Brian screeched back to Toretto's shop, heart pounding, ready to face Dominic after his cop cover blew.
Dom, eyes blazing, was loading a shotgun, prepping to search for Jesse, who'd bolted from Race Wars.
"Drop the gun, Dom!" Brian barked, hand on his holster.
Mia, caught in the crossfire, pleaded, "Stop it, both of you!"
Dom snapped, "Stay out, Mia!"
Before fists flew, Jesse's Jetta roared up, tires smoking. He stumbled out, babbling, "I'm sorry, Dom, I panicked!"
As he groveled, a low rumble cut through—dirt bikes. Brian and Dom froze, spotting Johnny Tran and Lance Nguyen, armed with suppressed SMGs, speeding toward the shop.
MAYA: "Master, it's a shootout buffet!"
Bullets sprayed, glass shattered, and Jesse dove for cover—too slow. Raja, bursting from the garage like a caffeinated ninja, tackled Jesse, shielding him as rounds whizzed past.
Dom ducked, narrowly dodging a headshot, cursing, "Tran, you're dead!"
Brian returned fire, emptying his clip at the fleeing bikers.
Rage mode activated, he leapt into the Supra, engine screaming
. Dom, fueled by vengeance, jumped into his 1970 Dodge Charger, its V8 snarling.
Raja, smirking, slid into his modded Mitsubishi Eclipse—Brian's old ride—muttering, "Time to hunt, Chaos Rider style."
The chase exploded onto LA's streets, a high-octane ballet of roaring engines and squealing tires.
Brian's Supra, orange and sleek, weaved through traffic, tailing Tran's bike.
Dom's Charger, black and brutal, muscled past cars, its growl shaking windows.
Raja's Eclipse, neon green with a Hanuman sticker, danced between lanes, Raja's 25% brainpower calculating every turn like a chess grandmaster.
Tran and Lance split up, Lance looping back to flank Brian. Headlights flashed, horns blared—LA was their racetrack.
Tran gunned his bike, weaving through an alley, SMG spitting sparks.
Brian ducked, the Supra's windshield cracking. "Eat this, Goldilocks!" Tran taunted, tossing a smoke canister.
Dom, spotting Lance's flank, grinned darkly. He yanked the Charger's wheel, sideswiping Lance's bike with a CRUNCH! Lance flew, cartwheeling off an incline into a ditch—game over. "One down!" Dom roared.
Raja, eyes locked on Tran, hit an overpass, the Eclipse's suspension hugging the curve. He leaned out, Glock steady, and popped two shots—BANG! BANG!—nailing Tran in the ribs. Tran's bike wobbled, slammed a curb, and crumpled, his body limp.
Raja skidded to a stop, smirking, "Night-night, Johnny."
Brian, catching up, checked Tran's pulse—gone. From a hilltop, Dom and Raja watched, silhouettes against the city glow.
Brian yelled, "Someone call 911!" and floored the Supra, chasing Dom and Raja.
They hit a red light, engines idling. Dom, nostalgic, grinned, "Used to race here in high school. Railroad crossing's a quarter-mile out—perfect track."
Raja, in the Eclipse, revved, "Let's make it legendary!" The light flashed green, and—BOOM!—the Charger and Eclipse launched, front wheels lifting in glorious wheelies.
Brian, not backing down, hit the Supra's nitrous, blue flames spitting.
The trio tore down the street, a blur of metal and madness, tires screaming like banshees. Streetlights streaked, crowds cheered from sidewalks, and a train's horn blared ahead, its lights closing fast.
Raja, brain at 25%, calculated angles, smirking, "Train's got nothing on me!" Brian slammed a second nitrous shot, the Supra surging, neck-and-neck with Dom's Charger.
Raja's Eclipse hugged their tails, weaving like a stunt driver's fever dream.
The train loomed, tracks rattling—50 yards, 20, 10! Hearts pounded, engines howled, and with a collective WHOOSH, the trio cleared the crossing, inches from the train's nose, its horn deafening.
The crowd roared, phones filming the insanity. But danger wasn't done—a semi-truck lumbered into Dom's path, oblivious.
MAYA: "Master, Incoming!"
Raja, brain blazing, saw the crash coming. With god-tier driving, he cranked the Eclipse into a drift, tires smoking, and nudged Dom's Charger just enough to veer it clear.
The move sent all three cars—Charger, Eclipse, Supra—into a synchronized drift, a puzzle of spinning metal, skidding to a stop in a cloud of burnt rubber.
Dom, panting, laughed, "That's not what I had in mind." Sirens wailed—cops and EMTs closing in.
Brian, torn, made a call: he waved Dom and Raja off. "Go!"
Raja, grinning, tossed Brian the Eclipse's keys. "Gift, Goldilocks— for not snitching."
Dom and Raja peeled out in the Charger, dust flying, gone before the badges arrived.
At a safehouse, Dom rallied the crew via burner phone, barking, "Lay low—stashed cash and fake passports at the specified drops arranged by Raja."
Raja handed Mia a folder—bank accounts, legal papers, jaw-dropping sums using the money he got and Buying stocks in her name. "Bought you a beach villa, maid included," he said.
"Wait for us—I'll bring the family back, I promise." Mia, stunned, clutched the papers, eyes misty.
Dom clapped Raja's shoulder, "You're Toretto, Chaos Rider."
They both left in their cars in different direction, not to caught by police.
Raja, smirking, reached a warehouse had MAYA store Vayu Putra in her inventory—poof, gone.
He slipped away, soul zapping back to the main world, ready for the next chaos fix.
To Be Continued…