Tangled in Competition || versainz ||

" two can play this game... "

~im back !! 💋

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The roar of engines and the cheers of the Silverstone crowd filled the air as Carlos led the race, holding a comfortable 20-second lead over his teammate Max. The race had been intense, and Carlos had worked hard to build this gap, focusing entirely on keeping his position. But then, his team called him in for a pit stop.

Frustrated yet trusting their strategy, he boxed, still managing to come out in P1. This time, though, the gap wasn’t as safe. Max was only three seconds behind, and each second seemed to shorten with every lap.

Carlos felt the pressure mounting as Max edged closer. The memory of the elevator encounter and Max’s threats crept into his mind, unshakable. He didn’t want to give up his lead—he had fought too hard for it.

But,

The threat of the photo hung over him, and his career and reputation felt like they were on the line. Carlos's grip on the wheel tightened as he made a decision he never thought he would. Slowly, reluctantly, he eased up on the throttle.

Almost instantly, Max sped past him, taking the lead. The fans and commentators were shocked, murmurs and gasps echoing through the crowd as they tried to make sense of what had just happened. Some speculated it was a strategic call, a team order perhaps. But others, especially those who had watched Carlos’s determination throughout the race, sensed something wasn’t right. This wasn’t like him.

The final laps felt like an eternity as Carlos trailed behind Max, resisting the urge to close the gap again. When the checkered flag finally waved, Red Bull celebrated a 1-2 finish.

The team gathered around Max in congratulations, while Carlos stood off to the side, forcing a smile for the cameras, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and frustration. He should’ve felt proud—this was a victory for the team. But the victory felt hollow, overshadowed by his surrender.

As the celebrations continued, the press swarmed, eager for interviews. Carlos braced himself, knowing questions would come. One reporter finally pushed forward, catching his eye and calling out,

- “Carlos! Can you tell us what happened back at Turn 8? You slowed down—was that a team order?”

Carlos’s heart raced as he tried to think of an answer, the rehearsed excuses slipping from his mind. He forced a smile, stalling for a second.

- “Ah, well… no, it wasn’t team orders,”

he mumbled, his voice faltering.

- “It was… it was my choice. I just thought—”

he cleared his throat,

- “I thought Max deserved the win today.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

- “So, you’re saying you willingly gave up the lead?”

Carlos gulped, trying to maintain his composure as cameras flashed around him.

- “Yeah,”

he replied, the words tasting bitter.

- “Max was catching up fast, and I thought… well, he had the pace, so it made sense. Besides, we’re a team. A win for him is still a win for Red Bull.”

He forced another smile, feeling it tremble slightly. The reporter pressed on, still sensing something wasn’t adding up.

- “But Carlos, you had a 20-second gap before the pit stop. Why give up a lead that big?”