Back inside his garage, Leon pulled the doors shut and flicked on the lights.
The soft glow spilled across his machine, highlighting the raw elegance of the Silver Marauder.
A monster of pure power… yet, under the light, it carried an almost gentlemanly grace.
"This ride's got personality," Leon chuckled.
To anyone who hadn't witnessed it in motion, it was hard to imagine how brutal, how intoxicating this beast really was.
That savage acceleration, the feeling of breaking free from every shackle—that was the Marauder.
Only it could ignite that kind of passion.
But tonight, he couldn't rely on speed alone.
"System," Leon called out. "Any defensive upgrades? Something to keep me from getting blindsided?"
Right now, the Marauder's body was just reinforced carbon fiber—great, but not enough to withstand deliberate collisions.
If Dom and O'Neill decided to double-team him, using shortcuts and side streets to box him in, it could get ugly.
He needed insurance.
"There is a 1.5 million credit package," the system responded.
"It includes: a Glass Resonance Blaster, and three micro homing missiles."
Leon raised a brow.
The glass blaster could shatter nearby windshields in an instant—perfect for breaking a pincer attack, throwing rivals into panic and disrupting their line.
And the missiles? Last-resort weapons.
If anyone truly wanted him dead, he'd have the firepower to answer in kind.
With those two tools, even Dom and O'Neill working together wouldn't scare him.
He checked his balance. Only two million left. Better packages were out of reach.
"This one will do," Leon decided.
Purchase confirmed. 1.5 million deducted.
The Silver Marauder glowed bright white as the upgrade sequence began, the system rewriting its bodywork with hidden weapons.
Time passed quickly.
Soon, Saturday night arrived—
and Violence District was alive like never before.
At O'Neill's call, nearly every renowned West Coast racer showed up.
Supercars, muscle cars, exotics, even custom tuners—all flocked into the chaotic zone.
Here, there were no official rules.
Anyone who could afford to lose could enter.
The prize?
The winner took every competitor's car.
The losers? Hand over their ride, or pay its value in cash.
That was why most ordinary racers stayed away.
This was gods clashing with gods—only those with money and skill dared to risk it.
But the reward was insane.
Some cars here were worth over ten million each. Add it all up, and the pot was easily over a billion dollar.
And beyond the money—whoever won tonight would sit on the throne: the West Coast's true Racing King.
The Violence District was the perfect battlefield.
Separated from the rest of Los Santos by a crumbling wall, it was lawless—run by gangs, flooded with drugs and crime.
But it was also a racer's playground.
Broken streets, twisting alleys, sudden dead-ends.
Perfect for ambushes, shortcuts, and dirty tricks.
It wasn't just speed—it was survival, strategy, and brains.
Sharp turns made raw drifting useless. Even the best drivers couldn't carry momentum for long.
O'Neill had chosen this battleground deliberately.
The Marauder's top speed was terrifying—unstoppable on straights or wide curves.
But in the Violence District's labyrinth of alleys, it wouldn't be easy for Leon to unleash its full potential.
As night fell, the district's entrance came alive.
Thanks to O'Neill's wealth and influence, the gangs running the place had agreed to host the race.
For one night, all crime stopped.
Dealers, thugs, even petty crooks—everyone gathered for the spectacle.
Music blasted at the gates. The crowd moved to the beat, dancing, cheering, drinking.
And then—
VROOOMMMM!!
Engines roared. The first challenger rolled up.
A Chevrolet Camaro.
Not just any Camaro—this one had the nickname everyone knew from the movies: Bumblebee.
The people erupted.
The Camaro was the dream of every working-class kid.
For under 300,000 dollar, you got 2.3T turbo power, classic American muscle lines, and a ride guaranteed to turn heads.
A chick-magnet. A street king in its own right.
Its "V" shaped grille, raised hood, squared-off headlights flowing into the intake—it screamed aggression.
The rear bumper stretched wide, with asymmetrical fog lights giving it a unique edge.
20-inch alloys filled the wheel arches perfectly.
"Daaamn!"
"So cool!!"
"First car out is Bumblebee? What else is coming?!"
The dancers froze, the crowd pressing forward, buzzing with excitement.
If this was the opener… the rest of the lineup was going to be insane.