying results and the drivers. You’re barely listening as you follow closely behind them, amused by their chatter but never joining in. They stop to take pictures in front of the posters of their favorite drivers, and you oblige as they ask to take a picture in front of the big sign advertising the race. They ask you to be in one of the pictures with them. You shake your head as you had your best friend’s phone back to her.

Out of the corner of your eye, your attention is drawn to a merch stand. You see merchandise for her favorite driver, and you make a mental note to go back there before you all leave. You get your chance when you excuse yourself to go get another drink.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” you promise. “Just fifteen minutes.”

“We have drinks back at the hotel!” your best friend whines.

You shrug with a small smile. “They must put something in the soda here. I’ll be back.” You wave as you retreat, not letting her get another word in.

You beeline towards the merch line, frantically looking for which driver she supported. You knew it was one of the red ones, the name starting with a C. But that was both of the Ferrari drivers, and you quickly shot a text to one of your other friends asking which of the two drivers your best friend liked.

As you waited, your hand brushed over the shirts that were on display. Your brow furrowed as you tried to remember the name. She talked about him nonstop on the way down to the circuit, but you just couldn’t grasp the name in your memory. Your fingers stopped on one of the shirts that had the number 16 printed in large text, the name Leclerc just above it, like a football jersey would.

“Do you like him?” a voice behind you asked. The voice stirred something in your brain, but you pushed the sensation down.

You didn’t glance over your shoulder as you shake your head. “I don’t really know many of the drivers,” you admitted softly. “I just want to get my friend a present for her birthday, but I don’t remember which driver she likes most.”

The man behind you laughed. It was a nice sound, a familiar sound. “You can’t go wrong with buying this, then.” He reached past you and picked up a boxy shirt with the prancing horse logo on the front pocket. There were no numbers, no names, but it was a clean design, and you nodded, thinking that it was something that your friend would like.

You gently took it from his hands and turned to thank him, but you stopped short, seeing his eyes. Those blue eyes.

“Thank you,” you managed, pushing past the shock.

He grinned. You knew that smile. “You’re welcome. I’m Charles, by the way.” He held out his hand to you, and you slowly took it and shook it.

“I… yeah, it’s nice to meet you, too.” You cleared your throat. “You, uh, look familiar. Have we met before?”

He froze, but shook his head. “No, but you may have seen me earlier. I drive one of those cars you saw on track earlier.” You make a little noise of acknowledgement as you get to the front of the line.

As you turned to pay, you heard people start to swarm him behind you, asking for photos and autographs. You shook your head as you asked politely to have the shirt packed so it’s hidden, and the kind vendor agreed. You adjusted the shirt in its bag, laying your jacket on top of it, and turned back to see Charles signing one last hat.

“Sorry about that,” he said to you with a sheepish grin. “Listen, I don’t normally do this, but I think you’re very pretty, and I’d like to ask you to get dinner with me tonight.”

You were taken aback, left stuttering and stammering. There you were, not even invested in this whole Formula 1 thing, and a driver — a very rich driver whose name you hadn’t known until five minutes prior — was asking you to dinner because he thought you were cute? You didn’t know what to say.

“Say yes.”

Had you said that out loud?

You met his eyes again, and you found yourself falling into those blue eyes, just like you had when you first saw them. You found yourself nodding, the word “okay” leaving your lips before your brain had time to catch up.

Charles beamed. It was brighter than the sun. “Great!” he exclaimed. “Where are you staying? I’ll pick you up at 8.”

You gave him the name of your hotel, and he held out his phone for you to put your number in. You did so with an almost foggy mind, only half aware of your movements. His shining smile never left his face as he took the phone back and shot you a message before running off, repeating his promise to come get you for dinner.

You practically stumbled back to the car, too stunned to speak.

“Girl, what happened?” your friends practically demanded, taking in your shell-shocked expression. They were willing to go to war for you, and you could only shake your head.

“I just met one of your drivers,” you admitted. They squealed, demanding to know who. “A guy named Charles. And… he asked me to go to dinner with him.”

As their celebratory voices drifted away, you remembered the way his eyes looked. Not like when you ran into him at that vendor’s booth, but the way he looked at you with sorrow and anguish, the way tears welled up in his eyes. The way he stared at you with betrayal before his knees hit the floor.

You wondered if it was better to not go.

But your friends dressed you, did your hair, put on makeup, and showered you in compliments as they pushed you out the door of your hotel room, with threats that if you bailed, they would make you walk home. You knew they were empty threats, but you obliged anyways, trudging down to the lobby and waiting for Charles.

He picked you up at exactly 8 on the dot, barely a few seconds off as he pulled up in a fancy sports car. He held every door for you, from car doors to restaurant doors. He pulled your chair out and asked what you wanted to order, assuring you not to worry about the price.

The two of you spoke. You learned a lot about Formula 1 that night, and you found yourself smiling as Charles boasted about his team and his successes. He admitted his worries and told you that he was hopeful about the race the following day. You wished him luck. He turned the conversation back to you, and you found yourself telling him all about your own goals, but you felt as if you paled in comparison to him.

It didn’t matter how you felt, though, when he looked at you with such intrigue.

The night ended too quickly, you realized, as he pulled up in front of your hotel. You smiled softly and thanked him for a wonderful night, but didn’t move to get out of the car. And he didn’t move to make you.

“Could we get dinner again tomorrow?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. “I had fun, and I’d like to do this again.”

You gaped at him. “Charles, I… this was amazing, but you don’t know me. We-we just met today, and we don’t run in the same circles at all, and… Charles, are you sure?” you squeaked out.

He reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m sure,” he breathed out, his face slowly creeping closer to yours.  “It feels like… something is pulling me towards you. Like I’ve known you forever. That’s why I approached you in the first place, this feeling that I can’t really place, but I… I want to see where it goes. Will you let me?”

He was so close that you could feel his breath on your lips. His eyes were all you could see, glimmering with sincerity. You inhaled sharply, swallowing despite your dry throat.

“Yes.”

He pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him back, the thrill of newness and the rush of memory mixing as you and Charles shared your first kiss, one that was all too familiar to your heart and body.

Charles — you know it’s Charles now — laughs with that brilliant smile as he twirls you around. He’s dressed in a suit, his tie draped around his shoulders. You’re in all white, your skirt fanning around you. You’re surrounded by people, faces both familiar and not, and as you take them in, you’re surprised to realize that you know exactly who these people are, despite having never met most of them.

