Chapter Text
"How you feeling, boss?" Fang fidgeted nervously with Izzy's black and grey helmet, and Izzy nodded as he pulled on his fireproof balaclava, the black material hiding the purple bruising around his neck from view.
"Fine." He said shortly, and he took the helmet from Fang's unsteady hands, pulling it on in one swift movement. A tousled strand of hair crept under the balaclava, upsetting the clean visage of the helmet and balaclava, but Izzy didn't bother to fix it.
The noise from the crowd outside was deafening, each stand packed to the rafters and tens of thousands more rammed into the fields around the circuit. Chants and cheers mixed and melded, creating a rhythmical cacophony that ebbed and flowed across the pitlane. The grandstand across from the garages was especially passionate, filled with fans in the colours of every team with flags and banners thrashed around on long poles.
The garage was mostly empty, with most of the mechanics already waiting on the grid with their gear. The banks of computers were crowded around by the strategists, heads bent over their keyboards as they scanned weather radars and sheets of data. Izzy could see Lucius back in his proper place, albeit with a few more cans of Red Bull at his station than head office required for sponsorship.
The other cars on the grid slowly rolled past the Red Bull garage on their way to the grid, their engines briefly drowning out the noise of the crowds.
Ed's side of the garage was barren, Ed having jumped in his car the moment the pitlane opened to set off around the track for warm up laps.
Izzy watched Ed roll past the garage several times, having to go through the pitlane instead of the pit straight as all the teams set up their equipment on the track. Ed didn't turn his head as he drove past, he didn't even turn his head when they were in the garage together.
He knew the crew probably preferred it that way, to keep them apart and to keep the fragile peace that had settled. Though Izzy didn't know if he would call it peace or not. It was peace in the same way a temporary ceasefire was. It was only delaying the inevitable, you knew what must follow.
Fang's fingers were gentle as he slotted the Hans device around Izzy's neck, attaching the little buckles to the sides of his helmet and stepping back once he was done. It was strange to have Fang beside him before the race, not on the pit wall across the pitlane.
It was even stranger once he sat in the car, and his new race engineer's voice came through his radio. Archie quickly leaned into his cockpit to do up his belts, and Izzy extended a hand out to grab his gloves from Fang, grabbing his friend's hand for a moment and squeezing it tight. He couldn't look up into Fang's eyes from his position in the cockpit, but Fang squeezed his hand in return.
Being no longer employed by Red Bull, Fang wasn't allowed on the grid before the race. It was a streak of luck that he was even still allowed in the paddock, but Izzy wasn't about to question his allowance of luck, especially when it had come so rarely recently.
"There you go, skip." Archie gently whacked Izzy's helmet once she fixed his belts, and Izzy gave her a thumbs up once he had pulled his gloves on.
He roared out into the pitlane once he got the green light, and he could see Fang waving in his mirrors as he joined the long queue out onto the track.
In the garage, Fang let his hand fall as Izzy disappeared from view, eyes glazing over the long line of cars behind him.
“Hey, don’t worry, mate.” Jim joined Fang’s side as the mechanics began to pack up the last pieces of equipment.
“I don’t even know what I’m worrying about. My job…o-or the race.” Fang despaired, “I’ve just got a bad feeling.”
“But there’s no point in worrying. You can’t do anything.” Jim said calmly, and Fang sighed.
“Why do we care so much, man? He’s a dick.”
“Because he’s our dick. And we gotta stick together right now because it doesn’t feel like we got any angels watching over us.” Jim clapped him on the back, walking a few paces over to the broadcast screens on the wall.
The cameras had already found Ed’s car, but the driver himself was nowhere to be seen. His car sat at the front of the grid, but a moment later Izzy’s car was pushed through the crowd to sit in the pole position slot, the cameras dashing over to get the shot of Izzy slowly climbing out of the car.
Fang joined Jim at the screen, folding his arms as he watched Izzy pull off his helmet and hand it off to Archie.
He kept his balaclava on, pulling it back over his face so that it hung around his neck to hide the bruises on his throat.
“We got our money back for my Nana’s flights to Mexico City.” Jim said suddenly, “So now she can buy a Birkin instead like she’s always wanted.”
“How’d you get the money back? Insurance?” Fang still hadn’t booked his flight home. Booking it meant it was real, that he no longer worked his dream job.
“Nah, I just called them up and told them what happened. They sponsor the team so they were like, mildly sympathetic and just gave us the money.”
