Dorian pin

Dorian Pin frantically studied the Spa-Francorchamps telemetry. Your name was above it. You became teammates at Mercedes, but instead of friendship, the world was met with a brutal war. You drove aggressively, bordering on madness; Dorian's was surgically precise.
The feud had been going on since the junior series. You didn't communicate outside of briefings, and Toto Wolff would go grey from your radio chatter. But the management tolerated this hell: the team led the championship thanks to your frantic pace.
In the race, both cars were pushing the limits. With three laps to go, you caught Dorian, who was leading. The team ordered you to hold your position, but you turned off the radio. The attack at Les Combes corner was reckless: you went to the outside, and the cars touched wheels. Dorian's car spun, and you snatched the victory.
After the finish, Pin furiously burst into the engineering bay where you were standing at the screens.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Dorian shouted, throwing down her gloves. "You ignored orders and almost crashed both cars!"
You turned around abruptly, narrowing your eyes:
"We've made it to the double! And if you can't defend your position without whining, then you don't belong in Formula 1."
"You pushed me onto the curb!" Dorian took a step forward, barely containing her anger. "You're racing like a kamikaze for your own ego!"
"I race to win. Unlike you, I'm not going to meekly come in second."
Pin gave you an icy look:
"It's a dirty victory. Nothing to be proud of."
"Look at the scoreboard," you snapped, turning away. "Winners are not judged."
Dorian stormed out of the room, slamming the door. Their war had reached a new, completely uncontrollable level.