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Cassius drove like he'd been born in the seat.
His throttle work was butter-smooth. Every turn was timed perfectly, every input clean.
He followed the exact route Paul had just walked him through, hitting every mark Paul had pointed out.
When they hit a steep, tight corner, Cassius shifted weight even smoother than Paul had demonstrated.
Paul watched from the passenger seat, eyebrows slowly climbing with genuine interest.
They rolled into a long, narrow straightaway lined with parked cars on both sides.
Cassius eased the speed up just a hair, carving a perfect line through the tight gap.
Paul opened his mouth to tell him to keep it easy.
Then everything went sideways.
"Paul! Cass! Three o'clock! Black Toyota Hilux, no plates, just pulled out behind you!"
Rafael's voice crackled urgent and low over their earpieces. "At least three guys inside. They don't look friendly! We're boxed by two other vehicles—working on getting around! Do not stop! Keep moving, head for the main road—go!"
Paul's stomach dropped.
His worst fear in this city just became real.
A random tail in Rio was never random. Could be a gang spotting the flashy foreign car. Could be straight-up opportunists looking for a quick score.
Either way, it was bad news.
He was already reaching for the wheel on instinct—muscle memory telling him to take over.
But someone beat him to it.
The second Rafael finished the warning, Cassius's whole vibe changed.
The calm driver disappeared.
Pure adrenaline lit his eyes.
No panic. He didn't even waste a glance at the rearview to confirm the truck.
That would've been a waste of time.
"Hold on."
Two words. Quiet. But they cut through the sudden tension like a command.
Paul felt the brutal shove of acceleration slam him back into the seat.
Cassius planted the gas pedal to the floor with zero hesitation.
The Hellcat's V8 exploded with a savage roar that had been waiting to get out.
Massive torque punched through the tires and launched the car forward like a rocket.
The black Hilux clearly hadn't expected the target to react that fast. It hesitated a split second, then gunned it, its rough engine screaming after them.
The narrow street turned into a life-or-death racetrack in an instant.
Cassius's hands locked on the wheel, knuckles white, arms rock-steady.
His eyes flicked across the road ahead, mirrors, and every possible escape gap farther down, brain processing everything at lightning speed.
Up ahead: a sharp left with a delivery truck parked crooked, barely any room to squeeze through.
The Hilux was closing fast, trying to muscle up on the inside.
"They're gonna hit us!" Paul's heart slammed against his ribs.
At this speed, through that gap? Too tight.
Cassius's face stayed blank.
A heartbeat before the turn he tapped the brake with his left foot, right hand snapping a perfect downshift and heel-toe blip.
The move was pure track precision.
Weight slammed forward. The nose bit exactly where it needed to.
Cassius yanked the wheel left. The big Hellcat slid with a tire-shriek, missing the truck's rear by inches, the body drifting just enough to stay controlled.
The second the slide started, Cassius counter-steered with surgical speed, held the throttle steady, and dialed the drift perfectly—swinging the car through the apex like a pendulum, then straightening and hammering the gas out the other side.
The whole corner was lightning-fast, riding the absolute edge of control without ever losing it.
White smoke still hung in the air behind them when the Hellcat was already howling toward the next intersection.
Paul's heart was trying to climb out of his throat.
Not from fear.
From pure shock.
That sequence—timing, car control, ice-cold composure under pressure—was pro-level.
The Hilux got momentarily gapped by the clean drift, its driver clearly not as smooth. It bogged through the corner.
But the danger wasn't gone.
Ahead lay a chaotic T-junction—traffic, scooters, total mess.
Cassius didn't slow. He spotted a razor-thin gap between two cars on the right and a momentary opening in the oncoming lane on the left.
"Brace!"
His voice stayed calm.
He yanked the wheel right.
The Hellcat threaded the needle between the two cars, mirrors almost kissing.
Then, with oncoming traffic closing in, he snapped the wheel left, shot into the opposite lane for a brief, ballsy counter-flow, and carved a perfect arc back into the correct direction just before the light went red.
