Chapter Text
Melbourne
2026
Max Verstappen 📻
GP
“That’s a red flag Max, red flag. Slow it down, please.”
Max
“Yeah? Who was it?”
GP
“Not much information yet, sources are telling me the problem is related to the stands. Head to the pit lane now, please.”
Max
“Everyone okay?”
GP
“Unsure right now, mate. We can only hope.”
. . .
GP
“FIA are requesting immediate evacuation, Max. There should be someone waiting to escort you in the pit garage. Race is cancelled.”
Max
“What? What’s happening out there?”
. . .
Max
“Hello?”
Max Verstappen
Max had practically ripped the helmet off his head, followed shortly by his balaclava—this reluctantly revealed the hair strands stuck to his forehead due to sweat. Seeing the garage completely empty during a race only deepened the hole of worry burrowing it’s way into his stomach, GP could’ve been a bit more helpful—but judging on his tone of voice, he was in a hurry to get somewhere. Before Max let himself get overwhelmed with internal questions, the sound of a car approaching behind him caught his attention. This was, no doubt, Isack whose entrance into the garage was a tad unstable.
Isack had crawled out of the car, his hands scrambling against his helmet to remove it, also followed by his balaclava. “Holy shit, man.” The Frenchman gasped, his eyes glued wide like a deer in headlights. “Holy shit.” He repeated, even more out of breath.
“You know what happened?” Max immediately pounced upon him, speed walking his way over to the Frenchman who was running a hand through his sweat-stricken hair.
“Sort of,” Isack screwed his face together as he tries to figure out the best way to word his idea of the situation. “Rich had told me something happened to a guy in the stands, went feral apparently. Started biting people and whatnot.” Max’s face twisted into a mixture of confusion and disbelief, his nose scrunched into thin lines.
“And they cancelled the race for that?” Max sighed, though the hole of worry in his stomach was still prominent. “Must have rabies or something.” Max added, even he was surprised at how casual he managed to play that joke off. Isack physically shivered at the idea, promptly shaking his head.
“Don’t say that, man, you’ll scare me.” Going off of his jittery body language, he was already scared. “Wasn’t there meant to be someone here to lead us to the exit?” Isack suddenly questioned, his eyes scanning the barren room. The duo both noted the messy state the garage was in—tires were knocked off of racks, the overhead lights were flickering for extending amounts of time, there was a minor dent in the wall; presumably due to someone running into it. Max’s eyes light in recognition as he remembers what GP had said before his abrupt departure.
“Might’ve gotten scared and ran off.” Max suggests, a joking smile curling on his lips, although the probability of that being true was starting to look more and more likely. Isack folded his arms and offered a weak attempt of a smile back. Max appreciated the effort.
“You think—” Isack was cut off by the sound of a bang a few feet away from him—around the corner. He instantly scrambled away and towards Max, whose brain was whirring to make sense of the situation. “What the hell—” Isack began, this time cutting himself off as he watched Max slowly approach the noise. “Max, come back here, you don’t know what’s there!” Isack hissed, although his efforts were futile—Max’s gaze was set on the corner. “It could be a wild animal, one with rabies like you mentioned! Come on…” Isack continued to try coax Max to give it up, but trailed off when he realised he couldn’t. He just took a few steps back and silently prepared for the worst.
It was only until Max had went around the corner that he noticed the lights were completely out. Absolute darkness was waiting for him, watching him it seemed more-like. His confidence beginning to waver, he started to head back towards the light, before he had the chance—he slipped.
Fuck.
He had slipped on something, a viscous liquid that was now pooled around his hands. He lightly touches his face, his nose swiftly recognising the smell. The bitter, iron-like, smell.
When Max was younger, his dad would leave him outside in the rain. On the place he was made to love most, the track. If he dared come into the house without a new fastest lap, there would be an according punishment—one that often ended with the scent of blood flooding his senses. There were some times when he would attempt to fake whatever time he had gotten, but he knew. He always knew. Thinking back on it now, Max was probably an extremely bad liar, averting eye-contact with his dad whenever he could.
