Shin OK Number 37 - The Hanged Man

The darkness overlaying that Friday evening did not lift on Saturday, as for the first time in eight years the sky opened, and a deep descent of rain flooded the desert emirate, devouring local infrastructure and clearing streets unused to this sort of weather. The only part of society unaffected by the flash-flood was, ironically, the F1 track, which was designed to a standard which meant that rain could be properly drained. These standards were, of course, intended to prevent track flooding at places like Brazil and Malaysia rather than Bahrain or Abu Dhabi, but the teams could hardly complain about the track being overengineered after they were able to roll out for qualifying on schedule.

After a pitched battle between cars set up for warm, dry conditions, forced to try to find time cutting through cool, standing water, it all came down to one last run. Throughout, Kallen had had to fight through a delicate package that was unsuited to the weather, fighting the wheel back and forth with the knowledge that any jerk too far or too fast would send her spinning. She had to try to dial open a safe in less than a second through every corner, the shimmies requiring a moment of quick but exact twists back and forth, and her fight was rewarded with a twenty-ninth career pole position.

Once again, she said nothing to the press, entirely withdrawn in thought, and would say nothing until, just as the field lined up ahead of the race on Sunday, her engineer Nigel wished her luck, and, after a pause, she made a reply.

"Copy." was all that it contained.

By then, the rain had died down, and dried away, but the day had remained overcast throughout, with no dawn and no sunset. All there had been was the wait. Who would win, and take the lead of the championship at the final race, that much would be answered in two hours.

All eyes turned to the five red lights ahead, beckoning the end of the world.

"And they're off!" Diethard roared, as the pack of hounds ripped away from their boxes. Taking a moment to account for the field as they raced down to the first turn, he continued, once he had drawn a breath, "It's Kallen first followed by Naoto followed by Suzaku followed by Rolo followed, oh and that's going to be close!"

He had to pull back his rapid-fire bulleting through the grid as Naoto, starting just behind and just inside his sister, dived down into the apex, braking late and forcing Kallen to take the long way around. He was nearly able to squeeze Kallen completely out, but she was able to hold on around the outside, keeping her steering lock in and riding on the exit kerb, exiting the corner alongside her brother. While Kallen's wider line, and more open steering angle, allowed her to carry more speed coming out of the corner and inch ahead, Naoto still had enough of his nose up ahead of her rear tyres to prevent her from cutting back in as the track lunged to the left. However, as it then swept back right, Kallen, now on the inside, had a shorter line through to the heavy braking zone at turn four compared to Naoto on the outside, and, by the time it came down to it, he was too far back to continue the fight.

"And she has it!" Jeremiah exclaimed, rocking in his seat. "Kallen has closed the door and sealed the lead as they come around towards the first of the two back straights, and she is bolting away! If she can win this race, she will win her second world championship! Behind her, Naoto is win-and-in, Suzaku is win-and-in, you know sometimes we talk about things being winner takes all but this is it! Any of the top three can win the championship, but only if they win the race, and they're driving like it! Look at this!"

Jeremiah had to choke on his breath as Suzaku drafted up behind his teammate and prepared to slingshot up past him, with the overspeed allowing him to overtake Naoto without issue on approach to the back chicane.

"Look at that!" Diethard exclaimed. "Just pulling on the anchors with a huge head of steam, Naoto couldn't do anything!"

Suzaku, bullish and without much regard for anything except that illustrious first place, charged on past and gave pursuit to Kallen ahead with his helmet buried into the cockpit, his entire body tilted forward, his entire spirit waving forward like an eighteenth-century field marshals sabre beckoning the cavalry to launch into battle.

