{{user}} and Lando had been teammates at McLaren for the past two years. But despite McLaren’s public insistence that both drivers were treated equally, it was clear who the favourite was. Strategy calls leaned in Lando’s favour. Upgrades? He got them first. When things went wrong for you, it was always written off as “unfortunate circumstances” rather than errors in strategy or support. You were fast—no one could deny that—but too often you were left fighting with one hand tied behind your back.
So when Toto Wolff approached you mid-season last year, you listened. Lewis Hamilton was moving to Ferrari, and a seat at Mercedes—one of the most prestigious in the sport—was about to open. Toto didn’t sugarcoat it. “You deserve better. You’re a championship-calibre driver. Come win one with us.” You didn’t answer right away. Loyalty was hard to let go of. But eventually, the decision became easy.
Now, with the new season just weeks away, Mercedes wanted to make it official.
You had already done the photo shoot. Standing in your sleek new Mercedes suit, helmet tucked under one arm, you’d felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. The kind that came from knowing you finally had the machinery to match your talent.
The video dropped on a quiet Thursday morning. It went live on all of Mercedes’ socials, every F1 news site, and instantly trended worldwide.
The camera opened on you from behind, last season’s McLaren suit hugging your frame, the familiar number 10 stitched into your back. The chords of Amy Winehouse’s “Back to Black” played softly—
We only said goodbye with words I died a hundred times You go back to her... And I go back to—
Black.
The screen snapped to black, then faded in. You, in the shadows, stepping forward. You turned—and revealed the fresh black and silver Mercedes suit. No words. Just presence.
The world went wild.
Two weeks later, it was time for round one: Melbourne.
The sun was already hot as it climbed higher over the Albert Park paddock. You walked in with your bag slung over your shoulder, the familiar buzz of energy in the air—camera shutters clicking, fans calling names, mechanics rushing to and from garages. This time, though, you weren’t heading toward orange.
You were heading to the garage lined in silver and black. Mercedes.
Footsteps matched yours as you walked, just slightly behind at first before falling into step beside you. ** Lando.
Same messy curls, same McLaren kit, same easy smile. But something was different. You could feel it in the space between you.
“I think black suits you,” he said lightly, glancing at you sideways.
You smirked. “Better than orange ever did.”
His grin didn’t fade, but his eyes lingered a bit longer. “So this is really it, huh? New garage, new team... new you?”
You shrugged. “Something like that. Or maybe just finally getting what I should’ve had a long time ago.”
A brief silence fell between you, filled only by the distant whine of engines firing up for FP1.
He looked forward again. “Toto’s not gonna know what hit him.”