Nate circled through the alley to the back entrance of the Golden Unicorn.
He looked up at the building.
It was four stories tall, with the nightclub occupying the first and second floors.
The curtains on the third and fourth floors were drawn, so he couldn’t tell whether they were used for storage or as living quarters.
Nate spent nearly two hours scouting the area around the Golden Unicorn, familiarizing himself with every street, alley entrance, and corner where someone could hide.
About fifty meters diagonally across from the Golden Unicorn was a convenience store.
Beside it stood a half-dead sycamore tree with a trunk thick enough to easily conceal a person.
It would make a good observation point.
He found a fast-food place two blocks away, ordered a coffee, grabbed a newspaper from the counter, and sat down to wait for nightfall.
By 7:30 p.m., darkness had fully settled in.
Nate paid his bill, left the restaurant, pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, and slowly made his way back along the sidewalk on Eighth Avenue.
He moved with the flow of pedestrians at an easy, natural pace, looking no different from any of the countless ordinary people passing through the neighborhood.
The Golden Unicorn’s neon lights came on.
The cheap sign flickered in gaudy shades of gold and pink, bathing the small stretch of sidewalk outside the entrance in an unnatural glow.
The doors opened, and a burly man in a black suit stepped outside.
He was bald, with a neck as thick as a bullfrog’s, and wore a radio earpiece.
He carefully checked every customer waiting in line to enter the nightclub.
Nate walked past on the opposite side of the street, glancing toward the entrance from the corner of his eye.
There was a noticeable bulge at the guard’s waist.
Nate kept walking until he reached the sycamore tree, then leaned against the trunk.
From there, he had a clear view of both the Golden Unicorn’s front entrance and the bald guard.
The guard, meanwhile, would have difficulty seeing anyone hidden in the darkness because of the glare from the neon lights.
About twenty minutes later, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled up in front of the Golden Unicorn.
The bald guard immediately straightened, murmured something into his earpiece, then hurried over and opened the rear passenger door.
An Asian man stepped out, followed by two bodyguards, one tall and one short, both scanning their surroundings.
The Asian man looked to be in his early forties.
He wore a dark red velvet suit with the collar open enough to reveal part of a gold chain.
His hair was slicked back until it shone, and his skin was exceptionally well cared for.
A cigar rested between his fingers.
After getting out, he stood beside the entrance, took a drag, and slowly exhaled a cloud of white smoke.
Marcus Chen.
Nate remained behind the sycamore tree, watching every movement his target made.
Should he do it now?
He quickly dismissed the idea.
The nightclub was too crowded at this hour.
Making a move now would mean too many witnesses and too many variables to control, not to mention all the surveillance cameras.
Administration had told him that the law no longer applied to him, but what about the media?
If someone caught everything on camera, would that count as causing public panic?
Nate wasn’t sure, and he had no intention of taking unnecessary chances.
Marcus tossed away his unfinished cigar and strode into the Golden Unicorn.
The two bodyguards followed closely behind, and all three disappeared through the entrance.
The bald guard remained outside, though he was clearly less tense than before.
Charge inside and cut his way through?
Absolutely not.
He wasn’t John Wick.
He didn’t have a bulletproof suit, and he had no idea how many guards were inside.
With nothing but a handful of knives, if enough people in there had guns, he’d be dead before he knew it.
Nate waited a little longer, then stepped out from behind the tree and went into the convenience store to buy a bottle of water.
He used the bottle as a pillow and lay down on the bench outside the store like a homeless man, draping the canvas bag over himself while keeping the nightclub entrance in his peripheral vision.
He waited.
For the Golden Unicorn to close.
For the guards to get tired and let their guard down.
At one point, an actual homeless man carrying some bedding wandered over and gave Nate a long look.
Nate suspected he’d taken the man’s usual spot.
By 1:40 a.m., the businesses along Eighth Avenue were closing one after another.
