REDRIVER 2
The Las Vegas strip, chunkily but recognizably rendered in PS1 polygons, screams by at a rate of about two lampposts per second. I’d check the speedometer for a more conventional reading, but I daren’t look down. As I weave between the street furniture into oncoming traffic, two squad cars mimic every jerk of my steering wheel. They’re so close behind that, occasionally, the nose of a pursuit vehicle bumps into the rear end of my 1971 Dodge Challenger, nudging the speed still higher. This is fender bender figure skating, and it only ends one way: With a car-totalling crash. The question is whose.
Eventually, my slaloming across the central reservation succeeds in sending one panda into a neatly manicured tree outside a casino, and the second crumples straight into the wreckage. One of the drivers radios in the result, presumably through a heavy nosebleed, “We lost
