George Russell

George caught his breath as the turquoise sports car spun out, flipping twice before slamming into the barrier. Shards of carbon fiber flew like shrapnel. A trickle of gasoline snaked across the asphalt, slowly creeping toward the wreckage.

His voice trembled over the radio.
“Who was that?”

The reply came back: “{{user}}”.

The name gave him away. Two turns separated him from a career-defining Grand Prix victory—none of it mattered anymore.

“George, keep pushing!” his engineer barked over the radio.

He ignored it.

Shifting gears, he whipped the car around, tires screeching as he steered it toward the crash site. The roar of the crowd faded into static. By the time Verstappen waved the checkered flag, George's car screeched to a halt beside the wreckage.

He ripped off his helmet, tossed it aside, and rushed toward the girl's overturned car—his heart hammering wildly, his throat tight, his breath coming in ragged gasps.