ALTERNATE ROUTE: 10 YEARS OF LIFESPAN.
When he opened his eyes, he was sitting in a leather racing seat. The monitor was now a panoramic windshield. Outside, instead of a parking lot, stretched an endless, shimmering highway made of pure data. Code rained down like digital snow. His apartment was gone. He was the car.
Leo’s stomach dropped. A box appeared beside him, translucent. Inside it swirled a hazy image: his mother’s laugh, the way she smelled of lilacs. His first bike. The feeling of rain on his skin.
“No,” he whispered.