This was a red Porsche supercar, with a striking appearance and extraordinary performance, built specifically for those pursuing ultimate speed and optimal handling. Its ultra-lightweight body and high-tech design placed it among the top-tier cars. The powerful 5.7-liter V10 engine with 605 horsepower could accelerate from 0 to 200 km/h in just 10 seconds, with a top speed of about 330 km/h.
After starting the car, Vin Diesel deliberately controlled his speed. This was a wealthy residential area, with frequent patrolling police cars. Although speeding was nothing for him, he didn’t want to invite unnecessary trouble.
The car wound through several turns, and its exceptional handling left Vin Diesel very satisfied with his newly acquired supercar.
Although the high-speed driving scenes in his films were completed by stunt drivers, ever since starring in the Fast & Furious series, he had beco obsessed with the thrill of extre speed, often cruising in supercars and frequently receiving speeding tickets.
However, like most Hollywood stars, Vin Diesel didn’t care. He had plenty of money, connections at the police station, and an excellent lawyer; speeding was nothing.
The red Porsche supercar gradually reached the outskirts of Beverly Hills, and Vin Diesel slightly increased the speed. The roadside scenery flashed past the windows, and he unconsciously recalled his Fast & Furious series. The previous film in the series had once been compared by the dia to Duke Rosenberg’s movie and was disparaged as "effeminate."
Himself and his movie being called "effeminate"?
Vin Diesel slamd the steering wheel. Duke Rosenberg was the "effeminate one"!
A man who could be knocked out by two drinks and never sped while driving—if that wasn’t effeminate, then who deserved the title?
Thinking this, Vin Diesel stomped on the accelerator. The Porsche roared like a red lightning bolt, instantly exceeding 70 mph, as if the 50 mph speed limit on this road was just a suggestion.
The red supercar quickly left Beverly Hills, passed through Hollywood, and followed the flat highway northward, soon arriving about thirty miles north of Hollywood in Santa Clarita.
Here, the roads were wider and smoother. Vin Diesel increased his speed again, and the red Porsche quickly reached 90 mph.
The engine roar echoed far.
On the street, Michael Turner walked at a leisurely pace. Hearing the roar, he turned to look. At the end of his line of sight, a red streak like lightning was heading his way. Even on the sidewalk, he instinctively moved closer to the curb.
He muttered under his breath, "These life-disrespecting idiots!"
Like Michael Turner, many around him cursed as well. The driver might feel thrilled and powerful, as if he were the best in the world, but to bystanders, such extre speeding was despised and condemned.
The red car approached closer. Michael Turner stopped walking, turned, and shouted, "If you want to die, go drive off a cliff on Mulholland Drive, don’t drag others down here!"
This was not an empty highway but Santa Clarita, the fourth-largest city in Los Angeles County.
Though he didn’t know the car’s exact speed, Michael Turner knew that if it hit a person or anything else, the outco would be catastrophic.
The red Porsche showed no sign of slowing, ignoring the fact that it had entered a densely populated area, closing in on Michael Turner.
Disgusted and enraged by the speeder, Michael Turner cursed again, "Still accelerating—hope you only hit a tree and not soone else."
He pulled out his phone to dial 911, but his hand froze over the keypad.
Because Michael Turner saw clearly: the red supercar emitted white smoke. Though he’d never driven such an advanced car, he knew this was definitely abnormal.
The car shuddered violently. Braking had no effect. Vin Diesel, behind the wheel, had long abandoned the thought that "not speeding equals effeminate." His usually expressionless face was now full of panic. At this speed, losing control would have disastrous consequences.
He struggled to control the car, filled with regret. Why did he speed? Why drive so fast?
His large hands shook on the wheel, partly from exertion, partly from fear. Unlike the tough-guy persona in his movies, Vin Diesel was now sweating profusely with terror.
Who doesn’t fear death?
If given another chance, he would definitely learn from Duke Rosenberg—never speed while driving!
