Leon gripped the wheel of the Silver Marauder, threading it through the endless stream of traffic.
Every pass was precise—no scrapes, no collisions.
The kind of driving that left people speechless.
Not even the heavy congestion could dim the car's brilliance. The Marauder tore through the city like a jewel gleaming in the sand, impossible to ignore. Other drivers panicked, swerving to clear its path, but their reactions were always a beat too slow. By the time they twitched the wheel, the silver beast was already past—slipping between semis, cutting through narrow gaps, vanishing in a blur.
It was a speed no ordinary car should have been capable of.
"Mom! Look, a plane is driving on the ground!" a kid shouted, pointing out the window.
"Sweetie, don't be ridiculous—" his mother started, then froze.
Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Out the window, a silver streak ripped by.
That wasn't a car anymore.
It was lightning.
A jet fighter running on asphalt.
"Oh my God, get it on video!" she fumbled for her phone, raising it just in time for the Marauder to scream past in a silver blur. The lens couldn't even catch the outline—by the time she tapped record, the car was gone.
Too fast for the human eye, too fast even for a camera.
"This is Guinness World Record speed…"
"No, this is a damn myth."
"Car God! That has to be the Car God!"
The freeway erupted in excitement.
They were fans of street racing, junkies for thrills and danger—but this? This was something else. Speed like that, precision like that… it was the return of a legend.
"Who the hell is it?"
"Could it be Dominic Toretto? They call him the King of the Streets."
"No way. Dom's fast, but not this fast."
"Even with his best mods, his cars never reached that level."
Leon's display of skill set the entire highway ablaze with chatter. He leaned back slightly, feeling the rush, a smile tugging at his lips as he caught snippets of praise trailing behind him.
Two hundred kilometers might take an ordinary car two hours. For Leon? Less than twenty minutes.
The exit loomed ahead. He flicked the wheel, the Marauder's tail whipping out in a clean, controlled drift. Tires shrieked on the asphalt, singing the sweetest note Leon knew.
No smoke. No scarring. Just pure grip. The one-million-a-piece performance tires held steady, eating the road with unshakable traction. Drifting, cornering, flat-out sprinting—these were leagues beyond anything he'd used before. Worth every cent.
The Silver Marauder roared, surging harder into the bend, clipping the guardrail by a hair's breadth before powering out with perfect momentum.
Up ahead, the city entrance came into view—a traffic light, cars queued up waiting for green.
Twenty seconds until the light changed.
Then the roar hit. The drivers glanced nervously at their mirrors, their faces draining of color as a silver blur came barreling toward them like an out-of-control missile.
Panic set in. Someone tried to jump the red. Another stomped the brake. Horns blared, chaos erupted.
But instead of ramming through, the Marauder's nose whipped sideways. The car spun wildly, tires screeching, carving savage black arcs across the asphalt. Two, three full rotations—then, impossibly, it settled. Perfectly aligned in the emergency lane.
Not an inch off.
The crowd stared, stunned silent. The Marauder exuded an eerie, regal aura, its four tires gleaming, untouched. Eight exhausts at the rear sat like a war machine's cannons, while the retractable spoiler eased back down—taming the beast, transforming it into something quiet, reserved.
Like a scholar closing a book.
The door opened. Leon stepped out.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers. He was young. Too young. They'd expected some grizzled veteran, a scarred racer with stubble and age in his eyes. Not this sharp, confident face.
"Holy shit, he's a kid…"
"That car isn't ordinary—and neither is he."
"Hot damn. The car's gorgeous, but the driver's even better."
"I'd risk it all just to get his number."
Girls shrieked, phones raised, their cheers rolling like a wave. To them, Leon wasn't just a driver. He was an icon already—speed, skill, and looks, all in one package.
Leon lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter catching their eyes again. The screams got louder, a new wave of shrieks and squeals.
The light turned green, the line of cars rolled forward reluctantly, drivers craning for one last look. Leon exhaled a plume of smoke, amused, and didn't think much of it.
He checked his watch. Barely twenty minutes had passed.
Even if Elena floored her Porsche at two hundred the whole way, she'd need at least an hour. He had time. Plenty of it.
Flicking the butt aside, Leon slid back into the air-conditioned cockpit of the Marauder. Traffic streamed past, and heads turned again and again at the sight of his ride.
"The hell, kid—what's that car worth?"
A cocky voice cut through the noise.