Chapter 56: Gold Secured & Trap Triggered
January 11
In the small room on the first floor of Steve's villa, Hunter stared at the camera pointed directly at the doorway. His pupils constricted.
"Shit. A camera."
"I need to grab this and go. Fast."
He had applied makeup before coming. Even without the balaclava, most Westerners struggled to distinguish between different East Asian ethnicities, just as Asians often confused British, French, and German features. With the mask, identifying him by his eyes alone was impossible.
Still, he was wary of the owner.
Steve had betrayed his partners and killed a teammate in cold blood. He was ruthless.
Hunter wasn't here to fight. He was here for the money. Speed was key.
He reached out and placed his hand on one of the safes.
His confidence didn't come from a team or a complex plan. It came from his System.
Specifically, the Personal Inventory.
Hunter had spent nearly two months testing its limits.
Time Stasis: Food stored inside didn't spoil or change temperature.
Weight Negation: Regardless of mass, objects stored in the Inventory added zero encumbrance to his body. He had stored a motorcycle and a muscle car without feeling a thing.
Storage Condition: As long as he touched an object with his bare skin and it fit within the total volume (currently 70+ cubic meters), it would vanish instantly.
This was his ace. He could steal a ton of gold solo because he didn't need to lift it.
He rolled up his sleeve, exposing his forearm.
To avoid leaving fingerprints, he had coated his palms in clear nail polish. But the Inventory required skin contact.
He pressed his bare forearm against the cold steel of the first safe.
Store.
With a thought, the massive safe vanished into thin air.
Hunter grinned.
But his smile froze instantly.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The moment the weight left the floor, a piercing alarm shattered the silence.
"A pressure plate!"
Hunter looked down. A mechanical device rose from the floor where the safe had been. The alarm screamed through the villa.
"He wired the floor!"
Hunter cursed. Steve was more paranoid than he expected.
He heard footsteps pounding down the stairs.
No time to think.
He slapped his forearm against the second safe.
Store.
Another safe vanished. Another mechanical clunk as a second trigger popped up.
The footsteps were getting louder.
"Run!"
Hunter sprinted for the front door.
He skidded to a halt.
A heavy alloy gate was descending rapidly, sealing the main entrance.
He glanced at the windows. More metal shutters were slamming down.
Outside, dogs were barking furiously.
"Fast reaction!"
Hunter's heart pounded. This was his first heist, and things had gone south immediately.
Panic flared, but his enhanced stats kicked in. His brain processed the situation at lightning speed.
The front is sealed. The windows are sealed.
The basement!
"Go back the way I came. The vent!"
He had checked the vent carefully. No sensors.
Plan set.
He spun around and sprinted for the basement door.
"FREEZE!"
A roar echoed from the stairs.
Then, gunfire.
TAT-TAT-TAT!
Automatic fire. AK series.
Hunter flinched as bullets shredded the wall behind him.
"Illegal mods!"
In the US, fully automatic weapons were heavily restricted. Civilian guns were semi-auto. But Steve didn't play by the rules.
Adrenaline flooded Hunter's veins.
He leaped down the stairs, clearing them in three bounds.
He slammed the basement door shut, tore off the tape on the latch, and locked it. It would only buy him seconds, but seconds were all he needed.
He sprinted across the garage to the vent.
It was over two meters high.
With double the strength of a normal man, it was nothing.
He jumped, grabbed the ledge, and pulled himself up in one fluid motion.
His upper body slithered through.
As his legs cleared the opening, he heard the basement door crash open behind him.
More footsteps. Angry shouting.
Hunter didn't look back.
He hit the ground outside and bolted for the cliff edge.
Behind him, the villa was in chaos. Dogs barking, alarms blaring, men shouting.
"The night isn't over yet."
Chapter 57: Chase in the Dark
January 11
Woof!
Woof!
Dogs had superior senses. Their smell, hearing, and night vision far outstripped a human's.
Hunter had barely run a few meters before he heard them.
Vicious barking, filled with the intent to kill.
Steve's two American Bullies.
Hunter didn't dare slow down.
Even if Steve had no guards inside, the alarm would have alerted the neighborhood's private security.
In the US, trespassing was a death sentence. Security guards could legally shoot intruders.
They weren't Steve's men, but they wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in Hunter.
"Move!"
Hunter gritted his teeth and pushed his speed to the limit.
He reached the cliff edge.
The adrenaline of stealing a ton of gold was still fresh. The thought of selling it and maxing out his stats burned in his mind.
But survival came first.
Woof!
Woof!
The dogs were faster than he expected.
Just as he reached the edge, they burst into view, mere meters away.
"Fast!"
Hunter grabbed the rappel rope he had set up earlier. His fingers fumbled to clip it to his harness.
Woof! Roar!
The dogs lunged.
Hunter cursed.
His medical records were in the hospital database. If he got bitten, his DNA would be left at the scene.
"Fuck off!"
He roared, continuing to clip the rope with one hand while his other hand reached behind his back.
From his Inventory, he pulled a pistol.
[Marksmanship Lv 4].
Within 100 meters, he rarely missed.
Even with a hasty, one-handed shot while moving, his muscle memory took over.
BANG!
The 9mm round caught the first dog mid-stride.
It punched through the animal's side, exiting through its ribs.
The dog yelped and collapsed, sliding across the dirt.
Hunter looked up.
The second dog was already in the air, jaws snapping at his throat.
Less than two meters away.
Hunter adjusted his aim.
BANG!
A headshot.
The bullet shattered the dog's skull.
Its body went limp in mid-air, its momentum carrying it forward.
