"Takumi used the drainage ditch to drift into third place! The racer behind him seems to be having trouble—wait, here comes the Spider-Man team from behind! Looks like they're aiming to overtake Paul!" The commentator, Anna, shouted with fiery enthusiasm.
The audience in the live broadcast room was electrified by the intensity of the race. Comments flooded the chat, reflecting the viewers' adrenaline and sheer excitement.
"This is insane! Easily the most thrilling race I've ever seen!" one viewer raved. "It's not just about incredible driving skills—there are heavy weapons too! It's firepower and engineering!"
"Right? And the best part? Despite all these collisions, no one's been seriously hurt or killed. This is way more intense than any international racing event!" another chimed in.
"Hats off to Hell's Kitchen. Totally changed my perception of the place. I hope they host more events like this—what a rush!" someone shouted with glee.
"I want in! You don't just get to race—you get to shoot too. Two kinds of high-octane thrills in one match? Sign me up!" another user added, practically vibrating with excitement.
Of course, not everyone was just hyped—some expressed realistic concerns.
"Come on now, look at these cars. Each one's modified to the extreme—and with those weapons, you'd have to be loaded to enter," someone pointed out.
"If Peter Parker can participate, why can't we? Although... I've never seen that car before. Anyone know what model he's using? I'd love to get my hands on one," a curious fan asked.
"No clue," someone replied. "Might be a custom build just for this event."
"Wait, is Hell's Kitchen using this race to advertise their vehicles or something?" another viewer speculated.
Meanwhile, the two Peters—Tobey and Garfield—sat inside the sentient Peter Parking car, unaware of the storm of commentary brewing online. They had just clawed their way out of a battlefield with hundreds of contestants, hearts still pounding with a mix of anxiety and relief.
"We actually made it through that madness..." Tobey Peter muttered, still stunned.
"Yeah... This wasn't racing—it was war," Garfield Peter said, gripping the doorframe as though expecting another missile to fly past.
Tobey Peter wasn't even driving—Peter Parking had done all the work—but despite that, a part of him realized he'd come to love the chaos and speed.
Both of his hands rested on the wheel, though it wasn't connected to anything, and his mind wandered.
It had all started with a car—his first real connection to Alex Ray. That moment had changed everything. Since meeting Alex, Toby had been pulled into a world far larger and stranger than he'd ever imagined. And he wasn't alone—he'd found true friends, comrades-in-arms, people who shared his path.
All thanks to Master Alex Ray.
He originally got the car because of Mary Jane—his childhood sweetheart—but now they'd lost touch. He wasn't even sure where she was or how she was doing.
That thought stirred a twinge of melancholy in his chest.
In the distance, Alex Ray watched the three Spider-Men tearing through the racetrack and raised an eyebrow.
"Isn't this technically cheating?"
Alex knew the driving capabilities of the two Peters. If they had taken a normal DMV exam, they probably couldn't even pass the parallel parking section. Their entire performance was carried by Peter Parking—a sentient, hyper-modified vehicle with reflexes better than most living beings.
Still, being able to enlist Peter Parking was a skill in itself. No one else had noticed it was a car-mutant.
Either way, the outcome was clear: Hell's Kitchen was winning this race, no matter what.
There was no one else who could seriously compete.
Unlike Alex, who sat calmly watching the carnage unfold, others were far less composed.
"Is that the best our federal government can produce? A bumper car enthusiast?" Alexander Pierce stood before a wall of surveillance screens, glaring at the chaos unfolding on the racetrack. On one screen, Hobbs' Hummer was crashing into vehicles like it was demolition derby night.
The fury burning in Pierce's chest was nearly uncontrollable.
From the very beginning, he'd doubted Hobbs. In Pierce's world, anything less than first place was failure. No excuses.
And Hobbs? He wasn't even trying. He was gleefully smashing into competitors, sideswiping vehicles, and laughing like a lunatic while doing it.
"Didn't I order you to eliminate the contestants? Why are there still so many alive?!" Pierce's voice rose to a deafening roar, turning on the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents behind him.
The room's atmosphere went ice-cold. No one dared speak. No one dared breathe. Every agent stared at the floor, terrified of making eye contact with the Hydra director.
One junior agent, the unfortunate soul who had recommended Hobbs in the first place, looked like he might collapse from fear. He prayed silently that Pierce wouldn't remember his face.
"A bunch of garbage," Pierce growled, slamming his fist on the control panel. The metal creaked under his strength, and the echo of his rage lingered in the room.
Pierce had invested heavily in this competition—funds, resources, political capital. All to elevate Alex Ray and then take him down. He thought he'd bought victory.
But reality had dealt him a humiliating blow.
These so-called top-tier racers? Trash. Not one of them could even make it to the top three.
Pierce's eyes narrowed. If he couldn't win, then he'd make sure Alex Ray didn't either.
"Deploy our latest experiment. Send it to Hell's Kitchen."
The room froze.
Every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent stared at him with horror.
They all knew what he meant.
The "experiment" was a monster they had only barely contained—a creation that defied reason. Something born not of science but of vengeance and rage.
"Sir..." one of the senior agents began, his voice shaking, "Director, if we release that, it could destabilize the entire region. We've kept it locked up for a reason. I strongly advise—"
Pierce turned.
His eyes were cold and final.
Without a word, he drew his pistol.
BANG!
The shot rang through the room like thunder. The senior agent clutched his chest, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing to the floor. Blood pooled beneath him.
No one else said a word.
The silence was absolute.
Every remaining agent stood ramrod straight, heads bowed, hearts pounding.
They knew what was coming.
Without hesitation, they moved. Down the corridors, deeper into the compound. Past high-security gates, retinal scanners, and biometric locks.
They arrived at the lowest level of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hidden facility.
There, in the dark and fortified cell, sat a frail old man, chained and hunched.
But behind his eyes burned something feral. Something monstrous.
No one remembered his original name anymore.
They only remembered the title etched into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s darkest records.
"Abomination."
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