You look at Charles, who looks happier than you think you’ve ever seen anyone. You feel his arms wrap around you as he pulls you close. “Come on, love, it’s our wedding. We should be allowed to leave whenever we want,” he whispers into your hair.

“Charles,” you playfully berate him. “We can’t because it’s our wedding.”

He groans, but continues to dance with you, holding you close as you twirl around the dance floor. You take pity on him and lean close.

“But when we leave, you have me all to yourself for the next few days.”

He leans back a little bit, wonder taking over his face. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you smile cheekily at him. He can’t help himself as he kisses you deeply, deaf to the cheers and wolf whistles of your friends and family.

“Welcome to the rest of your life, my love,” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel his smile. “Here’s to our forever.”

Forever sounds good to you.

But it also sounds like an empty promise.

You push back the worry, push back the sinking feeling that you have in your heart, and nod, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Forever,” you echo, wishing with all your heart that the word is binding.

Needless to say, your dinner date the following day went well. You were unable to resist Charles’s smile for very long, his earnest happiness and genuine kindness he showed winning you over.

Your second dinner date soon led to a third and fourth when he flew you out to Las Vegas a month later, happy to sneak you into his hotel and spend time with you as far from prying eyes as he could manage. It was on the fourth day that he asked you to be his girlfriend, a question which you answered yes to almost immediately.

The following night, he insisted on introducing you to the rest of the grid, his friends, as he swept you into a Las Vegas club to celebrate race day.

You met all of the men he raced with, all of whom were overjoyed to meet you. He introduced you as his girlfriend, no hesitation as he pushed you forwards. You met their girlfriends, who took a shine to you, and you spent the night dancing and drinking with your new group of friends.

As the night began to wind down, Charles quickly picked up that your feet were starting to ache, and excused himself to drive you back to the hotel.

“Thank you, Charles.”

“For what?”

“For everything. It’s been… really nice. You’ve been wonderful.” You smiled softly at him, moving to get out of the car.

He quickly stopped you, grabbing your hand and pulling the car door closed. “Listen. I know my life is hectic. I understand if this isn’t what you thought it would be like, or if it’s so far from what you wanted. But this past month with you has made me feel complete. I just… need you to know that I’m in it for the long haul.” His intense gaze never left yours, and you felt your heart try to escape its cage.

You wondered what it meant for your relationship, to be in it for the long haul. You wanted to believe that your relationship could withstand the test of time.

With each kiss, your love became clearer. With each kiss, you could see a little more than you did before. The “long haul” was supposed to be indefinite, a vow to last until the end of time, but your heart said differently.

There was an end in sight, your heart reminded you.

Even knowing this, you nodded. You didn’t have the heart to walk away from something so pure, so sweet. Something that was so clearly yours, and just yours. Walking away from it, you thought, would hurt more than the end you had seen in your memory.

So, you just nodded with a smile and allowed him to take you by the hand and bring you with him on his adventures.

He took you with him around the world whenever you had the time to do so, holding your hand and showing you off like a proud boyfriend. You were loved by the people online, thrilled that Charles was dating a “normal” girl. You held your head high whenever you were in the paddock, greeting fans and taking the gifts they offered so you could give them to Charles.

In between all of this, you finished up your college courses as quietly as you could, keeping your head down to avoid any of the sudden fame that had come with your new relationship.

Navigating all of the newness was difficult in itself, but the true challenge came with the dreams. The memories, you came to realize that they were. The more time you spent with Charles, the clearer it became to you.

The man in your dreams was Charles. Older, but still him. And that child, he was yours. Your future. Yours and Charles’s future. It wasn’t like watching a movie, not even for a second. You were seeing your future the same way that you were capable of recalling the past.

And it terrified you.

With each passing day, you remembered how he looked at you — how he will look at you in the future. The mix of sorrow and rage in his eyes, his face, his whole body… you weren’t sure when it would become too much for you to bear. You wondered if the future you saw would even come to pass, or if you would break before any of it.

Before the wedding, before the child… before the end.

Each time it became too much, you contemplated leaving. You really thought about just breaking it off with Charles. It would spare you both a whole lot of heartache, you reasoned.

But it felt like whenever you felt like you were reaching your breaking point, Charles noticed. He would reach over with a sweet hand, grasping yours, and would smile at you.

“Thank you for being with me,” he would say.

Your resolve would fracture into a million tiny pieces, slipping through your fingers as you reached out to him. You knew that it was selfish, you knew that you were destined to be hurt in the future, but you couldn’t pull away. Not when he looked at you like that.

But you never told him. You couldn’t, you thought. He’d think you were insane, or worse, he wouldn’t believe you. He’d laugh it off, and you’d continue, both of you knowing but unable to do anything to stop it.

Instead, one late night, as you laid awake in bed, curled into his side. “Charles?” He hummed in response. “Can I ask you something?” you muttered, your voice cracking.

He was immediately awake, hearing the fear in your voice. He rolled over to face you, blue eyes locking on yours, and nodded. “Of course, love. You can ask me anything, anytime,” he replied softly, soothingly.

“You said, a long time ago, that you’re in it for the long haul.” He nodded again. “If us being together meant that something bad would happen… would you still be?”

For a moment, he was silent. He shifted, furrowing his brow, and lifted his hand to brush your hair from your face. “You’re talking in hypotheticals, love,” he murmured. “Bad things are going to happen. We’ll fight — we have fought. Life isn’t perfect, but we’re happy. I’m not one to just give up just because a bad thing could happen. I’d never take risks otherwise.” He smiled with a small laugh, and the storm that had encased your heart began to subside. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your forehead, then your nose, and finally, your lips.

“What if it’s big, though?” you still pushed.

“Don’t make mountains out of molehills. Let’s take things one day at a time, and when we get there, we’ll get there.” He pulled you close, and you buried your face into his chest. He gently kissed the top of your head, and you could feel his breath on your hair. “Big or small, we’ll work it out. I promise.”

You wanted to believe him.

So, you allowed yourself to believe him, settling further into his warmth and allowing sleep to wash over you.

You stand in front of a grave, a bundle of sunflowers in your hand.

The years on the headstone tell you that the person laying in it was only thirteen when they died. You feel sick. Tears come, angry and unbidden, as you bend down to place the flowers in front of the headstone.

“Oh…”

You turn. Charles is there, staring at you with surprise. It quickly melts away into resentment, the kind that burns your heart and scars you with the intensity of it.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he manages, his voice dangerously level.

