At 11:50 PM, Liam’s phone let out a sharp chime.
He picked it up and opened a new email notification.
It was a response to an application he had submitted three days ago on LinkedIn for a precision stunt driver position at Pacific Coast Studios.
Liam scanned the text.
Most of the other open positions at the studio required a college degree or formal stunt certifications.
Like many ordinary people, Liam had neither.
“I’ll worry about the interview after I get back,” Liam muttered to himself.
“Hopefully, my life truly changes tonight.” [Midnight has arrived.
The crossover task is initiating.
Is the host ready?] “I’m ready.” [Reminder: Regardless of how long you spend in the cinematic world, only ten minutes will pass in reality.] With a sharp hum, Liam vanished from his bedroom.
When his boots hit the pavement in the world of The Fast and the Furious, the system immediately flooded his mind with his new background.
He was still Liam Vance, a lone driver who had just rolled into Los Angeles from the Midwest looking to make a name for himself.
He was standing on the edge of a massive, sprawling street plaza.
Night had just fallen over the city.
The glowing neon signs of surrounding storefronts and streetlights flickered to life one by one.
Liam scanned his surroundings, trying to pinpoint his exact location in the city.
At that exact moment, the deafening roar of a high-performance engine shattered the night air.
Two blinding headlights pierced the darkness, rushing straight toward the plaza.
A sleek black Honda Civic blasted into Liam’s line of sight.
Immediately following it, a convoy of heavily modified tuner cars and muscle cars swarmed the street.
The chaotic symphony of roaring exhausts and spooling turbos echoed from every direction.
Tires shrieked in unison.
One by one, the cars executed flawless drifts, snapping their rear ends into a perfectly aligned diagonal parking formation.
Seeing this iconic lineup, it all clicked for Liam.
This was the legendary late-night street racing meet on the outskirts of Los Angeles from the first movie.
Standing on the corner, Liam kept his composure.
He knew exactly what he was here to do.
The system’s task was solely to collect the thrill of extreme speed.
To achieve that, he had to get behind the wheel, enter the race, and secure his real-world rewards to guarantee his own survival.
He had mastered elite driving techniques in the simulation, and his military background gave him a solid physical edge.
But in this underworld of ruthless street gangs and hijackers, one wrong move meant catching a bullet.
Until he built up his strength, he had to keep a low profile and avoid acting arrogant.
If he died here, his one shot at changing his destiny would be buried with him.
As Liam stepped into the crowd, he marveled at the system’s seamless integration.
Not only had it fabricated his local identity, but it also granted him an innate understanding of the scene.
Every piece of underground tuner slang, engine diagnostic jargon, and mechanical specification came to him as naturally as breathing.
Heavy hip-hop bass rattled the pavement across the plaza.
Stunning, heavily customized rides continued to flood the lot.
Even though it was 2001, the car culture was at its absolute peak.
Toyotas, Mitsubishis, Fords, and Chevys sat slammed to the ground, sporting aggressive aero kits and neon underglow.
As the doors popped open, gorgeous women in bikinis and crop tops stepped out, carrying bottles of imported beer.
Drivers in baggy streetwear laughed, drank, and hyped each other up over the blasting music.
Cars, cash, and beautiful women were the three unbreakable pillars of this adrenaline-fueled world.
Suddenly, a thunderous engine growl echoed from the northern alleyway.
Brakes squealed as a striking blue Acura Integra locked into a parking space.
A gorgeous woman with long dark hair stepped out of the driver’s seat.
Wearing a fitted tank top and denim shorts, her arrival instantly drew the eyes of every guy in the lot.
Liam recognized her immediately.
It was Dominic Toretto’s younger sister, Mia.
She wasn’t just beautiful; she possessed a sharp, magnetic energy that made her the undisputed dream girl of the Los Angeles racing scene.
“Hey Mia, where’s Dom?” someone yelled from the crowd.
“He had business tonight.
Couldn’t make it,” Mia replied with a slight smirk.
A bald street racer named Jack stepped up, eyeing her up and down.
“You’re looking incredible tonight, Mia.
That outfit…
damn.” “Back off, Jack,” a nearby driver warned.
“You keep flirting with Mia and Dom is going to turn your face into ground beef.” “I’m just giving a compliment,” Jack shot back, throwing his hands up.
“That’s not flirting.
Flirting requires a bed.” The surrounding crowd erupted into loud, rowdy laughter.
…
“Alright, listen up.
The rules tonight are simple,” Jack announced, stepping into the center of the grid.
“Buy-in is five hundred bucks a head.
It’s a twelve-mile sprint down the main stretch.
First one across the line takes the whole pot.” “Five hundred is boring,” another racer yelled.
“It’s rare Dom isn’t here to take our money.
Shouldn’t we raise the stakes?” “He’s got a point,” someone else chimed in.
“With Dom gone, we actually have a chance.
Let’s make it a real bet.” “I’m down.” “Yeah, let’s do it.” Mia took a sip from a bottle of water and casually leaned against the hood of her Integra.
“I’m fine with raising the stakes.
Whatever you guys want to do.” “Whatever we want?
You better mean that, Mia,” a cold voice suddenly rang out.
The crowd turned to see a towering, muscular Black man wearing dark sunglasses.
He was leaning against a heavily modified black Ford Mustang.
The car was a menace.
Its body had been widened and lowered, giving it a hyper-aggressive, almost futuristic stance under the streetlights.
From a distance, Liam noted the Mustang’s aerodynamic lines.
It looked like a stealth fighter jet built for the asphalt.