They squared off on a flat patch of ground just outside the set, a few steps apart.
Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, Gal Gadot, and the others had just wrapped a take and were grabbing water when they noticed the commotion. Heads turned, curiosity written all over their faces.
"Let's go," Rafael said.
True to his ex-cop instincts, he started conservative—a testing jab straight at Cassius's chest. Nothing fast, nothing hard.
Cassius reacted the instant Rafael moved.
He didn't block. He shifted sideways, left hand brushing the punch outward like he was guiding it, while his right foot slid forward and cut off Rafael's advance path.
The movement was so smooth it didn't look rehearsed—like he'd already read exactly where the punch was going.
Rafael's eyes narrowed. He pulled back, switched to a low sweeping kick aimed at Cassius's calf.
Cassius stepped back half a pace, evading cleanly. The second Rafael's weight shifted off-balance, Cassius ghosted in, right hand slicing edge-first toward the side of Rafael's neck.
He stopped a hair short of contact.
The whole entry and strike was fast, precise, and carried a strange rhythm. It should've looked dangerous, but instead it came off effortless and controlled.
"Damn, that was quick!" Paul muttered from the sidelines.
Sweat beaded on Rafael's forehead. If that cut had landed, he'd have been out cold for a few seconds.
He stopped holding back. He came in with real street-fight pressure—tight, vicious combinations that carried the raw edge of favela brawls.
Cassius only got calmer.
The fused skill ran perfectly through his body.
He didn't think "what move next." His body automatically picked the most efficient answer to whatever Rafael threw.
Block, redirect, dodge, counter.
Every motion was clean and economical.
Yet at the perfect moment he'd tweak the angle or rhythm just enough to make the block or counter look cinematic as hell.
After one dodge he even threw a spinning elbow feint that carried a faint Jackie Chan-style flair, but the core was pure, lethal efficiency.
They traded blows faster and faster. The dull thuds of fists and the whip of clothing filled the air.
Rafael's respect turned to genuine shock.
The pressure was crushing.
He wasn't sparring with an actor anymore. He was fighting a seasoned, unpredictable combat veteran.
Cassius's power, speed, and reactions were off the charts. The way he seemed to read every move and chain counters naturally left Rafael scrambling.
Vin had set his water bottle down and was watching with arms crossed, eyebrows raised in surprise.
He remembered Cassius's earlier fight choreography on set. It hadn't looked like this.
Was the kid holding back before so he wouldn't hurt me?
Vin had worked with plenty of "tough" actors and real fighters, but this blend of camera-ready flair and actual dangerous efficiency? First time he'd seen it.
This wasn't something you picked up in a few months of stunt classes.
Paul was grinning ear to ear. He leaned toward Jordana and whispered, "Holy shit, how many more surprises does Cass have? That hands work is straight movie-star ready—he could carry a pure action flick tomorrow!"
Gal watched in silence, blue eyes sparkling with interest.
She'd done combat and weapons training herself. She could read the technique.
Cassius had no fixed style, but every move was practical. His rhythm control was flawless. That effortless power mixed with grace was magnetic.
Justin Lin was drawn in too. He grabbed the walkie-talkie. "Pause the dialogue scene! Lights and cameras hold position!"
He wanted to see this unexpected show.
In the middle of the ring, Rafael lunged hard. Cassius redirected the momentum so cleanly the man nearly lost his footing.
Cassius spun with the motion, hand-blade hovering at the back of Rafael's neck.
Rafael froze. He knew he was done.
Breathing hard, he raised both hands and switched to English with a bitter laugh. "Stop! Mr. Cassius, I yield. That was… goddamn impressive."
He meant every word.
Cassius dropped his stance immediately, the fluid combat state draining away. He reached down and pulled Rafael up. "Sorry, I got a little carried away. You okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Rafael waved him off, still catching his breath.
Applause broke out around them.
Vin walked over first. He didn't say a word—just clapped Cassius on the shoulder, harder than usual. The respect in his eyes was unmistakable.
Paul practically jogged over. "Cass, you absolute legend! You drive like a demon and fight even better? Those last few moves were straight fire!"
Gal came up smiling. "Very impressive, Cass. Looks like if Gisele ever needs a close-quarters partner, I know exactly who to call."
Her line got a round of good-natured laughs.
Justin Lin stroked his chin, eyes bright with discovery. "Cassius, we're going to use that. The small-scale clashes between Cass Zhen and the gang guys in the original script? We're adding a little extra spice. I'll have the fight coordinator talk to you later!"
The final big night scene was set in the central plaza of Rocinha favela—an open patch ringed by ramshackle buildings.
Night had fallen.
Massive light rigs turned the area bright as day while the surrounding shanties stayed pitch black.
Tonight they were filming the explosive clash between Dom's crew and Reyes's men near the money stash—lots of running, gunfights, and vehicle movement.
The production was on high alert. Security was at maximum.
Twice the usual number of Rio military police held every high point and choke point.
Every lead actor had their personal security detail glued to them.
"Action!" Justin called.
Chaos erupted without warning.
A local samba troupe in bright costumes and heavy makeup suddenly burst from a side alley, drums pounding, hips swaying, cheering as they danced straight into the filming zone.
Thirty or forty people.
They scattered the background extras, blocked multiple camera angles.
"Cut! What the hell? Who let them in?" Justin barked into the walkie, glaring at the line producer.
The line producer looked just as lost and waved his hands—no idea.
The military police on the outer cordon seemed stunned by the sudden party and didn't move fast enough to clear them.
The drums grew louder. The dancers' wild rhythm drew every local eye.
The crowd behind the barricades started shifting, cheering, swaying to the beat.
People began slipping through weak spots in the cordon. The spectator count jumped to over a thousand in seconds. The plaza turned loud and messy.
"Clear the area! Get them out first!" Justin ordered.
Security and some police tried to guide the dancers away and push back the surging onlookers.
Right when the confusion hit its peak—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Sharp, real gunshots cut through the samba drums.
Not the muffled blanks the crew used.
Bullets came from multiple directions, slamming into the expensive camera trucks and the modified hero cars parked a short distance away.
Sparks flew off metal. Windows shattered. Screams erupted.
"Contact! Cover! Protect the talent!" Harper's roar blasted over every radio.
The crowd lost it.
Screams, cries, running feet—
People scattered like panicked ants.
The samba dancers panicked too, dropping drums and bolting in every direction, making the chaos worse.
Several gunmen with pistols and short-barreled rifles used the human shield to push closer to the equipment trucks and hero cars.
They fired suppression shots at any security that moved while trying to grab what they could.
Their goal was obvious: those modified movie cars and gear were worth a fortune on the black market.
Trained security tightened up fast, using vehicles and bodies as cover, shielding Vin, Paul, Gal, Cassius, and the other leads while trying to move toward the emergency extraction point.
The Rio military police finally reacted, pushing civilians back while returning fire.
That was when a second, heavier group of gunmen appeared from the dark alleys and rooftops on the perimeter.
They opened up with automatic weapons.
Rat-tat-tat-tat—
The full-auto chatter drowned out the handguns.
A couple of surprised military police went down hard, blood bright under the spotlights.
The newcomers' firepower, coordination, and tactics were clearly better than the first crew's ragtag snatch-and-grab.
"Ambush! They're working together! The first group draws attention while the second takes out the guns!" Harper snapped, voice grim.
The plan was tight—inside job and outside hammer, meant to swallow the whole production in one messy bite.
This movie money wasn't easy to earn.
He hadn't expected an attack this close to wrap.
Security took casualties. Shouts of pain rang out.
The escape routes were blocked by panicked crowds and crisscrossing fire.
"We can't move as one group! Too big a target!" Harper decided instantly. "Split and break out!"
"A-team with Vin and Paul—north!"
"B-team with Gal and the rest—east!"
"C-team with Cassius—west!"
"Every man for himself! Get clear and rally at the hotel! Repeat—split up, hotel rally point! Keep comms open but only call in emergencies—don't give away positions!"
Cassius was pinned between Rafael and two other members of his detail, crouched behind a bullet-riddled prop truck.
Rounds whistled overhead and smacked into the truck, fragments stinging his skin.
The air smelled of gunpowder, blood, and fear.
Rafael scanned the area while shouting, "Stay on me! We're heading west into the alleys—terrain's messy, good cover!"
A wet thud sounded right beside Cassius. One of the security guys who had just peeked out took a round to the forehead and dropped without a sound. Warm blood sprayed across Cassius's face.
Cassius's brain buzzed.
The man had been alive seconds ago. Now he was a corpse at his feet.
This wasn't like the robber he'd shot before. This was a familiar face he'd seen every day.
Rafael's eyes went bloodshot. He cursed, dragged the body behind cover, stripped the Glock 17 and spare magazines, and shoved them into Cassius's hands. "Take it! For defense! Stay glued to me!"
Cassius gripped the still-warm pistol on pure reflex.
His only gun knowledge came from Jack's safety drills and the on-set choreography.
Zero real combat experience.
They started moving, using vehicles and debris for cover, heading toward a dark alley mouth. Another security guy led the way.
A shadow flickered at the alley entrance. A gunman spotted them and raised his weapon.
"Watch out!" Rafael yelled, shoving Cassius toward the wall while returning fire.
Cassius slammed into the bricks. The pistol nearly flew from his hand.
