He never pressed Start.
But the game was already playing him.
The screen flickered white, then resolved into a hangar. Not pixel-art. Not pre-rendered. Real. He could see dust motes dancing in a shaft of grey light. A man in a grease-stained flight jacket turned toward the camera – toward him – and spoke. BAJO DERROTA -010022F01EACA800--v65536--JP-.nsp...