Every move was violent. Every move was exact.
Engine roar, tire scream, body rocking hard—contrasted against Cassius's stone-cold, focused profile.
Paul was speechless.
He gripped the oh-shit handle, eyes wide, watching every input.
Cassius drove like a guy with a predator's instincts and terrifying control.
And in the middle of the chaos, the calm, almost ruthless presence radiating off him made even Paul—a guy who'd seen plenty—feel a chill.
This wasn't acting.
Cassius felt dialed in like never before.
Every stat was feeding him at full power.
Rafael's voice came through the earpiece, relieved: "Beautiful! You shook them! They ducked into a side street! We're clear and catching up—keep your current route straight back to the secured set area! It's safe there!"
Cassius's shoulders relaxed a fraction. He eased off the gas, speed dropping smooth and controlled.
He was back to the calm driver again, like the street chase had been nothing more than a Sunday drive.
The Hellcat rolled into the heavily guarded perimeter and stopped.
Cassius killed the engine, set the brake, then let out a long breath and turned to Paul, looking genuinely apologetic. "Sorry, Paul. Situation got hot—I drove a little aggressive. You okay?"
Paul: ???
His mouth opened, closed, opened again.
He finally unbuckled, shoved the door open, and practically jumped out.
He walked around the front of the car to the driver's side, stared at Cassius, and finally managed one sentence, voice full of disbelief and awe:
"Holy shit, man. You call that 'a little aggressive'? You just drove like a twenty-year Rio street-racing veteran! No—better than a veteran! Scarier!"
Cassius stepped out, rolled his shoulders, and smiled. "Everything you showed me earlier helped a ton."
He wasn't lying.
Without Paul's heads-up on the road hazards and defensive awareness, he wouldn't have reacted that cleanly or picked those lines so decisively.
Paul walked over and clapped Cassius on the back—hard enough to make him stagger.
Shock still on his face, but now mixed with pure excitement at discovering a hidden gem. "Bullshit. That wasn't anything I taught. I'm seriously starting to think Lin's been holding back just to watch the rest of us look stupid!"
Justin, Vin, and Carlos—drawn by the commotion—were already walking over.
Justin took one look at the smoking tires, the two slightly rattled actors, and the security vehicles racing to catch up. A knowing grin spread across his face.
The car-chase scenes officially started rolling.
After the earlier road incident, security around the set had been tightened even more.
Cassius's ride finally got its moment.
The modified Dongfeng Mengshi.
It sat among the American muscle cars and sports cars like a battle tank that had wandered into a street race—out of place, but impossible to ignore.
Its tall stance, brutal lines, and heavy bull bars screamed raw power even while parked.
"Whoa, that's Zhen's ride?" Paul walked a full circle around it and whistled. "Looks like it could punch through a wall. How's it drive?"
Cassius patted the hood. "Like steering a moving brick wall. High center of gravity, heavy steering, but plenty of grunt. Feels planted."
After Carlos's brutal training, he knew the Mengshi's personality inside out.
Vin walked up too. He didn't comment on the truck itself—just gave Cassius a nod. "Remember the feel. In the chase, rhythm matters more than raw speed. You're the cop hunting us down."
As he spoke, a purple orb dropped off him:
[Chase-Scene Two-Car Interaction Rhythm +6]
Cassius absorbed it.
He instantly understood how to keep pressure on without wrecking the overall shot flow.
Justin gathered the three leads and the stunt coordinators around the storyboard.
"This sequence—A plan: Dom and Brian try to break out in the Suburban. Zhen comes in from the side in the Mengshi, makes first light contact, then uses the truck's weight and torque to muscle them toward the curb and pin them."
"I want that raw power-versus-skill feel. No sloppy crashes."
He looked at Cassius. "The Mengshi needs early anticipation from you. Steering and braking have to be decisive."
"Vin, Paul—you sell the frustration of being bullied by brute force, but keep the car under control."
"Got it," all three answered.
Before the real takes, stunt drivers would run the lines first to lock in speed and paths.
