Could he really make it through?
Leon wasn't sure.
This was his first time truly testing these experimental non-pneumatic tires. He knew they were bulletproof, resistant to blowouts. But spike strips? That was another matter. If the massive energy kicked the strip up, tangling it into the car's undercarriage… that would spell disaster.
Still—there was no turning back. The bow was drawn, the arrow had to fly.
"Hold on tight!" Leon's voice cut sharp, more serious than either woman had ever heard before.
SWOOSH!
Diomas Nilo streaked across the strip. It felt like rolling over a speed bump, a dull thud and nothing more. No punctures. No blowouts. Not even a wobble.
Leon let out a long breath, glancing in the rear-view mirror. The strip was still anchored firmly to the ground, unmoved, unrolled. Its sheer quality was almost ironic. Eteon's men had used such reliable equipment—only to watch it fail completely.
Leon burst into wild laughter, stomping the throttle as the speedometer rocketed upward again.
Within a single kilometer, he blasted through cable after cable, spike strip after spike strip—without so much as a pause.
High above on a desert ridge, a spotter slowly lowered his binoculars, his face pale, jaw hanging so wide it looked like it might dislocate.
"God… what the hell is that thing? Is that even a car?" he muttered, trembling.
He had just witnessed the impossible: a kilometer of traps passed in less than ten seconds. No damage. Not even a scuff on the tires.
Non-pneumatic tire tech was supposed to still be in research labs. Yet Leon's car ran with it flawlessly, as if it were decades ahead of schedule.
The spotter's hands shook as he grabbed his radio. "Boss… we can't stop him."
"What?!" Jilong's roar exploded through the speaker. He glanced at his watch, eyes bulging. "It's only been a few minutes! He's already at the next trap? Did you screw up? Did the cables come loose?!"
Shock rippled through him. Three minutes—no, less. How could anyone cover that distance so fast? Was Leon driving a fighter jet?
His mind screamed at the thought.
"No, boss. He shot the cables with machine guns."
Jilong snarled. "Then the spike strips! The tires blew, right? Get your men in position and stop him!"
But the spotter's voice cracked, almost breaking into sobs. "The… the tires didn't blow. He just rolled straight over them. Not a scratch. Not even the rubber's shaved."
"Damn it all! What are we using, toy rubber?!" Jilong cursed viciously. His perfect plan, airtight on paper, collapsed like tissue against Leon.
He slammed his fist against the console. "You useless trash! How long can you at least delay him?!"
"Boss…" The spotter's voice trembled. "He's already cleared all of them. He's… he's almost at the next obstacle zone."
"WHAT?!" Jilong's voice cracked into hysteria. "Worthless idiots! You just stood there watching him drive off? Throw grenades, do something, you morons!"
Clutching his forehead, Jilong groaned in agony. These men weren't just stupid—they were brainless.
The spotter choked out his defense: "It's not our fault! His car was past us in less than ten seconds. A whole kilometer, gone like that! We didn't even have time to raise our rifles!"
Jilong froze, eyes widening. "Ten seconds? You're telling me he cleared a kilometer full of obstacles in ten seconds?"
His mind reeled. Even Brixton—Eteon's enhanced operative with his cybernetic augmentations and AI-assisted bike—wouldn't dare to take corners without braking. But Leon? Leon never even touched the brakes.
This wasn't driving. This was madness.
Jilong's spine prickled with dread. Normally, a kilometer at full speed took a minute or more, even for elite racers. Leon had done it six times faster—with traps in his way.
If there had been no obstacles? The speed was unthinkable. Unreal. Terrifying.
The reality sank in, shaking his very worldview. Leon wasn't just fast—he was rewriting the very concept of speed.
And if Jilong had known the truth—that Leon had actually covered it in about seven seconds, not ten—his mind might have shattered entirely.
Inside the car, the atmosphere was the opposite of dread.
Leon let out a victorious laugh, exhilaration blazing in his chest. It was like a cat playing with mice—except the cat had guns, armor, and jet engines. The machine gun's roar blended with the Diomas Nilo's furious engine howl, a symphony of violence and glory.
"Now that's music!" Leon shouted, slamming the accelerator to the floor. The car howled like a beast, hurricane winds spiraling in its wake as its regal dominance returned in full.
"New York, here we come! Let's see if you can keep up!"
Hattie and Elena clung to their seats, still pale, still trembling, but their eyes burned with something else now—respect. Awe. Even fear gave way to admiration. Leon was no ordinary driver. He was a storm given flesh and steel.
~~----------------------
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