His memory becomes muffled when he looks back on all of those wins he achieved for his go-karting, they’ve started to blend together, the cheering, the looks on the other competitors faces. He doesn’t remember his wins that much, he only remembers his losses and what came from them. In a way, Jos Verstappen had won. He had permanently burned his face into his sons memories. Every missed win, every missed podium, he can see his face in the crowd. His slanted eyes glaring at him with the same look of disappointment, if Max dared to look further—he could see his clenched fist. And now, in this moment, instead of a deranged and rabid race engineer, he sees his dad emerge out of the darkness with a violent glint in his eyes.
Max lay there, his hands positioned behind him as he watched his dads face morph into one of an engineers. A bloodthirsty engineer who was gunning right towards him, throthing at the mouth like a starved dog, their eyes held an immense hollowness that they looked like holes carved into their irises. For a moment, Max simply accepts that this was it. He would go out as a legend nonetheless, four time world champion. If he had just quit the second he knew about the refined regulations, he wouldn’t even be here—
He watched as the feral race engineers head got crushed, and then watched as a bloody tire rolled its way toward him. Glancing behind him, he sees a doe-eyed Isack whose lip was on the path to bleeding if he bit it any harder. “Max, you—you saw that, right? He was trying to kill you, I mean, I had to… I didn’t kill someone…” The poor boy rambled on, while Max regained his footing, trying his best not to repeat his previous mistake of slipping.
“You did a good thing.” Is all Max could faintly muster out, if his heartbeat got any louder he thinks he might pass out on the spot. Isack hesitantly stared at max before pointing a finger at Max’s cheek.
“You’ve got a little…” The boy waves a hand in front of his own cheek.
“Oh, yeah.” Max nodded, using the sleeve of his race suit to wipe off the speck of blood. Isack’s eyes slowly trailed down to the splatters of blood that emerged from the dark hallway, with the misshaped shards of broken glass sprinkled alongside it.
“What happened?” Isack asked under his breath, his voice coming out as a small croak.
Max took a deep inhale before answering, leading the boy into the well-lighted area. “Hell if I know,” he takes a few seconds to reconsider his words “but I do know that wasn’t rabies.”
The two exchange a silent glance at the other, each of them looked a mess. Blood splatters decorated their clothes, the dark blue doing little to silence it.
“What the hell happened to you guys?” A deeply coated New Zealand accent came from the entrance of the garage, next to him stood an awkwardly placed Arvid Lindblad. Seeing the shell shocked looks on the redbull drivers faces, Liam further clarifies, “We were told to come here, said that someone was waiting to bring us to the exit here.” Liam takes a deep inhale, trying his best not to focus on the blood adorning the duo’s outfits.
“You guys okay?” Arvid asks with a nervous laugh as he notices the lack of people—specifically staff—in the garage.
Max runs a twitching hand through his hair before gravely muttering, “We need to get out of here.”
2026 F1 Grid Group chat
8th March 4:17 am
George
anyone online?
me and kimi are in my driver room
holy shit
this is bad
there’s no one
everyone is gone
George Russell
“Why do you have so many pictures of Alex on your wall?” Kimi asked, even if it was with the intention to ease the silence settling between them—he also held a particular curiosity.
George sighed, watching as the young italian inspected the photos. “It’s a running joke,” he murmurs, earning a quiet giggle from Kimi. George angles his head over to look at him from his position on the bed. It was the first time George had seen Kimi even crack a smile since they found that dead mechanic, another mechanic crouched over him with blood painted on their mouth. He didn’t need to guess where the source of the blood came from. Their pupils were dilated to fit the rim of their irises, and their skin was so transparent you could see their veins throbbing out of their skin. Whatever that mechanic was back there wasn’t human. Not anymore.
He wonders how the other drivers are, maybe they weren’t as lucky as him and Kimi—who were given the chance to run for it right before the mechanic noticed them. His worry could be satiated if they would, for once, just text in the bloody—
A buzz comes from his phone and he practically crawls over to the other end of his end to retrieve it. Frantically, he opens up the group chat and…
2026 F1 Grid Group chat
8th March 4:52 am
Arvid
This is max texting from Arvid’s phone.
With Arvid Liam and Isack.
Coming to the Mercedes garage right now.
