The "High-Volume" rain is soaking through your hoodie. You’re holding a rejection letter that says: "Lack of Social Marketability." You see the other graduates—the loud, "High-Res" racers—getting their custom suits and trailers. You’re standing by your beat-up flatbed, your red Converse soaking wet. A Dinoco Scout: (Walking past you) "Sorry, kid. You've got the 'Lethal' times, but you're a ghost. Sponsors want a talker, not a shadow in a sweatshirt."