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A gap appeared.
Oscar saw an opening as Lando pushed out wide. Meters, feet, inches are the difference of standing on a podium. The distance expanded and Oscar felt hunger he had been denied for far too long.
The first time the team demanded hesitation, Lando had suffered in Hungary. Lando had his jaw pried open to released his prize. Quickly, stuffed into his mouth was a lackluster string of praise and adoration from McLaren team principles. And his reward of sportsmanship felt dreadfully bitter as he stared up from the podium at Oscar clutching his kill. Oscar could feel his teammates blood dribbling through his fingers. The only difference between the two of them had been words commanded and obeyed by his teammate. Oscar’s throat felt the tightening of the team exercising a phantom grip of control.
When did victory become so difficult to swallow?
Oscar’s hunger had gone without a victory for so long it made a mess of the prize. He ripped flesh, crushed bone, and swallowed until nothing was left behind. It was embarrassing to be desperate enough to shove every bit into his mouth, but he had gone without for so long it was easy to look past the trap set by McLaren.
Team rules. The demands were counter intuitive to any driver. McLaren claimed a defensive position to avoid competition between teammates. They stated they believed the only way to win required a team first mentality. Andrea Stella and Zac Brown wore smooth smiles offering Oscar and Lando a tradeoff of competition for garage harmony. Each sat through long meetings reiterating one race did not make or break a champion. And it seemed to work for a year. But the car became more competitive and the orders began to pile up. All it took was taking a step back to see the lines of dominos waiting to be tipped over.
Oscar would not be able to tell anyone when he began to notice the resentment began to build. It could have been the order to hold positions in Australia or his strategy in Monaco focused around his teammate or the immediate radio reprimand after his lockup in Austria or the lack of contesting his ten second penalty in Silverstone. All he remembers is the numbness he forced himself to adopt after a long race debrief. He remembers sharing glances with his teammate who looked equally displeased.
Words from his manager convinced him of his steadfast nature. But after Silverstone, Oscar felt Mark spoken more to himself that Oscar he was still the same steady driver he met five years ago. And Oscar was determined to remain that way. He hadn’t realized the criticism he poured onto his team for forcing an unnatural dynamic was the same fate he had eagerly embraced.
There was an inevitable nature when it came to competition. A truth he knew but had become corrupted by media pundits seeking a headline and McLaren seeking participation prizes for the runner up.
“No,” his Hunger cried out, “there is only victory.”
Oscar gave his Hunger scraps. He had not forgotten about his Hunger, he knew the team rules he agreed to demanded his Hunger to be locked away. But the creature soon tired of the lack of satisfaction. The Hunger recalled an owner who screamed, pounding his fist in adoration of crossing the finish line first. His Hunger shows him in Abu Dhabi standing atop the podium with the flash of fireworks raining around him as he raises his championship trophy to the spray of champagne. His Hunger whines at the tight muzzle and began to question how much longer it would have to wear it. Each victory remained warm and twisted around in Oscar’s hands.
“Let me sink my teeth,” his Hunger hummed in his ear.
Oscar grit his teeth to keep the prize from rushing off. He had to learn how to kill in a different way. He still feasted but the victories that ran away from him without a fight left him pulsing with anger in post-race interviews.
And his Hunger remained by his side no matter how many times he put it back into its cage. An unshakable loyalty to him, always waiting for a simple command was all the creature needed. And the warmth he experienced from the Hunger made it all the more difficult to remain in control. It constantly salivated for a moment to be let out and each time it was denied seemed to grow more ravenous.
Oscar had practice of waiting and masking emotions. It was easier with an amiable teammate. Lando openly vocalized the complaints Oscar swallowed at each meeting. Oscar felt less pain when he saw Lando struggle to maintain a grip on his ambitions. The two of them spent late nights exchanging frustration and leaned against one another with light hearted jokes at their shared fate. If only Oscar had realized how great Lando’s own Hunger had grown.
