Mavrick's right foot was going numb. He quietly shifted his weight to his left leg, adjusting his stance, trying to look calm. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.
He had already noticed the tiny metal dot on Earl's chest. His heart clenched—it wasn't just a regular surveillance device. That was a military-grade satellite camera.
There were eyes watching—an audience behind the hunter. Mavrick's chest tightened. This wasn't just a rich man's deadly game. It was a live broadcast.
He took a deep breath, shifting his gaze away from the camera and toward the gun pointed at Dr. Chan."Can you put the gun down first? We're not a threat." He raised his hands as he spoke.
Earl remained silent. The gun was still locked onto Dr. Chan's chest, but his eyes flickered—like he was listening to something faint.
"I heard it. There's a weapon hidden in his body!"
Dr. Chan was stunned. He did have a taser tucked in his pocket—an emergency tool used in the lab to handle out-of-control experiments. Small, compact, more like a metal box than a weapon.
But the switch made no sound. How had Earl"heard" it? Or was he bluffing?
Dr. Chan had no choice. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from his pocket, holding the metal taser out to the hunter.
Earl stared at the taser, then blinked, his lips twitching.
"Smoke… I don't smoke."
Dr. Chan hesitated for a split second, then nodded smoothly."That's good—smoking isn't great for your health." With that, he casually slipped the taser back into his pocket.
Mavrick furrowed his brows. Earl's reaction had been strange—not just observant, but like he was responding to someone, adjusting his understanding of the situation.
He spoke slowly, his voice deep and calculated."Do you really think you can win just by killing? If it were only about murder, why did you hesitate? Were you waiting for 'their' score?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Earl's eyes. His lips twitched in something between a smirk and a sneer."What are you trying to say?"
"I don't know everything," Mavrick stared at him, lowering his voice deliberately, as if negotiating with a madman."But I know this game… isn't just about killing."
The air tightened, the space around them shrinking until it felt like they were the only two left.
Earl slowly narrowed his eyes. His fingers brushed over the trigger—not steadily, but in a subtle, erratic tremor. His breathing sounded normal, but Mavrick felt something was off. Earl's lips moved, slightly, but not toward them. It was as if he was speaking to someone unseen.
Then Earl laughed—a laugh that did not belong here, tinged with eerie satisfaction."You know, when I was a kid, I killed a dog."
Mavrick stiffened.
"My father gave it to me.'Every child needs to learn responsibility,' that's what they said." Earl's voice drifted, hovering somewhere between a memory and a confession to someone invisible."But it wouldn't listen to me. So, I split its stomach open—not in one cut, but many. I wanted to see how long it would struggle before it stopped."
His grin twisted."But do you know the most interesting part? It finally stopped moving—but my hands… my hands were still shaking."
He lifted his left hand, staring at it for a second before suddenly shaking it as if to rid himself of phantom bloodstains.
Mavrick felt a creeping chill crawl up his spine. Earl wasn't just a hunter. His mind had already been fractured by something far worse.
"You—" Mavrick started to probe further, but Earl suddenly leveled the gun at his forehead, his tone turning ice-cold."Shut up."
His fingers tightened briefly around the trigger, then loosened. Under his breath, he murmured,"No… no, can't kill. Not yet…"
Then, he lowered his gaze, speaking—not to them, but to whatever unseen presence lingered in the air."They don't want to see death… not just death. They want the process."
Mavrick held his breath. He saw Earl's lips twitch, fighting an urge that threatened to take control.
"You're right. There's a score." Earl's eyes snapped up sharply, his gaze suddenly razor-edged."But do you know what the score is really for?"
He didn't wait for Mavrick's response, pressing on, his voice growing faster."The score… it's not a way to rise."
Earl licked his lips, like he was holding something back."It's… their tool. A way to make you adapt. To make you addicted."
His eyes flickered wildly before he inhaled deeply, forcing himself to an unsettling calm."And you think you're smart?" He tilted his head, a warped smile pulling at his mouth."You think you can figure out the rules? Ha… ha… ha…"
He laughed—a dry, strained sound, filled with a feverish kind of exhilaration.
Then, abruptly, he stopped, as if realizing he had laughed too long. His hand pressed hard against his temple, muttering,"No. No, can't laugh for too long… They'll think I'm…"
Another breath. His gaze returned to Mavrick, now laced with something dangerously unreadable."You know, I always thought I was free."
He tilted his head, his lips trembling slightly."You're right… This really is a performance… But why is my score so low?"
His eyes brimmed with something unexpected—frustration, maybe even grief. A glimmer of unshed tears catching the dim light.
"You don't actually enjoy the killing, do you?" Mavrick suddenly shifted the topic."You're just playing along… trapped in a test you can't refuse."
Earl's grin faded, replaced by a weariness he couldn't fully hide. His eyes flicked downward, checking the tiny camera on his chest—making sure that watchful gaze was still there.
"Don't try to understand me," he murmured."You don't want to know how much a person is willing to sacrifice just to prove themselves."
Mavrick took a slow breath, steadying himself. He was starting to piece something together.
"If you just pull the trigger, you only get two points," Mavrick said quietly."But there's a way to score higher, isn't there?"
Earl frowned. His gun twitched slightly. He hadn't expected this seemingly timid man to catch on so quickly.
"Looks like you know more than you should," Earl's eyes narrowed, locking onto Mavrick. A warning."Tell me—what else do you know?"
Mavrick held his breath, his gaze unwavering."High scores don't come from killing. They come from—performance."
Earl's pupils contracted, but a slow, knowing smile curled at the edge of his lips.
Mavrick knew one thing—at least for now, he was still alive.
Extreme sports had taught him a crucial lesson: never freeze at the critical moment. No matter how close the edge of the cliff might be.
His mind raced. There was a chance—however slim—that they could make it out. If Earl wasn't the only audience.
"This game has its own rules," Mavrick calculated carefully."And a high score doesn't necessarily mean killing. So… what are the real rules?"
He couldn't afford to say a single wrong word now.
"These points… they're not just ordinary hunter rewards," Mavrick continued, testing the waters."Can you tell me what they're actually for?"
His fingers brushed against the camera on his chest, but his thoughts flashed elsewhere—his father's cold expression. His family's fate had already been decided for him: his eldest brother inherited the business, his younger brother married into another corporate empire. And him? He was thrown into the blood-soaked games, earning points just to claw out a place for himself.
Earl knew exactly what the points meant.
The Hunt came once every four years. It was a ladder—a way up. A way to prove himself. A chance to catch the attention of powerful people.
His older brother refused to risk it. After all, there was always that 1% chance of fatal accidents. His younger brother—the reckless playboy—spent his time chasing celebrities and fast cars, never bothering with the game.
But Earl wasn't about to explain any of that to a lamb waiting for slaughter.