Germain pushed through the glass door, which was plastered with advertisements, and entered the dimly lit lobby.
After glancing around, he approached the front desk, which was about chest-high to him.
Behind the counter, a middle-aged man with a large belly was leafing through a magazine featuring a scantily clad model. He glanced up at Germain, his eyes lazy and disinterested.
"What do you want?" the man asked, his voice carrying a note of irritation.
"I need a room for one night, just for me," Germain replied.
"That'll be 6,000 Jenny."
Germain wasn't sure if this was a fair price or not, but he didn't have much choice. He had just obtained a little over 6,000 Jenny, and now it was nearly all gone. He pulled the money out of his wallet and placed it on the counter.
The middle-aged man quickly snatched the cash, gave it a brief count, then stashed it away. He opened a drawer, fished out a key with a small number tag, and tossed it to Germain without another word.
"Head up the stairs, turn right, and find the room by its number."
The man didn't ask for Germain's name or any other information. He just went back to flipping through his magazine, admiring the model on the cover.
The hotel was the kind of place that attracted all sorts of unsavory characters. If the front desk clerk bothered to check who they were, he might not make it through the night. All he cared about was getting paid.
The people who chose to stay here appreciated the anonymity. They liked that no one asked questions, and the clerk liked that they paid cash. Everyone got what they wanted.
Germain took the key and saw a faded "207" printed on the tag. He walked over to the staircase, which lacked a handrail, and made his way up to the second floor.
He found room 207 and entered, locking the door behind him. Then he went over to the rusted window frame, stood behind the curtain where he could watch without being seen, and peered out into the dark streets below.
Germain had noticed three people tailing him earlier, so he intentionally crossed paths with them to get a better sense of their appearance and demeanor.
However, there was a fourth person that Bisky mentioned whom he wasn't aware of, and she deliberately kept that information from him.
About ten minutes later, the first two hitmen crossed the street and entered the hotel. After another fifteen minutes, the third one joined them inside.
Germain set up a chair by the window and began to observe, noting everyone who entered the hotel, excluding the three hitmen he had identified earlier.
Germain thought he might have unknowingly encountered the fourth person but didn't register them at the time. Although Bisky hadn't revealed the fourth person's identity, her remark hinted that this individual was among the people both of them had seen.
Comparing memories with Bisky didn't yield any clear matches, leaving Germain disappointed. This meant the fourth person might be using a disguise or some other form of concealment.
It seemed that the fourth killer was exceptionally cautious and might not have approached the hotel yet.
Germain couldn't let this hidden threat go unaddressed. Now, all he could do was wait for them to make the first move against him.
They had followed him with the intent of finding the perfect moment to strike.
Germain knew he had to create the perfect opportunity for them.
He picked up the wall-mounted landline phone, his eyes still scanning the street outside. He pressed in the phone number for the hotel's front desk, where he'd written down the contact information of the hotel owner.
"Hello? What do you want?" the owner asked.
"Can you send two bottles of beer to room 207? I'll settle the bill later."
"Two bottles of beer? Sure, just give me a moment."
Before long, a hotel staff member arrived with two bottles of beer. Germain took the beers into his room, set them on the table, then cracked open one of the cans.
By now, night had fallen, and the streets outside grew increasingly deserted. The silence blanketed everything.
Germain chose not to turn on the light, letting darkness envelop the room.
"Pop!" He pulled the tab off the beer can, then carefully poured its contents onto the bed sheets, emptying it completely. Once done, he crushed the can with a single stomp, creating a sharp "crack" sound, and tossed it onto the floor.
He repeated this process with the second can. Once "finished," he rose from his chair and headed to the bathroom.
By this point, the aura he emitted for sensory detection had almost entirely dissipated.
This was the signal: to anyone observing, he was letting his guard down, appearing relaxed.
After a quick shower, he returned to "drinking beer." With just two cans left, he finally stopped, got up from the chair, kicked the cans aside, and staggered over to the bed.
