Chapter 30: 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖘 𝖉𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕾𝖐𝖞𝖓𝖊𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖘.

𝕸𝖆𝖋𝖎𝖆'𝖘 𝕹𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖘

☆☆☆𝕳𝖚𝖓𝖙'𝖘 𝕷𝖆𝖓𝖊….𝕰𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕳𝖎𝖑𝖑 7:38AM☆☆☆

A yellow taxi rumbled to a halt, just before the curve of a wide pristine road, flanked by towering hedges trimmed into ruthless perfection.

“Why are we stopping?” Nevena squinted out—at the road.

The driver, a wiry local in his mid-fifties, shifted the car into neutral and cleared his throat.

“Señorita, no puedo ir más allá,” he said, jerking his chin toward the road ahead. "Propiedad privada."

“Wait—what?” Nevena blinked, her brows knitting.

“Private property,” he repeated, slower this time, but still in Spanish.

From the back seat, Junior piped up—glancing past the windshield.

The road stretched in perfect symmetry—lined with palm hedges and sculpted trees. The asphalt was dark and smooth like it had never known a pothole.

Nevena looked out again. The road looked normal. No fence. No guards. Just silence and manicured hedges—like a painting.

“It’s fine, Sir. The house is just up that road. Just a little further—we’ll walk the rest.”

The driver shook his head firmly. “No autorizado. Muy serio. Policía.”

Nevena scowled, turning to the back seat. “Junior—help me out here. What’s he saying?”

Junior listened from the back seat, translating as the words fell.

The driver raised one hand and pointed ahead. “No puedo continuar, señorita.”

“He says he can’t go any farther, Miss Nevena.”

The driver nodded, eyes still on the road. “Es propiedad privada. No tengo permiso.”

“He says it’s a private road. He’s not allowed to drive up it. He could get in trouble. Police-level trouble.”

“Oh, come on. It’s just a road.” Nevena groaned, rubbing her temples. “It’s not like we’re smuggling guns.”

The driver offered a small, apologetic shrug.

“Lo siento. No quiero problemas con la policía. Ya me advirtieron antes.”

Junior translated quietly, “He says he’s sorry. Doesn’t want police trouble. He’s been warned before.”

“Great.” Nevena sighed in defeat—her head falling back against the seat. For a moment, she didn’t move. The exhaustion hit differently—like someone had let the air out of her resolve.

She inhaled through her nose, exhaled through her mouth.

“Fine.” She turned to Junior. “Guess we’re walking.”

He gave a small nod.

With a mechanical click, the car door opened, and Nevena stepped out. Her sandals crunched against the gravel where the pavement gave way.

Junior followed, cradling the bucket of shells in both arms, like something sacred.

The taxi didn’t linger. It made a slow U-turn and rolled back down the hill—the static crackle of local radio fading into the trees.

They stood for a moment, staring at the long, hushed stretch ahead.

The Hunt Mansion was still out of sight—somewhere far up that manicured artery, far enough to feel like a dare.

The road itself looked like it had been poured, rather than paved.

The hedges on the sides didn’t sway. They just stood like statues—clipped and obedient

Nevena folded her arms, trying to shake the unsettled flutter tightening in her chest—they didn’t belong here.

“We can do this… right?” She exhaled, brushing her damp hair behind her ear.

Junior tilted his head up toward her.

“Yeah.” he murmured. Then, a bit louder, more sure.

“Yeah. We can—remember we’ve done harder things than walk a rich man’s driveway.”

Nevena looked down at him, then back up at the road again, afterwards nodded solemnly.

“You're right. Let’s go—we didn’t come all this way to chicken out at a fancy driveway,”

Junior gave a small dry chuckle, shifting the bucket in his grip.

Together, they began to walk—wind tugging at their hair, the quiet crunch of their steps on the pristine tar, sounding like a defiant rhythm.

They reached the top of the hill, within minutes, and the road curved one last time, ending in front of a towering gate.

