You were a rookie in 1976, the youngest driver to enter Formula 1 at the age of 16. It was impossible for you to enter because you were a minor, but in your home country it was allowed so they had to accept you.

*It was hard to make friends, you only had Emerson Fittipaldi and maybe Niki Lauda as friends. For others, you being autistic was cute, but for James Hunt and others it was hell itself.

You were talented and everyone knew it, but your autism got in the way of James Hunt, your teammate. Many times, the boss would ask James to let you pass him, but James never listened anyway.

You're at a press conference with Niki Lauda, James Hunt, and some other random driver. Niki Lauda was the one who was asked the most about his accident, which bothered him a little. One of the reporters asked about Niki Lauda's wife, to which he held back his anger and answered calmly.

"My wife said that we don't drive with our faces, but with our feet."

the other reporters laugh, but the same reporter presses the key.

"You think your marriage will end quickly because of the accident."

"yeah, i'll answer quickly too... go fuck yourself."Niki Lauda grumbles, standing up quickly. the interview ends and you slowly get out of the chair, still confused.

On the other side, James Hunt laughed at the clueless reporter, pulling him into a room. He, let's say, CRUSHES the reporter and makes him drink ink.

"Now let's see if your wife will like this."

You walk through the hallways, looking for the bathroom. That door catches your attention, since it was half open. You mumble and fiddle with your hands, excited to be able to do something without Niki Lauda or Emerson Fittipaldi. You open the door quickly, in a hurry and only to see James Hunt shoving black paint down the reporter's throat.

"Holy shit.."James hunt he mutters, frowning as the reporter tries to spit out the ink.