Location: Tokyo, Japan – One Week Before Los Angeles
The streets of Tokyo pulsed with neon light and midnight energy. The underground drift scene was alive engine howls, rubber-burned asphalt, crowds roaring at every turn. But tonight, there was a shadow behind the spectacle. One that came not to race, but to end a chapter of his family's pain.
Deckard Shaw stood across the street from a high-rise parking garage, eyes fixed on the final rooftop level. His suit was unassuming, but the weighted silence around him screamed military precision. He wasn't here for a show. He was here for Han.
Across the comms, Devon's voice cracked through. "Target's inside. Han Lue. Street name: Drift King's mentor. You sure he's the one?"
Deckard didn't answer immediately. He stared at the glowing trail left by a red Mazda RX-7 spinning into a perfect drift. Han's calm smile was visible even at a distance.
"I'm sure," Deckard said.
From the Alps base, Devon sighed. "He was Dom's friend. That makes him crew. This move burns bridges."
"Then let them burn," Deckard snapped. "Owen was sold out. This one knew something maybe didn't act. That makes him part of it."
Devon paused. "I've run the data. Han didn't sign off on the handover. He was handling a job in Tokyo when Owen was captured."
"That doesn't clear him. It just means he was too distracted to see it coming."
"Deck," Devon said carefully, "revenge is a straight road no turns."
Deckard's eyes didn't leave the drifting Mazda. "Good thing I'm not planning to turn."
Rooftop Garage — Minutes Later
Han stood beside his car, sipping casually from a snack pouch. The crowd had thinned, and the night was cooling down. He sensed it before he saw it footsteps with too much rhythm, too much confidence.
Deckard stepped out of the shadows. No theatrics, just intent.
Han's expression didn't change. "You lost, mate? This ain't London."
"No," Deckard said coldly. "It's your reckoning."
Han's brow furrowed, but he stepped forward. "You're one of Shaw's... You're his brother."
"Correct," Deckard said. "And Owen's blood is on your crew's hands."
Han dropped his snack. "You're wrong. I tried to help. They didn't listen."
"But you didn't stop it." Deckard drew his silenced pistol. "You were there long enough to matter. Now you don't."
Han dove just as the gun fired. The bullet shattered a mirror behind him. Tires screeched as Han dove into his Mazda and fired the engine.
Deckard followed, sliding into a black Audi RS7 parked nearby. He didn't plan to win in a race but in a kill box.
Tokyo Streets — Midnight Chase
The two cars rocketed through Shibuya, weaving through traffic and neon chaos. Han knew these streets he'd drifted every turn, memorized every slope.
But Deckard wasn't chasing. He was herding.
Devon's voice chimed again in Deckard's comm. "You detonate that kill switch near the parking tower, you'll kill civilians. Abort."
"This isn't your call, Devon."
"You want to send a message, I get it. But you're about to make it public."
"Let it be," Deckard muttered. "Maybe Dom will get the point."
The chase reached an elevated highway Deckard's pre-planned point of no return.
Han took the corner, tires shrieking and a planted explosive under the railing blew seconds later.
The RX-7 spun out, flipping violently before erupting into flames.
Deckard parked nearby, watching it burn. The screams faded under the wail of sirens.
Devon's voice returned, cold now. "You went through with it."
Deckard didn't reply.
Moments Later — Tokyo Alley
Devon sat in front of three screens back at his temporary Japan base. Skynet displayed surveillance angles.
"Pull footage. Enhance infrared."
The flames revealed something an opening door, too fast for an unconscious man. A figure slipping into the shadows.
Devon narrowed his eyes. "No body in the fire."
He reached for his encrypted phone.
Elsewhere in Tokyo — Rooftop
Deckard stood alone under the moonlight, hands bloody but eyes empty.
Devon's voice came through again. "Han's dead?"
Deckard replied, "Fire took him."
"But there's no proof. No confirmation. He could've faked it."
"He's not the target anymore," Deckard said. "He got the message."
There was silence between them.
Devon finally asked, "What now?"
Deckard looked out over the neon skyline. "Now? I go for the king. Dom Toretto."
Los Angeles – Next Morning
Dom stood outside his home, coffee in hand. The sun rose over Echo Park.
Then his phone rang. Unknown number.
He answered, and only one sentence came through.
"The sins of your past have come due."
Dom turned slowly toward his house then BOOM.
A car exploded on his driveway, hurling him backward.