Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The Jesko's quad-turbocharged SHRIEKED like a banshee unleashed from hell, every shift punching through the night with mechanical violence. The rear tires screamed in agony as Parker threw the hypercar into an impossible reverse maneuver, his foot slamming the accelerator like a death wish.

The world inverted—highway lights flickering backward, the chaos of traffic scrambling to make sense of a lunatic blasting at 120 mph in reverse.

Then—

HONNNNNNNNNK!

The 18-WHEELER.

That horn didn't just rattle Parker's bones—it sent shockwaves through his soul. A low, thunderous warning of doom.

CLOSING IN FAST.

The semi was a freight train of death, its monstrous grille filling Parker's entire rearview mirror, headlights blinding as it barreled toward him like an iron-clad executioner.

Shit. Parker's immortal like reflexes snapped like lightning—left hand gripping the wheel, right hand seizing the e-brake.

YANK—TWIST—PRAY.

REVERSE DRIFT.

The Jesko snapped sideways, rear tires howling in protest as they carved a perfect arc across three lanes, the back bumper kissing the truck's grille with the kind of precision that separated gods from mortals. The titanic beast roared past so close that Parker could see the truck driver's eyes—wide, mouth frozen mid-scream, hands desperately jerking the wheel.

"MOTHERF—!"

Didn't even finish. Probably too busy shitting his soul out.

But Parker?

Parker just grinned.

Dominance.

"10-80 IN PROGRESS! HIGH-SPEED PURSUIT—WE'VE GOT A SUSPECT DOING 120 IN REVERSE!"

The dispatcher's voice cracked over the radio.

Another cop cut in, breathless: "I— I CAN'T PROCESS WHAT I'M SEEING. HE JUST—"

Pause.

"HE JUST DRIFTED AROUND A SEMI IN REVERSE."

Some rookie officer, his voice trembling: "THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE."

The sergeant, losing his patience: "WELL TELL THAT TO HIM, KID!"

Parker— he was rewriting physics!

The LAPD SWARMED IN.

FOUR squad cars—one dead ahead, two flanking his sides, and a final bastard trying to ram him from behind.

Parker?

Didn't blink.

His hands danced over the paddle shifters—slamming the Jesko into first, then second gear, ramping the engine into a blood-curdling wail. A police cruiser veered left—tried to cut him off.

Parker responded instantly.

Clutch in—flick—power shift.

He let the Jesko snap back into forward motion just long enough to JERK the wheel and CLIP the rear bumper of the cop car, sending it into a wild tailspin that obliterated another cruiser beside it.

BOOM—METAL SHRIEKED—TWO COPS OUT.

"FUCK! OFFICER DOWN!"

Didn't matter.

Parker was already gone.

*

The freeway ahead was a blurred mess of headlights, taillights, and screaming metal, but none of that mattered because right in the middle of the goddamn road—some dumbass was running for his life. Arms pumping, legs barely keeping up, the guy turned his head at the worst possible moment and locked eyes with Parker, his face frozen in sheer, existential dread as he realized he was about to become modern art on the Jesko's front splitter.

Parker had two choices.

One: Swerve, risk losing control, and probably eat shit into a divider.

Two: Pray that dude had good health insurance and keep his foot down.

He chose violence.

The Jesko's twin-turbo V8 SHRIEKED, Parker slamming the downshift, the engine RPMs spiking like a banshee's last scream. The instant torque hit like a sledgehammer, and rather than braking, he sent the car straight at the gap between a concrete barrier and an emergency lane—one that barely existed. The Jesko's nose dipped for a split second, barely clearing the lip of the divider as Parker forced the hypercar through a space that wasn't meant for vehicles.

The metal edge screamed against carbon fiber, sparks spitting out in furious retaliation.

The pedestrian?

The shockwave alone LAUNCHED him off his feet.

Like a human traffic cone caught in a hurricane, the poor bastard ragdolled sideways, arms pinwheeling, legs kicking at nothing but air before he vanished into a row of freeway bushes.

