Normally, this stretch of road never backed up.
Even with an accident ahead, they wouldn't completely shut it down—unless it was a catastrophic collision with fatalities.
But that kind of crash was rare.
Drivers were forced to slow down when exiting the freeway, and just past the entrance there was a traffic light.
As long as you weren't completely brainless—even if you mistook the gas pedal for the brake—you'd still have time to stop.
So how could a massive pileup have happened?
Elena frowned, curiosity gnawing at her.
She rolled down her window and asked the driver in the next lane:
"Excuse me, do you know what's going on up there?"
The man, overweight with a round belly pressed against the steering wheel, perked up instantly at the sight of her beauty. His eyes lit up.
"Of course I know," he said, eager to impress. "They say there was a shooting up ahead. Seven people dead."
"What?!" Elena's breath caught, her head buzzing.
A shooting? Here?
Her mind raced.
Leon… he got here first. Where is he now? Is he safe?
She craned her neck, scanning the cars ahead, but saw no trace of his Silver Marauder.
After nearly half an hour in line, she finally reached the scene.
The bodies were gone, but police were still interviewing witnesses.
Dark stains marked the asphalt, and white chalk outlines traced where the victims had fallen.
Elena considered pulling over to assist, but hesitated.
The LAPD had strict jurisdiction protocols. This wasn't her case.
If she stepped in now, people might think she was interfering—or worse, covering for someone.
Biting her lip, she spun her Porsche around at the next light.
Instead of going into the city, she headed back.
Toward Leon's garage.
She needed answers.
Meanwhile, Leon had already taken the Silver Marauder on a detour into another state.
Once he confirmed no one was tailing him, he looped back via different highways.
Unless someone scrambled a fighter jet, nothing on the ground could catch him.
His speed was unbelievable.
A route that normally took seven or eight hours—he crushed in just one.
The Silver Marauder devoured the asphalt, shoving him into his seat with relentless acceleration.
Every muscle in his body focused on control; one mistake at these speeds meant instant death.
Sixteen hundred kilometers of driving in a single round trip—yet Leon handled it easily.
Most of the highways cut through desolate highlands, sparsely populated, straight as a ruler.
For him, it was nothing but a playground.
Finally, he rolled back into his place.
He popped open a bottle of liquor, sat on the porch, and stretched out with a satisfied grin.
The Silver Marauder's roar still rang in his ears.
The rush of it—the way it bent the laws of physics—left him buzzing.
Some time later, the growl of another engine approached.
A sleek Porsche pulled up smoothly in front of his garage.
Leon cracked an eye open, recognizing it instantly.
He smirked.
"Well, well. The beauty's back. Don't forget our little wager."
But Elena wasn't in the mood for banter.
She hurried toward him, eyes sharp.
"That shooting—what happened?" she demanded.
Straight to the point. This police officer's sense of justice was nothing if not fierce.
Leon leaned back lazily on his chair, unfazed.
"Officer, is this an interrogation?"
His tone was casual, but his eyes were cool—offering nothing.
No matter who was asking, nobody would admit to a killing spree just because they were pressed.
Elena studied him for a long moment. Something about him made her doubt he was guilty.
Her posture softened.
"Then why did you come back?" she asked, frowning.
"You were supposed to wait at the finish line."
Leon chuckled.
"Was I? I only said whoever arrived first won. Nothing about waiting around."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"Do you know how long it took me? Eighteen minutes."
Elena blinked, stunned.
Eighteen minutes—for nearly 200 kilometers?
"That's… impossible." Her voice shook.
Her mind raced with the math: 180 kilometers in 18 minutes… that was ten kilometers per minute… six hundred kilometers an hour!
Her heart pounded.
"There isn't a car in the world that can hold six hundred KPH… not for long. That's insane!"
Leon just smiled.
"Nothing's impossible. Come here."
He waved her toward the car.
The two of them walked to the gleaming silver machine.
"Start up," Leon commanded.
"Voice recognition confirmed," came the AI response.
The Silver Marauder roared to life, gauges and displays lighting up in sequence.
Elena's eyes widened. She'd seen exotic sports cars, high-end tech packages, even concept vehicles—but nothing like this.
Her heartbeat quickened. The more she saw, the more captivated she became.
"It's… incredible," she whispered, unable to stop herself.
Leon grinned, opening the driver's door.
"Go on. Take a look for yourself."
Hesitant but curious, Elena slid into the seat.
Her gaze fell on the speedometer.
And then her jaw dropped.
"Eight… hundred…" she breathed.
The needle's top marker sat at 800 kilometers per hour.
Her mind reeled.
This isn't a car. It's a jet fighter on wheels.