Hunter sidestepped. The carcass flew past him and over the cliff edge.
"Phew."
He holstered the gun into his Inventory and used both hands to secure the final carabiner.
"Over there!"
"Someone's by the cliff!"
Tactical flashlights cut through the darkness.
A team of security guards was sprinting towards him.
Steve appeared around the corner of the villa, his face twisted in rage.
"GET HIM!"
He raised his AK-47.
TAT-TAT-TAT!
Bullets chewed up the dirt around Hunter's feet.
Hunter ducked, clipped the last lock, and looked back at Steve and the guards.
He gave a mock bow.
Then, he jumped backwards off the cliff.
"Whoa!"
The security guards gasped, rushing to the edge. They expected to see a broken body at the bottom.
Instead, they saw Hunter rappelling down the face of the cliff with expert control.
Three, four bounds, and he was near the bottom.
Steve didn't bother looking. He knew the thief wouldn't just commit suicide.
He threw down the AK and sprinted for the garage.
He jumped into his Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, fired the engine, and tore out of the driveway, heading for the winding mountain road that led to the base of the cliff.
He grabbed his radio.
"Someone broke in! They're escaping!"
"Track my GPS! Converge on my location! NOW!"
Steve was paranoid. He kept his mercenaries outside the perimeter because he feared betrayal.
He thought his cameras and walls were enough.
He was wrong.
Someone had walked in and emptied his safes.
Nearly a ton of gold. His entire fortune. Gone.
Steve didn't know how they moved two massive safes so quickly.
But he knew they couldn't have gone far.
"Charlie... is that you?"
Steve gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
Visions of his old partner filled his mind.
But his face showed no regret. Only murderous intent.
Whoever touched his gold would die tonight.
Chapter 58: Charlie Takes the Blame
January 11
Click!
Hunter unclipped his harness. He didn't even have time to retrieve the rope.
Beams of light swept down from the cliff edge, followed immediately by gunfire.
The roar of approaching engines echoed from the road below.
Hunter's heart sank. He sprinted away from the cliff base, dodging the bullets raining down from above.
He summoned his modified motorcycle from his Inventory.
He straddled the bike and kicked the starter.
VROOOM!
The engine roared to life. He twisted the throttle and shot down the mountain road.
Vroom! Vroom!
Behind him, more engines roared.
Steve's men.
Steve hadn't let them inside the villa, but he kept them close.
Hunter leaned into the turn, pushing the throttle to the max.
His bike, with its thunderous exhaust, tore through the winding mountain path like a black arrow.
Vroom!
Two motorcycles were hot on his tail.
They knew these roads.
Hunter glanced at his speedometer. 70 mph.
The mountain wasn't high. Two more turns and he'd hit the main highway. Then he could unleash his bike's true speed.
But the pursuers were gaining, using their local knowledge to cut corners.
Hunter checked his mirror.
His face hardened.
He twisted the throttle again. The new engine, custom-installed by his own hands, screamed.
The bike surged past 100 mph, recklessly charging into the next curve.
TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Gunfire erupted from behind.
One of the pursuers was riding one-handed, firing a Micro Uzi with the other.
Bullets sparked against the asphalt.
If not for Hunter's [Driving Lv 4], allowing him to weave and dodge with superhuman precision, he would have been Swiss cheese.
Whoosh!
Finally, he cleared the last turn and hit the highway.
Hunter crouched low over the tank, becoming one with the machine. He accelerated again, pulling away from the two pursuers like a rocket leaving the launchpad.
Behind them, Steve followed in his Jeep Wrangler.
His eyes were bloodshot.
He drove with one hand, his other gripping the radio.
"Stay on him! I want him alive!"
"Ten thousand dollars to whoever catches that biker!"
He barked orders, but panic gnawed at his gut.
Eighteen months ago, in Venice, he had worked with Charlie Croker's team.
Handsome Rob.
The team's wheelman. A master driver who could handle any vehicle.
Steve was convinced the biker was Rob, acting as a decoy.
Screech!
Steve slammed on the brakes.
He glared at the disappearing taillights of the three motorcycles.
Then he spun the wheel, executing a U-turn on the highway, and raced back towards the villa.
"Lock down the perimeter!"
"Search everywhere!"
"They stole two massive safes. That bike was a distraction. The safes must still be nearby!"
"Team One, search the villa. Every room. Every corner."
"Team Two, check the cliff. Find out how they got up."
"Check every cave, every bush."
"Don't let anyone slip through."
Steve had miscalculated.
He assumed the thief was Charlie Croker.
He assumed that because the safes were huge and heavy, the biker couldn't possibly be carrying them. It had to be a trick. The safes had to be hidden somewhere close, waiting for a truck to pick them up.
He never imagined a lone wolf with a magical Inventory.
Steve watched his men swarm the property.
He walked to the cliff edge with a few guards. He didn't even glance at the corpses of his dogs.
"Boss. Ropes and pitons here."
A guard shone his tactical light on Hunter's climbing gear.
"They climbed up. And rappelled down."
Steve's face was grim.
Dozens of men were searching, but no safes. No Charlie.
Steve knew those safes. They were top-of-the-line. Even John Bridger, the master safecracker he killed, would need 20 minutes to crack them.
And John was dead. Steve had put two bullets in his chest and one in his heart. He saw the body float.
"Charlie couldn't have found another master cracker that fast."
"The safes must be here."
"Maybe still inside the villa."
Steve looked down at the dark abyss below the cliff, then turned back to his house.
Tonight, he would dig three feet into the ground if he had to.