For outsiders, it was a surprise when Lando broke open. Only Oscar knew the pain Lando had been forced to hold in. True victory would be a fight in the mud, each of them wrestling for a small hold and a clever blow. A split second was all the difference they needed. And each of them knew their closest enemy remained only an arm’s length away.
Despite this, Oscar Piastri had been caught off guard by the teeth of Lando Norris.
In Barcelona, Lando even seemed shocked by his nip. He had reassured Oscar he didn’t mean to and apologized profusely to the team. He publicly took ownership of failing to judge the distance of Oscar and the wall. Lando was genuine and Oscar understood how difficult it was to race with the rules placed on them by McLaren. It made those windows of opportunity presented to each of them irresistible. Oscar had moved on from the incident and believed Lando learned to dial in his Hunger. Looking back, Oscar thinks he should have never turned his back.
If Oscar thought his Hunger was ravenous, he should have spent more time contemplating the hunger of a racer denied a meal for seven years. How many more years would Lando experience watching his peers standing on the top step of the podium without requiring a prayer?
The cage Lando kept his Hunger inside had become worn out. And once it escaped, Lando didn’t lack the experience to place it back in the cage, rather, the taste of raw victory Lando had forgotten about became too irresistible. It only grew more vicious and grubby. Victory was all that could nourish his Hunger. Now, instead of hiding in the shadows, Lando grew alongside the Hunger.
The team supported the transformation. Articles poured of Lando transforming his mindset to that of a champion contender. The validation proved to be powerful medicine to his teammate and Lando’s earlier struggles seemed to vanish overnight with each race he dominated.
Oscar’s Hunger grew as well. The green light seemed to be pushed for them to compete but each time Oscar moved to untether his own hunger, the stated rules were applied to Oscar on a whim. While Lando had adapted quickly to the lack of clear guidelines, Oscar remained stationary.
Singapore untethered him.
Oscar had allowed the team to circulate nutrition between himself and Lando for so long, he had been caught off guard by the bite from Lando.
Singapore revealed his failure to embrace his Hunger. Lando certainly made no attempt to hide his ambitions on track. He made no attempt to rein himself in and was rewarded with a podium. Oscar could not help but question himself for walking back into the cage again and again. Painfully, but willingly, Oscar chained himself to arbitrary rules for so called harmony. He had no one else to blame.
Soon, Fear appeared. The emotion poured over into bland comments to the press and anger transformed his eyes. The only person who understood his transformation was reaping the reward of not making Oscar’s mistake of ignoring his Hunger. Lando had chipped away points from Oscar’s championship lead and beamed atop the podium. He was circled by McLaren engineers and employees basking in a shared Constructors Championship. And Oscar watched the high definition video from the press paddock.
For Oscar, the difference between him watching a video and being embraced by his team were the arbitrary ‘Papaya Rules’. Except this time, only one of them remain in the cage. There was no one there to share the burden with Oscar. No reminders to his teammate on the radio to keep it clean. There had been silence. A silence that said everything about the guidelines.
Guidelines Oscar had naively signed to follow again and again like a kicked dog.
For the first time, Oscar imagined Lando holding his championship trophy, basking in the fireworks and glory of a victor. A championship Oscar entire life had been leading up toward. A championship he won’t ever forget if he lost following team orders.
Fear rattled him, pouring acid on his wounds.
“It’s yours to lose.”
Once the scales were tipped, the Hunger transformed. It no longer begged Oscar. He allow the Hunger to slip into his Singapore media interview. He became less restrained and embraced the chaos. They had both outgrown the shackles.
“If one must suffer, why must it be you?”
In Austin, the cage cracks opens into a wide field and his Hunger smells blood in the air. It launches forward, joints jostling from the lack of use. Leg muscles quickly constricting and lungs expanding to take in the scent. Eyes become narrowed in on the target. Oscar knew this feeling did not belong in him. Finally unleashed, his Hunger launches forward and snaps the neck of Hesitation.