“That’s good.” Fang said absently, “Are you going to go visit her anyway?”
“Probably. Don’t fancy going back to Milton Keynes yet.”
“Yeah…”
“What about Maranello, instead?” A call came from outside the garage, and Fang and Jim turned to see Jackie standing in the entrance.
Her bright red Ferrari uniform stood out proudly against the mournful navy of Red Bull, and the fervour of the crowd behind her made it look as though she had wings.
“Walk with me.” She called, as Fang followed after her, Jim glanced over to the wall of strategists. Lucius met her eye, smiling encouragingly.
“You two got resumes?”
Jim nodded as they caught up with Jackie and Fang, “Us and half the crew.”
Jackie sent her a surprised look as they strolled down the pitlane towards the Ferrari garage, drawing the attention of half the photographers in the area.
“Gimme some names.” She said firmly, and Jim began counting off their fingers.
“Me, Fang, Lucius…” She trailed off, looking around for anyone standing particularly close, “Nate Buttons, and probably Frenchie.”
Jackie’s eyebrows rose, and Jim could tell she was forcing down a smile.
“Guessing those last two names aren’t official yet?” She clarified, and Jim nodded.
“Their contracts are up at the end of the season, but I can’t see any situations in which they stay.” They promised, and Jackie hummed.
Buttons and Frenchie were the big ticket items, Jim knew. Being a Chief aerodynamicist or Chief strategist for the most dominant team of the last decade was probably one of the best things to put on your resume.
“We’re a team, though.” Fang added, “A crew.”
“What about Hands? He a part of your crew?” Jackie pressed, and Jim and Fang exchanged a glance before they nodded.
“He’s with us.” They confirmed.
“Quite an impressive lineup.” They reached the Ferrari garage, where an assistant in a familiar red uniform stood with a plastic folder.
Jackie took the folder, holding it between herself and the two ex-Red Bull employees.
“I want you two to take a look at the stuff in here. It’s got my email and my legal team’s email. Shoot them a message with all your resumes on it with all your emails.” She said quietly, and Fang took the folder gently, holding it close to his chest. “Now, I ain’t promising anything, but we’ve got a few places going. Make sure you read the paperwork.”
They both nodded rapidly, and Jackie nodded once and clapped Jim on the shoulder.
“Ok, get out of here before someone drops a mic on us.” She said firmly, and the pair quickly backed away, Fang leading the way back to the Red Bull garage with the folder in his arms.
Jim immediately zeroed in on Lucius, grabbing his shoulder and making the man shriek.
“What the fuck-“
“Resume. Send it to me. Now.” They whispered furiously, and Lucius’ eyes widened slightly.
“Oh! Yeah! Sure, yeah!”
Jim grinned and slipped away, circling around to the other side of the computer banks to Buttons, who already had his resume pulled up on his screen. He silently handed them a small USB, and Jim nodded in understanding.
“You have Frenchie’s?” They pressed, and Buttons shook his head.
“Not now, but I can find it. Don’t bother him now.” They both looked to the pit wall, where Frenchie sat bracketed between Hornigold and Ed’s race engineer.
“In enemy territory.” Buttons muttered, and Jim smirked as they returned to Fang, slipping the USB into the folder in his arms.
“We can get Frenchie’s later, and I’ll grab Archie’s tonight.”
“What about Izzy’s?”
“His resume is this race.” They said grimly, and Fang looked out to the pitlane as the Brazilian national anthem began to play, signalling five minutes to the start of the race.
The twenty drivers stood in a V formation facing the Brazilian state orchestra as they played the anthem. Well, there was space for twenty drivers.
Only nineteen stood in their marked places, a conspicuously empty spot between Izzy and Zheng.
The two drivers exchanged a glance as the anthem finished, Ed still nowhere to be seen. Zheng’s eyes were wide in shock, but Izzy would’ve been more surprised if Ed had actually shown up.
“Good luck today.” Zheng held out a hand, placing her sponsor hat back on as the rest of the grid started to disperse for the start of the race.
“Thanks.” Izzy muttered, accepting her hand as he cast a final look around for the other Red Bull driver. “Just another race.” The deep pit in his stomach belied his casualness, growing heavier by the minute as his trainer appeared with his gear.
