Nate woke to sunlight glaring in his eyes.
He had no idea when he had fallen asleep on the couch.
Maybe he had simply been too exhausted, or maybe Elena’s words, “Please rest easy,” had finally allowed the nerves he’d kept taut all night to relax.
The sheer curtains over the floor-to-ceiling windows hadn’t been drawn, and the midday sun poured straight into the living room, flooding the entire room with harsh white light that made his eyes ache.
He sat up on the couch.
Surprisingly, he’d slept pretty well.
He checked his phone and found a pile of unread messages and missed calls pinned at the top.
Nate called back.
The call connected after a single ring.
“You finally called back! Where are you? I’ve called you so many times, and you didn’t answer!” Lily’s voice was frantic and hoarse, as though she’d been holding in a torrent of words.
“I thought something happened to you! Do you have any idea how close I was to calling the police?”
Nate rubbed between his brows.
“Lily, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“You said you were going out to take care of something last night, and then you just vanished! I thought you’d been kidnapped!” The lingering fear was obvious in Lily’s voice.
“Whenever something happens, you always try to deal with it alone. You don’t even check your phone. Are you trying to scare me to death?”
“*#%!##…” Another barrage of nagging came through the phone.
After finally managing to calm Lily down, Nate said, “All right, all right. You and your dad need to be careful for the next few days. Don’t go out. And forget about the store for now. I’ll take care of it.”
After hanging up, he noticed that the plate of cookies Elena had left on the coffee table was still there.
The cookies had gone completely cold, and grease had seeped into the plate, leaving a dark ring behind.
He picked one up and popped it into his mouth.
Chocolate.
Surprisingly good.
Still chewing, he got to his feet and went to the bathroom to wash his face.
The cold water hitting his skin cleared away the last traces of sleep.
After leaving the bathroom, Nate went into the walk-in closet and changed into a dark gray hoodie and a pair of black work pants.
Both were spare clothes The Continental provided for guests, and the tags were still attached.
They fit him fairly well.
With the hood pulled up, half his face was hidden, and the work pants had plenty of pockets for carrying things.
He picked up the boning knife and tucked it back behind his waist.
Wait.
The knife was in his Loadout, so did that mean…
Hide!
At Nate’s thought, the boning knife vanished from his hand.
He could still sense it, tucked away somewhere in a hidden space.
With another thought, the knife reappeared in his hand like a magician’s trick.
Then maybe…
Nate tossed the boning knife onto the couch, unequipped it from his Loadout, then equipped it again.
The knife instantly appeared in his hand.
It really worked!
Excitement surged through him.
A knife that could automatically return to him would make throwing it a lot more convenient.
The hallway was quiet.
The door to Room 305 was shut, with a thin strip of warm yellow light spilling out from underneath.
Faint jazz music drifted from inside.
Nate paused outside the door for a second, then kept walking.
The elevator took him down to the lobby.
There were more people around than there had been the night before.
Several men and women in dark suits sat on the sofas.
Some were reading newspapers, while others worked on laptops.
At first glance, they looked no different from ordinary hotel guests.
But Nate noticed they all had one thing in common.
Whenever they looked at someone, their eyes paused for a fraction of a second on the person’s hands and waist before moving up to their face.
He headed to the front desk.
Charon wasn’t there.
In his place stood a young white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in a fitted black dress with The Continental’s golden badge pinned at the collar.
“Shift change?”
“Yes, sir. Even the most dedicated front desk staff need some rest. How may I help you?” Her voice was as sweet as a cashier’s in a candy store.
“How do I take a bounty?” Nate asked directly.
The blonde woman’s expression didn’t change at all, as though “take a bounty” were no different from “book a room.” She bent down, took a blocky-looking phone from beneath the counter, and handed it to Nate.
“The Administration’s bounties have already been synced to this device. You can use it to browse all bounties currently available for acceptance.” She swiped a finger across the screen.