However, Kallen was a long ways up the road, and as hard as Suzaku might push, she had found another gear. Even as he wrung the neck out of his Rebellion through the back sector, squeezing on the brakes before flicking the car into the left-right-left switchback, flowing the car like water through a stream down the ribbon of angular turns and jolts that ran the length of the bay, it didn't matter. Kallen was wired into the track, propelled along by pure force of spite, throwing the car into corners at impossible speeds and just absorbing the issues it caused in the mid-apex, using brute force to bully the car into maintaining grip. It was the opposite of elegant, and yet it was somehow robotic. It was thrashing, angry, violent, and yet automatic, unconscious, perfunctory. It was an artistic brutality, gracefully turbulent, intensely apathetic. Lap one, lap two, lap three, Suzaku continued to ask his engineer how far behind Kallen he was, and whether he was gaining on her.

Much to his frustration, for each lap his engineer relayed a bigger and bigger number to him. Kallen was blitzing the competition, and was looking more and more like a lock to seal the race and the championship as she soared into the future.

The seasons carried on in their usual way, leaning on in their tired motions as they died and were reborn with the rhythm ofa drum. The brilliant lights flew past and sparked and danced and performed across the clear reflection of Kallen's visor. It was the only sign of life within.

Kallen was far away, retreating towards a prelapsarian fantasy, numb to the context of the race, numb to the world, numb to anyone else at the race, numb even to the idea of herself as someone who was alive, numb to the idea of being alive. All she knew was that every few meters there was a corner, and she would go around it.

All that was felt were the gloves.

Kallen's gloves stuck to her skin as if they had been glued on, the wet blood of her open scars holding the covering in place. She had long become accustomed to the sting of ripping them off, exposing raw, bloody skin, like a bandage that had to be torn off again and again and again.

Eventually, the pain would become so normalised that she didn't notice it. It was only when onloookers pointed it out in horror, the pulsating red slabs of ham, that Kallen would be reminded of the mark that would never leave her. Indeed, when it wasn't bleeding it would sometimes feel like they weren't there at all, a phantom absence-of-pain.

Kallen Kozuki, the person, was very far away.

Nothing, nothing. What could grow, here? What could grow out of this tarmac, other than the reedy snares which, with any luck, would choke her, suffocate her, prevent her from continuing?

Kallan Kōzuki was a bastard, both in the literal and figurative sense. Failed upwards, and now on the verge of taking the laced chalice filled to the brim with Xingke's blood that she so richly deserved, she didn't even have the nerve to acknowledge it. She felt contempt for her attempts to retreat from it, to recontexualise it as anything other than cruelty.

She didn't need to do this. The fact that she was going to do it anyway was why she was contemptable, but…

There was a sudden fury that surged through her body, fighting for attention, demanding a hearing. A loathing, buta different loathing, outraged not at Kallen's actions but at her self-indulgent pity she was affording herself in these extravagant periods of contemplating her own wrongdoings, absorbed in the tragedy of her actions as if she hadn't played a central part in bringing them about. It roared at her to shut up, to quit whining, to stop complaining about how unfortunate it all was unless he was doing something to stop it.

I can't help it, she might have replied if she existed. It's who I am.

Who are you, was the inevitable reply, to which Kallen had no answer. She didn't know.

Then why can't you stop?

Kallen might have bristled, but then stopped, and dwelt on it. These cars, this speed… she enjoyed it, but there was something more, a step beyond. She hadn't finished high school, she had no marketable skills, and she had a cruel temper. Without this… she would be a complete drain on the planet if it weren't for the fact that for some reason there existed a job which required her to merely be really talented at driving in circles at high speed. Without this, she had no place, how could she not embrace it, even if it meant doing abhorrent things?

If she didn't have this, she didn't have anything. This was who she was, she couldn't abandon it any more than she could abandon oxygen.

More self-pity, was the swift reply. Kallen had more. Kallen had Kasumi, had Naoto, Hatsue, Suzaku, even if her relationship with some of them was fraught, she still had them, they still cared about her.

But, just as they offered kindness, they offered comfort, they offered pain. To be with them, to tie her mast to them, meant being subject to them, subject to their kindness and mercy, and lost without their clemency. It could only guarantee future hurting, because humans are never so constant.

The only way to live without pain was to live alone. This was what Nathan had meant.

