The Continental, New York.
Armory.
Nate hurried straight to the Sommelier.
“Jennifer.”
“Good evening, Mr. Lin.”
Jennifer greeted him with her usual polished courtesy.
“I need more ammunition. Do you have body armor?”
There was no time to wait for his bulletproof suit to be finished, so Nate had come here hoping she’d have something he could use in the meantime.
“I only carry soft body armor. How much ammunition do you need?”
“Same pistol as before. Ten fully loaded magazines.”
“Anything else?”
A pistol probably wouldn’t be enough for what he was walking into.
A rifle would be safer.
“I also need an assault rifle. Something short, preferably, with a suppressor and a red dot. Ten fully loaded magazines for that too.”
His primary weapon slot in the Loadout still wasn’t available, but for fighting indoors, a compact assault rifle was his best option.
Jennifer turned and removed a dark gray Pelican tactical case from the bulletproof glass cabinet behind her.
She set it on the marble counter, released the latches on both sides, and lifted the lid.
Nestled inside the custom foam lining was a compact, short-barreled rifle.
Its dark silver Cerakote finish reflected a cold metallic sheen beneath the hotel’s soft lighting.
“SIG MCX Rattler. An excellent compact rifle and a favorite for Special Forces assassination work.”
Jennifer’s fingertips hovered above the weapon.
“Five-and-a-half-inch barrel, PDW handguard, vertical foregrip. The hotel’s custom suppressor provides even better sound reduction. The trigger group has been replaced with a Geissele SSA-E two-stage competition trigger. Two pounds, three ounces on the first stage, one pound, two ounces…”
Jennifer continued smoothly, describing the rifle in the same elegant tone someone might use to present a priceless work of art.
Judging by the pace, she wasn’t going to finish anytime soon.
“Sorry,” Nate interrupted.
“I’m in a hurry. Can we keep it short?”
A trace of displeasure crossed Jennifer’s face before her usual composure returned.
Her movements immediately became faster.
She took a red dot sight from the wall.
“Aimpoint T-2. Non-magnified red dot.”
She turned it over in her hands and quickly mounted it on the rifle.
Then she pulled a magazine from the mesh compartment inside the Pelican case.
Its surface had been coated in black Teflon.
“Factory magazine. Thirty-round capacity. Loaded with .300 BLK subsonic ammunition.”
Nate picked up the Rattler and collapsed the PDW stock.
The weapon became almost as compact as a submachine gun, short enough to handle one-handed if necessary.
The suppressor was already threaded onto the muzzle with a perfect fit.
“This is Crye LVS soft body armor.”
Jennifer took a neatly folded black vest from beneath the counter and opened it.
It was remarkably thin.
“Concealable design. NIJ Level IIIA protection. Water-resistant twill outer layer. Worn beneath a shirt, it’s almost impossible to notice.”
Nate felt the thickness of the armor.
It was definitely thin enough, but against rifle rounds, it wouldn’t offer much protection.
Jennifer then took him to the test station and quickly demonstrated the Rattler’s controls, safety, loading procedure, and basic operation.
She also zeroed the red dot for him.
Nate shouldered the rifle and fired several test rounds.
The suppressed shots were remarkably quiet.
Jennifer watched, then gave a small nod.
No problems.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Throwing knives.”
Nate paused.
“Lots of throwing knives.”
Jennifer froze for a moment.
Then she removed every throwing knife from the wall before retrieving a wooden case from one of the cabinets.
She opened it.
More throwing knives.
“Fifteen. That’s all I have left.”
She looked over everything on the counter.
“Five gold coins for the entire order.”
Nate placed five coins on the stone countertop one by one.
Each landed with a low metallic sound, almost like some old and irreversible promise being made.
Jennifer brushed her fingertips across the coins, then swept them into a concealed compartment beneath the counter.
“Thanks, Jennifer.”
Nate packed the Rattler into the Pelican case and carried it back toward the lobby.
Charon was still there.
“Good evening, Mr. Lin.”
“Good evening.”
Nate returned the greeting quickly and was already turning to leave when Charon called after him.
“Are you heading out?”
Nate stopped.
“If so, the ownership transfer for your vehicle has been completed, and the repairs are finished. It’s waiting for you in the underground garage.”
Charon stood perfectly straight, wearing his usual professional smile.
“Right. Thanks.”
Nate had completely forgotten about the Cadillac.
…
Sitting inside the Cadillac, Nate opened the System.
[Loadout]
[Current Resource Points: 443/2000]
He checked the Trait Store.
Even the cheapest Trait cost 600 Resource Points.
Pass.
The Crye LVS’s Level IIIA protection still wasn’t enough to make him comfortable.
If the people waiting for him had rifles and he took a clean hit, he could easily die.
This was reality.
He couldn’t expect his enemies to behave like people in movies, refusing to shoot and running into frame one at a time just to get killed.