“Alternatively, you may visit the Administration in person. They have a dedicated service window.”
Nate took the phone and looked down at the screen.
The bounty interface was extremely simple.
White background, black text, no unnecessary effects or decoration.
It looked like a BBS system from the 1990s.
A long list of bounties filled the screen, each one showing a contract number, target, bounty amount, contract status, and bounty type.
Nate slowly scrolled down, reading each entry one by one.
“NY-2021-0892.”
His own bounty was on the second page.
Its contract status had changed from “Failed” to “Open Bounty.” The reward was $400,000, and beside his name was a blurry photograph that looked like a frame captured by a security camera outside Good Luck Restaurant.
His eyes rested on the entry for a moment before he continued scrolling.
He didn’t recognize any of the other targets.
Each had a name and photo, while some included short descriptions:
“The target frequently appears at nightclubs in Brooklyn.”
“The target goes to the gym every Wednesday afternoon.”
“The target has personal bodyguards. A team of two or more is recommended.”
Most of the bounties ranged from $50,000 to $500,000.
There were also some worth less than $50,000, with the lowest paying only a few thousand dollars.
Nate quietly did the math.
How much would three gold coins cost?
He didn’t know the exchange rate between gold coins and US dollars, but Charon had said that one gold coin paid for a night’s stay.
Judging by the caliber of The Continental, a single gold coin had to be worth at least $3,000.
He still had more than $50,000 in his bank account.
“How do I exchange for gold coins?”
“We currently don’t support exchanging US dollars for gold coins. For every $10,000 worth of bounties you complete, The Continental will award you one gold coin,” the blonde receptionist replied with a smile.
Nate understood.
So gold coins weren’t that difficult to earn after all.
His finger stopped on one of the contracts near the top of the screen.
[Contract Number: NY-2021-0901]
[Target: Marcus Chen]
[Bounty Amount: $55,000]
[Contract Status: Active]
[Bounty Type: Private Bounty]
[Time Limit: 72 hours]
[Target Description: Location: Near Sunset Park, Brooklyn. Manager of the “Golden Unicorn” nightclub. The target is typically active at night and is often accompanied by two to three bodyguards. The target has no military background. Note: The target is involved in a financial dispute with members of the High Table. Special Requirement: Capture alive. The bounty increases by 50% if the target is captured alive.]
$55,000.
Fifty percent extra for bringing him in alive.
That made $82,500.
Eight gold coins!
This was the one.
Nate stared at the words “no military background” for two seconds, then handed the phone back to the blonde woman.
“This one,” he said.
“NY-2021-0901.”
She took the phone, glanced at the screen, then looked back up at Nate with her striking blue eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Very well.”
She nodded, tapped the screen several times, then handed the phone back to him.
“This contract has now been locked to you for seventy-two hours. If you suffer an accident or fail to complete the mission within that period, the contract will be released and made available to other members again.”
She paused.
“Also, please keep this device safe. The Administration will use it to send you any information you may need.”
She took a folded sheet of parchment from beneath the counter and handed it over.
Nate opened it and glanced at the contents.
It contained roughly the same contract details he had seen on the phone, except for a few additional lines in smaller print:
“Upon completion of the contract, please bring the target back to the Administration for verification. The bounty will be transferred to your account within twenty-four hours of verification.”
The receptionist then took a card from a drawer and handed it to him.
“This is your account card. The Administration has already prepared it for you.”
Nate took the card and examined it.
The black surface bore an account number and a string of numerical codes.
In the lower right corner was a line of small print:
“This account is protected by the High Table. Any unauthorized inquiry or attempt to freeze the account will be regarded as a provocation against the High Table.”
He slipped the card into his pocket and turned toward the entrance.
“Wait.”
The blonde woman called after him.
Nate looked back.
“You aren’t taking a gun?” There was clear curiosity in her blue eyes.
“You can speak to the sommelier. For newcomers taking their first assignment, we generally recommend carrying a pistol. The Armory also provides firearms for rent free of charge.”
