Seclusion at the Farm
In the sprawling, sun-baked outskirts of Los Angeles, situated on a remote, quiet patch of land over a hundred kilometers away from the dense, suffocating concrete of the city center, the heavy roar of a high-performance motorcycle cut through the dry morning air.
Following Stella Bridger's precise, low-voiced directions, Arthur drove the heavy bike flawlessly all the way there, navigating the winding, desolate dirt roads with absolute, terrifying ease.
"Stop right here!" Stella called out over the rumbling engine.
Seeing Arthur smoothly engage the brakes and bring the heavy motorcycle to a perfectly controlled halt in a cloud of dry dust, Stella immediately swung her long leg over the seat and jumped nimbly off the back.
Sitting directly in front of them under the glaring California sun was a highly dilapidated, weathered farm.
A heavy, sun-bleached wooden sign tilted precariously at the main entrance, looking exactly as if a single, strong gust of wind would send it crashing to the dirt.
Even the wooden perimeter railings and the thick, rusted wire fences were severely decayed and broken in multiple places, completely surrendering to the relentless march of time and absolute neglect.
Arthur's sharp, calculating eyes swept over the quiet property. He knew perfectly well that the state of California possessed a massive, highly developed agricultural industry, boasting countless, sprawling farms in its vast interior.
In fact, right after he had flawlessly, violently snatched the two massive Worthington safes from Steve's heavily armed compound nights ago,
Arthur's absolute first, instinctive thought had actually been to quietly sell the mountain of gold on the black market and purchase a sprawling, secluded farm exactly like this one.
There was simply no helping it; a deep, primal yearning for open land, quiet stability, and absolute, self-sustaining control was permanently etched into the very core of his bones.
Even though his life had been completely, violently uprooted and thrown into this chaotic, cinematic reality, he still absolutely hadn't forgotten that fundamental, grounding desire to own his own piece of the earth.
Of course, his highly intelligent, calculating mind had quickly, ruthlessly dismissed that idyllic idea!
In the sprawling United States, the IRS ,the Internal Revenue Service ,is a highly specialized, incredibly terrifying, and deeply cunning bureaucratic existence.
The US is undeniably a capitalist country where cold, hard money is absolutely paramount.
The federal government generally doesn't care in the slightest exactly where the massive amounts of cash you use to aggressively buy prime real estate, luxury goods, and lavish enjoyment comes from after getting rich.
But the IRS meticulously, ruthlessly maintains comprehensive tax records for almost absolutely every single adult citizen.
Highly classified information on some suddenly wealthy, unexplained individuals is said to be aggressively kept in independent, heavily monitored files, making them absolute key observation targets for the agency's ruthless auditors.
Exactly as long as you have the liquid ability to continuously, flawlessly pay those exorbitantly high consumption taxes and various, massive property taxes,
Even if the IRS secretly discovers some minor, undeniable cases of tax evasion or corporate under-reporting, they will often cynically turn a blind eye, strictly content to quietly farm you for revenue.
But the absolute, terrifying second you are no longer financially able to smoothly maintain that high level of consumption, or exactly when the US Government desperately needs a high-profile scapegoat,
They will violently pounce exactly like a pack of starving, rabid wolves.
They will aggressively confiscate absolutely all assets and properties registered under your name, and tear your life completely apart until not even microscopic bone fragments are left behind.
In the United States, among absolutely all the sprawling federal government departments, the IRS is undoubtedly the absolute most difficult, lethal one to cross.
Exactly like the FBI and the CIA, these special, highly independent federal departments possess terrifying power.
The IRS not only commands its own elite, ruthless field agents but also actively controls independent federal courts, its own specialized prisons, and even heavily armed tactical enforcement units.
Therefore, even for a man armed with supernatural attributes and a flawless, physics-defying private space exactly like Arthur,
Before he had meticulously, aggressively established his own rock-solid, completely legitimate financial foundation, he was absolutely unwilling to easily, foolishly provoke a massive, bureaucratic behemoth like the IRS.