Oscar positioned himself through the small gap. The rear of Lando grows closer and Oscar pushes to cut through. He flicking through the gears to close the gap.
He is right on the heels as his foot moves over to a late break.
The Hunger has consumed him. There is no separation between the two. The ease of his thoughts, the emotions pass between them as easy as breathing. He has not had this clarity in months. His eyes narrow on the tarmac and turns the wheel to the left.
There is no command, no rules, no punishment that could stop him from closing his teeth around Lando Norris.
A jolt from the left sends Oscar flying. The machine crunches, momentum forcing him to release. The scent is imprinted on his mind, teeth clacking in search for flesh. Air quickly settles around as flashes of color zoom past by him. He presses on the accelerator, a whine escapes from the metal as he passes his stationary teammate. A front wheel wobbles down away from the destruction.
He broke the golden rule in racing. He took out his teammate. The unspoken rule in motorsport and in every McLaren meeting constantly spoken trust Oscar and Lando will listen. Oscar thought he spat the poison infecting him and his teammate but at what cost?
The car protests but doesn’t dare stop. Fear speaks, praising his Hunger as it laps up the blood around his muzzle. Oscar will not stop now.
A static voice breaks the silence.
“So Oscar be careful. We have possible suspension damage.
He feels it. The crushing agony of damage grows. He had gone for a kill and come up with nothing but injuries. A bitterness grows in his throat. This is not a Hunger anyone knows. Only his fellow racers would understand the willingness to run on broken legs.
It’s a Hunger his teammate acted upon before Oscar had caught up. Perhaps if Oscar had reacted earlier he wouldn’t have made such a move. But Oscar doesn’t say any of these things to his race engineer. He swallows and responds with a tight reply.
“Yeah. We do.”
Once he pulls over, the Hunger is silent. Coldness fills his body and his fingers shake as he powers down his vehicle. Oscar had seen a gap. He was sure of it. Yet, as the milliseconds grow into seconds, his brain becomes unclouded and fear seeps into his thoughts. A phrase repeats itself over and over again:
How much space was there?
Instead of enjoying the applause of his team, he had damaged both vehicles over a sprint race.. Oscar realizes the shunning of his Hunger created the perfect storm for fear to lead him blindly for the slight taste of victory. A lick of Hunger pokes his head up to remind him at least they were both out. Oscar should scold himself, but he can’t deny the truth:
Victory in racing will always been a zero sum game.
A simple fact made complicated by media pundits and team orders. Interviewers seeking to complicate a truth for a clickable headline. In the cockpit, these voices fade away. The separation between the theatrics and sport must remain intact. A microphone would attempt to rattle Oscar with a question about the title fight, prodding at a weakening team dynamic, and Oscar would repeat a quick response he had perfected weeks ago. The adoration of his short responses presented an unshakable character.
Oscar feels very shaken as he sits in the debrief room being scolded by his team principle. The words pour past him and he looks across at his teammate staring off in the distance. Lando had immediately stripped out of his fireproofs and into a pair of shorts and pullover. Oscar still hadn’t changed. Maybe there was something Oscar was still holding onto by staying dressed, as if he could go back in time and re-do the race. Lando had brushed off the collision with a tight smile.
“It’s just racing mate, I get it.”
Lando clearly knew the McLaren game better than him. Oscar could smell the anger off him, but for the team, Lando would and had bent until he snapped. His nonchalance hid the ruthless and determined driver on track. Oscar knew Lando would bide his time to respond. It was a new trait Oscar was learning was not a phase but an evolution of his teammate.
Fear spoke to Oscar. Perhaps Lando was relieved Oscar had been the one to take them both out. It didn’t sit well with Oscar that Lando might have been waiting for him to crack. It felt like Lando had won a game of chicken Oscar didn’t realize he was in until it was suddenly over. The thought brought anger alongside. Oscar knew Lando would not have been so forgiving if Oscar did not sustain so much damage. Their carefully balanced partnership was taped back together by Lando’s gentle statement and Oscar apologizing.