You take a step towards him. “Charles—”

“I didn’t think you needed time to mourn,” he cuts in as he takes a step back from you. “I would’ve thought you did all your mourning in the time you knew.” You shake your head. “Look, I…” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

“Charles, I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it. It doesn’t fix anything.” He sniffles, sorrow mixing with his rage. “It’s too late. Just… please let me mourn in peace.”

He pushes past you, and you watch as he kneels in front of the grave, lovingly placing a hand on its face, and lays his own bouquet of flowers in front of the stone. You watch as he murmurs something that you can’t hear.

You open your mouth, but like every time before, words fail you.

Instead, you turn away, tears slipping down your cheeks, and you leave, not looking back at his hunched over figure and pretending you don’t notice his shaking shoulders.

It was summer in Monaco.

You and Charles had been together for nearly two years now, and you’d moved in with him the previous year. In those two years you’d been together, you spent days in bed and nights out on the town, and you’d made memories all around the world, sharing kisses and declarations of love all the while. Life was good to you, and it was good enough for you to forget sometimes. You allowed yourself more space to forget the future, and focus on the crazy, beautiful adventure that was the present.

This summer was shaping up to be the most relaxed since your romance began. You weren’t planning any crazy trips or moving across the world. You’d simply asked Charles if you could spend some time in the city you now called home, and he’d agreed without hesitation.

You spent the days with his friends, both on the grid and not, laughing and growing closer to them. You finally thought of them as your friends, not just Charles’s friends, and you let yourself smile with them.

A small part of you, in the back of your mind, wondered if they, too, would grow to hate you.

But those thoughts washed away when you went to his mother’s home for dinner. When she wrapped you up in her arms with unconditional love, you let yourself feel the warmth that this family offered. When his brothers and their significant others greeted you like they’d known you for a lifetime, you felt your spirits lift.

You would savor this while you still had it, you decided.

You quickly tried to make yourself useful, asking to help Pascale with cooking, and she patiently taught you her recipes. She watched over you with a gentle smile that reminded you so much of her son, and she beamed just like him when you glanced over at her for approval.

You played games with Arthur and Lorenzo, handily beating them at cards, much to their significant others’ amusement. You laughed and winked at Charles as you threw the next round, and shook your head at Arthur when he celebrated his first win of the night.

Charles looked at you with a new expression that night.

When you went home, he showered you in kisses, locking you in his arms. He ran his hands over you, he pressed his lips to every bit of skin he could reach. He worshiped you, and you basked in his adoration.

By the time you both actually tucked under the covers, the moon was high in the starry sky. Your legs were tangled together beneath the sheets, and your bodies were pressed together. You could feel him breathing into the back of your head as he kept pressing lazy kisses to your neck, and you sighed in content.

He murmured something in French against your skin, and you hummed. “What was that, Charles? I’m not fluent yet.”

You could feel him sit up behind you, pushing your hair away from your neck. He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear, and you jumped at the feeling of his breath in your ear. “I said, I’m going to marry you someday,” he replied quietly. Your eyes flew open, and you sat up to stare at him. He stared back at you, unflinching.

“Sorry?”

He sat up, too, and grabbed your hands. He ran his thumbs over your knuckles, and even now, even two years into your relationship, it sent a shiver up your spine.

“Does that bother you?” he wondered quietly. You quickly shook your head. “Good. Because I mean it. Someday — maybe not today, but someday — I want to make you my wife. I want to have a life and a family with you.” You sniffled, and he quickly rubbed the tears away before they could fall. “Hey… happy tears, I hope.”

You nodded weakly. “Happy tears,” you agreed, managing a teary smile.

He smiled right back, his eyes crinkling. “Good.” He kissed your cheeks, right beneath your eyes, and you sniffled again. “Don’t cry, love. I’ll love you as long as I live.” You sniffled again, but nodded, allowing his words to wash over you.

You wondered if he even knew that his words were lies.

The child is lying on a hospital bed. He has tubes running all over his body, and the heart monitor next to his bed is beeping faintly. Rhythmically.

Charles is draped over the boy, holding his hand like a lifeline. He’s praying in English, French, and Italian, desperately begging whatever force controls this universe for more time. Tear streaks stain his face, but no more tears fall. He doesn’t have any more to give.

He barely looks up at you as you walk into the hospital room. It smells like chemicals, and you want to throw up. You know what comes next. You can’t bear to look at the boy as you busy yourself changing the flowers in his room — sunflowers, like you know he loves — and putting the cards from your friends and family all around.

“The doctors say it looks good,” he chokes out. You blink and turn back to him. “One more surgery, they think. They’ll be able to take the tumor out.” He manages a watery smile at you, still clinging to the child’s hand. “Our son will be okay.”

Your heart falls.

Your son is lying on a hospital bed.

“Mommy?” his weak voice cuts through your sorrow. You’re at his bedside in an instant, holding his hand and running your fingers through his hair. He looks so small. You remember the first time you held him. He was small like this back then, too.

“What is it, sweetheart?” you ask, trying to force yourself to sound as soothing as possible.

Your son smiles. “Don’t cry, mommy. I’ll be better tomorrow. When I’m better, can we get ice cream?” he asks, so sweet and so innocent your heart breaks again.

You nod. “Of course, baby. We can get as much ice cream as you want.” You look at Charles, who nods fiercely. You know he’d give your son anything to make him happy. To make him healthy.

You have trouble sleeping that night. Leaving him was harder than you thought it’d be, and you’re awake as the reality plagues you, taunts you, and keeps you awake. You stare at the ceiling, tears silently streaming down your face.

“It’ll be okay, my love,” Charles soothes you.

No, it won’t, you want to reply.

Your worst fear comes true the next day, when the doctor walks out of the operating room with a solemn look on his face. You only catch the words cardiac arrest and reacted poorly to the anesthetic as you stand, frozen in place. Charles falls to his knees, whimpers wrenched from his throat, and clings to you.

I’m sorry for your loss, you hear the doctor say. You stumble backwards and collapse into the waiting room chairs.

It has to be a nightmare.

You know it’s real.

It doesn’t make it hurt less.

You woke up sobbing.

Tears were falling fast and hard, and you were almost wailing. Your throat was raw from the violent screams, sounds you didn’t even know you could make. Your heart hurt so much that it was hard to breathe, the anguish in your soul expressing itself in the most violent way.

