Chapter 91: The Return
January 12
"Let's go back."
On the morning of the tenth day at the farm, Stella finished the delicious breakfast Hunter had prepared for her.
She stood up to wash the dishes, then made the suggestion.
In the blink of an eye, more than ten days had passed since she was kidnapped by Steve, rescued by Hunter, and then hidden away at this remote family farm.
For a workaholic, missing over ten days of work was unbearable.
Stella felt restless.
She was worried that Bridger Safe & Vault might have been targeted by Steve in retaliation.
She also had no idea what had happened to Charlie and his team.
Of course, Stella wasn't willing to admit the othermajor reason she was desperate to leave the farm and return to work:
She couldn't accept the fact that her talent for lockpicking was vastly inferior to Hunter's.
Hunter looked at Stella calmly. He nodded, then shook his head.
"I'm leaving today. But Stella, you need to wait a little longer."
Stella's beautiful eyebrows knit together instantly. Her emerald green eyes flashed with intensity.
"Why?" She was clearly unhappy.
"I need to check on Steve first," Hunter explained.
"I need to guarantee your safety before I let you go back."
Stella shook her head firmly. "I'm going back with you!"
Before, when she didn't know Hunter well, she could accept hiding.
But after ten days of living together, Stella had grown close to him.
She felt sympathy for this handsome, orphaned Asian boy who was not yet nineteen but was so capable and driven.
And beyond sympathy, she had developed a significant fondness for him—despite him being eight years her junior.
"I can't let you take the risk alone!"
"Especially not for me!"
Hunter knew Stella meant well.
But he couldn't let her interfere.
He wiped the smile from his face and looked at her seriously. "Stop being stubborn, Stella."
"With my skills and reconnaissance ability, getting close to Steve's villa—or even breaking in again—is easy for me."
"I'm going to check your office and your apartment to make sure no one is watching."
"Only when I'm sure it's safe will I let you return."
"I've only dealt with Steve twice, but based on my intel, he's ruthless."
"The only reason he didn't kill you before was to use you as bait to lure out Charlie, who he thought stole the gold."
Stella suddenly recalled her two days in captivity. Her expression became unnatural.
She hadn't been assaulted, and her life hadn't been directly threatened.
But she had experienced Steve's method of torture firsthand.
Faced with a beautiful woman, he hadn't laid a hand on her.
Instead, he tied her up, starved her for two days, gave her only sips of water, and denied her basic dignity.
Even bathroom breaks had to be taken while bound.
For a woman—especially a proud, beautiful woman like Stella—it was humiliating beyond words.
Those two days had been a living hell.
She shivered involuntarily.
"But..."
Seeing she wanted to argue, Hunter cut her off.
"I'll be back before tonight. No matter what, I promise I won't stop you from going back tomorrow."
Seeing his firm attitude, Stella hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."
Having finally persuaded her, Hunter rested for a bit longer.
Then, he set off for Los Angeles.
He rode fast. Over an hour later, he was back in the city.
Since it was closer, he went to Stella's office first.
Everything seemed normal. The receptionist was working as usual.
Hunter checked the surrounding area and found no surveillance.
Satisfied, he left and drove toward Steve's villa.
During his days at the farm, Hunter had repainted his motorcycle and changed its livery.
He had also swapped the license plate for a fake one.
He had spent time at Old Parker's garage and done modification jobs, so he knew where to get custom fake plates. For convenience, he carried a dozen different ones in his Inventory.
Hunter arrived near Steve's villa quickly.
But what he saw surprised him.
Steve's villa was sealed with police tape.
The guard booth that used to be manned twenty-four hours a day was gone—completely removed.
Large sections of the main gate and the front wall had collapsed.
Looking at the cratered earth and debris, it wasn't hard to see that explosives had been detonated here.
"Don't tell me..."
"Did Charlie blow the place up that night? Besides the grenade I threw?"
"Damn. Looks like they used some serious firepower."
Hunter remembered hearing Charlie call Stella's name as he was escaping with her that night.
He knew Charlie had been there.
Without Charlie drawing Steve's attention at the front gate, Hunter never could have shot the breaker box and extracted Stella so easily.
But Hunter didn't know what happened after he left.
Judging by the destruction, it seemed Charlie and his team had caused quite a scene after Hunter vanished with the hostage.
Hunter watched the villa for a while. After confirming it was uninhabited, he moved to the cliff at the rear.
He inspected the area and found that all the climbing pitons he had left were gone. Every single one had been pulled out.
"What happened here after we left?"
With questions swirling in his mind, Hunter drove to Stella's apartment.
Arriving shortly after, he checked the area carefully.
No surveillance.
He approached the mailbox quietly. It was empty.
Thinking for a moment, he pulled out a metal pick.
He opened the door to Stella's apartment effortlessly and slipped inside.
The first thing he saw was a pile of mail scattered on the floor behind the door.
Chapter 92: Dealing with Steve
January 12
Without hesitation, Hunter picked up the dozen letters and opened them one by one.
Three of them were useless junk mail—collections notices from credit card companies and utility bills for water, electricity, and gas.
The remaining letters, however, were the valuable messages left by Charlie and his team for Stella.
Hunter read through them quickly, piecing together the events of that chaotic night after his departure.
Since they couldn't reach Stella by phone, Charlie's team had resorted to leaving physical letters, hoping she would see them when she returned home.
Clearly, they knew Stella had been rescued.
Although the letters were brief and lacked specific details, Hunter could read between the lines.
Because of Hunter's intervention, Charlie's plan had gone disastrously wrong.
Originally, Charlie intended to use fake gold to stall Steve, then leverage the suicide vest to force Stella's release.
But when Hunter's crossbow bolt killed the power, chaos erupted.
In the confusion, Steve and his men opened fire. One of the stray bullets hit Charlie.
Despite his injury, Charlie still tried to navigate the dark villa to find Stella.
But Hunter unintentionally screwed him over again.
By the time Charlie reached the kitchen (or wherever he was headed), Hunter had already killed the guards and extracted Stella.
Charlie found an empty room.
Meanwhile, Steve and his men, realizing the intrusion, cornered Charlie inside the villa. He was captured alive.
Handsome Rob tried to rescue him but was wounded in the process and nearly captured himself.
At the critical moment, Left Ear—seeing the situation spiraling out of control—rammed their car directly into the villa, creating an opening to extract Rob and Charlie.
All three escaped, but not without serious injuries.
Charlie was in the worst shape. He had been shot eight times. He had only regained consciousness briefly before slipping into a coma.
He was currently in an ICU somewhere, fighting for his life.
But before he passed out, his primary concern was still Stella. He ordered his team to confirm her safety.