“Sure, yeah.” Zheng smiled wryly, “We aren’t stupid, y’know.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Izzy turned away, pulling his balaclava back up with a huff. “Keep your nose clean.” He warned, and Zheng scoffed as she watched him walk away, yanking his helmet back on with unsteady fingers.
Izzy accepted his final pieces of gear as he returned to his car, the celebrities and delegates that previously crowded around now returned to the pitlane. The cameras remained, though, and Izzy knew when Ed finally arrived as half the group split away from him, running to the left.
Izzy looked up, mindlessly tugging on his gloves as Ed strode up to his car, flanked by media and Bonnet.
Bonnet’s head was on a swivel, a prominent white bandage wound around his head as he watched for more flying bottles.
Ed, in contrast, didn’t look away from his car, his helmet and gear already donned and secured.
“I’d steer clear if I were you.” Zheng reappeared at his elbow, and Izzy shot her a look through his visor gap.
“Keep his name out of your mouth.”
“Didn’t say a name.”
“You know what I mean.” Izzy snapped, and Zheng laughed.
“Yeah, alright. Look. Me, you, Mary, Anne, Jack, and Ned, Mexico City next week. I’m booking out a bar in this club. Be there.” She insisted, and Izzy shrugged.
“We’ll see.” He said vaguely, but Zheng whacked him gently on the shoulder as her team began to gently corral her back to her car.
“Nah! You’ll be there!” She insisted, waving as she was ushered away, her trainer practically shoving her balaclava on and ramming her helmet on top.
Izzy scoffed, but waved back as he moved to hop into his car.
The excitement of the fans grew to a fever pitch as the twenty drivers retreated to their cars, their flags cutting through the air and streaming out banners of red, blue, and silver. More flags were draped over the grandstand barriers, Union Jacks mixed with the Brazilian standard, countless Chinese flags beside Kiwi and Aussie.
Some of the flags were customised, with the names of certain drivers written across the middle of the corresponding flag.
Parallel to Izzy's grid slot, a large Union Jack was hung over the railings, and Izzy glanced over to it as he buckled his helmet, noticing his name printed across the red horizontal stripe along with another beneath. He squinted slightly to make it out, the material of the flag flapping as the fans shook the barriers in their frenzy. Was that a 'B'? What was it…?
Hands and… Bellamy .
Izzy tore his gaze away, hands shaking as he finally secured his helmet. The image of the flag felt like it was burned into his mind, the vision of it sitting in front of his steering wheel as Izzy leaped into the car.
His seat was quite literally moulded to his body, and it warmed Izzy’s body, the residual heat from the engine seeping through the carbon fibre. The burns on his back, hastily treated with aloe and painkillers, flared with pain as he sat back.
That fucking flag. Izzy shook his head like a wet dog, attempting to banish the thought of the flag as Archie leaned in to buckle his belts again.
His car jolted to life, sending its vibrations through Izzy’s body like an electric shock. His mechanics drew away from the car, their eyes locked on him in a silent reverie as they lined the side of the track.
Thoughts of the flag faded from his mind as he flipped down his visor, exhaling slowly as the lights went out for the formation lap. He quickly moved off, noticing Ed hot on his heels as they slowly rolled around the circuit. Ed was close enough that Izzy could read the individual sponsors on his helmet, and he weaved back and forth behind him, dodging from mirror to mirror.
The flag twisted and shook in the corner of Izzy's vision as he pulled up to the pole position slot, Ed slotting in to his left, a car length behind him. On the other side of his vision, Ed stared into Izzy's mirror, flipping up his visor as they waited for the rest of the cars to line up behind them.
"Ten seconds to race start." His race engineer's voice was wrong. Too tense. Fang was always calm, no matter the situation. Except for when he lost his job. When he apologised.
He could see Ed's black eyes boring into him, the sun beating down on them both. Six months ago, the eyes would've been filled with excitement. Anticipation.
Hatred was all Izzy could recognise now.
The lights began to appear, five to signal the start of the race, and Izzy's fingers were light on his clutch paddle, calm washing over him as his eyes tracked each light.
The flag, Fang, Ed's eyes, all stained the back of his mind like a scar, but for a moment they vanished as the fifth light appeared.
Then every light burst a bright green, and Izzy's engine roared as he leaped forwards, his body compressed back into his seat by the force of the acceleration.
He powered down the straight, quickly moving across to cut off Ed to the left, forcing him to merge into his slipstream as he threw the car around the first corner.
