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The boat ride through the colorful world at Disney glided along smoothly. Upbeat music played while Meadow pointed excitedly at the characters on both sides. Paul held up his phone, recording everything with a big, kid-like grin.
Cassius wasn't watching the ride. His eyes scanned every detail around them. Were the overhead tracks secure? Did the animatronics move right? Any weird sounds from the ventilation?
Halfway through, the guitar-playing bear on the left froze. Not part of the show. Cassius heard the clear click of its joints locking up.
He pulled Meadow closer without a word. Two seconds later the bear's arm snapped off and splashed into the water.
"Whoa! The bear broke!" Meadow shouted.
Paul spotted it too. "Gotta report that."
Staff shut down the ride fast and led them out the emergency exit with free fast passes.
"Today's been rough," Paul said with a tired laugh. He'd wanted a perfect day with his daughter, but trouble kept finding them.
Cassius noticed Paul's forehead looked darker than usual. Bad luck clinging to him? He didn't say anything. He just studied the broken arm. The bolts were new, but the threads showed clear signs someone had loosened them on purpose.
They grabbed lunch at the Royal Banquet Hall. Meadow got the Mickey-shaped pizza, Paul ordered a burger, and Cassius stuck with salad. He had no appetite.
At the next table a kid started choking. His parents panicked. Paul stood up fast. "I'm certified in first aid—"
"I got it," Cassius said, already moving.
He got behind the kid and used the Heimlich maneuver, the same technique he'd learned back in Brazil. On the third thrust a hard candy flew out. The kid cried while his parents thanked him over and over.
[Emergency Response +22]
A golden orb dropped. Cassius raised an eyebrow as he sat back down.
Paul stared at him. "You know how to do that too?"
"Picked it up a while ago."
Meadow's juice cup had tipped over while he was gone. The base was uneven. Cassius righted it and spotted a small dent underneath.
"Dad, I need the bathroom," Meadow said.
"I'll take her," Cassius answered.
He waited outside the women's restroom. Two minutes later a scream came from inside. Cassius didn't hesitate. He pushed through the door.
A little girl stood at the sink while the faucet exploded like a fountain, spraying water everywhere. Staff rushed in to shut off the main valve. Meadow stood in the corner, her dress only slightly damp.
Cassius scooped her up and carried her out.
"Pipe burst," a worker explained. "Water pressure issue—"
Later they hit Space Mountain. Meadow was just tall enough. While they waited in line Paul joked, "You can skip if you're scared, Cass."
"I'm not scared," Cassius said. He was worried about other things.
During the safety check he asked the attendant, "Has this restraint been inspected recently?"
"Checked every morning before opening," the guy answered with a smile.
The coaster climbed into the dark tunnel full of stars. Meadow squeezed Paul's hand, half terrified, half thrilled. Right before the first big drop Cassius felt the safety bar next to Meadow shift slightly. He slammed his hand down on it. A soft click came from the lock.
If he hadn't caught it, the centrifugal force on the drop could have loosened it completely.
He kept his hand locked on that bar the entire ride. When they stopped his palm was slick with sweat.
Paul helped Meadow out, oblivious. "Fun, right?"
"So fun! Can we go again?"
Meadow's eyes sparkled.
They watched the evening parade. Meadow sat on Paul's shoulders waving a glow stick while Cassius stayed right behind them, scanning the crowd. Halfway through a giant Mickey balloon broke free and drifted over the audience. Its rope caught on a streetlight and started fraying against the sharp metal edge.
Staff tried to hook it down but couldn't reach. Cassius watched the rope thin out second by second.
It snapped.
The balloon shot upward. A heavy metal clasp the size of a fist fell straight toward Paul and Meadow from five feet up.
Cassius didn't think. He grabbed Paul's shoulder and yanked both of them sideways. The clasp slammed into the ground half a meter from where they'd been standing.
"Fuck!" Paul shouted. Meadow started crying.
Staff ran over apologizing while the crowd stirred.
