THE HUNTRESS #1 [EB]

4_Vortex.docx

Havoc Headquarters, Glâne, Romont,
Friday 31 de octubre 2121.

Zeurst had survived three days of enforced isolation, a trial that confined her to her room except for meals and kitchen duties. She had assumed this seclusion would be bearable. One critical detail had slipped her mind: she shared the space with AJ, whose constant presence in the room—except during class hours—had become an unexpected and unwelcome complication.

"These aren't clean enough." She scrubbed at the stubborn residue on the glasses as the kitchen manager, eyes narrowed with impatience, dumped a stack of dishes she'd already washed back into the sink. "Do them again. And hurry up. We've got a mountain of work ahead."

That was the only chore she'd managed so far, aside from the exhaustive scrubbing she'd endured after dinner with the other grounded cadets. After the first day's gruelling experience, she chose silence, nodding in acquiescence. The chief's exacting standards dictated that everything be cleaned and re-cleaned until they met her ruthless expectations. Resigned, she began the task anew, the clamour from the dining room reaching a fever pitch that silenced the boss.

Victory, she wanted to shout.

Yet, she leaned back, peering across the counter where the food was being served. Despite the generous size of the mess hall, the focus of the disturbance was within her field of vision.

Rico hammered his fists into a guy's torso, the poor soul already staggering, arms attempting to shield his face. Rico's blows, delivered with cold precision, reverberated like the distant echo of thunderclaps. Each strike displayed his undeniable physical prowess, yet Zeurst observed the potential vulnerabilities in Rico's relentless assault. The raw power, though formidable, betrayed moments of overextension—opportunities for a skilled adversary to exploit the gaps left by his ferocious onslaught.

The rest, paralyzed by a blend of shock and dread, watched as the man crumpled to the ground. Bloodstains, dark and spreading, testified to the grim outcome of the altercation, and yet, despite the victim's near-unconscious state, Rico showed no inclination to halt his assault. Amidst the turmoil, an explosion echoed from the kitchen. Carla, a sweet and unassuming woman absorbed in her work, rushed out, her voice tearing through the mess hall, "Ian!" she cried, the word a ragged plea. "Ian! My son! Ian!"

Zeurst's eyes bored into Rico, her hands still immersed in the soapy water. Her focus snapped away as Carla burst into the hall, breathless and wide-eyed.

"Stop!" she pleaded, trying to push Rico away.

She managed to push him back a few centimetres, but he remained unperturbed and delivered another punishing kick to Ian's side.

"What kind of person are you?" Carla shouted, her voice splitting with a blend of rage and fear. She shoved him once more, her desperation mounting with each forceful push.

Rico paused; a heartbeat stretched taut as Carla's efforts gathered momentum. But in one swift motion, he seized her wrist mid-air and a whimper slipped Carla's lips. Ian, sprawled on the floor, emitted a faint mumble that resembled "mama." Rico acted without hesitation, delivering a forceful kick straight to Ian's stomach, eliciting a pained writhe from him.

"Leave him alone, you monstrous bastard!" Carla's voice cracked, tears streaming down her face. "Somebody well better do something! Please!"

Rico's smile curled with pleasure.

Thompson materialized in the midst of the chaotic scene, standing at Rico's side. He leaned in close, his posture urgent as he murmured in his ear. The effect was immediate: Rico released Carla wrist, knocking her to the ground.