Hobbs came from Washington, Shaw from London.
One was from the East Coast, the other from England.
Neither of them knew much about the West Coast scene.
Especially since they weren't part of the racing underworld—how could they possibly know Leon's legendary feats?
Even if word spread that the West Coast had already crowned its own "Car God,"
it would still take time for that reputation to ferment.
And whether the rest of the country would acknowledge his strength—that was still a big question mark.
So when Leon said he could cover a thousand kilometers in just ninety minutes,
both Hobbs and Shaw thought he was completely insane.
"Impossible! Even if your car hit five hundred kilometers an hour,
you'd still need two hours!" Andrek screamed.
From a scientist's point of view, his logic was sound.
At extreme speeds, fuel consumption skyrocketed,
wear and tear on the vehicle multiplied,
and tire degradation became critical.
To him, making it to Detroit in two hours would already be a miracle.
But ninety minutes? He refused to believe it.
Hobbs was stunned too. His mind drifted back to last night's conversation,
when he overheard whispers that Leon's team had reached New York in five hours.
The thought made him suck in a cold breath.
"You… you're not seriously telling me you drove all the way here last night?
Five hours?"
He still didn't believe it.
His assumption was simple: they must've driven to an airport,
then used a private plane to transport the car to New York.
Or maybe they leveraged some shadowy connections to smuggle the vehicle by air.
Because in Hobbs's eyes, no car could possibly run 4,500 kilometers in just five hours.
But now, Leon was saying he'd cover a thousand kilometers in ninety minutes…
Did that mean what happened last night was real?
The very thought made Hobbs's head spin.
Elena, however, nodded calmly.
"Mm. That's exactly how we got here."
Hiss—!
Hobbs, Shaw, and Andrek all gasped, their eyes widening in shock.
Was this man's driving even crazier than they imagined?
"Damn. No wonder O'Neal lost to you. I guess he had it coming," Shaw muttered.
He'd once thought about avenging O'Neal.
But after seeing Leon's capabilities firsthand, he realized the truth:
on the road, Leon was unbeatable.
Leon scoffed.
"If O'Neal hadn't tried to ram me that day, he wouldn't be lying in a hospital right now.
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Fair and square."
To Leon, it was simple—if you scheme against others, you'd better be prepared for the same in return.
O'Neal brought it on himself.
Shaw sighed. He gave up on his revenge fantasy.
Even if he tried, he wasn't confident he could win.
O'Neal had been a kindred spirit, sure, but not worth throwing his own life away.
Hobbs, meanwhile, suddenly thought of something important.
"Your car—can it even fit all of us?"
Leon shook his head.
"No. At most three passengers, not counting the driver."
Sports cars weren't known for spacious interiors.
Some only seated two.
The Diomas was already generous with four seats, but that was the max.
And with Hobbs's massive frame? Forget it. No chance he'd squeeze in.
"I suggest Hattie, Elena, and the dog doctor ride with me.
You two follow in another car, act as support."
"I told you, my name is Andrek, not 'dog doctor'!" Andrek protested.
Leon gave him a cold side glance and didn't bother replying.
After all, what kind of scientist designed a virus like this? If that wasn't "mad dog" behavior, what was?
If it were up to Leon, Andrek deserved scorn, not recognition.
"I'm fine with that," Shaw interjected, pulling out a slip of paper.
He handed it to Leon.
"This is Gisele's contact info. When you reach Detroit, find her.
She'll help you."
Though Shaw wasn't American, he still had some influence stateside.
Gisele was one of those connections.
Leon raised an eyebrow.
"And who is she?"
"She was Braga's navigator. I've got a decent relationship with her." Shaw admitted bluntly.
At this, Hobbs's face darkened.
"Wait—you know Braga? Where is he? I've been trying to put that bastard away for years!"
Shaw sneered.
"None of your damn business."
The tension crackled immediately.
One righteous, one rogue—they were like fire and water, bound to clash.
The only reason they weren't at each other's throats already was their shared mission.
Leon pocketed the note, then grabbed Andrek by the collar.
"You'd better not be lying to us. Or else…"
Andrek swallowed hard, nodding rapidly.
"Let's move," Leon barked.
The group filed downstairs.
And then—the roar of motorcycles shattered the air.
The engines were close, just a few blocks away.
Andrek's face went pale. He clutched his head in panic.
"They're here! Eteon's people are here!"
He'd seen their methods before—
burning traitors alive,
skinning them piece by piece.
Andrek, once part of their ranks, was the ultimate traitor.
With the knowledge he carried, Eteon would make sure his punishment was unimaginably brutal.
Cold sweat poured down his face.
Leon didn't waste time.
"Stick to the plan. Hattie, Elena—get in my car."
Whirr—
The headlights of the Diomas blazed to life, its low growl echoing through the street.
The monstrous hypercar rolled forward on its own, stopping right by Leon's side.
Shaw eyed the beast, then glanced at his own McLaren 720S.
The difference in presence was laughable.
Next to Diomas, the McLaren looked slim, elegant… almost delicate.
Shaw could only sigh.
"This is the difference between three million and four billion."
Hobbs, meanwhile, was practically drooling at the sight of Diomas's aggressive design.
The low, razor-sharp nose.
The massive intakes and Y-shaped LED signature.
The curved windshield blending seamlessly with the body.
The sculpted side skirts, exaggerated aero lines.
The rear end carved out with vents for maximum cooling.
Even the Y-shaped taillights echoed the front.
And those giant orange wheels—pure intimidation.
"No wonder it can run 4,500 kilometers in five hours.
This thing is a monster!" Hobbs muttered in awe.
Leon slipped into the driver's seat, dragging Andrek into the co-pilot's spot.
Hattie and Elena climbed into the back.
Leon smirked coldly, slammed the pedal—
and the Diomas answered with a primal roar,
its engine note so raw it turned heads across the block.
Clutch, gear, throttle—
a perfect launch, boosted by nitrous injection.
SCREEEECH! The tires screamed, smoke curling from the asphalt.
The car shot forward instantly, speedometer blasting past 200 km/h in seconds.
This was no car. This was a beast unleashed.
And against such madness,
no one on the street could even dream of keeping up.
~~----------------------
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