"...The Hungarian Grand Prix is still recovering from that disaster...!"
"...Luis Dreyer's Red Bull—AIRBORNE, SMASHING onto Luca Rennick's Ferrari, inches from his helt! Carbon fiber raining like shrapnel, and Dreyer's race is DONE! This is a Hungarian Grand Prix mont we'll never forget—pure, heart-stopping chaos...!"
"... we've seen crashes like this, but this one's INSANITY! Replay it. Antonio Luigi dives inside Dreyer, chasing P4 like a missile. The nose of that rcedes clips Dreyer's rear left tire—those softs were cooked, 5% life left after DiMarco's T6–T7 schooling. The Red Bull twizzles, leaps, and BAM! Lands on Rennick's Ferrari, grazing the halo. That halo saved Luca's life, no question...!"
"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!'"
"...HOW did this happen? It's T3, that tight 7-ter curve, and Luis Dreyer is fighting for his life in P5. Luca and Antonio understood his tires were gone and the Red Bull had been sliding like it's on ice. Luigi goes for the inside, but it's too tight, too fast! That clip at 140 km/h sends Dreyer into a spin, and the physics take over, lifting his car almost two tres above the asphalt and slamming onto Luca's Ferrari! It's a miracle Rennick's still racing...!"
XXX— Luis Dreyer
"...Who's to bla? I'm pointing at Antonio Luigi here—90% his fault! That was reckless. Patience and endurance is the key in a three-wide battle..."
"...But Dreyer's not innocent. His defense was desperate, blocking Luca and Antonio in a 7-ter corner. He should've yielded, saved his race. Those critical-wear softs were a ticking bomb after pushing DiMarco in Sector 2 back in Lap 35..."
The pitlane reporter attempted her best to get a word from Luis Dreyer after his massive crash, but her best amounted to simply standing off to the side, helpless, watching him storm into the garage of jade green and goldenrod
Dreyer was so furious that he outright shoved a marshal away the mont he stepped away from his wrecked Red Bull. And since Dreyer was an athlete—just a bit stocky and muscled—the scrawny marshal, probably in his early 40s, crumpled like a paper straw and fell to the sand.
The crowd exploded for that. Luca started to wonder if he truly had so kind of foresight. Because right there—that—was the chaos he had sensed coming in this Hungarian Grand Prix.
The Red Bull was completely annihilated at the bank of Sector One. Its tumble had launched it past the first barrier and slamd it into the second. The sheer destruction made many praise Dreyer for walking away without looking so much physically fazed.
However, Luca doubted his ntal state entirely.
Bro kicked the mangled monocoque at least a thousand tis before grabbing one of his detached tires and throwing it across the runoff.
So stands, packed with Squadra Corse fans, lit up. Those closest to the site began taunting him, drumming their palms against the barriers. Others clapped mockingly, like they'd rehearsed it.
The announcent for a red flag session was broadcasted, and the screen flashed red across the circuit monitors. Race control had seen enough. That wreckage at the bank of Sector One was a total ss, and the marshals had no clear way of hauling the Red Bull out without bringing the session to a stop.
Such a red flag session required a full shutdown of the race. Nothing else could be done. There would be no overtakes, no pit calls, no changes, but just a complete brief reset. The session would only resu after the cars were lined back up on the starting grid in their current running order, as if the entire ordeal had just been a very intense simulation glitch.
"…That's a red flag. That is a red flag. Race control has decided to stop the session here. The marshals need a clear track to handle that wreck in Sector One… Dreyer's okay but furious… we'll get you more updates as they co…"
"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"
As expected, one by one, the cars began to slow, crawling their way back to the pitlane like defeated soldiers after a botched mission.
Many drivers gave the crash site a passing glance. So longer than others. Luca squinted as he neared it, his eyes studying the darkened streaks of rubber sared across the track, the fractured remains of carbon fibre, and what was left of Dreyer's machine, sitting like a broken wing at the foot of the second barrier.
He found himself wondering what might've happened if things had gone even slightly differently. If Dreyer had chosen the outside. If Luigi had lifted. If he himself had moved just a breath later.
Would they have all still been in the race? Would soone else have ended up in that barrier?
As he made his way slowly back toward the Silver Stallions box, Luca's gaze shifted and he scanned ahead. He paused when he saw Luigi.
He hadn't even noticed at first, but Luigi's rcedes was approaching from the runoff, rejoining via the shorter access lane that fed back toward the pitlane. It surprised Luca because he hadn't expected to see him so close. But now they were both converging toward the sa point, the sa entrance into the lane, from opposite directions like a sharp L.
Out of all three cars caught up in that three-wide disaster, Luigi's was by far the least damaged. That made sense. He was the one who had started everything. Let everyone else, especially Dreyer, take the hit.
Respectfully, Luca gave him the line of way into the pitlane. Even though it was done out of decency, it didn't sit right with him when Luigi gave a nod in return.
And then, even worse, Luigi gave a thumbs up.
Luca bit the inside of his tongue very hard. The urge to just plant his foot and ram straight into the back of that silver car itched at his leg like wildfire. He knew for a fact that gesture wasn't genuine.
It wasn't gratitude but mockery.
**Luca, box now. Box this lap. Marshals still clearing the Sector One wreck under red flag**
True. One of the few silver linings in a red flag session like this was that drivers could dive into the pits and get work done on the car. It might not have been the scheduled ti, and it could also throw the team's original strategy out of sync, but more often than not, it ended up being a blessing in disguise.
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