When Diomas Nilo roared past, the sheer pressure difference created by its insane speed whipped up a violent gust of wind.
The blast nearly sent the patrolling cop tumbling flat onto the asphalt.
His service cap was ripped clean off, sailing into the air, while sand, leaves, and trash slapped hard against his face like a storm. His cheeks stung as if lashed by whips.
This wasn't a car passing by.
It was like a high-speed rail train—or worse, a low-flying jet.
The officer scrambled to snatch his cap back, jamming it onto his head. Then he glanced down at his radar gun—
"What the… 810 km/h?!"
His hands trembled so badly that he nearly dropped the device.
No way. The machine must be busted.
A car? At eight hundred kilometers per hour? That was impossible. Maybe a jet fighter, sure. But a car? At that speed, the tires would be airborne. The thing would've flipped and rolled a hundred times over.
Still, whether his eyes wanted to believe it or not, there was no denying—this driver was guilty of speeding.
And at that speed? The fine alone could bankrupt a man ten times over.
Shoving the radar gun away, the cop lunged for his patrol bike, ready to give chase. But by the time he looked up…
The speeding car was already gone.
Not just gone from the road—gone from reality. Even its shadow had vanished beyond his sightline.
No plate, no trail, nothing.
"Shit! Big problem!" The officer fumbled for his radio, shouting into the transmitter.
"Headquarters, come in! We've got a speeder on Highway 1. Extreme overspeed. Request immediate backup!"
"Copy. License plate number?"
"Uh… it was too fast, I couldn't see—"
The line went silent.
Then came the tongue-lashing. His superior cursed him raw: "What are you, blind? At 200 klicks you can still read plates clear as day. Even if you couldn't stop him, you could've gotten something. Worthless idiot!"
The officer's face turned red, his eyes watering in humiliation. He wanted to explain—the speed wasn't 200. It wasn't even close.
But he could hardly admit what the radar had shown.
The voice on the other end, still seething, demanded, "What model of car was it?"
"It was… black. Definitely black."
"I didn't ask for the damn color! What model?"
"I—I don't know. I couldn't tell!"
The cop's voice cracked, nearly sobbing. At that insane speed, he barely kept his footing. There was no chance to note the car's make. In truth, it hadn't looked like any production model at all. Something otherworldly.
"Fine. Then at least tell me the speed."
"…810 kilometers per hour."
"Are you insane?! You think you're tracking a jet plane? Stop wasting my time!"
The line went dead. His superior had hung up on him.
The officer stared at the silent radio, dumbstruck.
If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd call myself crazy too. But now? No one would believe him.
He turned to his patrol bike. Max speed—150 km/h. That was it. Against what he'd just witnessed, he might as well have been riding a tricycle.
Shaking his head, he slumped. "Forget it. My shift's over anyway. Didn't see a thing."
He glanced at his watch. Technically off duty. As long as no one called him back, this wasn't his problem.
And even if he tried to report it, who'd believe him?
The truth was, the car had practically erased itself from reality.
That day, he unwillingly became part of history. The one cop in America who caught a speeder red-handed—yet was completely powerless to do anything about it.
Inside the Diomas Nilo, Leon was laughing so hard his ribs hurt.
"Pfft—did you see his face? Priceless!"
He'd spotted the cop crouched roadside with the radar gun the instant he passed. That slack-jawed, stupefied expression was burned into his memory. He half-expected sirens and a pursuit, but instead? Not even a glimpse in his mirrors.
The guy must've realized chasing was hopeless and simply gave up.
"If this were back on the freeway with electronic cameras everywhere, I might've been in trouble," Leon chuckled. "But lucky me—the U.S. is too 'free.' No cameras, no proof. Saved by their laziness."
"That poor cop," Elena giggled. "If I were him, I'd have given up too."
She wasn't just any passenger—she was law enforcement herself. A police officer by duty, yes, but also a racer at heart.
And between the two? Her passion for speed usually won. Unless she caught someone while she was actively on the clock, Elena had little reason to ruin someone's thrill ride. No bonus pay, no thanks from colleagues—only suspicion and hostility, as though she were chasing glory at their expense.
If she weren't undercover right now, she'd probably have been cheering Leon on herself.
Hattie, though, wasn't laughing. Her face was drawn with worry.
"I'm more concerned about Eteon. They're everywhere, always watching."
Leon only smirked.
"Relax. The man who can stand against me hasn't been born yet."
The Diomas Nilo howled through another bend. Tires squealed, smoke kissed the asphalt as he drifted flawlessly. Two hundred meters through the curve, and just as the car straightened—
Shapes appeared ahead.
A squad in black uniforms, blocking the road.
Every man carried a state-of-the-art submachine gun, gloved hands steady, eyes cold as stone.
The moment they spotted Leon's car, a shout ripped the air—
"Open fire!!"
The night erupted with gunfire, a storm of bullets raining down on the road.
~~----------------------
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