That was why these letters were piled up here.
As for Steve? The letters were vague about his current status.
But considering Hunter had used a grenade and Rob had detonated explosives during the rescue...
Two explosions in a high-end residential district? The LAPD couldn't ignore that, no matter how many bribes were paid. Wealthy neighbors would demand action.
Most of Steve's men were arrested before they could flee.
But Steve himself had managed to escape in the chaos, driving the armored SUV loaded with the fake gold.
Charlie's team didn't know where he was.
The only thing they knew for sure was that Steve wouldn't give up easily.
By now, he must have discovered the gold was fake.
Charlie's team could go to ground. But Stella?
She had a registered business and a known address. She was a sitting duck.
Fearing Steve would target her again, they sent letters daily to warn her.
"So that's what happened."
Hunter finished reading the letters quickly.
He gathered them up, intending to bring them back to the farm for Stella later.
He was surprised Steve had managed to slip away in that mess. And that he was still at large.
Hunter didn't care if Charlie lived or died.
But Stella was his teacher now. And he had promised (at least in spirit) to solve her problem.
"So, where do I find Steve?"
Frowning slightly, Hunter walked out of Stella's apartment building.
Just as he stepped onto the sidewalk, he felt a gaze land on him.
With his senses heightened far beyond normal human limits, Hunter reacted instantly. He glanced up casually, scanning the source.
His expression froze for a microsecond.
Then, a smile crept onto his face.
Across the street, under the shade of a large tree, stood a man. He was wearing sunglasses and a hat that covered most of his face, leaving only a distinctive mustache visible.
He was staring intently at the entrance to Stella's building.
To anyone else, he was just another passerby, heavily disguised.
But unluckily for him...
Hunter knew him all too well. One look was all it took to confirm his identity.
"Steve?!"
"Well, look at that. I was wondering where to find you, and you deliver yourself to my doorstep."
"Talk about wearing out iron shoes in a fruitless search, only to find it by sheer luck."
Hunter quickly averted his gaze to avoid alerting Steve.
He continued walking at a leisurely pace, acting natural.
Once he was a safe distance away, he scanned his surroundings. He spotted another apartment building nearby that offered a vantage point.
Finding a secluded spot, Hunter quickly applied a disguise.
He donned a wig, pulled a baseball cap low over it, and put on a pair of large aviator sunglasses. He finished the look by sticking a fake mustache above his lip.
Ever since unlocking the [Disguise] skill (or simply realizing its necessity), Hunter had stocked up on makeup and props.
This preparation had kept his true identity safe during all his operations.
transformed, Hunter entered the neighboring apartment building.
He climbed the stairs all the way to the roof (or a high floor window).
Looking down, he searched for an angle that gave him a clear line of sight to Steve.
After a few moments, he found the perfect spot.
He checked his surroundings again. There was a security camera nearby.
Hunter pulled his cap lower and walked casually toward the camera.
When he was directly underneath it, he pulled a baseball bat from his Inventory and nudged the camera lens, spinning it until it faced a blind corner.
He knew security would notice the dead feed soon.
He didn't have much time.
Hunter returned to his firing position. He locked his gaze on Steve, who was still standing under the tree, watching Stella's apartment like a hawk.
Hunter pulled the Tactical Crossbow from his Inventory.
He loaded a bolt.
Silently calculating the wind speed and distance, he settled the crosshairs on Steve's chest.
He pulled the trigger.
Thwip!
The bolt hissed through the air.
In the distance, the figure under the tree crumpled to the ground.
Hunter stowed the crossbow quickly. He grinned, taking a brief moment to appreciate his handiwork.
Then he turned and disappeared into the stairwell
Chapter 93: Steve's Exit
January 12
Steve didn't know how he had survived the last few days.
His streak of bad luck had begun that night, over ten days ago.
Charlie and his team had silently infiltrated his villa.
Although Steve still wanted to skin them alive, he had to admit:
How the hell did that group manage to deceive his state-of-the-art surveillance and bypass his security in such a short time?
Not only had they broken in, but they had also vanished with two safes weighing several tons.
To this day, Steve couldn't figure out how they did it.
Thinking about it, he grudgingly admired Charlie's skills as an international thief.
But that admiration only fueled his desire to see Charlie dead.
Ever since the night he lost the bulk of his fortune, Steve's life had spiraled.
After confirming through the security company's footage that Charlie's team was responsible, Steve relied on his memory. He recalled that John Bridger—the safecracker he had murdered—had a daughter.
Leveraging his contacts, he quickly identified the owner of a well-known locksmith company in Los Angeles.
Stella Bridger, the beautiful safecracker, was John's daughter.
Steve sent his men to kidnap her.
As expected, Charlie Croker, who had harbored feelings for Stella for years, contacted her shortly after.
Steve informed Charlie of the kidnapping and demanded an exchange: the stolen gold for Stella's life.
Everything was going according to Steve's script.
But he hadn't anticipated Charlie's move. That night, Charlie showed up with a car full of fake gold and a bomb strapped to his chest.
While Steve hesitated, Charlie's unseen partner shot out the villa's power supply with a crossbow, plunging everything into darkness.
Then, while Charlie drew their fire, his partner killed two of Steve's men and rescued Stella.
Afterward, Handsome Rob and Left Ear—Steve's former partners—risked their lives, using explosives to extract Charlie.
Steve was certain he had shot Charlie at least twice, once in the chest. Handsome Rob had taken a hit too.
But they had escaped.
With multiple explosions rocking the neighborhood, Steve knew the villa was compromised.
Amidst the chaos, he pretended to chase Charlie but instead drove off in the car loaded with "gold bars."
Steve thought that recovering his fortune was enough. He could let Charlie go for now.
But when he reached his safe house and inspected the goods?
He flew into a rage.
The "gold bars" looked identical to the ones they had stolen from the Italian mob in Venice.
But they were fake. Lead, paint, and lies.
Steve had been played. Again.
He had lost everything. His fortune was gone. The US police and FBI had issued warrants for his arrest.
A desperate man with nothing left to lose is a dangerous man.
Steve couldn't find Charlie's hideout.
So, he staked out Stella's office and her apartment.
He knew Stella wasn't stupid. She wouldn't show up anytime soon.
But he was unwilling to accept defeat.
He had lived like a king. Now he was a fugitive. Even if it cost him his life, he was going to take back what was his.
He decided to gamble.
He bet that the woman would eventually return.
However, Steve didn't know that he would never see Stella again.
Hidden near Stella's apartment, carefully monitoring the entrance, Steve suddenly felt a wave of inexplicable agitation.
He trusted his sixth sense. This intuition had saved him many times in the past.
