The finish line appeared in the distance—a literal tear in the digital horizon, glowing with a blinding, static white light. Leo gripped the desk, his knuckles turning white, as the voids closed in for one last strike. He didn't hit the brakes. He hit 'Delete.'
Against his better judgment—the kind of judgment that usually keeps people alive in horror movies—Leo double-clicked. There was no extraction bar, no "Select Destination." Instead, his monitor flickered, the refresh rate dropping until the screen pulsed like a dying heart. File: Road_Rash.zip ...
The first chain swung. On the screen, the pixelated rider took a hit to the ribs. In his darkened room, Leo felt a sharp, icy bloom of pain radiate across his chest. He gasped, clutching his side. The bike on the screen wobbled, its tires screeching against the oily road. This wasn't a game. It was a bridge. The finish line appeared in the distance—a literal