William had no idea what face to make when encountering a fellow professional.
He decided to do nothing.
He was afraid the other guy would just shoot him for the trouble.
Better to play it safe and act innocent.
He pretended not to notice.
He grabbed his food and headed upstairs.
The cook glanced at him but made no move.
It was still daylight, so some decorum had to be maintained.
Back in his room, William started his usual information gathering.
This world was seriously messed up.
There was a dark, twisted humor to it.
Assassins were only accountable to the High Table.
Most of their time was spent killing each other.
Meanwhile, the official authorities had a weirdly hands-off attitude.
They basically stayed out of it.
William dug deeper and found that this was a legacy of some earlier arrangement.
Apparently there had been some government connection in the past.
That had let the High Table slip right in and take over.
With no major leads yet, William decided to focus on making money.
He needed a legitimate identity.
Some kind of agreement required them to blend into society.
But contracts were unpredictable, so a job with flexible hours was essential.
It was like playing an RPG.
You couldn’t break character in everyday life.
William’s head hurt.
Going freelance meant having a marketable skill.
These days, even being a beggar was a solid career path.
And knowing his luck, he’d probably get scooped up by some beggar mafia on his first day and disappeared.
Just as he was stressing over his finances, his phone buzzed.
William heard the familiar ding and for a split second imagined it saying, “You have a new kill order.
Please check.” But it was just the old-school text message alert.
He opened the message.
No level requirement.
No experience needed.
And the pay was surprisingly good.
He accepted the job with glee.
The approval was almost instant.
A more detailed address followed.
It was a security gig at a bar.
William’s assignment was the corner of the street outside.
It looked like a simple temp job.
What William didn’t know was that jobs like this were called “cannon fodder contracts.” They gathered disposable bodies.
The bar owner had clearly made some enemies.
For now, William was just happy to have side work.
Making money was always better than sitting around burning through savings.
He checked the time.
The shift started at seven, but he had to report by five to get his uniform.
Looked like the manager had a lot to say.
William set out.
After explaining his business to a massive man who had to be at least three hundred pounds, he was let into the back kitchen area.
There were already a few people waiting.
To the far left stood a beanpole of a kid, tall and thin, with a pistol openly holstered on his belt.
Two guys in the middle were already sitting at the kitchen table, wolfing down food like they owned the place.
They were clearly the “don’t give a damn” type.
Definitely not catching William’s attention for any other reason, obviously.
On the far right was a guy in a tracksuit.
His face was completely blank.
Empty eyes.
He had that half-dead look that perfectly captured the modern working stiff’s spirit.
A bright white dove tattoo stood out on his hand.
It looked very peaceful.
William noticed no one was talking, so he played it cool and tucked himself into a corner.
His forced nonchalance was painfully obvious to the others.
Fresh meat.
How did this guy even get a gig with no calluses on his hands from shooting?
Were the Hotel’s membership standards that low?
Then the half-dead guy gave William a once-over.
His eyes finally registered a flicker of interest, like he was looking at something worth assessing.
“What’s your name?” he asked, breaking the silence.
Even the two guys eating paused for a beat.
William glanced at him.
“William,” he replied.
Better to keep it short.
At the name, the half-dead guy studied him more closely, nodded, and retreated back to his corner to resume his vegetative state.
Just as William was about to ask the iconic question, “You’ve heard of me?” a man in a suit walked in.
He looked pleasant enough.
Then he opened his mouth, and the illusion shattered.
“Alright, you garbage.
Get changed.
We don’t pay you this much to stand around.” The manager scanned the room like he was appraising livestock, muttering comments to himself.
Fresh meat.
Beanpole.
Two idiots.
Nothing worth a second look.
Then his eyes landed on a flash of white.
He studied the half-dead guy, and his tone softened noticeably.
“Press?” The half-dead guy nodded.
The manager’s face tightened.
He forgot his pep talk and immediately started speaking rapidly into his earpiece.
“Boss, the Dove is here.” What followed was a burst of fast talk that William couldn’t follow.
Not panic exactly, but definitely urgency.
After a few minutes of rapid communication, the manager sent them to get changed.
He assigned William to a prime spot.
The alley entrance.
The alley was behind the bar.
Other than a dumpster, William had no “companions” for the night.
As compensation for no tips, William got to keep the suit he was given.
Nice.
Already making a profit.
His job was simple.
Guard the alley.
Keep anyone from coming through.
Even William, green as he was, felt a creeping sense of danger.
In the movies, the main character would blow through a side entrance like this.
And the guy in his position would be the first to get his throat slit.
Probably wouldn’t even get a good shot in the final edit.
William studied the alley.
How could he arrange things to make sure he survived the night?
Running wasn’t an option.
He knew these people valued their social contracts.
Break it, and you were done.
Maybe play dumb and ignore things?
William doubted he’d get that lucky.
He had no connections with whoever might show up tonight.
That left only one option.
William gripped his gun.
The cold metal sharpened his thoughts.
He needed to get the drop on them first.
Before that, he’d need to make some alterations to the terrain.
It was six o’clock.
An hour and a half.
Enough time for some light remodeling.
William winced, thinking about his wallet.
The joy of that free suit evaporated instantly.
He gritted his teeth and made a mental note.
If he ever took a job like this again, he’d be an idiot.