Oscar threw the words out. He did not care about appearances anymore. All he could only focus on was the new racing team he belong to after breaking the golden rules. He had exposed to the team his previously hidden thoughts and Fear speaks in his mind with a gentle tone.
“How badly do you want to win?”
All Oscar had ever wanted in life was too win. No matter the cost, he wanted his team to understand. He was prepared to take the last life preserve. An ambition he had swallowed down to become more palatable for them. No longer. He let himself kill the implanted hesitation today and he didn’t plan on allowing it to take hold ever again. It was this truth he repeated to himself.
Quickly, he learned the hesitation he killed is replaced with a price.
Race qualifying begins and the Hunger no longer listened to him. The creature growled and lunged at him. No, this Hunger was different. It had been tainted. The grip on his wheel tightened in an attempt to reel in the feeling but it would not yield. His mechanics rapidly moved around him, making last minute adjustments.
Just hours ago, the car had a broken suspension and required testing after testing to ensure it was still in racing condition. Anyone who had looked at Oscar would see the collected racer. He had passed a concussion test and been cleared to race. He was physically in racing condition and that was all that mattered. But if anyone had taken a closer look at the Australian, they would notice the unfamiliar emotion spreading across him. Oscar didn’t recognize this new feeling. A feeling that would soon engulf him. A feeling Lando had faced earlier in the season and conquered to the delight of the team.
Fear tasted bitter and the longer it sat with Oscar in the cockpit, the more it seemed to take over. He looked left and right at his mechanics. The countdown hummed and rattled. How had no one see what had infected him?
His engineer’s voice vibrated in his skull, “Okay, Oscar let’s get this Q1. Nice and easy, now.”
The blankets are quickly removed and Oscar is waved out to the queue. He takes in a deep breath and presses on the accelerator. The car is heavier. He feels the resistance of the breaks. He readjust his hands around the wheel again and again. But nothing feels comfortable. He hasn’t felt this in all his years of racing. It’s foreign and familiar at the same time. It nestles close to his heart and spreads across his body.
Oscar calls out to his Hunger for help. It would protect him. The creature whines in pain the more he calls out. Oscar pleads for him to return. He offers affection and words of reassurance. Oscar doesn’t know how he went so long neglecting him.
The cold grows as Oscar queues behind cars. Panic begins to set in when his Hunger does not arrive. Fear whispers sweetly to Oscar.
“Don’t make another accident.”
The voice of fear is ancient and caused the downfall of many good racers. Fear watches every move with commentary and encourages individuals to take risks until a husk of confidence remains. A blemish on the mind spreading until it has consumed its host.
Oscar keeps his eyes forward as the Fear nestles closer to his heart. Oscar takes a deep breath as he enters the track. If only the pundits were correct in believing Oscar had no heart, he wouldn’t have to worry about fear.
“Don’t worry Oscar, I’ll keep you company,” the voice whispers against his chest. Each word increases the weight against his limbs. An imagine flashes through his mind of his car skidding across the track into turn nineteen, costing him a pole by hundredths of a second. He doesn’t recognize these thoughts.
“You’ll get used to it.”
He doesn’t know if this feeling suits him. It’s like wearing a coat three sizes too small. Fear presents in his mind Lando standing atop the podium in Abu Dhabi being sprayed by champagne holding Oscar’s championship trophy.
“It’s either you or nothing,” the voice reminds him, “victory at all cost.”
Victory will not be given to him ever again. It will always be earned, he tells himself as he press against the throttle. He never wants to be below a teammate again. Fear smiles at his host. Fear knows how delicious a human can become when driven into a corner. How this host will transform, fear does not know.
Fear only knows Oscar had signed his warrant a few races ago, but Fear waited patiently for him to be called forward.
Maybe if Oscar knew this was the eventuality he would have done something different. But Fear knows mankind, and somehow Fear knew no human can be pressed in a corner for so long without searching for an enemy.
Even if that enemy becomes himself.