It was this same feeling that had alerted him the night his villa was robbed, almost allowing him to catch the thieves.
But...
Clearly, this time, his intuition was just a little too late.
Just as he looked up, scanning his surroundings in confusion...
Danger arrived with a sharp whistle.
Thwip!
Thud!
Amidst the sound of air being sliced, Steve suddenly felt like he had been slammed in the chest by a sledgehammer.
A dull, agonizing pain exploded in his torso.
Staggering back a few steps from the impact, Steve realized belatedly that he had been shot.
Instinctively, he tried to duck behind a nearby tree. He looked down at his chest.
There, a slender alloy shaft was protruding, vibrating slightly with his movements.
"Is this..."
"A crossbow bolt?"
Blood began to gush from the wound like a broken dam.
Steve could feel warmth spreading across his back too. It was sticky.
The pain radiated through his body. His head felt heavy. His vision began to darken.
He realized the bolt had pierced him through.
Cough!
Bloody froth bubbled from his mouth and nose.
The bolt had hit his lung.
He didn't have much time.
"How... how did it... come to this..."
Steve opened his mouth unwillingly. Using the last of his strength, he tried to look toward Stella's apartment.
But as he collapsed, his gaze drifted to an apartment building tens of meters away.
Through the blurring vision, he saw a figure in a window.
Their eyes met for a fleeting second.
Then, the figure turned and walked away without hesitation.
"Charlie... was that you?"
Steve murmured venomously.
Thinking that in the end, he had lost to his old partner...
He muttered a curse too faint to be heard.
Then, he closed his eyes forever.
Chapter 94: Stella Makes a Move
January 13
"Is it safe?"
In the farmhouse, Stella finished reading the letters Hunter had brought back.
She didn't blame him for entering her apartment or reading her mail without permission.
He had been clear from the start: he needed to understand the situation on the ground.
And he had warned her beforehand.
Having finished the letters, she looked at Hunter, who was preparing a sumptuous dinner, and asked curiously.
"Mhm."
Hunter nodded. He thought for a moment, then, like a magician, produced a digital camera from thin air.
"See for yourself."
The camera contained a photo Hunter had taken after sniping Steve from over a hundred meters away.
He had driven closer to confirm the kill and snapped a picture of Steve lying on the ground.
In the photo, it was clear that a crossbow bolt had pierced Steve's chest.
A large pool of blood had formed beneath him.
With that kind of wound, Hunter knew Steve was dead for sure.
So after taking the single photo, he had driven away.
He took a long detour before finally returning to the farm.
Stella looked at Hunter's body, puzzled. She knew magicians—like Henley—could hide things in impossible places.
But she was still amazed at how he could conceal a bulky digital camera on his person without her noticing it earlier.
However, her curiosity about his "magic" had been dulled by years of friendship with Henley Reeves, the escape artist.
More than how he hid the camera, Stella was interested in what was on it.
She took the camera, fiddled with the controls for a moment, and opened the gallery.
When she saw the last photo and recognized the figure, Stella sat bolt upright.
"Steve?"
Even though Steve was in disguise, Stella recognized the villain who had killed her father and tormented her for two days instantly.
Hunter, who had just finished plating the last dish, felt her intense gaze on him.
He looked up and saw the shock and astonishment on her face.
Sensing her silent question, Hunter just smiled faintly and said nothing.
Eliminating Steve was his way of repaying her for teaching him [Lockpicking].
Without Hunter's interference in the plot of The Italian Job, Stella would have eventually gotten a few million dollars and lived happily ever after with Charlie.
She would have faced danger, sure, but she would have survived.
Hunter had selfishly stolen the gold for himself.
But he never intended to harm Stella.
As for killing another person? To the current Hunter, it meant nothing.
He was a transmigrator. And this wasn't China.
Hunter had shed many of his old moral constraints. He followed his own code now: do whatever he wanted, as long as it didn't violate his principles.
Killing a scumbag like Steve didn't weigh on his conscience at all.
Hunter said nothing, but his expression said everything.
Stella suddenly remembered his promise from that morning before he left the farm.
"I need to guarantee your safety before I let you go back."
In that instant, a warm current surged through her body.
It was the feeling of being protected. Of safety. A feeling she hadn't experienced since her father died.
"Thank you."
She put the camera aside, resisting the urge to scroll through the other photos to see more of Hunter's life.
Hunter smiled and brought the food to the table.
"You can leave tomorrow, Stella."
"Charlie and his team will probably contact you soon."
"However, I have one request. Do not tell them my name, age, height, or race."
" anything else is fine."
"Tell them it was a man. Tell them I stole the safes. That doesn't matter."
Even though Charlie had a skilled team, Hunter's safes were stored in his Personal Inventory.
Even if he bought a mansion later, he would keep his valuables in that unassailable space.
So he wasn't worried about Charlie stealing them back.
He had also been careful. Knowing about Lyle (The Napster), Hunter had changed his bike's appearance and plates constantly.
He used disguises.
As long as Stella didn't leak his biometrics, Charlie would have a much harder time finding him than they did finding Steve.
Especially since Hunter was about to leave to help Dom move his shipment.
Once he got that $600,000 payment, he wouldn't need to fence the gold anytime soon.
Even if Charlie found him a year from now?
By then, Hunter's stats and skills would make him a literal superman.
Retaliation wouldn't be an option for them.
Of course, it wasn't that Hunter feared them.
But being hunted by international thieves was a hassle.
And he had secrets to keep.
He didn't want the trouble, hence the request.
Stella didn't hesitate. She nodded immediately.
"Okay. I promise."
Even though Hunter had saved her initially just to learn skills...
After ten days together, she found she didn't dislike this sunny, tragic, yet ambitious boy at all.
Moreover, he hadn't just saved her when she was helpless.
He had avenged her father.
Stella, bound by her upbringing and the law, couldn't bring herself to kill Steve. But seeing him dead brought her immense relief and satisfaction. And gratitude toward his executioner.
Besides!
Hunter was handsome.
Even by Western standards, his face was striking.
He was young, but his personality was mature.
And his body... Stella had felt it firsthand. He was far more physically developed than most adult men.
When talking to him, she often forgot he was eight years younger.
He felt like a charming, mature man who knew exactly when to be dominant and when to be gentle.
So, realizing they would likely part ways tomorrow...
Looking at his handsome face...
Stella felt a reluctance to let him go. And beneath that reluctance, a different emotion was brewing in her chest, ready to erupt.
She suddenly felt that maybe... she should make the first move.
Chapter 95: Flames of Farewell
January 13
Hearing the sound of an engine fading into the distance, Hunter, who had been feigning sleep, finally opened his eyes.