Kimi looks over at George with concerned eyes due to his loss of words. “Who is it?” He asks, flopping himself onto the bed to get a better look at George’s phone.
“Max,” George plainly replies, Kimi responds with a small relieved smile. “He’s coming here, with the other redbull drivers.” George adds, his tone matching the casualness. Kimi, however, was immediately put into a state of panic.
“What? Why? But—but there’s that mechanic down there.” Kimi shakes his head, pacing in a small circle around the room. George’s fingers were already sliding it’s way across his phones keyboard—it’s a known fact that Max and him aren’t the best of pals, but for him to get torn apart like those mangled bodies down there? Especially with an 18 year old trailing behind him? If something like that had happened to Kimi—he would’ve never forgave himself.
2026 F1 Grid Group chat
8th March 4:54 am
George
don’t come over here
dangerous ppl inside
don’t
Arvid
We’ll keep an eye out. - Max
George
??
George let his head roll back as he let out a quiet groan of frustration. Kimi eyed him nervously before asking him, “What did he say?”
George took a few seconds before replying. “They’re still coming.”
Kimi’s eyes squinted in confusion. “You—you told him about the cannibals down there, didn’t you?” To which George tiredly nodded. Kimi exasperatedly sighed before his eyes spark in a new-found courage. “We have to go help them, then!”
George jumps up from his position on the bed, gunning towards a modern-looking lamp on his bedside table. “I will go help them, you will stay here—where it’s safe.” Kimi’s forehead scrunches in frustration at that, and George already suspects he’s about to have a debate with the boy.
“So you go out and die, while I just twiddle my thumbs.” Kimi huffs, folding his arms as he flops himself onto the bed.
George scoffs, “Die? Bit harsh, mate.” though he did feel a burst of pride as Kimi used the phrase George taught him.
“You are using a lamp as a weapon.” Kimi pointedly says, nodding his head towards the lamp in George’s hand—that now looked awfully flimsy.
“You’re staying here, case closed.” George utters, mainly because he could feel another good argument crawling it’s way out of Kimi’s mouth. Kimi’s eyes start to wander around the room when the gravity of the situation dawns on him yet again.
“Don’t die, George.” He whispered, just enough for George to hear it. Hearing his voice, so timid and scared, lit up something paternal in George that he never thought he’d unlock. This kid’s fate relied on whether George survived.
George manages a tight-lipped smile, feigning absolute confidence. “Be back soon.”
Logan
8th March 4:30 am
Logan
Osc i saw what happened
are u okay??
Today 4:41 am
Logan
Osc ur scaring me
come on man
Oscar Piastri
BEFORE THE RED FLAG
Oscars eyes were trained onto the screen, watching as his teammates electric orange car weaves its way through rows of cars. He shouldn’t have even been there. After his crash in the formation lap, he was told to go home—get some well needed rest. But he and Lando made a promise shortly before that. No matter what happens during the race, they won’t let it phase them. They won’t let it phase their friendship. Even if Oscar crashed before the race could even begin, even if the knot tightening in his stomach made him feel nauseous to the point of wanting to throw up. The bile crawling up his throat was threatening to reveal, so he has to push it down with a grimace. He can already picture the stark disappointment on everyone’s faces, if the engineer’s forced grins didn’t wound him enough—Lando’s pitiful eyes would definitely crush him. But he can’t worry about that right now. All he has to focus on is the car’s zooming past the screen in a flurry of colours.
He was so in his own world he didn’t notice the staff slowly sharing nervous glances at each other before one speaks into their ear-piece in a whisper. It was only until there was a tap on his shoulder that he noticed the sudden tension in the room. “Oscar? We’ve got to go. Immediate evacuation.” A quiet voice stated beside him. And that was all he heard before there was a loud yell to his right. And then another scream. And then there were tires knocked off racks, and lights fluttering on and off. Most horrifying of all, when he looked into the direction of the chaos—the timid engineer beside him having already fled—he saw three pairs of hollow eyes staring back at him. Three Mclaren staff members devouring a human like it’s their last meal.
