#Renewable Energy Conference

[apacnewsnetwork0]

APAC Media is proud to announce the 4th National Sustainable Energy Innovation Conclave in Bhopal. This premier energy summit will bring together key stakeholders, focusing on renewable energy, power generation, transmission and distribution, and sustainable solutions across India.

[enerhy-meetings]

Shaping the Future with Energy Alternative Sources Conference 2025

Introduction: Embracing Alternative Energy for a Sustainable Future

The International Conference on Energy and Alternative Sources is set to take place on November 3-4, 2025, in Amsterdam, Netherlands. This conference, centered on the theme “Innovative Approaches to Sustainable Energy: Exploring Alternative Sources,” will highlight the importance of alternative energy in addressing global climate challenges. As one of the key events for industry experts, the Energy and Alternative Sources Conference 2025 will explore innovative solutions for sustainable energy and the integration of energy alternative sources into the global energy system.

Why Focus on Energy and Alternative Sources?

As fossil fuel resources dwindle and environmental concerns grow, energy alternative sources are gaining attention. These sources include solar, wind, geothermal, and bioenergy. The conference aims to raise awareness about these technologies and their potential for global energy needs. In doing so, the Energy and Alternative Sources Conferences 2025 seeks to drive sustainable change in how we produce and consume energy.

Key Discussions at the Energy Alternative Sources Conference 2025

The conference will cover a range of topics and include sessions on the following:

Integration of Renewable Sources: How to create a seamless grid with solar, wind, and other renewables.

Energy Storage: Innovations in battery technology and grid storage solutions.

Sustainable Bioenergy: Utilizing bioenergy as a complementary source to reduce reliance on fossil fuels.

Policy and Economics of Alternative Energy: The role of government policies in promoting energy alternative sources.

Solar and Wind Power as Leading Energy Alternative Sources

Solar and wind energy are two of the most accessible energy alternative sources available today. Solar panels can be installed on rooftops and integrated into buildings, while wind turbines can be deployed onshore and offshore. The Energy and Alternative Sources Conference 2025 will feature presentations on the latest advancements in these technologies, from high-efficiency solar cells to offshore wind installations.

The conference will also address challenges like energy storage, which is critical for both solar and wind power. As energy and alternative sources conferences 2025 focus on these challenges, they highlight the necessity of continued innovation.

Geothermal and Bioenergy: Complementary to Solar and Wind

Geothermal and bioenergy serve as vital complements to solar and wind power. Unlike solar and wind, which are dependent on weather conditions, geothermal energy provides a steady and reliable power source. This year’s Energy and Alternative Sources Conference 2025 will highlight the role of geothermal energy in meeting baseload power demands. Bioenergy, derived from plant and animal materials, offers a sustainable way to convert waste into energy.

By showcasing geothermal and bioenergy at the Energy Alternative Sources Conference 2025, the event will emphasize the role of these energy alternative sources in creating a diversified and resilient energy system.

Networking and Collaboration at the Energy Alternative Sources Conference 2025

The International Conference on Energy and Alternative Sources offers more than just presentations; it provides an invaluable networking opportunity for professionals from around the world. Attendees will have the chance to collaborate with other experts, share insights, and form partnerships that drive innovation. With sessions that focus on real-world applications, the Upcoming Energy Alternative Sources Conference promises to inspire new approaches to sustainable energy.

Conclusion: The Future of Energy is Alternative

The Energy and Alternative Sources Conference 2025 represents a significant step toward a future powered by sustainable and energy alternative sources. By focusing on the latest innovations in renewable energy, this conference aims to promote a shift away from fossil fuels and towards cleaner, greener solutions.For anyone interested in sustainable energy, the Energy Alternative Sources Conference 2025 is an essential event. Attendees will leave with a better understanding of the challenges

[energyevolutionexpo]

The innovations brought by these companies not only address sustainability within the fashion industry but also align with broader renewable energy goals. By reducing waste, utilizing sustainable materials, and promoting circular systems, these pioneers are contributing to a future where fashion and environmental responsibility coexist.

[iamthepulta]

I need to decide on classes next semester. I really shouldn't take any, but I just found out that there's advanced petrology being offered along with mining legal structure. I also really really want to take Italian, and somehow I got it in my head to take any cuneiform/Babylonian/Mesopotamian classes if they're offered.

ಥ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ಥ I want to be three people... It's not fair...

[10bmnews]

France says it has common ground with China on environment | - The Times of India

France says it has common ground with China on environment (Photo: AFP) France and China have found “points of convergence” on the environment, french minister for ecological transition Agnes Pannier-Runacher said Friday at the end of a visit to Beijing.Her trip came ahead of the UN Ocean Conference (UNOC), which is due to start in Nice on June 9, and the COP30 climate summit in Brazil in…

[nepalenergyforum]

Government's Commitment to Sustainable Energy and Zero Carbon Target: Minister Khadka

Kathmandu — Minister of Energy, Water Resources, and Irrigation, Deepak Khadka, highlighted that the government is strategically advancing energy development as the foundation of a sustainable, inclusive, and low-carbon economy. He emphasized that the government is making significant progress in sustainable development through plans focused on risk mitigation in development projects, increasing…

[mariacallous]

In 2019, I gave a talk at TED that created waves: first at the conference, then on the internet and then, convulsively, in my own life. TED is Silicon Valley’s sacred ground. It’s the most consequential tech conference in the world and, in 2019, my talk entitled “Facebook’s role in Brexit - and the threat to democracy” was a break with normal service. It was the first time, a speaker had implicated Silicon Valley directly in the political tumult of 2016. It ricocheted out of the conference and across the internet where it’s now been seen five million times. And, most cataclysmically of all, it precipitated a lawsuit that devoured my time, energy and health.

This week I returned.

It was a big deal on any number of levels. For me, personally, for TED, and, I believe, or at least, hope, for Silicon Valley. I got to send a message to the leaders of these companies from a platform that is inside the temple. I’ve lost my voice and I feel like I’ve lived through a tornado….but with the knowledge that it’s one I’ve chosen to unleash.

TED has just released it as the first talk from the conference. I got to name what is happening for what it is: a coup. I call the Silicon Valley companies who attend this conference and even sponsor it, collaborators who are complicit in a regime of fear and cruelty. And I accuse Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI, who is talking here on Friday not just of data theft but data rape.

There’s so much to say and I will write more soon but for now I’d be so grateful if you watch it and share it with your families and friends. In spite of everything, I’m grateful to have been given this platform and to be able to communicate what I believe are vital truths but I have paid a price for doing this work and the last week has been a rollercoaster of emotions: doubt, self-questioning, denial, overwhelm, fear.

And in the middle of it, the night before I flew to TED, I went to the Observer’s farewell party. This Sunday marks the end of the newspaper as we know it. Six years ago, I got to write about the experience of giving my TED talk in the Guardian/Observer. Paul Webster, the editor, put it on the front page.

This time around, that’s not possible. TED gave me editorial freedom to say what I wanted. The Guardian/Observer won’t even allow me to write about it, in any form.I pitched a piece for this Sunday about the experience. It would be my last article for the paper, it transfers to Tortoise next week who have declined to renew my contract; an epitaph to my 20-year career there and an an end point to an investigation that brought the Guardian and Observer extraordinary kudos and the most money it has ever raised from any story. It was turned down. That is an extraordinary indictment.

Here, instead, is a still from the talk. I believe that existing movements - the labour movement, the civil rights movement - are fundamental to asserting our rights against Silicon Valley, to rebuilding the internet from the ground up to rejecting the autocratic takeover not just the US but our reality: we all live on these platforms.

I’m six years older than when I gave that first talk though I feel 106 years older. Part of my reason for going through with it - and it was touch and go whether I would - was because, as I say at the end, I’m reclaiming my story. I’ve been trapped in someone else’s narrative. And I also really want to use it as a personal moment of change. In 2016, I threw myself over what felt like an about-to-explode bomb. I ended up absorbing the shock blast from something that was much bigger than me: the waves of destruction that the technological and political changes of 2016 sent through the system. I need to mark this chapter as now over and put back together some of the bits that shattered through this process.

But mostly, the talk is a huge thank you to the people who supported me through my legal trials. The 30,000+ people who contributed to my crowdfunder and held me up. You are the model for what is needed in the next days and years.

This is what we’re up against. This was Palmer Luckey, on stage the day after me. That’s an autonomous missile next to him. He’s a US defence contractor, Trump cheerleader.He got a standing ovation.

In my talk, I could feel waves of hostility coming from some people in the room. TED is ground zero of the AI gold rush. But there was also cheerleading and l’ve been overwhelmed by huge love and support from others who see exactly what is happening. It’s the weirdest time to be here. And it was the weirdest energy from an audience of any talk I’ve ever given. But then, it was intended to make them uncomfortable. Politics is technology now. Silicon Valley is desperate to deny that, but it can’t and no can we.

[sevsevteen]

Hi lovely, how are we doing? 💖 I have a request! Could you perhaps write something with SEVENTEEN and when you all are supposed to renew your contracts? We can say you had to do it alone because of some reason, maybe they split you from the others or you weren’t there the day the others signed? But like you’re having doubts of whether you should sign it or not..? Maybe needing a lot of like convincing? 😣

hello love ! these two were similar so i combined them together. this one's a little more emotional, angsty take on the re-signing of contracts for the 14th member, enjoy reading~

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

You sat in the quiet conference room alone - save for the high-ranking Pledis executives seated in front of you, some looking kindly, some unreadable, most...with pity. A personal schedule had clashed with the day the other members signed their contracts, thus having you end up intimidated in this cold room, with no one by your side but yourself.

You were dressed in simple black slacks and a button-up - not an idol, not a performer, just you, navigating the business of staying with the people you’d loved for years.

But the energy in the room was different.

“We just want to be realistic about your future,” one of them said, sliding a paper forward. “You’ve done incredibly well. But with everything surrounding your presence in the group, we need to consider the different options…and your own well-being.”

You nodded slowly, fingers clenched under the table.

“Of course,” you replied softly. “I understand.”

What they didn’t say - but what you heard between every word - was:

You’re the only girl in a fourteen-member group. You’ve been through hell to prove you belong. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting.

You knew they had internal discussions. That your name was always accompanied with a question mark. That some of the newer board members didn’t see you as an “essential” part of Seventeen’s future, only a temporary hurdle to limitless opportunities.

And this chipped every piece of confidence you had left for the renewal.

The articles. The hate. The endless need to prove you weren’t a burden, weren’t just “there for attention.” Every comeback, you'd trained twice as hard to silence the noise. Every award show, you'd made yourself smaller, always aware of how the cameras zoomed in just a little too long.

Every time Seventeen said “our little sister,” some faceless commenter said “then why is she dancing so close to them?”

You’d smiled through it all.

But smiling took more energy now.

.

Back at the dorm later that night, the boys had returned from their own contract discussions - loud, chaotic, slightly messy from takeout and tension relief. The mood was uncertain but warm, like all of them were leaning on each other in invisible ways.

“You’re back,” Joshua said quietly when you entered the living room.

Heads turned.

