The world was beginning to feel smaller.
At fifteen, Leonardo DeMarco found himself sitting at the edge of a rooftop in downtown San Francisco, legs swinging freely, the wind biting gently against his jacket. Below him, the city buzzed with the usual chaos—cabs honking, people shouting, music thumping from hidden clubs—but all of it was background noise to the plans running silently through his head.
His eyes scanned the skyline, but he wasn't admiring it.
He was calculating.
It had become a habit in recent months. Escaping the estate under Alfred's reluctant permission, using alias names and burner phones to book cheap motels or stay in quiet corners of the DeMarco properties around the country. It was part exploration, part experiment.
He wanted to feel the pulse of the streets. The real ones. The ones he'd only watched from afar.
And now, four years before the Fast and Furious canon would begin, Leonardo was quietly weaving his web beneath the surface of everything.
He wasn't just watching anymore.
He was getting involved.
It started in East Los Angeles. A run-down garage called El Filo's, where a handful of local racers were struggling with parts so outdated even junkyards would laugh at them. Leonardo walked in as a soft-spoken fifteen-year-old with an oversized backpack, offered to help fix a timing belt issue, and within two hours had not only rebuilt it, but optimized the compression on the intake manifold.
They didn't ask questions.
But when they tested the car and saw it run smoother than it had in five years, they gave him respect.
They called him Ghost.
Word spread fast.
Leonardo stayed off the grid, helping only those who needed it. A failing garage here, a drifting crew in Oakland, a forgotten tuner in Reno. Always under the radar, always under a different name, always cash only.
He studied not just the tech but the people. He learned the dynamics of loyalty in a crew, the ego behind every rev, and the weight of reputation. He learned to read body language the way others read manuals—spotting pride, fear, envy, and desperation in the way a man held a wrench or how a racer stared at the asphalt before launch.
And slowly, he started building his own legend.
One shop called him an urban mechanic messiah. Another believed he was an exiled Japanese prodigy. Some said he was a retired racer's son. None were right, but all served a purpose: misdirection.
Meanwhile, back at the estate, Alfred kept things moving. Letters were forwarded. DeMarco Holdings remained stable. And while the board grumbled about the heir's absences, they were too afraid to ask questions. Their bonuses had never been higher.
Leonardo would return every few weeks—showered, composed, files in hand—to oversee project blueprints, suggest manufacturing pivots, or drop off anonymous research packages. Then he'd disappear again.
By sixteen, he had a working map of the major tuning scenes along the West Coast. Names began to matter now. Hector's crew was growing bolder in East L.A. Rumors of an unbeatable driver named Dominic Toretto had begun to circulate in street corners and tire shops. And then there was Letty—the quiet storm with a mechanic's hands and a racer's soul.
Leonardo made no move to meet them yet.
He wasn't ready to reveal himself.
Not until he had the one thing he was still missing: his masterpiece.
A vehicle unlike any built before.
He had spent the last two years assembling it in silence under the estate—a modular, AI-free beast built for absolute dominance in torque, speed, cornering, and durability. Every part was custom. Every wire shielded. No traceable company names. No signature plates.
Its name: Oblivion.
It wasn't done yet. But it would be.
And when it was, the world would have no choice but to acknowledge him.
Yet even with all the noise, he remained alone.
No partners. No family. Just Alfred—and even he had begun treating Leonardo more like an equal than a child.
Sometimes, Leonardo wondered what kind of life he'd lead if he'd simply lived out this second chance as a normal person. Gone to school. Made friends. Learned to drive at sixteen like everyone else.
But that was never the plan.
He hadn't come back to live slowly. He had come back to shape the road ahead.
Canon was approaching.
And when the smoke began to rise in the streets of Los Angeles, Leonardo DeMarco would be ready to step out of the shadows.
Current Age: 16