The day after teaching Vince a lesson, Hunter didn't do anything else.
He speculated that if Dominic found out Vince had been beaten by him, he would come to settle the score.
So, Hunter just stayed at home all day.
It just so happened that a few days ago, he had bought over a dozen books related to Repair, automobiles, and machinery.
Having nothing else to do, Hunter started flipping through them at home.
Thanks to the super Reading comprehension and memory brought by high intelligence,
Hunter didn't feel much pressure Reading these rather professional books now.
The result was waiting all day, and besides gaining a lot of Reading experience points,
until he went to sleep late at night, Hunter didn't wait for Dominic, who he expected would come to find trouble.
With a bit of doubt, he soon entered his dreams and fell fast asleep.
Waking up early the next morning, Hunter decided not to wait anymore.
He decisively found the phone number Old Parker had given him and dialed it.
Soon, the call went through.
A cautious male voice asked, "Who's this?"
Hunter shifted to a more comfortable position before saying, "Someone told me you're looking for a top-notch car modifier."
"As long as the price is right, I'm all in!"
The line went quiet for a moment, then the man spoke again: "You're in Los Angeles?"
"Yup," Hunter replied.
"Good. We'll hash out the details face-to-face."
"Come to XX-XX on XX Street. I'll be waiting."
"Got it."
He hung up, changed clothes, locked the apartment, and left.
The place held only basic appliances.
Anything worth stealing—including most of what he'd recently bought—was stored in his private space, so burglary wasn't a worry.
After leaving the building, Hunter circled the block cautiously, then slipped into an unmonitored alley and fired up his vintage bike, exiting from the far end.
The address he'd been given was over forty kilometres away.
He rode for a while, eventually reaching the neighbourhood.
After asking directions, he finally spotted a Burger King.
Surprised, he parked outside and dialled again.
"I'm here, outside the fast-food place."
"Table eleven," came the reply.
Hunter scanned the restaurant—nothing looked off—then pocketed the phone and walked in.
"Welcome!" a server greeted him the moment he stepped through the door.
"What can I get for you, sir?"
"Take me to table eleven," Hunter said with a smile.
The server pointed; Hunter turned and saw the table near the entrance.
He thanked the waiter, walked over, and found it empty.
Puzzled, he sat down anyway.
Five or six minutes passed with no sign of his contact.
The same server approached again.
"Would you like to order, sir?"
Hunter recognised the polite eviction notice.
Lunchtime was near, so he picked up the menu.
He ordered a Double Whopper, a large Coke, a chicken wrap, and onion rings.
The food arrived quickly.
He ate and waited, in no particular rush.
Four or five minutes later a greeting rang out behind him.
Footsteps approached, and a man slid into the seat opposite him.
Hunter's heightened senses—sharpened by recent physical improvements—snapped to attention.
He looked up, mid-chew on an onion ring, and froze.
Shock slammed through him.
"Holy crap—Mark!"
No wonder he was stunned: across from him sat a forty-something white guy, average height, average build, totally unremarkable—except he was the spitting image of an actor Hunter had watched on screen in his previous life.
He already knew he'd crossed into a parallel fast & furious world; he'd met Dominic and Letty on day one.
But as far as he remembered, that movie franchise had never signed this particular star.
An incredible possibility flashed through his mind, though he couldn't confirm it yet.
"Hi—what should I call you?" the man asked.
Hunter collected himself, eyes still locked on the stranger.
"Hunter."
He lifted a greasy onion ring in greeting; a handshake wasn't an option.
"So you're the one who needs a car fixed?"
He deliberately played dumb.
The man's appraising gaze softened into a grin—he clearly appreciated the wit.
"Charlie."
"I do have a car that needs work. Mind showing me what you can do?"
Hunter's mind raced, sifting through every film this guy had starred in.
He grabbed his untouched chicken wrap and stood. "Sure. We doing this now? I'm on the clock."
"Let's go."
Charlie paid the bill, tip included, and they headed outside.
Hunter pointed to his battered bike.
"I rode that. If you've got a car, just give me the address and I'll meet you."
Charlie rattled off directions, then walked to the parking lot.
Hunter didn't wait; helmet on, he kick-started the bike and roared away.
He already had a strong hunch about Charlie's identity but needed proof.
Even so, his pulse quickened: if this world wasn't just fast & furious but a mash-up of countless movies, the possibilities were endless.
At the very least, he could stop worrying about shoehorning himself into one franchise—bigger, wilder stories were waiting.
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