"Gone already?"
"And without even saying goodbye."
He got up and walked to the window, watching his Ford Mustang disappear down the road.
Hunter knew that Stella—who had been incredibly proactive and ultimately joined him in the "great harmony of life" last night—had driven off.
She probably woke up, couldn't handle the reality of how forward and wild she had been, and decided to flee.
"Like you can run from this."
Hunter looked down at the scratch marks left by long fingernails on his chest.
The corners of his mouth curled into a smile.
He had racked his brains, but never expected the outcome of last night.
After returning with the news of Steve's demise, Hunter had showered and prepared to sleep.
But Stella, who had finished washing up half an hour earlier, had knocked on his bedroom door late at night.
Hunter knew this farm was her inheritance from John Bridger, her second home.
But when Stella stood there in a sheer lace nightgown, asking to come in and "sit for a while"...
Her silhouette was backlit by the hallway light, the thin fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. The lace teased glimpses of her sun-kissed body beneath, her full breasts rising and falling with each nervous breath. Her eyes, usually sharp and guarded, now held a mix of vulnerability and desire that made Hunter's pulse quicken.
He stepped aside, letting her in, the door clicking shut behind her. The air in the room thickened instantly, charged with unspoken tension. Stella moved closer, her perfume—a subtle blend of vanilla and spice—wrapping around him like an invitation.
"I... I don't want to leave things like this," she whispered, her voice husky, her hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw. Her touch was electric, sending a jolt straight through him.
Hunter caught her hand, pulling her gently but firmly against him. Their bodies pressed together, her softness molding to his hard frame. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the rapid beat of her heart mirroring his own. "Then don't," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, eliciting a soft gasp from her.
Their eyes locked, the chemistry igniting like a spark to dry tinder. Stella rose on her toes, closing the distance, her lips crashing into his with a hunger that surprised them both. The kiss was fierce, tongues dancing in a rhythm of pent-up longing, her hands roaming over his back, nails digging in just enough to sting pleasurably.
Hunter's hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips and lifting her effortlessly onto the bed. The nightgown rode up, exposing more of her toned thighs, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him down with her. He trailed kisses along her neck, savoring the salt of her skin, the way she arched beneath him, whispering his name like a plea.
Clothes were shed in a frenzy—his shirt tossed aside, her nightgown slipping off her shoulders to pool at her waist. Her body was a masterpiece of curves and strength, her breasts heaving as he explored them with his mouth, teasing her nipples until she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. The sensation of her writhing against him, the intensity of her responses, drove him wild.
She flipped him over with surprising force, straddling him, her eyes dark with passion. "You've protected me," she breathed, grinding against him slowly, teasingly, building the fire between them. "Now let me show you my gratitude."
The night blurred into a whirlwind of sensations—her lips on his chest, his hands gripping her thighs as she rode him, their bodies moving in perfect sync. Sweat slicked their skin, breaths mingling in gasps and groans, the bed creaking under the force of their connection. Every thrust, every touch, was fueled by raw chemistry, the intensity peaking in waves until they both shattered, collapsing in a tangle of limbs, hearts pounding as one.
It was a night of passion and intensity, leaving them both spent and satisfied, the air heavy with the scent of their shared release.
Recalling the action that lasted well into the early morning, Hunter marveled at how easy it had been.
He thought seducing the beautiful safecracker would be difficult.
Turns out, the difficulty level was way lower than expected.
He had spent far less effort on her than he had on Mia.
This confirmed Stella's deep love for her father.
"So, killing Steve and helping her get revenge..."
"Is really the key to unlocking this blonde beauty's heart."
Hunter thought back to the plot of The Italian Job. In the original timeline, Charlie was the one who dragged John out of retirement, leading to his death.
Stella clearly resented Charlie at the start.
But in the end, after Charlie helped her avenge her father and sent Steve to his doom at the hands of the Ukrainian mob...
Even without witnessing Steve's death personally, Stella ended up with Charlie.
This woman clearly placed a high value on vengeance.
"But taking my Mustang..."
"What does that mean?"
"Is she forcing me to come pick it up later?"
Hunter couldn't figure out exactly what was going through her mind. But it didn't disrupt his plans.
He wouldn't be seeing Stella for a few days anyway.
He needed to move Dom's shipment.
If he delayed any longer, he worried Dom's crew would be in serious trouble.
He showered, changed into clean clothes, and enjoyed a hearty breakfast alone at the farm.
Then, he locked up, pulled his frequently repainted vintage motorcycle from his Inventory, and rode away.
Two hours later, Hunter arrived at the Port of Los Angeles.
Following Dom's instructions, he searched the container yard until he found the specific unit hiding millions of dollars in stolen electronics.
After checking for surveillance and witnesses, Hunter approached the container.
He produced his lockpicks. A few moments of manipulation later, the heavy lock clicked open.
Hunter slipped inside and checked the contents.
He opened a few boxes, confirming they contained high-end consumer electronics—the latest models on the market.
This was definitely Dom's haul.
Hunter relocked the container and then, with a thought, stored the entire massive steel box into his Personal Inventory.
During his ten days at the farm, Hunter had spent most of his time leveling [Lockpicking].
But he had used other skills too.
Thanks to the passive proficiency gains, several skills had leveled up, expanding his inventory capacity significantly.
With the Mustang gone (courtesy of Stella), he had more than enough room to store the shipping container.
With the cargo secured, Hunter left the port quickly.
He drove around the city for a while to burn any tails, then headed to LAX.
He bought a ticket to Boston.
Dom's delivery point was in Boston.
diverse hours later, Hunter passed through security and boarded the plane without incident.
Only when the plane was about to take off, and he was sure he wasn't being followed, did Hunter pull out his phone.
He sent an email to the secure address Dom had given him.
"En route to destination. Everything is secure."
"Will contact upon delivery and signature."
After confirming the email was sent, Hunter stowed the phone in his Inventory and closed his eyes to rest.
Meanwhile, in a house in Los Angeles.
Dom sat expressionless in front of the TV, flipping through channels with one hand.
Anyone could see his mind wasn't on the screen.
It made sense. Dom and his crew had recently been arrested by the LAPD and FBI.
Although they were quickly released on bail, Dom soon discovered his house was bugged.
He found multiple listening devices. He suspected there were hidden cameras too.
Moreover, the surveillance around him had tightened.
At first, it was subtle.
But in the last four or five days, the eyes on the Toretto house and Mia's cafe had multiplied.
Even Old Parker's garage had been raided by the FBI. Vince's car, along with others stored there, had been impounded under the pretext of "illegal modifications."
Dom wasn't sure if the FBI had new evidence.