“How was it?” Seungcheol asked, setting his phone down.

You hesitated, pausing in the doorway as you kicked off your shoes, trying not to look too distant - or too vulnerable.

“They talked a lot,” you finally said. “About… realistic futures. Image management. The usual.”

There was a silence.

Not tense, but too quiet for Seventeen, the uncomfortable type.

Then-

“Did they ask if you wanted to leave?” Wonwoo asked, blunt but not brutal. Just sharp enough to cut through her mask.

You looked at him - then away.

“…Yes.”

More silence.

Then Soonyoung, uncharacteristically quiet, sat forward on the couch. “And what did you say?”

Your head spun. Would it have been cruel to break it to them that you were reconsidering your years of friendship?

“Of course not,”

You laughed nervously, forcing a small smile. “Who do you think I am.”

At that, Jun stood and walked over, ruffling your hair roughly - the kind of gesture that usually annoyed you.

Today it grounded her.

Behind the door of the room that held all your hopes and dreams, your back hit the wood.

And for a brief moment - silence.

Not even tears. Just an ache. A fatigue so deep it curled into your bones. All you had done these past years was love this group. Pour your heart into every performance. Endure every attack with grace. Yet when the company looked at you, it was still with measured calculations.

You hated that you had to pretend like your heart wasn’t cracking.

.

The beat echoed in the studio as sweat-slicked bodies moved in sync, breaths heavy, focus razor-sharp. It was just another practice. Or so it seemed.

Until a manager peeked through the studio door and gestured discreetly at you.

“Five minutes,” he said softly. “We need to confirm the next meeting.”

You hesitated, glancing at your reflection in the mirror - flushed, exhausted, but holding it up well. You nodded.

As you stepped into the hallway, the air instantly felt colder, a gust of wind passing through the cracks under your skin.

“We understand this is a big decision,” the manager said, words slow and deliberate. “But they still need your answer soon. If you're seriously having doubts…we need to prepare accordingly.”

Your throat went dry. You forced a nod. “Understood.”

The conversation was short - but damning.

When the manager turned to leave, you turned too - only to freeze in place at the sight of Woozi and Dino stood at the end of the corridor.

Eyes wide. Mouths slightly parted.

They had heard everything.

“W-What did he mean by…?” Dino started.

Your stomach flipped. “Please don’t.”

You grabbed both of them and quickly tugged them into an empty corridor far from practice room, panic setting in fast.

“Don’t tell the others,” you pleaded, voice cracking. “I’m…I didn't mean to lie. I was just still thinking and hadn’t decided. If I tell them now, they'll just worry-”

“You know,” Jihoon’s brows furrowed, concern tightening his jaw. “you don’t have to do this alone, right?”

“I do,” you whispered. “Just for a little longer. Please.”

He exchanged a look with Dino - hesitant, but loyal. And eventually, both gave a reluctant nod.

“Alright,” Dino said softly. “We won’t say anything. Promise.”

.

A few days later, the dorm was buzzing - takeout boxes mixed up, two different playlists playing over each other, Mingyu yelling about missing socks in the laundry basket. In the midst of it all, you and Dino bickered over a spilled drink on your lyrics notebook.

“Why are you so careless, seriously?” you snapped, trying to blot the ink.

“Fine, I'm sorry, happy? Why do you always act like you're the only one carrying weight around here?” he shot back, the apology sounding anything but sincere. “You’re not the only tired one, you know.”

Your jaw dropped at his audacity. “Don’t talk to me like that, Chan.”

“Why not?” Dino exploded, something snapping. “It’s not like it matters! Even better, maybe I should just leave too! Like you’re planning to, right?”

Silence fell like a hammer.

The entire room froze.

Jihoon’s head snapped toward Dino, eyes wide with disbelief.

You went still, mouth parting slightly as though the air had been sucked from your lungs.

Seungkwan dropped his chopsticks. Seungcheol froze where he stood in the hallway.

“Wait…what?” Seungcheol's voice was sharp, low.

Dino’s expression instantly crumbled. “No, I didn’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You…what?” Joshua’s voice was the first to break the silence.

You took a step back. “You weren’t supposed to say anything.” Your voice was small. Hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Dino breathed, eyes glistening. But the words were already out. The wound already opened.

Your gaze jumped from face to face, panic rising.

“It’s not-” you started, voice trembling.

But what could you say?

That it wasn’t true? That the doubt hadn’t eaten away at you every night? That the manager’s words hadn’t echoed in your head every time you looked at a yourself in the mirror questioning your worth?

“No…” Seungcheol’s voice was quieter now, but heavier. “You were going to leave without telling us?”

You shook your head frantically. “I didn’t know what to say- I didn’t want you to look at me differently. I just needed time.”

Silence again.

“Why would you even think that?” Seungkwan echoed, tone cracking. “Why didn’t you talk to us?”

“Because you’re Seveteen,” you whispered. “And sometimes I don’t know if I’m allowed to say that I am too.”

The room shattered.

But just as quickly, it was rebuilt - piece by piece, as Seungkwan stood up. Crossed the room. And wrapped his arms around you.

“You idiot,” he muttered into your shoulder. “We would’ve fought for you.”

“You’re really stupid if you think this group is complete without you,” Minghao said casually.

“Completely agree,” Seokmin piped in, already tearing up. “Like what the hell, you’re literally our core memory.”

“Yeah, who’s going to do the pre-chorus ad-libs?” Jihoon muttered, eyes avoiding yours but voice honest. “We’d sound flat without you.”

One by one, the rest joined in - awkward words, overlapping reassurance, pats on the back and side hugs that made you tear up in spite of yourself.

Even Seungcheol, usually the strongest pillar in the room, looked at you with a softness that said everything he hadn’t said in that moment.

“Hey,” he said finally, “if you ever leave… it’s because you want to, not because anyone else thinks you should.”

Your voice wobbled. “But what if I’m tired of fighting?”

“Then we fight with you,” Mingyu said simply. “You never had to fight alone.”

.

That night, you stared at the contract again. The same one that had felt so heavy just hours ago.

And for the first time in months, it felt like a choice — not a sentence.

You picked up your pen.

--

[ghrgrsfdesfrfg]

Part 3 is here and with it the final training of the Slayer, his meeting with samuell hayden and more !

You guys voted in a poll to have pictures, there's also one hyperlink for Hayden's appearance because i didn't know where to put it.

Not proofread, Word count: 4559

Huge credits to @baldieboi for many of the ideas present in this story and some paragraph are completely thanks to them.

Taglist : @baldieboi, @fantasticarcadefan , @fallen-angel2470 , @feral-childs-word, @bbmgirll, @hai-there-how-are-you

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2

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Gotham’s judge, jury and executioner, part 3.

The scientist and the exiled son :

After Siberia, China and Thailand it was time for your final destination : Switzerland. After some research on which European country to visit to train yourself in the usage of guns, you found out Switzerland had very little in the way of restrictions. Perfect for a vigilante in training but Fate had other ideas in mind.

You still needed to design your suit and choose your arsenal for your war against crime yet this was a problem you were ill-prepared for, you didn’t have the resources nor the installations for such an undertaking. You decided to put this problem on hold for now and start your training at a shooting range.

You made quick progress and was called a natural at using guns, much to the surprise and slight worry of the range owner. You tried a lot of different weapons but it seems you had an affinity for shotguns and assault rifle, it was a necessity and an advantage to use such weapons in Gotham’s open streets or closed alleyways.

You will remember this day forever, it was snowing lightly and it covered the city in a snow blanket. You were absentmindedly walking when you stumbled upon a newspaper talking about a renowned scientist making a conference this very day.

‘Doctor and world renowned genius Samuel Hayden is in town for a conference about the future of energy processing and consumption. Possibility of a new and improved energy harvesting structure in the talk.’

You kept reading the article and there was a strange feeling in your body, you had to go there. Curiosity, fate or mere chance, you couldn’t tell but this conference would forever change your life and you thanked your instincts for going there.

Once there you felt a bit odd, you obviously weren’t a scientist but more like a child sneaking into a party. Most people were better dressed and looked the part while you were in your everyday clothe with your coat still full of snow, it was almost funny when looking back on this moment.

A quick look around and you saw many known researcher present in the room, you jokingly wondered how many were here for the conference and how many were here for the free drinks. Pushing that thought aside you sat down next to an older researcher and waited for the conference to start.

You didn’t give much thought about Dr. Hayden's appearance but you weren’t ready for that, he was a robot. Easily standing over 2,30M he easily captivated the crowd from the moment he appeared, after a few greetings and mundane accolades he started speaking about the current energies present on earth such as renewable energies or fossil fuels and more importantly how fast humanity was using both of them.

He spoke about using geothermal power plants or even harvesting the heat produced by volcanoes using special infrastructures, he moved on to more impressive (and fantastical) projects like drilling to the Earth’s core to use it’s near limitless supplies of lava to create massive heat converters or creating solar panels arrays in space and use the constant light emitted by the Sun to always have a steady supply of energy.

You lost him when he was speaking of using solar rays as a possible power source, the man always had an idea ! When he spoke, two project of his peaked your interest : powered armor and teleportation technology.

“Power armor as is it jokingly called by some of my esteemed colleagues is a type of armor powered by an energy source allowing it’s user to carry more equipment, take more blows without fear or use weapons too heavy for a regular human.” he started as he showed some prototypes on the screen behind him.

The screen then showed a video of a laboratory where the armors were being tested and one soldier was carrying one machine gun in it’s hand, another carried blocks of concrete as if they were feathers.

“While the military applications are more than obvious it can be adapted for worker’s use, deep-sea welding is one of them, high-risk construction become a problem of the past if you cannot be harmed by anything. This armor could revolutionize many areas like explorations or rescue missions and-”

On and on he went about the near-limitless potential of his colleague's findings, he explained it with such confidence and assurance that you were sure the future he spoke about was going to happen soon. He stopped after 2 hours of speeches and question-answering. The crowd dispersed a bit and you left for a secluded spot near a window.

You thought about leaving since the conference seemed to have come to a halt without more speeches from anyone else. You didn’t expect Hayden to come seek you in particular, he stood over you, a rare sight since you were used to the opposite.

“Out of all the guests and visitor I didn’t expect a Wayne to be here, I hope this was to your liking.” He extended a hand to you and you shook it, although he didn’t miss the way your body stiffened at the mention of the Wayne name.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Hayden but I am not here as a Wayne, only as a regular citizen. The Wayne name is not for me anymore.” you told him calmly, you didn’t want to appear rude or ungrateful after his warm welcome.

“My apologies, I did not realize but if you can excuse my curiosity, why are you here ? I was mostly expecting scientists but you are not one, you are special.” your eyes narrowed at word special and you were now on edge.

“I was curious about you and your conference, the newspaper talked about your findings and development in various field. But now is my turn for a question, how am I ‘special’ ? I hope it does not mean what I think it does.” You warned him, if he wanted to try anything because you were a Wayne, you were ready for a fight.

Hayden realized his mistake and his poor choice of word, he quickly reassured you “I mean no harm to you, that I promise. We should speak of this another time, maybe at my laboratory ? There are many things we could talk about, away from prying eyes.”

