The Farmhouse.
The rhythmic whup-whup-whup of the helicopter blades reverberated through the wooden walls.
Jane Smith, who had resigned herself to her fate, opened her eyes again.
"Stay here," Hunter warned, his hand on the doorknob. "Wait for me."
"You can try to run. But if I catch you again... I can't guarantee I'll be gentle."
"Mrs. Jane Smith."
The moment her full name left his lips, Jane's body went rigid. Her eyes snapped to his, wide with shock and a flash of murderous intent.
He knows.
He knew who she was. Not just "Jane the assassin," but Jane Smith, the wife living a double life.
But the murderous glint faded as quickly as it appeared. When she met Hunter's cold, indifferent gaze, she remembered the power gap. She was helpless.
She slumped back into the sofa, closing her eyes.
Forget it, she told herself. Three rounds. Just treat it like a wild night at a club. It's been a while anyway.
Hunter saw the resignation in her posture and smirked.
"Good girl."
He walked out the door.
The Landing Zone.
A Robinson R44 Raven II helicopter sat on the flat patch of grass near the barn, its rotors spinning lazily.
Hunter recognized the model instantly. In the US, it was the Honda Civic of the skies—reliable, relatively cheap (around $300k), and ubiquitous.
Standing next to the chopper was a man in a sharp black suit. He looked to be in his forties, white, with the kind of polished, bureaucratic air that screamed "middle management."
"Mr. Hunter Sun," the man said, his voice polite but distant. "Good evening."
Hunter caught the subtle look of disdain in the man's eyes as he looked him over.
It was a look Hunter knew well. In America, the social hierarchy was a pyramid of unspoken prejudices. Hunter, as an Asian male, was often relegated to the bottom tier by people like this—men who saw themselves as the architects of civilization.
Hunter ignored it. He had a philosophy from his past life: Be an old shadow, never a reckless brute.
If someone underestimated him, he let them. It made it easier to slit their throat later.
"Continental?" Hunter asked curtly.
The man nodded and extended a heavy metal briefcase.
"Everything you need to know is in here. Please follow the instructions."
"The code is 0420."
"Once opened, you have 30 minutes to review the contents before the data auto-deletes."
"Your initiation trial will begin in seven days. Only upon completion will you be granted full access to the Continental's facilities."
He didn't mention what the trial was. He didn't mention the penalty for failure. He didn't have to.
Hunter took the case. It was heavy—at least 10kg.
Gold coins? Weapons?
The man turned to leave, grabbing the helicopter door handle. Then he paused.
"Oh, and Mr. Sun."
He gestured vaguely toward the dark fields.
"It appears you have several... disposal issues on your property. If you require assistance, we have a professional cleaning crew available. They are very efficient."
"Considering your probationary status, we can offer a special rate. $10,000 per body."
Hunter immediately thought of the Cleaners from John Wick—Charlie and his crew, who could make a crime scene vanish in minutes.
It was tempting. But Hunter remembered the field was still rigged with bear traps.
"No thanks," Hunter replied, shaking his head. "I'll handle it myself. There are still active traps out there."
The man looked surprised, then nodded.
"As you wish."
He climbed into the cockpit. The engine roared, and the helicopter lifted off, kicking up a storm of leaves and dust.
Hunter watched it disappear into the night sky.
Once it was gone, he didn't head back inside immediately.
He walked to the fields. He had work to do.
Using his Inventory and his perfect memory, he retrieved every bear trap. Then, he collected the four bodies—the Captain, Ebony, and the two SEALs—along with their weapons. He stored them all in his dimensional space.
Later, he would dig a deep hole in the woods and bury them where no one would ever find them.
Cleanup complete.
Hunter dusted off his hands and turned back toward the farmhouse.
The night was far from over. He had a briefcase to open.
And a guest waiting on the sofa.
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