The Killing Fields.
Thwip.
Another bolt flew from the darkness.
Hunter Sun crouched low in the rye grass, reloading his Sniper Lyca Crossbow. It was a silent, lethal weapon—perfect for this kind of work. A suppressed pistol still made noise; a crossbow only whispered death.
He had already taken out two.
The Captain was down, screaming with a shattered leg. Ebony was dead, pinned to the earth by a bolt.
Hunter moved silently, his boots barely making a sound on the dry soil. He had prepared the battlefield well. Earlier, he had sprinkled cow's blood (saved from a barbecue) at the sniper impact site to sell the illusion of a hit. Then, he had seeded the tall grass with dry twigs and steel bear traps.
To a panicked enemy in the dark, every step was a gamble.
Hunter closed his eyes for a second, focusing.
His enhanced senses—hearing, sight, instinct—painted a 3D map of the field in his mind.
One... two... three...
Four... five... six.
Six heartbeats. Six sources of noise.
"Just six?" Hunter thought, disappointed. "They really underestimated me."
He listened intently. The Captain's screams were annoying, masking the subtler sounds of movement. But Hunter filtered them out.
Snap.
A dry twig broke to his left. Thirty meters away.
Hunter didn't hesitate. He raised the crossbow, aimed into the darkness, and squeezed the trigger.
Thwip.
"ARGH!"
A man screamed. Then, chaos erupted.
"CONTACT LEFT! LIGHT HIM UP!"
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Two muzzle flashes lit up the night. Automatic fire tore through the grass, shredding stalks and kicking up dirt.
Hunter stayed low, identifying the sound instantly.
FN SCAR Assault Rifles. Two shooters.
They were firing blind, spraying and praying. Hunter counted their rounds calmly.
17... 22... 27...
Magazines were running dry.
Hunter holstered the crossbow and reached into his Inventory. A cold, spherical object appeared in his hand.
M67 Fragmentation Grenade.
"Six people," Hunter mused, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Is that all the respect I get?"
The Captain was down. Ebony was dead. The third guy he just shot was likely incapacitated.
That left three active shooters.
Hunter pulled the pin.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
He cooked the grenade for two seconds, timing it perfectly.
He stood up and hurled it toward the muzzle flashes.
The grenade arched through the night sky, landing right between the two SCAR wielders who were reloading.
"GREN—!"
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the silence. Dirt, grass, and shrapnel erupted into the air. The shockwave flattened the rye around the blast zone.
Hunter watched through the drifting smoke. Two figures went down.
That left one.
A shadow moved rapidly to his right, closing in fast. Six, maybe seven meters away.
Hunter turned, ready to throw another frag.
The moonlight caught the figure's face for a split second. Raven hair. Leather suit.
Jane.
Hunter's hand froze mid-motion.
He swapped the lethal grenade for a Flashbang (Stun Grenade) in a blur of Inventory magic.
He pulled the pin and tossed it at her feet.
BANG!
A blinding white light and a deafening concussive blast exploded in front of Jane.
She stumbled, blinded and disoriented, her hands flying to her ears.
Hunter didn't hesitate. He surged forward out of the grass like a demon, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
The hunt was over.
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