Unreliable

15 - cry 'bout it

Trigger/Content Warning: Homophobia

Third Person POV

"Hello," The man sitting on the end of the large oval desk starts talking, looking at the outside world through his window, his back seemingly turned to Fred. He continues examining the room, seeing various framed pictures of the man with his family and Formula One drivers, peculiarly, one with him standing with Max and Charles. "You... might, know me."

The room is dark, only being illuminated by the shy light from the skyscrapers and the busy street from below, but you couldn't tell that it was busy since the room was soundproofed. Even the slightest pin drop would be heard in stunningly loud volume. Fred is thankful that he brought his heated Ferrari jacket since the room was cold as well.

He repositions himself in his chair slightly, clicks a button on the right armrest and the chair starts moving closer to the desk. Fully automatic. As the chair starts turning, the man's face starts to illuminate, millimeter by millimeter, but Fred doesn't recognize the man's face. The pictures with his face are seemingly darkened, and you can only see the other people or the background. Not him.

After the chair finished turning, the guy's face illuminates immediately. Fred doesn't know his name, but he knows who he is. The President of the FIA. Fred is puzzled at the fact that the motherfucking President of the FIA invited him to his office.

"You might wonder," He gets up from his chair and it retracts into his large oval desk. ",why you're here." He grabs a cup and a large bottle of water and pours himself a glass. He non-verbally asks Fred if he wants some but the shakes his head.

He nods and pushes his seat back from the chair, sitting back down in his fully leather covered chair that probably cost hundreds of dollars. "I invited you here to talk about Charles." An "Oh Fuck" lights up in Fred's head, completely oblivious to whatever is going to happen next.

"What about him?" Fred crosses his arms, not ready whatsoever to whatever the man is going to say.

"His," He does the quote sign in the air. "'relationship' with Max is bringing a lot of bad press to the Sport." He points at Fred and then back at himself. "Now, we don't want that, do we?"

Fred lifts an eyebrow and recrosses his arms. "I don't have any issues whatsoever with Max and Charles' relationship. While you might have issues, I and the Ferrari team have no issues."

He lifts up angrily and slams his hands on the table. The chair tries to retract into the table but it's quickly stopped by his huge and fat legs. "But you should have issues! You absolutely should!" He slams his hands on the large glass oval table again and he freaks out. "You should have issues with these faggots ruining the sport!" He starts pointing at himself "They're taking our revenue. Our fucking fame."

"My team, myself included, fully support Charles and Max's relationship. I don't care if your tiny little ass got triggered after looking at the leaked video of them fucking." He slams his hand on the glass table and he uses the other one to point his index finger at the homophobic bastard in front of him. "And I'm pretty sure you had a boner watching that video."

"What?!" He yells, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically.

"And I'm even more sure that you jerked off to it, so don't come at me with your pretty little bullshit and shove this subject so far up your ass your prostate will be begging for help and your colon splattered all over this godforsaken table." He continues pointing at him and he starts to leave the room.

"This isn't over! I'll get my revenge!"

"I'm sure you will! But first, jerk off to the video one more time!" Fred leaves the room and slams the metal doors. He has a small grin on his face before calling the elevator and leaving the building.

The man collapses loudly into his chair, sighing and putting his hands to his face. "This world is fucked up, man." He says to himself before sighing again and clicking a button on his chair. "AIDA, call Petrov." The man speaks to a tiny microphone in his chair.

"Calling Petrov..." A woman's robot voice comes up suddenly. The man repositions himself in his chair, then lifting up from it as soon as loud beeps flood the room.

"Brian, another request from your Russian friend? Can't handle shit on your own?" The voice of a middle-aged Russian man comes over the loudspeakers and Brian grabs a glass of whiskey from the cabinet.

"Petrov... I don't have a request... But 'Courtney' isn't going according to plan. We've gotta tell Charles the truth. But, I want to tell him with a Bang. A, sudden, wake up to reality, if you know what I mean."

"And what do you want to do?"

"I'm going to fuck her up."