Chapter One – Melbourne Race Weekend
F1 Pulse Broadcast: Pre-Season Special
MARTY GRAVES: Welcome to a brand new season in Formula One. It’s a bright day here in Melbourne and what a scorcher we’re in for this year. Tara, where do we even begin?
TARA WHITCOMBE: How about with history in the making? Sofia Vega becomes the first female driver in F1—and already, half the paddock is underestimating her.
MARTY: Underestimating? They should be afraid. You saw Stratos’s testing times—Vega’s out for blood. And poor Ben Walker, her sunny sidekick, is already sweating over who gets top dog in that garage.
TARA: Then there’s Riley Chen, finally making the leap to F1 with Tempest Autosport. Talk about pressure—comparisonsto Vega, rookie hype, and a car held together by duct tape and dreams.
MARTY: Elsewhere, Jax Rivers is now with Nova Dynamics, and it’s already a media circus. At least he’s got Ren Takeda to keep him grounded—ice and fire in that garage, but they’re playing nice. For now.
TARA: And Falcon Edge adds Matteo Ramos to their line-up. He’s loud, he’s fast, and he’s bringing flair to a team better known for its quiet intensity. Whether he lifts them or gets swallowed whole is anyone’s guess.
MARTY: Meanwhile, all eyes are on Hawthorn Racing. With two podium threats in Oliver Kane and Luca Moretti, they’re gunning to dethrone Obsidian. Kane’s been chasing consistency, and Moretti? Well, he’s chasing Aleksandr Volkov.
TARA: Volkov—the reigning world champion three years running, with Obsidian’s engine package and Team Principal, Norton Ross behind him. They’ve ruled the sport with an iron grip. But the regulation changes coming next year have everyone scrambling, and the cracks are already starting to show.
MARTY: You think Volkov’s worried?
TARA: Not outwardly. He’s as frosty as ever. But if that engine doesn’t deliver, or if Hawthorn and Nova start closing the gap, we might see a very different side of him.
MARTY: And I’ll be right there, popcorn in hand. Because this season? New blood, new rivalries, and maybe—just maybe—a new champion.
TARA: Buckle up, folks. The grid’s never looked this hungry.
MARTY: And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Aleksandr Volkov – Post Qualifying Press Conference
The room was chilled to within an inch of frostbite, but I still felt the sweat clinging to the back of my neck. We were perched on a pristine white sofa, the kind that looked modern but somehow still managed to be uncomfortable. Beside me were drivers from Stratos Racing and Tempest Autosport. Guys hardly worth my attention. I leant back slightly, race suit unzipped to the waist, hands resting on my thighs, mic cable draped across one knee. The backdrop behind us flashed through a rotation of sponsor logos and the F1 graphic, as if anyone needed reminding where we were.
“Aleksandr, how does it feel to start the season on top again?”
Boring.
“Any concerns about the new regulations next year?”
No.
“What’s your strategy for tomorrow’s race?”
Win.
I gave them the usual stock answers, my voice flat, my eyes scanning the room for the nearest exit. Movement caught my eye. A woman working her way from the back of the press pack towards the front. She came to a halt at the end of the second full row of seats.
I didn’t know her name yet. Just that she moved like she owned the place, dark hair pulled into a knot that looked one wrong word away from coming undone. She was all sharp edges and smirking lips, her phone out and ready to record like she was expecting a confession. A tailored navy blazer hugged her waist, the matching skirt cut just high enough to show off long, toned legs.
Something in my chest tightened.
“Next question,” came the call from the host. “Over here.” He pointed towards her, and she didn’t seem surprised.
“Elena Archer, International Motorsport Review. Aleksandr,” she said, voice smooth as oil on fire. “Rumours are swirling about Obsidian’s engine performance. Care to comment on how you’re really achieving that extra half-second per lap?”
The air shifted. The tension was subtle, but unmistakable. Even the host stiffened slightly in his armchair to the side.
My fingers twitched against the mic.
