"Who's there?!"
"Movement over there!"
Voices echoed inside the villa.
Hunter, with his physical attributes now doubled and his senses sharpened to a razor's edge, heard the footsteps approaching instantly.
During his previous infiltration of Steve's villa, he had scouted the ground floor thoroughly.
In a split second, his brain processed the auditory information.
"Two sets of footsteps. Coming from the dining room!"
With a flicker of movement, a pistol appeared in Hunter's hand.
His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness. He quickly found a corner for cover, raising his weapon and aiming down the hallway.
The footsteps rushed forward, then slowed, then stopped.
Clearly, Steve's mercenaries were experienced. Even if they weren't ex-special forces, they had combat awareness.
Hunter knew his time was short. He tucked his body tighter into cover.
With his free hand, he pulled a rock from his Inventory and tossed it toward a spot down the hall.
Clatter!
The rock hit the floor, the sound echoing sharply in the silence.
"Over there!"
A shadow lunged out from cover, firing blindly toward the source of the noise.
Hunter's right hand, gripping the pistol, rose instinctively. He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
[Marksmanship Lv 4]. Within 100 meters, he rarely missed. Even with a pistol in near-total darkness at close range, it was more than enough.
"Argh!"
A scream pierced the air. The bullet struck the upper torso of the charging figure.
Worried that a single shot might not be enough to drop him, Hunter double-tapped.
Bang! Bang!
Two more rounds slammed into the target.
The figure crumpled to the floor instantly.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
The muzzle flash exposed Hunter's position. The second mercenary immediately raised his weapon and sprayed a burst of automatic fire at Hunter's corner.
It was an Uzi.
This submachine gun was compact, easy to carry, and boasted a high rate of fire. In close-quarters combat, it was devastating.
In the US, it was a staple weapon for gangs and criminal organizations. Huge numbers of illegal Uzis flooded the black market every year.
Hunter shrank back into cover, keeping his head down as bullets chipped the wall above him.
Silently, he counted in his head.
"1, 2, 3..."
Standard Uzi magazines held 20, 25, 32, or 40 rounds. Drum mags existed but were rare due to bulk.
As Hunter counted past thirty, the gunfire suddenly stopped.
Click.
Hunter realized instantly: 32-round mag. He's dry.
He surged out from his cover.
Down the hall, the mercenary had retreated halfway behind a corner and was fumbling to reload a fresh magazine.
Bang!
Hunter aimed for the head and fired.
The bullet found its mark. The figure jerked violently and collapsed.
Hunter moved forward quickly. He put a security round into the head of the first mercenary he had shot.
Then he walked over to the second body, picked up the Uzi, and patted the corpse down, finding three spare magazines.
Hunter reloaded the weapon as he walked, stowing the other two mags in his Inventory.
He was about to extract Stella, and a firefight was likely. Relying on just two pistols and a crossbow might not be enough. Having an automatic weapon was a good insurance policy.
Having killed two men in rapid succession, Hunter's heart was pounding violently.
He could feel the heat in his cheeks. His blood felt like it was boiling.
"I don't hate this!"
The rush of adrenaline was intoxicating.
In his past life, Hunter had been an ordinary, law-abiding citizen for decades. Sure, he had felt anger, jealousy, and dark impulses. But he had never crossed the line drawn by reality.
But now, in this parallel world?
This wasn't the country he knew. He had no family here. No ties.
Suddenly, the shackles of his past life dissolved.
"This... this is the life I wanted."
"Full of passion. And the unknown."
Hunter could already hear footsteps outside and the honking of approaching vehicles.
A walkie-talkie dropped by one of the dead mercenaries crackled with inquiries.
Time was running out.
He needed to move faster.
"Mmph!"
"Mmph!"
As he approached the kitchen, Hunter heard muffled struggling sounds coming from the darkness.
Accompanying the sound was a smell that hit his heightened olfactory senses like a physical blow.
It was a mix of urine, sweat, and stale perfume.
For Hunter, whose sense of smell was now superhuman, it was awful.
At that moment, Hunter regretted modifying his tactical mask. That afternoon, to ensure his hearing and smell weren't impeded, he had cut holes for his ears and nose.
Now, he was paying the price.
However, amidst the stench, he recognized the struggling noises as unmistakably female.
"Stella?"
Hunter whispered.
The struggling intensified immediately.
He had found her.
Hunter rushed into the kitchen. Guided by the faint moonlight filtering through the window, he saw a figure tied to a chair by the dining table.
"Found you."
Getting closer, he confirmed it was indeed Stella.
He reached out to untie the ropes but stopped when he heard heavy footsteps outside the front door.
Hunter's expression tightened. Ignoring the smell, he made a decision.
"I'm here to save you. Don't struggle. We don't have time."
"I'm getting you out of here now!"
Without waiting for a response, Hunter grabbed the chair—with Stella still tied to it—and lifted the whole thing up.
He bolted toward the broken window he had used to enter.
Thud!
The villa's front door had been locked electronically. When the power died, the mag-locks had disengaged (or possibly defaulted to locked, requiring manual breach).
As Hunter ran past the hallway leading to the front door with his human cargo, he heard someone slamming against the heavy wood from the outside.
A voice, thick with suppressed pain, called out.
"Stella!"
It sounded like Charlie.
Hunter paused for a fraction of a second. But the blare of approaching car horns snapped him back to reality.
Steve was back.
Clutching Stella and the chair, Hunter sprinted out of the villa through the broken window.
He turned and ran toward the cliff behind the house!
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