Change the narrative

Zaria Blake watched the replay without speaking.

The massive screen at the center of the room reflected against the glass walls of the penthouse office, illuminating the final seconds of the Black Apex race again and again. Alina’s car surged forward at the last moment, slipping past the lead vehicle with impossible precision before crossing the line first.

Nobody in the room dared interrupt the silence.

“Pause it.”

The analyst immediately froze the frame.

Zaria leaned back into her chair, her gaze area settled locked on the screen as she gave a calm instruction,

The footage sharpened. Tire angle. Timing. Positioning. Every detail became clearer. “That move wasn’t accidental,” she said quietly.

One of the assistants paused for a moment before speaking up, swallowing hard as he did so. "We've confirmed her identity," he said, his voice firm and assured. "There's no doubt about it - it was definitely Alina Crosswell."

Zaria finally looked away from the screen. “ And before tonight?”

“No official racing record. Multiple failed certification attempts. No notable placements.” he paused. “Nothing that explains this level of driving.”

The room fell silent again.

Zaria stood slowly and walked toward the city-facing window. Below her, lights stretched endlessly across the skyline while traffic moved like streams of gold beneath the night.

“She changed,” she murmured.

The analyst hesitated. “ You think someone trained her?”

Zaria gazed at her own reflection, its eyes seeming to stare right back at her with a chill. She spoke firmly, "It's not possible for people to change completely in just one night, unless something significant happens to make them do so."

A second screen behind her sprang to life, displaying a constant stream of live and popular posts that updates were currently sweeping through

#AlinaCrosswell

#BlackApexWinner

#IllegalRaceQueen

Zaria’s expression hardened slightly.

That was the real issue.

Attention.

One race had shifted the spotlight away from her, and the city was already turning Alina into a story people wanted to follow..

Curiosity was dangerous. Curiosity created influence. And influence created threats. “Take down every positive clip,” she ordered.

The room immediately moved into action.

“Push the arrest footage harder. Remove angles that make her look skilled. Keep the police sirens. Keep the crowd panicking.”

One of the assistants looked a bit concerned and said, "Miss Blake, the thing is, people already have the race live."

"It's not about what's true that matters," Zaria said with a calm tone, "it's about what people hear over and over again that really sticks with them."

Phones started ringing across the room. Editors, media accounts, underground forums, her network spread faster than rumors themselves.

“Release the crash footage too,” she continued.

“The original version?”

“Edited.”

The assistant nodded immediately.

“Make her look unstable. Reckless. Dangerous.”

A faint smile touched Zaria’s lips. Beautiful. Cruel.

“By tomorrow morning, nobody should be discussing her victory. They should be discussing whether she belongs in prison.”

Zaria's eyes narrowed as she gazed at the frozen picture of Alina crossing the finish line, a spark of annoyance flashing the first time that evening, momentarily across her face for calm demeanor. disrupting her otherwise

“You embarrassed me publicly,” she said softly.

One of the analysts cautiously moved forward, a tablet clutched in their hand, and said, "Actually, there's something else we need to consider."

Zaria took the tablet without looking at him.

The monitor showed a mix of things, like police reports, the times from CCTV cameras, and records of transportation.

“She escaped custody seventeen minutes after arrest,” he explained. “The transport vehicle lost power during transfer.” The analyst stammered in fear

Zaria’s eyes narrowed slightly as she read the report. “A blackout?”

“Yes.”

“And the officers?”

“Injured. None of them saw how she disappeared.”

Silence settled over the room again. Zaria placed the tablet down carefully. “Find her.”

The assistant hesitated. “We already deployed people to the districts surrounding Black Apex, but”

Not the streets,” Zaria interrupted. “Find her patterns.”

The analyst frowned. “ Patterns?”

She raced despite having no record. Escaped without preparation. That means she adapts quickly.” Zaria folded her arms slowly. “People like that always move toward something. Her gaze drifted back toward the glowing city outside. “She’ll need shelter. Information. Resources.” “And eventually… she’ll race again.”

The room seemed to grow colder with air, that statement has more chilling impact than any burst of anger could have been. Because Zaria Blake never spoke without confidence.

One of the screens on the desk suddenly flickered to life with a new alert popping up.

UNDERGROUND FORUM POST DETECTED

BLACK APEX WINNER SPOTTED AGAIN?

An image loaded underneath..Taken from a distance. But recognizable. A hooded figure walking alone through a narrow street.

Alina.

The room instantly became alert.

“Trace the upload source,” Zaria ordered.

“Already trying.”

Another notification appeared seconds later.

Then another.

More images.

Different angles.

Different locations.

It was as though someone was trailing behind her, their already begun presence just out of sight.

Zaria’s expression slowly changed. “Who uploaded these?”

The flew across the keyboard, his fingers typing analyst's hands away at a rapid pace, but his face suddenly went pale, he was too stunned to speak for a while “That’s impossible.”

Zaria turned toward him fully.

“What is?”

The analyst looked up slowly.

“The uploads aren’t coming from one source.”

He swallowed hard. “They’re coming from inside your network.”