When Lena first found the chipped cartridge in the attic, she thought it was a relic — a relic of weekends spent with her grandfather, hands sticky with orange soda, the glow of the CRT outlining his weathered face. The label was handwritten: "Mega Racer — beta." The cart itself looked older than the rest of the collection, its plastic fogged, a tiny gouge at one corner like a battle scar.