Parker barely flicked a glance in the mirror.

Did he feel bad?

A little.

Would he stop?

Not in a million years.

The LAPD was done playing games. The sirens weren't just behind him anymore—they were above him, and that meant only one thing.

Air support.

Spotlights tore through the night, slicing across the freeway like a hunter tracking a wounded animal. Two helicopters loomed above, rotors chopping the air as their powerful beams locked onto Parker's Jesko like a goddamn wanted terrorist.

No escape routes. No cover. Nowhere to hide.

He tore through the 405 interchange, weaving through traffic with the precision of a man born to dominate asphalt. The speedometer flirted with 200 mph, the Jesko's aerodynamics keeping it glued to the road, every turn a delicate balance between mastery and death.

Then—

The roadblock.

Up ahead, flashing blue-and-red lights lit up the night like a Christmas massacre. LAPD SWAT trucks sat in formation, flanked by rows of spike strips and a whole damn wall of officers with guns drawn.

Parker could already hear the cops in their cruisers, screaming into their radios.

"WE HAVE HIM. BOX HIM IN!"

Any normal driver would've panicked.

Any sane driver would've stopped.

Parker?

Didn't even lift off the gas.

The Jesko's quad-turbos HOWLED, sucking in air like a starving beast as Parker pushed the car into its absolute top speed. Fourth gear. Fifth. Sixth. The digital speedometer screamed—206 MPH.

The police thought this was over.

They thought he was trapped.

They were so, so wrong.

At the very last second, Parker yanked the wheel, sending the Jesko onto the emergency shoulder at breakneck speed, cutting past a cluster of terrified SUV drivers who had no idea they were witnessing the greatest highway felony of all time.

And then—

A fucking exit ramp.

Not just any ramp.

An incomplete bridge.

Half-built. Mid-construction. A skeletal structure leading to a 50-foot drop into nothingness.

Did Parker slow down?

HELL NO.

If anything, he pushed harder.

The engine shrieked. The tires screamed. The Jesko launched off the edge of the unfinished highway like a goddamn jet fighter taking off.

The police?

Froze.

The helicopter pilots?

Couldn't believe what they were seeing.

The Jesko soared—clearing the entire overpass, flying through the night like a bullet defying gravity. For a moment, time slowed. Nothing but airborne silence, the car floating mid-flight, Los Angeles spread beneath it like a neon ocean.

Then—

IMPACT.

The Jesko landed so violently that sparks ERUPTED from the undercarriage, tires screaming, shocks absorbing the unforgiving reentry into reality. The frame groaned, the entire chassis shaking, but Parker?

Parker kept it steady.

The car barely wobbled before he snapped the wheel straight and kept going.

Didn't even flinch.

The LAPD?

Done.

Parker?

King of the road.

*

The police chief in charge of this sat in silence, his fingers steepled over his mouth, his expression hollowed out by absolute defeat. Across from him, the sergeant—still pale, still processing the sheer level of madness he had just witnessed—couldn't even form words.

The radio crackled.

"…We lost him."

The chief exhaled, rubbing his temples like a man questioning every life decision that led him here.

"Sir," the sergeant started, voice weak, "that wasn't just fast." He swallowed hard. "That was…"

He struggled to even say it.

"…built different."

Silence.

The chief stared at his desk for a long moment. Then, finally, with the sigh of a man ready to quit his job forever, he muttered:

"Fuck this job. Fall back we have a hero there!"

****

Yesterday, we hit 300 chapters of Urban Plundering!

It's been one wild ride since day one, and I just wanna say—thank you all for sticking around, reading, laughing, commenting, and vibing with this journey.

From Parker's chaos to the system shenanigans, to every twist that made y'all go "WTF just happened?!"—you've been here for it, and I seriously appreciate every single one of you.

Let's keep breaking limits. More madness, more magic, more moments coming soon.

Stay strapped in. The plundering's far from over. We're far from even getting started!

Much love,

—[almightyP]