"Dominic, Owen Shaw turned right. "I'll catch that Hummer — you go after Owen Shaw."
Luke Hobbs' voice cut through the net. He dropped a gear and surged after the Humvee. He didn't know who was inside, only that they were tied to Owen — and those birds overhead. Without the helos, Owen never makes it out.
Bang—bang—bang.
Inside the tunnel, Hobbs slid the wheel to Hicks, then climbed up through the hatch, braced in the roof opening and hosed rounds downrange. The concrete throat turned his fire into a rolling thunder; brakes screamed, cars fishtailed, horns layered into chaos.
Arthur read Hobbs' intent in the tracer pattern and the choke point forming ahead.
[COMMS] Arthur: "Punch through."
Toll Road buried the throttle. The Humvee shouldered stalled metal aside, ploughing a path. Panicked drivers had already bailed into the tunnel alcoves — no mass-casualty pileup — but the air stank of rubber and cordite.
Hobbs didn't wait. He shouldered a launcher and sent a rocket slamming into the Humvee's rear quarter. The blast pancaked armour and kicked the rig sideways.
"Son of a— that was my favourite truck," Christmas snapped, fighting the wheel.
Arthur flipped the weapons suite. The roof pod folded; a brushed-steel emitter snapped up and began to hum. Target lock climbed.
[COMMS] Arthur: "EMP. Firing."
The tunnel flashed white. The DSS armoured car behind them died in an instant — lights dead, drivetrain bricked — momentum carrying the hulk into the divider. Hobbs was already yelling, dropping down for Hicks. She hadn't cleared the hatch in time. By the time he reached her, she was gone.
Hobbs' roar chased the Humvee into the dark.
⸻⸻
Up ahead, Owen Shaw punched out of the tunnel in his low-profile flip car — wedge nose, centre-seat, mid-engine, built to spear and upend anything in its lane. He feathered the handbrake and threw a perfect drift through the curve, tires howling. The trailing interceptor overcooked the line and kissed the barrier, showering sparks.
Stay clean, Owen. Deck's right — Cipher won't give you a second chance. Arthur's jaw set.
Behind Owen, Gisele and Roman were still pressing when the tunnel geometry and crossfire punished them: a stray burst stitched Gisele's rear tire; Roman ate a glancing hit that spun him into a concrete stanchion. Both lived it, metal wrecked, pride intact.
Only Toretto kept coming, relentless as gravity.
Owen hit nitrous. Blue flame flashed; the flip car rocketed into the grid and was gone.
Toretto hauled his wounded chassis to a stop, knuckles white on the wheel, eyes on the space where Owen had been. He pounded the rim once, then forced himself calm. Different fight ahead.
⸻⸻
An hour later, Cole's battered Humvee rolled into the abandoned car park Owen had pinged. Simon, Christmas, and Toll Road fanned out with weapons at the ready, scanning the perimeter as the Humvee's engine ticked and cooled.
Klaus stepped forward and pulled Cole into a rough embrace. "Didn't expect you tonight, man. That rig's a beast."
Cole rapped the scorched panel. "She's hanging on by duct tape and bad attitude."
"Jah can fix that," Klaus said, nodding toward a grease-smeared tech crouched beside an engine block. "There isn't a car on Earth he can't rebuild."
Cole gave the mechanic a small nod. "Do what you can. She's been through hell."
Jah grinned faintly. "Hell's my workshop."
Cole scanned the lot. Vegh stood over a crate, sorting through printed manifests. Oakes checked weapon mounts under a floodlight. Denlinger, their wiry hacker, typed rapidly at a portable terminal, the glow painting his face.
Denlinger looked up. "You the one who hijacked our comms feed earlier? Clean footprint."
Cole met his stare flatly. "Stay sandboxed unless I tell you otherwise."
The hacker smirked and went back to his screen.
Engines growled in the distance — the distinct turbine whine of Owen's flip car and Letty's Dodge Charger. Moments later, they tore into the lot, brakes hissing as dust and gravel spiralled around them.
Owen killed the engine, stepped out, and crossed straight to Cole. The two met halfway — a fierce, wordless embrace that said everything family never needed to explain.
"Hell of a move," Owen said finally, a grin cracking through. "Worthy of the name."
"You ran it close," Cole replied, tone even. "If Deck hadn't flagged me, you'd be dead on the street right now."
Owen's grin faded. "Watch yourself."
Cole let it slide. "How'd Cipher reach you?"
Owen leaned against the car, jaw tight. "Three months ago. Never met her face-to-face. She wired a hundred million — wanted us to find three chip components. Nightshade needs them to complete the system. Each one's embedded in satellite-grade hardware."
"Let me guess," Cole said. "You've got one."
Owen nodded. "We hit a British military transport moving satellite parts. Pulled one unit before everything went to hell. Need two more."
Cole processed that quickly. Two left. Each a beacon she can't resist once we start moving them.
He spoke evenly. "We'll get the rest — and use the pull to draw her out."
Vegh approached, dropping a stack of files across the hood. "Pulled fresh intel. Three possible sources for the remaining chips — an Eastern Europe depot outside Bucharest, a Northern Command stockyard in Scotland, and a private broker already moving black-market inventory through Berlin."
Oakes leaned in, flipping through the pages. "That last one sounds like a setup."
"Everything's a setup," Cole said, scanning the printouts. "That's what makes it fun."
Letty stayed quiet at the far side of the car, her eyes fixed on one particular photo clipped to the top page. Vegh noticed and tapped it with a finger.
"Guys, I've got their information," Vegh said, voice tightening. "Take a look."
The team gathered. Denlinger frowned. Oakes swore under his breath. Klaus folded his arms, eyes narrowing.
Cole looked from one face to another, then down at the photo — recognition hitting hard.
Everyone except Cole turned toward Letty, who stood silent, her expression unreadable beneath the hum of engines and floodlights.