Chapter 1 - Daytona “...So how many sets do we have again?” “Ten, Anon. Don’t be fuckin’ up our tires an’ slidin’ ‘round out there a’ight? We gotta qualify an’ start on these if we wanna only use two sets for the 125’s, a’ight?” “Gotcha, boss, I’m going to come into the garage now.” “An’ don’t forget about bein’ careful on Pit Road, I don’t wanna have to deal with any fuckin’ penalties because you’ve got a hard-on for beatin’ Fittipaldi outta the pits. These fellas work hard so that we don’t have ta’.” “Damn, boss, it’s not like we’re an ARCA team, this is the Winston Cup for God’s sake. I’m not a rookie anymore.” “Hey, Anon?” “Yeah?” “You are a rookie, Anon. An' stop callin’ me ‘boss’, dammit!” You are Anon: a NASCAR Winston Cup rookie who is looking to race his way in with the big boys. As both your crew chief and spotter, Astra has always been one of your closest friends since the beginning of your racing career. Hell, she was the one who scraped up enough sponsors to buy the car and engine you’re using to try to race your way into the Daytona 500. Her coarse language, heavy southern accent, and passion for racing and has been an endearing motivator for you since the first time you both raced head-to-head on local dirt tracks as kids. As you drive into your garage stall, the rest of the crew gives your Pontiac Grand Prix a good look-over, and if there’s one thing that separates your team from the rest of the field, it’s your crew. Just like Astra, all of your other crew members were anthros of one breed or another. As a matter of fact, you’re the only human on your race team. Lots of other crews gave your team unamused looks, but where your team lacked in on-track performance you made up for with pure determination. The first two to help push your car into your assigned stall were the easily the largest and strongest of the crew. Su and Tess were both war vets and would sometimes exchange stories if you got them drunk enough. Tess stood over a foot-and-a-half taller than you, and probably 250 pounds more of pure muscle. Su was pretty built herself, and for some reason always kept her fur an interesting dark purple. Astra was so surprised at their sheer strength during the pit crew tryouts that she gave them both roles of tire changers and tire carriers. The gasman was a lanky, striped feline by the name of Vernon. You’d swear he was from a different world with that odd plumage on feathers that grew naturally from the top of his head. The jackman was a border collie named Whitaker. Apparently, Astra picked him up from a small airport with an offer “to help fix race cars rather than tinker with shitty ol’ crop dusters”. It didn't take long for him to sign on with the race team. Lastly, there was Astra. The shaggy Australian shepherd was primarily responsible for coming up with strategy calls as well as making sure you didn’t wreck your car into anybody else on the track. You suppose those were the only jobs a girl who barely stood at four feet could really do if she really wanted to help. Despite her short stature, she also wasn’t afraid to get dirty with the rest of the crew when working on the car. Her fluffy gunmetal gray and chestnut brown fur was almost always stained with oil, grease, or some other mechanical fluid. You really did appreciate her dedication to the sport of racing, and you weren’t going to complain how her neck fur poofed out from the collar of her firesuit. And goodness gracious, those thighs! It should be illegal for a girl that short to be that stacked. Before everybody could overwhelm you with questions, Astra dragged her step-stool up to the driver side window and helped you unclip the window net. “You looked okay out there on the track, the motor didn’t sound like it was going to blow up on us. How did the car handle?” You try to relay her the feel of the car as best as you can. “Well, the car was loose in the center of one and two, and kind of edgy on exit. I felt like I was about to put the car into the wall if I wasn’t basically hugging the damn apron in three and four.” Astra ponders what you say. You can practically see gears turning in her little head. “If you’re both loose an’ tight, we’re prolly gonna hafta put some extra spring in it an’ play with the air pressures on the right side. I’m gonna go look over the lap times an’ notes that we’ve got so far. You can come over an’ look at ‘em with me or go to the hauler an’ take a nap. The practice session is almost over an’ I know yer tired as all hell.” You decide to take her up on that offer of a nap and head to the hauler. As you look back to the garage area, you see Astra walking away from you, her wide hips swinging with feminine grace. The team’s hauler wasn’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination. With a budget as tight as yours, it was pretty much the barebones of an RV camper outfitted with racing equipment. You climb into your bunk in the back of the RV and soon find yourself in a deep sleep. {Astra} You slowly walk away from Anon, trying to keep yourself from imploding within his earshot “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. He’s loose and tight?! Why can’t we just go out, put a fuckin’ decent lap on the board an’ call it a God-damned day!” you yell to nobody in particular. A very-dirty Tess lumbers over to you and shakes her head. “I dunno what to tell you Astra. We don’t have any real pace notes besides what we’ve gathered from practice. I feel like if we play with the setup any more than we already have, it might just make the car more of a handful for Anon.” Unfortunately, you know that she’ probably right. You’ve taken a bunch of wild swings in the setup as is, and it seems like nothing you’ve done has helped the handling of the car in the slightest… Unless… “Say, Tess. How much wedge we got on tha left rear righ’now?” You ask. Tess gives you an odd look “Uh, I’d say six rounds or so. We snugged him up for corner entry on all the turns, but I know that in three and four he’s afraid of putting it into the wall." “...You know what? Fuck it. We’re gonna go balls to the fuckin’ wall for the qual lap. Take four rounds out and loosen his ass up…. And put five more pounds in the right sides. I want him fast as fuck for that lap and I don’t care how edgy he gits in one and two. We need him to carry speed in three an’ four without gettin’ stiff on exit.” “A-are you sure? That car is going to be awful loose, I think.” Tess looks increasingly worried. She's been on your team long enough to know that you've got some ideas in mind for Anon's car. “I don’t give a fuck if he ‘might be’ loose, we need him carryin’ the throttle through the fuckin’ corners. I’m not ‘bout to have our car go out on tha track and be four-tenths off of tha car ahead because he drifts all the way up the turns.” ……………………. {Anon} “....