The Dark Knight Rises

From the moment I took over the keys to my first car (and, of course, my first driver’s license), I’ve been constantly toying with various projects focused on sports or otherwise exceptional cars. I’ve owned a few, driven many, and experienced both disappointment and moments I simply can’t erase from my mind. But what is this, really? And where does it belong?

I’m sitting behind the wheel, thinking. Do I want to drive this? Am I laughing? Am I bored? Regardless of how this internal vote turns out, another devilish idea—or rather, desire—is already forming in my head. And it doesn’t help that heavily disturbed little red man either—you know the one, right? The guy whispering brilliant ideas from the back of your mind like: “That would fit in there, it’s not a Panamera—you can throw four pairs of skis in here.”
We’re talking child seats and vacation luggage. He knows exactly what bothers me and keeps striking the right chord.

Because here I am again, sitting in another overpowered beast that drains your brain on command and terrorizes children around playgrounds at dusk. And maybe their dads too. Except this beast is long. Actually, longer than most cars I usually drive and test.

This is simply different. Hell from Affalterbach in a family package. A wagon with a 640-liter trunk—almost the same as the much-praised Superb. And that’s exactly what works for me. Everything responds instantly, everything feels just right: comfortable, spacious, and above all, discreet.

This is a Mercedes steamship that can calmly carry you along the Vltava to Smetana’s melodies and then on to a weekend cabin by Lipno. Or, if you prefer, to another universe altogether.
Comfort? Luxury? Silence? Yes. But when you want to—and trust me, you do want to—that steamship transforms into a catamaran in a full-blown gale.

Two powerful buttons are to blame: Sport and Sport+.
Both gradually awaken the sleeping dragon, and I simply have to press them. Well, I don’t have to—I want to. In fact, I barely turn them off anymore. Can I imagine this getting boring over time? That it’s just a temporary temptation? No. I really can’t.

Mercedes-Benz E 63 S 4MATIC+ AMG. Yes—so many letters and numbers it could double as a Wi-Fi password. The real magic lies mainly in the little “S” and the “+”.

The subtle “S” elevates the already ultimate E63 AMG into the realm of rocket science. From the twin-turbo four-liter V8, it squeezes out an extra 41 horsepower, landing us at a pleasant 612 hp. As if the original 571 weren’t enough.

The “+” denotes a modified 4MATIC all-wheel-drive system with variable torque distribution, an active differential, and—yes—a fully switchable AWD setup. You read that right: this monster can become a pure rear-wheel-drive car.
So even this polished, distinguished Mercedes wagon—whose predecessors once ferried your grandparents to church in taxi form—has the equivalent of a drift mode. This isn’t for Sunday mass. This is a one-way ticket straight to hell.

This car has no idea what it wants to be.
And that’s exactly what makes it brilliant.

One moment you’re gliding along like a diplomat on the way back from a UN meeting. And 3.6 seconds later (that’s the 0–100 km/h time), it turns into a black torpedo teleporting three villages ahead—while making you wonder whether you forgot to put on racing gloves.

At just under two tons, it’s not an obvious track tool. But the adjustable suspension is tuned so perfectly that right up to the real limit it remains completely neutral, with a hint of oversteer—assuming you haven’t switched off the front axle, but that’s another song entirely. And trust me, reaching that limit usually requires a change of underwear. Mostly because of the weight.

I’m currently letting the car cool down at a Shell station, replaying the last 30 minutes in my head. Intense minutes, to say the least. In the quiet, warm evening air, the only sound is the ominous ticking of hot exhaust tips. I try to recall what pace I was actually holding on my favorite back road compared to the cars I usually drive there.

No, I wasn’t driving like a moron—but it feels like half the route has vanished from my memory. The car pulled me into the game, forced me to drive and have fun.
Ridiculously good fun.

The E-Class made an impression on me. And not just on me. A small group of teenagers nearby is staring at the discreet black Mercedes, looking like it rolled straight out of Nolan’s The Dark Knight. They don’t get it. Honestly, neither do I.

Just moments ago, something angry and slightly over-motivated was approaching them at sunset. Now, cooling quietly in front of them, stands an elegant Mercedes wagon that—rather than Batman gadgets—has three IKEA Kallax units in its trunk.

This car has style. Not like the RS6, which screams that it’s sold its soul to the devil and wants everyone to know. And yes, I could comfortably keep up with that Audi RS, you know why? I may have forgotten to say it earlier, but on the modified engine cover—with an extra cooling vent—there’s another badge: BRABUS 700.

And this is where the fairy tale of the evil dragon truly begins. Once upon a time, a group of talented engineers… all right, I’ll spare you the Hans Christian Andersen version. The guys at BRABUS gave AMG’s already finely polished machinery a gentle nudge.

Let’s do numbers instead:
515 kW (700 hp), 850 Nm, 0–100 km/h in 3.6 seconds, top speed 280 km/h—still electronically limited, mind you.

It exists.
A real one.
A perfect compromise.

This car isn’t just a comfortable wagon.
It’s not a supercar either.
But damn—it pretends exceptionally well.

It’s Batman slightly before retirement, who swapped his cape for a trunk and a gray blazer—but still kept the madness inside. Especially after dark.

And I find myself asking: