Ding.
Leo stared at the progress bar. It hadn’t moved in eleven minutes.
Leo let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. He leaned back, controller in hand, and whispered to the empty room:
A single tear traced a cool path down his cheek. He imagined the Uncharted trilogy—the crumbling monasteries, the forgotten cities, Nathan Drake’s stupid, charming grin—all of it locked inside a corrupted CRC check. Lost. Like El Dorado itself.