57th Street in Manhattan—famous as Billionaires' Row—One57 rose like a blade of glass above New York City. Inside its top-floor duplex, a man sat on a sofa before the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the evening news in silence.
"Special announcement: thirteen hostages remain in the hands of the Masori pirates. If ransom is not paid within seven days, the hostages will be thrown into the sea and fed to sharks!"
"The victims have been identified as five Americans, three Japanese, and five British citizens."
"Special announcement: today a major robbery occurred in Rio de Janeiro, involving one hundred million U.S. dollars."
"According to informed sources, the suspects are a high-speed crew led by Dominic 'Dom' Toretto."
Cole Shaw rubbed his forehead.
"What kind of world is this… Fast & Furious, The Expendables — what else has merged together?"
When he had awakened that night, he'd believed he was simply in modern America. The memories that followed proved otherwise.
His name was Cole Shaw. His family: Magdalene 'Queenie' Shaw; brothers Deckard and Owen; sister Hattie — the same Shaws known across the Fast & Furious saga, each deadly in a different way.
He was the youngest, freshly out of university two years, raised to live quietly while his family operated in darker circles. Queenie had insisted he stay clean, but admiration for his brothers ran deep. After graduation he quietly registered with a private-security company as an independent contractor — more vanity than vocation. They trained him, but never risked assigning a live mission.
Even so, he'd learned the mercenary world's hierarchy. Two names dominated conversation: Owen Shaw's own elite crew and a legendary team called The Expendables.
Cole knew them all too well — from the films of his previous life. That meant this world wasn't just Fast & Furious; it was a full-scale crossover reality where stories intertwined.
"A hundred million in Rio," he murmured. "That's Fast Five. Which means Owen's about to move."
In the old timeline Owen fell hard. Here, Cole had no intention of letting that happen.
Ding — Strongest Mercenary System activated.
Ding — Please complete the novice task: accept a commission.
Ding — If no mission is accepted within twenty-four hours, the system will terminate.
The voice in his head was clean, metallic, absolute. He stayed calm. A commission was exactly what he needed — he just didn't have one.
The doorbell rang.
Outside stood stood a blonde woman, eyes red clearly from crying.
"Kim, what are you doing here?"
She'd been his university classmate — and shooting partner. Back then his looks, height, and comfortable background had drawn attention; Kim had been his girlfriend for a year before they split amicably after graduation. She'd moved to Bali, so her sudden appearance in New York City startled him.
"Cole, aren't you going to let me in?" Her voice trembled.
"Of course. Come in."
She stepped inside, clasping her bag. "I came back for Maggie's funeral."
Cole froze. "Maggie's dead?"
"She was taken by pirates three months ago," Kim whispered. "They want five million dollars. Her family doesn't have it. They've given up and are arranging the funeral."
He looked at the news feed still replaying the Masori broadcast. "Was it that group?"
Kim nodded.
He turned back to her. "If I could find a way to help — would you trust me to try?"
She hesitated, then said, "What can we do?"
"There's a mercenary team I've heard of. If they're paid something, they might attempt a rescue. Governments move too slowly; professionals don't."
Kim's eyes welled. "Maggie's family can't even afford to ask."
"How much can you raise?"
She pulled out a bank card and placed it in his palm. "One hundred thousand dollars. If it isn't enough, I'll ask my dad."
Ding — Delegated task detected.
Cole exhaled quietly. The game had just begun.