But he was certain of one thing: their time was running out.
"Did one of the boys slip up?"
Dom didn't want to believe anyone in his family would rat him out. But the pressure was mounting.
He knew he had to run.
But over the years, Dom had spent most of his earnings on cars and living the high life.
He had some savings, but not much—maybe a few hundred thousand dollars.
Normally, that would be plenty.
But trying to flee the country with the FBI breathing down his neck?
Fake passports and clean travel arrangements for the whole crew wouldn't raise suspicion.
"Why don't we just eat out?" Letty played along.
"Cars are impounded. Can't race. Don't feel like moving."
"Fine. Let me change."
While changing, Letty retrieved the hidden bank card Dom used for laundering money.
She tucked it away in a secure spot and then left the house with Mia, acting casual.
Author's Note : I have made some changes in narrative style tell me if you like or should i stick to previous one.
Chapter 96: Boston, Moscow Nights
January 14
Boston. Arrived!
Stepping off the plane with a duffel bag containing only a few changes of clothes slung over his shoulder, Hunter walked quickly out of the airport and took a deep breath.
Like Los Angeles, Boston was a port city, one of the oldest in the United States. However, while one was on the West Coast, this one sat in the northeast corner of the country.
Hunter had flown across the entire continent to get here. The flight had taken over seven hours. Adding in the wait times, night had already fallen by the time he arrived.
"Sir, do you need a ride?"
A taxi pulled up in front of him. The driver was a middle-aged Black man with a friendly, honest face.
Hunter opened the door and hopped in.
"Chinatown. Find me a hotel there, something with decent accommodations."
"You got it!"
The driver started the car and skillfully headed toward the city.
It seemed that taxi drivers all over the world shared the same trait: they were chatterboxes.
In Los Angeles, Hunter rarely took cabs, so he hadn't noticed. But here in Boston, this driver was incredibly talkative. He rambled on about everything from Hunter's nationality and race to Boston's history and famous tourist spots.
He talked the whole way until they were nearing Chinatown.
Then, the driver glanced at Hunter in the rearview mirror. Suddenly, as if remembering something, his tone shifted, becoming a little less wholesome.
"Sir, I know a famous hotel nearby."
"If you want to experience the tenderness of Boston's ladies, maybe you should consider going there?"
In the back seat, Hunter, wearing sunglasses, paused.
He knew Americans were "simple and open." He had already experienced the "simplicity" of Dom hoarding explosives and Steve wielding automatic rifles.
Even at motels, enthusiastic owners would often ask if he wanted "extra services."
But for a taxi driver to actively solicit for a brothel? That was a new one.
Intrigued, Hunter asked, "Can you tell me more?"
Seeing that his passenger was finally engaging, the driver—who had been displaying his racial talent for rapid-fire speech the whole trip—grinned with a "you're a man of culture" expression.
"Hehe."
"Sir, it's best if you experience it yourself."
"As long as you bring enough cash, I guarantee those Russians will treat you like God."
With that, the driver unzipped a fanny pack and handed a card to Hunter with one hand.
Curious, Hunter took it.
The card was pink. It didn't have much design, but it felt garish.
On the front was a line of Russian text, with an English translation next to it.
"Moscow Nights"
Hunter raised an eyebrow. If there were really Russian girls involved, he wouldn't mind experiencing their "enthusiasm."
He flipped the card over. There was only a phone number.
Curiosity piqued, he pocketed the card.
"Let's go there," Hunter said.
The driver chuckled, turned the wheel at the next intersection, and steered away from Chinatown.
Before long, the car stopped in front of a hotel.
"Moscow Nights, huh?"
The hotel's decor wasn't magnificent. If Hunter had to rate it, it was barely a two or three-star establishment.
But under the cover of night, it was dazzling. Neon lights surrounded the words "Moscow Nights," making it impossible to miss.
After paying the fare, one of the two burly male porters stationed at the entrance walked over.
"Sir, let me take your bag."
"Thanks."
Hunter handed over his light duffel bag.
Guided by the porter, he went to the front desk.
The staff behind the counter were tall, well-dressed women. Hunter couldn't tell if they were Russian, but they looked professional enough.
He booked a room quickly and asked for a tourist map of Boston.
Then, guided by the porter, he took the elevator to his floor.
"Sir, guests aren't allowed to wander around at night."
"I need to make that clear upfront."
"However, if you require any services, you can contact the front desk via the internal phone."
"Okay."
Hunter didn't take the burly porter's reminder—or rather, threat—to heart.
After sending the porter away, he frowned.
The room's soundproofing was excellent; almost no noise from outside could penetrate.
But because of that, extremely subtle sounds inside the room became conspicuous.
"A bug?"
"No... likely a camera."
With physical attributes more than double that of a normal human, Hunter was acutely sensitive to being watched and to ambient noise.
He quickly realized this place was unusual.
Picking up the tourist map, he pretended to read it while walking around the room.
While his eyes seemed focused on the map, his heightened senses were scanning the environment.
He confirmed there were at least three listening devices in the guest room. Furthermore, there were cameras installed in both the bedroom and the bathroom.
Discovering this, a playful expression crossed Hunter's face.
"Are these Russians trying to start something?"
From the moment he entered, he had noticed the bilingual Russian-English signs. The staff also spoke Russian among themselves.
He trusted the taxi driver hadn't lied; this was a Russian-run establishment.
Originally, he thought it was just a slightly shady hotel where he could have some fun.
But now, Hunter felt wary of the Russians behind this operation.
He decided to behave himself tonight to avoid exposing any secrets.
He went to the bathroom and took a quick shower. Afterward, feigning fatigue, he tossed his dirty clothes onto a specific spot in the room—perfectly draping them over the hidden camera facing the bed.
Job done, Hunter turned off the lights and lay down to rest.
But not long after...
Ring!
The room phone suddenly rang.
Hunter frowned slightly. He picked up the receiver and heard a low, husky voice on the other end.
"Sir, the night is lonely. Do you need some company?"
Hunter narrowed his eyes. Instinctively, he glanced toward the corner where he had covered the camera.
He realized he might have walked into a very dangerous place.
Chapter 97: Suspicious Hotel, Mission Complete
January 15
Early morning. Stretching lazily, Hunter looked at the rumpled bed sheets before heading to the bathroom to wash the sweat from his body.
"This hotel... is definitely more than it seems."
Last night, after realizing his room at the Moscow Nights hotel was bugged and monitored by cameras, he had quickly covered the lens facing the bed with his discarded clothes.
But only minutes later, the front desk had called, asking if he needed "service."
Hunter wasn't an ordinary guy anymore.