He led from the turn, charging out from the corner and not giving Ed the chance to catch his slipstream again as Zheng attacked him from behind.
Ed successfully fought her off at the next corner but as a result, sacrificed his speed on the exit, allowing Zheng to draw alongside around the sweeping third corner and dive down the inside of the fourth corner, snatching second place as Ned began to snap at Ed's heels for third.
Izzy bolted away, attention split between the track ahead and his mirrors reflecting the scene behind. He could see Zheng chasing after him, a plume of smoke appearing behind her as another car was elbowed off the track and into the dirt.
His muscle memory took him around the track, his mind a wasteland of adrenaline as his arms and legs moved on instinct.
"He's slipping back! Check for front wing damage!" Frenchie demanded hurriedly, his eyes fixed on the live timing screen as Ed began to slide down the order. The cars screeched away around the corner, their deafening thunder fading as they scrapped and scrambled around the corners.
"Hit to the right axle. Ed's spun a Badminton around in turn two."
"Let's check for punctures. Tyre pressure." Frenchie looked at his own readout of the two Red Bull cars, briefly studying their temperatures and pressures himself.
"Looks fine ." Buttons said stoically, "Front wing intact as far as readings tell us."
"Ed wants race control to look at the hit from Badminton." Ed's race engineer said quickly, and Frenchie heard Hornigold sigh beside him.
"Tell him we're sending it in." The team boss said shortly, "James, how does it look?"
Their sporting director, James, sitting back in Milton Keynes with the rest of his team, exhaled heavily over the radio.
"Bad, sir. Edward just prangs his wheel straight into him."
"If we send it in, we're more likely to get a penalty than any Badminton." Another crew member back in Milton Keynes chimed in.
"Sit on it, then. Tell him to keep his head and focus on the boys ahead."
Frenchie hummed nervously, his eyes flicking between the camera feed from Izzy's car and Ed's information readout. The temperatures looked…off.
"Losing pressure in the right wheel. We've got a puncture." Button's voice sent the crew into a frenzy, and Frenchie immediately reached out to switch his radio feed to that of the pit crew.
"Puncture on the number one car. Standby for pit." He announced, just as Hornigold beside him switched his own channel.
"Strategy, what's the plan." He demanded.
"Box for soft tyres." Lucius responded instantly, and Frenchie quickly relayed the information to the pit crew, looking along the pit wall to Ed's race engineer, who looked pale.
"Call it!" He ordered, and the race engineer swore quietly.
"Puncture, Ed, puncture. Box this lap."
"FUCK…! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" Ed screamed, "Fucking unbelievable!"
Frenchie sensed the pit crew bolting out of the Red Bull garage with the new tyres behind him, and he turned to watch as Ed scraped down the pitlane, showering sparks across the road as his car dragged against the tarmac. The driver visibly raged, slamming his hands against the steering wheel as he pulled into the pit box.
"Every fucking week! Why?!" Ed continued to roar on the radio, spinning his wheels as he screeched out of the pit box. The pitlane spat him out in dead last, several seconds behind the Badminton that he had collided with in the first place.
"Absolutely fucking sick of this bullshit!"
"Keep your head down, Ed. Race isn't over yet." His engineer said placatingly, his voice wavering slightly as Izzy led the rest of the cars along the pit straight in front of them.
"Shut up. Fuck off."
"What's going on?"
Frenchie jumped as a voice appeared by his elbow, and he glanced down to see Bonnet standing beside him expectantly, decked out in Red Bull gear.
"W-what?" Frenchie lifted one side of his headphones away from his ear as the crew continued to shoot information back and forth across the radio. Bonnet's own headphones were around his neck, its loose wire hanging down and flapping in the breeze.
"What's going on?" Bonnet repeated, "Ed sounds rather distressed and I'd like to know why."
Frenchie stuttered wordlessly, eyes crossed between the data and Bonnet. Was this guy for real? He was working for god sake!
"Puncture. Ed got a puncture." He said finally, going to turn back to his station, but Bonnet cocked his head and stepped closer.
"Why? What happened?"
Frenchie looked desperately to Hornigold, who staunchly ignored him.
"He hit Badminton." Frenchie said quickly, "Now, I'm sorry but-"
"Are we sure Badminton didn't hit him? Those Badmintons are quite crafty, you know. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them hit him on purpose to take him out of the race." Stede said knowingly, and Frenchie shook his head as a voice on the radio requested Izzy's current engine mode.
