The crash came back to him little by little. He remembered the horrible noise of metal grinding on the road. The awful sound of his ribs breaking inwards. The taste of blood filling his mouth as his dreams of winning died with his broken body.
Arthur Finch was twenty-four when his Yamaha bike threw him off and killed him at Silverstone. Twenty-four years of fighting his way up from having nothing, sleeping in vans, and eating cold beans, all for a short moment of fame that he never got. The other riders had money, connections, and good factory bikes. Arthur had rage and a secondhand Kawasaki held together with worn out parts and stubborn pride.
Now that anger burned stronger than ever.
Because he's meant to be dead. But instead of the darkness he'd expected, he suddenly became aware again, like a strong hit to his head. Bright light filled his eyes. Loud noises came over him in waves. And his body....
His body was wrong.
Arthur tried to curse, to shout his anger at this joke, but only a weak cry came out. It was the sound of a baby crying.
He understood this truth more strongly than the crash ever had. He was stuck in a small body that couldn't even lift its own head. His mind started boiling with frustration so strong that his past life's problems felt like small annoyances.
"Easy there, little one." It was surely a woman's voice. English accent. He suddenly felt warm hands lifting him up, and Arthur wanted to bite them. "You're safe now."
Safe? He'd never been less safe in his life. At least when he was dying, he'd had some control. Now he couldn't even control his own bladder.
The woman took him to a window, and through his blurry baby eyes, Arthur saw green hills. That means he was at the countryside. England, by the sound of her voice. The year must be around 2005, if he figured it right. This meant MotoGP was still new, still working out the rules that would shape the next twenty years of racing.
Rules Arthur already knew by heart.
He started to feel a sharp from his head and for a moment, he thought something had gone wrong with his rebirth. Then words appeared in his mind.
The Apex Protocol: Rebirth Initiated.
Host designated.
System Activation in 3... 2... 1...
Arthur's baby body became stiff. What the hell was this? Some kind of divine intervention? The voice in his head felt new and unwanted, like someone had put a computer chip right into his brain.
He didn't want divine intervention. He didn't need some magical cheat code to achieve what should have been his by right in the first place. If he was really getting a second chance, he would earn it the same way he had tried to earn everything else in his first life: through pure, tough drive and being ready to do anything it took.
The woman, who must be his mother in this life, sat down in a rocking chair by the window. Arthur could feel her heartbeat through her chest, steady and comforting. If things had been different, he might have liked it. But instead, it just reminded him of how dependent he was. How vulnerable.
"Arthur," she softly said, trying the name." Arthur Finch. Do you like that, sweetheart?"
Arthur. At least they'd gotten that right. And Finch... he could work with Finch. It sounded sharp.
His mother started singing a song, probably expecting it to calm him. But Arthur wasn't interested in being soothed. His mind was already thinking fast, listing everything he knew about motorcycle racing at this time. The technology that hadn't been developed yet. The riders who were still climbing the ranks. The teams that would rise and fall over the next twenty years.
He had advantages this time. Not just his knowledge of the future, but apparently this "Apex Protocol" thing as well. Whatever it was, it had chosen him for a reason. Maybe it would give him what he needed to overcome the poverty and all those political bullshit that had held him back before.
Or maybe it was just a different way for the world to make fun of his big plans.
No matter what, he would find a way to use it. Arthur had never met a system he couldn't beat, a rule he couldn't change, or a limit he couldn't break with enough power. This would be no different.
The woman changed her position on the chair, and Arthur saw the world outside again for a brief moment. Somewhere out there, in garages and workshops all across Europe, the next generation of motorcycle racing stars were being made. Valentino Rossi was doing very well.
Casey Stoner was still a young boy with big dreams and even more talent. Jorge Lorenzo was likely still learning to ride a motorcycle correctly.
All of them had head starts. Money, connections, backing from teams that mattered.
But none of them had what Arthur had now: the memory of failing so badly it had killed him, and the strong belief that this time things would be different.
This time, he wouldn't just compete. He'd dominate. He'd take everything that should have been his the first time around and claim it with interest.
His mother's singing became softer, more distant. Arthur felt his little body getting sleepy, even though his adult mind was full of angry thoughts.
Before he passed out, the odd voice in his head spoke again, sounding clearer this time.
Welcome to your second chance, Arthur Finch. Don't waste it.
Arthur's last clear thought before he fell asleep was short and strong: He would never waste anything again. Not his time, not his chances, and not the powerful anger burning inside him.
The world had made the mistake of giving him another shot.
Now it would learn what Arthur Finch could do when he had nothing left to lose.