Adrenaline: A Lestappen Story

33 - Violent Ends

When the lights went out, the race unfolded with heart-stopping intensity, each turn and straightaway a battleground between Max and Charles. Their cars danced through the track, one overtaking the other countless times, reflecting their leveled talents. Each corner became a choreographed movement, a delicate interplay that paralleled the white swan's grace and the black swan's intensity from the swan lake ballet.

Max, attacked with a fierce and calculated aggression, his car darting with precision, mirroring the bold and powerful strokes of the black swan's wings. The aggressive lines he took on the track were a dance of defiance, challenging the limits of control and skill.

In contrast, Charles responded with a graceful elegance. His car glided through the turns with a smooth and fluid motion, evoking the delicate and refined movements of the white swan.

As the two swans weaved through the twists and turns of the racetrack, the contrast in their styles captivated the audience like no other. They were the opposite of each other. They had always been.

The race only reached a more definite change when they both went to pits for the second time. Charles's pit stop was record breaking, which led him to gain a three second vantageous lead at the race.

Ferrari had made history, getting Charles back on the track faster than the blink of an eye, pushing him in front of Max by a gap, that with only ten laps to go, all but secured his victory.

Charles pushed, gracefully maneuvering himself through the track and ignoring all the pressure he'd felt throughout the day. Racing was his gift and if he blocked the world out and focused on the one thing he knew how to do better than most people, then he could easily avoid any faults and finish strong. His team had done their part and now it was up to him. If the night didn't end with his team victorious then there would be no one to blame but himself— they'd given him their all and it was his turn to return the favor.

"Five laps to go, Charles. Bring it home," Fred's voice came through on the other end, replacing Xavi's usual calls and pushing Charles to be better, be faster.

Max took the prize of fastest lap of the race as he chased after the gap between him and Charles. His car took every single inch into account when going through corners —perfection. By lap 54 he was less than a second behind, catching up to him like an arriving storm —inevitable.

The Red Bull continued to chase him until on the strait of lap 55. There, he unleashed DRS, overtaking Charles and regaining the first position of the race.

With Max ahead of him and almost no time to go, Charles pushed harder than he had his entire life. On that track he unleashed everything that had built up inside of him, refusing to allow the gap between their cars to increase. He was going into the eye of the storm with full intent to outrun it.

Their cars were neck to neck, confident that if Charles was able to turn his head he'd be able to see Max's helmet. The front of the Red Bull car was ahead by a fracture of a millisecond and to the naked eye it was almost impossible to tell who was in the lead especially as they rounded corners and the position temporarily switched. If Charles didn't win now there was no guarantee he ever would. Putting his heart and soul into the second to finally lap, the man gripped the wheel and danced alongside Max.

Montage Blue versus Capulet Red. A story of star-crossed lovers retold. Their love poisoned by their houses.

Charles could almost taste the victory, his championship being dangled in front of him and as they entered the final lap, he pleaded with God to give him this one thing after he'd taken so much from him.

That was the difference between Charles and Max. One sought for the universe to guide him, the hope of someone who had always been believed in. And the other knew better, someone who had never been believed in, always forced to make things happen for himself.