Over the past two months, he had dealt with street racers, the FBI, the LAPD, shady lawyers, international thieves, and armed robbers.
After interacting with so many dangerous people, his instincts had sharpened.
Last night, the hotel had sent up a pair of stunning, enthusiastic girls.
But shortly after they arrived, one of them had "accidentally" kicked away the clothes Hunter had draped over the camera.
While Hunter hadn't experienced this specific tactic before, combining it with everything else led to a clear guess.
"Is the Russian Mafia behind this place?"
The Russian mob wasn't just active in the US; they were notorious globally.
Originating from the Gulags of the Soviet era, they spread across the world after the USSR collapsed. They quickly established footholds in wealthy Western nations.
While some immigrants were elites and technicians, many were from the lower class.
And among those desperate enough to fight for a living abroad, a significant number were hardened criminals who had survived the Gulags. They were ruthless and fearless.
Facing discrimination in their new homes, they banded together. Within a decade, the "Russian Mafia" became a synonym for brutality.
This was true in Europe, and even more so in the US, where Russian immigrants concentrated.
Fortunately, Hunter wasn't here to start trouble.
The fact that they sent girls up was likely just a probe because he covered the camera.
He had a mission in Boston. As long as he didn't provoke them, there was no conflict.
After a quick shower, Hunter considered changing hotels.
But figuring his mission would only take another day or two, he decided it wasn't worth the hassle.
He extended his stay for two more days, ate a buffet breakfast, and left the hotel under the watchful eyes of the burly male staff and the receptionists.
On the way, he bought a cheap burner phone and an unregistered SIM card.
The address Dom gave him wasn't in the main port area but at an inland river dock about thirty kilometers away.
Hunter had memorized the address. It took him a while to drive there.
Following the directions, he found a warehouse near the dock.
"This is it?"
Looking at the tightly shut warehouse doors, Hunter frowned.
He scanned the area to ensure it was safe.
Then, he leaped up, kicked off the wall for leverage, and grabbed the sill of a window more than four meters above the ground.
Pulling himself up, he peered through the glass.
It was an empty warehouse. Completely bare.
Hunter dropped back down.
He figured this was the drop point rented by Dom's buyers.
He pulled a metal pick from his Inventory.
With [Lockpicking Lv 5], the lock yielded in seconds.
He pushed the door open, checked inside for cameras (finding none), and then waved his hand.
The air shimmered.
The massive shipping container he had stored in his Inventory back in LA suddenly materialized in the middle of the empty warehouse.
Job done.
Hunter walked out, relocked the door, and found a hiding spot nearby with a clear view of the entrance.
First, he sent an email to Dom.
"I have arrived. The package has been delivered."
"I will contact the client immediately for pick up. All is well."
After sending the email, Hunter used the burner phone to dial the number Dom had provided.
Ring... Ring...
The call connected.
Hunter pinched his throat slightly, deliberately lowering his voice to a raspy growl.
"The shipment from LA has arrived."
"Come pick it up. It's in the agreed warehouse."
As he spoke, a mechanical chime sounded in his head.
[New Skill Acquired: Voice Modulation]
Hunter chuckled internally. Trying to hide his voice had triggered a new skill. Nice bonus.
On the other end of the line, there was a long silence. Then, the call disconnected without a word.
Hunter wasn't offended. People buying stolen goods—especially goods hijacked by Dom Toretto—were prime targets for the police, FBI, and IRS.
If they weren't cautious, they'd be in prison already.
Hunter stowed the phone in his Inventory and waited patiently in his hiding spot.
About fifteen minutes later, a sedan and two vans pulled up to the warehouse.
More than a dozen men got out. They were heavily tattooed and looked tough.
Most carried baseball bats, but Hunter noticed the bulges at their waists indicating concealed firearms. Two massive men, nearly two meters tall, openly carried shotguns as they stepped out of the vans.
"Judging by skin tone... Hispanic?"
Hunter had been in this world long enough to distinguish between the various immigrant groups based on appearance and mannerisms.
After observing them for a moment, he was sure.
Their skin tone was reddish-brown-white—typical Latino features. He couldn't tell if they were South American, Caribbean, or Central American, but they were definitely Latino.
The group talked in front of the warehouse for a bit.
One man inspected the lock. Others patrolled the perimeter.
Finally, someone fiddled with the lock and opened the door.
A commotion erupted from the group as they saw the container inside.
Almost everyone rushed in, leaving only a few lookouts outside.
Hunter didn't know exactly what happened inside, but he assumed they were verifying the goods.
Half an hour later, two small trucks arrived and drove into the warehouse.
They worked until almost noon before leaving.
Hunter took photos with his digital camera for proof.
Although he assumed Dom trusted these people, Hunter decided to be safe. He tailed the convoy until they reached their stronghold.
Only after confirming their base of operations did he feel comfortable leaving.
Chapter 98: The Equalizer
January 16
Los Angeles.
When his phone vibrated again, a smile finally appeared on Dom's typically stoic face.
He took a sip of his beer, pulled out the phone, and tapped the screen.
As expected, it was another email from the unknown address.
He opened it quickly and read the contents.
"I have arrived. The package has been delivered."
"I will contact the client immediately for pick up. All is well."
"Good kid!"
Dom couldn't be 100% sure the shipment had actually arrived in Boston safely.
He was under surveillance, so he couldn't send anyone to the port to verify if the container was gone.
But he wouldn't have to wait long to find out if Hunter was telling the truth.
The reason Dom had Hunter smuggle the stolen electronics to Boston was simple: the gang receiving the goods was made up of Dominican immigrants.
Dom and his family also traced their roots back to the Dominican Republic.
His family still had connections back on the island.
The Dominican Republic was a small island nation in the Caribbean, with a land area of only about 700 square kilometers and a population of tens of thousands.
Because of this small size, immigrants from there tended to stick together fiercely when abroad.
Dom trusted them. He knew that as soon as the goods were delivered, they would deposit the agreed-upon sum into his specified account.
He waited patiently for another two hours. Figuring it was enough time, he called out.
"Letty!"
Moments later, his girlfriend appeared.
"What's up, Dom?"
Letty knew the house was bugged, so she spoke carefully.
Dom kept his expression neutral. "I'm craving Chinese food tonight."
"Take Mia and go to Chinatown. Pick up some groceries. We'll cook a Chinese feast tonight."
Letty's eyelids twitched. This was a code phrase they had agreed upon last night during a moment of intimacy (where they could whisper safely).
It meant she needed to take Mia out.
While pretending to shop, she needed to verify if the money from the stolen electronics had hit their secret bank account.
Bringing Mia was strategic. To the surveillance team, Mia was the lowest threat. Two women going shopping together wouldn't raise suspicion.