He desperately didn't want to be aggressively targeted by their financial bloodhounds right now.
Lest he violently cause himself massive, inescapable trouble in the very near future.
Stella walked silently, her steps heavy with profound emotion, up to the decaying sign of the dilapidated farm. She reached out a trembling, pale hand and gently stroked the heavily splintered, tilted wood with an incredibly sorrowful, heartbreaking expression on her beautiful face.
Arthur clearly saw the raw, unfiltered grief radiating from her tense shoulders, but he respectfully, absolutely didn't say a single word to shatter the fragile silence.
The heavy iron gates of the farm were securely locked with a thick chain. Stella walked slowly to the rusted padlock and looked back at Arthur with tired, expectant blue eyes.
He immediately, flawlessly understood her silent meaning. He gave a short, confident nod and, exactly like a seasoned magician performing a trick, smoothly took out a short, rigid piece of metal wire directly from his invisible private space.
After walking calmly up to the heavy padlock and casually, expertly fiddling with the internal pins for about ten short seconds,
With a sharp, satisfying mechanical click, the heavy lock was safely, flawlessly opened. Arthur unwound the rusted chain, and the two of them then slowly entered the quiet, dilapidated farm.
The property absolutely wasn't very large at all, encompassing only about a hundred or two hundred acres of dry, rolling land.
In the vast agricultural expanse of the US, this specific size could only logically be considered a small, or even a micro-farm.
When Arthur had entertained the fleeting idea of aggressively buying a farm a few days ago, he had meticulously checked the municipal databases online.
There are roughly two to three million active farms in the US, with an average, standard size of well over two or three thousand acres.
Therefore, this quiet property really wasn't considered large in the slightest.
In one secluded, overgrown corner of the farm stood several weathered structures: a sturdy but aged wooden house, a detached garage, and two surprisingly sizable, heavy-duty barns.
Stella seemed incredibly, intimately familiar with this quiet place. She walked gracefully ahead of Arthur with her long legs, completely ignoring the main house and heading straight, with undeniable purpose, for one of the massive barns.
Arthur followed silently right behind her. Besides occasionally scanning the quiet, tree-lined perimeter with his supernaturally enhanced senses to ensure absolute tactical safety, his calculating gaze fell heavily on Stella's tense back most of the time.
The two of them soon arrived at the massive, sliding wooden doors of the large barn. Stella turned her head to look at him once again.
Arthur nodded with absolute understanding, stepped smoothly forward, and after expertly fiddling with the heavy, heavy-duty padlock hanging on the thick iron hasp for a brief moment, quickly popped it open.
Stella then reached out, her knuckles white with tension, and pulled the heavy, groaning wooden door open, walking slowly into the dim interior of the barn.
The barn was massive, boasting an open floor plan of probably several hundred square meters.
However, Arthur, who walked in while carefully covering his nose and mouth against the sudden, suffocating cloud of disturbed dust,
Immediately noticed that inside this cavernous structure, apart from some rusted, obsolete farm tools visible at a quick glance, the absolute vast majority of the sprawling place was completely empty.
Well, empty except for one specific, highly organized corner.
"Follow me," Stella whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
She absolutely didn't mind the thick layers of dust coating the air in the slightest.
The absolute moment she stepped fully into the dim light, it was exactly as if a flood of profound, cherished childhood memories had been violently, painfully awakened inside her.
She stood still and looked around the cavernous barn affectionately for a long, quiet while, her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears in the shadows.
Before finally, slowly signaling Arthur to follow her closely to the far corner of the dusty barn.
Arthur nodded respectfully and followed silently behind her.
The two of them soon arrived at the secluded corner and clearly saw four heavy, sturdy wooden tables pushed seamlessly together to form a massive, dedicated workbench.
On the thick wooden tables lay countless, highly specialized tools already covered in a thin layer of gray dust.
