The duel between top-tier assassins is incredibly dangerous. For Cross and Fox, it was even more so. Both possessed the ability to enter Bullet Time, capable of delivering a fatal strike from the most impossible angles at any moment.
Both knew this. Fox was on the defensive; unable to shake Cross, she was a sitting duck. Cross, meanwhile, didn't have to drive, but with his son in the enemy's hands, he was walking on eggshells, hesitant to go all out.
Seeing the van getting closer in the rearview mirror, Fox grit her teeth and yanked the wheel. The Dodge Viper swerved from the fast lane directly into oncoming traffic.
She was going against the flow.
Fox constantly jerked the wheel, dodging car after car speeding towards them head-on. Wesley was terrified. The blinding headlights made him dizzy, and his ears rang with the screeching of horns. He was experiencing more excitement in five minutes than in his entire life.
It was Speed in real life. One wrong move meant death.
Behind them, the box truck followed suit, performing a series of wicked maneuvers in the oncoming lane, perfectly evading every vehicle. Russell swayed his body to the blasting music, mouthing the beat. With the "Baby Driver" skills active, he was in his element. Hands on the wheel, he felt invincible—like he owned the world.
Cross had nerves of steel. Realizing Russell was a driving god, he immediately leaned out and fired at the supercar. He quickly blew out a rear tire, forcing the Viper to slow down.
"Oh my God! He's catching up! We're dead!" Wesley screamed like a fresh inmate who just dropped the soap in the shower, realizing he was about to be surrounded by very large, very unfriendly men.
"Quiet!"
Under Wesley's confused gaze, she shot out her own windshield, shoved the steering wheel into Wesley's hands, and climbed out.
Fox held a gun in each hand. Hooking one foot on the steering wheel and the other on the window frame, she lay back on the hood, launching a counterattack against the van behind them.
Fox's weapon of choice was a custom Browning M1911. It featured floral engravings, a lion totem, ivory grips, a compensator, and an extended magazine. The .45 caliber rounds packed a punch, deadlier than most submachine guns even without hitting a vital spot.
This M1911 was a masterpiece—violent yet beautiful.
In her other hand, she held a submachine gun. Dual-wielding, she instantly suppressed Cross with a hail of bullets.
"Shut up and drive!"
"I am driving!"
Cross returned fire. Russell stopped cracking jokes. Every time he sensed danger, he spun the wheel to dodge. The van moved like a slithering snake, winding through traffic without losing an ounce of speed, inching closer to the Viper.
Just as they were about to catch up, a smile touched Cross's lips. No way in hell is the Fraternity taking my son.
But then, sirens wailed from all sides. Cross scanned the area—over ten police cars were closing in.
Even though these cop cars were quickly left eating their dust, Cross knew the score. There would be a roadblock ahead. Maybe even SWAT armored vehicles.
"Damn it. The cops are efficient tonight. They used to be slower!" Cross grumbled.
Russell rolled his eyes. The ex-cop didn't feel like commenting.
Ahead, Fox ran out of ammo. She abandoned the attack, climbed back into the driver's seat, shoved the innocent-looking Wesley aside, and swerved the Viper back into the correct lane, trying to blend in with the chaos.
Russell followed suit. Drifting through the turn, he shifted gears like a pro and closed the gap. They were now within Cross's guaranteed kill range. However, a police helicopter appeared overhead, its spotlight pinning the van.
Russell frowned. "Something's wrong. If I'm not mistaken, the cops seem to be targeting us specifically!?"
Cross didn't even look up. "It's Sloan. He's got senators in his pocket. He owns people in the department."
"So? Do we keep chasing?"
Cross's face was stone cold. "Chase!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots fired. Time seemed to slow. The custom rifled bullets curved through the air, precisely taking out the remaining three tires.
The wheels disintegrated, leaving the red supercar grinding on its rims. It stubbornly kept moving, but the speed dropped drastically.
Russell stomped on the gas—wait, the pedal was already floored. The van slammed into the rear of the Viper, pushing it forward.
Bang! Bang!
Fox turned and fired two shots. Russell ducked. The van slowed, creating distance again.
Russell yelled, "What are you doing? Cover me!"
Cross looked at the red car with frustration. "There's a sniper nearby. Fraternity assassin. We have to go!"
Russell immediately hunched down. He didn't ask where the sniper was. Cross was the expert; it wasn't his place to question.
Seeing a wall of police cars and two black armored SWAT trucks blocking the road ahead, Russell knew they weren't getting Wesley back tonight. Even if they did, they didn't have the firepower to escape, especially with a chopper overhead ready to rain down flashbangs or worse. They'd be in for a world of hurt.
Russell yanked the wheel. The van drifted sideways, spinning 180 degrees back into the oncoming lane and speeding away in the opposite direction.
Fox watched Cross give up in the rearview mirror and let out a breath of relief. She hit the brakes.
The Dodge Viper's brakes were... trash. No one had ever successfully emergency braked in this car at high speed. So, the red supercar slammed into the police barricade anyway. As for the spike strips? The rim-riding Viper didn't really care.
Four SWAT officers rushed in. Two aimed guns at Fox and Wesley; two dragged them into the armored truck. Fox cooperated fully. The cops didn't give her a hard time. Wesley, on the other hand, got his arm twisted behind his back and was cuffed.
Inside the truck, Fox took her M1911 back from a lean black officer and sighed, leaning back against the seat. Tonight sucked.
The black officer was the Fraternity's core member, The Gunsmith. Ignoring Wesley's horrified expression, he asked, "Fox, you almost failed. What happened?"
Fox rubbed her forehead, traumatized. "Cross found a driver... I don't know where he dug him up, but I've never seen such freakish driving skills..."
"Alright. Report that to Sloan yourself. Let's get Wesley back first."
On the other side, Russell shook off the patrol cars but couldn't lose the helicopter. He drove into a busy downtown area, ditched the van, and disappeared into the crowd with Cross.
They took a taxi, detoured, and Cross dug an old sedan out of a hidden garage. Russell drove them back to the factory.
This time, Russell drove much slower. The 'Character Card: BABY' had expired. Unless he drew it again, reverse-lane racing was off the table.
But it didn't matter. A driving god like Baby left behind enough muscle memory to make Russell look like a pro.
[Ding! User acquired skill: Vehicle Proficiency!]
Not a one-time use. Permanent.
[Skill: Vehicle Proficiency (Still a long way from 'Master' or 'God', but in the eyes of a Noob, you are already an untouchable Legend.)]
___________________________________________
Bonus content can be found on my profile page