Charles was beside you as soon as you shot up in bed. He held you tightly. You struggled in his arms. He held you tighter. You gave up, too weak and too sad to fight. You just collapsed into him, hiccups and choked crying the only sounds you could make. You couldn’t even tell him that you were alright.

Instead, you clung to his hand as you heaved. You felt nauseous, but there was nothing in your stomach to throw up. You just sobbed, your face ugly and raw, as you tried to hide.

“My love,” he tried weakly, “what’s the matter? Please talk to me.”

For a moment, you wanted nothing more than to tell him exactly what was happening. You wanted to tell him that you saw your future together, that you knew the tragedy that would befall your family. You wanted to warn him, wanted him to know. The burden was finally becoming too much.

But, you thought, things would be different if you told him. And you weren’t sure if it would be a good sort of different.

There was the possibility that you wouldn’t stay together long enough for your son to be born. You would be stuck with the memories, the knowledge that he was supposed to live, but without Charles, there was never any hope for your son. You didn’t know if it was crueler to rip your son’s life away before he was even conceived, or to live with the knowledge that his life would be cut brutally short.

The other option was that Charles would insist on staying with you anyways. That he would try to overcome the future and make a world where your son could be alive. That future would come to pass anyways, and it would destroy him. If the burden of knowledge was eating you, and would continue to eat you for years, you knew that Charles wouldn’t survive it.

You couldn’t tell him, you decided. You knew you couldn’t tell him. You shook your head fiercely and curled yourself closer.

So, you just cried until you fell back asleep, Charles rocking you back and forth in his arms.

The next morning, at breakfast, he prodded again. “Will you talk to me about it?” he asked, his eyes staring right through you. “I’m worried about you.”

You just smiled and grabbed his hand. You squeezed it tightly, and he squeezed back. “I’m okay, Charles,” you tried to reassure him. He looked like he didn’t believe you. “I’ll tell you one day. But I can’t right now.”

He looked more concerned, but nodded.

“I trust you,” he said softly.

You almost laughed. You wished he didn’t.

You’re sitting on a park bench. Charles is holding your hand. You’re watching the wind through the trees, listening to the families playing around you. The two of you aren’t saying anything, but there’s a peace between the two of you. There’s no hatred or anger, no sorrow or anguish. It’s quiet. It’s nice.

You choke up a little, but do your best to keep your composure as you squeeze Charles’s hand in yours. He looks over, his smile faltering when he sees your teary eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, so sweetly that it makes your heart ache.

Sniffling, you shake your head. You can’t tell him, not now. It’s not time.

“Mommy!” You turn around on the park bench, seeing your son, only six at this time, running towards you, a bright smile on his face. You force your tears back as you stand, kneeling with open arms. He runs right into them, and you pick him up, your laughter mixing in the air. “Mommy, look what I found!”

He shows you what he’s found, holding up a sunflower almost as big as his face. You gasp dramatically as he hands it to you, and you spin him around to face Charles. Charles has stood, and is watching you both with a gentleness you wish you could bottle up and treasure forever.

“Charles, look!” You wave the sunflower. “Look at this lovely gift your son got me. Thoughtful, just like his daddy.” You nuzzle your nose into your son’s cheek, and he giggles. The sound lifts your heart.

Charles nods. “I’m jealous,” he adds, his smile playful. “Mommy will love you more than me soon.”

You giggle and mock whisper, “He doesn’t know I already do.” Your son laughs, eyes darting between you and Charles, who has loudly gasped in fake offense. You stuck out your tongue teasingly, and your son mimicked you.

Narrowing his eyes, Charles creeps towards you, arms outstretched. You back up, still sharing giggles with your son. Charles pauses for a moment, then darts towards you both, sweeping you both up in his arms. You let out a shriek as you feel him lift both of you off the ground and spin you around.

When he finally lets you down, you turn to face him. His hands rest on your hips as he kisses your forehead, then your son’s. You stare at him, wishing you could frame his soft, loving face and preserve it.

It’s a peaceful day. You wish it could last forever.

You sat on the beach, a drink in hand as you stared out at the summer sun as it rose over the beautiful city you’d come to call home. Charles sat next to you, holding his own drink, as he took in the way the sunrise’s colors hit the water.

“Charles,” you began, your voice cutting through the peaceful morning air. He looked at you, and you almost cried at the sincere love in his eyes. “If you knew what your life would bring, good and bad, from beginning to end… do you think you’d change anything?”

He thought for a moment, taking a sip of his drink. But, after a moment, he shook his head. “No. No, because no matter how much sorrow and tragedy I’ve experienced in this life, there is joy in it, too. Changing anything that happened, or has yet to happen, could mean I miss out on some of the greatest things to happen in my life. Like you.” He reached out to grab your hand, holding it like you were his lifeline.

His touch was warm. You reveled in it. You begged your traitorous heart to stop beating so fast, your mind and memory battling against your heart. With a sniffle, you held his hand with your own shaky one, blinking back the tears before they could fall.

“I love you,” you managed to choke out, the words tasting like acid but sounding so sweet.

“I love you, too.” He leaned over to press a kiss to your head. You leaned into his touch. “I’ll make this life a good one. For both of us.”

You already knew that the time you spent with Charles would be good. You would celebrate your third year together next month. You’d be engaged in just four months, around Christmastime, and you’d be married by this time next year. You’d have a son — your son — on the way two years after that.

Your son would spend thirteen wonderful years with his parents. You would share breakfasts and blanket forts. You would drive him to school, Charles would pick him up. You would both go to support Charles in the paddock, and you’d be loved by his fans. Neither you nor Charles would miss a single event that your son participated in. You would dote on him and give him everything he wanted. Charles would be a wonderful, supportive father, and your son would grow up knowing that he was loved.

But cancer, that horrid illness, would come in his twelfth year. He would faint in the middle of class and be rushed to the hospital. You’d rush there from work, Charles meeting you with panic in his eyes. There, the doctors would tell you that it would be an aggressive tumor, spreading quickly, and he would spend the next year in and out of the hospital for treatment. He’d get sicker and sicker, thinner and paler, but he’d still smile as you and Charles came to visit. He’d joke about all the things he wanted to do when he was better.

You’d smile and indulge him, but you’d know that time would never come.

Three weeks after his thirteenth birthday, he would die during the surgery that was supposed to save his life. It would be sudden, a freak accident from a reaction to the anesthetic the doctors used. There would be nothing you could do to stop it.

Charles would fall apart, his world careening to a screeching halt after your son died, but you would preserve. By that time, you would have had over fifteen years to come to terms with the shock death of your most precious person.