He would find his gold. And he would find Charlie.
Chapter 59: Successful Escape, The Worthington 1000
January 11
Hunter had no idea.
Because he had used his Inventory to steal the two massive safes right under Steve's nose, the method was so baffling that Steve didn't suspect a stranger.
Instead, Steve suspected Charlie Croker.
Specifically, Handsome Rob.
In Steve's mind, only Rob—the team's ace driver—had the skill to pull off a motorcycle escape like that.
So, Steve didn't chase Hunter himself.
He sent two bikers to pursue him, hoping to capture "Rob" alive.
Meanwhile, Steve returned to the villa to dig for the safes he believed were still hidden nearby.
Unwittingly, Charlie Croker had become the perfect scapegoat.
On the highway, Hunter's speedometer climbed steadily.
100 km/h... 120... 150... 170... 200... 240 km/h.
A wave of dizziness hit him. Even with two lives worth of experience, this was the fastest he had ever gone.
His heart pounded like a war drum.
"Can't go any faster."
The old motorcycle frame began to shudder violently.
He had replaced the engine and key components, but the chassis was still ancient. It could handle a sprint, but sustained speeds like this would tear it apart.
Hunter wove through the LA traffic.
It was midnight, but the city never truly slept. Cars were everywhere.
He checked his mirror.
The two pursuers were keeping up.
Hunter recognized their bikes. Indian Scout.
Legendary American cruisers. Their performance was easily on par with, if not superior to, his modified antique.
But the riders didn't have a System.
With [Driving Lv 4], Hunter was threading the needle between cars at 200 km/h with surgical precision.
The pursuers hesitated.
Weaving through traffic at that speed was suicidal.
The $100,000 bounty was tempting, but you couldn't spend it if you were dead.
The gap widened.
From ten meters to fifty. Then a hundred. Then they were gone.
Twenty minutes later, Hunter took a sharp exit.
Ten minutes after that, he was back in downtown LA.
He had ditched the motorcycle and the balaclava. He was now driving the Ford Mustang Dom had given him.
"Today is a good day..."
Humming a tune from his past life, Hunter drove in a wide loop around the city to ensure he wasn't followed.
Finally, he parked in a secluded spot near his apartment and stored the Mustang in his Inventory.
Thanks to his recent skill upgrades, his Inventory was massive. A car, a motorcycle, and tons of gear fit with room to spare.
He walked back to his apartment casually.
He locked the door and leaned against it.
His heart rate finally slowed. The dizziness faded.
"I'm back."
He walked into the living room.
First, he went to the bathroom and used makeup remover to scrub the thick layer of nail polish from his palms.
Then, he stood in the center of the room.
He extended his hand.
Retrieve.
THUD!
The floorboards groaned in protest as a massive safe materialized out of thin air.
Creak...
Hunter ignored the straining wood. His eyes were glued to his prize.
It was a custom-made high-end safe from Worthington, the most famous security company in the US.
"The Worthington 1000..."
Hunter had looked it up online.
Weight: 1.6 tons. Impossible to move without a crane.
Dimensions: 2.2m high, 1.4m wide, 70cm deep.
Walls: 12cm thick carbon-titanium alloy. Corrosion-resistant. Drill-resistant.
Features: Electronic lock, biometric retina scanner, and a physical key.
If tampering was detected, it would enter a "lockdown mode," turning into a solid block of metal that only Worthington technicians could open.
It was marketed as the best private safe in the world, second only to bank vaults.
And it lived up to the hype.
Hunter examined it for a moment.
His [Lockpicking Lv 2] was useless here. He might as well be trying to pick a lock with a banana.
"Looks like I have two options."
"Try to cut it open with industrial tools."
"Or... ask Stella Bridger for help."
Chapter 60: Charlie the Unknowing Scapegoat
January 11
At noon, Hunter was back at the Burger King.
He had arrived an hour early.
He couldn't help it.
Last night was insane.
Two lifetimes of memories, and this was the wildest thing he had ever done.
The adrenaline of the chase, the gunfire, the near-death escape. The rush of driving at 200+ km/h through the LA night.
It replayed in his mind like a movie.
He tried to sleep after getting home, but the excitement kept his eyes wide open.
So, he gave up and came here.
He sat in a booth, eating a leisurely breakfast and reading a car magazine to grind [Reading] EXP.
He didn't know if Charlie knew about the "big event" yet.
If he didn't, great. Hunter could squeeze some extra cash out of him.
Hunter was broke.
Leveling skills and upgrading his Inventory had drained his savings. He needed a cash injection urgently.
He sipped his soda.
Despite being a transmigrator for nearly two months, he rarely ate fast food. He usually cooked at home with ingredients from Chinatown.
But today, the grease, the salt, and the sugar tasted victorious.
Time passed slowly.
Hunter flipped through the magazine, losing himself in daydreams about which supercar he would buy once he cracked the safes.
"Knock, knock."
A hand rapped on his table.
Hunter looked up from the back pages of the magazine.
A familiar face smiled down at him.
"Hey, Boss!"
Hunter grinned, genuinely happy to see him.
Charlie nodded. "You're early."
Charlie was pleased with Hunter's efficiency and skill.
In his old crew, they had an Indian tech guy who was brilliant but distracted by women and petty arguments. It caused friction.
Charlie had avoided recruiting Asians since then.
But looking at this capable young mechanic, Charlie was reconsidering.
I should vet him later.
If he's clean, maybe I can bring him into the fold.
Charlie had no idea he had been thoroughly framed by the smiling young man in front of him.
Hunter, of course, didn't know Charlie was thinking about recruiting him.