" Uh- Engine mode six - Look, no. It was just a racing thing. They just whacked each other. Engine mode three next lap." Frenchie flipped through his pages of strategies, confirming his information as Bonnet refused to let the point be.
"Have you reviewed the footage?" He pressed, "I think Badminton could be at fault, here."
"No! I mean, yes, we looked, but no. It's not- It's just an incident. Look, can you-" Frenchie looked beseechingly at Hornigold, who closed his eyes and sighed, dropping his papers.
"We'll send the footage to race control." He said calmly, and Stede nodded in satisfaction.
"Good. We should be hard on these things, make other teams afraid to even touch us!" Stede insisted, and Frenchie smiled nervously as he turned back to his screens, making sure Izzy remained in the lead.
The number two Red Bull driver had managed to pull a three second gap to second place in the last few laps, and Frenchie could hear him leading the pack around to the pit straight again as the race began to settle in.
Bonnet continued to buzz around the pit wall, tapping shoulders and offering pieces of entirely unhelpful advice that was immediately ignored.
"How are you feeling, Izzy?"
"Good. Tyres good."
"Plan B is still preferred?"
"...Yes."
Frenchie nodded determinedly, listening in on the exchange between Izzy and his new race engineer. He reached out to switch his channel, looking down at his strategy notes.
"Pit in six laps, pitting in six laps. Stay in your seats. We're swapping to mediums for Izzy." He announced calmly, just as Ed's race engineer inquired the same to his driver.
"How do you feel, Ed?"
"Fucked. Leave me alone."
"How do you feel about plan B?"
"Fine. But I want priority. None of this double stacking bullshit."
Frenchie grimaced, instinctively looking back into the garage at the bank of strategists. He could see Lucius mirroring his expression, no doubt listening in to the exchange as well.
"Is that going to work?" He radioed out, and was met with a series of vague grumbles.
"To keep Izzy in the lead we need to watch the Mercedes crew. When they come out we come out."
"Just pit Ed the lap after." Buttons interjected.
"Ed wants priority." Ed's race engineer argued urgently, and Frenchie had to feel for the man. If Ed's wishes were ignored, he would be the first man to get it in the neck.
"Plan for lap twenty for Ed." Hornigold spoke suddenly, his low voice cutting through the radio chatter.
" What about if Mercedes pitted on the same lap?" Lucius questioned, " We'd be fucked."
"Double stack." Buttons replied simply.
"Not happening." Hornigold snapped, and Frenchie winced.
"Keep Ed out, then." He offered, "And just hope it's not a late call."
"Pray, more like." Lucius muttered.
Lap twenty crept closer and closer, and Frenchie found himself ducking quickly back to check the Mercedes pit crew were still holed up in their garage after each lap.
On lap nineteen, Frenchie took one last look at the quiet Mercedes garage.
"Any movement?" He radioed across, knowing there was a Red Bull crew member posted down the pitlane.
"Nothing yet."
"Box Ed next lap, then. But stand by for Izzy if Merc makes a last minute call. Medium tyres either way." Frenchie instructed, and glanced up to the map of the track on one of his screens. Twenty coloured dots slowly moved around the small map, labelled with the names of the drivers as it tracked them around the circuit.
Ed and Izzy were barely twenty seconds apart despite Izzy being fifteen places ahead, as Izzy was twenty seconds away from lapping Ed.
Both Red Bulls flashed across the pit straight with a roar from the crowd, Zheng, Ned, and Mary chasing a few seconds behind the second Red Bull.
"Ok, Ed. Box this lap, box box."
Frenchie sat nervously as he watched the small navy dot labelled 'Teach' slowly circle back to the pitlane, the radio feed falling silent as the rest of the crew waited alongside him.
"THEY'RE BOXING! MERC IS BOXING!" The radio feed burst into a frenzy at the call, and Frenchie almost fell back into the pit lane as he craned his neck out.
Ten silver Mercedes mechanics were indeed running out into the pitlane, carrying tyres and running to their places like soldiers.
Fuck. They had been played. Mercedes could listen to the messages between Ed and the pitwall just like everybody else. They knew Ed wanted priority, and they knew Red Bull probably wanted to box Izzy at the same time as Zheng.
"They're listening to our messages! Box Izzy NOW!" Frenchie demanded.
