'Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did she just say 'hunt'? As in...as in, '<em>hunt</em>'? What organization? What the hell is going on? And what is this chick talking about, that 'great grandparent' business? And who, exactly, is Little Miss Trump?' Val shook his head silently, his thoughts racing at turbo speed as he watched the exchange. 'Man, I got a bad feeling about this...'<br/><br/>His reluctance took a back seat in his mind, however, when the new girl mentioned room service. His stomach rumbled practically loud enough to rattle the nearest building's windows; that dollar menu burger he'd eaten earlier hadn't stuck with him worth a damn. He glanced around sheepishly in case any of the others heard. 'Way to follow up that first impression, Valentine. Speak with your stomach. What a charmer, boy.'<br/><br/>He had to admit, the idea of rolling up to one of the city's priciest hotels in such a posh set of wheels was more than a little tempting in itself. Still, he couldn't shake the nagging notion that tagging along with this bunch would wind up changing his life--and not in a good way. But his curiosity was tweaked, and though Val wasn't the most dedicated of newshounds, he couldn't resist a chance to learn at least a little more before cutting out.