The roar of engines split the Las Vegas night like thunder, the Veyron and pagani streaking past casinos and neon-lit hotels in a blur of color and heat.
Then — faint at first, but growing sharper — came another sound.
WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!
Red-and-blue lights slashed through the dark behind them. A black-and-white patrol car surged into view.
POLICE LOUDSPEAKER:"Pull over! Pull over immediately!"
As if on cue, Tony's in-car speakers ditched AC/DC and kicked into a familiar, tongue-in-cheek tune — "Bad Boys", the theme from Cops.
Tony rolled down his window, his smirk visible even at 200 km/h.
"Oooh, look. It's the cops. Maybe you should pull over, Red — wouldn't want to ruin your perfect driving record." His voice was dripping sarcasm, designed to bait her.
Jean glanced at him across the gap between their windows, her lips curling into a razor-sharp grin.
"What's that? Couldn't hear you…" She downshifted, the Zonda's V12 screaming. "…over the sound of me winning."
Her foot slammed the gas. VRRRAAAAAAWWW! The Pagani leapt forward like a predator on the hunt.
----------------------------------------------------
A crowd stood gathered on the sidewalk outside a neon-lit bar, their eyes glued to a mounted flatscreen TV.
TV NEWS — FEMALE ANCHOR: "We have breaking news tonight. A high-speed car chase is underway on the streets of Las Vegas. Witnesses report two multi-million-dollar sports cars are refusing to pull over, resulting in a police pursuit."
She paused, pressing a finger to her earpiece.
"What's this…? We're just learning that one of the cars is being driven by Tony Stark—" Her voice faltered in shock. "—and he appears to be racing an unidentified woman in a red vehicle."
On the sidewalk, a man in a sequined Elvis jumpsuit shook his head.
"This is crazy."
Beside him, an elderly Asian woman, smoking , sniffed.
"Some people can't handle Vegas."
Suddenly, the thunder arrived — the red Zonda and silver-black Veyron screaming down the boulevard at terrifying speed, the shockwave of their passing rattling shop windows.
WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!
Three police cruisers tore after them, sirens howling.
BACK TO THE RACE:
Jean took a hard right onto a narrower street, sparks flashing as her rear wheel kissed the curb. Tony followed, his Bugatti's AWD gripping the asphalt like claws. Behind them, the cops swarmed in formation, radios crackling with urgency.
They dodged through traffic, weaving between taxis, limos, and drunken tourists crossing against the lights.
A food cart tipped as Jean blasted past, sending hot dogs rolling into the gutter.
Tony threaded the needle between a tour bus and a parked limo, the Veyron's turbos howling like jet engines.
The speedometers climbed — 250 km/h… 280… 300…
The Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign was now a glowing beacon ahead, the finish line etched in neon against the night.
Tony gritted his teeth and pushed the Veyron for everything it had, edging closer until the two cars were side by side, the engines locked in a duel of raw power.
But Jean wasn't just fast — she was bold.
At the last hundred meters, she yanked the handbrake.
SKREEEEEEEEE!
The Zonda's tail whipped around in a perfect 180-degree drift, tires screaming, smoke curling in slow-motion spirals. The nose of the car pointed backward — directly at Tony — as she sailed across the asphalt in a controlled slide.
Through the smoke, she caught his gaze… and winked.
WHOOSH!
The Zonda crossed the line in reverse, the neon glow of the sign bathing its scarlet paint.
Tony rolled past a second later, slamming a hand against the steering wheel in frustration.
Jean just smirked, still rolling backward before flicking the wheel and spinning the Zonda into a flawless stop.
The police sirens closed in fast. But for Jean, the victory was already written in tire marks and neon light.