Nine minutes and fifty-two seconds — the perfect tournament, every race won, the format's completionist achievement. Fear at Wipeout's speeds becomes background noise not because it disappears but because there is no processing bandwidth available for it. Every cycle the brain has is occupied by the next corner, the next ship, the next decision. The fear that would normally occupy the foreground gets pushed into the register where the engine sound lives — present, audible, irrelevant to the task.