33 33. Welcome To Texas

Hunter quickly touched the leather shoes option and chose to summon just one pair of them. 

Right away, two leather boots appeared out of thin air and fell in front of him. They tumbled and fell sideways, revealing their condition. Not a single scratch or defect appeared on them, seemingly newly polished to perfection. 

"This ain't devolution… or desynthesis." Hunter exclaimed, picking it up and checking it, "It's like… magical recycling. What about the shirt and pants?" 

Hunter swiftly called forth a shirt and a pair of jeans too, only to find himself blinking like a fool. "All this 'cause I upgraded Devolution?

The boots and clothes were clean and in perfect shape, all the same. That made Hunter double-check the total number of items he had. 

"Already got almost five thousand shoes and… thirteen thousand shirts…" He lost himself midway, "What am I even gonna do with all this? Sell it? To whom?" 

Heck, he felt confused about what to do with all that darn plastic and wood. Same for Urea, styrofoam, and clear glass. These things were so readily available that selling them was impossible, unless he was some big contractor for each of them. 

"Maybe in Revroth?" he muttered. "Clothes and shoes of this quality should be revolutionary there. Ah, what about them Bitcoins?"

Hunter had studied cryptocurrency, and it was all the craze. He had seen cases related to it as well, and being young, he understood it better than most of his peers at the department. So when he summoned the Bitcoins, a single hard drive appeared on his palm. 

'I sure hope it ain't locked, 'cause if it is, it's useless.' With a sigh, he glanced up at the sky, then back at his mobile phone, now all charged up after that long drive. 'Dang it, it's already four in the mornin'. Them garbage trucks gotta be hittin' the road by now.'

Knowing that visiting the other waste site wasn't feasible anymore, he changed his clothes with the recycled ones and walked out of the forestation, back to the road. Looking like a man going to work early in the morning, he soon got a lift. 

Although he hated mingling with people, he found no issue. His years at the job had prepared him for such a moment. However, he spent most of his time looking up things on his phone—a few contacts, a few locations, and above all—trash. 

'I need untreated, unfiltered trash to earn real loot,' he thought and started looking for such a place. But in the entirety of the United States and Canada, he found none. All waste disposal sites had filtration facilities to remove anything recyclable or worth a value. Not to mention, many were running power plants, and private companies were contracted to them. 

'Out of America?' Hunter looked around on the internet. Soon enough, he got Brazil as a possible location, then a few Asian countries. But of course, what he needed wasn't just trash, but rather quality trash. The less developed a country, the less lucrative its trash sounded. 'But beggars can't be choosers.'

Although Hunter didn't plan to stop going around the country and taking trash, he started making plans for his first 'work' related foreign trip. Though, before any of that he needed some cash, and for that, he needed to sell some of the stuff. 

'The only problem is it's illegal,' he sighed, hitchhiking his way back to the motel he had left. It was already six in the morning, and the sun had adorned the skies.

Bam!

"Ugh." Just when he got into his truck, he mistakenly slammed the door too hard. "Gonna take some time to get used to this strength." 

Surprisingly not tired at all, Hunter drove home just as he had promised his mom. 

The barely changing scenery of the dry dirt all around with some small towns and passing by lone gas stations. Eventually, he arrived at the mid-sized town of Kelton Keep, abode to just over five thousand souls, and his own home—a place that had been the origin of his trials, joys, and sorrows.

Like most towns down south, Kelton Keep was dry, sandy, and sunny. Buildings were spread out in the distance, and parking lots were bigger than the establishments themselves. Luckily, his home was on the main market street, and it had some greenery. 

It was early morning, so there was a lot of activity going on. Folks going to work, shops being opened or stocked. As for his place, he arrived in front of a shop with a big "Tattoos" sign on it and parked in front of it at the curb. 

With a sigh, he stepped out of the car and glanced up. It was a square-shaped, two-story building of decent size. The top floor contained two single-bedroom apartments, while the ground floor housed the small tattoo shop and a three-bedroom set at the back.

"I reckon I can evict 'em now," Hunter muttered, eyeing the top floor.

"Hunter?" 

He glanced at the shop's black door and spotted Susan in her typical work attire; a white tank top paired with loose blue jeans, her checkered shirt wrapped around her waist. Her shoulders and arms were filled with tattoos.

"Mom." Hunter dropped the bag he was holding and strode up to Susan, embracing her in a tight hug.

Confused, Susan chuckled and patted his back. It felt weird to her, considering they'd seen each other just a few days ago.

But for Hunter, it felt like a lifetime. The importance of his family, his time, and this life had grown exponentially for him. He could've lost them all, and this was his final shot to make things right.

"Tell me what happened." Susan asked softly, "And don't you lie, I'm your mother." 

He let her go and firmly looked at her face. "Mom, a few months back, I was… fired."

Susan's eyes widened, shock apparent. But she still spoke calmly, "Why? Weren't you scouted by the FB—"

"Well, it's all gone now," Hunter interrupted her, "I was investigatin' a case and… I didn't bend. I got caught in the crossfire."

With concern, Susan took a deep, soothing breath and gently squeezed his shoulder, "Don't fret none. You're only twenty-seven. I'm sure there's plenty of jobs out there for you."

