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Ron's workday wasn't going as planned.
He'd expected to get the intel he needed from the FBI easily—but that car ride had turned out to be nothing more than a wild goose chase.
The agents had practically zero information about "Heisenberg." Apparently, the same agency that spent its time filming fake undercover operations had no real future in law enforcement.
According to them, they weren't interested in "small-time" drug dealers who hadn't yet built major operations.
"Small-time?" Ron was speechless.Did they plan to wait until the entire U.S. drug trade was monopolized before calling someone a serious criminal?
Clearly, the FBI was clueless. They had no idea how fast things would escalate once drug producers stopped using backyard plants and started importing pure ephedrine. Especially when the cook was a highly skilled chemist with a PhD.
With no better option, Ron decided to check out a few of L.A.'s underground info exchanges.But on his way home, he stumbled onto a much more... familiar scene.
Was this the beginning of The Big Bang Theory storyline?
"Sheldon, you seriously think everyone who didn't go to college is an idiot?" Ron asked, amused.
Sheldon adjusted his glasses. "How could anyone be foolish enough to never attend even community college? Do you think everyone's as intellectually challenged as Forrest Gump? You must be trying to manipulate me again!"
Penny blinked, a little offended. "So I'm an idiot now?"
"Let me correct you," Ron said smoothly. "Forrest Gump graduated from the University of Alabama—sure, mostly for football, but still a graduate. And relax, Penny, why would I mess with you? You know, in anime, it's always the younger brother who resents the older one—like Naruto or Inuyasha—while the big brother's the responsible, protective type."
Sheldon's eyes went wide, the universal expression for What on earth are you talking about?
Ron sighed. "You really should expand your horizons beyond Marvel and DC. There's an entire world of amazing Japanese anime out there."
Leonard, meanwhile, sensed danger—the unmistakable presence of a romantic rival. Ever since Ron had shown up, Penny's eyes hadn't left him.
"Sheldon," Leonard asked, "how come you never mentioned having a brother?"
"Brothers, plural," Sheldon corrected, his tone dripping with disdain. "One mouth-breathing moron, and the other—a slightly more evolved delinquent. A typical Texan with no respect for scientific achievement. They both live to torment me!"
Leonard winced. "Torment you? Yeah… I get that. I've been bullied my whole life."
"Your brother bullied you too?" Sheldon asked.
"No, I meant… never mind."
Sheldon wasn't done. "I spent my entire childhood being terrorized by Ron and George! When I was eight, I wanted to dress up as my favorite scientist for Halloween—but Ron threw away my costume! I had to go as a ghost instead. I was terrified the entire night!"
Ron groaned. "He wanted to wear a dress and go as Marie Curie!"
In truth, Ron remembered that day well. The Big Bang Theory had been his favorite show in his past life. Back then, it had been George's job to handle Sheldon's "costume incident," but since George was out on a date with Veronica, Ron had to step in.
Sure, Sheldon was hilarious on TV—but as an actual little brother? He was a nightmare. Every favor became an obligation, and every act of kindness went unappreciated.
"Marie Curie?" Leonard repeated weakly.
Ron spread his hands. "I did it to protect him! This is Texas, man. If I'd let him go out like that, he'd have been beaten to a pulp before sundown."
Penny rolled her eyes. "So you're saying your brother's smart?"
"Oh, he's brilliant," Ron admitted. "Just… not in a way normal people appreciate. He's a genius, but socially? He's a train wreck."
Penny gave Sheldon a quick look—his angry glare and robotic stiffness said it all. "Yeah," she muttered, "I can see that."
"Hey," Leonard interrupted, "why are we still talking in the hallway? Let's go inside one of our apartments."
"Sorry," Ron said, shaking his head. "Still got work to finish. Penny, where's my suitcase?"
She dragged it out from behind her door, puffing slightly. "Right here. What do you have in this thing? It's got a biometric lock and weighs a ton! God knows how I managed to haul it up the stairs—the elevator's still broken."
Leonard looked away guiltily.
Ron grinned. "You're stronger than you look, muscle girl."
Penny's temper flared. "If it wasn't for that ten-dollar tip, I'd knock you out right now!"
But her anger turned into shock when Ron flipped open the suitcase.
Inside, instead of clothes or personal items, were neatly organized weapons—handguns, submachine guns, rifles, all perfectly arranged with magazines and suppressors. A full-on portable armory.
Ron casually picked up a pistol, twirled it around his finger, and smiled. "Relax, it's just a firearm—a Glock 22, .40 caliber, fifteen-round mag. My favorite tool of the trade. Anyone want to try it?"
Leonard stumbled back. "Try it? I—uh—I think I'll pass."
Ron chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not a terrorist. IRS Special Operations Division." He winked. "I'd love to stay and chat, but duty calls. Sheldon can explain everything."
With smooth precision, Ron holstered two pistols and several magazines, his clothes showing no hint of bulk. Under the trio's horrified stares, he strolled down the stairs whistling.
Outside, his custom Dodge Challenger waited by the curb. Ron slid in, started the engine, and pulled into traffic.
Unlike the peaceful suburbs, downtown L.A. was a different beast. In America, security depended on how much property tax a neighborhood paid—the richer the area, the safer it was. Poor districts? Pure chaos after dark.
Even IRS agents were expected to be armed.
Ron steered toward the city center, where legitimate business mixed with underground trades—gangs, dealers, black markets. The perfect place to dig up intel.
And when it came to information, no one knew the streets better than the racers.
Ron smirked, dialing a familiar number. "Hey, Dom. Been half a day and I already miss you. Want to meet up?"
Toretto's gruff voice came through the line. "You better not show up at my shop to chat with Mia."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Ron said innocently.
"Good. Meet me at the usual intersection. We'll talk there."
Exactly what Ron wanted. He slammed the accelerator, the Challenger roaring like a beast as it weaved through traffic, the city lights flashing past.
Another day, another strange crossover in this stitched-together American world.
—End of Chapter 3—
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