The Hunter HQ was a place of sterile, unforgiving geometry. Located in the sub-basement of an old munitions factory on the edge of the Neutral Zone, it smelled of ozone, gun oil, and the dry, recycled air of a bunker. There were no windows to mark the passage of time, only the rhythmic hum of high-end servers and the flickering blue light of monitors that never slept.
Hansen sat in the center of a darkened tactical room, the glow from a dozen holographic screens reflecting off his scarred face. He hadn't left the facility in days. He hadn't gone to the café nor had he patrolled the perimeter of the North District. His obsession had found a new, more claustrophobic focus.
Across the screens, the word MATE was dissected into a thousand different data points.