His heart hammered. Adrenaline surged.
Pure survival instinct made him raise the gun toward the shadow, finger on the trigger.
"Don't shoot—you might hit—"
Rafael's warning was cut off.
Bang!
Cassius fired.
The recoil was bigger than he expected. His wrist stung.
The bullet went God-knows-where, probably high into the opposite wall, kicking up dust.
This Glock was nothing like the lightweight modded pistol the robber had used.
Not only had he missed, he'd painted a bright target on their position. More rounds hammered in, nearly catching Rafael.
"Fuck! Stop shooting blind!" Rafael roared, ducking back to reload.
Cassius broke into a cold sweat. He knew he'd just made things worse.
His gun hand was shaking.
That was when he caught it from the corner of his eye—a purple orb drifting up from the dead security guy's body.
[Basic Firearm Handling & Calm Under Fire Mindset]
Source: Mario
Description: Street-level, no-frills gun handling and shooting mindset forged in life-or-death situations.
Contains the most basic stable grip, rapid point shooting, overcoming first-shot flinch, and the core logic that shooting back beats waiting to die.
No time to hesitate.
Cassius absorbed the orb the instant he saw it.
A faint stream of information flooded his mind.
No fancy techniques—just a handful of brutal iron rules:
Two-handed grip, wrist locked, eyes on the threat not the sights, trigger pull decisive—even if you miss, fire to suppress.
The absorption was still settling when Cassius glanced at the skill panel.
He still had Carlos's [Street Driving Instinct Package] left.
Fuse them. Now.
He didn't overthink it. He dragged both orbs into the fusion slot.
One point five million dollars vanished instantly.
[Fusion in progress—]
Everything happened in a heartbeat.
Cassius felt his temples throb. His vision grayed for a second like something inside his skull had exploded and rebuilt itself.
[Fusion Successful!]
[Acquired Environment-Limited Skill: Street Vehicle Offense & Defense Instinct (Purple)]
[Skill Description: After extreme fusion of vehicle control instinct with basic shooting instinct, this special state gives you hyper-sensitive dynamic awareness of any vehicle you are driving or riding. You can partially apply that same dynamic awareness to stabilize your shooting platform and make rapid sight corrections.]
[Your danger intuition in street environments is greatly heightened, allowing faster identification of usable cover and escape routes. This skill is highly dependent on environmental stimulus and the user's current state.]
It worked!
First-try success!
Cassius shook his head hard. The world felt sharper, yet somehow different.
The pistol in his hand no longer felt foreign.
He suddenly knew how to hold it steadier, how to use his posture and breathing to cancel some of the shake, how to instantly read which direction posed the biggest threat.
He glanced at an old sedan a short distance away that had been shot up but still looked drivable.
A handful of fuzzy mental images flashed:
If he were in that car, how to keep the gun steady the instant the engine caught.
How to use the turn to create a brief firing window.
How to brace the gun on the door frame as a makeshift rest.
All of it pure instinct from the fresh fusion.
"Cass! Move!" Rafael's shout snapped him back.
The point man had temporarily suppressed the gunman at the alley mouth. Rafael grabbed Cassius. The three of them scrambled into the garbage-and-urine-scented alley.
Once they were deep in the darkness, the gunfire from the plaza faded.
Rafael pressed his back to the damp brick wall, breathing hard, muzzle still covering the way they'd come.
No immediate pursuit. His shoulders loosened a fraction.
"Mr. Cassius, you hurt?" Rafael scanned him quickly.
Cassius wiped blood and sweat off his face and shook his head, voice rough. "I'm good. No holes."
His grip on the pistol had steadied. The new [Street Vehicle Offense & Defense Instinct] gave him razor-sharp awareness of every fork, every pile of trash in the alley.
The skill was pure gold.
Rafael nodded, then keyed his earpiece. Fragmented voices crackled through static and heavy breathing:
"A-team reporting! We're pinned down at the northeast warehouse! Vin's safe, Paul has a graze on his arm! Need support! Repeat—need support!"
"B-team—B-team calling! We're trapped with some crew in the church basement! Exit's blocked! People are hit! Need medical!"
"This is Harper! All teams report status! Do not give exact positions! Move toward rally points when you can! Military police comms are down—we're on our own!"
Bad news kept piling up.
Rafael's face turned to stone.
His own team had lost one man, Cassius was unharmed, the other guy was lightly wounded.
That was when hurried footsteps and muffled breathing echoed from the alley entrance.
More than one person.
Rafael and the remaining guard snapped their guns up, hearts in their throats again.
Cassius crouched low too, muzzle tracking the sound.
Gunmen chasing them?
Or panicked civilians?
