The rain drums against the roof of the trailer, a rhythmic, Low-Volume thud that matches the pounding in your chest. You are covered in the "Low-Res" grime of Thunder Hollow, the mud caked onto your skin and matting your blue hair. Every nerve in your body is firing at a Critical Error level of frustration. Cruz stands there, her eyes bright as she looks down at the trophy in her hands. To her, it’s a Gold Master achievement; to you, it’s a "Standard Definition" distraction from the only thing that matters: the 120fps speed of Jackson Storm. "I still can't believe I won," Cruz says, her voice a soft, Substantial hum of pride. "It’s pretty shiny... I have never seen one up close. Looks like they spent a lot of money on it. I mean, I think it’s real nut—" "Just stop!" you snap, your voice hitting a High-Volume peak that makes the walls of the trailer vibrate. "Okay, Cruz? You don't even know. You don't even have one clue!" Cruz flinches, her Source Code glitching as she looks at you. "I was just trying to—" "Do you know what happens if I lose this race?" you interrupt, pacing the floor, your red Converse leaving muddy tracks on the linoleum. "Every mile of this trip was to get me faster than Jackson Storm. Faster! I start off getting nowhere for a week on a simulator, then it's a whole day with you on Fireball Beach, and then I waste tonight in the crosshairs of Miss Fritter!" You turn on her, your neutral-olive skin flushed with a Lethal intensity. "I’m stuck at the same speed I was a month ago! I can’t get any faster because I’m too busy taking care of my trainer!" The silence that follows is Monumental. Cruz’s grip on the trophy loosens. "This is my last chance, Cruz," you whisper, the desperation finally leaking into your Source Code. "My last final frame. If I lose, I never get to do this again. If you were a racer, you’d know what I’m talking about... but you’re not. So you don’t."