But it would still hurt all the same, the pain as raw as the day you’d learned the future.

Eventually, the hurt would be too much. You and Charles would drift further apart until you realized that the ending was upon you. You would tell him over dinner one night about the secret you’d kept for years, finally confessing the things that plagued you for the entirety of your relationship. That you’d known — you’d always known — that this ending would come.

He’d curse you. He’d hate you. He’d leave and never come back, and he would resent you for the rest of your lives.

And you knew that this ending would come to pass. You knew, as you sat with Charles, curled into him on that beach, that you would have a loving, blessed life for the next fifteen years. You knew that your life was on a timer.

But you knew you’d savor every moment until that ending came.

“Despite knowing the journey and where it leads, I embrace it and welcome every moment.”

author's note: this took forever to write, but i'm happy that it's finally done. i'm new to the f1 rpf scene, so i'm still working on getting unique voices down. i hope you like this story!

[onepointsixkm]

f1 2025 helmets

[onepointsixkm]

Part III: We Are All We Have

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix went up in smoke as the end of the world began. You and a group of your friends managed to escape, but not without loss, as the dead began to walk.

featuring: SV5, CL16, OP81, LS2 & GR63. (mentions of LN4 + others)

warnings: zombie apocalypse! features character death, gore, and other genre conventions/staples. please do not engage if you are uncomfortable with any of the potential warnings! this chapter specifically contains references to suicide.

notes: the amount of research I did on firearm laws is too much for a fun little fic I wanted to do, and I'm still not 100% sure it's accurate... (I can't read French, and so much of the information on Monaco's gun laws is in French!!!)

word count: 5,115

You awoke the next morning to the sounds of bustling in the kitchen and the smell of bacon. For a moment, you almost called out to Lando before reminding yourself that Lando couldn’t cook. Then, the harsh reminder that Lando wasn’t here hit you like a thousand bricks. You shot up, the blanket falling off you, to see Seb in the kitchen. That made more sense, but the hurt from your cruel memory still remained.

You slowly pried yourself from your comfortable place curled up on Lando’s couch. As you rubbed the sleep from your bleary eyes, you saw Oscar sit up with a yawn. He still looked exhausted and numb from the day prior, but he barely showed it as he nudged Logan awake next to him. You watched as Logan stirred, pushing himself to sit up as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. He froze as the weight of being awake finally hit him, and he buried his face in his hands, like if he tried hard enough, he would wake from this nightmare.

“Morning,” you heard Seb call from the kitchen, his voice level. “Power went out about two hours ago, so I’m using what perishables I can for breakfast. Bacon and eggs, mostly. Come eat, there’s more than enough.” He paused. “Actually, could you bring a plate to George first?”

Mumbling some sort of agreement, you stepped over the still-snoozing Charles to grab the plate Seb picked up from the counter and held out to you. Balancing it carefully as you maneuvered around the boys, you made your way to Lando’s bedroom.

“Is that food?” you heard George ask. Of course, he was already awake, sitting up with his phone in his hand. You made your way over to him and handed him the plate, which he gratefully took.

“You’ve still got service?”

George snorted. “If you can call it that. Power’s out, so it’s just a matter of time before service is down, and it’s so shoddy it might as well be gone. Just… browsing the last news articles that were posted.” You gazed down at his screen.

Most of the articles were in French, but you knew enough to read the headline The EU issues a warning to stay indoors and couldn’t help but snort. That warning was issued far too late. George sighed.

“You should save your battery,” you said. He nodded, locking his screen and tossing his phone to the side. “We might need it in an emergency. I think yours and Oscar’s are the only ones that are still charged.”

He hummed as he shoveled breakfast into his mouth. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked. “Are we going to keep looking for others?”

You hesitated. You weren’t sure anymore. Not after yesterday, not after seeing the chaos and destruction the outbreak had left behind.

Hell, you were no longer confident that anyone would be left to find.

“Not sure. If anyone has a plan, it’s likely Seb, but… God, George. Is there even anybody left? You’re all we could find,” you admitted, your voice so low you weren’t sure he heard. But he clearly had as he reached for your hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t talk like that…”

“It’s reasonable to think the worst,” George replied just as quietly. “But we’ll find them. We will.”

You squeezed his hand with a small smile. “I hope you’re right.”

He downed the last of his breakfast and put the plate on the bed next to him. “Could you tell Seb that I think it’d be a good idea to get supplies today? The fire might not have died down just yet, and I noticed something back at the circuit. Those things, they’re… they’re drawn by heat, not just their senses, like sound, sight, smell. So, the fire might be to our advantage. If it burns hot enough, if it’s still hot, the… the zombies,” he choked out the word like it was poisonous, “might migrate towards the circuit.”

“So, heading away from the circuit might be safe?”

George hesitated, but nodded. “It’s just a theory for now, but I think it’s solid. And it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

You hefted yourself up from the bed, dusting yourself off. “Alright. I’ll let Seb know. But… George, even if that’s true, we can’t take you with us.” He frowned. “Your leg… it has to heal. If it doesn’t heal, we’ll never be able to get going from here,” you murmured.

He didn’t look too happy with your words, but he nodded like he already knew you would say that. He’d barely been able to walk the day before, and the frantic rush through the pits and the parking lot had probably worsened his injury. He instinctively reached to rub his ankle, but winced as soon as his fingers hit his skin. A bitter frown crossed his face as he looked up to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry, George. But I can’t lose you, too.”

He forced a smile as he finally gave you a single nod in agreement. “I understand. Just… promise you’ll be safe out there, okay?” You reached over to squeeze his shoulder before picking up his empty plate and leaving the room.

You made your way past Oscar and Logan, the former comforting his friend as tears fell from Logan’s eyes. Oscar looked up at you with a sad smile.

“Nightmares,” he said quietly, like it explained it all. You nodded, knowing that he’d probably also been up tossing and turning, but he was shoving it all down to comfort Logan. The other boy looked like he was miles away, lost in some corner of his memories.

You just hoped they were kinder to him than his dreams were.

You gently patted Oscar’s shoulder, trying to offer him some comfort. He replied with a tense, but grateful smile. You reached towards Logan, but stopped before your fingers reached his back, hesitating, before you pulled away when you thought better of it.

Instead, you offered him a smile. “Logan, sweetheart, there’s food in the kitchen. Come get some when you guys are ready, okay?” He didn’t even look up at you. You glanced at Oscar, who nodded in acknowledgement. Heaving a sigh, you stood and made your way into the kitchen, where Seb was hunched over the counter, frantically scribbling on an envelope.

