The pylon appeared out of nowhere. The obstacle course, which he had only ever flown once, was being battered by a storm of screaming wind. Raindrops pounded against his windscreen, as he spun, just narrowly avoiding the sleek orange surface of the cone, dripping with water. The wind hadn't taken a single respite from slamming against his propellor, pushing against his wings, constantly seeming as if it were working against the orange flyer. Still, he flew, performing his famous Radial-G pass to narrowly sneak by a clueless red racer. The exclaim of both surprise and annoyance was drowned out by an echoing clap of thunder that snapped in the ears of every plane in the air, followed by a sudden flash of lightning. It struck only half a mile away, but the heatwave could be felt even from where Dusty flew, pelting his outer metal like a large water balloon. The plane in front of him, a green Chester Jeep, wobbled unsteadily at the invisible waves that struck them as they began their short turn around the mountain. This small window of time presented Dusty with an opportunity, and, pushing his propellor, whizzed by the racer in first place.

It came as no surprise to him that Ripslinger wasn't in first; he had passed the green racer a good while back. He had been struggling against the howling wind, his engine buzzing wildly. Amusement had coursed through him at his annoyed grunt and frustrated yell. The green racer wasn't very used to these conditions; he hadn't had to endure a tropical storm over the Pacific earlier in the year. Needless to say, Dusty had experience with these conditions; he knew how to deal with them.

Another clap of thunder shook the world. In the distance, through the rain that fogged his vision, the dimmed lights of the finish line caught his attention. He was nearly there, and all the other racers were way behind him.

"I got this in the bag." His serious expression softened into a smile as he neared the finish line, lining himself horizontally with the tarmac.

"Almost...Almost..." He wasn't sure why he was pushing his engine so hard; the others racers had fallen way behind. As far as he was concerned, he was FAR in first place. The others couldn't catch up if he rolled at a snail's pace past the finishing ribbon.

But there was something.... something that brought surging excitement to him. The thought, the feeling of crossing the finish line at full speed, giving the crowd a show, it provoked him. Smiling a smile that seemed neverending, he passed the painted checkered line on the asphalt. The crowd roared, revving their engines and spinning their propellors, ignoring the rain that poured down on them. Dusty sighed with relief, lowering his landing gear and descending smoothly onto the pavement, gliding slightly with the accumulating water. Smiling at the crowd, he backed up underneath an empty tent, scanning as racers began their descent towards the finish line. After a few unknown racers, Ishani appeared, crossing the line with a determined grin on her place. 4th place. Dusty's happy look fell down, and he narrowed his eyes. He knew she would be coming in his direction. And he had something to say to her. Behind her, El Chu followed, tieing with Rochelle. 5th and 6th place. They shot each other a playful look; the two were always fighting to one-up the other. Bulldog followed, a frustrated look drawn upon his place. 7th place.

Ishani began to approach him but paused when she noticed the look he shot her. It wasn't the usual friendly glance; it was serious, burning with the desire to tell her something. He hadn't forgotten what she had said in Iceland, nor was he going to. He intended to talk to her about it.

He began to roll forward when a small platoon of reporters whirled around the corner. Upon spotting him, they swarmed around him like ants around a crumb of food. Questions began floating up, overlapping each other. Black shiny mics were pushed up against his face, lights flashed in his eyes. They forced him back under the cover of the tent.

"Dusty, Dusty!! How do you feel?"

"That storm was brutal!"

"How's your mentor?"

"Give me a smile!!"

"Dusty, how do you feel?!"

Dusty stuttered. "I-uh-well-I..." He tried to peer over the crowd, but the flashing of lights limited his sight to only seeing Ishani's white propellor disappearing. Pursing his lips in annoyance, he turned back to the reporters.

"No questions for now." He pressed, beginning to roll away.

"Dusty!! How does second place feel?" He stopped, spinning around rapidly.

"Wait...second place? I'm sorry, I thought I was in first." The reporters glanced at each other. Then, they began to once again swarm his with questions.

"Did you think you were in first?"

"Are you disappointed?"

These questions were the typical questions of hungry reporters, thirsty for gossip or anything that would get them paid. Reporters were sharks; willing to fight for information. Unrelenting creatures who wouldn't let a racer have their peace. The thought of a well-known racer being shocked at his place was like music to their ears; their minds were practically screaming "CHA-CHING CHA-CHING!!! GOSSIP ALERT!!" Their cameras ready in a flash, mics pressed up as close as possible, they were ready to analyze every movement, every word that came out of Dusty's mouth.

Now Dusty felt pressured; who wouldn't, with a growing crowd of searching press. He didn't want to answer these questions. His mind already felt full, confused. Second place? He hadn't seen anyone pass him. No, that wasn't right; it couldn't be. He stared at the reporter intently. his eyes widened slightly and he backed up. He mentally went through the entire race again. he saw no opportunity for any racer to pass by him.

Unless....Dusty's eyes widened. No, it was impossible. No place had ever been able to complete it. This leg was specifically about agility and skill, so racers had to maneuver an obstacle course that was hard enough already. But they were presented with another option; an alternate course, shorter than the other, but near impossible to beat. It ran through a harsh ceiling of barely over 100 feet, racing against the face of the river.

Only one plane had ever tried it once. He crashed on live tv. It scarred planes for life. No other plane had ever tried it. The space between the water and the ceiling was too low; only the planes with the steadiest flight could even dare to try it. There was no way.

But it would make sense as to why they had been so far ahead....

Once question pierced through his thoughts, grabbed his attention, and refused to let go. The reporter's voice echoed in his mind, and pierced his heart. His entire frame had frozen, his mouth had fallen open.

"How does it feel to come in second place to a rookie?!"