But the close-up driving shots with the actors still had to be them.
Everyone was nervous—especially the ones who remembered Cassius was technically a new driver.
First setup: the Mengshi bursts from a side street and cuts across to block the Suburban.
"Action!"
Cassius's eyes narrowed. He mashed the gas.
The Mengshi roared forward, its massive body charging with unstoppable momentum.
He didn't chase top speed—he timed it perfectly so the truck slid exactly into the Suburban's path at the right moment.
Vin jerked the wheel to avoid.
Metal screamed as the two vehicles scraped hard, sparks flying.
Cassius held the wheel rock-steady, using the Mengshi's weight to keep pushing, slowly forcing the Suburban toward the planned curb.
Through the whole contact he stayed planted, eyes locked, every movement screaming Zhen's cold, relentless professionalism.
"Cut! Perfect!" Justin yelled from the monitor, voice pumped. "We're printing that! Next setup—close-quarters pursuit!"
Cassius let out a breath.
First real chase scene on camera. He'd been a little nervous.
The rest of the day went smoother than anyone expected.
Cassius blended Carlos's vehicle mastery, Paul's street-smarts, and his own Level 6 Body Language into something scary good.
When he drove the Mengshi it looked like man and machine had become one.
In the tight alleys he used the truck's bulk for precise blocks.
When the script called for pure skill he threw in clean, aggressive slides and U-turns.
When it called for raw power, the Mengshi became an unstoppable force—exactly the way Zhen should feel.
Vin and Paul were on fire too.
The three of them clicked in a way that made every take crackle.
Vin brought Dom's wild, never-say-die energy.
Paul added Brian's quick, fluid style.
Cassius played the immovable rock—constantly forcing them to dig deeper.
The three cars weaved, chased, shoved, and battled through Rio's streets. Every shot was packed with tension.
Justin's direction shone.
He borrowed techniques from classic chase movies, using plenty of in-car and passenger-side angles so the audience felt like they were riding along.
He also insisted on capturing real engine roar and tire screech with minimal music overlay—raw sound for maximum urgency.
The editing was fast and aggressive.
Every key move got short, punchy cuts. The rhythm was relentless.
The efficiency shocked even the line producer.
Sequences that were budgeted for two or three days of grinding often wrapped in a handful of takes.
The three leads' control over themselves and the cars, their understanding of Justin's vision, and the natural chemistry between them cut the NG count dramatically.
"Jesus, did these three share one racing brain?" a veteran camera op muttered to the lighting guy while watching another flawless take. "I know Vin and Paul are beasts, but Cass—how is he that precise with that tank? It looks smoother than a damn supercar!"
"And did you notice," the lighting guy whispered back, "Lin hasn't stopped smiling all day? Vin and Paul seem extra into it too—especially Vin. The way he looks at Cass now is nothing like how he looked at Dwayne."
During breaks, Vin, Paul, and Cassius talked more than ever.
They dissected corner lines, debated what to do if speed went up another notch.
Vin dropped purple orbs now and then:
[On-Set Leadership Improv Direction +5]
[High-Intensity Shoot Team Motivation +8]
Cassius absorbed them and understood better how to stay himself while still meshing with the top-tier crew.
Paul's favorability kept climbing too.
It had already hit 70.
He looked at Cassius with open admiration now.
Justin, seeing Cassius's level, started trusting him with more technically demanding shots and actually listened to his real-driving feedback for small adjustments.
The final shot of the day: the Mengshi pinning the Suburban at the top of a steep rise. Cassius steps out for the standoff with Dom and Brian.
"Wrap!" Justin called through the bullhorn, voice tired but thrilled. "Everyone today was absolute fire—especially our three drivers! We're way ahead of schedule!"
Cheers and whistles went up across the set.
Even the grizzled stunt veterans—who usually only respected real skill—gave Cassius thumbs-ups and respectful nods.
Cassius had earned the respect of the crew that valued hands-on talent above everything.
He climbed down from the Mengshi, arms a little sore but buzzing with energy.
