The Farmhouse.
The briefing document was long, but Hunter Sun's enhanced Intelligence (40) devoured it in minutes. By the time he finished, he had a clear picture of the world he was stepping into.
It was mostly what he expected from the movies, with a few key differences.
Structure: Not every Continental has a Manager. Some are run by Concierges who report to regional Managers. The exact size of a "region" was vague, likely deliberately so.
Services: The hotel wasn't just a safe zone. It was a full-service hub. Members could access:
The Sommelier: High-end weaponry and tactical gear.
The Tailor: Bulletproof suits (Tactical Lining).
The Doctor: discrete medical care.
The Cartographer: Blueprints and intel on targets.
The Cleaner: Body disposal.
Support: If a job was too big, members could hire other members for assistance—for a price, usually Gold Coins.
There were no specific names mentioned. No "Winston," no "Charon." Just titles and protocols.
Hunter closed the file, digesting the information.
The laptop and phone were his lifeline.
Satellite Phone: Useless until he passed the trial. Once verified, he would receive a membership card (likely a gold-plated chip) to activate it.
Laptop: The gateway to the Contract Network. Hunter tried to log in, but the software required biometric authentication (Face + Retina) or a Member ID. Since he was still a "Probationary Candidate," he was locked out.
"Seven days," Hunter mused. "That's when the real test begins."
He shut the laptop. He decided not to store these items in his Inventory. The Continental might have trackers embedded in them, and disappearing into a dimensional pocket would raise too many questions. Instead, he hid them in a secure safe he had installed in the basement.
The Cleanup.
Hunter spent the rest of the day working.
He swept the fields one last time, collecting every stray shell casing from the firefight. He filled in the blast craters from the grenades. He double-checked the perimeter.
Then, he went back to farming.
He repaired fences, dug irrigation ditches, and cleared brush. The physical labor was meditative, helping to burn off the lingering adrenaline from the battle. He wanted to grind as much XP as possible before the trial. Every point of Strength or Agility could be the difference between life and death.
By sunset, he was exhausted but satisfied.
The Empty House.
Hunter returned to the main farmhouse.
It was quiet.
Jane Smith was gone.
The bed was made. The bathroom was spotless. Every trace of her presence—a stray hair, a scent, a wrinkle in the sheets—had been meticulously erased. It was as if she had never been there.
Hunter wasn't surprised. She was a professional, after all.
"See you soon, Mrs. Smith," he whispered, knowing his Alpha Imprint passive was already doing its work.
He ate a simple dinner alone, then made a decision.
The farm was secure. It was livable. And now that the immediate threat from Jane's agency was "suspended," it was safe.
It was time to bring in his people.
Hunter grabbed his helmet and walked to his motorcycle.
He needed someone to watch the farm while he was away on Continental business. Someone loyal. Someone who wouldn't ask too many questions.
Tally.
She was young, impressionable, and completely devoted to him. With his Breeding Skill at MAX, her loyalty would be absolute.
"First Tally," Hunter plotted as he revved the engine. "Then Margie."
He would move them to the farm. They would be his anchors, his safe harbor in the storm.
Hunter roared out of the driveway, heading back toward the lights of Los Angeles.
The King was building his castle. And soon, he would fill it with his Queens.
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