"Why don't we just eat out?" Letty played along.
"Cars are impounded. Can't race. Don't feel like moving."
"Fine. Let me change."
While changing, Letty retrieved the hidden bank card Dom used for laundering money.
She tucked it away in a secure spot and then left the house with Mia, acting casual.
Hunter had no idea what was happening back in LA.
Due to the time difference, after confirming the buyers' location in Boston, he had spent the day exploring the city.
By evening, Hunter started heading back toward the Moscow Nights hotel.
Maybe it was because of his enhanced physique, but lately, his appetite had increased significantly.
He got hungry faster, too.
Even though he had eaten three times a normal portion for lunch, shortly after sunset, his stomach was growling again.
He scanned the street and spotted a family diner on the corner two blocks ahead.
"Welcome!"
As Hunter pushed open the door, an elderly white man behind the counter smiled and nodded. "What can I get you?"
It was a standard American diner. The menu was handwritten on a board above the counter.
Hunter's five senses were far sharper than an ordinary person's.
He glanced up quickly, memorizing the dozen food and drink options and their prices in a split second.
"One lemon soda, a Big Mac-style beef burger, a Mexican chicken wrap, and a hot dog! Oh, and give me one of those signature donuts too."
Perhaps because Hunter ordered so much food, a figure sitting at the counter turned to look at him.
Hunter was sensitive to gazes. He turned his head sharply and met the person's eyes.
It was a somewhat plump teenage girl. It was hard to tell her exact age under the heavy makeup, but Hunter estimated she wasn't older than sixteen or seventeen.
She wore a bizarre purple wig and revealing clothes—a miniskirt and a spaghetti-strap top that exposed her shoulders.
Despite her young age, she had an impressively curvaceous figure.
Most men seeing her would immediately have certain thoughts.
Hunter was no exception. But more importantly, the girl's face triggered a memory from his past life.
"Hit-Girl!"
Hunter almost blurted out the nickname of the fierce, purple-haired little assassin from the movie Kick-Ass.
But he swallowed the words just in time.
"No, that's not Hit-Girl. The age is wrong."
The girl met Hunter's gaze. She was clearly attracted by his youth and good looks.
She seemed to want to say something to him, but then, remembering something, she wilted and looked away.
She went back to listlessly nibbling on her donut, which was doused in condensed milk.
The owner interrupted Hunter's thoughts.
"Coming right up. Take a seat anywhere. It'll just be a moment."
Hunter sat at a table near the entrance. He subconsciously scanned the diner.
Surprisingly, he didn't see a tall, imposing black man reading a book.
"So this older 'Hit-Girl'... that must be Teri from The Equalizer."
"Interesting. This world is getting more fun by the minute."
Relying on his extensive movie knowledge from his past life, Hunter identified the girl after a few moments of observation.
The plump girl listlessly eating a donut at the counter was Teri (Alina), the young prostitute controlled by the Russian mob in the movie The Equalizer.
Suddenly, Hunter connected the dots.
The weird vibe at the Moscow Nights hotel. The Russian staff. The honey trap.
In an instant, all his previous doubts were answered.
Chapter 99: A Good Deed for the Day
January 17
Having already experienced the plot of The Italian Job.
And having established a deep relationship with Mia Toretto, the sister of Dom from The Fast and the Furious.
And living in the very apartment where Matilda from Léon: The Professional lived before tragedy struck.
Hunter was no longer surprised by encountering new movie plots and characters in this world.
His gaze occasionally drifted to the purple-haired girl as he seriously considered how to handle this unexpected encounter.
He wasn't a saint. So, upon meeting Teri, his first thought wasn't "how do I save her," but "should I even bother getting involved?"
Although Teri the teenage prostitute was pretty, her current figure—plump from stress-eating sweets—didn't quite match his aesthetic preferences.
Moreover, in the movie The Equalizer, Teri was highly valued by the Russian mob controlling her because of her looks.
Saving her meant inevitably offending that syndicate.
Not that Hunter was afraid of the Russian mob.
Sure, in a straight-up fight, Hunter might not yet be a match for the retired, top-tier Black ops agent from The Equalizer.
And as a man with a cheat system, he couldn't quite replicate the protagonist's feat of single-handedly storming the mob's stronghold and wiping out the entire organization.
But rescuing one person and smuggling her out of Boston? Hunter could definitely do that.
"Should I save her just because?"
Hunter came to Boston to deliver goods for Dom.
The delivery was done. As soon as he confirmed Dom received the money, he planned to leave.
So right now, he had nothing else to do.
Thinking of this, his heart—which had become restless after forcefully altering the plots of The Fast and the Furious and The Italian Job—began to beat faster.
"Screw it. Let's do it!"
"Call it my good deed for the day."
Teri in The Equalizer had been controlled by the Russian mob since she was very young, used as a tool to make money.
Saving her wouldn't bring Hunter any tangible profit.
But his desire to stir things up was strong.
Since he was already in Boston, leaving without making some noise felt like a waste of the trip.
Having made his decision, Hunter withdrew his gaze from Teri.
Soon, the manager brought over his order.
The Big Mac-style burger, the Mexican chicken wrap, and the hot dog tasted standard.
Not amazing, but not bad either.
The lemon soda, however, was surprisingly refreshing. With ice cubes clinking in the glass, it was perfect for the warming June weather.
After devouring the main course, Hunter picked up the donut and took a bite. It was decent.
This sweet treat was ubiquitous in the US, practically a national dessert.
Almost every fast-food joint, diner, and bakery sold them.
This particular donut was filled with a tart blueberry jam. The dark chocolate glaze on top was bitter, clearly heavy on the cocoa powder.
The sourness and bitterness balanced the sweetness perfectly, making it less cloying. No wonder it was the diner's signature item.
Seeing Hunter polish off enough food for two or three adults in no time, many other diners looked over.
Teri was no exception. She glanced at him curiously several times.
Hunter ate deliberately slow, hoping to spot the top-tier agent.
But half an hour passed in a flash.
Checking the time on his phone, Hunter signaled the owner to pay the bill.
"Looks like I missed Robert's window."
The protagonist of The Equalizer, the retired Black ops agent, was named Robert McCall.
At the start of the plot, Robert was already retired, living in anonymity in Boston and working at a Home Mart.
Americans valued work-life balance; most shifts ended around 5 or 6 PM.
In the movie, Robert would come to this diner after work to read and drink tea.
It was already 6:30 PM when Hunter arrived, and he had waited another thirty minutes.
Outside, the sky was darkening.
Robert hadn't shown up. And Hunter noticed Teri was preparing to leave.
So, he paid and left too.
