"And suddenly I realized that I was no longer driving the car consciously. I was driving it by a kind of instinct, only I was in a different dimension."
-Ayrton Senna
Prologue
"It's a beautiful afternoon here in Monte Carlo, with the qualifying session winding down. It appears car number 16, Williams, is preparing for a quick lap. Williams, after Maldonado's suspension after last week's race incident, have promoted test driver Takumi Fujiwara to a race seat…"
The race commentator shifted uncomfortably, as he often did when presented with the prospect of commentating over a back marker's qualifying lap. Williams was once a dominant force in Formula One, but had gradually descended into mediocrity and obscurity over the past decade. Though the team had somehow managed to miraculously survive Q2, the commentator, along with the rest of the paddock, was inclined to ignore Williams and focus on the increasingly acrimonious Championship fight between Ferrari, McLaren, and Red Bull. Vacillating slightly, the commentator sighed and shifted his eyes to the live feed.
"There's Fujiwara, speeding towards the first corner. Two minutes left in Q3, which means that this is the last lap for Williams to gain any positions. Two hundred kilometers an hour through Massenet, braking hard for Casino, currently two-tenths seconds quicker than Alonso through sector one…"
The commentator paused, slightly embarrassed at his uncharacteristic mistake. Pushing up his glasses, he glanced at the timesheets again to confirm that, indeed, he had made an error, and that the Williams was plodding along in tenth, where it ought to be.
"I apologize, ladies and gentlemen. It appears that the Williams is not on pace to take pole position, but is rather…a whole second quicker the current provisional pole holder?
He was sure that his eyes hadn't fooled him this time. This was no mistake; the Williams was on its way to pole. Suddenly, the commentator straightened himself out, his blood humming, anticipating an extraordinary performance from the rookie driver and his washed up team.
"Fujiwara putting in a cracking performance, out-pacing the provisional pole holder, Fernando Alonso, in both sectors one and two. Flying through the tunnel, and…oh my God…Fujiwara just darted through the chicane, carrying an incredible amount of speed into Tabac, keeping the throttle down, the Williams effectively scraping the wall on the exit and…dear God, he's bloody insane!"
Struggling for propriety, the commentator plastered his face to the monitors. Never in his fifteen years in this career had he seen such raw and ruthless speed. Suddenly conscious that he had stopped talking from awe, he scrambled for the microphone.
"The Williams well on its way to not only pole position, but also the lap record. Fujiwara now approaching Rascasse…and he's made a mistake, entering that corner far too quickly, and will have to brake at an uncomfortable point, he's not braking, he's going to cra…SWEET MOTHER OF JESUS! He's drifting! Fujiwara has drifted through Rascasse, without losing any speed! In all my years on this job, I've never seen anything like it! Fujiwara, in the number 16 Williams, knocking Fernando Alonso off pole with a 1:12.3 second lap time, over two seconds quicker! What an absolutely incredible lap! Takumi Fujiwara, on pole position for tomorrow afternoon's annual Monaco Grand Prix, on his debut race in Formula One.
The commentator drifted off, sat back into his chair, struggling to breathe, struggling to comprehend the incredulity of it all. Wiping his damp palms on the back of his shirt, he switched the channel back to the trackside reporter. He faintly heard the boisterous cheers and celebrations from the pit lane, presumably from the Williams team. Dazed, he stared up at the ceiling and wondered out loud.
"Who the bloody hell was that guy?"