“Is George alright?” he asked without looking at you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Are any of us?” you replied. Seb grunted, a wordless agreement. For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence, broken when you cleared your throat and gestured to the paper he was hunched over. “What’s that?”

Seb finally paused. He stood, dropping his pen, and handed you the envelope. “I took stock of what we have. And what we need. It…” he trailed off and lowered his voice. “It doesn’t look good. If I’m right, things are probably this bad all over the country, maybe the world. And it’s going to get worse before it gets better. We should prepare for anything.”

“And what does that entail?”

“We need supplies. Food that won’t go bad — canned food or dry food, stuff like that. New weapons.” Seb hesitated. “Guns if we can get a hold of them. And survival gear, like knives and flares. Flashlights, toilet paper… there’s a lot of things we need.”

You scoffed in disbelief, tossing the list onto the counter next to you. “Seb, we’re never going to find all that,” you said dryly.

“Not in Monaco, no,” he agreed. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, discomfort clear in his stance. “But if we want to make it out of here and get somewhere that might give us better chances, we’ll have to get whatever we can. And… then we’ll just have to make a plan.”

You shook your head, brow furrowed as you remembered the feeling of a hand slipping from yours, the sound of a familiar voice frantically calling for you. “I’m not leaving Monaco yet,” you finally said, your voice small. Seb glanced at you, a knowing frown on his face.

“I understand.”

“I’m staying as long as I need to.” You couldn’t leave, not when your friends were still out there.

“I know. I will, too.” He reached out to grasp your arm, squeezing it comfortingly. “I promise. I’ll help you find them. But we can’t help them if we can’t help ourselves.” With his free hand, he picked up a plate of food and offered it to you. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

You took the offered plate. “Do you have a plan?”

He sighed. “I’d normally say that we should rest today. Yesterday… was too much for anyone. But after Carlos… I think resting might kill Charles. There’s too many missing, and I can’t see anyone happy with waiting around.”

“You’re damn right about that.” Charles walked into the kitchen, reaching past you and grabbing a plate. He heaved himself onto the counter and began shoveling food into his mouth. “The past few days have been hell, yes. But I’m not going to sit and wait for a miracle when my friends are gone. I know they’re alive. I need to find them.”

“Pierre?” you asked, taking a small bite of your food.

“And Lando, and Max, and Ollie. And my brothers. They’re not the type to just lay down and die. They’re out there.” Charles’s eyes met yours, determination dancing in them. “All of them.”

“We’ll look for them as we look for supplies,” Seb said firmly. “We’ll need enough food for everyone.”

You almost smiled at both of their ardent beliefs that your friends were alive, relief filling your heart. They truly believed that you would find them, and you’d all survive whatever this outbreak was. You wanted to believe, too, that everyone was safe.

But your heart ached.

“We should stay away from the more populated areas,” you suggested. “If the circuit was that bad, anywhere near there will probably be filled with zombies. The casino, the shops… but I guess, where in this city won’t have a ton of people?”

Charles snorted, pausing his inhalation of his breakfast. “Anywhere near the water is going to be populated. Tourists or otherwise, that entire area is always busy.” You looked down at your own half-eaten plate, biting your lip. “What are we looking for, anyways?” You grabbed the list and held it out to Charles. He gingerly took it and read it, his eyes narrowing as he did. “Guns? Survival gear?” He pursed his lips. “The best you might get is some camping gear, but even that might be hard to find. And guns… those will be even more difficult.”

“What about the… uh… rifle club?” You all turned to look at Logan, who’d finally pulled himself from his trance and stood at the entryway to the kitchen. He bit his lip, flinching at the sudden attention. “When-when my family came to watch the race last year, some of them wanted to go shooting while they were here. There’s a rifle club, I think. They might have guns there, right?”

“He’s right,” Charles confirmed, eyes widening. “I doubt it’s a lot of them, but there’ll probably be a few guns there.”

“Then that’s where we go.” Seb nodded. “Where is it?”

Logan hesitated. “That’s the thing. I’m pretty sure it’s close to the western border.”

Your heart dropped. Monaco wasn’t a big city — it took about 10 minutes to drive through the city on a good day — but it was still pretty far from where you were. Anything could happen in the short time it took to get from Lando’s apartment to the other side of the city. The risks were too high for a “maybe.” You could see the way that Charles’s head hung, his thoughts headed the same direction as yours were.

“We don’t have a lot of options,” came Oscar’s voice. “Plus, what if someone else went that way? Pierre and Esteban… maybe they tried to leave to go home.” His voice was hopeful, his suggestion outlandish, but you wanted to believe it was possible.

You could see the wheels turning in Seb’s head. “We’ve got a lot of people unaccounted for. And I bet a lot of them want to try to get home, too. I’m guessing looking around the city won’t be such a bad idea.”

“Seb, we’re in Europe,” you protested. “It’s been days, they could be all the way to… to fucking Denmark if they really wanted to be.”

Charles shook his head, his gaze far away. “No, no. Not immediately, at least. They’d stay for a little. Try to get their bearings, maybe find people like we are. I can’t see any of them just… leaving people behind.”

“Not even Fernando,” Oscar agreed, a small, sardonic smirk on his face. You almost laughed. A snort escaped Seb, knowing exactly what the older Spaniard was like. “It’s a risk we’ll probably have to take at some point. So better take it while there’s still a chance that we can find the things we need…”

“Before other people get to them,” Seb finished Oscar’s sentence.

For a moment, silence fell upon all of you, crammed in that tiny kitchen. You sighed, putting your plate down. The clatter of porcelain on the stone counters jolted the boys out of their thoughts, and they looked at you.

“George told me something he noticed when he was stuck at the circuit,” you said softly. “That they’re… drawn to heat. The zombies, I mean. He thinks that there were so many yesterday because of the fires. And that if those fires kept burning, more and more were drawn there. Which might mean that there’s less in the actual city.”

Seb nodded slowly. “Any advantage is a good one,” Charles murmured.

“Okay. Finish eating, then we go.” Seb pushed himself off the counter and past you. “Grab your things when you’re ready. I’ll go make sure the garage is clear.”

“What about George?” Logan asked worriedly.

“He’s staying here.” You moved to follow Seb, not wanting to waste anymore time. “His leg is still too injured. He needs rest.”

