The Blast Zone.
BANG!
The flashbang detonated, tearing a hole in the night.
Jane Smith was already diving for cover when the world turned white. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, the brilliance burned through her eyelids. The concussive blast hit her like a physical blow, rattling her teeth and scrambling her inner ear.
She hit the dirt, rolling instinctively. Nausea surged as her equilibrium shattered.
A few meters away, Perkins wasn't so lucky.
Perkins was the team's "Cleaner"—a high-maintenance, greedy assassin who took any job if the price was right. She wasn't close to Jane or the SEALs, keeping her distance during the approach. That caution had saved her from the first frag grenade.
But it didn't save her now.
She had been creeping through the grass, terrified but greedy. The million-dollar bounty on Hunter's head was too tempting to abandon, even as her team was being slaughtered.
When the flashbang landed, Perkins was staring right at it.
The flash seared her retinas, blinding her instantly. The boom ruptured her eardrums. She screamed, a sound she couldn't even hear, and collapsed into the grass, clawing at her face.
"My eyes! My eyes!"
She writhed in agony, disoriented and helpless.
Jane, though dazed, tried to push herself up. Her head was spinning, her vision blurring in and out. She felt like she had been hit by a truck.
He's coming, her instincts screamed through the ringing in her ears.
But her body wouldn't obey. The nausea was overwhelming. She retched dryly, her limbs heavy as lead.
The Hunter Arrives.
Hunter counted to ten.
He unplugged his ears and opened his eyes. Even with his precautions, the ringing was faint but present. His enhanced senses were a double-edged sword; loud noises hit him harder.
But he recovered fast.
He burst from his cover, sprinting toward the blast zone. He memorized the location of every bear trap he had planted, weaving through the deadly minefield with the grace of a dancer.
He reached Perkins first.
She was still thrashing, clutching her HK pistol blindly.
Hunter didn't slow down. He stepped in, delivering a precise, chop to her carotid artery.
Thwack.
Perkins went limp instantly, slumping into the grass.
Hunter moved on.
He found Jane a few meters away. She was curled on her side, trying to fight through the concussion. Her leather suit was scuffed, her hair wild. She looked less like the sleek assassin from the hotel and more like a survivor of a bomb blast.
When Hunter saw her face, a wide, predatory grin spread across his lips.
"Hello again, Mrs. Smith," he whispered.
Jane tried to focus on him, her hand reaching weakly for her boot knife.
Hunter chuckled. "Still fighting? I admire the spirit."
He raised his hand.
Chop.
He struck her neck with surgical precision. Jane's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.
Cleanup.
Hunter stood over his prizes.
Two female assassins. Alive.
The rest of the team was dead. The Captain was bleeding out in a bear trap. Ebony was pinned by a crossbow bolt. The two SEALs were shredded by the frag grenade.
He reached into his Inventory, pulling out heavy-duty zip ties and duct tape.
He bound Perkins' hands and feet, gagging her for good measure. Then he did the same for Jane, though he was careful not to be too rough with her.
"You ladies are going to have a long night," he muttered.
He hoisted Perkins onto his left shoulder and Jane onto his right. With his Strength at 38, carrying two adult women was effortless.
He walked toward the second farmhouse on the property—an old, renovated structure he had prepped specifically for "guests."
As he walked, he whistled a cheerful tune, the sound drifting eerily over the silent, body-strewn field.
The hunt was over. The interrogation was about to begin.
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