He flopped onto the bed, feigning drunkenness, and closed his eyes, appearing to drift off to sleep.
An unknown amount of time passed before there was a faint noise from the keyhole at the door. A gentle "click" followed, and the locked door slowly opened.
Light from the corridor cut through the darkness of the room like a blade.
Two figures entered cautiously. They glanced at the scattered beer cans on the floor and then at the lump beneath the bed's quilt. Without hesitation, they aimed their silenced pistols at the bulging covers.
The muffled "puff, puff, puff" of gunshots rang out. But something was off. Instead of the sound of bullets striking flesh, it was the dull thud of rounds hitting a pillow.
The two intruders exchanged uneasy glances. They quickly retreated, backing out through the doorway, not daring to check the target more closely.
Germain grabbed the Firearm from under the bed, aimed it at one of the attackers' stomachs, and fired with a loud bang.
The shot made the man stagger and fall. A gaping hole, punctuated by multiple smaller ones, was torn through his midsection, and he went still, not moving again.
The other attacker, visibly shaken, fired back toward the bottom of the bed while speaking into a small communicator on his collar. His voice was terse but urgent.
"We've been compromised. Take him out."
Germain rolled out from under the bed, leaping to his feet. With a swift motion, he deflected the oncoming bullets with his cleaver, each deflection sparking with a sharp "clang, clang, clang."
The shooter bolted from the room, his pistol raised.
Germain was in pursuit.
The corridor was dimly lit, with flickering lights, and aside from room 207, every other door remained shut. It wasn't that the tenants hadn't heard the gunshots—they just knew better than to open their doors, pretending they were oblivious.
The attacker who fled the room turned to shoot at Germain, firing until his weapon was empty.
Germain deflected the bullets with his cleaver but shifted his focus to another threat emerging from the opposite end of the corridor.
This was the third assassin.
He had been wearing a black robe, but as he discarded it, five "Nen Balls" burst from his sleeves, some embedding into the walls and others hitting the light fixtures, causing sparks to rain down.
There was no doubt—this killer specialized in emission-type Nen.
Germain kept his eyes on the "Nen Balls" ricocheting off the walls in the narrow corridor. Though they bounced randomly, he knew that their trajectory would eventually lead them straight to him.
Two "Nen Balls" hurtled toward him, but Germain was quick. He sliced through them with a buzz of his cleaver, then blasted two more out of the air with a single shot from his Firearm.
The last one was coming fast, but Germain sidestepped just in time to avoid it.
The sudden clattering of broken light bulbs on the floor gave him an idea. Raising his Firearm, he fired at the light fixtures above, shattering them with a deafening boom.
The corridor plunged into darkness, but Germain's eyes had already adjusted.
The second assassin, who had entered the room ahead of him, wasn't so lucky. The unexpected blackout left him disoriented, and by the time he regained his bearings, Germain was nowhere to be seen.
The killer discarded his empty pistol and reached into his jacket for a pair of brass knuckles. The feel of cold metal against his skin gave him some comfort. He slipped the knuckles onto his right hand and took a cautious step forward.
A faint noise echoed in the dark corridor, a subtle "click." The killer spun around, driving his fist into the wall with a powerful thrust from his waist.
"Bang!"
The impact was immense, shattering the plaster and revealing the room beyond. A group of terrified tenants shrieked at the sight of him, but Germain was nowhere to be found.
That's when the barrel of a gun pressed into his lower back, and a cleaver rested on his neck. Germain's voice came from behind, cold and sharp.
"Enhancer, huh?"
The killer's eyes widened in panic. He tried to speak, but before he could utter a word, Germain sliced his throat with a swift motion of the cleaver.
His scream was drowned out by the rush of blood gushing from the deep gash.
The wall, once a dull gray, was now painted with a sickening mix of black and red, soaking up the aftermath of Germain's ruthless efficiency.
***********
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