"Boss" was just a joke.
"My bike's got issues. I need cash for a new ride."
"So when you called, I came running."
Hunter used his prepared excuse.
He needed money now. If Charlie was still oblivious about the gold heist, Hunter would demand payment upfront.
Charlie paused, surprised by the directness, but then patted Hunter on the shoulder.
"Fair enough. I've got two cars that need work."
"Let's go."
Charlie moved to pay the bill, but the waiter informed him Hunter had already paid.
Charlie dragged Hunter out of the Burger King.
Fifteen minutes later, they were back at the warehouse.
Two ordinary sedans were parked inside.
A Volkswagen and a Toyota.
Hunter looked at Charlie.
"Both need high-performance engine swaps," Charlie listed. "Run-flat tires. Privacy glass. Tinted windows."
He rattled off a dozen modifications. None were technically difficult for Hunter.
"No problem, Boss."
"I'll list the parts. You buy them."
"Package deal for the labor: $10,000."
"If the parts are here by 4 PM, I'll have them done by midnight."
Hunter wasn't surprised Charlie wasn't asking for the MINI Coopers yet.
Based on his surveillance, Charlie hadn't reached the "cable guy" phase of the plan.
In the movie, they sabotage Steve's cable to get Stella inside as a repair technician. But Steve's paranoia blows their cover, forcing them to switch from a stealth heist to a smash-and-grab.
"Looks like Charlie doesn't know the gold is gone."
"Good. I can milk this."
$10,000 wasn't much compared to the gold, but money was money. Plus, it was free EXP for his [Mechanics] skill.
Charlie smiled, appreciating the kid's confidence but shaking his head at the price.
"A regular shop would charge a few thousand for labor if we bring the parts."
"You're asking too much, Hunter."
"I can do $6,000."
Hunter raised an eyebrow. "$9,000. Final offer."
Charlie shook his head. "$7,000. And that's only because you can finish tonight."
Hunter felt a twinge of vindication for framing him.
This guy was a legendary thief with millions in the bank, haggling over a few grand?
Cheapskate.
Hunter shook his head firmly.
"$8,000. I won't go lower."
"Your mods are illegal. I'm taking a risk."
"I don't ask questions. I do the job. That costs extra."
"Take it or leave it."
Charlie thought for a moment, then nodded.
"Deal."
"One condition," Hunter added quickly. "I need the cash now. Upfront. Like I said, I'm desperate."
"If you're not satisfied, I'll fix it for free until you are. Anytime."
Charlie hesitated, but remembering Hunter's previous work, he agreed.
Chapter 61: The Rage of Steve Frazelli
January 11
Sourcing the specific performance parts took longer than anticipated.
As a result, Hunter Sun remained busy until nearly five o'clock the following morning before finally completing Charlie's modification commission.
After pocketing the eight thousand dollars, Hunter didn't waste time exchanging pleasantries with Charlie. He immediately hopped onto his predecessor's old motorcycle and rode back to his apartment.
After a quick shower, Hunter couldn't even be bothered to make breakfast. He had been awake for over forty hours. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
However, Hunter was unaware of the chaos unfolding elsewhere.
While he slept, a storm was brewing. After a full day of searching, Steve—the man who had just lost two safes containing almost his entire net worth—had descended into absolute madness.
CRASH!
A cloisonné vase from the Orient was hurled violently across the room by a furious Steve. It shattered against the vintage floorboards of his villa.
Those floorboards were expensive antique materials he had purchased from a specialized contractor, allegedly salvaged from an ancient European monastery with a thousand years of history.
The villa was filled with such items—Eastern and Western art pieces that looked undeniably aged and valuable. But to put it bluntly, Steve was just a pseudo-intellectual nouveau riche trying to buy class.
Take the cloisonné vase he had just smashed to dust. It wasn't an antique; it was a piece of modern craftsmanship. And judging by the markings, it wasn't even from China—it was a Japanese replica.
Steve didn't understand the difference. He had treated these objects as priceless treasures. But now? With the loss of the two safes that held his real fortune, these "treasures" had become nothing more than venting tools for his rage.
He smashed them. He threw them. Debris was scattered everywhere.
"Useless!"
"You are all useless trash!"
"So many people!"
"Such tight security!"
"You're telling me that a few people climbed up that cliff, infiltrated my villa, and stole two safes?" Steve roared, his face flushed purple. "Two safes! Things that weigh tons! How did they take them away?"
"Come on! Tell me!"
Steve was spiraling.
Since being startled awake by a palpitation in the early hours of the previous morning, his life had turned into a nightmare.
When the trap guarding the safes was triggered, it had taken Steve less than a minute to rush from the second floor down to the first. He had caught a glimpse of a 'thief' wrapped head-to-toe in black, face obscured.
The thief had fled the moment Steve appeared. But the two safes had vanished along with him.
Steve had chased the thief in his car last night. But before he even reached the bottom of the mountain, he realized the motorcycle rider was likely just a decoy—bait to lure him away from the property.
He had immediately turned his car around and raced back to the villa.
For the last thirty-plus hours, his men had practically turned the villa inside out. They had dug three feet into the ground in the surrounding hills.
But until now, let alone finding the two massive, heavy safes that had mysteriously evaporated, they hadn't found a single clue.
Aside from the cliff behind the villa—a fifty-meter drop where they found pitons hammered into the rock and rapid-descent ropes—there was no trace of human activity.
More than a day had passed.
Zero leads.
The two bikers Steve had sent to intercept the fleeing thief had been humiliated on the highway, easily shaken off by the thief's superior driving skills.
