The Hunter's Od Chapter 106: Before Adriana Tan

Chapter 106: Before Adriana Tan

Jagger looked down at the folded clothing. The sweatsuit was navy blue, plain but clean, made of thick athletic material that looked soft enough to actually be wearable. On the left side of the chest, stitched in white, was a sharp insignia of a downward-pointed spear overlaying a split shield, with the small lettering S.Z.H.C. beneath it.

He picked it up slightly. "What’s that stand for?"

"Sector Zero Hunter Corps," the quartermaster replied. "Put it on, and people stop asking where you wandered in from."

Jagger let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Helpful."

"That’s what I’m paid for. Move."

Five minutes later, he was walking again, still half-dressed, carrying the bundle under one arm while the soldier escorted him deeper into the annex. They turned down another corridor and stopped outside a shower block built into the side wing.

The soldier opened the door and gestured inside.

"Ten minutes."

Jagger looked past him. "And you’re just standing there?"

"Yes."

Inside, the shower space was utilitarian. White tile. Floor drain. Mounted dispensers. A narrow bench. The stall itself was sectioned off by a half door of frosted composite that covered from roughly the waist down, leaving the upper half open to view from the corridor if soone stood at the right angle.

Jagger stared at it.

"You people are weird."

"We’re thorough."

Jagger stepped inside anyway, stripped off the last of the dical wear, and turned on the water. It hit him hot and hard, pounding blood, soot, gri, and dried monster filth down into the drain in dark streams. For a while, he just stood there with his head bowed and his palms braced against the tile, letting the heat work through the leftover tension in his shoulders.

’Underground fortress. Ard escorts. Confiscated weapons. Public bathing under supervision. Your species really does love cages,’ Ophilia said, her voice smooth with disdain.

Jagger scrubbed a hand through his wet hair. ’You’re one to talk about cages.’

She gave a quiet hum at that.

Then another presence stirred.

’They take our blades, dress us like kennel stock, and wash us before parade,’ Zumthor said, low and ugly, his voice like sothing dragged over stone. ’Weak creatures. Let

out. I will decorate these white walls with their organs.’

Jagger closed his eyes for a second. ’No.’

’You are no fun at all,’ Ophilia murmured.

’And you,’ Zumthor growled, ’are still too soft. I should have bitten through that one’s throat when I had the girl’s body.’

Jagger’s hand paused against the back of his neck. ’Say that again, and I’ll find a way to chain you myself.’

Zumthor gave a short, savage laugh.

The soldier’s voice cut in from outside. "You talking to yourself in there?"

Jagger imdiately grabbed the soap and started scrubbing his arm harder than necessary. "No."

A beat passed.

"Sounded like it."

"Then your hearing’s too good."

The soldier did not answer after that.

Jagger finished quickly. He dried off, dressed, and stepped back into the corridor in the issued sweatsuit. The navy blue fit him well enough, loose in the shoulders and legs without looking oversized. The white Sector Zero Hunter Corps emblem stood out starkly over his chest, clean and official in a way that felt almost insulting after everything he had worn through the city. Black socks, indoor slides, nothing armored, nothing sharp, nothing his.

The soldier looked him over once and nodded.

"Better."

Jagger glanced down at himself. "I feel institutionalized."

"You look less like a cri scene."

They moved again.

This ti, the corridors widened and opened gradually into a more industrial section of Sector Zero. The sterile dical atmosphere faded behind them, replaced by the deeper hum of generators, the ring of steel impacts, the occasional bark of commands, and the steady pulse of a place built around combat. By the ti the soldier pushed through the last reinforced door, Jagger could already sll rubber matting, gun oil, and the sweat of people who had turned training into routine survival.

The training area was enormous.

Multiple combat courts spread across the floor in divided sections, so marked for live drills, others for sparring or weapons work. Elevated observation decks ran along the upper walls behind armored glass. Target lanes stretched off to one side. A heavy sand pit occupied another. White overhead lights washed everything in clean brightness, though the place still carried the harsh energy of a battlefield waiting to happen.

And at the center of one open court, soone was already waiting.

Lieutenant-General Adriana Tan stood with both hands clasped behind her back, posture straight and immovable, as if the whole room had been arranged around her rather than the other way around. The sharp lines of her face looked even harsher beneath the training lights. Her iron-grey hair was cut short and severe as ever. The three pale scars at her temple stood out clearly. She did not move when Jagger entered. She only watched.

Beside her stood four hunters.

Two of them he knew imdiately.

Chase was there, hands in his pockets, cigar missing for once, though the lazy grin on his face looked as if it had survived without it. Jace stood a short distance from him with her arms crossed, calm and unreadable, her gaze fixed on Jagger the sa way it had been from behind the wheel.

The other two were strangers.

One was a broad-shouldered woman a few years older than Jagger, with dark red hair cut to the jaw and a thick scar running from her eyebrow into her hairline. She stood with the relaxed stillness of soone dangerous enough not to need theatrics.

The last was a thin young man with sunken eyes and pale skin, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a dark jacket despite the warmth of the room. He was standing there, but barely. Every line in his body looked tight, brittle, as if simply being near the others was taking effort.

Adriana’s eyes stayed on Jagger.

For a long mont, no one spoke.

Then the soldier beside him stepped aside.

And Jagger found himself standing alone at the edge of the court, dressed in Sector Zero navy, stripped of his weapons, facing the people who had already decided he mattered.