The biggest obstacle to saving the world wasn't monsters, secret societies, or trackers implanted in your shoulder.
It was paperwork.
Rin stood at the travel authorization kiosk in the Association lobby, furiously tapping the screen.
"Reason for travel," he read aloud, "select one: Mission, Family Emergency, Medical Transfer, or Recreation."
"Pick recreation," Joy said, leaning over his shoulder, wearing oversized sunglasses and a hat that made her look like she was in witness protection, which wasn't entirely inaccurate. "Tell them we're going to the beach, hunters are allowed to have beach days."
"If I select recreation, they deny the armored vehicle request," Rin muttered, "and we have to take a civilian rental."
"So? It's a three-hour drive to Swakopmund, we don't need a tank."
"Have you seen the B2 highway lately, there was a report of Dune Stalkers near Usakos last week."