This thought involuntarily surfaced in Vin Diesel’s mind, yet many things in this world can be restarted—but life is not one of them.
The red Porsche veered off course toward the roadside.
"What?" Michael Turner widened his eyes. "Is there really going to be a crash?"
It wasn’t about to happen—it had already occurred.
Before his eyes, the red car shot off the road like lightning, climbing the roadside greenery and smashing into a thick palm tree. The collision was trendous. The palm tree fell instantly, and the car disintegrated, red fragnts scattering everywhere, rattling nearby buildings.
Fortunately, bystanders had instinctively moved away from the car’s path, so no innocent people were injured.
Almost instinctively, Michael Turner dialed 911. "There’s been a car crash... a serious crash..."
He had just reported the location when he saw sparks. Flas had erupted on the red car. Several bystanders who wanted to approach stopped imdiately, knowing how dangerous it was.
The flas lasted only a few seconds before a massive explosion followed.
"Boom!"
Michael Turner felt the world spinning. Hundreds of feet away, the red sports car had completely disintegrated, and blinding flas shot skyward, as spectacular as July 4th fireworks.
"This is it!"
Watching the supercar burn fiercely, Michael Turner instinctively held his head. "That guy’s completely finished."
Although he detested the other person’s extre speeding, Michael Turner had never wished for such a deadly outco.
Who was that guy? What terrible luck...
Through gaps in the flas, Michael Turner tried to see who was in the driver’s seat. Although the flas hadn’t reached the cockpit and the distance was still considerable, he could vaguely make out what seed to be a bald head in the driver’s seat.
This was a busy urban area. Michael Turner had called the police the mont the accident happened. The wailing sirens of police cars sounded quickly. Soon after, fire trucks and ambulances arrived at the scene.
After extinguishing the flas, firefighters pried open the car doors...
Like the other witnesses, Michael Turner did not leave. He stood outside the police cordon, continuing to watch. He even raised his phone, hoping to capture more footage.
But with so many onlookers and a poor angle, Michael Turner could only capture the charred, disintegrated supercar. After seeing the doors pried open, he raised his phone high, trying to aim the cara toward the cockpit to capture the unfortunate driver.
Next to him were two independent journalists—perhaps better described as tabloid paparazzi. Like entertainnt paparazzi, they belonged to no dia outlet, operating independently. They often listened to police channels for news, rushing out to scoop first-hand reports, then selling them to TV stations or video platforms.
When the firefighters rescued the unlucky driver, the two previously indifferent paparazzi suddenly beca excited. One even took advantage of the lack of police attention, broke through the cordon, and ran to film. Unfortunately, in less than half a minute, he was chased away by police and given a stern warning.
However, these two didn’t care at all.
"We got it! This is our jackpot!"
One turned off the cara and, voice trembling with excitent, said, "This is exclusive! This news can sell for at least $100,000!"
The other, more cautious, asked seriously, "Are you sure we got the right person?"
"Absolutely no mistake!"
The first person drew a deep breath. "It’s definitely him! This is exactly the kind of news every TV station dreams of!"
"Is he still alive?"
Hearing his companion’s question, he shook his head without hesitation. "Neck completely broken, half the body burned. I recorded the paradics—they said if it weren’t for regulations, in this situation he could be sent straight to the morgue!"
"Good!"
The other finally revealed an excited expression. "Let’s head to the TV station. This is our chance to make a fortune..."
"Haha..."
The first laughed heartily, showing no sympathy for the deceased. "You drive later, I’ll do so editing on the laptop, adjust the footage."
"Let’s go!"
The other slung the cara over his shoulder and turned to leave. "Hurry, Vin Diesel dying from a speeding accident is headline news!"
These words rang clearly in Michael Turner’s ears. He first glanced at the two departing n, then at the stretcher being carried to the ambulance, suddenly realizing he had witnessed a remarkable car accident.
"The driver in the car was Vin Diesel? And he’s dead?"
He opened his mouth in shock.
..
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