He’d already learned that lesson the hard way this morning.
This time, he was going prepared.
Nate opened the System’s body armor list.
A row of options appeared.
Anything Level III or higher, especially once armor plates were included, immediately cost more than a thousand Resource Points.
He simply couldn’t afford it.
Level II protection was the most realistic option.
His eyes stopped on one item.
[HZ-2 Soft Ballistic Liner]
[Cost: 400 Resource Points]
[NIJ Level II protection. Resistant to handgun ammunition up to .45 caliber. Lightweight woven aramid construction. Weight: 1.2 kg. Limited protection against rifle ammunition, but better than a shirt.]
At a time like this, he wasn’t going to reject anything that increased his chances of surviving.
Nate redeemed it and equipped the armor through his Loadout.
[Resource Points: 43/2000]
A dark gray ballistic vest materialized around his torso.
It felt like an extra-thick layer of Kevlar.
Nate removed his jacket.
First, he hid the HZ-2 through the Loadout.
Then he put on the Crye LVS from the armory directly against his body, tightening the Velcro at the shoulders and waist before putting his jacket back on.
In the mirror, he only looked slightly broader than before.
Unless someone was paying close attention, they wouldn’t notice anything.
Nate opened the Pelican case.
He kept one spare pistol magazine on his waist, then placed the remaining pistol and rifle magazines into the System Backpack.
Then a thought occurred to him.
Wait.
Could the Rattler go into the Backpack too?
Nate tried.
The rifle vanished from his hands.
Inside the System Backpack, an image of the compact rifle appeared.
It actually worked.
Nate couldn’t help feeling pleased.
Now to take it back out.
He focused.
Nothing happened.
The rifle didn’t appear.
“System, what’s going on?”
The cold voice responded.
[Due to the weapon’s weight and dimensions, retrieving it from the Backpack requires six seconds. To eliminate this delay, spend Resource Points to repair the primary weapon slot in the Loadout.]
Six seconds?
In a real firefight, that was enough time for him to die ten times over.
“How many Resource Points?”
[3000.]
“Three thousand?”
His current cap was only two thousand.
By the time the rifle finally appeared in his hands, Nate’s expression had darkened considerably.
Fuck.
…
Night lay over New York like a layer of black ink.
Neon lights slid across the Cadillac’s windows in blurred streaks as Nate drove at a steady pace, one hand on the steering wheel, his fingers lightly tapping against the leather.
His phone vibrated.
The screen lit up with a single message.
“Lily: Brooklyn, Red Hook. 160 Imlay Street. Abandoned warehouse. Third floor.”
Nate glanced at it once, then tossed the phone back onto the passenger seat.
He started navigation and crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.
Below, the East River churned in dark waves.
The bridge’s steel cables swept past one after another in the headlights.
Red Hook.
The peninsula at the southern edge of Brooklyn had once been one of New York’s busiest shipping hubs.
Now it was filled with abandoned docks and rusting warehouses, an industrial graveyard the city had forgotten.
Nate parked two blocks from the address.
He remained inside the Cadillac for a moment.
He didn’t rush.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again.
The System interface appeared in his vision.
The icons in his Loadout sat in neat rows, like ammunition waiting to be fired.
Nate opened the Pelican case on the passenger seat and took out the dark silver Rattler.
He pulled the charging handle and checked the chamber.
Empty.
He released it and let the bolt return forward.
Then he took out one of the black Teflon-coated thirty-round magazines and seated it firmly.
Click.
He set the selector to semi-automatic.
Next came the pistol.
Nate retrieved it from the System Backpack, inspected it, chambered a round, left the safety disengaged, then hid it in his Loadout.
He wanted the pistol ready to appear in his hand and fire immediately.
Two layers of ballistic protection covered his torso beneath the jacket.
The hidden HZ-2 underneath, and the Crye LVS over it.
The LVS could stop a .44 Magnum.
The HZ-2 could handle .45 caliber handgun rounds.
Stacked together, even if they couldn’t stop a rifle round outright, they should at least reduce a significant amount of its energy.
Nate performed one final equipment check inside the car.
SIG MCX Rattler.
Thirty rounds loaded.
AREX Delta L.
Nineteen rounds loaded.
Ten spare rifle magazines.
Twelve spare pistol magazines.
All stored in the System Backpack.
Eighteen throwing knives.
Night Blade III.
Microtech OTF knife.
Two layers of body armor.
MC201 Tactical Helmet.
Nate took a deep breath.
If he was going in alone, this would have to be enough.
He opened the car door.
The night wind hit him, carrying the damp smell of the river.
Nate brought the Rattler to his shoulder, keeping the muzzle lowered, and started down the cracked sidewalk toward the abandoned warehouse.
Beneath the dim streetlights, his shadow stretched far behind him.
Like a blade being silently drawn from its sheath.