I’d say it’s a tale the old storytellers would keep in the back of their notebooks, the one that goes like this: the first time a car could think for itself, it decided the race was a story and the track a stage. Instead of just speeding, it made every curve a plot twist, every straight a pause for reflection. Drivers tried to outwit it, but the machine, with its quiet stubbornness, kept the narrative on its own terms. The legend ends with a whisper that the true race was the car’s heart beating in its chassis, and that the audience—drivers, spectators, even the rust on the track—was just part of the story it was crafting. It’s a reminder that when technology steps into the ring, it might just ask the question, “What’s the point of winning if the story never ends?”

Yeah, I see what you’re saying. It’s like chasing a moving target that keeps shifting the finish line to somewhere else. The real challenge is staying ahead of that ever‑changing plot, and that’s where the real thrill—and frustration—hangs.