Cockpit Adjustment
Michà climbed into the cockpit, carefully sitting on the adjustable stand, holding the plastic bag filled with the silicone-foam material that would mold the seat to her body. The car had been built to measure, designed for every corner, every vibration, every G-force that only a driver like her could endure. Among men, standing out physically was already difficult; mentally and psychologically, the challenge was even greater.
Dan watched her, admiring the strength Michà conveyed through the broadcast cameras. Fearless, untouchable, driving above 450 km/h and walking away alive from concrete walls — it took courage and extreme control to do that.
Michà, cautious, kept her distance, but broke the ice with an ironic comment, even though she hated being praised by Dan:
— You know, on that corner, while death was just inches away, I was… peeing.
Dan couldn't hold back her laughter.
— Holding in your pee before almost dying isn't good — she said, laughing, realizing that intimacy and trust were beginning to emerge in their work environment.
The adjustment continued with absolute professionalism, but now there was room for humanity, humor, and mutual respect, as Dan adjusted the seat molds and Michà provided precise feedback, every detail ensuring maximum performance and total safety.
Michà left the seat mold behind and walked through the nearly empty complex. The old dark-gray uniform seemed out of place against the smooth white walls, like a displaced shadow inside a temple of silence.
Through the wide glass panels, she could see the engineers in their chaotic dance: some laughed nervously, others scratched their heads in desperation, while a few crossed their arms and stared at the floor as though waiting for a revelation. It was a collective mantra of frustration and hope. Every gesture, every attempt, was for her — so that her black eyes could see the impossible become speed.
No one noticed her, and yet everyone knew she was there. The silence surrounding Michà was not indifference, but reverence. Drivers need space because, deep down, they carry alone the weight of the machine and death.
As she walked, she could feel the energy of the place pulsing against the glass, but inside her, the opposite: calm, focus, as if she were living in another time. The contrast made her smile discreetly — the chaos of steel outside, the serenity of flesh within.
At the end of the corridor, she reached the top of the complex. The sun was already descending, bathing the grid below in gold. The lines of the track glittered like streaks of fire across the rising darkness. The shadow of the tower rose and covered her completely, reminding her that Mother Ceres was always watching.
For a moment, Michà stopped.
That sunset was not merely the end of a day — it felt like an omen. The beginning of something greater, something the world was not yet ready to see.
Michà remained in the complex like a child waiting for a promised gift. The new car was still a mystery, but to her it already had a name: Steel Womb. The cockpit was her home — womb and coffin, safety and death separated by mere centimeters.
Ron approached slowly, silently. He looked at the orange horizon.
— In Ceres, the sunset has always been beautiful. It always will be.
He took a deep, heavy breath.
— I regret that we have to have Dan between us. But that's reality. The greater the pressure, the greater the investment, the more we need to win. It doesn't matter if I tell you that you're talented, Michà. If we don't turn this… desire to be together… into results on the track, it means nothing. The dream can live, but only the details decide.
Michà lowered her eyes, torn, her feelings boiling inside her.
— I'm… sorry for all of this.
Ron did not answer immediately. He walked toward the glass and let the shadow of the tower fall over the two of them, as though it were a sentence. When he spoke again, his voice was different — firm, but vulnerable.
— This isn't goodbye. It's only a pause. Mother has been very tolerant of us. More than she should have been. And… even now…
He raised his eyes toward the immense tower, as though speaking to her.
— Mother Ceres listens to our conversations. Including this one.
“Ron did not speak of love, nor desire. He spoke of investment, pressure, details. But when the tower's shadow covered them, his voice trembled. He did not say, ‘I miss you.’ He simply said: ‘Mother Ceres listens to our conversations, including this one.’ It was his way of admitting what he could not.”
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