You heard Charles scoff as he put his plate into the sink. “Bet he’s happy about that.” You rolled your eyes, remembering the bitter look that George wore when he reluctantly agreed to stay behind.

You slowly began to gather your things, counting all of the first aid supplies you’d grabbed and refilling your water bottles. As you were, the sink suddenly sputtered, then stopped. The water had stopped running. You sighed, hanging your head. Things were already collapsing. You’d only been able to fill two bottles, but they would have to do. You slid them into your bag and grabbed another sweatshirt from Lando’s closet.

As you pulled it on, you stared at your reflection. You could see the dark circles under your eyes. You wondered if everyone else noticed how haunted you looked. Heaving a sigh, you pulled your bag onto your back and crossed the hall to where George was laying.

You knocked on the door frame, and he looked up from where he sat, once again scrolling on his phone. “Hey,” you said softly.

He looked up sharply, immediately locking his phone again. “Hey. Sorry, this… I just can’t stop looking. This article went up only thirty minutes before… everything.” He let out a noise of disbelief. “Were they even planning on saying anything? Did the government know? The United Nations? It’s everywhere, and we just… we were in the dark.”

“George…”

“Something like this spreads like wildfire. I-I mean, we all lived through 2020, and we saw how fast that spread. But this is something else entirely. I… I can’t begin to think of any reasons to hide it. People are dead, and there’s still no response from the government. Any of them. I just… I don’t understand.”

You bit your lip. There was nothing you could say to comfort him. He was right, and you knew that he was right. The pain of that knowledge made your stomach curl uncomfortably, and you shifted.

He heaved another sigh, putting his phone on the bedside table. “Sorry, I… it’s not your fault. I just feel so useless. My friends are dead and missing, and this all just feels like it could’ve been prevented. Maybe, if I’d known, I…”

“You couldn’t have stopped this,” you cut him off. He looked at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, wild desperation and open sorrow mixing in his gaze. “Yeah, sure, you’re the head of the GDPA, but what does that mean? No one was ever going to tell us shit.”

“Still…”

“I get it. Why us, right? Why are we alive while our friends are out there, suffering, right?” He nodded shortly, stiffly. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring him right in the eyes. You grabbed his hand, and he clung to you. “I don’t get it, either, George. I’ll never understand.”

He held you harder. You could feel him shaking. “It’s got to mean something. We… we’re alive for a reason. Right?” he asked, his voice unsure.

You bit your lip. “Yeah,” you replied slowly. You didn’t want to admit that maybe you were just the lucky ones.

Clearly, he didn’t either as he pulled away and cleared his throat. For his sake, you ignored the way his voice shook and his tears slipped down his face. “So… you’re heading out now?”

“Yeah. I brought up what you said, and we agreed it’s probably best to move quickly. Plus, Logan brought up the Monaco Rifle Club. There’s a chance there’ll be some guns there.” A sigh escaped you. “Anything’s better than those golf clubs. I… if another one like Carlos showed up, I don’t know if I’d…”

“I wouldn’t. I think it’d kill me,” he admitted quietly. “I know you already promised that you’d be careful, so I won’t ask again. And I… I don’t know, I’ll figure something out. I just can’t sit here and do nothing, but fuck my luck, huh?” He grimaced, running a hand over his injured leg.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve got this, Georgie. We’ll make it,” you swore. He managed a small smile, although it was tinged with an unspoken pain.

Part of you hated how small he looked when you finally stood, grabbing your bag and leaving the room, making sure to shut the door behind you. The others were already waiting for you, weapons in hand, and you held out the two full water bottles wordlessly. Seb took one, Oscar took the other.

“Water’s off,” you answered the unasked question. “I only got two before it stopped.”

Seb hummed, a frown playing at his lips as he turned the water bottle in his hand. “We’ll have to make it last.”

Seb passed the bottle to Charles, who reluctantly took it and tucked it into his bag. Oscar followed suit, offering his to Logan. Logan wordlessly shook his head in protest. Oscar just rolled his eyes and shoved the bottle into Logan’s bag anyways, ignoring Logan trying to fight him off. Seb quickly led you all down the stairs and into the city.

The walk that would’ve usually been thirty minutes at most felt like an eternity of silence as you walked in the middle of the pack. Sebastian led the way, with Charles taking a protective stance in front of you and both Oscar and Logan trailing behind. There was a tense air that hung around your group as you made your way through the hauntingly empty city.

“Almost there,” Sebastian murmured as he peered around the corner. “Just a few more blocks.”

Your grip on your club grew tighter. You knew that you were lucky to have not run into more zombies than your group could handle. Blood dripped from the head of the golf club onto the pavement beneath you.

“You okay?” you heard Oscar murmur to Logan. You couldn’t hear Logan’s response, so you assumed he had nodded. “Okay. Just… stay close. We’re gonna be fine.”

Maybe, you began to think, there was a spot of hope in this Hell you found yourselves in. The next few blocks were completely empty. You saw a few roadblocks, helplessly set up by the Monaco Police Department, with cars abandoned and piled up high on the roads, left behind by those who had attempted to evacuate. Some were empty, their owners having fled when traffic came to a screeching halt, and some had bodies left in them, both dead and undead.

“All those people… do you think they made it?” Your question went unanswered as you looked over at Charles, who pointedly kept his gaze away from yours. You bit your lip. Maybe it was for the best that no one replied.

Silence fell again as Sebastian led your group right to the doors of the Rifle Club. You watched, every second causing a bit more panic to shoot through your veins as he fiddled with the chain and padlock keeping the doors shut.

“Isn’t there another way in?” Charles hissed. “We can’t stay out here too long—”

“Shut up,” Sebastian shot back immediately. “Any other way in is just asking to be jumped on. Just… give me time.” Although Charles looked like he wanted to reply, you grabbed his arm and shook your head.

It was a nerve wracking few minutes before the lock and chain fell to the ground, and Sebastian opened the doors. He held them open as you all darted in, with him following behind and closing the door.

As the door swung closed, darkness consumed the building. You glanced at the windows. They were boarded up, hastily set up to block the outside world. You heard Oscar mutter a curse to your left, and heard Charles rummaging through his bag on your right. Suddenly, there was a bright light as Charles held up his flashlight. You blinked from the sudden flash, your eyes struggling to adjust.

You blinked the darkness away, only to see Charles frozen in place, the flashlight shaking in his grasp. “Fuck,” he gasped. “What did they do…” Slowly, you followed his gaze, only for your stomach to flip as your breakfast fought its way back up your throat. You managed to hold yourself together, but just barely, as your eyes settled on the aftermath of the outbreak.