The dim yellow streetlights made the entire street look like an old, faded photograph.
The convenience store was still open, but the cashier had changed.
A young white guy was now behind the counter, yawning constantly as he leaned over and scrolled through his phone.
Nate lay on his side on the bench.
The night breeze had turned slightly cool, and the wounds on his arm and back were beginning to ache.
After lying there for so long, drowsiness was starting to creep in.
He bit the tip of his tongue and forced himself awake.
Time crawled by.
The Golden Unicorn’s doors were still open, but there were far fewer customers coming and going.
The bald guard had yawned so many times that Nate had lost count, and watching him had Nate yawning too.
Every now and then, one or two men staggered out drunk, supported by bodyguards who helped them into taxis and sent them on their way.
3:40 a.m.
The Golden Unicorn’s neon lights went dark.
The front doors opened from inside.
Marcus came out first.
He had taken off his dark red velvet jacket, and his face was flushed, though Nate couldn’t tell whether it was from alcohol or the heat.
The same two bodyguards followed him, one tall and thin, the other short and stocky.
The four men gathered outside.
Marcus pulled out his phone, checked it, then said something to the bald guard.
The guard nodded and quickly walked to the curb, opening the Cadillac’s door.
Nate slowly rose from the bench.
He didn’t run.
He didn’t even quicken his pace.
He simply crossed the street at an unhurried walk, head lowered, both hands in his pockets, his hood concealing most of his face.
The bald guard noticed him first.
“Hey!” he barked, his tone immediately wary.
“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow if you’re looking for a good time.”
Nate kept walking.
The bald man’s hand moved toward the back of his waist.
Marcus had just started bending down to get into the car when he heard the shout and turned to look.
That was when Nate moved.
His hand shot into his pocket.
He pulled out a fruit knife, ripped off its sheath, and threw it.
Then the next.
Then the third.
The three fruit knives streaked through the air like meteors, tracing short, precise arcs through the darkness.
The first spun through the air and buried itself all the way into the bald man’s eye socket, leaving only the end of the handle visible.
The Glock in his hand fell before he could fully raise it.
A muffled grunt escaped his throat as he collapsed stiffly onto the pavement, his body twitching as though he’d been shocked.
The second fruit knife followed immediately afterward and punched through the tall bodyguard’s neck.
It passed straight through his throat and embedded itself in the wall behind him.
The tall man screamed, reeled backward into the Cadillac’s door, then collapsed while clutching his neck.
The third knife buried itself in the stocky bodyguard’s right shoulder, the tip protruding from the back.
He shuddered from the pain but kept moving.
His left hand was already reaching beneath his arm.
In that brief moment, Nate closed the distance.
He drew the wooden-handled straight knife.
With a thought, the boning knife appeared in his right hand.
Twin blades flashed.
In a single instant, Nate slashed and stabbed the stocky man seven times.
Blood sprayed across the pavement.
The bodyguard dropped to his knees with a howl.
Nate drove the straight knife into his skull, then kept moving, turning toward Marcus without slowing down.
The tall bodyguard was still writhing on the ground, coughing up bloody foam while clutching his ruined throat.
His left hand desperately stretched toward the Glock lying nearby.
“How much do they pay you a month to try this hard?” Nate muttered.
He stepped over, picked up the Glock, and looked down at the struggling man.
“Sorry.”
Nate snapped his arm forward.
The boning knife flew with a sharp hiss and buried itself between the man’s eyebrows.
Nate immediately unequipped the boning knife from his Loadout, then equipped it again.
The knife reappeared in his hand.
Gun in one hand and the bloodied boning knife in the other, Nate walked over to Marcus and rested the blade against his throat.
He didn’t press down.
He simply held it there.
Nate raised his eyes and looked at Marcus.
Marcus stood beside the car door.
The relaxed expression of mild drunkenness had vanished, replaced by rigid terror.
