# CHAPTER 23
**Scaffail Avenue**
**1:19 PM**
The relentless midday sun hung quietly over the deserted industrial corridor.
*BOOM-CRASH!*
The silence shattered. A battered black sedan tore out of the factory compound, its battered frame scarred with scratches and riddled with bullet holes. The windshield bore jagged perforations, erupted backward through a barricaded wooden section of the factory perimeter fence.—patched crudely with planks that splintered under the assault. Splintered timber exploded in all directions as the sedan tore through them. tires screeching against the asphalt.
The driver hauled the steering wheel around in a violent reverse drift. The vehicle swung 180 degrees,
SCREEEECH!
The tires screamed against the asphalt as the car completed a sharp drift, straightening itself toward the road leading to the highway.
SCREEEECH!
Squealing rubber burned against hot concrete as the sedan accelerated into a desperate sprint.
Less than forty seconds later, a sleek blue convertible burst through the same shattered hole in the perimeter wall.
It swerved hard onto Scaffail Avenue, giving chase in the sedan's wake. Two heavy, armored SUVs thundered out right behind it. All three pursuing vehicles bore fresh paint scrapes from the warehouse firefight, but unlike the sedan, their reinforced bodywork held firm against small-arms fire.
All four vehicles disappeared down Scaffail Avenue.
With its superior horsepower, the convertible surged ahead, quickly closing the distance while leaving the lumbering SUVs trailing a quarter-mile back.
Inside the sedan, Scott pulled a disposable burner phone from his inner coat pocket and punched in a rapid eight-digit code.
The line connected on the second ring.
"This is Red Fire One," Scott barked over the roaring engine and rushing wind. "We are compromised. Requesting immediate tactical support."
*"Threat level assessment?"*came the calm voice on the other end.
"One high-performance pursuit vehicle closing fast," Scott explained, wincing as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. "Plus two armored heavy SUVs in secondary chase formation."
*"Do you require an interception battle team or a surgical extraction unit?"*
Scott glanced back through the cracked rear glass, judging the rapid rate of approach. "Send both."
*"Acknowledged. State your current coordinates."*
"We're a mile out from the Scaffail interchange, heading toward the main highway."
A brief pause hung on the line before the voice returned. *"Divert to Johnson's Park. Secondary reinforcement will be staged at the north entrance."*
"Understood." Scott terminated the call, leaning forward toward the front seats. "Divert to Johnson's Park. Drive!"
The driver didn't waste a breath. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor, executing a brutal, un-signaled turn onto the six-lane interstate. No honks, no warnings—just a sudden surge that forced the cars behind to slam brakes, sending a cascade of crashes echoing down the asphalt.
Brakes shrieked. Horns blared in deafening waves as oncoming civilian traffic swerved wildly to avoid the black sedan. A cascading four-car pileup slammed together in the sedan's wake, twisting metal and shattering headlights.
Before the dazed commuters could even step out of their wrecked vehicles to vent their rage, the blue convertible roared onto the highway, threading the needle through the fresh crash site without slowing down. The two armored SUVs followed right on its tail like twin wrecking balls.
Behind the pileup, a stranded motorist pulled out his phone, frantically dialing emergency services to report a war zone on the highway.
Meanwhile, the convertible hauled up directly behind the sedan's rear bumper.
Big Dogg slid his side window down, leaning his massive torso out into the rushing air. He wasn't holding his shotgun anymore—a tactical submachine gun rested in his grip.
He lined up his sights on the sedan's rear tires and opened fire.
*RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*
The bouncing motion of high-speed travel made precise tire targeting impossible, so Big Dogg adjusted his angle, pouring a stream of armor-piercing rounds directly into the sedan's rear windshield.
The customized ballistic glass resisted at first, absorbing the initial volley. But Big Dogg didn't stop. He held the trigger down, hammering the exact same spot until spiderweb cracks turned into milky white fissures.
*THWACK-THWACK!*
Slugs began punching clean through the failing glass
Inside the sedan, a high-velocity round whizzed past Scott's ear, burying itself deep into the front dashboard.