No clues. No gold. No explanation.
Two safes, filled with gold bars, weighing over four tons combined. How did they vanish from right under his nose?
Steve, unable to comprehend the physics of the theft, was consumed by fury. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression twisted and savage. He looked around at his henchmen—men he paid hundreds of thousands of dollars annually to recruit.
If he didn't still need them, Steve would have grabbed an AK-47 right then and there and gunned them all down. He wanted to slaughter these incompetent fools.
The subordinates looked at each other, terrified into silence. They were desperadoes hired on high salaries. They had followed Steve for over a year and made good money. Unless the situation became truly untenable, they were willing to endure a scolding.
"Boss, we've combed the entire perimeter of the villa," a minor team leader said, hesitating before speaking up. "We can confirm that aside from the cliff face, there are no tracks or signs of outsiders entering or leaving."
SMASH!
The man instantly regretted opening his mouth.
Another porcelain jar flew toward him. Fortunately, he dodged at the last second, avoiding a concussion.
"Trash! Then you tell me—how did they steal my safes?"
"This..."
The team leader was stumped. Seeing Steve looking at him with eyes that wanted to eat him alive, he swallowed hard and stammered, "Boss... is it possible they bought another house nearby?"
" maybe... maybe they moved it there during the chaos last night?"
It was clearly a desperate, nonsense answer meant to placate Steve. They had already spent yesterday searching. They had checked for heavy load tracks and reviewed the passage records of nearby vehicles.
The two cumbersome safes, which had been a nightmare to install originally, had simply vanished into thin air.
But Steve was past the point of logic. His anger had dulled his usually sharp mind.
Gritting his teeth, he hissed, "Send a team. Investigate the villas nearby. Check which ones were sold in the last few months..."
"No," he corrected himself, eyes narrowing. "Within the last year. I want results immediately!"
"Yes, sir!"
Another team leader, unwilling to stay and be a target for flying pottery, stepped forward to accept the task and led a few men out.
He had barely left when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the hall.
Another subordinate rushed in, a look of triumph on his face.
"Boss! We checked all the surveillance from the nearby intersections."
"We found it. We found a suspicious target."
Chapter 62: Target Identified
January 11
Hearing the report, Steve's expression twisted into something even more grotesque.
"Quick! Put it on!"
He glared at the optical disc in his subordinate's hand—a copy of surveillance footage procured from god knows where.
"Yes, sir!"
The subordinate hurriedly handed the disc to a team leader, who rushed to the media player connected to the television. After a moment of fumbling with the controls, the screen flickered to life.
A series of clips from different street corners and angles began to play.
Some were fleeting, blurry shots captured by cameras near the villa's perimeter. Others came from the private security company monitoring the wealthy residential district.
Clearly, the security firm responsible for the area was feeling the heat. After a billionaire's villa was cleaned out right under their noses two nights ago, they were desperate to save face. Consequently, they had been very cooperative with Steve's men, handing over footage without much resistance.
Steve stared unblinkingly at the screen, his face darkening with every passing second.
"Charlie Croker!"
Steve practically roared the name, grinding his teeth so hard they might crack.
Although most of the surveillance footage on the screen was grainy, the silhouettes were distinct enough for Steve to recognize them.
Evidently, the thieves hadn't anticipated that Steve would secure footage from cameras hundreds of meters away from his property lines. They had been careful near the villa, but careless further out.
On the screen, several figures were clearly captured.
Steve knew every single one of them.
Especially the man leading the group. It was exactly who he had suspected—the only man capable of planning such an elaborate heist and stealing two massive safes containing his life's fortune: the international master thief, Charlie Croker.
In the instant he saw Charlie, a cascade of questions in Steve's mind found their answers.
"Charlie Croker... It really was you!"
Steve had been racking his brain, trying to understand how two safes—weighing over four tons combined with the gold inside—could be moved without leaving a single trace, all within such a short window of time. It had seemed physically impossible.
But seeing Charlie Croker on the screen changed everything.
If the opponent was Charlie Croker—a man known for his meticulous mind, a man who would spend months perfecting a plan down to the second—then the impossible became possible.
Staring at his 'old friend' on the television, Steve let out a sinister laugh, his eyes radiating pure malice.
"You've really got guts, Charlie!"
"I spared your pathetic lives back then, and this is how you repay me? By delivering yourselves to my doorstep?"
Steve was a villain, through and through. He never pretended to be a saint.
Over a year ago, when he decided to betray the team and keep the ton of gold they had stolen from the Italian mafia for himself, he had murdered John Bridger. Old John had been Charlie's mentor, a father figure, and the soul of their team.
Killing John was a calculated move to break Charlie psychologically.
Back then, Steve had the chance to kill them all. He didn't, partially because he had secured the gold and his bloodlust had subsided, and partially because, after years of working together, he held a shred of camaraderie for them.
So, he hadn't finished the job.
If he had been ruthless then—when he and his men were fully armed and Charlie's team was crashing into the freezing lake with nothing but two small emergency air tanks—they would all be dead. How long could they have held their breath in that water?
Steve had regretted that moment of mercy every day since.
For the past year, he had lived in low-profile seclusion, paying the price for his softness.
He never expected his old friends to find him so quickly. And he certainly didn't expect them to strip him of everything—not just the gold he stole from them, but the majority of the wealth he had accumulated over the years.
The safes didn't just hold the remaining gold bars. They held cash, luxury watches, gems, and bearer bonds. Aside from his real estate and cars, those safes contained his entire net worth.
Without them, Steve had gone from a multimillionaire to a man facing imminent bankruptcy.
