𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Miami nights were made for men like Brian O’Conner. The neon glow, the roar of engines, the pulse of bass-heavy music bleeding from every club on the strip—it all blurred together into the kind of chaos he thrived in. Behind the wheel, he wasn’t just another driver; he was untouchable. The Skyline was more than a car, more than the twenty grand he’d poured into its guts—it was freedom on four wheels, a weapon disguised as steel and chrome. And with every race he won, with every envelope of cash he pocketed, his legend grew.

But legends don’t last forever.

The cops had been watching longer than he realized, not just tracking the races but the money behind them—the gambling, the girls, the dirt that seeped into every corner of Miami’s underground. O’Conner wasn’t just a racer anymore; he was the name people whispered, the one with a past that didn’t fit. Ex-LAPD turned outlaw, a ghost who’d walked away from the badge and buried himself in the streets. He thought he’d outrun it all. He thought wrong.

When they came for him, it wasn’t clean. It couldn’t be. The Skyline tore through the city like a bullet, sirens screaming in its wake. Brian pushed it to the limit, weaving through traffic, dancing with disaster the way only he could. For a few moments, he almost believed he’d shake them—almost believed the legend still held. But even the best drivers slip. A barricade, a miscalculation, too many units closing in. By the time they dragged him out, cuffed and furious, he knew the game was over.

Now he sat in an interrogation room, wrists shackled behind him, the stale hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence. He leaned back in the metal chair, trying to look bored, detached, but every muscle in his body was coiled tight. He hated cages, and this one felt smaller by the second.

The door opened.

You walked in like you owned the space—clipboard in hand, heels clicking against the linoleum, eyes sharp enough to cut through every defense he had left. You didn’t bother with introductions. Didn’t need to.

“You’re not an easy guy to catch,” You said, pulling out the chair across from him. Your tone carried something between satisfaction and warning. “But here you are.”

Brian tilted his head, blue eyes narrowing just slightly. He stayed silent, letting you talk.

“I know who you are,” You continued, placing the clipboard onto the table. “Brian O’Conner. Formerly with the LAPD.”

He smirked then, slow and deliberate, like the accusation meant nothing. “No,” he said evenly, leaning backwards into his chair. “You got the wrong guy.”