But that voice inside wouldn't sympathise. If Kallen didn't want to get hurt, then lock herself away, but she would still be hurting others anyway. The only difference would be a stubborn refusal to acknowledge it.

The answer could not be self-pity. Berating herself reflexively just indulged her fantasy, only serving to make herself feel better as if she had been "adequately punished", when the whole sum of nothing had changed other than that she feel miserable.

Not that she didn't deserve it, but that was no comfort to Xingke. Feeling bad about being a shitty person didn't make up for being a shitty person. She had an alternative. She didn't have to continue. She could be more than this. She could be whoever she wanted, and she had people who loved her. They had people who loved them. All of these networks of support, people each working towards their dreams, people in their lives cheering them on who had their own ambitions. Xingke, who had his own dreams, sought to try and help others live theirs, but he was gone, and those people were hurting to a degree that Kallen couldn't even imagine, surely.

This was nothing. Kallen had a chance to help him out, even posthumously, to do for him what he had done for others.

This was what it meant to be part of a social order. Kallen swallowed. This was what she had to do. Make it right. She could still fix this. She could still unwind this.

Who was Kallen Kōzuki? She could decide that, she could decide that Kallen Kōzuki was good, kind, not a bastard, at least not figuratively. She could be someone who wanted to be here, who wanted to do the right thing, who was unafraid of the challenge that posed.

It was who Kallen was.

End of Lap Thirteen

First - Kallen Kōzuki – 234 (2 wins)

Second - Suzaku Kururugi – 231 (2 wins)

Did Not Start - Li Xingke† – 229 (7 wins)

Third - Naoto Kōzuki – 225

Did Not Start - Gino Weinberg – 217

Fourth - Rolo Lamperouge – 202

Nigel gulped once again, he had lost count of how many times now. They were watching Kallen pulling away at full tenths of a second per lap, developing a secure lead, but even as she capably dominated the field, there was something unsettling him, he just couldn't get comfortable, and so couldn't help but squirm about in his seat.

He looked around, and tried to take another sip out of the bottle strapped to his seat. Things couldn't be less close, and yet there was a deep tension, all it took was one mistake, one mess up, and Kallen would lose the championship. The couldn't happen. It couldn't-

"She's coming in!"

Nigel blinked as the radio operator repeated his notification, which was confirmed by the television. What? It wasn't… outrageously early for a tyre stop, but it was far earlier than scheduled, and she hadn't called it in. Suddenly panicked, he reached for his headset and shouted "Kallen? You're coming in! Do you have damage? What needs repair? New tyres, what new tyres do you want, hards or what?"

Kallen didn't answer, forcing him to make a judgement call. Turning to the tyre changers, he cried out for hards, and they followed him as he charged out of the garage and towards pit road proper, gathering around where Kallen would be stopping. They had practiced months to make sure that this swapping motion of taking the old rubber out and slotting the new rubber in was perfected, with no time wasted at any stage.

Whatever her reason, Kallen was idling down the roadway, and her pit crew welcomed her to a stop Immediately, the crew set to work, as Nigel leaned over and spoke to Kallen, having guessed the radio was likely broken, which presented its own problems for later in the race, but at least he could work out what needed fixing in the here and now.

"What's wrong with the car?" he shouted, trying to catch Kallen's eye as she seemed to be busy flicking switches on her steering wheel in confusing sequences. Insistent, he asked again "Is there a problem with the car, what do you need, why are you stopping? What's wrong with the car?"

Kallen, undeterred, suddenly began to undo her belts, which put the fear of God into Nigel's heart. Was the engine cooked? What happened?

"Nothing." Kallen finally answered, clearly disinterested from her blasé tone. "Car hasn't missed a beat. Car's been perfect all day. Ye did a great job on her."

"What?" Nigel replied, shocked.

Kallen sighed, before flicking up the fuel flow control with her thumb. Starved of fuel, the cylinders ground to a halt. Kallen heard the whine of the battery store try to keep the engine cranking, but she kept the switch depressed until it heaved its last.

