Fast & Furious
"Arthur! Arthur, wake up!"
"Hey! Pull it together!"
"Your body is a little too weak, you know that?"
The sounds surrounding him were a chaotic, metallic cacophony—clanging tools, hissing air compressors, and raised voices that felt like needles pressing into his skull.
Arthur Sterling felt his frame being violently jolted, his shoulders gripped by heavy hands.
The sting of a palm slapping his cheek pulsed through his nerves, once, then twice.
Fueled by a surge of instinctive irritability, he finally forced his heavy eyelids open.
The world was a blur of fluorescent lights and oil-stained concrete.
As his vision cleared, he found himself encircled by a group of men with varying builds and weathered faces, all looking down at him with a mix of annoyance and mild concern.
As his consciousness returned, so did his senses.
A thick, pungent cocktail of odors flooded his nostrils, grounding him in the reality of his surroundings.
Gasoline...
Heavy motor oil...
The sharp, ozone tang of a welding torch...
Arthur blinked, his gaze sweeping over the men standing over him and the bustling activity of the garage beyond.
His eyes locked onto the man leading the group—a formidable, muscular figure with a shaved head and a presence that commanded the entire room.
Standing close beside him was a woman with sharp, beautiful features and an effortless, tough-as-nails confidence.
Two names nearly clawed their way out of Arthur's throat. Dom? Letty?
Fortunately, the words died in his parched throat. Just as he fully regained his senses, a tidal wave of foreign memories surged through his mind.
They stitched themselves into his brain with the force of a high-speed collision.
His body buckled, a visible tremor running through his limbs as he clutched the sides of his head.
Wait a minute... these people...
This is the crew from the first Fast & Furious movie.
Did I actually cross over? Am I really standing in the middle of a Hollywood set come to life?
The rapid integration of these new memories sparked a sharp, rhythmic throbbing behind his eyes.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his face contorting in a grimace of genuine physical pain.
Dominic Toretto, the undisputed patriarch of the crew, narrowed his eyes as he watched Arthur struggle.
He stepped forward, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Hey, kid. Look at me."
Arthur looked up, meeting the heavy gaze of the man who lived his life a quarter-mile at a time.
"If you're really not feeling well, go back and rest," Dom said, his tone surprisingly level.
"Don't push it. You can get reimbursed for the medical expenses from Letty later."
Dom turned his head slightly, casting a sharp, reproachful look at a broad-shouldered man standing to his left.
"Vince, you hit him too hard. He's just a kid."
The man, Vince, let out a sharp, derisive snort.
His arms were crossed over a chest that looked like it was carved from granite, and his eyes remained fixed on Arthur, burning with a lingering, irrational heat.
"This kid hasn't been honest lately," Vince snapped, his voice jagged and aggressive.
"If we don't teach him a lesson once in a while, he'll forget his place. He needs to know who's in charge around here."
Letty, standing at Dom's side, rolled her eyes and gave Vince an annoyed shove.
"Vince, give it a rest. Just because you're striking out with Mia doesn't mean you have to scare off every guy who breathes the same air as her."
She looked down at Arthur, her expression softening just a fraction.
"Besides, Arthur isn't dating Mia, and he isn't trying to. Old Parker just assigned him to handle the maintenance on her car. It's a job, nothing more."
By now, Arthur had finished digesting the core of his new identity.
As the pieces of his predecessor's life fell into place, he felt a surge of silent resentment toward the man looming over him.
Vince. Dom's oldest friend, a founding member of the crew, and a man whose temper was as volatile as a nitro tank in a furnace.
He was a creature of muscle and instinct, driven by a lifelong obsession with Dom's younger sister, Mia.
The problem was simple: Vince wasn't Mia's type. She saw him as a brother at best and a nuisance at worst.
Every time Mia rejected his advances or simply ignored him, Vince's frustration sought a target.
Any man who possessed a decent set of features or dared to share a laugh with Mia became an enemy in Vince's eyes.
The previous Arthur Sterling had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He was eighteen, barely out of high school, and possessed the kind of natural, rugged good looks that made someone like Vince see red.
At over six feet tall with a lean, athletic build, he stood out in the garage—and that was a death sentence when Vince was in a foul mood.
Arthur realized his current life started out like a tragic script.
His parents were gone, leaving him with nothing but a small, aging house and a mountain of inheritance taxes he couldn't hope to pay.
He was broke, alone, and forced to drop out of school to turn wrenches just to keep the lights on.
Through a twist of fate, he had landed a job as a mechanic in this specific shop.
He knew the owner as Dominic Toretto, or "Dom." To the world of underground racing, he was a legend.
To Arthur, he was the man whose family-centric philosophy often landed everyone in his orbit in the crosshairs of the law or worse.
Arthur's mind raced through the history he now possessed.
He knew about Dom's father, Jack, the racer who died in a ball of fire on the track.
He knew about the betrayal of the younger brother, Jakob, and the years Dom spent behind bars.
It was Mia who had inadvertently caused today's trouble.
She had brought her car in for a tune-up a few days ago, and Arthur had been the one to handle it.
They had talked—just simple, friendly conversation about manifold pressures and brake pads.
But to the watching Vince, it looked like a threat.
Earlier that morning, Mia had stopped by to check on the car's progress.
She had been smiling, chatting comfortably with Arthur. As soon as she walked out the door, Vince had pounced.
He didn't use words; he used his fists.
He had shoved Arthur with such force that the younger man's head had cracked against a steel workbench, knocking him unconscious instantly.
And that's when I took over, Arthur thought, his fingers brushing the tender lump forming at the base of his skull.
As a fan of the Fast & Furious franchise, Arthur was intimately familiar with the world he had just inherited.
He knew the loyalty, the danger, and the high-speed chaos that was coming.
He just hadn't expected to be part of the pit crew so soon.