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The monitor flickered to life, casting a cold blue glow over the cluttered desk. On the screen, a cursor hovered over a bold, underlined link:

The immersion was instant. The gravel sprayed against the undercarriage with a metallic ping-ping-ping , and the force feedback jerked his arms as the car fought for grip on the mud. He was flying. He wasn’t a kid in a cramped bedroom anymore; he was a rally god taming a 500-horsepower beast through a tunnel of pine trees. But then, the screen stuttered.

"Five right, over crest, don't cut," the co-driver’s voice crackled in his headset.