Beacon Hill is located in Boston.
It's about 300 kilometers from New York—roughly a four-hour drive, a three-hour train ride, or even faster by plane, just about fifty minutes.
However, since Beacon Hill is in the suburbs of Boston, there are no direct flights. With all the transfers and driving needed, even by plane, it would take at least two hours to get there.
Honestly, it's a hassle.
But Blaine believed that as long as you have money, hassle or not, you can solve anything.
Still, it was clearly too late to leave now.
In the middle of the night, not only are there no cars, but there's no time to book a plane ticket either.
And even if he somehow managed to reach Beacon Hill, it would already be daytime, and he didn't want to waste time like that.
After all, Blaine was a Bounty Hunter.
If one had to categorize him, he'd fall under the chaotic neutral camp—if unnecessary, neither good nor evil forces would interfere with him. They might even offer help or ask for his help.
But a Bounty Hunter is still a profession that operates in the shadows. He wasn't going to Beacon Hill for fun—he was going there to kill. Choosing the right time would yield twice the result with half the effort.
So what's the right time?
Naturally, it's a dark and windy night—the perfect time for murder and arson.
Blaine booked a ticket for a 6:20 p.m. flight to Boston. Taking his time, he'd arrive around 8 or 9 p.m., scout the area, and start his operation around 10 or 11.
It was a perfect plan—each step calculated.
He went home and had a good sleep.
The next day, he followed his usual workout routine.
At 6:20 p.m., Blaine boarded his flight to Boston, which departed on time without delay.
Fifty minutes later, he landed.
He looked around curiously, really seeming like a tourist fascinated by Boston.
He flagged down a car and told the driver he wanted to go to Beacon Hill.
Although the driver clearly wasn't thrilled about such a long-distance fare, he couldn't resist Blaine's aggressive money offer—this one trip might earn him enough to take half a month off.
Faced with such an irresistible temptation, the driver caved in and agreed.
"Filthy capitalism," Blaine muttered, turning his eyes to the scenery outside.
The car gradually left the city behind; the crowds and buildings grew sparse, replaced by a pastoral landscape.
American countryside scenery was noticeably different from what Blaine had seen before—completely different style.
So he was genuinely curious this time—it wasn't just an act.
But in rural America, there's no shortage of countryside views. After a while, they all look the same and become boring.
It was getting dull.
Blaine shook his head and was about to close his eyes and rest.
But just then, his phone suddenly rang.
He glanced at it, eyes narrowing slightly.
It was an unfamiliar number with no contact name.
But with his memory, he recognized it—it was the number of the person who issued the [Hunt the Shapeshifter] mission.
Why was he calling?
With this question in mind, Blaine answered the call.
As the line connected, he heard heavy breathing on the other end—either the man had just been through a battle, or he was in one right now.
"Bounty Hunter?" A deep and heavy voice came through.
Blaine lowered his tone. "Yes."
"Where are you right now?" the man asked urgently.
"On the way," Blaine replied, eyes narrowing again. Clearly, something had gone wrong.
"How long until you arrive?"
The man sounded slightly relieved, but still short of breath.
"Half an hour."
Blaine lied. At the current driving speed, it would take about thirty minutes to reach Beacon Hill—but if the driver sped up, it could take just over ten.
"Head straight to the Beacon Hill police station in half an hour."
The voice lowered. "If you're not there in time, you can forget that ten million—might even need you to collect my corpse."
With that, the line went dead.
Had the shapeshifter's identity already been uncovered, and now it was wreaking havoc in the police station?
Was the protagonist's team barely holding on?
Calling for help?
Blaine slowly lowered the phone, pondering silently.
"Driver, can you speed up a bit?"
"This is already the fastest—if I go any faster—"
"I'll double the pay on top of what I offered."
"Alright, sir. Buckle up. Time for a real ride!"
(AN: Even without detailed plot, you guys should get the gist, right?
Don't worry if not—it'll return to the Marvel timeline in a few chapters. This is just a transition with no major connection to past or future events.)
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