Stepping out of the diner, Hunter scanned his surroundings. No tails.
He quickly caught up to Teri and greeted her.
"Hi!"
Hearing the voice, Teri turned around.
When she saw Hunter, a faint smile appeared on her face.
But it vanished quickly, replaced by a cold indifference. "Hey. Don't follow me. You'll get in trouble."
"If you want to sleep with me, go to Moscow Nights."
"That is, if you can afford three thousand dollars."
Her voice was husky. Teri was very sensitive to being watched.
She had noticed Hunter glancing at her back in the diner.
She didn't try to hide her profession.
Or rather, she was numb and desperate about her current life.
Hunter raised an eyebrow. He wasn't a rookie anymore.
He knew that $3,000 was a steep price in that particular industry.
"Looks like those Russians really value Teri."
Then again, thinking back to the scandal involving a certain island and elite pedophiles before he transmigrated, the fact that Americans (or their wealthy elites) had a thing for young girls was hardly surprising.
Seeing Teri's guard up, Hunter didn't waste words.
He reached out his right hand and made a grasping motion in empty air.
A slip of paper appeared in his palm.
"I don't know what you're talking about. But you have talent for magic."
"If you want to leave with me and learn magic..."
"Memorize this number. Or meet me here at the same time tomorrow evening."
"Remember, I'm only waiting one day."
"Because after tomorrow, I'm leaving this city."
Hunter was too lazy to come up with a better excuse. It wasn't necessary.
He was doing this on a whim, simply because she looked like Hit-Girl.
A good deed.
He would take Teri with him when he left Boston.
Of course, if she didn't come, he wouldn't force it.
After all, The Equalizer protagonist, Robert, was still around.
However, if Teri waited for Robert to save her, she would have to suffer a beating and hospitalization first.
Hunter had thrown out a lifeline. Whether she grabbed it was up to her.
Seeing her frown at him with a look that said 'Your pickup line sucks,' Hunter didn't mind.
He tossed the slip of paper with his burner number onto her small purse.
Then, without waiting for her reaction, he walked past her.
He headed straight for the Moscow Nights hotel.
After all, that was where he was staying.
Chapter 100: $600,000 Received, Hacking Intrusion
January 17
Night.
After a refreshing cold shower, Hunter, wearing a clean bathrobe, walked to the corner of the hotel room.
He placed the laptop he had deliberately taken out earlier onto the desk.
When he checked in last night, he noticed the hotel offered internet service.
But after discovering the hidden cameras, he hadn't used the computer as he normally would at home—practicing coding and grinding his Computer skill proficiency.
However, having received no calls or emails from Dom all day, he was in the dark about the situation.
He didn't know if his payment had come through.
Six hundred thousand dollars. Once that money was in hand, Hunter wouldn't have to worry about cash for a while.
With that funding, he could power-level many of his skills.
Before long, his five physical attributes would likely break through to triple the average human baseline.
His senses and other capabilities would also see significant boosts.
Not to mention the expansion of his invaluable Personal Inventory.
This job for Dom had really driven it home:
His Personal Inventory was the world's most convenient, secure smuggling channel.
With it, Hunter essentially controlled an undetectable logistics route.
"If I used it to traffic high-tech products, arms, or even industrial machinery..."
The thought bubbled up, but he ruthlessly squashed it.
"No. Absolutely not."
"Even the best-laid plans can fail. The System is my foundation."
"Pretending to do magic tricks to pull out small items is fine."
"But if I become a professional mule, I'll be exposed sooner or later."
Dismissing the idea of becoming a long-term smuggler, Hunter connected the laptop to the hotel's network.
He knew the camera was watching. Its angle covered the bed and the desk where the laptop sat.
He was exposing the laptop intentionally to test something.
When Dom hired him to move the container of stolen electronics to Boston, he promised a $600,000 fee.
Hunter needed money desperately, so he agreed without hesitation.
On the day they struck the deal, Hunter gave Dom a bank account number.
Dom claimed the contact in Boston would wire the money as soon as they verified the goods.
Dom would then transfer Hunter's cut immediately.
Hunter was broke.
Sure, he could open Steve's safes now, but he had been too busy to do it.
And Boston wasn't the right place for that.
He planned to find a secure location to crack the safes—which had been sitting in his inventory for half a month—after finishing Dom's job.
Besides, selling gold bars was tricky.
The nearly one ton of gold he stole from Steve was illicit.
Without documentation, he had to sell on the black market.
That meant risk, uncertainty, and fencing fees. He'd likely only get 80-90% of the market value.
That was why he hadn't rushed to open the safes.
But many of his skills could be leveled up quickly by spending cash.
So, even though he had only delivered the goods that morning, he was itching to see if Dom had paid up.
And to confirm the mission was truly complete.
Once connected, Hunter noticed the internet speed was atrocious. Even a portal like Yahoo took ages to load.
Hunter frowned. His [Computer] skill was Lv 2. To an average person, he was a minor expert.
After fiddling for a moment, he realized the throttling was intentional on the hotel's part.
Before visiting Lyle (The Napster), Hunter had asked for some practical hacking tools.
He pulled one up and ran it.
Soon, the speed restriction on his room's connection was lifted.
Satisfied, Hunter opened the bank's website. He navigated to the online banking section and entered his account details.
Although it was the early 2000s, the internet boom was in full swing. Online banking was becoming standard for major banks.
The page refreshed.
When Hunter saw the six-figure balance...
A wide smile bloomed on his face.
"$600,000 received. Excellent. Mission complete."
Seeing that Dom had kept his promise improved Hunter's mood even more.
He logged out quickly. Following Lyle's instructions, he used a scrubbing tool to wipe his session history.
Then, he opened Yahoo again to browse the news.
A few minutes later, the computer lagged again.
Hunter frowned, intending to check the connection. But suddenly, he lost control of the cursor.
It was as if an invisible hand had seized the machine.
A system window popped up, rapidly scanning his previous usage logs.
This lasted for two or three minutes.
Hunter realized his computer had been hijacked.
His face changed. He reached to unplug the ethernet cable and shut down the laptop.
But just then, the intrusion vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
The computer returned to normal.
It was as if nothing had happened.
While Hunter was frowning, trying to analyze the situation...
Ring!
The room phone rang.
Hunter's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He walked over and picked up the receiver.
A familiar, low voice spoke on the other end.
"Sir, very sorry."
"We detected some issues with the hotel network earlier, but it has been fixed."
"We noticed you are using the internet service. We deeply regret any inconvenience."
"As compensation, you are now eligible to sample our VIP luxury goods, available tonight only to select guests."
"Tell me, sir... do you require the hotel's VIP service?"