'Not with folks in power wantin' me dead,' he thought, simply smiling. Susan, or his siblings, had no need to know anything. 'I'll take care of it all... for good.'

"Where's Annie? Ain't it summer break?" Hunter hollered, switching up the vibe and grabbing his bag again, "I've got the electric chair she asked for."

Susan opened the door to let him in with all the stuff, "Mark made it to the boxing national championship. Annie's been goin' to cheer him on at his trainin' sessions."

"He did?" Hunter exclaimed, excited for his brother. "Finally some good news for that loner."

"You were like that too," Susan stared at him with a hint of anger. "Don't be so hard on him. He's been trying his best to make it big."

"For Annie?" Hunter said, knowing what was common between them brothers. They loved their sister to death and wanted nothing but to make sure she got the best treatment possible. "I'll go and see 'em at the gym. It's Pietro's Gym, right?"

"Yup."

"I'll come back with 'em." Hunter went back out, hopped into his truck, and drove off. The box with an electric wheelchair was still in the back—Annie's surprise.

In a flash, he reached the old gym on the edge of town. With it being midday, there were hardly any cars parked nearby. Stretching his shoulder, he walked into the building premises. It had a high ceiling and an open arena with two boxing rings. Alongside them were all the other exercise and training tools.

'What's goin' on there?' Hunter noticed almost the entire gym was empty, everyone gathered around one of the boxing rings. 'Ain't that Mark?' 

"Move it." Hunter pushed the muscled, sweaty men and boys aside and made his way to the front. 

"Marcus, stop it!"

Hunter heard his sister's cry, and a serious frown formed on his face. Glancing to his right, he spotted Annie in her wheelchair, just beside the boxing ring, tears welling in her eyes as she called out for Marcus.

"What's goin' on?" Hunter asked a random boy standing closest to him. 

"Anthony called Mark's sister a cripple." 

Hunter looked in the ring, noting the considerable size difference between the two fighters. Marcus, though tall and muscular as he was, appeared less developed compared to his opponent. It was evident there was a gap in both age and weight class.

"Who's Anthony?" Hunter asked more. 

"He's a pro. Came back from Vegas last night after losing his small match."

Hunter's expression twisted into an ugly grimace. Anthony was a pro, which meant he was clearly an adult, and from the looks of it, in his early thirties. In contrast, Marcus was merely a sixteen-year-old boy.

'A coward trying to vent his anger on someone?' Hunter grunted and walked over to his sister, crouching beside her wheelchair. 

"Annie."

The girl turned her face with a jolt, her dark eyes watery, her raven hair loosely tied behind her head. She froze as soon as she saw Hunter and then cried even more. 

"Hunter! Make him stop. Marcus can't win, and he got an important match next week!" Annie cried, holding Hunter's hand. 

But Hunter only gripped her hand tight and watched the fighting ring. He was in no denial of what his brother was doing. Anyone who insulted their sister deserved to be run over by a truck—that was what they believed in. 

"But this does look unfair," Hunter muttered, grabbing the white towel from Annie's lap. "I'll put a stop to him if you stop cryin'. I've been tellin' you, Annie, you gotta be tough. There's way too many jerks in this world, can't let every single one of 'em get to you."

Annie wiped her eyes dry, gritting her teeth and nodding firmly. Despite being Marcus' twin, her demeanor couldn't be more different from his serious and introverted nature. She was cheerful, optimistic, sociable, and emotional.

"There we go," Hunter said, giving her shoulder a pat before standing up. He tossed the towel into the ring and let out a sharp whistle with two fingers in his mouth, causing everyone to pause and look at him. "Alright, this match's done. You, Anthony, your loser ass ain't ever been whooped nicely before. I can see it. Only a coward fights a kid."

Saying that, Hunter slid onto the ring, still in his jeans and white shirt. He pulled Marcus back by his shoulder, thankfully the boy wasn't injured. Though the young boy clearly hated Hunter's meddling, wanting to beat Anthony on his own. 

"What're you lookin' at?" Hunter shot back, meeting Marcus' serious gaze. "Your little boxing match ain't even close to paying for what he said to Annie. Now hold my phone and record every darn thing."

"Who the fuck are you!?" Anthony growled, his bald head glistening with sweat. 

Hunter first made sure his younger brother was recording and then walked forward. "I'm Annie and Mark's older brother. Now, let's quit playin' 'round like a bunch of kids and have ourselves a proper man-to-man. Bare hands like a real cowboy, and let's settle this. 'Course, you're free to skedaddle like the lily-livered bastard you are.."

Anthony's sweaty face turned red in anger, eyes wide like they'd pop out. There was no doubt he was venting his anger from the loss in his Vegas match. He wasted no time and removed the boxing gloves. 

Hunter smiled, sauntered up to Anthony, then spun around to face the camera. "Smile for the camera. You want to win a live match so badly, I'll give you a live match. You just gotta say to all the people here, your word, man-to-man; If I break every damn bone in your body, you ain't gonna run to the popo and cry foul. You asked for it; ain't no take backs. It's a fair fight."

Everyone's eyes widened at Hunter's sudden change of expression—something far more sinister and devious.

Anthony gawked the same way, having never in his life faced something like this. "W-What? What match? Is that even legal?" 

Hunter shrugged and faced his opponent, "Welcome to Texas."