After all, loyalty was expensive.
His team of mercenaries cost hundreds of thousands of dollars a year in salaries alone.
And while real estate prices in the U.S. were relatively low compared to some places, the holding costs were brutal. In Los Angeles, property tax hovered around two percent.
Steve owned three properties. This villa alone cost him nearly a hundred thousand dollars a year in taxes. Add in maintenance, utilities, and insurance, and the annual upkeep was astronomical.
In America, living in a mansion wasn't just about buying it; it was about surviving the bills.
The thought made the veins on Steve's forehead bulge.
He whipped his head toward one of his men. "You. Go check it out."
"I want to know where Charlie Croker is. You have twenty-four hours."
"Yes, sir!"
The subordinate acknowledged the order and sprinted out.
Steve turned his gaze back to the screen, his eyes locked on the frozen image of Charlie's team. Now that he had identified the culprit, the fog in his mind lifted. His brain began to work sharply again.
"The Worthington 1000 isn't something just anyone can crack," he muttered to himself.
His eyes drifted to the person standing next to Charlie in the footage.
"Who is this woman?"
"A new member of his team?"
"Wait... I remember Old John mentioning something once."
"He said he had a daughter. Someone with the same terrifying talent for safes that he had."
"But she didn't follow in his footsteps. She went legit. She runs a security firm, contracting for the police, banks, and insurance companies."
"This woman looks young... She fits the description of the daughter John talked about."
"If I remember correctly, John said she worked right here in Los Angeles."
Thoughts raced through Steve's mind like lightning.
A cold, triumphant smile slowly spread across his face.
Steve knew he had them. He would find Charlie. And soon, he would have his safes back.
Chapter 63: A Call from Mia
January 11
When Hunter woke up, it was already noon.
With his physical attributes enhanced, Hunter had noticed that his need for sleep had drastically diminished. Unless he was utterly exhausted, five or six hours of rest a night was now sufficient. He would wake up feeling completely refreshed, a stark contrast to his past life where even ten hours of sleep sometimes left him feeling groggy.
Having stolen two safes from Steve, Hunter was in high spirits despite his inability to open them just yet.
After a quick wash, he pulled a variety of fresh ingredients from his Personal Inventory. He prepared a feast for himself and enjoyed it leisurely.
Hunter had decided not to approach Stella Bridger for a few days.
The blonde beauty had inherited her father John Bridger's genius for safecracking, but she also carried the baggage of his past. John had spent over a decade in prison, missing most of Stella's childhood.
Although they had reconciled, Stella harbored a deep resentment for the criminal life. At the beginning of the The Italian Job plotline, her relationship with Charlie Croker was frosty at best. She despised thieves like Charlie and her father, and she hated their illicit activities even more.
Hunter, in a sense, was now exactly the kind of person she detested.
So, he planned to wait. He needed the heat to die down before he tried to charm her into teaching him top-tier lockpicking skills.
Hunter wasn't worried about convincing her.
His biggest difference from Charlie was a lack of "moral" constraints. Charlie had principles. Even after Steve murdered John—Stella's father and Charlie's mentor—Charlie's idea of revenge was merely stealing the gold back.
From his first heist to the present, Charlie and his team had never killed anyone during a job. That was Charlie's code.
Hunter had no such inhibitions.
He doubted Stella could resist the temptation of seeing Steve—the man who murdered her father—dead. And if her moral upbringing prevented her from pulling the trigger herself, Hunter wouldn't mind doing the dirty work for her.
Since killing those two American Bullies during his escape two nights ago, Hunter felt as if a shackle from his previous life had shattered. The dormant aggression in his blood, a primal instinct for conflict, was reawakening.
When the thought of killing Steve to win Stella's favor crossed his mind, he felt no hesitation. Instead, he immediately began calculating the feasibility.
To be honest, Hunter didn't dislike this change.
He had a conscience—not a lot, but enough.
Hunter devoured his sumptuous lunch with the speed of a whirlwind. As his stats increased, so did his appetite. He was eating significantly more than he had two months ago.
After washing the dishes, he began to ponder how to spend his afternoon.
Should he go to the boxing club to spar? Or perhaps the shooting range to further grind his Marksmanship skill? Maybe a relaxing fishing trip by the beach, followed by a run along the coast at sunset?
Just as he was weighing his options, the phone on his nightstand rang.
Hunter walked over leisurely and checked the screen.
It was an unknown number.
After a brief pause, he answered.
"Hello?"
The moment the call connected, a frantic, slightly unfamiliar female voice came through the line.
"Hunter! It's Mia."
"Are you at your apartment right now?"
"I need to see you!"
It was Mia. Mia Toretto. Hunter hadn't seen her in over a month.
Her voice was trembling, laced with panic. She was clearly in trouble.
Hunter's tone instantly shifted to one of calm reassurance. "Easy, Mia. Don't panic. Are you okay?"
"I'm at home. Where are you?"
"If you need me, I can come to you right now."
Hunter hadn't been in contact with Mia for a while, but he hadn't forgotten her. She was his first woman in this world. If he hadn't been so consumed by his financial crisis and the heist at Steve's villa, he might have already defied Dom's threats to see her.
On the other end of the line, Mia sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
"Something happened to Dom. I'm near your place."
"I'll be there in a minute!"
Dom. Dominic Toretto.
Hunter opened his mouth to ask for details, but Mia had already hung up.
Listening to the dial tone, Hunter pocketed his phone. He had previously emailed Mia his current address, so he wasn't worried about her finding him.
What intrigued him was the news about Dom.
