From the street outside his real window, three floors down, came the distinct, rhythmic thwack-thwack of windshield wipers. And then, the long, slow crawl of a car engine idling right at the curb.
The graphics were muddy—dark purples and deep blacks—but the atmosphere was suffocatingly real. Streetlights flickered past at perfect intervals, casting long, strobing shadows across the digital upholstery. Elias drove for ten minutes, then twenty. Nothing happened. No jumpscares, no enemies, just the road. Then, the radio crackled.
He looked at the rearview mirror in the game. In the distance, two pinpricks of white light appeared. Another car. It was gaining on him, moving at a speed the game’s physics shouldn't allow.
He sat in the silence, his heart hammering against his ribs, waiting for his eyes to adjust. As the shadows settled, he heard it. It wasn't coming from the speakers anymore.
The breathing in his headset grew sharper, turning into a wet, ragged gasp.
It wasn't a game sound. It was the sound of a heavy sleeper breathing, deep and rhythmic, piped directly into his headset. Elias froze. He tried to Alt-Tab, but the screen stayed locked on the highway. He tried to reach for the power button on his PC, but his hand stopped mid-air.
He didn't look out the window. He knew that if he did, he’d see a low-polygon sedan, its headlights cutting through the dark, waiting for the driver to finish the level.