"What the hell is going on today?" Paul held his daughter tight, face pale. "Accidents haven't stopped since we got here."
Night fell. The fireworks show lit up the castle. Paul carried Meadow on his shoulders while Cassius stayed close at their side. The sky exploded with color and music. Meadow stared up in wonder.
No more disasters hit.
"Did you have fun today?" Paul asked her.
"Yeah! But there were so many accidents."
Paul smiled. "That's life, kiddo. Stuff happens. What matters is we're all still safe."
Fast & Furious 7 filming, week eight. Friday, 3 p.m.
They wrapped the final chase scene on the San Fernando Valley lot.
"Cut! That's a wrap on principal photography!" Justin Lin shouted, pulling off his headset and clapping. "We move into pickups and post from here!"
The set exploded with cheers. Two months of brutal shooting had pushed everyone to the limit. Vin Diesel dropped flat on the ground. Michelle Rodriguez chugged a beer straight from the bottle. Jordana Brewster hugged Paul and started crying from pure relief.
Cassius leaned against a car door and wiped sweat from his face.
[Fast & Furious 7 Project Evaluation]
[Current Progress: 85%]
[Total Shoot Hours: 428]
[Attributes Absorbed: 137]
[Key Gains: Extreme Driving (Master), Team Coordination (Advanced), Production Management (Intermediate), Crisis Prediction (Master)]
[Director Satisfaction: A]
[Producer Rating: S]
[Overall Rating: A+]
[Reward: Trendsetter Progress +12% (Current Total 55%)]
Solid numbers. But Cassius wasn't celebrating.
Today was November 30th.
He remembered it clearly. In his last life Paul Walker died this afternoon after a charity car show in Santa Clarita. He'd been riding in a friend's Porsche Carrera GT when it lost control, hit a tree, and burst into flames. Both men died on impact.
Three hours from now.
"Cass!" Paul called, walking over with an easy smile. "Finally breathing room. Got a charity event. Wanna come?"
Cassius's heart slammed against his ribs, but he kept his face calm. "What kind of event?"
"ROWW's doing a car show in Santa Clarita. Remember that charity I started? We send supplies to disaster zones. Today we're auctioning models and signed stuff to help typhoon victims in the Philippines."
Paul checked his watch. "Starts at four-thirty. Meeting a buddy there. He's bringing his new limited-edition Porsche Carrera GT. Thought we'd take it for a spin after."
Porsche Carrera GT. Santa Clarita.
"I'm going with you," Cassius said. No room for argument.
Paul blinked. "You into car shows now?"
"I'm into the charity part," Cassius answered smoothly. "Plus I've been driving so much for the movie. Wanted to see real car culture."
"Cool. Ride with me?"
"Taking the crew car," Cassius said, heading for his Volvo. "Your GTR stands out too much. This one's low-key."
Paul didn't argue. He said goodbye to Vin and the others and climbed in.
Cassius set the GPS for the charity event but picked a longer route that avoided the exact stretch of road where the crash had happened in his last life.
"We got time?" Paul asked.
"Plenty."
Cassius gripped the wheel. His left wrist felt warm where the wooden beads sat. Warmer than at Disney. Like a warning.
Forty minutes later they pulled into the charity car show. It was set up in an outdoor lot at a racing club with a small stage and rows of modified cars. A few hundred people milled around—car fans and locals.
Paul got recognized the second he stepped out.
"Paul! Picture?"
"Brian! Huge fan!"
"When's the movie coming out?"
Paul signed autographs and posed with a genuine smile. Cassius stayed close, eyes moving over the crowd, the cars, the staff.
He spotted the silver Porsche Carrera GT parked front and center. Sleek, dangerous, low to the ground. A middle-aged man in a suit stood beside it talking to fans. Roger Rodas. Paul's friend. The man who'd been driving in Cassius's last life.
Cassius checked Roger's forehead. It looked dark. Deeply shadowed.