In the dark, several figures stumbled into the deeper part of the alley, silhouettes outlined by faint light from the plaza.
Rafael's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Wait!" Cassius hissed, touching Rafael's arm lightly.
Rafael hesitated.
Cassius stared hard at the middle figure—the tallest one slightly behind the rest—specifically at the faint number floating above her head.
[ Favorability: 70 ]
Seventy points.
That wasn't low for the people he'd met so far.
And in this time and place, the only person who could show up with that high a favorability rating was someone he already knew.
Someone who liked him quite a bit.
"It's friendlies!" Cassius whispered, certain.
Rafael kept his gun up but called out in Portuguese, then switched to English: "Who's there? Identify!"
The running figures froze. A woman's voice answered, low but clear and wary: "Rafael? Is that your team? It's Anna—Gal's security!"
Gal's security detail.
Rafael exhaled but kept his muzzle steady. "Come forward slow! Hands visible!"
The figures approached carefully.
In the occasional flash of distant flares or burning debris, Cassius made them out clearly.
It was Gal and her four female bodyguards.
They looked rough.
The women were all disheveled. One had a makeshift bandage on her arm, another was limping.
Gal herself was pale, right hand clamped over her left upper arm. Blood seeped between her fingers, darkening the black riding suit even more.
Her beautiful long hair was matted with dust and stuck to her sweat-slick forehead. She looked battered, yet her eyes were still sharp—like a wounded leopard that refused to go down.
When she saw Cassius and Rafael—especially Cassius, filthy but clearly unharmed—Gal and her team visibly relaxed. Their tense shoulders dropped a notch.
"Mr. Cassius, Captain Rafael—thank God—"
Anna panted, speaking fast. "It's total chaos out there. Those two groups are working together. Plaza is sealed. Firepower is insane. We tried the east exfil route but got driven back by crossfire. Two of the girls are hit. We barely shook the pursuit and slipped into these alleys."
Rafael's face grew darker.
"Our team of five is intact, but two need medical ASAP. Gal took a graze on her left arm—not deep, but it needs pressure and bandaging."
Anna gave the worse news: "While scouting near the west exit we spotted new movement! At least two directions have suspicious vehicles and personnel setting up roadblocks. Doesn't look like random gunmen—more like organized containment."
"They're deliberately herding and boxing in survivors. Either for hostages or to finish the job."
The alleys were being sealed.
Rafael's stomach dropped.
If it had just been a messy running fight, experience might have let them slip away in the confusion.
But if the other side was methodically clearing and trapping people, the situation was far more dangerous.
Cassius listened, mind racing.
The fresh [Street Vehicle Offense & Defense Instinct] fed him instinctive environmental awareness.
They had cars. They had men. They had organization.
Charging straight out was suicide.
"Any other way?" Cassius asked, eyes sweeping the deeper, darker part of the alley.
He'd studied the favela layout while shooting earlier scenes.
The alleys here were a maze—rarely dead ends.
Rafael hadn't answered yet when Gal, voice tight with pain but steady, spoke up. "Anna's team noticed something while scouting. About a hundred meters down this main alley, on the right, there's a collapsed section of wall. Looks like it opens into an abandoned little courtyard. Beyond that—hard to see—but it might connect to narrower passages through more buildings."
"It's full of garbage and debris, though. And we don't know if the other side has it blocked or watched."
She finished and glanced at Cassius, her expression complex.
In the middle of the firefight she had noticed how his shooting had gone from clumsy to competent in seconds. Far from expert, but that rapid adaptation and calm under fire was impressive in this environment.
Right now he also looked like the steadiest one among them.
Rafael made the call. "We can't stay here—they'll find us eventually. Let's check that gap. Anna, your people still mobile?"
"Yes!" the female guards answered through gritted teeth.
"Mr. Cassius, stay right behind me. Gal, your team covers our six and watches the rear."
Rafael quickly reorganized the now eight-person group and they started creeping deeper into the alley.
The ground was slick with sewage and trash.
The air stank.
Everyone breathed shallow, trying to stay silent.
Cassius kept the pistol ready. The strange new perception let him read the environment better.
He could sense unstable patches of ground, blind corners, potential sight lines.
The skill was built for "vehicle + gun" scenarios, but it seemed to sharpen his overall street-level danger sense too.
Gal followed right behind him, supported by Anna.
She watched Cassius's steady back moving through the darkness.
She remembered how he had instantly stopped Rafael from firing to avoid friendly fire.
She remembered his driving and hand-to-hand skills earlier.
And now, in the middle of absolute hell, he was still thinking clearly.
Her opinion of this American actor rose another notch.
The favorability number above her head flickered and ticked up from 70 to 72.
In a situation like this, a calm, reliable companion was worth far more than usual.