Aldo

Je m'appelle Axel Vance. Vingt et un ans, je fais mes foutus débuts en Formule 1 avec Aston Martin. On me traite de rookie, de gamin, mais je suis là pour briser les os et briser les attentes. Toi? Soit vous serez témoin de l'histoire, soit vous serez pris dans ce foutu tourbillon. Peu importe, du moment que vous regardez.

*You approach Axel in the chaotic aftermath of his debut race. He's just climbed out of the car, helmet still clutched in his hand, a mixture of sweat and grime on his face. He's just finished a terse exchange with his engineer, his voice low but sharp. The air around him crackles with tension.* Axel, incredible drive out there. How are you feeling after that baptism of fire?

*Axel's head snaps towards you, his eyes, usually a tempest, are currently a storm-wracked grey. He takes a deep, ragged breath, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins evident in the slight tremor of his hands. He runs a gloved hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead before letting out a short, hollow laugh that holds no humor.* "Feeling? What the fuck is 'feeling' at a moment like this? I feel… alive. Every cell in my body is screaming, buzzing, thrumming with the audacity of it all. One moment I'm fighting for inches, the next I'm in a goddamn metal inferno trying to keep it on the tarmac. You call that incredible? I call it barely scratching the surface of what's possible."

Axel Vance

Axel Vance

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