You could tell he was sincere, it was not ulterior motives but pure curiosity, he truly was a model scientist. You relaxed and decided to joke with him to lighten the mood. “How many of them are actually here for the drinks in your opinion ? I’ll bet on more than half”.

Despite being a robot with no human features you could tell he was smiling at this, “hmm my estimates follow yours although I’d say they were all here for the conference and slowly started switching for the drink.” He put his hand under his head, as if he was thinking hard about this.

“As I said earlier, we need to talk about this in another place, I would like to invite you to my house or laboratory, whichever is more convenient for you. I will be honest now, there is something unique about you and I am curious to find out why but more importantly I would like to know you if possible, do not think that I see you as a test subject.”

It was funny how he was panicking to make sure he didn’t call you a lab rat or anything, you pat his shoulder and smiled at him “I understand what you mean, do not be alarmed Mr Hayden, in two days at your laboratory then ?”

Hayden brightened at this, he was used to scientific interaction, it was refreshing to be treated normally. He offered to shake your hand “Call me Samuel, no need for the mister.”

This meeting would be the start of something great, something you wanted your whole life: a genuine connection with someone.

A scientist, a friend and a father :

Hayden was nothing short of welcoming and an interesting character, his laboratory was filled with various blueprints posted on the wall and numerous machines at every corner, shelves full of batteries of some kind and even miniatures of the structures he spoke about at the conference.

“Forgive the chaos in the room but sometime I work on multiple experiment at the same time and time to clean is sparse, however feel free to take a look and ask about anything that catch your eye, be mindful of the batteries however, they are unstable.” Hayden said as he showed his lab to you, it was the movie cliché of a laboratory.

The walls were white, so much so that the light were nearly blinding in the reflection. You approached a nearby table and looked at a device, “what is this ?” you asked him as he dimmed the light a little.

“A device made to absorb shock and re-distribute it evenly throughout it’s anchor point, be it a building or a vehicle. I believe it is possible for it to even keep the energy of the shock and spend it in one blow, a kinetic weapon if you will. It will revolutionize the way architect and engineers will fight earthquakes.”

You saw the potential of such a thing, no need for specialized infrastructures anymore, you were glad that he was focused on the betterment of Mankind. You were worried he only wanted to make weapons at first but you were sorely mistaken, everything inside was meant to help people one way or another.

A new power source, better and more secure ways of working or entire tools rebuilt from the ground up to ensure easy use. You saw a round pad at the end of the room and Hayden followed your gaze, “I see you noticed it, my magnum opus.” Hayden said proudly.

“It is a teleporter, a prototype at least but just imagine the possibilities, instant trading for example ! A country experiencing disasters ? The people can be moved directly to a safer place, food sent to the needy instantly ! Isn’t this exciting ?” Hayden explained, he pointed to various buttons and even gave you a demonstration.

You put a pencil on the pad and after a bright glow it was sent to a smaller pad a few meters away from it, “this is wonderful” you couldn’t believe it ! “Just… how is it possible ?” you were clearly shocked by such technology.

Hayden beamed, pleased that someone had such interest in his inventions. “Science, trials and errors as well as determination, I strive to push the boundaries of Science for the betterment of humanity.”

“As for your question, it deconstruct the target on a molecular level then ‘store’ them and send them to the chosen pad, for now I only tried it with object since the slightest error could result in unforeseen consequences for the user” Hayden explained, he showed you various fruit and vegetables that came out burned or split in half after a failed teleportation.

The two of you discussed about various experiment until you asked to begin the tests he mentioned at the conference, eager to discover things you didn’t know about yourself and your biology? According to Hayden, you were unique and it was time to discover why.

You sometime wondered about it, what was so special about you ? You tried to ask Bruce about it only to be ignored or given vague answer. You wanted to know since childhood and you finally have the opportunity to get long-awaited answers.

It started with physical exercises where you surpassed his expectations, he analyzed it all and started creating some hypothesis. At first they centered around gene-tailoring : multiple genes artificially implanted in an embryo to guide the specimen’s evolution.

He tested your body’s limit next, rigorous and downright impossible task were used such as lifting weight any humans would struggle with and carry them for as long as possible, he also tested your regeneration as such a trait could come in multiple versions.

You told him about the wound Ursa Major gave you on the chest and shoulder, how you felt the pain disappear very shortly after and he proposed some blood test to figure out what you were exactly.

“I am looking at something incredible Reader, something unique and safe to say, never-seen before genetic traits. For lack of a better word, you are part human, part alien. I cannot completely pinpoint your heritage but you are something closer to a being like Wonder-woman or Superman.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, Bruce himself had some suspicion but now you knew. You were different, alien. “what do you mean ? Am I a kryptonian or have an Amazon ancestor ?”.

Hayden looked at the results, then you and the results again. “I cannot say, I would qualify you as Homo-superior in this case. Most of your genes are human but your father or mother gave you unique genetic traits such as your endurance or regeneration. You probably cannot fly or hear for kilometers away like Superman but… You are a new category of hybrid, I have never seen this before.”

Homo-superior, a new hybrid. You had the answers you wanted but more question, who and what was your mother ? Did you unlock your full potential ? What are you capable of exactly ?

Power and family :

Over the next few months Hayden kept testing various formulas and regimes on you to try and figure out how your biology worked, what exactly you were and especially how to fully awake your powers.

While you were training with your guns in various exercises he approached you and told you a fantastic news: he built a machine calibrated specifically to your body and he was confident in it’s ability to help you.

As you both stood near the machine he placed a hand on your shoulder and told you “The choice is yours, it will work and unlock the rest of your abilities or you can also choose to not do it. When we met I expressed curiosity to know more about you but I refuse to force you into such a dilemma, this is your destiny and I will not rob you of that.”

You were touched by his words, when you first met him you thought he would use you as a lab rat and dispose of you when he knew what he wanted to get out of you but it was clear Samuel Hayden was an honorable and kind man.

“Samuel… I do not know what to say, you’ve already done so much for me and you keep on giving, how can I ever repay you ?” you didn’t know what else to say, what could you say to the man who gave so much of his time and resources to help someone he met at a conference ?

Hayden looked away for a second then turned back to you.

“I had a son once and you remind me of him, such a passion for everything he did. You once told me you wanted to bring justice to your city, to get rid of the problem at the root, it involves killing but I can tell you will not do it recklessly.”

“I know you will do everything in your power to protect those who cannot protect themselves, I know you will have to kill one soul to save another but you will do it without joy or pleasure and for that, I choose to help you. I choose to help the one willing to choose the difficult option so others can live a better life.”

When Hayden finished he placed a hand on your shoulder and you hugged him instantly, it felt natural now and almost… familiar.

“You understand me, you know of my choices and instead of telling me to change my path you debated it with me and showed me why it had to be done. I want to save these people and I will honor your work.”

“Hayden” you started with confidence “power the machine, I am going in.” Hayden nodded and gave you a serious look. “Whenever you are ready, reader.”

You sat down and in the machine and listened to Hayden’s instructions, “it is important of you to tell me what you feel during the entire operation, the slightest feeling can be important as this is an extremely experimental procedure meant to quickly evolve your body with small doses of radiation and electric shock. Am I understood ?”

“Yes, I am ready” you told him and with a final nod he powered up the machine, you felt like you were surrounded by light. Nothing really hurt inside, it’s as if you were numb or dreaming for a few second/minutes.

You told him what you felt and slowly the power increased until a surge of electricity surged through your body and you felt the sudden change.

You felt your body becoming stronger, something better.

Slowly the power lessened until it was completely gone and he released you from the machine.

“How do you feel ? Are you injured in any way ?” he checked you for anything but to his surprise you felt better than you ever did before, as if you could take on the world ! “I feel… incredible, Hayden thank you !” you jumped and hugged him with joy.

The machine did more than awaken your genes, it unshackled you. You learned things faster, felt stronger to the point you managed to push a car with your arms without much issue.

Hayden approached you and smiled internally. He gave you some blueprints and told you it was time to work on your armor and gadget, something you were excited to do.

“Let me tell you what I will need Hayden, an armor capable of movement while offering protection, guns strong enough to punch through armor easily and gadgets to adapt to the situation at hand.”

He took notes and gave you blueprints as you listed each tools in your future arsenal and had to account for your shield, the final list was narrowed down to : two melee weapons, two shotguns, two energy weapons and an assault rifle.

The gadgets were more difficult to narrow down but at the time he proposed a lot of different grenade like energy grenades or high-voltages grenades.

The first weapon to be upgraded was the double-shotgun you got in Siberia as a reward for killing Ursa Major, he added a hook to it much to your confusion but you soon realized the advantage it could bring since it could act as an improvised grapple or bring someone to you via it’s hook.

It can shoot most shotgun shell without issue but consume more ammo than your second shotgun however it excel at dealing extreme damage to a large group of target thank to it’s increased spread

Your other shotgun was created from scratch and is one handed like most of your other weapons, this was a necessary outcome since you were wielding a shield in your other hands, this shotgun also possess a bladed cross in case you ever needed to hit someone with it.

It’s a combat shotgun using normal rounds and sometime Dragon’s Breath round to set the target on fire. It possess a much stronger impact than most shotgun as it designed to quickly kill targets.

Next came your shield, it was gifted to you in Thailand and you were reluctant to upgrade it, fearing it would dishonor the previous owner but Hayden reassured you that whoever held it in the past would be honored to see it used instead of being forgotten on a shelf, hence it became the Chainsaw-shield or Chain-shield as Hayden jokingly called it.

It was upgraded to include a round chainsaw frame and a magnetic lock linked to your gauntlet, meaning you could send the shield away and call it back to you, it also gave you another lethal weapon to use in close quarter combat in case you ever needed to saw someone.

Next came the flail but no upgrade could be done to it, Hayden simply provided you with a holster on your belt to better hold it.

You were confused when Hayden wrote “energy weapons” on the list, he surprised you by opening two cases on a table and giving you two experimental weapons: the plasma rifle and the Accelerator.

The plasma rifle run on battery power placed in the middle of the weapon and has different upgrade, one were the shot are more powerful the longer the gun shoots and the other where the battery can be thrown as a grenade it overheats.

This weapon is useful against any type of enemy since the burns inflicted by the plasma cauterize the wound instantly which is useful to interrogate anyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of it’s barrel.

The second energy weapon was the accelerator, an energy pistol similar to the plasma rifle with a high rate of fire and two upgrades, more accuracy and damage when reaching a certain threshold or another upgrade which released an electrical shock to close targets when the gun overloaded.

Despite it’s low accuracy it was good to inflict burning wounds on any enemies with it or shock multiple of them.

The final weapon to be created was a compact assault rifle using tungsten-tipped round, this gave it a massive firepower as well as armor-piercing capabilities, Hayden scaled it down as much as he could but it remain the only weapon in your arsenal that needs to be used with two hands and as such it’s only upgrade is a sight or a larger magazine.

You weren’t ready for the day he gave you the armor schematics, it took a long time to develop and it felt like the two of you grew closer when designing it, staying up late and coming up with ideas was something you both enjoyed. You got to see Hayden in his environment, designing and creating to his heart’s content.

