"You've got no place to hide
And I'm feeling like a villain
got a hunger inside
One look in my eyes
And you're running
Cause I'm coming
Going to eat you alive

(...) We're kings of the killing,
We're out for blood"~Ruelle, "Monsters"

***

Until lap nineteen, nothing interesting happened. At the start, as usual, there were a few battles wheel to wheel in which two cars suffered, but not enough to retire from the race completely. Nicholas Latifi and Mick Schumacher were thus forced into the pit lane after the first lap. The rest of the pack went on. There were a few overtaking maneuvers, Max with the ferocity of a rabid bull attacking Charles, who was running as fast as he could with the Dutchman's breath on his back. Behind them, their common rival, the seven-time world champion in his silver Mercedes number 44, Lewis Hamilton, followed like a shadow. They passed the finish line on lap eighteen without much sensation, starting on lap nineteen.

Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, the lights around the track flickered and went out. It happened three times, then darkness enveloped them. Drivers, speeding in their machines at speeds often exceeding 300 km / h, suddenly found themselves in a deplorable situation when the darkness of night in Jeddah surrounded them.

—Slow down! Slow down immediately! — Esteban Ocon heard the terrified voice of his engineer, which he did immediately. Before this he could see the flashing light of the AlphaTauri car, which had been racing for a fraction of a second, but not much else. His eyes, unaccustomed to the dark, took a little longer to understand what he was looking at. In his entire career, he had never heard of a racing engineer being so nervous and scared, after all, their job was to calm the drivers, to give them the information they asked for to support them. Showing nervousness, weakness, or fear was of no use, so if he had heard something like this, and he was sure of it, he had to consider that something had happened that was beyond human understanding.

Only a few dozen meters behind him, the less experienced Yuki Tsunoda "parked" his car with his nose stuck in the barrier. Mick Schumacher barely passed him, but Zhou was not so lucky and ran over some debris torn from the AT, puncturing the tire, which immediately escaped the air slowed him down even more. Chaos ensued. The traffic lights around the track alternately flashed on and off, making it difficult for drivers to return to the pit lane. Nico Hulkenberg, replacing Sebastian Vettel for the second weekend in a row, spun the car around its axis despite the fact that stayed on track, had no idea whether it was going forward or backward.

— Red flag, red flag! — Engineers shouted over the on-board radios to their players. For some reason, the display of such a flag on panels along the road they were passing didn't work. Moments later, things got even worse when they lost their GPS connection. Now all teams didn't know where their vehicles were. The drivers themselves knew their position thanks to signs characteristic for a given place, such as the Ferris wheel or stands, where fans turned on their phones' flashlights to see anything.

Toto Wolff, the Mercedes boss, was flustering around the garage. His team lost radio communication with both drivers seconds before the lights went off for the first time. Their computers lost power, they had no telemetry, they couldn't track down their contestants or contact them. Toto was about to panic.

The silence around them was completely unnatural. At a point like this during a normal race, you would usually hear the engines running at full speed, bits of metal hitting each other, the screeching of locking wheels on the brakes, the curses coming from Lewis' mouth on the radio when things didn't go the way he wanted, the rattling of the keys that screwed  tight racing car tires, sometimes the laughter of one of the mechanics or the drumming of his fingers on the table of "Bono", an engineer who worked with Hamilton.

Lewis was the last to reach the pits. He had to make sure everyone was safe, so he stopped the car earlier and used magic to sense the life energy of each of the drivers. Most of them were very scared, some were slightly shocked, and only Pierre was clearly upset. Lewis made a mental note to ask him about it at the earliest opportunity that will come. Before he entered the pit lane, he took with him Yuki, who was shivering with fear and concern, who made himself uncomfortable on the HALO headband. To his relief, they didn't have too long to travel.

Ross Brawn, in consultation with Toto, Christian and Mattia, immediately gathered everyone at the FIA ​​headquarters for a drivers 'and team leaders' meeting. Pierre sat down on the table with his back to the window. Lewis stood next to him. The other drivers sat opposite them, with a good view of what was happening behind the glass doors, where sensationalist journalists and camera operators, as well as photojournalists and paparazzi gathered. In just 30 hours, this was the third nearly identical meeting.

—I told you — Hamilton was the first to speak — You should cancel the Grand Prix.

— Yes, and lose a lot of money. Do you know what you are saying ?! We would have to pay the fans for the tickets, you and the mechanics and so we have to pay whether the race was held, TV stations would impose fines on us, we would not pay for a year! —  The new Formula 1 manager, Stefano Domenicalli, protested. Few of the drivers didn't liked Michael Massi anymore, but the current one was even worse and they could tell after only two (incomplete) races. Max gritted his teeth when he heard that.

