Chapter Text
“Roger, smile! Over here, to the camera!”
The screams came from everywhere. The flashes were deafening, almost blinding him the moment he stepped closer to the reporters.
“Roger, what’s the next step after this winning streak?”
Roger grinned at the cameras, his teeth a brilliant white, eyes sparkling under the stadium lights. He answered questions with the same choreographed practice as always, laughing as he held the trophy up high for them to photograph.
“I don’t know yet!” he chuckled, shrugging lightly in front of the sea of microphones. “For now, let’s just enjoy this win. I’m so proud of my progress, and I trust my team to keep pushing forward, we’re stronger than ever.”
“Roger, over here!” another reporter called out. “So you’re happy being a Federation driver?”
He turned to her with that same perfect grin, not even hesitating. “Happier than ever! The Federation is the best team I could ever wish for. That’s why I have the best car, the best techs, the best strategy and I know I can always rely on them. We’re just getting started this season.”
He paused for dramatic effect, gaze sweeping over the fans packed into the stands, thousands of them holding up photos and phones, screaming his name.
“And lastly” he said with a wink, “"to my fans, I’d like to send you all a very warm hug. You’re the reason I keep training and working so hard.” Grabbing the trophy with both hands, he lifted it high into the air and kissed it
“This is thanks to you all!” he shouted.
The crowd erupted in screams, chanting his name over and over again.
With a final wave to the cameras, Roger turned away from the reporters and, without thinking twice, jumped over the barrier separating him from the fans. The security guards shouted his name in panic, but he didn’t care. He dove straight into the screaming crowd, hugging whoever reached out to him, taking selfies, signing posters, helmets, shirts, anything they handed him.
People were shedding tears as they stood next to him, their voices screaming at the top of their lungs. Roger just kept smiling, hugging them and laughing.
It took his own team pushing through the chaotic crowd to finally reach him.They seized his shoulders, trying to shield him from the grasping hands as they hauled him back over the barrier. Even as he retreated,he could still hear the echo of their screams following him all the way down the pit lane.
A Federation van was waiting for him at the exit. Surrounded by security guards, he was quickly escorted inside, the doors shutting behind him.
Roger sighed the moment they let go of his shoulders. Without a second thought, he tossed the trophy aside onto the empty seat next to him. From his pants pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, flicking it on with ease. While lowering the window just enough for the smoke to drift out, he finally allowed himself to relax into the seat.
From the front seat, a voice spoke up, laced with sarcastic amusement.
“You did good today, big boy. Except for the part where you ran straight into the crowd, which you know is prohibited.” Etoiles turned to look at him, chuckling under his breath.
“Not to mention the smoking” he added, plucking the cigarette from Roger’s lips and flicking it out the window, "Which, in case you’ve forgotten, isn’t good for you.”
Roger rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. “If you people left me the fuck alone for even a second, maybe I’d stop doing whatever the hell I want.”
Etoiles looked at him through the rearview mirror, shaking his head slightly. The rest of the ride was comfortably silent.
They arrived at the Federation headquarters just before sunset. The tall gates opened during the van’s approach, and Roger watched through the window as the familiar grey building loomed into view —the Federation logo painted boldly across its side. As soon as the van stopped, the guards opened the door and gestured for him to get out. He stepped onto the pavement, stretching his shoulders tiredly.
Waiting for them by the entrance was Cucurucho –or as everyone called him there, The Bear . Massive and broad-shouldered, dressed in a white suit that somehow made him look even bigger.
“Inside” The Bear said, his voice low and rumbling.
Roger followed him into the empty lobby, Etoiles trailing behind. They walked in silence until they reached the private meeting room—a shiny, blinding white space that felt way too clean to be for any good reason.
The Bear turned to face him, eyes narrowed. “What the hell was that stunt today?” he demanded. “You know the plan: race, win, no interviews, and come straight back. That’s it.”
Roger shrugged lazily, unbothered.
“Oh, come on. You should be happy about the chaos I caused out there. All those people screaming, all that attention… I’m sure it was more than enough noise to cover up whatever deals or experiments you were sneakily running while I was busy being your pretty little distraction.”
The Bear didn’t react, his face as unreadable as always. “That was the plan. Controlled noise. Enough to keep eyes on you and off of us. What you did wasn’t extra, it was reckless. If anything had happened to you out there, it would’ve blown the entire operation. You disobeyed direct orders.”
Roger clenched his jaw, glaring at him.
“Maybe if you’d actually give me some real tasks around here, I’d think twice. I’m tired of being the damn poster boy. I joined this place for the business, for the fights, not to be your cover story. I love racing, yeah, but if all I’m here for is to be your little distraction, then cut me loose and let me have my career in peace. It's either that or you give me an actual position in the organisation.”