There were bodies, covered by blankets. Blood had seeped through the fabric, and had congealed where it spread across the tiles. None of them were moving.

The bodies that were moving were the ones that were hanging from the rafters. There were three in total, all of them growling unpleasantly and reaching for your group. You swallowed your sorrow, and glanced over at the rest of your group. Logan looked pale, paler than he’d been even in the past few days. Even Oscar looked positively ill.

Sebastian flicked his own light on and grimaced. “They’re bitten.” He gestured towards their arms, and you could just barely see the blood on each of them. “Explains why they…” he trailed off, hesitating to finish his sentence.

Instead, he walked forwards, lifting up his crowbar as he met the first living corpse. He muttered something under his breath before he swung. Once, twice, and the corpse fell still. You took a deep breath and followed him, swinging your club into the head of the zombie on the right. You saw Oscar move, pulling out of Logan’s grip, to put down the other one.

By the time  you’d done so, Seb had pulled a chair over and had pulled out a knife. “Hold this steady. I’ll get them down.” You and Charles held the arms of the chair as Seb stood on the seat, the kitchen knife sawing away at the rope. It took much longer than you would’ve thought, but eventually, the first body hit the floor with a sickening crack. You winced.

“You brought a knife?” you asked softly.

He bit his lip, turning the blade in his hands as he stepped down from the chair. “It’s not good for much but this. I doubt it could go through a skull.” He blinked, glancing down at the body. “What’s that?” He pointed towards a sheet of paper attached to the zombie’s shirt with a safety pin.

Charles reached for the paper and tore it from the front of the zombie’s shirt. He heaved a sigh before he began to read it.

“Whoever finds this, know that we are sorry. We had to take the lives of those that we loved, and for that, we beg God’s forgiveness. We were bitten in the struggle. We know what happens to those who are bitten, and we do not wish to die like that. Forgive us for not being strong enough to do what must be done. Please do what we could not.”

Silence fell over your group again. Your hands twitched, your entire body suddenly feeling itchy, like something was crawling beneath your skin. A shiver ran down your spine, and you sniffled, overwhelming grief for people that you’ve never met — and now, never will.

“C’mon,” Seb finally murmured. “Let’s get the others down.” Oscar pulled Logan to help Seb cut the ropes holding the other two bodies up. You stood completely still, next to Charles, who was frozen with the paper in his hands.

“Charles?” you asked softly. “Are you alright?”

It was like your voice snapped him out of a trance. He immediately crumpled the paper in his hands, and you could see a mixture of grief and rage in his eyes.

“I’m not,” he admitted. He turned to face you, dropping the paper on the floor and crushing it beneath his foot. “They were bitten, so they were going to die no matter what. But… I don’t get it. How were they strong enough to put down those they loved, but not themselves?”

You hesitated. “I guess… it’s because they put them down, probably. That kind of thing… doing that must’ve taken a lot out of them. So much that there was nothing left for themselves.” You slowly glanced at Charles out of the corners of your eyes.

For a moment, he was silent, his thousand yard stare trained on the body he stood over. He lifted his foot from the crumpled paper and took a deep, shaking breath. Finally, he kicked the paper towards the body.

“Promise me that none of us will end up like this.”

“I…” you trailed off; you knew that you couldn’t promise that none of you would die. “Charles, you know—”

“I don’t mean… like this.” He bit his lip. You could see the rage subsiding into a deep-seeded sorrow, a resignation that things were never going to go back to the way that they were. “I mean… if one of us is bitten. I don’t want any of us to turn.” He shuddered. You knew that he was thinking of Carlos, of the shell that had been his teammate, as it had shuffled mindlessly towards you.

You hesitated. You wanted to say yes, you wanted to agree. But you didn’t know if you were strong enough. To put down something that had once been your friend. Charles had done it. He had been the one to put down Carlos, to free his body from the undead prison it was trapped in. You just didn’t know if you would’ve been able to do the same.

“Charles…”

He cut you off with a shake of his head and a sad smile. “Forget I asked. I know that’s a lot. I’m… I’m sorry I asked.” He turned to rejoin everyone else, but you grabbed onto him before you could register your own motions. He looked back at you.

You bit your lip, heaving a shuddering breath. “No. I… I promise. I’m scared shitless, but I know that I’d want someone to do the same for me. So… so, I promise.”

“I’d do it for you. If it came to it, I would.”

You squeezed his arm before slowly letting go. “I know you would,” you replied, your voice so quiet you didn’t know if he could even hear you.

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, an understanding settling between the two of you.

“Guys.” Both of you turned as Oscar approached. “Seb found guns. Not a lot of them, but enough. The problem is bullets.” He held out two pistols. You slowly took the one he held out to you and turned it in your hands. The weight was foreign, and the gun felt cold to the touch. Charles took his, looking just as uncomfortable. “Even if this place wasn’t looted, they got into a fight here. Logan and Seb are looking for more bullets, but a lot of what’s left is for guns that are too hard for us to use. The recoil is too strong, or something like that.”

“I’ve… never shot a gun,” you admitted.

“Neither have I.” Charles sighed. “Although, I’m sure Logan has.”

“Hunting rifles, but these are different. They’re loud, and they can only hold a few bullets at a time,” Oscar explained, gesturing to the guns you both held. “They’re not going to be much use in a crisis, but it’s… better than nothing, I guess.”

You glanced at him. “Where’s yours?” He patted his bag. He’d probably dropped it into the front pocket.

Seb and Logan emerged from the hallway behind you. Seb held a stack of small boxes in one hand, a rifle in the other. “Here. A box of bullets each.” You gingerly took the box, hearing the bullets clatter around. You pursed your lips before putting them in your bag.

“You get a rifle?”

Seb smirked sardonically. “Well. Besides Logan, I’m the only one with experience.” You could see Charles mirroring your skeptical look. “Hey, I had a life before you all met me. Now, listen. We don’t have enough bullets for you guys to just start practicing. I’m sure Oscar already explained what these guns are. If we find better, we’ll swap. I have some extra bullets for different guns on me, just in case, but these are for emergencies only. One shot will likely bring all of Monaco down on us. We don’t waste bullets. Got it?”

“So, what do you consider an emergency?” Charles asked dryly.

For a moment Seb just stared at him. “If it’s your only choice,” he finally said, his voice low.

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