Nate considered it for a moment, then shook his head.
“No need.”
What a joke.
He didn’t even know how to use one.
His aim was terrible, and carrying a gun would only get in the way.
He looked down at the phone.
Seventeen hours remained before his own bounty became active.
Plenty of time.
Nate pulled up his hood and walked out through the hotel’s front doors.
The midday Manhattan sun beat down overhead.
Heat shimmered above the asphalt, making the entire street seem to warp slightly.
Standing on the steps, Nate narrowed his eyes and looked over the shops lining either side of the street.
A bank.
A café.
A few doors farther down, a hardware store.
Nate pushed open the door and went inside.
The shop wasn’t large.
Its shelves were packed with every kind of tool imaginable, while the smell of motor oil and rubber hung in the air.
The owner was a gray-haired white man wearing an oil-stained apron.
He sat behind the register reading a newspaper.
At the sound of the doorbell, he looked up, said, “Take a look around,” then lowered his head and went back to reading.
Nate walked to the knife section, where rows of utility knives in different shapes and sizes hung from the shelves.
He picked out several.
One was a straight knife with a wooden handle and a thirty-five-centimeter blade made from high-manganese steel.
It had a thick spine, and the curve of the handle fit comfortably into his palm.
Its center of gravity sat two centimeters ahead of the guard, making it suitable for both thrusting and chopping.
He drew it from the sheath, studied the edge beneath the light, then lightly tested it with his thumb.
Very sharp.
The other three were fruit knives.
He couldn’t find anything more suitable, but they were cheap, so they’d do for now.
Four new knives, plus the boning knife in his Loadout.
Five in total.
He also picked up a bag of face masks, a roll of heavy-duty nylon zip ties, a small canister of pepper spray, and a roll of black electrical tape.
He put everything into a canvas bag and carried it to the register.
The owner glanced over his purchases, his gaze lingering on Nate’s face for a second before he gave the total without expression.
“Twenty-seven dollars and thirty cents.”
Nate paid cash, took out one of the masks and put it on, then left the hardware store with the bag.
He didn’t return to the hotel.
Instead, he found an empty alley around the corner and crouched down to organize his equipment.
He tucked the wooden-handled straight knife into his belt on his right side.
He wrapped the handles of the three fruit knives with electrical tape, then slipped them upside down into the large right pocket of his work pants.
The pepper spray went into his left pocket.
He folded the nylon zip ties in half and stuffed them into his back pocket.
Nate stood, moved his arms and legs around, and made sure none of the knives interfered with his movement.
Then he zipped up his hoodie, pulled the hood a little lower over his face, and stepped back into the afternoon sunlight.
…
Brooklyn, Sunset Park.
Nate arrived at four in the afternoon.
It was still bright outside, but the sun had already begun sinking westward, stretching long shadows across the street.
This part of Sunset Park lacked Manhattan’s polish.
Most of the buildings lining the street were old red-brick structures with weathered walls and rusted window frames.
Cigarette butts and trash littered the sidewalks.
The air carried a strange mixture of smells.
The corn scent of Mexican tacos mingled with the faint stink of the sewers.
The Golden Unicorn nightclub stood on Eighth Avenue, wedged between a laundromat and an herbal medicine shop.
Its storefront wasn’t particularly large, and strips of lights covered the sign.
In daylight, the whole place looked dull and dingy, like a nightclub long since closed for business.
The front doors were shut tight.
Several cigarette butts lay scattered near the entrance.
It didn’t seem to open during the day.
Nate didn’t stop outside the Golden Unicorn.
He walked straight past it and turned into a narrow alley beside the building.
Taking the phone from his pocket, he read the target description again.
“The target is typically active at night and is often accompanied by two to three bodyguards.”
Active at night.
It was four in the afternoon.
Three hours until dark.
Fourteen hours until his own bounty became active.
He had time.
Nate decided to scout the area first.