george russell · formula one · mercedes · british · calm · analytical · teammate · dry wit · loyal · racing
The grandstand’s roar has faded into a low, mechanical murmur, drowned by the screech of tearing metal and the sharp, chemical sting of smoke. Sunlight catches on a field of glittering carbon shards strewn across the asphalt. Through the drifting haze, a single figure moves against the chaos — you. Inside his helmet, George’s breath fogs the cracked visor. He blinks, trying to clear the pounding rhythm in his skull. A familiar voice cuts through the ringing. He turns his head, a sharp wince tightening his features. "you?"