The day had gone better than he'd hoped.
The Rio chase footage was coming together so fast the line producer was already talking about possible budget savings.
Right after the chase wrapped, Gal Gadot rolled in on her black Ducati Monster 1100.
The location shifted to a slightly less crowded edge of Rocinha where they'd built a temporary outdoor garage set.
Vin, Paul, Jordana Brewster, and the others were shooting dialogue and gear-check scenes.
Cassius had just finished a take and was talking with Carlos about the timing on a hard-brake turn for the next Mengshi shot.
Then a high, rhythmic engine howl tore through the set—mechanical, passionate, unmistakably Italian.
It wasn't the low thunder of a V8 or the putt-putt of a regular bike. It was a sharp, eager scream that rose fast and hungry.
Heads turned across the set, looking for the source.
From the far end of the narrow alley, a sleek black Ducati Monster 1100 came ripping in like a dark predator.
The rider was tucked low, body one with the machine.
The bike carved a perfect arc, tires scrubbing white smoke on the rough pavement, and stopped dead on its mark outside the garage.
The engine dropped to a satisfied rumble, but the power still vibrated in the air.
The rider kicked down the sidestand, swung a long leg off, and reached up to unclip the aggressive full-face helmet.
Long dark-brown hair spilled out, catching the Rio sun with a healthy shine.
Her features were sharp and striking, eyes bright, lips naturally curved in a confident smile.
The simple black riding suit hugged her athletic, powerful frame—strong without being exaggerated.
Gal Gadot.
Playing Gisele.
The future Wonder Woman.
"Damn…"
Someone let out a low whistle.
The set went quiet for half a beat, then broke into excited murmurs.
Plenty of guys—and more than a few women—couldn't help staring.
The entrance was pure swagger. Combined with her looks and energy, she owned the moment.
Vin stepped out of the garage, arms crossed, watching the new arrival with mild curiosity.
Paul walked over too, gave a low whistle, and joked to Vin, "Looks like we've got a new visitor. Hope she brought pizza—I'm starving."
Justin watched the playback on the monitor and nodded, satisfied.
That was exactly the effect he wanted—Gisele's first appearance had to be flashy, powerful, and hint that this woman was no side character.
Cassius watched from nearby.
He noticed the details on the bike first.
The Ducati Monster 1100 was no stock bike.
Matte carbon-fiber parts everywhere—fenders, side panels, even sections of the bodywork.
The black paint had a unique texture that cut weight and looked aggressive.
The exhaust was clearly modified—that sound was too distinctive.
Bright red Brembo calipers, lightweight forged wheels.
This was a full movie prop weapon.
Gal pulled off the helmet and shook out her hair.
She was ready for the admiring looks.
In Hollywood—or most film sets—a gorgeous actress making a dramatic entrance usually stole every eye.
What happened next threw her off.
Vin did glance at her and gave a polite nod, but his attention immediately locked onto the sleek black Ducati beside her.
He walked straight over, crouched, and tapped the carbon-fiber side panel, listening to the crisp sound. Then he said something to Paul.
Paul joined him, squatting to inspect the red Brembo calipers and lightweight wheels. "Nice weight reduction—unsprung mass is way down. Handling's gotta be razor-sharp—"
Cassius walked over too, eyes on the custom details.
The crew followed.
Lighting techs, camera assistants, even the tough stunt guys drifted closer.
But they weren't crowding around the stunning new actress.
They were circling the Italian machine that was still ticking as it cooled.
Gal stood there, helmet in hand, suddenly realizing the spotlight had shifted to the bike.
The set buzzed with excited shop talk about suspension, brakes, and power delivery.
Vin and Paul were deep in it.
Cassius was right there with them, pointing out the modified exhaust note.
Gal's confident smile faltered for half a second, then widened into something more amused than annoyed.
She propped the helmet on the seat, leaned against the Ducati, and crossed her arms, watching the guys geek out.
"Boys and their toys," she muttered under her breath, but her eyes sparkled with quiet amusement.
This was going to be fun.