Nate stood up, closed his hand around the gold coin, and followed Charon out of the office.
They crossed the lobby, passed through an inconspicuous hidden door, and entered a staircase leading underground.
The stairwell descended in a long spiral.
Wall lamps appeared one after another along the way, stretching their shadows long and short as they moved.
After descending roughly two floors, they came to a heavy steel door.
Charon took a key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and turned it halfway.
A dull click sounded.
The steel door slowly swung inward.
What lay beyond was fairly close to what Nate had expected.
A brightly lit administrative hall.
Rows of old wooden desks stood neatly arranged across the room.
Antique typewriters and telephone switchboards covered their surfaces, while several men in shirts and vests moved between the desks carrying stacks of paper files.
Along one wall sat a row of women dressed in matching pink sleeveless tops and short skirts.
Old-fashioned headsets covered their ears, and monitors displaying flickering green characters stood before them.
Their fingers moved rapidly across switchboard plugs as they continuously repeated numbers and codes.
The entire room had an oddly retro atmosphere, like stepping into an intelligence agency from the 1960s.
“The Administration,” Charon explained evenly.
“The High Table’s information division. It maintains assassin records and bounty contracts.”
Nate showed little reaction.
He had seen the place in the movies during his previous life, so none of it came as much of a surprise.
Just like in the movies, there were no giant digital displays or touchscreen consoles.
Only rows of typewriters, paper files, blackboards, and manually operated telephone switchboards.
It was as if this world’s criminal network had never been built around modern digital technology, but instead operated through something much older.
A middle-aged woman wearing a vest approached with a folder in hand.
She glanced at Nate, then looked at Charon.
“New recruit?”
“New recruit,” Charon confirmed.
“He’s here to register as an assassin.”
The woman opened the folder, removed a form, and handed it to Nate.
“Fill this out.”
Nate looked it over.
The form was surprisingly simple.
Name, age, preferred weapon type.
It didn’t even require a photograph.
“That’s it?”
The woman gave him a practiced smile.
“Yes.”
She continued, “This world isn’t as complicated as you think, young man. Fill out the form, and you’re an assassin. Don’t fill it out, and you can still be one.”
“The difference is that once you register, you’re protected by The Continental. As long as you don’t cause widespread public panic, ordinary law enforcement will generally stay out of your way.”
“The hotel takes ten percent of your bounties to cover its operations, but in exchange, you get stability and guarantees. That’s far better than working independently and risking clients backing out after the job is done.”
She paused and tapped a line of fine print at the bottom of the form.
“And once you sign, you accept the authority of the High Table. Its decisions are not negotiable. You follow the rules.”
Her eyes settled on Nate.
“You already know what happens if you break them.”
Nate looked down at the line.
Excommunicado.
He took the pen Charon offered him and signed his name.
The woman accepted the form, looked it over, then took a stamp from a drawer and pressed it onto the page.
She handed the document to an operator beside her.
“Enter it into the system.”
The operator took the form and began typing rapidly on an old-fashioned typewriter.
A moment later, a card emerged from a printer.
The operator handed it to Nate.
It was small and black, with his name and an identification number printed across it.
“Your membership card,” the woman said.
“Don’t lose it. Replacements cost gold coins.”
Nate took the card and turned it over in his hands.
The craftsmanship was noticeably rougher than the card Caine had given him, but all the necessary information was there.
“Any questions?” the woman asked.
Nate slipped the card into his pocket.
“Yes. I want to know who placed the bounty on me last night.”
The woman glanced at Charon.
Charon gave a slight nod.
She turned toward a row of filing cabinets, opened one drawer, searched for several seconds, then pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it over.
“Contract number NY-2021-0892.”
Her voice remained completely neutral.
“Target: Nate Lin.”
“Bounty type: Private contract.”
“Bounty amount: One hundred thousand dollars.”
“Contract status: Failed. Target survived. All assassins designated by the client are dead.”
“Client: Anonymous.”
Her finger stopped on the final line.
Nate stared at the word for several seconds.
“Anonymous?”
“Yes,” the woman replied.
“The rules allow clients to place anonymous bounties. It simply costs more.”
“So how do I find out who put the bounty on me?”
The woman closed the folder and looked at him.
“Follow the hotel’s rules.”
“And use the hotel’s services.”
Charon stepped forward and gave Nate a light pat on the shoulder.
“Come on. Let’s go back upstairs.”
Nate didn’t move immediately.
He studied the contract for another moment, committing every detail to memory.
Then he turned and followed Charon out of the Administration.
They climbed the winding staircase, their footsteps echoing through the narrow stairwell.
“One hundred thousand dollars,” Nate suddenly said.
“That’s what my life is worth?”
Charon kept walking.
“For someone at your current level, one hundred thousand isn’t a small bounty.”
He paused.
“Once you’re truly established in this world, with your talent, I imagine that number will rise quickly.”
Charon stopped and glanced back at him.
For a moment, Nate felt there was far more hidden behind the concierge’s eyes than he could possibly read.
Then Charon turned and continued upward.
They returned to the lobby.
Charon stepped behind the front desk, opened a drawer, and took out a key.
He handed it to Nate.
“Your room. 307. One of the better rooms in the hotel. If you need anything, contact the front desk.”
Nate accepted the key and looked at the gold number engraved on it.
“Do I have to pay?”
Charon gave him a slight smile.
“Tonight is complimentary. Starting tomorrow at noon, one gold coin per night.”
Nate looked down at the coin Winston had given him.
“Then I’ll stay tonight.”
He turned toward the elevator.
After two steps, he stopped without looking back.
“Mr. Charon.”
“Yes?”
“I want the name.”
Charon was silent for about two seconds.
Then he spoke, quietly but clearly.
“There are very few secrets The Continental cannot uncover.”
Nate held up the gold coin in his palm.
“Is this enough?”
“Not quite.”
Charon maintained his usual professional smile.
“But I’m pleased to see you’re already learning how things work here.”
He added, “At The Continental, information is the most expensive commodity.”
“How much?”
“Three coins.”
“Got it.”
Nate closed his hand around the coin and stepped into the elevator.
As the doors began to close, he caught one last glimpse of Charon standing behind the front desk, straight-backed and motionless, with a faint, knowing smile on his face.
The doors shut completely.
Nate leaned against the elevator wall and let out a long breath.
He looked at the gold coin in his palm, then at the newly issued membership card in his pocket.
A hundred-thousand-dollar bounty.
An anonymous client.
The System.
The Continental.
The High Table.
The elevator climbed steadily, the numbers changing one by one.
Nate closed his eyes and began considering what he should do next.
[Ding…]
A familiar notification sounded inside his head.
[Host has formally entered the criminal underworld.]
[System Module 1-1 is adapting…]
[Adaptation Progress: 12%.]
[Please wait.]
Nate opened his eyes and looked at his reflection in the elevator doors.
“Seriously? Can’t you just finish the whole thing at once?”