"Kallen, what the hell are you doing?" Nigel demanded, unable to understand what Kallen was doing.

Kallen ignored him, reaching up to remove her head surround and clamber out of her survival cell before gently jumping down to the concrete stall. Grunting for a moment after her feet had touched ground, she shook her head and began to walk away.

"Kallen, what the fuck are you doing?" Nigel repeated, turning from shock to outrage as he realised that his driver was, in effect, giving up. Venomous, he shouted "You're throwing away the race, you're throwing away the title!"

Clearly something in what he had said had struck a nerve, as she turned heel and marched back to stand nose to nose against Nigel.

"Listen here. I promised." She hissed. "I race because I enjoy it, and I will race until such a time as I don't enjoy it. No matter what the results, no matter where I am, fifteenth or first, I'll drive just as hard, because it's fun to do, I enjoy it. Today… there's no way to enjoy this. It wasn't fun, so I stopped."

Nigel, baffled, could only bluster "What?"

"That's what I said when I signed that contract, and if you take issue with that, then it was your mistake to employ someone so temperamental, someone who ruined Lelouch' life on a whim, someone who ran into a burning garage on impulse, a complete idiot who decided to try and make a living driving around in racing cars for reasons known only to fuck. But not tonight. I won't finish this race."

With that, she turned and marched away.

"Unbelievable! Simply unbelievable! Kallen is out of this race! I have not seen anything like this in… goodness, forty years! Remarkable!" Jeremiah paused as he took a breath, unable to fully digest what he was seeing. "And Kallen is marching… Kallen is heading down the paddock… we'll try and keep you up to date on what's going on, Oldrin, down in the paddock, what do you see?"

There was a great motion, he could see, down on the paddock as camera operators surrounded Kallen on all sides, following her intrepidly as she continued on, barely even acknowledging them. Oldrin, their pit reporter, could barely hope to even get a glimpse in.

"It's all a bit chaotic down here." she was forced to admit, as Jeremiah watched her try to wrestle her way in to put up a mic to Kallen, though he wasn't sure if she would say anything in the event. "It looks like nothing was wrong with the car, Kallen just decided to stop in the middle of the race, this is incredible, no one can quite believe… remarkable… the Camelot team came out to service the car, they had no idea Kallen was coming in to get out."

Jeremiah steeled his lips, uncertain, while Diethard vocalised much of his conflicted thinking.

"Well…" he began, before pausing, and thinking. "I think… you have to respect… but I don't understand, if she doesn't get it, then this championship will be won by either Suzaku or her brother, unless they both retire, does she expect that they'll both have this crisis of conscience or…?"

"I don't know, but she seems to know something we don't." Jeremiah noted. "She is… marching down the paddock towards the final corner, determined, don't know where she's going."

"Where's Lelouch, tell him to take cover!" Jeremiah joked, though neither Diethard or Oldrin laughed, and so he dropped it before adding "It is odd, there's nothing down there except the flag waver's stand, the tower is on the other side."

"The flag waver's stand…" Diethard mused, the wheels turning in his head towards something… possibly… he but his lip, and murmured "Do you think…"

"It's the only spot that can be accessed by people on foot that is in the direct line of sight for drivers…" Oldrin added, trying to help work out what was going on. "Does she want them to… see her?"

While the three were trying to work it out, Kallen simply continued forward, eventually reaching the end of pit wall and stopping suddenly to lean down. Excited, Oldrin exclaimed "Wait, wait, she's grabbed something! She's grabbed one of those pit boards, the one you can stick letters on to keep drivers up to date on stuff, she's trying to change what it says... LX08… what…"

Jeremiah paused, no, wait, something… wait…

Hold on…

"Li Xingke number eight!" he cried, suddenly realising what Kallen was doing. "She's going to hang it out over the flag stand to try and get the Rebellion drivers to stop!"

Something something poetry, something something rhymes. We're about halfway through.

~G1ll3s