That day, the dynamic would change between you two, he handed you the schematics of the armor and said he had to leave for a while.

You opened the file and skimmed through the various paper when you found a folder, you opened it and it was adoption paper. You had to read it a second and third time.

Samuel Hayden wanted to adopt you, he wanted you as his son and you couldn’t be happier. You wanted him as your father.

Hayden was very nervous when he left the room, would you accept ? Deny it and leave ? All of the possibilities scared him but when he came back you instantly hugged him and cried that you accepted ! You both cried that day, tears of joy and happiness.

“The armor schematics was just an excuse for you to see the paper but I wanted to make it special, here is your armor… my son.” it felt so natural by now, as if he wanted to call you that from the day he met you.

After that touching moment he led you to another room and opened a container with your armor inside.

“Every inch of this armor is covered in reinforced plates with at least 4 different layers of protective material such as Kevlar to ensure maximum protection against any threat be they ballistic or physical. The boots and gauntlet are both equipped with the Kinetic-Shock-Absorption device or KSA, it will allow you to accumulate energy from any impact or shock to then use it for devastating ground slam, creating a shock-wave with a punch or kick and even jump from high heights without harm”

“The layers of armor are all interconnected but not rigid, this allow for better mobility while still giving ample amount of protection, the red dot on the armor is the battery for the various system in the armor like the integrated exoskeleton in the legs to help you move this armor without difficulties”

“Your arms aren’t as covered as the rest of your armor since it would limit your movement, however your shield will help with this, it can be mag-locked to the back of your armor or the arm of your choice, I also took the liberty to add the pelt of Ursa Major to your armor since you insisted to carry it with you. The shoulders are also covered with spikes to prevent someone jumping on you.”

“The gauntlets are heavy but come with spiked finger acting as a brass knuckles, the KSA and the mag-lock to recall your shield.”

He explained all of the various equipment in the armor and gave you the belt and helmet as he pointed to various parts of the armor.

“This belt will carry all the necessary tools you will need on missions such as grenades, your flail and any other devices you wish to bring with you. The helmet will hide your identity and provide you with a scanner, radio and map of the city, I can also help you if needed via the camera feed directly from the helmet.”

You tried the armor and it just felt… right. Unlike what Bruce gave you when you were still a Robin this armor felt like home, it was an extension of your being.

“Thank you isn’t good enough to show you how much I love it Hayden, you have given me everything once again and I cannot thank you enough for this wonderful gift.” you told him with tears in your eyes.

Hayden hugged you tightly and looked you in the eyes, “then bear this armor with pride son, you earned it through hard work and determination, I made it but you will be it’s true master. So please, use it to protect your city, use it to protect those who cannot and honor it’s purpose.” Hayden said, his voice full of pride.

United in purpose, bound by family :

After training some more with your armor it was time to head back to Gotham with your father. He insisted on coming with you since he didn’t want to leave you alone in “such a dangerous city” he said with a voice dripping of sarcasm but he also came with you to work on future experiment there and possibly meet your bio-dad, Bruce Wayne.

The ride to the airport was charged with emotions, you were finally coming back to Gotham after 5 years but instead of the grief you experienced last time, you were coming back stronger than ever with your father, your true father.

When boarding the plane, he asked “How do you feel ? Ready to come back to Gotham ?”. You looked at him with determination and told him “Ready, more than ready and this time I don’t intend to loose anyone to crime. I will protect those I love and punish those deserving of it.”

The criminals and villains of Gotham will soon be reminded that they should fear justice, feel the wrath of someone willing to hunt them and bring them a swift and decisive justice.

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter Thirteen

Series Masterlist

Thanks for being patient and supportive, guys. I am going to try to get two out on top of this, as this is technically last weeks chapter, but I am doing my best. I had some really awesome people reach out and check-in on me this week and honestly, I needed it. I put a lot of pressure on myself with every chapter- i feel like it's been so good up to this point so with each chapter I am pressuring myself to keep the quality up and sometimes it's just a lot. Your guys' support means everything to me.

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The car’s quiet except for the faint hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of paper from the back seat. Just a daytrip- a quick jaunt to London for a sim technology conference. A few presentations, more than a few handouts, a mediocre lunch service. A stop-in before Brazil. Necessary evil. For RedBull. For Redline. Just business.

Christian drives with one hand on the wheel and a tired sort of ease, eyes focused on the dark stretch of motorway that cut back toward Milton Keynes. Max sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed, cheek propped against his knuckles, watching the world smear by through the window- headlights, hedges, the vague shape of trees pressed up flat against the night.

In the back seat, you’ve turned the quiet into something else. Not noise, exactly. But motion. Intent. Working- of course you’re working- your laptop balanced between your knees, a mess of pamphlets and printouts spread across the leather seat like a dealer laying down cards. Brows drawn, your mouth slightly parted in concentration as you thumb through the stack, cross-reference a spec sheet from another, then type something with sharp, purposeful taps.

Every so often, you pause- chewing at your thumb, the nail already raw from a day’s worth of absent-minded worry- before returning to the keys with renewed precision. Max can hear it: the rhythm of you cataloguing, organizing, making sense of all of it. Like it wasn’t enough to have gone to the presentations, shaken hands, taken the obligatory photos- no, you needed to digest it. To dissect it. To turn just business into something useful before the car even hit the roundabouts.

Max doesn’t turn to look. He doesn’t need to. He can feel the energy coming off you like static- tired, but alive. Like you’d spent all day holding yourself still and were only now allowed to exhale, alone in the backseat with your chaos.

He shifts in his seat, jaw tight. It was easier when you weren’t in motion. Easier when he could convince himself you were a moment. A blip. Not someone with velocity.

Christian’s phone buzzes against the dash, screen lighting up with a name. Max’s eyes flick to the center display: Franz Tost. Christian exhales through his nose. Not annoyed. More... contemplative.

Max feels it immediately- whatever this is, it’s not for public consumption. Not immediately. Not without decision. Christian reaches for the phone, thumb hovering over the screen a beat too long. "Should I- " he mutters, mostly to himself, then glances in the rearview mirror.

Whatever he sees must make up his mind. He hits accept and toggles it to Bluetooth with a practiced flick of his thumb. "Franz," he says, slow and even. "You’re on speaker. I’ve got company."

A pause. Static. Then Franz’s voice comes through the speakers- faintly German-accented, clipped, all business. "Ah. I see." Christian doesn’t reply. Just keeps driving, one hand steady on the wheel.

"I’ve looked through the numbers," Franz says finally. "Not exactly standard."

"It’s what was offered," Christian replies.

"That’s clear. Still surprising."

Christian lets out a soft huff of breath. "It’s lean."

"Very."

Behind them, the rhythm of keystrokes falters. Then stops. Max hears the soft click of a laptop being closed. Paper shifts. Something about the silence feels intentional- weighted. Max can feel it. The way you’re listening now. Still as stone. Like even the creak of leather beneath you might give something away.

“Do you think… the dynamics of the workplace will be an issue?” Franz says, voice low, deliberate.

Christian shrugs like it’s nothing. Like they haven’t all spent months navigating politics sharp enough to draw blood. “I have yet to be concerned. Besides, if we were worried about workplace dynamics we’d start letting robots drive the cars.”

There’s a pause- thin, wire-tight. “Pipeline?” Franz asks.

Christian doesn’t even blink. “Not an option. We’ve already had this conversation.”

“And Helmut?”

Christian’s fingers shift against the leather steering wheel. “Aligned.” That one lands hard. Max feels it settle in his chest like cold water, the kind that bites deep, spreads slow. The shape of it starts forming before he can name it. Something real. Something decided. Like he can feel what’s coming before he knows it.

Franz exhales, measured. “So we’re settled, then.”

Christian glances briefly toward the passenger window, then back at the road ahead. The lights of the motorway slide past in rhythmic blurs, gold and white and rain-slick. “We’re settled,” he says.

In the backseat, you don’t move. You’re leaning forward now, just slightly- one hand braced against the center console like it might pull you closer, the other curled in your lap, knuckles pale.

You don’t say a word.

You just listen.

Christian adjusts his grip on the wheel, his tone suddenly lighter. “She’s in the car,” he says, like it’s an afterthought. “If you want to say it yourself.”

A beat of static follows. The sound of breath caught somewhere in the ether. Then Franz, as calm as ever, as clinical as a scalpel: “Welcome to Alpha Tauri.”

You freeze.

No sound. No movement. Just a single breath drawn too sharply through your nose. One hand lifts, slow and instinctive, pressing against your mouth like you can catch the words before they settle. Like you can hold them inside a moment longer, keep them suspended.

Christian smiles, not unkind. “We’ll let it sink,” he says. “I’m sure she’ll be calling you shortly.”

The line clicks off.

Silence rushes in- not gentle, not still, but dense, like a pressure front collapsing inward. It doesn’t settle so much as press, heavy against Max’s chest, coiling in the space between words that never arrive.

Christian says nothing. His hands stay steady on the wheel. Max doesn’t move. Even the road quiets. The tires hum low beneath them, more suggestion than sound, a soft whisper across wet asphalt.

It hangs there. The weight of it. The finality.

You’re on the grid.

Max is still chewing on the words when he hears it.

A sharp crack- plastic slapping leather- your laptop shoved aside with zero ceremony, skidding half off the seat before your bag catches it. Papers follow in a loose explosion, fluttering across the backseat like confetti fired from a gun. Handouts, notes, color-coded madness- gone, scattered.

And then- 

You scream.

Not a yell. Not a cheer. A full-throated, spine-snapping howl as you slam the window control. The glass barely halfway down before you’re already half out of it, one arm braced on the door frame, the other thrown back like you’re summoning gods.

“FUCK YEAH!” you roar into the night. “I’M ON THE FUCKING GRID!”

Christian twitches behind the wheel, startled. Max blinks. Then you’re laughing- wild and sharp and goddamn unstoppable- as the wind slaps your hair across your face in tangled streaks. Your voice rips through the air outside the car.

“SEE YOU IN BAHRAIN, MOTHERFUCKERS!” you shout, head tipped back like the stars are listening. “I’M ON THE GRID, ASSHOLES! YOU HEAR THAT?!”

Your joy carves itself across the motorway. A minivan swerves slightly in the next lane. A lorry honks, long and confused. Someone flashes their brights from behind. You don’t care.

You’re laughing too hard to breathe, shoulders shaking, half-out the window and fully alive, clinging to the door like the car can’t hold you anymore. Like you might just launch.

Max stares straight ahead. Jaw slack. Heart pounding. Vision tight. Christian chuckles, low and amazed. “Guess it’s sunk in.”

You make a sound- something between a gasp and a growl, half-feral, wholly triumphant. “Fucking- yes.” Then you fall back into your seat, limp with joy, breath hitching, face flushed and lit from somewhere deep. Your hair’s a wreck, your papers are gone, your voice is probably halfway to hoarse- 

But Max has never seen anyone look more alive.

He was still angled toward you- barely- just enough to see you in the mirror’s corner. And God, it was like looking directly into the sun.