The Bear’s lips curled into a faint, humourless smile.
“You’re still too young, Roger. Too impulsive. You’re useful exactly where you are.”
“Fuck you” Roger spat.
“Car keys” The Bear said after a brief pause, extending his hand toward him. “And give me that damn lighter. You shouldn’t be smoking in public.”
Roger glanced sideways at Etoiles, who gave him a little I told you so smile. He let out a dry laugh under his breath, rolling his eyes as he dug into his pocket. The car keys were tossed grumpily to The Bear, followed by the lighter.
“That won’t stop me from doing whatever the hell I want” he muttered.
“You are dismissed for today” The Bear replied flatly, ignoring his provocation as he pocketed the keys and lighter.
Roger stood there for a second, his jaw still clenched and his fists burning, before he turned on his heel and walked out of the room without another word. He and Etoiles walked down the long hallway toward the residential section of headquarters.
“You actually did good today” Etoiles praised, nudging his shoulder lightly. “You’re improving, congrats. At this rate, you might end up better at racing than fighting.”
“You wish.” Roger grinned at him. “I might just be good at both.”
“Big ego today, huh?” Etoiles laughed. “But you deserved it. I left a bottle of champagne in your room for the celebration.”
“Oh? So you were sure I’d win?” Roger slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a quick half-hug. “You alone are gonna end up inflating my ego, my friend.”
Etoiles scoffed, nudging him back with a grin. “Please. Your ego was already too big before we even met”
“Wanna come in and have a drink?” Roger offered, his grin lazy as they reached his door.
“I’ll pass tonight. We have training tomorrow morning, and it’d be pretty bad if we both show up a mess.”
“Oh, so I’m gonna be the one showing up hungover?”
“Yes. So I can kick your ass easier” Etoiles laughed, patting Roger’s back before heading off to his room.
“See you tomorrow, coach!” Roger called after him, waving with a smirk still on his lips.
Roger entered his room, kicking the door shut behind him. Sure enough, there was a bottle of champagne sitting on his nightstand. At least the Federation hadn’t taken that away from him. He let out a long breath, his body relaxing as he stood there, realizing he was finally alone.
His room was, to put it lightly, an absolute mess. Clothes strewn across the chair, helmets piled on the desk, empty energy drink cans littering the floor. In one corner, there were some training weapons just lying around. Combat knives still in their sheaths, a few guns and a pair of brass knuckles tossed on top of his racing gloves. The curtains were half closed, blocking out what little light was left of the day.
He was tired. Tired of it all.
This wasn’t what he had imagined when he joined the gang. He never thought it would be such a circus.Him, displaying as nothing but a pretty face for the world, while the real work happened behind closed doors. He wasn’t built for that. He didn’t want forced smiles. He yearned for adrenaline.
He crossed the room and switched on the old radio by his bed, cranking the volume all the way up until the whole floor was shaking. Music blasted through the speaker, drowning out every thought in his head.
At the end of the day, he’d won. It was his victory and he deserved to celebrate.
So he popped the cork off the champagne and took a long sip straight from the bottle before dropping it onto the floor. Then he threw himself face down onto his bed, burying his cheek against the sheets as a genuine smile tugged at his lips for the first time that day.
But the music cut off abruptly, replaced by the radio presenter’s voice.
“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you important news…”
Roger glared at the radio like he could stab the presenter dead with just his eyes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me” he growled under his breath.
Of course he couldn’t have a single fucking minute of peace, not even after winning.
He let his head drop against the sheets with a muffled sigh, stretching his arms out across the bed. As his fingers brushed under his pillows, he felt something cold and metallic.
Keys. Not just any keys.
“Melissa” he breathed out with a grin when he saw the name engraved on the keychain.
His bike.
“You never disappoint, baby” he whispered, a smirk curling his lips.
He already knew exactly what he was going to do. If no one was going to leave him in peace… then he’d go find it himself.
He quickly stood up and grabbed a fresh pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the endless collection cluttering his nightstand, slipping them into his pocket. Then, without a sound, he crossed the room and slid open the window, the cool night air brushing gently against his face. With Melissa’s keys still in one hand, he took one last glance around, and climbed out. His feet landed softly on the grass below. Staying low, he sprinted toward the garage, where Melissa would be waiting.
Behind him, the radio kept playing in his empty room, the presenter’s voice echoing faintly in the dark:
“Still no sign of fugitive Cell. Ten weeks after his escape, there have been no confirmed sightings or reports of his whereabouts. We urge citizens to remain cautious. He is considered highly dangerous. If anyone has information, please contact local authorities immediately…”