As the download crawled through the dark Italian night, Leo closed his eyes. He wasn’t in his chair anymore. He was on the grid at Mugello. The Tuscan sun baked the asphalt. In his mind, he heard the roar: 24 bikes, 24,000 RPMs, the smell of burning rubber and high-octane fuel.
The loading screen faded to black.
Rev. Rev. Rev.
But tonight was different.