"He's not ready" the Stig growled. The Producer was unimpressed.
"He's had three months. He's ready enough" they said.
"He's not ready for these kind of conditions" the Stig replied, gesturing towards the window. Rain pelted against it with a steady pattering noise. The producer crossed their arms stubbornly.
"He's doing it" they said. The Stig growled low in his throat and stormed off to the control room, donning headphones and a mouthpiece.
"Can you hear me?" he asked, testing the intercom.
"Yep" replied the cheery voice of his youthful apprentice. "Whew. Its bucketing down out here. The ride should be fun" The Stig didn't reply immediately.
"I want you to be careful" he said finally. "Don't do anything rash and stay in control at all times. Remember what I taught you". Looking out the window, he could vaguely see the white-clad figure through the pouring rain. He obviously saw him looking as he raised one hand in salute.
"Yes sir" he said cheerfully over the intercom. The Stig smiled slightly but his forehead creased into a worried frown as the boy got into the car and started it up. Even he would think twice about taking such a powerful car out on a day like this. With deepening dread, he watched as the car accelerated away from the starting line, wheels spinning. The ride around the track went smoothly and he was just coming to the second last corner when disaster struck. Black ice. The Stig watched in horror as the car swerved off, fishtailing madly as the boy tried to wrestle back control. The Stig tried to yell something but a burst of static in his ears showed that the connection had failed. He watched in anguish as the boy tried desperately to stop his slide, but the car was too far gone. There was a crackle of static over the intercom.
"I'm sorry" the boy said, then the car smashed against the hanger wall. The Stig ripped off the earphones, charging down the stairs to the ground floor. He pelted across the wet tarmac, his feet splashing through the water. He was 5 meters away from the car when it exploded. He remembered the explosion, a bright flash of light and sound, the smell of burning flesh…and pain. He remembered the pain.
The Stig sat up in the hospital bed. All he could see was white everywhere he looked. Strangely, it reminded him of the boy. He had always loved to wear white.
The boy was gone.
The truth of the words was like a punch to the gut and he went to cover his face in his hands but recoiled from the touch, pain flaring across his skin. He could just make out his reflection in the hospital window. He looked like a monster. A patchwork of scars covered his face, leading down the rest of his body to where they disappeared under the hospital gown. "Better than the boy" he thought bitterly. Glancing round the room his eyes rested on a white racing helmet sitting on the side table. Lifting the helmet, a slip of paper fell into his lap. "Get well soon-The Producer" in a fit of rage he ripped the paper to shreds, flinging it and the helmet across the room.
In that moment he made a decision. He would not speak ever again. He would do it in memory of the boy and how his words hadn't helped him. Pulling himself to his feet, ignoring the pain, he hobbled to where the white helmet lay on the floor. Picking it up, he put it over his head. From now on he would be known only as The Stig and never, never, would he ever take another apprentice.
"Congratulations Stig" on of the mechanics called out as he walked to the hanger. He turned, confused. "I heard you're getting another apprentice"