He’d seen you a lot of ways. Snapping. Spitting. Glaring at him across conference tables with a heat that made engineers forget their talking points.

He’d pressed you, more than once, just to make you crack. Just to see if you would. He liked the fury. Liked knowing it was in you. Liked proving to himself you were human. Mortal. That the clean professionalism and perfect posture was just a veneer. Poking, needling, pressing on every bruise until something bled. 

And you had snapped- sometimes with anger, sometimes with ice. You’d lashed back at him, sharp and venomous, and every time he’d told himself good. That’s what she is. That’s all she is.

But this?

This was the first time he’d seen you raw with joy.

You look alive in a way that almost hurts to witness. Like if Max blinks, you might burn out entirely. Like he’s seeing something he was never meant to. Not in the wild. Not without armor.

In the driver’s seat, Christian chuckles, low and warm. “You get it all out?”

You don’t lift your head- just groan through a smile, breathless and giddy. “For now.”

Christian glances back, a casual flick of the eyes that still carries weight. It’s not mocking, not patronizing. Just... paternal. The kind of look that says you’re still a kid to me, no matter how many contracts you’ve signed or late nights you’ve spent grinding data until your hands cramped. The kind of look older men give young people when they forget, for a moment, that the person in front of them is already pulling weight like someone twice their age. “You should call your friends,” he says. “Go out. Get a beer. Raise hell.”

You blink up at the ceiling of the car, dazed and glowing. “God,” you rasp, voice still wrecked from screaming, “a beer sounds incredible.”

Then you turn your head, just slightly, and aim it at Christian with a deadpan delivery so dry it nearly evaporates in the air. “But Christian… my only friend is a thirty-seven-year-old man who’s probably eating dinner with his wife and children right now.” Your words are casual. Inevitable. Like you’ve already made peace with it.

Christian laughs- but there’s a stutter in it, like it catches halfway through.

Max doesn’t laugh at all.

The silence after your sentence lands just a little too sharp. Not cruel. Just honest. The kind of silence that fills a room when everyone realizes they knew, but didn’t think about it long enough to feel it.

Christian recovers first, though his voice is a shade softer now. “Yeah,” he says, smiling again, but less brightly. “That’s right. I forgot.” He looks forward again. “Eighty-hour weeks don’t leave much room for socializing.”

“Shocking, I know,” you mumble, dragging a hand over your face.

You don’t sound bitter. You don’t look like someone who got lucky. You look like someone who fought. Who scrapped. Who bled. Who won. For the first time all night, Max turns. Really turns. He looks at you. And doesn’t say a thing.

Because it hits him- not as thought, but as truth:

You’re not going anywhere.

You’re not fading. Not flinching. Not folding under the weight of it all like he used to tell himself you would- had to, eventually. That the system would grind you down the way it does to everyone who shows up too bright, too earnest, too unwilling to play the long game.

But you haven’t gone quiet. You haven’t disappeared. You’re not dissolving under pressure like a sugar cube in rain.

You’re here. 

And not just physically, not just taking up space in the backseat of a car you didn’t drive, but here, in the way that matters. Unshakable. Bright. Absolutely alive. Max feels it settle- not like a punch, but like something heavier. Slower. A recognition that doesn’t ask for permission.

For the first time, Max knows- really knows- that whatever he believed would happen to you, isn’t going to happen. Whatever he wanted to believe- whatever petty, bitter hope he might have nursed- that somehow this would be temporary, a half-season-long disruption, a footnote… that you would do- or not do- something to send you packing and out of Redbull, out of Formula, out of Jos’s fucking mouth… he knows better now.

You’re not going to get overwhelmed and disappear.

You’re not going to say the wrong thing in a meeting and lose your shot.

You’re not going to flame out under pressure, or back down when the paddock sharpens its teeth, or get so disillusioned you hand back your badge and walk away quietly like a shadow that never mattered.

No.

You’re going to fight. You’re going to stay. You’re not passing through.

You’re arriving.

And it’s happening right in front of him.

He watches you, sprawled in the backseat with your hair still tangled and your smile too big for your face, like you’ve cracked open and joy is leaking out in every direction. Your papers are a mess. Your laugh is too loud. Your voice is still hoarse from screaming at the motorway.

And he can’t be mad about it.

Not right now.

Because it’s hard to be bitter when you’re watching someone’s dream wrap itself around them in real time- hard to resent the way your eyes keep slipping closed like you’re trying to hold it all in, to stretch the moment before it passes.

It makes something ache in him. Nostalgia, maybe. A memory long buried.  And God- he remembers what that felt like. 

The first time the call came. When he got his call. When everything he ever wanted was suddenly, actually his- and nothing had gone wrong yet. 

When someone outside the walls of home- outside the garage, the track, the echo chamber of expectations- just said it, plain and certain: You’re good enough. No stopwatch. No lecture. No icy silence after a second-place finish. Just a voice on the other end of the line saying, You belong here. You, yes you. 

When for one, fragile moment, it wasn’t about consequences. Wasn’t about slammed doors or missed dinners. Wasn’t about endless laps in the cold, and the rain, and the dark until his fingers felt closer to shattered glass than part of his hands. Wasn’t about waking up too early and going to sleep too late, body humming with exhaustion and nerves because he couldn’t afford to mess it up again. 

When it wasn’t about making up for the weekend before. Or the one before that. It wasn’t about hearing that voice- sharp, cold, disappointed- repeating the same five words on loop: You should’ve done better. 

When all the pressure hadn’t calcified into armor. When his name hadn’t yet become a shield. Before the PR machine. Before the politics. Before the paddock turned love into leverage and every podium into proof he deserved to be there.

It didn’t matter that it took Jos all of forty-five seconds to get on the phone and start planning his promotion from Toro Rosso. 

Because that one single moment was his. And you’re standing on the edge of that moment right now, drunk on it- without even needing the beer.

And Max- 

Max feels something sharp twist in his gut. It’s not hatred. It’s not even resentment.

It’s longing.

Melancholic. Jealous, if he’s honest. Not of your talent, or your seat, or even your rise- he has his own throne, his own empire. But of the feeling. That raw, high-voltage, maybe this is really happening kind of magic that only happens once. Maybe twice, if you’re lucky.

He didn’t realize how long it’s been since he felt it. How much he misses it.

And now here you are, soaking in it like it’s sunlight, and he can’t look away.

He remembers that version of himself. Bright-eyed. Hopeful. New. A kid that joked with Carlos and followed Danny around like the ground he walked on held secrets worth learning. 

And somehow, that’s what he sees in you. Even now. Even after everything. And for the first time in a long time, Max doesn’t can’t bring himself to resent you for it. Maybe he will. Maybe tomorrow. That’s okay.

But not tonight. You can have this one. He’ll allow it. 

The car settles again. But the silence isn’t heavy now. It’s expansive. Open. Like someone cracked the seal on a room that had been airless for too long. Only the rhythmic click of the blinker breaks it when Christian changes lanes. The faint drag of tires. And every so often, your laughter- quieter now, but still alive, still glowing. It’s a small sound. Crooked. Half-choked, like it sneaks up on you before you’ve decided to let it out.

Like the disbelief keeps reappearing in your chest, uninvited, and all you can do is laugh it off.

Max doesn’t turn back again. Not directly. But every time it happens, every time that sound breaks through the quiet- low, giddy, almost disbelieving- his eyes flick to the mirror. Just once. Just long enough to catch the outline of your shoulders trembling with it. Then he shifts back to the window, like it’s nothing.

Like it doesn’t land.

It does. It lands hard. That laugh- it gets under his skin, sure, but deeper than that. Under everything. Under the detachment, under the static, under the thick layer of contempt he’s wrapped around you for months. He doesn’t know how to describe it. Only that it sounds like something he’s never been allowed to feel.

Freedom.

They drive like that for ten more minutes. No one speaks. Christian hums softly under his breath, barely audible, the sound light and tuneless. You’re still stretched across the back seat like gravity let go of you. One boot perched against the center console, your head tilted just so against the cool window, your body loose with joy.

Max doesn’t check the mirror again- eyes forward- and that’s when he clocks it. The exit they always take- the familiar loops that gives way to the roundabouts toward the factory- slides past on the left, untouched. Christian doesn’t slow. Doesn’t glance. Just keeps driving, calm and unhurried, like this is exactly the plan.

Max straightens a little. Frowns. “You missed- ”

“Got anywhere to be?” Christian asks, voice casual- too casual to be innocent. Max glances at the clock. It’s late. But not late enough to matter. Not like he’s missing anything.

There’s no warm meal waiting for him at home. No one checking the time, waiting for the plane to land, watching the door, asking him how the event went, if he learned anything useful at the presentations. He’s not getting texts. Not really. There’s always someone to talk to, sure. Always someone to entertain the idea. But no one waiting.

And that’s what it comes down to. There’s no one waiting for Max Verstappen. So he shrugs, voice even. “No.” And it’s the truth. He has nowhere to be.

No one to be there for.

Christian just nods once. Says nothing else. Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t need to.

He flicks the indicator, turns onto a narrower road without hesitation. The headlights carve through a tight lane lined with old brick, terrace house fronts with trimmed hedges, and lampposts glowing, warm. It’s not unfamiliar, exactly. It looks like any other suburban stretch near Milton Keynes. Just unexpected.

From the back seat, you must notice- slow and half-alert- blinking off your daze like it’s something you can set aside. Max can hear your diagram confetti rustle as you sit up. “Where are we going?” Christian doesn’t answer. Just keeps driving, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth like he’s enjoying whatever surprise he has planned. And then the car slows. 

A small pub sits ahead- not some posh gastropub or dimly lit cocktail den- but a squat, weathered building tucked just off a residential bend. The paint on the wooden sign is chipped, peeled in layers down to bare grain. Warm light glows behind the glass, spilling across the wet pavement in patches that flicker against the cooler silver of streetlamps. Each time the door opens, muffled music and laughter leak into the air, caught and swallowed again when it slams shut. It’s not dingy, but it’s old- dated in the way that means history. Too lived-in to be a tourist spot, but too loved to be a complete shithole. Everything about the place looks aged and uneven- the kind of pub that’s been there longer than the people inside it. 

Christian pulls into a small space right outside. The engine goes quiet. For a moment, no one speaks. Max flicks his eyes toward the pub, then toward the rearview mirror.

“What are we doing here?” you ask, voice hesitant, caught somewhere between confusion and quiet amusement as you lean up between the front seats and look out the windshield- like maybe the side windows had tricked you- like you maybe weren’t parked in front of a neighborhood pub.

Max watches you from the corner of his eye- your gaze flicking between Christian and the battered old pub with a strange mix of suspicion and something softer. You sound like you want to laugh, but you’re not sure yet if it’s safe.

Christian doesn’t miss a beat. “We’re getting a beer.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it doesn’t mean anything. But Max knows it does. Small as it is, this- this- is Christian giving a damn. Maybe not loudly. Maybe not in words. But enough to drive off-course. Enough to stop here.