Dom is in trouble?
Dom wasn't exactly a kingpin, but he was a legend in the California underground racing scene. He had connections everywhere. Even with the FBI watching him, as long as Dom kept his head down, the Bureau wouldn't waste resources on a cold surveillance target indefinitely.
Hunter quickly ran through the plot of The Fast and the Furious in his mind.
Suddenly, he frowned.
"Wait..."
"Did Dom and his crew... did they pull another job even with the FBI watching them?"
"Did they hijack another truck?"
Hunter had been so focused on the gold heist that he hadn't paid attention to the local California news.
Thinking about the kind of people Dom and his crew were—adrenaline junkies who lived a quarter-mile at a time—Hunter realized his guess was likely spot on.
He shook his head and sighed internally.
If you don't court death, you won't die.
Chapter 64: Dom Toretto Arrested
January 11
Ten minutes later, a frantic knocking echoed through the apartment.
Hunter opened the door to find a stunning young woman with long, flaxen hair standing in the hallway.
It was Mia.
Their eyes locked for a split second, heavy with emotion. Hunter opened his arms.
Without a word, Mia threw herself into his embrace.
"Hunter..."
"Please... you have to save Dom. He's in trouble!"
It was immediately apparent that the situation was dire. Mia wasn't one to break down easily, but the moment she saw him, she buried her face in his chest and began to sob quietly.
Hunter had always been weak to a woman's tears, especially when they came from someone as captivating as Mia. He gently patted her back, soothing her, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.
"Easy now," he murmured warmly. "Don't worry. I'm here."
"What happened to your brother?"
"I've been busy job hunting lately. After I warned him last time, I haven't been keeping tabs on him."
Mia kept her face pressed against his chest. She was tall, over 1.7 meters, and in heels, she stood nearly eye-to-level with her brother Dom, who was 1.82 meters. But right now, she curled into Hunter, making herself feel small.
"Thank you."
Mia sniffled, rubbing her tear-streaked face against his shirt before finally looking up. Her large, amber eyes were filled with fear, anxiety, and the repressed joy of finally seeing him again.
Her eyes spoke volumes. Even Hunter, who wasn't exactly an expert on female psychology, could read the desperation and reliance in her gaze.
He tightened his embrace slightly.
The sudden pressure of his arms made Mia acutely aware of the raw power in the man holding her. As her head bumped against his solid, muscular chest, a wave of unprecedented security washed over her.
"Stop crying. You have me now," Hunter assured her. "Tell me everything."
Hearing his gentle voice, Mia's face flushed slightly. For a fleeting moment, her mind drifted back to that wild night over a month ago—the intensity she had felt then.
But she quickly pulled herself together. She knew why she was here.
"Hunter, it's Dom. He's been arrested."
Mia took a deep breath and spent the next few minutes recounting the chaos of the last few weeks.
It turned out that after Hunter had warned Dom over the phone about the FBI surveillance a month ago, Dom hadn't taken it seriously at first.
In fact, just days after the warning, Dom had instructed his girlfriend Letty and a few crew members to fence a batch of stolen electronics through their usual black market channels.
That was a mistake. Letty and the crew were immediately flagged by surveillance—either LAPD or FBI. Shortly after the goods hit the black market, a heavily armed police tactical unit raided several of the fencing shops. A fence who had worked with Dom for years was arrested, exposing part of their network.
A few days later, Hunter had met with Dom personally. He had reiterated the warning: The FBI is watching you.
Hunter had then made a deal with Dom, handing over the intel he had gathered on the undercover agent, Brian O'Conner.
At that time, Brian had already begun to suspect Dom's crew. He was trying to infiltrate their circle, targeting Mia as his entry point to find evidence that they were the highway hijackers terrorizing California.
Brian didn't know that his cover was already blown. Dom had the photos Hunter provided—photos of Brian entering and leaving the FBI building.
So, when Brian made his next move, Dom didn't welcome him into the "family."
Instead, Dom signaled one of his men to teach the "buster" a lesson.
To everyone's surprise, Brian lived up to his FBI training. He was skilled in hand-to-hand combat and managed to drop Dom's enforcer before calmly walking away.
Brian had assumed this display of strength would impress Dom. He thought it would earn him respect and a way into the inner circle, perhaps leading to a recruitment offer given his knowledge of cars and his job at The Racer's Edge parts shop.
He was wrong.
Dom used the fight as a pretext. He sent a group of men to corner Brian inside the parts shop. They beat him senseless.
They didn't stop there. Because the shop owner was suspected of cooperating with the FBI (or at least harboring a fed), Dom's men trashed the place, forcing the business to shut down temporarily.
This violent retaliation forced the FBI's hand.
There had been a faction within the Bureau that disagreed with Brian's deep-cover strategy from the start. They argued that waiting for Brian to gather evidence was a waste of time. They wanted to arrest Dom and his core crew on suspicion and interrogate them until they cracked.
After Brian was hospitalized and a cooperating business was destroyed, the hawks at the FBI won the argument.
The Los Angeles field office decided to stop playing games. They waited for an opportunity to strike.
That opportunity came last night.
Dom and his crew were participating in a major underground street race. Just as Dom's Charger was screaming toward the finish line, the trap sprung.
Dozens of police cruisers swarmed the area.
Dom and his crew, exhausted from the high-stakes race, were caught off guard. The FBI and LAPD had mobilized a massive task force, including several helicopters. There was no escape.
Aside from one lucky crew member who managed to slip away in the chaos, everyone was apprehended.
Dom and the others had been in custody for over twenty-four hours.