"S-stay out! Ed, stay out! Do not box!" Ed's race engineer said frantically, in the same moment as Izzy's engineer gave the opposite call.
"Box now, Izzy! In, in, in!"
"Too fucking late, now! Fuck sake! Fuck you!" Ed spat.
"What the fuck are you doing?! What is this?! Don't fuck me around!" Izzy demanded, and Frenchie watched in horror and both Red Bulls appeared at the mouth of the pit lane, followed a moment later by Zheng.
"Do not let him in the pit box!" Frenchie yelled desperately, "They don't have his tyres! Don't let him in!"
"Don't box. Go through the pit lane. Sorry! Sorry!" Ed's race engineer looked distraught, his hair flying in six directions as he ran another hand through the strands.
"Are you fucking serious!? Are you seriously boxing fucking Izzy!?"
"Sorry, Ed. I'm sorry."
For a moment, it looked as though Ed might still box anyway, but his radio feed fell silent as he sailed past the Red Bull garage, leaving Izzy to slide in the box behind him.
"What the hell is going on!?" Izzy repeated, a note of desperation in his voice, but Frenchie's attention was on the Mercedes as it pulled into its pit box ahead of Izzy, the Mercedes mechanics moving in a blur as Izzy roared out of his own pit box.
The second Red Bull rumbled past the Mercedes garage triumphantly, Zheng pulling out behind him a moment later, back into second place.
"We're still in the lead." Frenchie confirmed, and muted cheers filtered over the radio as he buried his head in his hands in relief.
"I'm sorry, Ed." Ed's race engineer repeated, but the number one Red Bull remained silent.
JIM
"What the fuck was that…" Jim watched the two Red Bulls trundle out of the pitlane from the box above the garage. The box was technically for 'valued guests of Red Bull' but the program had been cancelled after Singapore, leaving the box that would usually require a twenty thousand dollar ticket to enter, empty.
Floor to ceiling windows gave Jim and Fang a complete view of both the pit lane and pit straight beyond, and they stared in shock as the Red Bulls disappeared around the corner, Zheng still close behind.
"I don't know…" Fang trailed off, eyes wide. "Do you still have the broadcast on your phone?"
Jim nodded and dug their phone out, quickly tapping through to their streaming app.
"-and a terrible blunder there from the Red Bull team. They've absolutely RUINED Teach's race."
"Yes, but it wasn't like he was doing anything particularly spectacular in the first place. If he was in second or third like he should've been, this never would've happened!"
"That's harsh, but I can see the logic in it. Unfortunately, Red Bull were forced into a corner by Mercedes there, and they had to choose the driver leading the race, no matter which one demanded priority."
"Yup. I'm sure that will be a very heated debrief after the race, but for now, Teach takes his place in last again, as Hands and Zheng slot into fourth and fifth. Ned Low and the two McLarens ahead of them will surely stop this lap, putting Hands back in first place."
"Let's see if McLaren can make the double stack work. They're five seconds apart, which should be just enough time."
Both Jim and Fang looked up from the screen as a Ferrari and two papaya McLarens entered the pitlane, the increased roar of their engines heralding their presence. A few seconds later, Izzy and Zheng flashed past at full speed across the pit straight, shooting into the lead.
The two McLarens pitted, one after the other with barely a delay, much to the delight of the commentators.
"And McLaren CAN make the double stack work. Edward Teach will be FUMING once he hears about that."
"Yeah, after all, it was his call not to do the double stack."
"They're right, you know." Fang said quietly, and Jim looked up from the screen to see Fang still gazing out the window. "Ed's gonna be mad."
"Let him. We won't be there." They said pragmatically, but Fang shook his head.
"Nah…This is…" He grimaced, folding his arms nervously, "They're two points apart and Izzy's ripping him to pieces, I mean…"
"We won't be there. It's ok." Jim insisted, and Fang shot them a look.
"That's not the point. Lucius will be. Frenchie will. Archie will. Buttons will. Hell, Izzy will!" Fang exclaimed, and Jim bit their lip anxiously. The broadcast continued to bleat from their phone, tinny voices excitedly narrating Ned overtaking Mary.
A feeling of dread began to well in Jim's stomach, and they copied Fang's crossed arms as the cars continued to flash along the pit straight.
"-and on his new mediums Israel Hands is absolutely FLYING, pulling a five second gap to Zheng Yi Sao as he comes up to the back of his teammate, who will hopefully let him past to lap him."
