Damgaard wrenched himself out of the Red Bull; climbed halfway, before he fell over as the putrid smoke oozed out of the impaled chassis.
Coughing hard, he leaned over the halo bar, pressing his hands against the warm carbon fiber to stable his shaky frame.
As the German crowd roared and taunted him from far away, his hands grabbed the clips on his helmet, swiftly snapping them open in annoyance.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Jimmy snapped at his considerate engineers over the radio. When the crowd's banter got louder, he threw his helmet right at the ground.
The visor immediately smashed into a bunch of tiny cracks as the helmet slid away a few metres, followed by Jimmy muttering, "Bullshit."
In the distance, other engines kept screaming. The race didn't stop just because he crashed. Cars kept zooming past the wreck like blurs of color. And the worst part? A bright red Ferrari went flying by.
It was Luca.