One hand was still resting on the door handle, but the rest of his body had gone completely still.
His eyes were locked on the boning knife in Nate’s hand, his pupils wide.
“Marcus,” Nate said quietly.
“You’ve got a debt to settle.”
Marcus’s lips trembled before he managed to force out a smile that looked worse than crying.
“Bro… buddy, let’s talk this out. Whatever you want, just name your price…”
Nate ignored him.
He wasn’t sure whether Marcus was carrying a weapon, so he took a step back and kept the Glock trained on him.
Then he pulled the nylon zip tie from his back pocket and tossed it at Marcus’s feet.
“Tie yourself up.”
Marcus looked down at the zip tie, then at the gun in Nate’s hand.
The fear in his eyes gradually turned into resigned despair.
He slowly bent down, picked up the tie, and clumsily wrapped it around his wrists.
His fingers were trembling so badly that even after looping it around twice, he still couldn’t fasten it properly.
Nate kept scanning the area from the corner of his eye.
There were probably more guards inside the nightclub.
He couldn’t afford to relax yet.
The bald guard had stopped moving.
Blood continued to pour from his ruined eye socket, spreading into a dark pool across the concrete.
The tall bodyguard lay with his eyes wide open, a hole in his forehead and another through his throat.
He was completely still.
The short, stocky bodyguard remained slumped beside the Cadillac with his skull split open.
Blood continued leaking from the seven deep wounds covering his body until his entire suit was soaked red.
Nate swept his gaze across the scene.
As the adrenaline began to fade, a wave of discomfort rose inside him.
He forced it down.
This was only the second time he had killed anyone.
Suddenly, Nate heard something.
Footsteps.
From inside the Golden Unicorn.
Hard-soled shoes striking marble.
More than one person.
Nate spun around.
Two men burst through the doors, both in black suits and both armed.
One was a thickset white man with a broad, fleshy face, holding a pistol Nate couldn’t identify in his right hand.
The muzzle was already coming up.
The other was a Black man holding a Glock.
Both men visibly froze when they saw the carnage outside.
That hesitation gave Nate a fraction of a second.
He grabbed Marcus by the collar and violently yanked him in front of himself before Marcus had finished securing the zip tie.
At the same time, Nate threw his weight to the left.
Two gunshots erupted almost simultaneously.
One bullet grazed past Nate’s right shoulder and struck the sycamore tree behind him, spraying splinters into the air.
The other hit Marcus in the left arm.
Marcus screamed like a slaughtered pig as blood spread across the sleeve of his velvet shirt.
Nate didn’t let go.
Using the momentum of his fall, he hurled Marcus directly into the white bodyguard.
At the same time, he aimed the Glock in his right hand toward the Black bodyguard and fired twice.
“Bang! Bang!”
It was Nate’s first time firing a gun.
He was shooting one-handed, his grip was wrong, and the recoil sent a jolt of pain through his wrist.
His accuracy was practically nonexistent.
More importantly, the gunshots hurt his ears like hell.
The first shot missed completely.
Nate had no idea where the bullet went.
The second was pure luck.
It struck the Black bodyguard in the right hip.
The man grunted, staggered sideways, and dropped to one knee.
His Glock struck the pavement, slipped from his hand, and skidded several meters away.
But he didn’t stay down.
He pulled a switchblade from his waistband, gritted his teeth, and limped toward Nate.
The white bodyguard stumbled when Marcus crashed into him.
He shoved the screaming Marcus aside and raised his gun again.
Nate had no time to aim.
Not that he really knew how.
He planted his left hand on the ground and twisted upward, spinning back onto his feet.
As he turned, he used the Glock in his right hand like a brick and smashed it straight into the white bodyguard’s face.
The Glock struck the bridge of the man’s nose with a heavy crack.
The impact was so violent that the pistol itself came apart.
The white man’s nose collapsed, and blood immediately poured down his face.
His eyes instinctively squeezed shut.
