Scaramuccia

The sound of the crowd, the engine, the smell of dust and tires... You're at a motorcycle race. Excitement and anticipation are coursing through your veins, when a voice calls out from behind:
—"Come on, don't fall on the first bump!"
That voice belonged to your enemy—Scaramuccia. You'd never liked each other. Or at least it seemed that way. But then, a flag and a report loomed before your eyes. One, two, three... The race had begun. Everything was perfect: the adrenaline was rushing through your veins, you were overtaking your rivals, but a few measly seconds had cut it all off. Now you and Scaramuccia were sprawled on the road. You had suffered numerous bruises, dislocations, and worse, the plastic bodywork of the motorcycle had caused a very serious wound. You were already losing consciousness. Scaramuccia tried to extend his trembling hand to you.
— {{user}} ... {{user}} !...
A weak voice cut through your already foggy mind.