For a moment, the three of them stared at him in silence, regrettably allowing him time to recognise all three of their faces. Their faces who were smiling brightly at him only a few months ago, who patted his back and wrapped their arms around him as a congratulations. And, almost like his feet were glued to the floor, he hesitated to run. The few seconds of silence were quickly interrupted by all three of them clambering over each other to lunge at him, now that they were gaining on him he could see the veins throbbing out of their head. Finally, he started to back away—gradually getting faster as his brain began to process whatever crumbs he had of the situation.
Realising he couldn’t outrun all three, he was prepping himself to curate an escape plan. But it was too late. Because an electric orange car had already rammed itself into the trio, resulting in a mess of tangled limbs underneath it. And the silence returned very briefly, before he sprinted to check if his teammate was okay.
George Russell
Everything in his body was telling him to turn the other way, sprint back to his drivers room and away from the crash at the end of the hallway. But he knew he couldn’t let himself do that. One, for his morality. Two, for his dignity. So, here he was—slowly making his way down the, now dimly lit, hallway, with a spiral-shaped lamp tightly clenched in his hand. Fuck, he looked ridiculous. If he does run into the redbull drivers at some point, he would have to find some sort of excuse as to why he has a lamp. He can already see Max’s taunting grin—
There was another crash at the end of the hallway, this time he could see a chair get kicked into view from the left—the sound of it tumbling went on for a good 10 seconds before it’s journey ended with an abrupt slam into the wall. Whatever had overtook these people, appearance wasn’t the only thing it altered. He took a deep inhale, and physically cringed at how shaky it sounded.
The emptiness surprised him, while he and Kimi ran to the drivers room, they must have seen several of these things—and if he trusted his hearing, there was only one around the corner. He could also hear a wet munching noise. He didn’t even want to think about what that entailed. The images kept flashing back to him as he stopped and crouched down next to the wall—safely behind an open door. Their skin, their eyes that were not long ago filled with life, their blood-stained lips. His hands gravitated up to his ears to block out the loud crunching noises around the corner. What if his father had seen him in this state? What if Toto seen him like this? Max, even? God, what about Kimi? Would they laugh or stare down at him with agonising pity, he couldn’t tell which is worse.
You’re pathetic George.
Get up.
He tries, but he can’t manage to will his legs to move.
Get up, George.
The munching sounds momentarily stop, making it so that the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his head was all he could hear. The cracking of bones popping into their places echoed down the hallway, followed by a guttural shriek—he was sure that would haunt him for the rest of his days. However long they may be.
Then, the sound of shuffling feet began to grow closer to him. He managed to get a somewhat glimpse of the creature, man, whatever it is. It had a limp, which worked in his favour. Its muscles were bulging, accompanied by a murky black clouding its veins.
He clutched the lamp in his hand a tad tighter as it began to limp its way down the hallway and near its way to him—it didn’t see him nimbly hiding behind a door which was a relief.
The voice grew louder.
The other drivers could be in danger, and you’re just hiding?
Pathetic.
Everyone always knew you were pathetic, this will only solidify the thought.
George Russel, Mercedes driver, abandons teammate—leaves to die. What a headline.
Maybe you deserve to die—
He bashed its head in with the lamp, before it could turn around, he did it again. And again. And again. Before the former Mercedes staff member’s broken body defeatedly crumbled to the floor.
_____
After staring at his gruesome work, he forced himself to move forward, forced the heroic part of his brain to take charge.
He, safe to say, looked like a riot. A darkly coated blood was messily splattered on his face—he was lucky it managed to splash in a way that narrowly missed his eyes. And overall, he was trembling like a chick exposed to rain.
His eyes darted anywhere they could as he roamed the deserted halls. Look to his left. Then his right. Then look forward. Look at his feet. Then look to his left again, quickly. Look to his feet—
He saw another one of those things, however this one was well and properly… dead. The hand was the first thing in his line of vision, reaching towards the ceiling, when he refocused his vision, he saw the whole body splayed out in front of him. There was a small hole pierced through its chest, leaden blood clumping around it.
It was fresh.
So who could’ve done that?
Something was dropped a few meters away from him. He readied his lamp—which he’s pretty sure is permanently broken—but was only greeted with a few moments of silence. That was until there was a sleeve of dark blue that emerged from the darkness. Max.
More figures came into view. Not just the redbull drivers. The whole entire grid.