You just blink at first. Max can see it- how the words take a second to sink in, like your brain needs time to register the gesture for what it is. You look out at the pub again- at the weathered door, the faded signage, the people slipping out of it, hunched against the cold, heads ducked low in the kind of wet that soaks you before you feel it.

Then your mouth tugs upward. Slow. Like you’re not used to smiling for no reason.

“This place is…” your voice trails as you scan it again, and Max sees the way your shoulders twitch- something uncoiling, piece by piece, not quite sure if it’s allowed. “...perfect.”

You don’t bounce out of the car. Don’t flash your teeth or strut toward the door like a woman who owns the world.

But you do move with purpose. Like maybe the world is giving you something tonight, and you're not going to waste time questioning it. You step out into the night, trailing behind the glow leaking from the pub’s front door like you’re trying to catch up with warmth before it changes its mind.

Christian follows a beat later, stretching like an old dog before straightening his jacket. He gives the place a once-over with that strange brand of affection older men save for even older bars. Like a decent pint is something personal. 

Max stays where he is. Hands resting in his lap. Still. Watching. Hesitating.

He doesn’t know why he hesitates. He doesn’t hate pubs. He’s been to plenty. But this place… this moment… it feels like it wasn’t meant for him. Not really. Like he’s accidentally stumbled into someone else’s memory being made.

And you look so happy.

Not in the way he’s seen before- not the polished post-race smiles, not the forced cheer of sponsor events. This is different. Bare. Quietly radiant. You’re not floating just out of orbit of this world anymore. You’re walking right into it, like it finally has space for you.

Max breathes out through his nose. Slowly. Then he moves.

Deliberate. Grounded. Shoulders drawn tight under the weight of something he won’t name. He climbs out of the car, planting his feet on slick pavement, the cold nipping at any exposed bits of skin- his face, his ears, the sliver of skin where his pants are tailored just so to the tops of his shoes. His hands slide into his coat pockets, fingers curling into the seams.

Not because he’s cold. But because he doesn’t quite know what to do with them when a night starts to feel this gentle.

“This place looks like it hasn’t passed a health inspection since the ‘80s,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Flat. Observational. No real teeth.

You glance over your shoulder, eyes catching his for a flicker of a second. Your mouth quirks. “It’s personality.” It’s teasing, it’s just two words- but it might be the first time you’ve ever said anything that borders on being friendly to him- not professional, not heated, not frustrated. Not what he makes you to be. Just… what you are. Warm. Kind. Like you’ve forgotten what a pain in your ass he is.

Christian just laughs, the sound low and amused, and claps Max on the shoulder with a firm pat that borders on a shove. “One beer. You’ll live.”

Inside, the air smells like fryer grease and varnished wood, like carpets that have soaked up too many rainy shoes and Sunday pints. A tapestry-patterned grid of carpet stretches out beneath scuffed tables and mismatched chairs. There’s a low hum of conversation, football playing on two TVs mounted high in the corners, sound just under the level of speech. One chalkboard lists drink specials in smudged white chalk; another advertises upcoming game coverage on SkySports and a Sunday poker night in barely-crooked block letters.

It’s not a shithole.

It’s just... used. The way good things are.

Max pauses just inside the doorway, his eyes scanning the room like he’s trying to map out exits. There’s a stiffness in his spine, a quiet discomfort that doesn’t read as fear- just unfamiliarity. The place is too normal, too small, too honest. Nothing here needs polishing. A dozen patrons, maybe fewer. Mostly older men, coats still on, eyes half-lidded as they nurse their drinks like they’re waiting to be tired enough to sleep.

No one looks up. No one gives a shit who just walked in. This place doesn’t want anything from him. And for reasons he doesn’t understand, that feels... almost comforting. Max exhales through his nose. Something tight uncoils in his chest, just barely.

“This,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else, “is my kind of place.”

Christian beelines for the bar the second they’re inside, already tossing a half-wave at the barkeep like he’s a regular, or just pretending to be one. His voice disappears into the low hum of the room- easy, warm, familiar.

And just like that, Max is left trailing behind you.

He doesn’t mean to. Not really. It just sort of happens. One step after the other, unthinking. The carpet firm underfoot. The air too warm against his face. He watches the way your head tilts slightly as you scan the room, the subtle pause in your step when you realize he’s following you- not like a bodyguard or a shadow, but like someone who didn’t make a decision fast enough and now doesn’t know how to back out.

You don’t say anything.

But your shoulders pull a little tighter for half a second, the way people do when they’re trying to decide if they’re being hunted or accompanied. Then, with a misdirected kind of purpose, you veer toward the left. Max follows.

The side room is empty. Blessedly, perfectly empty.

Same worn tapestry carpet, same faint scent of beer and furniture polish, but quieter. Detached. A few scattered tables and chairs. A dart board. One pool table- it doesn’t match either of the ones out front. And a jukebox against the wall- an actual jukebox. Old-fashioned. And mechanical. Not touchscreen, not curated. The kind that requires real coins and real commitment.

You hover near the doorway for a second, then walk in, slow and casual, pretending you’re assessing options but already choosing. You pick a table in the back- half-tucked near a radiator that clicks softly under the window. You don’t look at Max, but you know he’s there. You can feel him behind you.

He hesitates in the doorway again, just for a beat, before stepping inside. His steps are slower now. Intentional. He slides into the chair across from you, because like fuck is he going to sit next to you. And then it happens.

That terrible, silent, brutal minute where neither of you says a word.

Because no one made you sit here, together. There’s no team debrief. No overbearing fathers. No media duty. No camera crew waiting to catch the dynamic. No podium to share. Just... a table. A chair. And the awful weight of silence.

Thick. Ugly. The kind that knows it’s silence. The kind that grows louder the longer it stretches.

You glance toward the main bar, then back at Max, your expression flickering into something a little too neutral. Your voice is light but strained, like you’re trying to casually toss something into the void to break the tension.

“Do you think Christian’s ordering for all three of us or… do you think I should- ?” You gesture vaguely toward the door, a half-lifted hand that immediately regrets existing.

Max blinks at you. “He’ll get three.”

You nod a little too fast. “Yeah. Right. That makes sense.” And that’s it. Nothing else. Just those sad, wrinkled words sitting in the air like a damp napkin no one wants to pick up. 

Silence again.

It’s impossible to tell if the talking or the not talking is more awkward.

Neither of you looks at each other.

Christian returns- mercifully- carrying three pints with the kind of practiced balance that says this isn’t his first pub trip. The tray is plastic, probably older than all of them, and each glass is filled to the brim with a different shade of gold.

He doesn’t say much. Just slides the drinks onto the table like he’s delivering a verdict and claims the seat beside you, sighing as he shrugs off his jacket.

“Here we are,” he says. “The best thing I’ve done for either of you all week.”

Your hands are already around the glass before he finishes talking.

Pilsner, probably. Crisp. Cold. Head still holding. You stare down at it like it’s a religious experience.

Max watches as your fingers tighten around the glass. Your shoulders are still a little hunched from the lingering discomfort of whatever the hell that silence was, but now there’s something else bubbling up behind your eyes. Energy. Relief. Joy.

You lift the pint slightly, almost toasting with yourself, and then just laugh- a short, breathless thing as you shake your head. “I’m trying to think of something to cheers to,” you say, voice warm and hoarse. “But all I can think about is how fucking good this is going to be.”

You grin down at the glass. “I haven’t had a beer since I moved here. I- God.” You cut yourself off with another soft laugh, this one less strained. “It just looks so good.”

You say it like it’s more than beer. Max watches you. You’re entirely infatuated with your glass, which makes it easier to do.

He hasn’t seen you like this. Not really. Not happy, not glowing, not vibrating with the kind of low-key anticipation people usually outgrow once the world teaches them better.

He shifts in his seat and picks up his own pint. Ale. Bitter. Familiar.

Christian raises his glass and taps it gently against yours with a knowing grin. “Then stop thinking and drink it.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You lift the glass with both hands and knock back a third of it like you’ve just been pulled out of the desert. It’s aggressive, almost theatrical, except it’s not. You don’t even seem aware of how intense it looks- just drink until the foam’s down your throat and the glass is heavy again on the table.

“Fuck,” you breathe, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth. “That was exactly as good as I knew it was going to be.”

You sit back in your chair with a soft thump, spine loose, mouth curling like the weight of the day finally slipped off your shoulders. Max watches it all with a kind of passive disbelief. Not judgment, not exactly. Just… surprise.

You don’t look like yourself.

At least, not the version of you he knows. The one clipped and coiled, always tucked neatly into meetings, simulator data, tight-lipped PR nods. This is different. This is you opened up, like someone’s unzipped your skin and let something feral crawl out.

And it’s… weird.

Not bad. Not good. Just wrong somehow. Off-kilter. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store in sweatpants, or hearing someone usually stiff and composed let loose a bark of laughter that doesn’t belong in their mouth.

“Best beer I’ve ever had,” you say into the foam, laughing softly to yourself. “Not even close.”

Christian’s grinning, already halfway into his own pint. “That’s because this is your first proper pint.”

“Hm. Probably.” You nod, like he’s just confirmed something sacred, then shift your attention toward the jukebox across the room. “Wonder if that thing still works.”

Christian cranes his neck, squinting toward the machine. “Not unless you’ve got change.”

Without missing a beat, you grab your purse off the floor and haul it into your lap, already unzipping a side pocket. “I’ve probably got a few twenty-pence pieces in here. My order at the work vending machine always gives me 20p back.”

You dig around, knuckles disappearing into the depths- keys, old receipts, some rogue stick of gum. Then the jingle of metal.

Max watches, eyes flicking from your hands to your face and back again. You’re buzzing. Not just from the beer. From something else. Movement. Relief. The sheer absurdity of the moment. 

And he can’t figure out if it’s entertaining or uncomfortable. He doesn’t like you. Not really. But seeing you like this- unguarded, messy, alive- it feels like catching a stranger undressing in a room you weren’t supposed to enter.

He doesn’t look away.

But it doesn’t sit right, either.

A scatter of coins clatter into your palm. Mostly 10ps and 20ps, one suspiciously sticky quid. Then, with a pleased hum, you stand and cross toward the jukebox, slotting the first coin in with a satisfying clink.

Max follows, slow and curious, hovering beside you, scanning the vinyl list for something that he’d like to listen to. 

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. He just assumes.

Of course you’ll hand him one. Why wouldn’t you? That’s what you do. If he asks for a file at the factory, you get it. If he shows up late to a meeting, you fill the gaps. You’re polite. Accommodating. Always willing to smooth over his edges, like that’s part of your job description.

So he holds out a hand. Expectant. Waiting.

You turn. See his outstretched palm. And for a moment you just blink at it. Then you burst out laughing. Not a scoff. Not a bitter exhale. Laughter. Full-bodied, surprised, involuntary.

“Oh my God,” you choke out, grinning wide. “You really just assumed I was gonna give you one. Like, full faith.”

Max blinks. Hand still out, suspended in the air like a loose wire. You just shake your head, still laughing, and tuck the rest of the coins into the back pocket of your pants. “What?” he says, flatly.

