Leon's lips curled into a cold, bloodthirsty smile.
Since his enemies wanted him dead, why should he bother leaving them alive? He wasn't some merciful Hollywood protagonist who could get through a whole movie without killing a soul. What a joke.
Without hesitation, Leon slammed his hand on the button.
The missile roared to life, its tail spewing thick white smoke before bursting forward in a blaze of yellow fire. It streaked across the night sky like lightning, locking onto the convoy ahead.
On the other side, the enemy's rocket launcher operator had already finished aiming. He squeezed the trigger—white smoke blasted out behind him, the recoil so violent he nearly lost his grip.
Missile and rocket tore through the air, whistling past each other in a near miss.
The two killing machines didn't collide, but fate was crueler.
The enemy driver had prepared for evasive maneuvers. He twisted the wheel hard, barely dodging the incoming missile.
"Whew…" he exhaled in relief, glancing into the rearview mirror—only for his face to go pale.
The missile wasn't gone.
It turned back.
This wasn't just any warhead. It was a guided missile. Once locked, there was no escaping.
"AAAAHHHHHH!" shrieks filled the car as terror swallowed them whole.
The missile slammed into the vehicle.
In a fraction of a fraction of a second, it erupted.
Fire engulfed the car, a monstrous shockwave blasting outward, scorching everything in a two-hundred-meter radius.
The lead vehicle became nothing more than a fireball climbing into the sky.
The other four SUVs were hammered by the wave, their electronics fried instantly by the electromagnetic pulse.
Engines died.
Brakes failed.
Steering froze.
And then the blast threw them around like toys—car hoods crumpled, rears flipped skyward, entire vehicles spun 540 degrees before smashing back into the asphalt. They skidded for seventy or eighty meters, gouging long black scars into the road. Whether anyone survived inside didn't matter. Their cars were finished.
The motorcyclists had it worst.
The shockwave tossed them like rag dolls, their screams cut off by the sound of bones shattering. Some slammed into the ground headfirst, necks snapping instantly. Others skidded across the pavement, flesh shredded until they writhed in agony, begging for death. The unlucky ones flipped together with their bikes, dragged for dozens of meters until they were nothing but broken meat.
One missile.
One button press.
An entire convoy obliterated.
Such terrifying power.
Meanwhile, Leon tugged the Silver Marauder's handbrake, spun the wheel, and let the car drift with elegance. The Marauder slid effortlessly, avoiding the enemy rocket like it was nothing. Not even a scratch.
"Unbelievable…"
From above, Trish's eyes widened in awe from her helicopter. Stars practically sparkled in her gaze. She hadn't even met Leon in person, yet admiration swelled in her heart. A new fan was born.
The cameraman captured everything. The explosion's raw, cinematic violence sent ratings surging past 30%.
Viewers went wild. This was beyond cinema—this was real life.
"In the suburbs of San Francisco, a missile dogfight against a rocket launcher?! This is insane!"
"Damn, Hollywood doesn't even dare write scenes like this."
"No CGI, no special effects. That explosion was raw. Pure. Perfect!"
"Legendary. One man against fifteen armed to the teeth, and he crushed them all!"
"Leon isn't just a racer… he's a car god!"
Beer glasses clinked. Bottles popped. People laughed and cheered. It was midnight in America, but no one wanted to sleep. They had just witnessed history.
If anyone had predicted Leon's victory before this, they would've been mocked. Laughed at. Now, those same doubters hung their heads, ashamed of their words. Leon had silenced them with fire and fury.
Even the haters couldn't deny it—his skill and power were beyond anything they'd imagined.
"San Francisco ahead!" someone in the viewing crowd pointed at the skyline in the distance. "They're almost there!"
Once inside the city, the attackers would have no choice but to retreat. Otherwise, their little vendetta would cross the line into open terrorism—and then the counter-terrorism units would come crashing down on them. This was their last chance.
Then someone screamed:
"Look! A gunship!"
Leon, Dominic, and Letty narrowed their eyes.
Sure enough, a heavily-armed helicopter appeared on the horizon, twin missile pods mounted on either side, its Gatling cannon glinting under the moonlight.
Those cannons could shred armored tanks.
A single burst could turn a man into red mist.
And there were four missiles still strapped to its frame.
"No way. What kind of people is he up against?!"
"Even a gunship? Are they insane?"
"This time Leon's finished… no way he can take on that thing."
The livestream chat blew up with panic. The car god had only just risen. Would his legend end so soon?
But inside the Silver Marauder, Leon was calm. His eyes burned with fighting spirit. Unless an entire armored battalion rolled in, he wasn't going down tonight.
"Come on then," he growled. "Let's see who the true king of speed is!"
The Silver Marauder roared with unholy excitement, and Leon steered it straight toward the gunship, fearless.
~~----------------------
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