The motor beneath Nico Verhoeven roared, jerking his hands as he was at the limits of his racing car. Pushing the racing vehicle to its limits, he began seeing random images: screeching voices from the spectators, twinkling of the track, and images of other competitors.
"Two laps remaining, Nico. Distance to P1: 0.8 second," came through the radio slightly distorted but only because of the frantic race. It was Daniel's voice.
"Copy," was Nico's response even though he knew a lot was at stake, and everything for him was tightly wound. First, he focused on the silver car that stood in his way: it was an opponent he was going to race against and so much more.
"You're close to being in DRS range. Do not use it until you are on the main straight," Daniel told him.
Scaling the steering wheel, Nico mumbled to himself, "Long enough." All at once he hurls the racing car into a corner in the right direction.
As expected, the competitor frustrated, Nico was made to look wide. Nico's car cut the curb causing sparks to fly away from the under tray surrounding the car.
"It seems like the pressure is getting to Verhoeven!" Here, he heard the voice of a commentator, but the sound was simply lost somewhere in the rush of blood and emotion inside him as he was maintaining focus on the race.
"Nico stay focused," he heard Daniel's voice again. "You have only one opportunity so make it count."
Calm? Good one. Nico chuckled, this time with darkness visible in his intentions. Calm was not the answer for how he reached this specific point within his career.
The straight was now only a few meters away. The chance of a lifetime was close at hand, a culmination of years filled with sacrifices, strife, and indomitable will. But as he prepared for the telling move, a voice shot through the crowd, cutting him.
"Yellow flag in Sector 2! Be careful, Nico!"
Nico could feel the thumping of his heart against his chest.