Mia knew exactly who her brother was. She knew he led the crew of highway hijackers that the California government and police were desperate to crucify.
Thanks to Hunter, she also knew the FBI had been building a case. She was terrified that this arrest was the end of the line. If the police connected Dom to the hijackings, he wouldn't just be facing a few years for street racing. He would be looking at decades in federal prison.
After a day of panic and helplessness, Mia had broken down.
And so, she had come to find Hunter.
Chapter 65: Operation Rescue
January 11
Hunter listened patiently to Mia's story, then sank into silence.
He honestly couldn't fathom what went on inside Dom Toretto's head.
Hunter had warned Dom over a month ago that the FBI was watching him. He had even exposed Brian O'Conner—the undercover agent poised to infiltrate the crew—well in advance!
If Hunter were in Dom's shoes, he would have feigned ignorance. He would have laid low, done absolutely nothing illegal, and waited for the heat to die down.
After all, while the FBI handled major criminal cases across the US, they were ultimately an intelligence and investigative agency. They couldn't afford to waste unlimited resources monitoring a single target forever.
Or, if Hunter wanted to be crafty, he could have played the hospitable host. He could have let Brian into his inner circle, fed him false leads, and misdirected the entire investigation toward a rival crew or a complete dead end. He could have even manipulated the situation to eliminate Brian quietly.
At worst, with Hunter's advanced warning, Dom had ample time to move his assets and his family. He could have fled back to their roots or disappeared into another American city under a new identity. Getting a fake ID in the States wasn't exactly rocket science.
So, no matter how hard Hunter tried, he couldn't wrap his head around Dom's decision. Why send men to beat up Brian and trash the parts shop?
Wasn't that just broadcasting his guilt to the FBI?
If they didn't investigate Dom after that, Hunter would have seriously questioned if the entire Bureau was staffed by morons.
Sigh.
Is this just American muscle-head logic? Is his brain just full of protein powder and exhaust fumes?
Even with a cheat-sheet warning, Dom still managed to get himself caught.
This was something Hunter hadn't anticipated.
Ideally, he wouldn't want to touch this mess with a ten-foot pole.
But then he looked down at Mia, huddled in his arms, staring up at him with those pitiful, pleading eyes.
Hunter sighed internally. Fine. Let's do this.
His intelligence, now double that of a normal human, granted him superior IQ and logical processing. In seconds, he had analyzed the situation and formulated a plan.
He looked at Mia and spoke with calm assurance. "Don't worry, Mia."
"Dom has only been in custody for twenty-four hours. Knowing him, he won't say a word."
"His crew should be holding out too. Even if they aren't the brightest, they have to know that if they talk, they're looking at a minimum of seven years in prison."
"Probably much longer."
Mia froze, then pulled back from his embrace slightly.
"You..."
Before she could finish, Hunter cut her off.
"You want to ask how I know they'd face such a long sentence?"
"The 'California Highway Hijackers'... that's Dom and his crew, isn't it?"
Hunter had wanted to address the elephant in the room for a while, so he didn't hold back.
"Back at the garage, I read the reports about the hijackers. Later, I worked on your brother's cars and saw the modifications up close."
"It's not hard to connect the dots."
"Why else do you think I warned you the moment the FBI started asking me questions about him?"
Mia fell silent. She hadn't expected this young, handsome man—the man she had been so intimate with—to be this sharp.
Her lingering doubts vanished.
The reason she hadn't contacted Hunter in the past month was precisely because she feared accidentally exposing her brother's secret. Mia and Dom had depended on each other since childhood. Even though she sometimes resented Dom's strict control, her loyalty to her brother and his crew outweighed her feelings for a "quasi-boyfriend" she didn't fully know yet.
So, at the insistence of Letty and Dom, she had suppressed her desire to see Hunter, the man who had taken her precious virginity.
She never imagined he had already figured it out on his own, just from circumstantial evidence.
He warned Dom twice... maybe he really did it just for me...
Mia let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The complex mix of guilt and longing she had suppressed for a month suddenly sublimated into a profound affection.
"Hunter!"
She threw her arms around him again, this time with more passion and intensity.
She pressed her red lips against his, delivering a deep, fervent kiss.
"I'm sorry!" Mia whispered guiltily when they finally parted.
Hunter simply smiled and shook his head, saying nothing.
He wasn't about to tell Mia that he had recently read a few psychology books out of boredom. And that just now, applying that knowledge in real-time, he had accidentally triggered two new skills: [Micro-Expression Analysis] and [Emotion Analysis].
Feeling like he was evolving into a high-level heartbreaker, Hunter decided to ignore the moral implications for now.
He kissed Mia gently on the cheek and steered the conversation back to business. "The fact that you're here and not in handcuffs proves something important."
"The FBI doesn't have concrete evidence linking Dom to the hijackings yet."
"So, our priority is clear."
"We need to hire the best, most aggressive lawyer money can buy for your brother and his crew."
"We can let them take the fall for illegal street racing or unauthorized vehicle modifications. Those are minor charges."
"Then we pay their bail."
"The key is to get Dom out of FBI custody immediately. We cannot let them keep him."
Mia, who had been feeling lost and helpless, felt a surge of hope. Her eyes lit up as she nodded vigorously.
"You're right, Hunter."
"Let's do that!"
But Hunter shook his head, looking at her with a troubled expression.
"There's a problem, though."
"Hiring a shark of a lawyer isn't cheap. The retainer alone will be massive."
"And the bail for a group of repeat offenders? That won't be a small number either."
Hunter paused for effect.
"I'm broke right now."