September 17, 2006

Klein Leaves RedBull

Christian Klein threw the contents of his trailer's closet into a suitcase, cursing a blue streak the whole time. "Kick me off the team, offer me a drive in ChampCar as a booby prize? What sort of idiot do they think I am, anyway?"

Suddenly, an intense pain in his forehead made him wince. Half afraid, half resigned to what he'd see, Klein turned and looked in the mirror attached to the wall.

The Z-shaped scar was back again, and glowing slightly. Klein blanched and staggered away from the sight, tripping over a suitcase in his panic.

A low, dark laugh echoed through the trailer.

Klein, his eyes wide and panicked, scuttered away from the sound. He was aware of a thin voice moaning "no, no, no" over and over again. Then he realized it was his own. A cold sweat broke out on his brow.

A shadowed shape detached itself from the wall at the end of the trailer, and slowly glided towards Klein, forming the shape of a man wearing a... black racing suit. A dark, ominous man...

"Red Bull Gives You Wings. They certainly gave you the boot, didn't they?"

"Please, no," Klein begged from his position on the floor. "I'm going to find another drive in F1 next season, maybe a third driver slot..."

"Pathetic. You actually BELIEVE that, don't you? I'm here to... disabuse you of that notion, Klein." The dark figure cracked his knuckles. "You know, it isn't often the case, but I do believe I'm going to enjoy this."

Klein whimpered as the figure pulled a large wrench with the word "MINARDI" on it from a back pocket.

Yes, Zsolt was definitely angry...

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