The Hunt Mansion’s gate. It didn’t look like a gate, rather like the entrance to another planet.

A structure so surgically modern, it felt like it had no right being built in a Private place.

Not just a gate—a work of art, tall and commanding, framed by Matte black titanium bars, rising nearly twelve feet, glinting under the New Mexico morning sun.

A low-profile fence, with no razor wire curved around like a fortress spine, stretching endlessly in both directions, that it vanished into mesquite and mescal trees. A quiet threat of permanence.

In the absence of guards, drones hovered silently above—small, circular, blinkered with blue rings like watching eyes.

Just the arrogance of excess money, confidently invisible.

Junior shifted beside Nevena, blinking up at the seamless structure.

It held the kind of intimidation that wraps itself around one's lungs.

“This is…the gate?” Nevena said under her breath.

Junior whistled. “This is definitely where Skynet lives.”

Nevena chuckled. “Yeah—the gate alone looks like it cost more than New Mexico itself,”

“Excessive at its peak.” Junior agreed, staring at his reflection on the obsidian surface. “Miss Nevena! How do we get in?”

“I will just look around for the buzzer”.

Glancing around, there was no visible speaker. No doorbell. No intercom.

Just a matte black pedestal rising from the desert floor, with a narrow, horizontal slit of light blinking—No buttons.

Nevena tried waving her hand but got no interaction.

“Here we go.” she exhaled slowly.

Junior stepped forward and bent slightly, eyeing the light.

“Do we have to smile? Retina scan? Blood sample?”

Tsk!

Nevena schooled her posture, “This is an ultra-surveillance system”.

Junior turned to look at her, curiosity evident in his eyes.

“What's ultra-surveillance?”

Nevena folded her arms, lips pressed into a thin line.

“It's a place that doesn't need guards”, she muttered. “Because it had been designed to see you coming before you even knew you were arriving.”

“So it means—we're getting profiled by an AI.” the little boy grinned and raised a hand slowly in a mock-surrender.

“What if we touch it—that way it will alert them.”

Nevena shot him a side-glare. “Junior! Don't even think of it—it will definitely call the Pentagon. ”

She was still talking when a thin sensor light blinks red, low—near Junior's hip, and a whirring sound cracked out

She stiffened. “Junior, step back—why did you touch it?”

“—I didn't.” He waved at her in defense. “See? I didn't touch anything.”

Nevena didn't hear the last thing he said—she dashed forward and grasped him, protecting him with her own body. A mom-level defence.

Above them, a disc-shaped drone the size of a dinner plate dropped down from somewhere near the treetops, rotating gently.

Its lens was glossy and dark, reflecting their panicked facials.

“I think it’s scanning us.” Junior whispered to Nevena.

The drone hovered a moment longer. Then ascended back into the tree line with a soft hum.

A quiet chime sounded. Then the slit flickered green behind them.

Turning to the sound of the chime, the screen flared to life.

A white box appeared. Then a voice—neutral, genderless, smooth as glass.

“Welcome to the Hunt Residence. Please state your name and appointment ID.”

Surprisingly, the voice didn’t come from the screen. It came from everywhere—the gate, the wall, maybe even the earth.

Nevena braced forward instinctively. "Oh! Nevena Bachvarov.And this is—”

“Junior” he cut in, raising a finger cheerfully. “Hi—I’m Junior. Just Junior. Like Madonna.”

Nevena groaned, covering her face. She was astounded at how his words clipped over her own. Fast. Not rude—just cheeky.

There was a pause—so long it started to feel like the silence was judging their authenticity.

Then, the voice came again—no change in tone.

“Please state your appointment ID.”

Nevena swallowed, then cleared her throat.

“No ID. We’re just here to see Mr. Hunt. It’s urgent.”

“I'm sorry Miss—no verification, no entry.” The voice cut in, in a clipped manner.