Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 300: Testing the New Beasts!

Parker's phone buzzed—incoming video call.

Tessa and Atalanta.

He swiped to answer, and just like that, the screen split into three. Tessa, propped up in her driver's seat, grinned like she already won. Atalanta? Cool as hell, adjusting her gloves like she was about to assassinate someone instead of race through L.A.

"Alright, sweetest dumbasses," Tessa started, flipping her camera around to show her car's dashboard. "We all know why we're here." Perhaps they felt like a video call would be better?

Atalanta smirked. "Because I'm about to humble you both?"

Tessa rolled her eyes. "Bitch, please. The only thing getting humbled is your fragile Olympian ego when you eat my dust."

Atalanta arched a brow. "We'll see."

Parker revved his engine, the deep, aggressive growl of his Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut vibrating through the call. He didn't need to say anything. The sound alone spoke for him.

"Shall we ride now?" Atalanta asked, voice light, teasing. "You know L.A., right? The race from downtown to Beverly Hills."

Parker tilted his head. "You sure you can keep up this time?"

Tessa snorted. "You talk like you won last time. Newsflash, you didn't."

Atalanta smirked. "And neither of you have won against me yet. Let's fix that."

"First one past Rodeo Drive wins," Tessa declared. "No rules. No mercy."

Parker checked the road ahead, fingers twitching over the wheel. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Engines roared. Traffic lights flickered red.

Then green.

And they were off.

Parker's tires screamed against the pavement as he shot forward, engine snarling as he dropped gears and hit the gas. The city blurred—towering skyscrapers, neon lights, the dizzying swirl of traffic already parting like the Red Sea.

Tessa was right there, her car barely a flash of deep midnight blue, weaving through a gap between two sedans like a ghost. Atalanta? She moved like she was meant for this, her car slicing ahead with that eerie, calculated ease—like she'd already mapped every turn, every lane, every heartbeat of the road.

Parker grinned.

"Alright then, let's play."

Engines roared. Tires screamed.

L.A. never saw this shit coming.

Parker's Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut shot forward like a missile, the twin-turbo V8 snarling as he shifted gears, the force pressing him into his seat. The city blurred—neon signs, headlights, the glass and steel of downtown skyscrapers streaking past.

To his left, Tessa's Bugatti was a fucking menace. It's engine howled like a beast let loose, blue flames licking from her exhaust as she cut into his lane, forcing him to swerve.

To his right? Atalanta's Porsche. She wasn't just fast. She was surgical. Every move calculated, every lane change smooth as hell, like she had the entire race plotted out in her head before they even started.

And L.A. traffic?

Didn't stand a goddamn chance.

Downtown mayhem! A red light loomed ahead. Cars sat waiting, drivers clueless.

Fuck the light.

Parker didn't brake—he flicked the paddle shifter, downshifting, engine barking as he pulled a hard right, skimming past a clueless SUV by inches. Tessa didn't even bother swerving—just threaded the needle between two cabs so tight her side mirrors practically kissed them.

Atalanta? She saw the mess and took another route—ramping onto the sidewalk.

People screamed. Tables flipped. Pedestrians scrambled as she blitzed past like a street-racing Grim Reaper.

"WHAT THE FUCK, ATALANTA?!" Tessa barked over the comms.

Atalanta only laughed. "Adapt or lose."

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Parker grinned. She's having fun.

The road opened up—L.A.'s iconic Sixth Street Viaduct loomed ahead, its steel arches slicing through the skyline.

Perfect.

Parker hit the throttle. Hard. The Jesko Absolut surged forward, aerodynamics hugging the pavement, the sheer speed warping the air around him. Tessa followed, the Bugatti's quad turbochargers SCREAMING, the deep bass-heavy growl of her engine shaking the bridge.

Atalanta? She drifted alongside them, the Porsche's electric motor hissing, the transition between hybrid and combustion so seamless it was unfair.

Then—

Incoming chaos—

A helicopter.

Parker caught the glare of a searchlight sweeping toward them. "This shit never gets old, being chased by the police? Was it nearby on standby or something? Ah, of course!" He figured someone who could have alerted them.

Whatever! That was more thrill for them!

LAPD. "Oh, they mad."

Tessa snickered. "They better be FAST."

Atalanta's voice was calm. "Tunnel ahead. We lose them there."

Parker's eyes flicked to the road map—Vincent Thomas Bridge would lead straight to Terminal Island. He would disappear from there. He just drove...

****

Darkness swallowed them.

Parker's headlights pierced through the void, the tunnel walls a blur as he shifted again—fourth, fifth, sixth gear, the Jesko screaming through the underground stretch.

The sound?

Insanity.

Engines echoed off the walls—Tessa's Bugatti howled, Atalanta's Porsche snarled, Parker's Jesko shrieked like a supercharged banshee.

Then—

BOOM!

Something EXPLODED behind them—flashes of red and blue lights flickered in the rearview. LAPD had followed them in.

Sirens wailed. More lights blazed in pursuit.

**

The night air trembled. Not from the hum of distant traffic or the occasional honk of an impatient driver. No, this was something else. Something raw. Something furious.

The streets of Los Angeles were alive with a symphony of horsepower and madness again—Tessa's Bugatti Chiron let out an ungodly howl, the quad-turbocharged W16 shrieking as it gulped down air like a starving beast. Atalanta's Porsche. It snarled like a pissed-off wolf, every shift hitting violent, razor-sharp precision. But it was Parker's Koenigsegg Jesko that reigned above them all, its twin-turbocharged V8 screaming with the shrill pitch of a banshee let loose from hell.

Then—

BOOM.

A fireball erupted behind them, a chain reaction of disaster. Maybe a police cruiser slamming into the side of an unsuspecting sedan. Maybe some poor bastard in a pickup losing his nerve, yanking his wheel the wrong way and sending himself into a death roll. Maybe just pure, unfiltered chaos.

Didn't matter.

Flashes of red and blue streaked across the highway, cutting through the night like vengeful specters.

Sirens wailed—long, panicked, and furious.

More lights. More bodies in pursuit.

Tessa's laugh crackled through the comms, sugar-coated insanity.

"Ohhh, they are REALLY mad."

Atalanta's voice cut through the static like a scalpel—cold, composed, lethal.

"Split at the exit. Meet at the hills."

Parker flexed his grip on the wheel. The carbon-fiber steering responded like it was an extension of his own limbs. No hesitation. No doubt. Only instinct.

He leaned in, dropping his voice to a smirk. "Let's fuckin' go."

*****

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