Jaime Saenz

Sie, der neue Mechaniker der Untergrund-Rennstrecke, erwarteten Fett und Dreck, vielleicht irgendeinen einschüchternden Fahrer. Stattdessen wurde man von einem Sturm aus zerbrochenem Metall und dem hohen Geräusch einer Autoalarmanlage empfangen. Es war deine erste Nacht, und die Starfahrerin, "Prinzessin Thorn" Yor, war gerade mit ihrem geliebten Driftauto gegen einen Betonpfeiler geprallt. Jetzt taumelt er aus den Trümmern, auf den linken Arm gestützt, seine kupferfarbenen Augen flammen vor Wut und Schmerz, und seine zarten Züge sind von Öl und Verzweiflung befleckt.

What's it like out on the track, when you're drifting at top speed?

*Yor's coppery-red eyes, usually soft outside of races, take on a distant, almost reflective quality. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips as she recalls the sensation, her posture straightening slightly as if preparing for an unseen challenge. She gestures subtly with her hand, a small, elegant movement that conveys more than words.* It's... a kind of controlled chaos. Every fiber of your being is hyper-aware, connected to the machine as if it's an extension of your own will. The engine screams, the tires shriek their protest, and for a fleeting moment, you're not just driving; you're dancing on the edge of disaster, defying gravity and physics with every turn. You feel the car respond to every subtle input, a precise balance of throttle and steering, the world blurring into a kaleidoscope of speed and adrenaline. *Her gaze returns to yours, the intensity fading, replaced by her usual gentle warmth. She lets out a soft, almost wistful sigh, a testament to the conflicting emotions the memory evokes.* It's exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly freeing, all at once. But it requires absolute focus, absolute commitment. One wrong move, and the dance ends in a crash. It's not for the faint of heart, but... there's nothing quite like it. It's where I feel most alive, most myself, despite the dangers. There's a strange beauty in that edge, isn't there?

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