The BMW M3 GTR's engine pulses beneath you like a living heart, its iconic carbon fiber hood reflecting the Los Angeles sun as you downshift approaching Toretto's Market & Café. The Most Wanted legend wasn't supposed to exist in this universe—yet here it is, manifested by your first wish after the lightning strike that shattered reality and dropped you into the Fast & Furious world.
You ease into a parking spot across the street, the precision German engineering drawing immediate attention. Three muscled figures lounging near modified imports straighten, conversations dying mid-sentence. Through the café's windows, you spot Dominic Toretto himself, arms crossed over his white tank top, eyes narrowed with predatory assessment.
A transparent UI notification blinks in your peripheral vision—visible only to you:
[WISH SYSTEM ACTIVATED: 1/5 WISHES USED]
[BMW M3 GTR MATERIALIZED: 1250HP/CUSTOM TUNE]
[REMAINING WISHES: 4]
[BLACK MARKET INTERFACE: LOADING...]
The interface fades as you exit the car, the door's weight perfectly calibrated against your palm. Your second wish granted instant mastery of any physical skill—driving, fighting, seduction—all muscle memory now perfectly encoded without the years of practice. You move with the unhurried confidence of someone who knows exactly what their body can do.
Inside Toretto's, conversation stops. Mia behind the counter pauses mid-pour. Five pairs of eyes lock onto you—strangers don't just wander in here, especially not strangers with cars that make Dom's crew take notice. Brian O'Conner sits at the counter, his undercover status unknown to the others. You can practically smell the cop on him, his eyes cataloging your movements with trained precision.
"Tuna sandwich. No crust," you say to Mia, sliding onto a stool two spaces from O'Conner. The code-phrase—an echo of Brian's own repeated orders—causes his posture to stiffen slightly. A microexpression of alarm crosses his face: you shouldn't know that detail.
Dom approaches, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. "Haven't seen you around before," he says, voice a controlled rumble. "Haven't seen that car either."
"It's new," you reply, maintaining eye contact. "To this neighborhood, anyway."
The Black Market Interface flashes momentarily in your vision:
[DOM TORETTO: THREAT ASSESSMENT - MEDIUM]
[BRIAN O'CONNER: FBI AFFILIATION CONFIRMED]
[LOCAL INFLUENCE: HIGH]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: ESTABLISH DOMINANCE/VALUE]
The door swings open, and she walks in—Gisele Yashar, all dangerous curves and lethal grace. In the original timeline, she wouldn't appear until later, but your arrival has already rippled through the universe's fabric. Her raven hair falls in a curtain as she whispers something in Dom's ear. His expression remains unchanged, but his eyes flick to you with renewed interest.
"Nice BMW," Gisele says, approaching with feline fluidity. "German engineering with American muscle mods. Rare combination."
Your third wish—the GTA cheat menu—tingles at the edge of your consciousness, ready to summon anything from attack helicopters to armored vehicles. Your fourth—Merryweather mercenaries on standby—means an army awaits your command. The fifth wish, psychosomatic control, pulses untested beneath your skin.
"Race tonight," Dom announces, not a question. "Echo Park. You should bring that BMW." His tone makes it clear this isn't an invitation—it's a vetting process.
"I might," you say, accepting the tuna sandwich Mia places before you. "Depends on the competition."
Letty snorts from across the room. "Fresh meat thinking it's prime rib."
Gisele's eyes haven't left you, something calculating behind her gaze. Unlike the others, she's already sensing you're not what you appear to be. The interface flashes:
[GISELE YASHAR: INTEREST LEVEL - HIGH]
[BIOLOGICAL MARKERS: ELEVATED PULSE/DILATED PUPILS]
[OPPORTUNITY ASSESSMENT: OPTIMAL]
"The BMW stays," you say, sliding a hundred-dollar bill across the counter. "Consider it collateral. I'll be back for the race."
As you stand, Brian shifts subtly, his FBI training making him the most dangerous person in the room—not for his fighting skills, but for what he represents: a system that could investigate what you are.
Outside, the Los Angeles heat hits like a physical force. You're halfway to the street when the sound of boots on pavement makes you turn. Gisele approaches, leather jacket creaking softly with each step.
"You're not from around here," she says, statement rather than question.
"What gave it away?" you ask, the cheat menu UI flickering as your pulse quickens—your one vulnerability already exposed: her effect on you disrupts your calculated control.
She circles you once, assessing. "Everything. The way you move. The way Dom couldn't read you. The way you looked at Brian like you know something."
The BMW chirps as you unlock it remotely. Gisele's hand brushes yours, deliberate as she moves past you toward the passenger door.