95 ∓ 1

II

3...

'Breathe, just breathe,'

2...

'Focus, you've done this a million times,'

1...

'Focus, nothing's wrong,'

Go.

----

The screech of tires were nearly drowned out by the screams of the crowd; even with the helmet on, it was somehow unbearingly loud.

'Don't get distracted,' Francesco thought to himself, hands going partially numb as he held onto the wheel tighter. He couldn't shake that paranoid feeling, and in turn knew he wasn't doing as well as he could be, despite being in first place at the moment with McQueen mere inches behind him.

He took in a sharp breath and held it as he tore around the brief turn on the track, feeling oddly warm in his suit and helmet. He could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat, either from his subconscious screaming at him about some unknown danger, or more likely from the rising temperature from his car's engine.

----

The thing about seeing a problem and being unable to do anything about it is that it causes the witness to feel unbearingly guilty.

Even with the gold tint in his visor, McQueen could see the thin wisps of smoke seeping from the engine of the formula car in front of him. Sure, he's seen burnouts of engines before on the racetrack, but he wasn't totally prepared for what followed.

It was with another trail of smoke, plus the flicker of a flame, did McQueen, knowing full well he couldn't hear him, shouted in panic.

Not that it did any good when things took a turn for the worst.

----