Woof!
Woof!
A dog's nose, ears, and night vision leave humans in the dust.
Hunter had barely covered a few metres when the snarls hit him.
The sound was hungry enough to swallow him whole.
Steve's two bully breeds had locked onto his scent and voice trail.
He couldn't slow; the alarm had already drawn the estate's Security Personnel.
In the States, illegal entry lets armed guards shoot first and ask later.
Even if they weren't Steve's men, they'd fire the instant they saw him.
"Get out—fast!
Hunter pushed harder, rocketing to the cliff edge.
He'd just ripped off a tonne of gold; confidence surged through him.
With the proficiency system, cash plus time could level almost any skill.
Sell those bricks and every base stat—and even his private space—would spike again.
Heat flared in his chest.
Woof!
Woof!
The two well-fed bullies were faster and meaner than he'd guessed.
The instant he reached the drop, they burst into view—only metres away.
Fast!
Heart hammering, he snatched the abseil rope he'd left on the ascent and clipped in.
Woof!
Growl!
They lunged for his legs.
He couldn't afford wounds—hospital records held his DNA and blood type.
One bite would leave flesh and blood evidence.
"Scram!
He roared, one hand still threading the rope, the other drawing a pistol from his inner world.
Bang!
At lv4 Shooting, thousands of rounds had bought him point-and-click accuracy inside a hundred metres.
Even off-angle, the 9 mm round punched through the first dog's flank.
Whine!
The bullet tore half its torso away.
At ten metres, a pistol was plenty.
The second beast vaulted, jaws gaping.
Hunter swung the muzzle and fired again.
Bang!
Head-shot at two metres.
Neuro-wrecked, the dog cork-screwed past him and tumbled into the void.
He exhaled, holstered the piece into private space, and finished the rope harness.
"There—on the cliff!
Tactical beams pinned him as guards charged.
Steve rounded the corner, roaring.
"Grab him!
Crack-crack-crack!
AK rounds chewed rock.
Hunter ducked, snapped the final carabiner, bowed to Steve and the guards—
—and leapt.
Screams rose from guards who knew the drop; they expected a corpse.
But the rope held, and he bounded down the cliff-face, touching ground in seconds.
Steve didn't see the descent, yet knew no thief would suicide.
He tossed the rifle, jumped into his Wrangler, and floored it downhill.
Into the radio he barked:
"Intruder at my villa—closing escape routes now!
GPS-track my position and converge—move!
After betraying Charlie and the others, the ever-suspicious Steve also worried his own men might turn on him.
Especially since he was holding a full ton of gold bricks—enough of a temptation to sway most people in the world.
So Steve stationed his newly recruited men near the villa, but kept them out of the main house.
He'd believed the dense network of cameras and traps inside his villa
coupled with the fact that he himself spent nearly all his time inside
would make it almost impossible for Charlie and his crew to break in if they ever found the place.
He never imagined that tonight an unknown enemy would actually slip in.
The two safes holding nearly a ton of gold—and most of Steve's personal fortune—
had vanished when he went to check on them moments ago.
He didn't know how the intruder had managed to move both safes out in such a short time,
but Steve was sure the thief and any accomplices couldn't have gone far.
'Charlie, is that you?'
The face of his old partner Charlie Clock flashed through his mind.
Along with the faces of every veteran he'd ever worked with.
Hands clenched on the steering wheel, Steve's expression was all savage fury and murderous intent.
Whoever dared lay a hand on his wealth today
would end up in an unmarked grave...
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