The conference room reeked of a strange mixture of sweat and stomach acid.
Zhao Tianlan gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.
His face was deathly pale, but his eyes burned with indignant fire.
He admitted it. He had thrown up.
But he wasn't convinced.
He firmly believed this simulation system defied all common sense.
Human reaction time has its limits. The delay of a few tenths of a second between seeing a signal and taking action is a law of physics—it can't be surpassed.
But at the Ghost's speed of over Mach 3, those few tenths of a second are the difference between life and death.
You'd watch helplessly as you intended to go left, but the jet crashed into the mountain on the right.
"You think this is something no human can do?"
Han Feng tapped the table. TAP. TAP. TAP.
Each tap felt like a hammer against Zhao Tianlan's heart.
"Captain Zhao, let me ask you, why did we remove the control stick?"