Then he looked at Paul. The darkness that had been there for days had faded a lot thanks to all the near-misses Cassius had blocked. But it still lingered.
Today wasn't done with them.
"Paul! Over here!" Roger called.
Paul walked over and they hugged. Roger looked like a successful businessman with the wild energy of a true car guy.
"How's this beauty?" he asked, patting the Porsche.
"Insane," Paul said, circling it. "V10, right? Hits 330?"
"Theoretical top speed. Who actually drives that fast?" Roger laughed. "After the auction we'll take it out. Road north is straight and empty."
Cassius's heart kicked hard.
"Can I come?" he asked.
Roger turned, recognizing him. "You're Cassius?"
"Yeah."
"Sure. Only two seats though. You'll have to follow in another car." He pointed at a black Mercedes AMG. "That's my daily. Handles good too."
"Works for me."
The auction started. The host talked about ROWW's work—over two hundred tons of supplies delivered, tens of thousands of kids helped. Paul spoke from the heart about using their love of cars to help people who needed it.
Signed gloves, helmets, and even a T-shirt from the movies sold for big money. Total raised passed $750,000.
Paul high-fived Roger, grinning.
"Now for that drive?" Roger asked.
"Let's go."
Paul opened the passenger door.
Cassius headed straight for the Mercedes. "I'll follow."
Three cars pulled out. The Porsche led, Cassius in the middle, a couple of fans trailing behind in their own rides.
It was 5:40 p.m. The sky was starting to darken but still had light.
Cassius kept his eyes locked on the silver car ahead. Roger drove at a steady sixty, well under the limit. Paul gestured animatedly from the passenger seat.
Ten minutes later they hit a straight four-lane road with light traffic. The Porsche picked up speed. Cassius matched it, watching the road surface.
It looked smooth, but he spotted small dips and a patch where new asphalt met old.
The Porsche took a curve at around eighty. Coming out of it the rear twitched—just a little. The tires hit a slight rise and lost grip for a split second.
For most cars it wouldn't matter. For a Carrera GT with its rear-engine layout and massive power, that tiny loss could turn deadly.
Cassius grabbed the radio they'd synced before leaving.
"Roger, slow down. Road's uneven up here."
Roger's laugh came through. "She's solid, man!"
But Cassius saw the color change in the pavement ahead. A low ridge where the asphalt had been patched.
"Slow down. Trust me."
Paul heard him and tapped Roger's shoulder. "Ease up. Safety first."
Roger lifted off the gas. The Porsche rolled over the ridge at seventy. The car bounced harder this time. The rear wheels lifted for a moment and chirped when they landed.
Cassius's stomach dropped.
"Roger, pull over. Now."
Roger didn't. Maybe he felt embarrassed in front of Paul and the fans. He hit the gas instead, pushing to eighty-five.
Another curve came up. Sharper.
"Brake into the turn!" Cassius shouted into the radio.
Roger braked late and hard. The Porsche nosed down. It entered the corner too early and started drifting wide toward the drainage ditch and power poles on the outside.
"Correct! Steer out!" Cassius yelled.
Roger panicked and turned the wrong way.
The car snapped into a slide. The rear kicked out hard. Paul grabbed the handle, face white.
Cassius floored the Mercedes and pulled alongside. He tapped the horn and eased his right side against the Porsche's left rear quarter. Just enough contact to help it find grip without sending both cars spinning.
Tires screamed. The Porsche wobbled, then steadied. Roger finally eased off the gas and let the car slow.
They rolled to a stop on the shoulder. The fans behind them pulled over too. Nobody got out. The only sound was idling engines.
Cassius jumped out and yanked open the Porsche's door. Roger sat frozen, knuckles white on the wheel, breathing fast.
"You okay?" Cassius asked.
Roger didn't answer.
Paul climbed out on shaky legs and leaned on the door. "That was way too close."
Cassius looked at both of them, heart still hammering. The wooden beads on his wrist had gone ice cold.