"A whole lap ahead." Fang murmured, his face pinched uneasily as Ed didn't seem to want to move aside for Izzy.
"'Ed, we don't want to get in Izzy's way.' And there is the radio message from the Red Bull pit wall to Edward Teach, but it doesn't look like Teach is in a very cooperative mood today."
"Unsurprising, given his race so far, but Teach is a whole lap behind. He needs to get out of the way or either he'll get a penalty."
The broadcast continued to display messages from Ed's race engineer to Ed, but Ed remained silent, continuing to block Izzy as they made their way around the circuit.
"What is he doing, man?" Jim muttered, and Fang exhaled shakily, looking quickly between the broadcast and the view out to the pit straight.
"I don't know…" Fang seemed to hop from foot to foot, and Jim looked up at him urgently.
"He can't do this. He's gonna get a penalty!"
"I know." Fang's eyes were fixed on the corner leading to the pit straight, where the cars would appear from, and Jim's phone continued to play the confused commentary from the broadcast.
The noise of the cars slowly morphed from one continuous drone to three distinct engines as they grew closer, and the visible slivers of grandstands in the distance erupted in movement as the cars passed by them.
Jim could hear each individual gear shift, the braking and acceleration as the cars crossed over three hundred kilometres per hour on their way to the pit straight. The cars were pushed to their limit, two almost identical engines harmonising as they finally came into view.
Ed still stood ahead of Izzy, but Izzy had drawn alongside, his right front wheel beside Ed's left rear wheel, only inches apart. It was a dance of trust, knowing the driver ahead would take the same line they had on every previous lap.
Then, Ed jerked sharply to the left, his wheel smashing directly into Izzy's, shattering the fragile carbon fibre wishbones and sending the number two Red Bull careening directly into the barrier that separated the pit lane and pit wall with a shower of debris.
The nose of Izzy's car hit first, ripping off the wheels and front wing and sending him flying back into the track in a wild spin. With no wheels, the car scraped against the tarmac, sparks flying before it finally slowed in the centre of the track, resting with its fractured nose pointing towards the pitlane.
Izzy was facing them, and Jim could see him slowly moving as the car scraped to a stop.
In the centre of the track, Jim realised, directly on the racing line. Their eyes moved automatically back to the corner, just as Zheng appeared, her engine screaming as it reached its limit.
They could hear the Mercedes driver hit the brakes the moment the shattered frame of Izzy's car came into view, but at two hundred miles per hour, she hit the Red Bull a fraction of a second later, ploughing into the side of the car with a boom.
Izzy vanished in a blast of carbon fibre and titanium, debris exploding into the stands and the pitlane. Jim stumbled back in shock as the glass in front of them cracked in a spider's-web pattern, a shard of titanium embedded in front of their face.
Beside them, Fang ran, bursting out of the box and sprinting down to the garage. He joined the rush of crew members abandoning their tools and computers, sprinting across the pitlane to the chain link fence above the barrier of the pit wall. Marshals and mechanics ran with bleeding arms and faces, shards of carbon fibre scattered across the pitlane as they all searched for a glimpse of the wreckage of the crash. Red flags appeared across the screens and above the track, neutralising the race as the crowd was filled with cries of pain and horror, more fans clutching injuries and gazing upon the scene on the pit straight.
The wreckage of the two cars was spread for over a hundred metres, silver Mercedes parts mixed with navy and orange Red Bull. Oil, fuel, and more was splattered across the tarmac, but Fang's desperate eyes immediately found the biggest chunk of Red Bull wreckage, lying a few metres down from the Red Bull garage.
Izzy's car was barely recognisable, missing every one of its wheels as well as half its engine, exposing the burnished and twisted mechanics inside. The entire front half of the car had been ripped away, including half of the driver's cockpit. Izzy lay exposed, his race suit a mess of blood and torn material. His body was twisted, one of his feet hidden from view, his legs bent in the wrong ways.
He didn't move, not even as the marshals sprinted up to him with fire extinguishers and triage kits.
Fang could hear the crew members around him start to scream, a few pointing to something in another section of the track, and he tore his eyes away to see a chunk of something lying in the middle of the track. It was navy…or painted navy?
Fang felt himself grow cold as the crew members began to shout and cry, and he realised that one of Izzy's feet wasn't hidden from view, it was missing entirely, with a chunk of it lying on the track in front of him.
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