— Money! — Fernando exclaimed, also upset, waving his hands menacingly. — If you care so much about it, we could have folded, each of us would give something of ourselves, we would give up the payment and it certainly wouldn't be a problem. What was the point of risking our lives?

— Exactly, I agree with Lewis and Fernando — Max replied, nodding his head.

— Even if you didn't take part in the race, how were you going to get out of here? — Domenicalli sly noticed. — Have you forgotten what I told you yesterday?

—No, we haven't forgotten. We could always arrange our own transport home. — Ricciardo snorted angrily, feeling trapped, trapped with no way to escape.

— You don't understand — said Dr. Helmut Marko, who works for RedBull — We couldn't cancel the race! The fans would be disappointed! Besides, the danger was not so great, no one was even injured.

— Ah, so only if that fucking bullet hit one of us and killed us, then would you cancel it all? Or not? Wouldn't even that stop you? — Charles asked, but he didn't expect an answer. He turned to Pierre standing behind him and said very loudly for everyone to hear. —  And you wanted to go back to RedBull? To this madman? If you do, you will make the biggest mistake in your life and stop being my friend — He warned.

— Money is a king — Lando Norris whispered softly in the corner of the room, biting his fingernails nervously and cutting his fingers to blood with his own teeth. Only Nico, who sat closest to him, heard him and gave him a short, sympathetic and sad look, spreading his hands helplessly.

— No, I don't want to go back to RedBull, I didn't want to since I was kicked out. Christian made me say that so that viewers would believe that I was so hopelessly blind to RedBull and so devoted to them that I wanted to go back there at any cost. Only I don't want to.

— And you do not want to become a world champion? — Marko jerked him on. — You talked about it yourself, and you know well that we can provide it for you.

— No, you can't — Said Sergio Perez, who had been silent until now. He looked very tired and much older than he really was. The dark circles under his eyes, his gray complexion, and chapped lips clearly showed his extreme exhaustion. — You told me the same thing, and I know it was the same Daniel heard when he was still working for you. You cheat us, you have empty promises, and then you choose only one of us and the other takes the thunders. You make us your punching bags.

—You don't like it with us? Then why are you still here? Pack your bags, we can terminate the contract tomorrow. I'm sure we'll find ten like you, or even better, to replace you.

—And I wonder if I want to race again at all — Max added fuel to the fire.

—Same with me — Lewis said.

— I'd be also happy to retire from the whole season, if the FIA ​​doesn't change its approach to drivers. You pay us a lot, but you treat us like puppets, set tasks and don't let us have our own opinion — Lando also irritated added.

—Dear Lando, have you forgotten that it is enough for one of us to admit that you are gay and you will lose the chance to compete in Formula 1 forever?

— I don't even want to take a part in Formula 1 like this. I don't care. First you split me up with Carlos, scaring us that if we kept showing up together there would be dire consequences, then you hired my friend to pretend to be my girlfriend, which neither suits me nor her. And now you are jeopardizing our security for what exactly?

Even Fernando and Lewis were impressed by the young Brit's almost insane courage and honesty. Carlos, with his heart beating strongly, also summoned up his courage and approached his boyfriend, wanting to lend him support. He barely grabbed his hand, the agitated Domenicalli pushed him away, causing Sainz to crash into the chair behind him, which toppled over, hitting one of his feet on the foot of Charles standing nearby.

— Oooops! What the fuck ?! — Charles howled, lifting his leg and trying to rub the foot on which he wore only the light shoe he used most in training and racing, not his usual sneakers.

Fernando had already imagined the headlines of tomorrow's newspapers: "Brawl at the FIA ​​headquarters", "F1 president attacks the driver!", "Unusual pictures in the world of F1" and so on. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

— Discuss it with yourselves at the hotel. For now, you can go packing. The race is over, so this time there will be no consequences — Stefan said at the end, looking at them as if they were just some piece of shit or gum sticking to his shoe. — This time you got away with it. I don't guarantee that it will be the same next time. Come on, go away. Oh, and don't let me hear that one of you is complaining to someone. We don't wash dirt in public. Understand?

—Yeah ... — There was a not-so-cheerful grunt from twenty throats. The drivers moved forward without delay to change their clothes and collect the rest of the bundles from the garages. Fernando could still hear the words of Domenicalli the day before as all drivers concerned about the attack on the nearby headquarters of Aramco, one of Formula 1's main business partners. It was open intimidation and blackmail. Next to Fernando was strangely quiet and thoughtful Esteban, who surprisingly had not left him even one step from yesterday's training session, which was so tiring that Ocon tried to follow him even to the toilet. Nando understood, that the young Frenchman simply didn't feel safe alone, and he didn't trust anyone else. He was friends with Charles, but Charles was his age and couldn't provide him with the security that he cared about so much.