Brian's Eclipse, coughing from nitrous abuse, rumbled down a cop-free LA street, Dom riding shotgun after their narrow LAPD escape. Suddenly, a pack of bikers roared up, led by Johnny Tran, all leather and menace.
"Follow us," Johnny barked, eyes hard.
Brian and Dom, out of options, trailed the convoy into Little Saigon—Tran's turf. They pulled into an abandoned parking lot, where Johnny and his cousin Lance Nguyen, a twitchy hothead, strutted over.
Johnny circled Brian's car, sneering, "Thought we had a deal, Dom. You stay off my turf, I stay off yours. Everybody's happy."
Raja who is in the shadow listening to the johnny's rant enjoying absolute chaos.
MAYA: "Master, you're about to make this guy's unhappy again."
Dom, cool as ever, shrugged, "Got lost, Johnny. What do you want me to say?"
Johnny's eyes narrowed. "Who's 'we'?"
Dom nodded at Brian. "My new mechanic, Brian. Meet Johnny Tran and his cousin Lance."
Johnny sized up Brian, pacing around the Eclipse. "This your ride?"
Brian, still salty from Raja's race, muttered, "Was. Now it's Chaos Rider Raja Toretto's."
The word "Chaos" hit like a grenade—Johnny's crew tensed, Lance's face twisted, and Johnny shot him a look to chill.
Dom smirked, "Better leash your cousin, Johnny. One more scratch from Lance, and Raja Toretto's wrath'll rain down."
Lance exploded, "What's that Indian server kid gonna do? Win some races, grab some turf, and think he's a king?"
Dom's grin widened. "Some races? Last I checked, he wiped the floor with you and your ten goons in a brawl."
Lance and Johnny's faces went beast-mode, veins popping. "Stop hyping him, Dom."
Johnny spat. "If I'd been there, he'd be dead meat!"
Before Dom could reply, a voice slithered from the shadows: "Oh, really? Prove it, Little Johnny."
Raja stepped out, leaning against a Buddha statue, Glock gleaming, evil grin dialed to eleven.
The Tran gang froze, hearts pounding, memories of last summer's beatdown—Raja's Demon Back vibe crushing them—flooding back.
"Where'd he come from?" Lance whimpered.
Raja's smirk screamed chaos. Lance, ego overriding sense, reached for his gun, but Johnny slapped him hard, snarling, "You dare dishonor my word?"
Raja, loving the drama, taunted, "What's it gonna be, Johnny? Fists only, me versus your whole crew. No guns."
Johnny, pride stung, ripped off his jacket, flexing. "I'm enough to teach you, server boy!"
Raja laughed, "I trust you honor your word, Johnny, but your rabid cousin? Nah. Guns on the car hood—let's dance."
Johnny, smirking, ordered, "Lance, guns on the hood. Anyone breaks my code, their family's done." Guns clattered down, Raja putting his Glock on his back.
Johnny charged, launching a flying karate kick.
Raja sidestepped like he was dodging a toddler, countering with a playful punch, kick, and headbutt, all while humming.
Johnny threw haymakers, but Raja, cool as a coconut, weaved and bobbed, not even hitting back—just toying with him.
Johnny's face burned; he was a kid in a grown man's fight.
Lance and the crew, fed up, dogpiled Raja.
Brian, eyes wide, moved to jump in. "It's a mob! He'll die!"
Dom grabbed his arm, grinning, "Raja? Die? Watch the difference between human and monster."
Brian gaped as Raja became a monster fighter—peak human reflexes shredding the gang like confetti. One goon ate a spinning kick, another a gut-punch, dropping like drunk flies, moaning on the asphalt.
Johnny and Lance got special treatment—Raja tossed them around like ragdolls, humiliating them with slaps and quips. "Nice muscles, Johnny—try yoga next time!"
Lance, desperate, pulled a pocket knife, lunging.
Raja snapped his wrist—CRACK!—and delivered a gut-punch that left Lance gasping. Grabbing his Glock, Raja pressed it to Lance's head, smirking.
Johnny, staggering up, freaked, "No! We said no weapons—you're breaking your word!"
Raja's grin turned demonic. "Johnny, what's that in your cousin's hand? A nail clipper? He broke the deal first—I've got kill rights."
Johnny spotted the knife, cursing, "100 grand, let him go!"
Raja's vibe flipped to sunshine, "Pleasure doing business, Johnny! Cash at the cafe by morning, or I super-edit this fight vid—your family's getting a director's cut."
Johnny's brain screamed devil at Raja's "recording" threat. "100 grand, video included, no copies—swear on Toretto!"
Raja winked, "100 for Lance's life, 50 more for the vid. Toretto's honor."
Johnny swore, dragging his battered crew to their bikes, Lance's eyes blazing with hellfire.
Raja spun to Dom and Brian, clapping, "Party's waiting, let's roll!"
Dom and Brian twitched, shrugged, and peeled out, leaving the lot behind.
At Dom's house party, the vibe was electric—music thumping, beers flowing.
Dom invited Brian, but the crew wasn't thrilled.
Vince cornered Dom, "Why's the buster here?"
Dom smirked, "Buster kept me out of cuffs, Vince."
He headed upstairs with Letty, leaving Brian with a hostile Vince, Leon, and Jesse.
Tension crackled—Vince looked ready to throw punches, Leon sneered, and Jesse just vibed, sipping a drink.
Raja, sipping a mango lassi, sauntered over, sensing a brawl brewing. "Yo, Brian, play nice. I need to chat with Mia about today's chaos—move!"
Brian, twitched at Toretto's behaviour, nodded, heading for the near girl with a beer, while Raja grinned, ready to stir more party madness ran upstairs.
MAYA: "Master, you're a walking riot."
To Be Continued…