There were also several reinforced metal shelves pushed flush against the wooden wall nearby, clearly, meticulously filled with various, highly complex types of locks and small, heavy commercial safes.
Not far away from the main workbench, there was also a massive, bulky pile of heavy objects completely covered by a thick, canvas tarp.
Through several worn holes and frayed edges in the heavy tarp, Arthur's sharp eyes could vaguely, accurately make out exactly what looked like several massive, top-tier security safes sitting silently inside.
"This is my beloved father's farm," Stella finally whispered, breaking the heavy silence.
She walked slowly, reverently up to the dusty wooden table and gently picked up a small, specialized tension wrench, her beautiful face completely full of profound, heartbreaking memories.
After a long, agonizing period of heavy silence, she spoke softly, exactly as if she were talking quietly to herself in the empty room.
"In the distant past, this was the exact, quiet place where he meticulously, patiently taught me various, complex [Lockpicking] techniques."
"He once told me, with a genuine smile, that he desperately wanted to permanently retire right here."
"To peacefully grow some sweet corn, raise some quiet cattle, feed a few beautiful horses, and then absolutely never leave my side again."
Arthur's highly enhanced hearing could clearly, undeniably hear the raw, suffocating sorrow trembling in Stella's soft words.
It made absolute, logical sense.
The legendary father she had loved and depended on for survival, guidance, and warmth was suddenly, violently gone from this world forever.
It was completely, humanly impossible for Stella not to violently, intensely hate the treacherous Steve, or even harbor a massive, bitter resentment toward the reckless Charlie Croker.
It was actually quite incredibly impressive that she could patiently, quietly endure the crushing emotional weight of it all.
After thinking deeply for a brief, calculated moment, Arthur finally spoke up, his low, commanding rumble shattering the heavy melancholy in the barn.
"I have clearly heard the dark rumors about the bloody grudge between your legendary father and the traitor, Steve."
"Stella, strictly as a fair, equivalent reward for you actively, meticulously teaching me your advanced [Lockpicking] techniques, "
"I will personally, aggressively find a flawless tactical opportunity to violently kill Steve and completely finish your righteous revenge."
His cold, lethal words carried absolute, unwavering certainty, and they successfully, violently brought Stella completely out of her deep well of sorrow.
She was violently pulled back to reality from the painful memories of her father and the ghosts of the past.
She subconsciously, sharply looked up at Arthur, who was also looking directly back at her with a completely serious, lethally focused expression on his handsome face.
"A life for a life, a massive blood debt paid completely in blood," Arthur stated, his voice echoing coldly in the dusty barn.
"This is an ancient, universal law of the unforgiving streets that has absolutely never changed."
"Since you have graciously agreed to actively teach me your highly classified [Lockpicking] techniques, you are practically a respected mentor to me."
"I am completely, genuinely willing to violently avenge your beloved father's tragic death for you, with my own two hands."
This time, there were absolutely no manipulative schemes or cold, tactical calculations hidden in his deep voice.
Arthur was indeed genuinely, profoundly touched by Stella's raw sorrow as she reminisced about her murdered father, which had organically led him to make this lethal, unwavering decision to help her.
"Thank you, but that absolutely won't be necessary," Stella whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
She looked deeply at his serious, rugged face, feeling a profound, overwhelming wave of genuine emotion moving her exhausted heart.
However, she firmly shook her head, her blonde hair catching the faint light, absolutely not wanting to drag this brave young man any deeper into the dark, bloody topic of murder.
"Arthur, I already called my company from a secure payphone on my way here to firmly let them know I absolutely won't be coming into the office for a while."
"Consider it a long-overdue, quiet vacation for myself; we will securely stay right here at the isolated farm for the next few days."
"During this uninterrupted time, I will properly, meticulously teach you exactly how to flawlessly pick the world's most complex locks."
"Alright!" Arthur nodded seriously, absolute determination burning in his dark eyes.
He knew perfectly well that his foundational [Lockpicking]skill was finally, inevitably about to see a massive, rapid, and truly terrifying improvement.