"Shit!" Scott cursed, ducking his head beneath the seat frame. He glared at the wounded operative crouched beside him. "Can't you suppress him?! Give him something to think about so he stops hammering the glass!"
"Are you insane?!" the operative yelled back, clutching his bleeding thigh. "If I stick my arm out that window, he'll sever my wrist before I can even acquire a sight line!"
To demonstrate, the operative grabbed a leather headrest cushion, pushed it two inches out the shattered side window, and snapped it back inside. Four neat bullet holes had been punched through the leather in a fraction of a second.
Scott stared at the ruined cushion, his expression darkening. "Well... that's not going to work. What about when he cycles magazines?"
*BOOM-CRASH!*
The sedan's entire rear windshield collapsed inward in a shower of reinforced glass shards. Scott threw his hands over his neck, crouching low into the floorboards as a fresh hail of lead chewed up the headrests above him.
Outside, Big Dogg was laughing hysterically like a maniac over the roar of the wind, smoothly slapping a fresh drum magazine into his submachine gun to finish off the tires.
"How far to the park?!" Scott shouted from the floor.
"We're approaching the off-ramp!" the driver yelled back, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Just need to clear the upper cloverleaf!"
"Take the right cloverleaf off-ramp!" Scott ordered sharply.
"That's a one-way exit ramp!" the driver shouted back in disbelief. "We'll be driving straight against oncoming traffic!"
"You're worried about traffic laws after the carnage we just left on the highway?!" Scott growled.
"It's not the law I'm worried about!" the driver snapped, swerving around a commercial tanker truck. "In our lane, everyone is moving in the same direction—I can dodge them! If we go down a one-way ramp against traffic at ninety miles an hour, head-on collisions are guaranteed!"
"Just do it!" Scott barked, a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes. "I know exactly what I'm doing!"
Inside the trailing convertible, Big Dogg lowered his submachine gun and yelled over the wind to his driver. "Hey, Kane! Isn't that Stark Mini-RPG we confiscated sitting in the back of this rig?"
"Yeah!" Kane shouted back, keeping his eyes locked on the sedan ahead. "Why?!"
"Where is it?"
"Under the rear bench seat! Why the hell do you need heavy artillery on a highway chase?!"
Big Dogg chuckled softly, a dark, manic grin spreading across his face. "You'll see in about five seconds."
Kane's eyes widened in sudden realization. "Wait—don't tell me... Shit, Dogg, that's insane! What if you miss?!"
"Hahaha!" Big Dogg threw his head back, his golden tooth glinting under the harsh sunlight. "If I miss... then whatever is behind them is going to blow sky-high instead!"
Leaning back over his bucket seat, Big Dogg unlatched the hinges of the rear bench and pulled it upward. Resting in custom foam inserts was a compact, military-grade launch tube—smaller than a standard RPG, but carrying the signature sleek, ruthless engineering of a Stark Tech prototype, loaded with six miniaturized anti-armor warheads.
Big Dogg's smile widened into a terrifying mask of greed and excitement as his fingers wrapped around the firing grip.
At that exact moment, Scott's driver yelled from the front seat: "GOING RIGHT! HOLD ON!"
Scott's bloodied lips curled into a fierce, cold smile. "Now!"
The driver yanked the handbrake hard to the left while slamming his foot on the gas. The black sedan executed a violent, tire-smoking ninety-degree lateral drift across three lanes, slamming sideways toward the off-ramp wall.
Inside the convertible, Kane's eyes bulged in absolute panic. "OH SHIT!"
Big Dogg raised his head over the windshield—and the manic grin vanished from his face instantly.
As the sedan completed its sideways slide, its entire side profile sat exposed forty feet ahead. Crouched in the open frame where the rear door had been kicked off sat Scott, grinning like a demon.
And mounted on a heavy, hydraulic swivel mount welded directly into the sedan's reinforced frame was a heavy, belt-fed, anti-vehicle machine gun—its belt of heavy caliber rounds already fed into the chamber, pointed straight at Big Dogg's face.