William wore his mask.
Impossible to read.
Just play dead.
Black Widow leaned in close.
Her fingers traced lazy circles on his chest.
William flinched.
“Your contract with the Hotel is over.
Time to find a new home.” He stayed silent.
One wrong word and she’d kill him.
That bed was proof enough.
The last guy lasted two weeks.
But Black Widow honored contracts.
She only killed enemies and “her people.” Give her a verbal agreement, and he’d be trapped.
She laughed, amused by his silence.
“Fine.
We’ll meet again.” “You can start working.” The familiar panel appeared.
[Murder, Probably] [Mission Issued: Clean the crime scene.] [Dispose of bodies (0/1)] [Wipe all bloodstains: 0%] [Collect evidence (0/9)] [Return furniture to original positions (0/4)] [Reward: Identification LV1 — Know your value.] William looked at the body.
Purple toys scattered around.
The guy suffered.
He moved fast.
Took down the painting.
Found the camera behind it.
Another in the doll’s eye.
In the lock.
In the ceiling.
Clear.
He swapped gloves and pulled the victim’s glasses out from under the body.
Bagged them.
Black Widow watched her monitors flicker to static.
She smiled.
Still couldn’t figure out how he found every single one.
Talent.
William finished quickly.
But the room was a disaster.
Trash bags everywhere.
The only bed had a corpse on it.
And all those toys.
Every visit was a new experience.
She had several rooms like this.
For men.
Women.
Everything in between.
She collected trophies.
God knows where she kept the stuffed ones.
William spotted a gold watch on the table.
Diamond-studded.
Even he knew it was expensive.
His own watch was a cheap mechanic from Kensington’s shop.
Two hundred bucks.
He didn’t care about brands.
He wasn’t important.
He finished the job and collected his pay.
Twenty gold coins total now.
The upside of this work?
No expenses.
Every dollar stayed his.
Assassins burned cash on intel, gear, travel.
Unless you landed a whale contract, margins were thin.
More pay meant more spending.
More spending meant less profit.
William was like a hamster.
Hoarding for winter.
Watching his stash grow made him feel safe.
Black Widow genuinely liked him.
Ever since her deputy died, she’d been looking for help.
He had skills.
Caution.
Clean kills.
A rising talent with no baggage.
Perfect for her web.
Spiders were patient.
William went home.
Made himself a proper Western meal.
Butter bread.
Ham.
Bacon.
Cucumber.
Tomato.
Tasty?
No.
Healthy?
Maybe.
He felt hungry after eating.
Relaxing in his garden, he watched his neighbor’s BMW roll out.
A man inside spotted him immediately.
Eyes sharp.
William raised his teacup.
No trouble here.
An hour later, William’s file landed on the Smuggling King’s desk.
Nothing suspicious.
Just a regular assassin.
Not a threat.
At 7 PM, William was on the couch watching stand-up.
The jokes were wild.
Laugh track made him feel alive.
The doorbell rang.
Great.
Trouble.
The man at the door was familiar.
The bodyguard from noon.
“Mr.
Stanley.
I’m 13.
May I come in?” Polite.
But William knew.
A visit like this wasn’t a request.
13 wore a tactical suit.
Flexible fabric.
Formal look.
Hotel standard for operators.
He didn’t even drink his water before speaking.
“Apologies for the intrusion.
We need your help.” He took a sip.
“The boss was considering candidates.
Then he saw you.
Fate, perhaps.” “Interested in a small favor?
In exchange for our friendship.
And generous payment.” His eyes never left William’s throat.
“We know you’re between contracts.” William cursed internally.
His mouth said something else.
“I’d be honored to help the Smuggling King.”