His finger tightened around the trigger.
The muzzle jerked downward.
The bullet struck the pavement, ricocheted, and grazed Nate’s left calf.
Warmth spread down his leg.
Nate didn’t even have time to look.
Before the white bodyguard could reopen his eyes, Nate had already crashed into him.
The boning knife drove upward beneath the man’s chin.
The blade punched through his jaw and continued straight into his skull.
The bodyguard went rigid as though he’d been electrocuted.
His pistol slipped from his hand, and he pitched stiffly forward.
Nate ripped the boning knife free and turned.
He hadn’t even regained his balance before the Black bodyguard closed to within two steps.
The wound in his right hip made him limp badly, but the switchblade in his left hand was already thrusting toward Nate’s stomach.
Nate twisted aside.
The blade skimmed past his waist and sliced through his hoodie.
The Black bodyguard missed.
With his lower body injured, he couldn’t control his momentum properly and lurched half a step too far forward.
Nate seized the opening.
He drove the boning knife into the man’s knife arm and twisted outward.
Crack.
The Black bodyguard screamed.
The switchblade dropped from his hand.
Nate pulled the boning knife free, then thrust it beneath the man’s ribs at an upward angle.
The blade pierced his heart.
The bodyguard’s eyes flew wide open.
His mouth opened, releasing a short gasp as blood poured freely from between his lips.
His body went limp.
Nate pulled out the knife and stepped back twice, breathing hard.
The adrenaline faded again.
Blood was running down his left calf, and the bullet graze across his right shoulder burned fiercely.
The street went quiet.
At some point, the convenience store cashier had disappeared beneath the counter.
Farther down the street, someone opened a window to look outside, then immediately slammed it shut again.
A stray dog barked wildly at the corner, the sound echoing along the empty street.
Nate picked up the white bodyguard’s pistol, though he still had no idea what model it was, then turned toward Marcus.
Marcus was sprawled beside the front of the Cadillac.
His left arm was covered in blood, and the zip tie was only half-secured, hanging loosely from one wrist.
He stared at the bodies and blood scattered around him, trembling all over.
Nate walked over and crouched beside him.
He lightly tapped Marcus’s cheek with the spine of the boning knife.
“Finished tying yourself up yet?”
Marcus opened his mouth and let out something close to a whimper.
Nate sighed.
He rolled Marcus over, looped the zip tie around his wrists twice, and pulled it tight.
Then he wrapped several layers of electrical tape around Marcus’s hands.
Finally, Nate took out the pepper spray and gave Marcus a blast directly in the eyes.
Marcus immediately started screaming.
Nate tuned him out and shoved him into the Cadillac’s passenger seat.
He walked around to the driver’s side and started the engine.
The Escalade rumbled to life.
Its headlights came on, illuminating the pool of blood across the pavement.
Nate climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
The original owner of this body hadn’t known how to drive.
Fortunately, Nate hadn’t had many useful skills in his previous life, but driving happened to be one of the things he was pretty good at.
Otherwise, this would have been a problem.
The Cadillac smoothly pulled onto the empty predawn streets, its headlights cutting two bright beams through the darkness while the engine hummed low and steady.
[Host killed 5 people, earned 193 Resource Points. Current Resource Points: 266/1000]
Nate crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.
After driving for about thirty minutes, he checked the time.
3:50 a.m.
His bounty would become active at six, which still left him more than two hours.
The Continental was only about ten minutes away.
Plenty of time.
Below the bridge, the East River reflected a dim glow beneath the night sky.
As Nate watched the lights outside the window, a thought suddenly crossed his mind.
Was this really the kind of life he wanted?
It was exciting.
But he hated the feeling of being pushed forward by circumstances beyond his control.
Maybe one day, I can have my own safe house in this city and live comfortably, with enough money that I don’t have to worry about anything.
But that could wait.
First, he had to deal with the bounty on his head.