I am going to kill the Intel Department when I get back.
Jane's mind was racing. Her wrist was numb, throbbing from the impact. That spinning back kick hadn't just disarmed her; the sheer kinetic force had nearly shattered her radius.
Is he a monster?
But Jane Smith was the Ace of her agency. She didn't fold. She adapted.
"You underestimate me," she hissed, a cold smile playing on her lips.
Suddenly, she launched herself at him.
It was a feint. Her right knee drove upward, aiming straight for his groin—a classic, brutal move designed to end a fight instantly. Simultaneously, her left fist chambered back, ready to smash into his nose the moment he flinched.
It was fast. Lethal. The kind of combo that dropped Special Forces operators.
But Hunter wasn't Special Forces. He was a System User.
He had spent millions hiring ex-military trainers to grind his combat skills. He knew the benchmarks. An elite soldier might have stats around 15-17 (1.5x to 1.7x human average).
Hunter's stats were pushing 30+ (3x human average).
When Strength, Agility, Constitution, and Dexterity were all tripled, the result wasn't addition. It was multiplication.
To Hunter's eyes, Jane's "blindingly fast" attack looked like it was moving underwater.
He didn't panic. He simply stepped back, his enhanced Agility carrying him out of range of her knee with effortless grace.
At the same time, his hand shot out, snatching her incoming left wrist out of the air.
Snap.
"Huh?"
Jane's eyes widened. Her momentum was arrested instantly. One second she was attacking; the next, she was frozen, her wrist caught in an iron grip.
Too fast!
Before her brain could process the failure, Hunter yanked her forward.
WHAM!
He spun her around and slammed her back-first against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her, her vision swimming. The lasagna from dinner threatened to make a reappearance.
She groaned, fighting the nausea. But before she could recover, she felt hands roaming over her body.
Hunter's expression was blank as he reached under her dress, sliding his hand up her thigh.
"Don't flatter yourself," he said coolly, pulling out a compact pistol from a holster strapped high on her leg.
"Glock 26. Cute."
He tossed the gun onto the sofa across the room.
Jane gritted her teeth. Pinning her against the wall with one hand, Hunter blocked her escape. Desperate, she tried to launch another kick.
"Nice technique," Hunter commented dryly. "But you lack power."
As her leg came up, he slammed his own shin against hers, pinning her leg to the wall. He pressed forward, forcing her leg higher and higher until she was locked in a standing split, her heel next to her own ear.
Even for a yoga-practicing assassin, the stretch was agonizing.
"Who are you?" Jane snarled, glaring at him with a mixture of fury and shock.
She had fought tough targets before. But this? This was total physical domination. Every move she made was countered before she even finished thinking about it.
"Hunter Sun," he replied calmly, his free hand still searching. "Just an artist with good reflexes."
He ran his hand down her other leg, his fingers sliding over the sheer black stockings. He found the sheath at her ankle.
"Nice blade."
He pulled out the combat knife and tossed it onto the sofa pile.
"Let's see what else you're hiding."
He checked her waist, her sleeves, her hair. One by one, he stripped her of her lethal toys—a garrote wire bracelet, a ceramic blade in her shoe, a poisoned needle in her collar.
Jane felt a rising panic. Stripped of her weapons and physically overpowered, she was vulnerable in a way she hadn't been since she was a teenager.
Think, Jane. Think.
Hunter's hand moved lower, checking the most intimate hiding spots.
Jane stiffened, her face burning with humiliation and rage. "Who the hell hides a weapon there?"
"You'd be surprised," Hunter muttered. He checked. Nothing.
"Guess you're clean."
He relaxed slightly, satisfied she was disarmed.
It was the opening she needed.
CRACK!
Jane headbutted him.
She put her entire body weight into it, smashing her forehead into the bridge of his nose.
"AHHH!"
Hunter roared, stumbling back, clutching his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks instantly—the biological reaction to a nose smash was uncontrollable, even with 3x stats.
Pain exploded in his skull.
Through the watery blur, he saw Jane grinning triumphantly, ready to follow up.
The sight of her smirk snapped something in Hunter. He had been playing with her, treating this like a game. But that headbutt hurt.
"Woman," Hunter growled, his voice dropping to a terrifying register. "You just made a big mistake."
His aura flared. The playful artist vanished. The predator emerged.
He didn't bother with technique. He simply lunged.
His hand—massive and powerful—clamped around her throat. He lifted her off her feet as if she weighed nothing.
Jane clawed at his arm, but it was like trying to bend a steel bar.
He carried her across the room and threw her onto the king-sized bed.
"I was going to let you off easy," Hunter snarled, wiping the blood from his nose. "But now? Now you're going to pay."
Jane scrambled backward on the mattress, but Hunter was already looming over her, his shadow swallowing her whole.
The fight was over. The punishment was about to begin.
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