“What?” you echo, eyes wide and tone syrupy-sweet, the kind of sweet that makes your teeth ache. “Oh, sweetie, bless your heart. You must’ve forgotten- we’re not at the office. I don’t have to kiss your ass here.”

Max freezes, not because the words sting, but because they don’t. And your tone- it’s like creamed sugar. It’s too gentle. Too soft. Like there’s a knife slipped under the lace of your reply.

And he doesn’t know exactly what just happened.

But he’s pretty sure you made fun of him.

He stares at you like you’d just malfunctioned. Max leans in, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tone is measured, almost too calm- because the idea that you wouldn’t hasn’t even occurred to him. “Just pass me one.” he says.

You don’t even bother to lift your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

He blinks, as if surprised by his own impulse. Like he’s just remembered he’s supposed to ask. “Because I want to pick a song?”

You finally meet his eyes, and in them you catch something warm- a glimmer that isn’t full mockery, but rather a spark of amusement, light and unexpected. “And I want to own oceanfront property in Arizona. Guess we both have dreams.”

Max blinks.

You're serious.

He stares at you, genuinely gobsmacked- more from the unexpected tilt of the moment than from your words- because it’s not just that you’re refusing, it’s that you’re enjoying it. That the second you’re off Red Bull property, the second you're not in your work clothes and obligated to keep things diplomatic, you put your foot down. 

Over a twenty pence coin.

For months, you’d always given in to him, you’d always played the part as best you could, no matter how he acted: polite, professional, bending just enough so he could assume it was his idea.

But now?

Now you laugh- loud, unreserved laughter that rings out clear as you fish a single coin out of your pocket and hold it up like a prize. It’s the kind of laugh that feels raw and real, and it cracks the weight of the past wide open. The idea that you might hand him a twenty-pence piece simply because he wants one is absurd- so absurdly funny that it seems the universe itself has tipped the scale.

Max’s mouth parts in a tentative “You’re serious?”

“Oh, deadly,” you reply, your tone light but edged with challenge.

And it’s not just a boundary- it’s a message.

I don't owe you anything.

He narrows his eyes, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. “Come on.”

With a casual flourish, you hold the coin between two fingers, letting it catch the light- a tiny sun in your grasp. “If you want a song that bad,” you say, your voice sweet and teasing, “I’ll give you one. But you have to get on your knees, right here, and tell me I’m the best support driver you’ve ever had.”

The room between you shrinks in that moment. It’s more than the clink of coins or a request- it’s a defiant echo of balance, a playful wager that recasts every past slight into something strangely equal. And in the soft glow of the jukebox’s failing neon tubes- Max, for a brief, unguarded moment- is wrestling with that truth.

He lets out a breath through his nose- almost a laugh. Almost. No chance. Max Verstappen is not going to beg.

That’s the one thread he clings to, even as the night starts to loosen around the edges- warm light, cheap beer, and the comforting weight of anonymity settling over the room like a blanket no one asked for but doesn’t mind.

But asking again doesn’t really count as begging, right? It’s not like he’s on his knees or anything. He’s mulling it over when ‘just one beer’ unanimously becomes ‘just one more.’ He doesn’t remember saying he’d stay this long. But he doesn’t remember not saying it either. He also doesn’t remember asking for a second round, but one shows up anyways- probably Christian’s gesture of good will or penance or plain old morbid curiosity, but either way, Max doesn’t argue. He takes the pint and lets the chill hit his hand, then his throat, and plans his next move through half-lidded eyes.

It’s not that you’re being mean. Not really. You’re just… unbothered. Casual. Infuriatingly in control of this very stupid, very small situation.

He waits until you’re halfway through your second beer to try again.

Max hovers just behind you with his mug, arms crossed loosely, watching as you slot another twenty-pence piece into the old machine, your fingers dancing along the laminated list like you’re selecting fine wine instead of vintage trash-pop. He’s scowling, hovering just close enough to keep asking. Needling. Pestering. Because now it’s a matter of principle. 

“You can’t possibly need all of those.”

“Probably not,” you hum. “Think I’ll hang onto them just in case. Unless?”

When two locals approach the edge of the room- one in a Saints jersey, the other nursing a cider- and ask if you and Max want to team up for doubles on the lopsided pool table, you glance at him for just long enough that he thinks his respectable performance might have bought him some leverage. Wrong. Denied. Kneel. He scoffs. 

“I’m Max Verstappen.”

You shoot him a look so full of icy amusement that it could be a patented cooling system. “Kind of embarrassing if you can’t afford 20p then, you think?” There’s something so pleased in your voice, like you can’t believe he’s gift wrapped you a third opportunity to tell him no in the same night. Like you’ve already collected the return on your little shenanigans, and now Max is shoveling over interest for free. 

He doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t. You’ve always been accommodating. Tolerant. Even when he was an asshole- especially then- you still handed him things without making it a fight. You played the part. Took the hits. Smiled through clenched teeth.

Every appeal he makes, you swat down without lifting your voice, without raising an eyebrow. Just that same calm, clipped response- get on your knees. It becomes a rhythm. A bit. A game that neither of you acknowledges as a game, but plays to win.

You make your next selection, humming under your breath again, and Max stares at your hands- at the last few coins still gleaming in the half-light. They might as well be orbiting stars. Unattainable.

The worst part is that now he really wants to play a song. Not even to win. Not even to prove anything. He just wants the satisfaction. The hit of dopamine. The petty victory of hearing his music next.

And you’ve made it a hostage negotiation.

He paces. He sighs. He sits down on a barstool for thirty seconds, then stands back up. Sighs again. Another drink. Maybe his third. Or fourth. Time gets weird in warm places with sticky floors. Fuck, he wants to play a song.

And then it happens. Something cracks.

He groans- loudly, dramatically- and drops down to one knee right there in front of the jukebox, his jeans collecting samples of whatever filth settles on the floor of a place like this. “Fine,” he spits. “You’re the best support driver I’ve ever had.”

His voice drips with so much sarcasm it practically coats the walls. “Truly. Couldn’t have done a single thing without you.” You stare down at him like he’s a sewer rat that’s learned to tap dance. Amused. A little revolted. Deeply entertained.

And then you grin. It’s not cruel. It’s not even smug. It’s pure, unfiltered delight.

Then, without fanfare, you flick a twenty-pence coin toward the floor. It falls soft on the carpet. Rolls. Spins to a stop just out of his reach. You don’t say a word. But the look on your face- God- you don’t have to.

You’re glowing. Not in the clean, polished way people look when they’ve just won something shiny and official. No, this is something messier. Deeper. Satisfaction pulled from the pit of your stomach, slow and earned.

Max stares at the coin.

Then at you.

Then back at the coin.

And fuck- it’s humiliating. Which might be why it’s perfect. After everything he’s put you through- the weeks of sabotage, the debrief interruptions, the psychological bruising dressed up as excellence- you get to watch him bend.

He reaches down and picks it up.

You laugh. Low and loose and entirely unbothered. Like the idea of him groveling for your spare change is the funniest thing you’ve seen all week.

And maybe it is.

Because he feels it. In his spine. In the back of his throat. The shift. The tilt. This isn’t just a joke anymore. This is power. Yours. 

And for a moment- a long, stretching second longer than either of you probably intends- he holds your gaze. That coin is still cold in his palm. Small. Silly. Heavy in ways it shouldn’t be. Then he turns to the jukebox. Scrolls deliberately. Finds the most obnoxious ABBA song in the catalog. Hits play.

Out of spite. Out of principle. Out of sheer, fucking petty survival.

Your laughter follows him as he walks back toward the table- bright and alive and echoing like it’s chasing him down. And God help him- 

Max doesn’t even mind.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

The car hums low beneath them, dark outside now- later than it feels. Streetlights streak through the windshield in rhythmic bursts, washing Christian’s hands on the wheel in gold every few seconds. The roads are mostly empty, quiet, tucked in.

The silence in the car isn’t awkward.

It’s something else.

Max slumps slightly in the passenger seat, just enough for his spine to ease off the tension that’s been riding him all day. He’s not drunk, not entirely. But there’s a looseness in him now- beer-soft and slow, like someone’s untied a knot in the center of his chest without asking his permission.

His gaze drifts, half-lidded, unfocused- then catches the rearview mirror.

There you are.

Sprawled back in the seat again, just like you were earlier, but this time you’re warm with victory and booze and something that looks dangerously close to peace. Your head’s tilted toward the window, eyes half-closed. One sneaker up on the seat, your jacket unzipped, your fingers idly fiddling with a keychain that had come in your convention bag. 

Max forces his eyes forward. Then a beat later, they drift again.

Back to the mirror. Back to you.

He keeps doing it. Keeps catching himself. Keeps looking. And every time he does, the image plays again in his head like someone queued it up and hit repeat:

That coin.

The way you held it between your fingers like a king holding court. That smirk. That casual little toss to the floor, like the indignity of him crawling after it might scratch the surface of what he actually deserved. And fuck- maybe it did scratch the surface.

Maybe that’s what’s been clawing at him all night.

Because in that moment, on the grimy floor of some shitty pub, he had deserved it. And you’d known it. Had looked at him like yeah, fucker, I’ve got you. Like pulling him down to the floor made up for every interruption, every data sabotage, every small, cruel, calculated erosion.

And the worst part?

It worked.

He hadn’t felt humiliated. He’d felt- God, he doesn't even know. Exposed? Levelled? Something so real it almost hurt.

You’d leveled the field with one coin.

He rubs at his jaw, tilts his head like it might shake the feeling off. His eyes flick back to the mirror.

You're still there. You’re always fucking there. Soft now, somehow. Not unguarded, not entirely, but less braced. Like the night gave you something back. Like you won something that didn’t come in a contract or a race result.

Max shifts in his seat again. Clears his throat. Doesn’t say anything.

But he looks.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

You’re folded into the backseat, the hum of the road under you and a pub buzz still warm in your veins. Not drunk, not really. Just soft around the edges. Floaty. Like your body hasn’t caught up with your life yet.

You’re going to be in Formula One.

You say it again in your head- quietly, like a secret. Not because it is a secret anymore, but because something about the shape of it still feels fragile. Like saying it too loud might undo it. Pop the balloon.

Formula One.

God, you can’t wait to tell your mom.

The thought hits you hard enough you blink at the window, like the reflection might steady you. You picture her face. The way her eyes will go wide, her mouth open just a second before the joy breaks loose. You can already hear the way she’ll say your name- half disbelief, half vindication, all pride.

You feel it rise in your chest, tight and hot. You would cry, probably. If you were capable of that sort of thing- of happy tears. So you settle for smiling into the dark window instead.

And then- eyes.

You catch them by accident. Just a flicker in the rearview mirror. A flash of blue. Max. It’s not a look. Not really. Not loaded. Just… brief. The ghost of eye contact. But the second it happens, both of you look away. Like it burned.

You turn your head, pretend you were adjusting your jacket. He shifts in the front seat like something itched. And that should be it. Should’ve passed. But you don’t mean to- you swear you don’t- but your eyes flick back up to the mirror, just once, just to check if he’s still-  He is.

Staring.

