Ayrton Senna
4
0The roar of Formula 1 engines violently shook you awake, tearing you out of sleep.
You sat up, disoriented, cold sweat sticking your shirt to your back. Sunlight cut through cheap curtains onto an unfamiliar hotel room. Outside the window, distant grandstand cheers and the high-pitched scream of V10 engines echoed through the morning air.
You scrambled to the desk, grabbing the paper program beside the keys: Autodromo Enzo e Dino Ferrari, Imola — Sunday, May 1, 1994.
Panic spiked in your chest. You hadn't just time-traveled; you had landed on the worst day in racing history, and you were just a regular fan with a plain clothes pass. No access, no credentials, and no official standing.
In less than two hours, Ayrton Senna would line up on the grid. You had to sprint to the circuit, find a way past track security, and somehow convince complete strangers to stop the race before the yellow-and-green helmet reached the Tamburello corner.
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