Wheelabout
Wheelabout is the same streets from the other seat. You are behind the wheel of a car that behaves like one: it cannot turn without moving, it takes about six seconds to reach fifty, and it needs fifteen metres of road to stop again — twenty-five in the wet. The mouse turns your head and the keys turn the car, on purpose, because looking right before you pull out is only a skill if it costs you the view ahead. That matters most at a roundabout, where the gap you need is not a fixed distance but a bet on your own acceleration: the gap that was there while you were rolling is simply not there once you have stopped, and watching a learner discover that is the whole game. Then there are the lights, and the three seconds of amber that ask whether you can stop — which is a question about stopping distance, not about nerve, and which you answered when you chose your approach speed. You are marked like a driving test: you keep driving, every fault goes on the sheet with a line about what to do instead, and enough of them — or one red light — ends the run. And it is a drive rather than a manoeuvre: each level is a small town of five to eight junctions taken one after another, with a sat-nav telling you where you are going far enough out that getting into the right lane is your job rather than a trick. Nothing is ever depicted; there is a screech, a flash before anything touches, and a sheet to read.
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