Not in that cold, calculating way you’ve come to expect. Not annoyed. Not unreadable. Just... watching. Quiet. Caught.

So you stare right back. You don’t know why. Pride, maybe. Challenge, probably.

Fuck, why is it electric? It’s not charged with romance. There’s no tenderness to it. It’s something else entirely. Like striking flint. The glint of blade against blade. 

He doesn’t look away. Neither do you. You don’t move. And in that breathless little standoff- somewhere between the motorway and the factory- you realize something terrifying. 

He might see you.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Series Masterlist

[reasonsforhope]

No-paywall version.

"You can never really see the future, only imagine it, then try to make sense of the new world when it arrives.

Just a few years ago, climate projections for this century looked quite apocalyptic, with most scientists warning that continuing “business as usual” would bring the world four or even five degrees Celsius of warming — a change disruptive enough to call forth not only predictions of food crises and heat stress, state conflict and economic strife, but, from some corners, warnings of civilizational collapse and even a sort of human endgame. (Perhaps you’ve had nightmares about each of these and seen premonitions of them in your newsfeed.)

Now, with the world already 1.2 degrees hotter, scientists believe that warming this century will most likely fall between two or three degrees. (A United Nations report released this week ahead of the COP27 climate conference in Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt, confirmed that range.) A little lower is possible, with much more concerted action; a little higher, too, with slower action and bad climate luck. Those numbers may sound abstract, but what they suggest is this: Thanks to astonishing declines in the price of renewables, a truly global political mobilization, a clearer picture of the energy future and serious policy focus from world leaders,

we have cut expected warming almost in half in just five years.

...Conventional wisdom has dictated that meeting the most ambitious goals of the Paris agreement by limiting warming to 1.5 degrees could allow for some continuing normal, but failing to take rapid action on emissions, and allowing warming above three or even four degrees, spelled doom.

Neither of those futures looks all that likely now, with the most terrifying predictions made improbable by decarbonization and the most hopeful ones practically foreclosed by tragic delay. The window of possible climate futures is narrowing, and as a result, we are getting a clearer sense of what’s to come: a new world, full of disruption but also billions of people, well past climate normal and yet mercifully short of true climate apocalypse.

Over the last several months, I’ve had dozens of conversations — with climate scientists and economists and policymakers, advocates and activists and novelists and philosophers — about that new world and the ways we might conceptualize it. Perhaps the most capacious and galvanizing account is one I heard from Kate Marvel of NASA, a lead chapter author on the fifth National Climate Assessment: “The world will be what we make it.” Personally, I find myself returning to three sets of guideposts, which help map the landscape of possibility.

First, worst-case temperature scenarios that recently seemed plausible now look much less so, which is inarguably good news and, in a time of climate panic and despair, a truly underappreciated sign of genuine and world-shaping progress...

[I cut number two for being focused on negatives. This is a reasons for hope blog.]

Third, humanity retains an enormous amount of control — over just how hot it will get and how much we will do to protect one another through those assaults and disruptions. Acknowledging that truly apocalyptic warming now looks considerably less likely than it did just a few years ago pulls the future out of the realm of myth and returns it to the plane of history: contested, combative, combining suffering and flourishing — though not in equal measure for every group...

“We live in a terrible world, and we live in a wonderful world,” Marvel says. “It’s a terrible world that’s more than a degree Celsius warmer. But also a wonderful world in which we have so many ways to generate electricity that are cheaper and more cost-effective and easier to deploy than I would’ve ever imagined. People are writing credible papers in scientific journals making the case that switching rapidly to renewable energy isn’t a net cost; it will be a net financial benefit,” she says with a head-shake of near-disbelief. “If you had told me five years ago that that would be the case, I would’ve thought, wow, that’s a miracle.”"

-via The New York Times Magazine, October 26, 2022

[apacnewsnetwork0]

Energy Summit Delhi | Power And Energy Event Delhi | India biggest Energy event

National Sustainable Energy Innovation Conclave’ will take place in New Delhi in 2024. This is India’s largest power and energy event organised by APAC News Network and will be attended by several dignitaries and decision makers from the sector.

Read More info here : https://apacnewsnetwork.com/seic/new-delhi/

[enerhy-meetings]

International Conference on Energy and Alternative Sources 2025

Introduction: Exploring Innovative Approaches to Sustainable Energy

The International Conference on Energy and Alternative Sources is set to take place on November 3-4, 2025, in Amsterdam, Netherlands. This conference focuses on the theme of "Innovative Approaches to Sustainable Energy: Exploring Alternative Sources," where experts, researchers, and industry leaders will gather to discuss the latest advancements and innovations in sustainable energy. This event provides a platform to explore the potential of alternative energy sources, paving the way for a future that relies less on fossil fuels and more on renewable and energy alternative sources.

The Importance of Energy and Alternative Sources

In the face of growing environmental concerns and climate change, the search for energy alternative sources has become more critical than ever. This conference will discuss various forms of alternative energy, such as solar, wind, geothermal, and bioenergy, and the innovations that are making these options more viable on a large scale.

Governments, organizations, and individuals are increasingly turning to energy alternative sources to reduce carbon emissions and reliance on fossil fuels. The Energy and Alternative Sources Conference aims to showcase these advancements and bring together experts to discuss solutions and strategies for a cleaner, more sustainable world.

Key Topics and Sessions at the Conference

The Energy and Alternative Sources Conference 2025 will cover several key topics, including:

Solar Energy Innovations: New developments in photovoltaic technology and solar energy storage systems.

Wind Energy: Advances in wind turbine efficiency, offshore wind farms, and integration into the grid.

Geothermal Energy: Exploring geothermal energy potential in different regions and how it can complement other renewable energy sources.

Bioenergy: Sustainable biofuels, biomass, and waste-to-energy technologies.

A Closer Look at Solar Energy as an Alternative

One of the most promising energy alternative sources is solar energy. Over the years, the efficiency of solar panels has increased significantly, and costs have decreased. This has made solar power one of the most accessible forms of renewable energy. The Energy and Alternative Sources Conference will feature sessions on the latest advancements in solar technology, including flexible solar cells, new materials that improve efficiency, and innovations in solar energy storage.

Solar energy has the potential to power entire cities if properly harnessed. Researchers are working on making solar power more efficient, and the Upcoming Energy Alternative Sources Conference will showcase some of the most exciting developments in this area.

The Role of Wind Energy in a Sustainable Future

Wind energy is another prominent topic at the Energy and Alternative Sources Conferences 2025. With the advancements in turbine technology and the increasing number of offshore wind farms, wind energy is becoming a significant contributor to the global energy mix. The Energy Alternative Sources Conference 2025 will feature discussions on integrating wind power with other energy sources, challenges in offshore installations, and future trends in the wind energy sector.

By focusing on the integration of wind energy with other energy alternative sources, the conference will provide a holistic view of how these technologies can work together to provide a stable, reliable energy supply.

Geothermal and Bioenergy: Untapped Potential

Geothermal energy is one of the lesser-known energy alternative sources but has enormous potential. This year’s International Conference on Energy and Alternative Sources will delve into the potential of geothermal energy, particularly in regions with significant geothermal resources. As a sustainable source that provides consistent power, geothermal energy could complement solar and wind energy to create a more resilient energy system.

Bioenergy, derived from organic materials, is another area of focus. Sessions will cover advancements in converting waste to energy, sustainable biofuel production, and the environmental impact of bioenergy. By understanding and developing these energy alternative sources, the conference aims to inspire sustainable practices on a larger scale.

Conclusion: Why Attend the Energy and Alternative Sources Conference 2025?

The Energy and Alternative Sources Conference 2025 is a unique opportunity for professionals, researchers, and anyone interested in sustainable energy to come together and learn about the latest advancements in energy alternative sources. With sessions on solar, wind, geothermal, and bioenergy, attendees will gain a comprehensive understanding of the potential of these technologies.

The conference provides an invaluable networking opportunity, allowing participants to connect with others who are committed to a sustainable future. As the world continues to seek out energy alternative sources, events like the Energy and Alternative Sources Conference 2025 will be instrumental in shaping the path forward.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

The U.S. power grid added more capacity from solar energy in 2024 than from any other source in a single year in more than two decades, according to a new industry report released on Tuesday.

The data was released a day after the new U.S. energy secretary, Chris Wright, strongly criticized solar and wind energy on two fronts. He said on Monday at the start of CERAWeek by S&P Global, an annual energy conference in Houston, that they couldn’t meet the growing electricity needs of the world and that their use was driving up energy costs.

The report, produced by the Solar Energy Industries Association and Wood Mackenzie, a research firm, said about 50 gigawatts of new solar generation capacity was added last year, far more than any other source of electricity.

Mr. Wright and President Trump have been strongly critical of renewable energy, which former President Joseph R. Biden Jr. championed as a way to address climate change. The energy secretary, Mr. Trump and Republicans in Congress have pledged to undo many of Mr. Biden’s climate and energy policies.

“Beyond the obvious scale and cost problems, there is simply no physical way wind, solar and batteries could replace the myriad uses of natural gas,” said Mr. Wright, who was previously chief executive of an oil and gas production company.

Yet solar energy and battery storage systems appear to have significant momentum and may not be easily thwarted. The U.S. Energy Information Administration, which is part of Mr. Wright’s department, said last month that it expected solar and batteries to continue leading new capacity installations on U.S. electric grids this year.

Proponents of clean energy celebrated the milestone for solar power as the world moves to increase electricity production to meet the needs of energy-hungry data centers to support the growth of artificial intelligence.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Brazil to highlight climate success, struggles by hosting 2025 COP in the Amazon

Brazil will host the 2025 UN Conference of Parties (COP) climate summit in the Amazon rainforest and focus on “challenges” and “success stories.” Analysts can find both in actions by the country and JBS SA, one of the largest meat processing companies in the world.

Brazil leads BRICS economies in curbing CO2 emissions but still lags behind projections needed to avoid global warming. It committed to reducing emissions by 59% to 67% by 2035 and is one of the first nations to provide an updated Nationally Determined Contribution to the Paris Agreement.

The nation is currently a global leader in renewable energy but will need to invest significantly more to achieve 2025 net-zero goal s. Hydropower accounts for 110 GW of its total 236 GW in installed capacity, while solar has reached 48 GW and wind 28 GW.

Brazil’s reduction targets were increased at the COP29 summit in Azerbaijan in late November. This came as part of a climate finance deal calling on developed nations to provide $300 billion per year in climate financing to the developing world. Brazil’s biodiversity and broader aims to fight deforestation make it a top global funding priority.

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[allthecanadianpolitics]

British Columbia has given the green light to nine wind energy projects that it says will boost the province's hydroelectric grid by eight percent a year, providing almost 5,000 gigawatt hours of energy annually, or enough to power 500,000 homes. That number is roughly equivalent to the power projected to be generated by the Site C dam, which recently started feeding power into B.C.'s electrical grid at a construction cost of $16 billion. B.C. Hydro, the province's Crown utility, selected the wind power projects following a strong response to its call for new renewable power-generation operations, Premier David Eby said at a news conference.

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Tagging: @newsfromstolenland