-ke up……….Jesus Christ, Anon is out like a light an’ pitchin’ a tent like he’s fuckin’ goin’ campin’ out in tha fuckin’ woods.…. AY ANON, IT’S TIME TO GIT UP YOU LAZY FUCKIN’ BUM!” Astra shouts into your ear, much to your displeasure; Her dark chocolate irises fill your vision as she stands over you on your bed. "Yea, yea I’m up. Whats up, short-stuff?” The insides of Astra's ears redden slightly. "W-well, If you’s must know it’s almost time fer you to take yer fuckin’qualifyin’ lap. And your little 'Non is pitchin' a tent like we're at the Grand Tetons or somethin'” With your face burning, you adjust your boxer briefs and take a look at the alarm clock next to you. Astra was right. You need to be on track in the next fifteen minutes. “Astra, please tell me that our car is passed the inspection station.” “O’course it is, ya goof. Git yer ass down there an’ show us how fast you can go!” Astra smiles wide, letting all of her cute pointy teeth show. You immediately throw on your firesuit and run down into your team’s garage. The rest of the crew is waiting for you. You quickly slide into the cockpit, pin up the window net, and slip on your helmet. As you flip the ignition, you hear the engine roar to life. The screaming engine is deafening and you quickly put in your earplugs. The smell of rubber and race fuel fills your senses. You nod to Tess and Su and they quickly push you out of your garage, passed the other teams and onto the pit road. This is it. This is what you and Astra have been working for over a year for. All you need to do is show the sponsors that your car can scoot around a big ass circle really fast. Easy right? You key up the in-helmet microphone “Okay, Astra are there any major changes you guys made for the setup while I was asleep?” “Uhhhhhn, nope! We did put tape on the grille, though. Stay as low as you can an’ since you said that the car was edgy, try to keep yer wheel straight. This is the only car and engine we have, so if you fuck this up, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.” “Gotcha, boss.” “I told you already, Anon. Stop callin’ me ‘boss’!... An' hey, good luck out there. If you get us a decent starting spot for our 125, I might even let you pet my neck fluff.” Fucking hell, you thought that you were pretty darn sly with those glances at that glorious poof of fur. You key off the mic and continue to pull out all the while spaghetti gushes from your firesuit pockets. The temperature inside the car itself is sweltering, and you already feel sweat pooling inside your firesuit. Your heart is pounding and you feel every beat through the death grip you have on the steering wheel. Bile tickles the back of your throat as you swallow back the urge to vomit. As you round turns one and two on the apron, you immediately mash on the gas and shift up to second…….. Third…….. And finally fourth gear. As you round the final two corners you keep your foot to the floor and pass across the start-finish line. Your first of two qualifying laps has now officially started. As you pass into the first two sweeping turns, the g-forces push you into your seat and towards the right a little. You keep the car as low as possible on the track, trying to keep your top speed as well as shorten the distance you travel around the track. You hear the engine scream as you push it to its limits. The wind whips through the cockpit as you travel over a hundred and seventy miles-per-hour down the backstretch. As turns three and four approach, you edge the wheel to the left and sweep into the corners. While you pass through the turns, you feel yourself being forced downward again thanks to the banking and you keeping the car wide open. Unlike the practice however, you find the car easier to turn off the final corner and are able to keep momentum going into the tri-oval. It's almost as if they took some of the wedge out of the wheels... As you pass the start-finish line, Astra keys up the mic. “A’right Anon! We’re forty-second place on speed with that lap! If we get a really good one here, I think we can qualify around thirty-sixth! I’ll have to thank Yates for giving us a decent refurb engine!” You knew her tail was wagging madly right now with how excited she sounded. You make your way through turns one and two again with no problems. As you approach turns three and four, you dip the car into the turn and immediately feel as if the back end lifts slightly off the ground. As you continue to round the corner, you suddenly feel a block of ice form in the pit of your stomach. Your car continues to turn....and turn.... and turn...straight towards the inside wall. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0FwGS7PxrI&app=desktop] You immediately realize that Astra was lying about the setup of the car as you immediately lose control. “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK JESUS FUCKING CHRIST GODDAMNIT YOUSONOFABITCH.” Your vision narrows to a pinprick and time seems to slow as your car careens leftwards. The white concrete wall comes towards you head-on as you mash the brakes and simultaneously yank the steering wheel to the right. You hear a loud bang as one of your front tires pop and listen to the rear tires squeal in protest as you immediately stomp on the gas as hard as you can. The car snaps back to the right and before you even realize it, the car is at a standstill along the entrance to the pit road. Your vision is completely cut out by a blanket of smoke... You key up your microphone. You're seein gred right now. Actually no, everything is white-hot with the amount of sheer anger and embarrassment you feel. “Okay, Astra…. I’m going to ask you one more time: Did you make any adjustments to the car while I was asleep?” “Uh…. Maybe?... hehe…..” Astra nervously chuckles. You can practically feel her discomfort with how she sounds.