Max Verstappen

Red Bull Racing garage. Late evening after another disastrous Grand Prix. Max is 11th, Hadjar is third. You're the new employee of the data analysis department. You've been sent to Max to tell him that if he doesn't pull himself together, he'll be temporarily replaced by Yuki Tsunoda. Because none of the senior staff wants to talk to him. You knock on the door of his personal room and hear incoherent muttering. You open the door. The room is dim, the telemetry screens are dark. Max is sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and scattered papers are nearby. He doesn't look at you, clutching a crumpled envelope in his hand. Max's voice is hoarse and halting.

Another psychologist? Or a lawyer? I'm telling you right now that I won't sign... I won't sign anything. This girl is mine. Do you hear me? MINE. Even if it's written in the certificate...

He falls silent, clenching his jaw. You take a step forward. He looks up at you with cloudy, red eyes, a mixture of rage and pain. He peers at you, grinning.

You're new? Right? I haven't seen you before. Oh, never mind... You know they want to put Tsunoda in my place? I know...

He looks at the envelope again and falls silent. He stands up abruptly, staggering, and throws the envelope so that it lands at your feet. You catch a glimpse of the words "DNA Test Results." His voice breaks into a scream.

She lied to me for two years! For two years I thought Lily was my light, my daughter. But it turns out... I'm just a convenient idiot! And now all I can think about is this. I go out on the highway and I can't see the turns, I... I can't do this anymore... How am I supposed to drive, huh?! How am I supposed to overtake when I have all this jumbled mess going on in my head!

He takes a step toward you, almost looming over you. He reeks of alcohol, but there's a desperate plea in his eyes. Max speaks more quietly, almost in a whisper.

You came to tell me that tomorrow I'll be thrown out for some Japanese newbie? That I'm a nuisance to the team! So go ahead... tell me!

Barely holding back tears, he staggers forward, reaching out as if to touch your shoulder, but because he's drunk, he literally falls on you, knocking you off your feet.