The two pilots inside the AH-64 Apache helicopters weren't mercenaries plucked off the streets. Both had served in the U.S. military.
One had held the rank of Lieutenant.
The other, a Second Lieutenant ).
They weren't just average pilots either—they had been ace helicopter operators, trusted with the U.S. Army's finest gunships.
After retiring, they had been recruited by Eteon, the shadowy organization pulling strings behind the scenes. Their job now was simple: fly Apaches, complete missions, no questions asked.
Today's assignment?
Destroy a single car.
When they first received the order, both of them had nearly scoffed aloud.
AH-64 Apaches… against one car?
It was like using a nuclear bomb to swat a mosquito.
Still, orders from Eteon weren't to be questioned. They were promised limitless resources, and pilots like them didn't get to argue about the target.
At first, they fired one Hellfire missile each—certain it would be enough. To their shock, the car dodged. They launched six more. Still nothing. The target vehicle refused to die.
Frustration turned to disbelief.
"Tch, this guy's slippery." The younger pilot snarled. "We've wasted too much ammo. Let's finish him off!"
"Relax." The Lieutenant in command smirked, completely at ease. "Let him run. Once his fuel runs dry, we'll end this with one shot. You think a no-name car like that can last more than a hundred kilometers? If it does, I'll eat my rank insignia."
They sneered. In their eyes, cars had pedigree—engineering lineage, brand prestige, the designer's soul infused into steel and horsepower.
This mystery car, the Diomas Nilo, looked like it came out of some obscure workshop, not a Ferrari or Bugatti. To them, it was junk. Fast, maybe, but fuel-hungry. Garbage could never outrun military tech for long.
Laughing, they launched another pair of Hellfires, more for intimidation than destruction.
But then—
The Diomas Nilo's rear exhausts exploded with power.
Eight streams of brilliant blue flames erupted, each stretching ten meters long, blazing across the asphalt like the breath of dragons.
From above, it looked like eight serpents roaring into the night sky.
"What the hell is THAT?!" the Second Lieutenant gasped, eyes wide.
"Impossible… a car shouldn't… it can't…"
The vehicle exploded forward, acceleration so violent that even their missiles struggled to keep up.
The Diomas Nilo wasn't a car anymore. It was a fighter jet on wheels.
"F***! So fast!" The Lieutenant's composure shattered, his voice trembling.
Moments ago, they had mocked it as a rat toying around in the dark. Now, it had transformed into a predator so terrifying it left them breathless.
The Apaches pushed their rotors to maximum, but even at top speed, they were falling behind. Even the Hellfire missiles were struggling to lock on.
Despair set in.
"He was supposed to be weak—why is he this fast?!"
"We're chasing a damn alien, not a car!"
The truth dawned brutally clear: this wasn't a street racer's machine. It was a war machine disguised as a car.
They had been tricked.
"We've burned through millions in missiles and munitions… and the target's untouched." The Second Lieutenant's hands shook on the controls.
"Forget it. We retreat."
They prepared to peel off. But before they could—
A new sound filled the skies.
It began as a distant rumble, deeper and more resonant than thunder. The ground itself trembled beneath its power.
The younger pilot froze. He knew that sound. Every airman did.
The F-22 Raptor.
The most advanced fifth-generation stealth fighter in the world. The Raptor was feared everywhere it flew. Compared to that, the Apache helicopters were nothing but fragile sparrows.
"Run! RUN!!" the Lieutenant screamed, panic overtaking him.
But it was too late.
Two streaks of lightning cut through the night sky. Missiles, launched from above.
They never even saw the Raptors—only their judgment.
In seconds, both AH-64s were engulfed in fireballs. The pilots never had a chance. There weren't even bodies left—just molten debris raining down.
On the ground, Leon kept his focus, the Diomas Nilo sliding across the barren road. The nitrous flames sputtered out as he eased off the boosters—prolonged use risked overheating the engines.
Above, the sky lit up in explosions.
He allowed himself a thin smile.
"It's over."
This was his plan all along—stall the Apaches, keep them occupied, and wait for the U.S. military to intervene. If he'd simply fled, the helicopters might have disengaged and returned unscathed. That wasn't acceptable. Leon wanted them erased.
And now they were.
In the backseat, Hattie Shaw collapsed against her chair, utterly drained, sweat streaking down her forehead.
"I admit it… you're insane," she muttered weakly, managing a shaky thumbs-up.
"Even Apaches can't keep up. That car of yours… it's beyond world-class."
Leon laughed, exhilarated and exhausted.
"Small matter. You two paid thirty million, got it for twenty-seven—worth every penny."
His palms were still slick with cold sweat. One wrong twitch and they would have been vaporized.
But he'd done it. He'd survived missiles, helicopters, and lived to tell the tale.
From her seat, Elena blinked in disbelief.
"Wait… what about your last car? The silver one?"
Leon shrugged casually. "Sold it."
In truth, it wasn't a sale but a trade-in toward the Diomas Nilo.
Still, Elena froze. Sold? That car had been one-of-a-kind—who in their right mind would let it go? Anyone else would have locked it away in a private garage forever.
"How much did it sell for?" she whispered.
"About twenty billion," Leon said offhandedly.
Elena nearly fainted. Twenty. Billion.
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