Quota 0/391 – 25 days left to start the quota
6:00 AM
Victor stepped out of his hotel room after collecting all his belongings. He was leaving New York with a heavier bag than the one he'd had when he left Paris. The watch case and its contents weren't really the reason for the extra weight.
The problem was a gardening tool he'd bought in excessive quantities through the system, something he was now bitterly regretting. A dozen of shovels were poking out from the top of his backpack, making it impossible to zip shut.
'At least it taught me a lesson,' Victor thought as he got into the elevator. 'I'll wait until we're in Siberia to buy the jetpacks, so I don't have to drag them onto the plane and across the world.'
He hadn't considered how he would bring them back to France though.
DING
The elevator opened onto the hotel lobby. Charon was behind the reception desk again, which made Victor wonder how many hours the man worked each week.
'Damn capitalism…' Victor grumbled as he dragged his bag toward the exit.
To his complete surprise, Charon followed him all the way to the door.
"Have a good trip, Monsieur De la Fayette, and good luck."
Victor thanked him with a nod before stepping out of the hotel. The air was cool and damp. The empty streets were illuminated only by the white glow of the streetlamps.
Plenty of people might have admired this almost artistic early-morning scene, but not Victor. He had never had any energy at such an hour, and a sleeping New York offered none of the caffeine he needed to wake up.
As he descended the hotel steps, all he wanted was to sleep. Conveniently, their flight to Siberia would last eight hours, so he just needed to make it onto the plane.
Shirley was waiting for him in her pickup truck, ready to drive him to the airport. All he had to do was get his bag into her truck, parked at the bottom of the steps.
Naturally, Shirley was behind the wheel, whispering sweet nothings to her "baby" and completely failing to notice Victor's painstaking approach. She only looked away from the steering wheel to wipe away her tears once he opened the door. She was obviously sad about leaving her beloved pickup in the U.S., yet Victor could sense an impatient gleam in her eye, as if she'd already found something even better for their time in Siberia.
'I just hope it's nothing crazy like a tank, even if it could be somewhat useful...' Victor muttered as he hauled himself into the pickup.
Their trip to the airport was short but intense. Shirley drove them directly onto the tarmac, where a private jet stood waiting. They'd entered via a secure gate guarded by a small team of security officers. Victor had never been on a private jet before, but he was fairly sure this wasn't standard procedure.
Nathaniel and Olivia had already been there for a while and were leaning against a sedan. Each carried a small backpack, probably holding enough clothes for the span of their mission. Meanwhile, Victor felt a pang of anxiety because he had brought no warm clothing at all.
That was a problem, but he had neither winter gear nor the money to buy any.
"Let's hope it won't be too cold in the middle of Siberia," he sighed, stepping out of the pickup with his meager luggage.
The four companions weren't alone. Another car, a little white Fiat Panda, was parked nearby, from which a familiar-looking man emerged.
'So even he doesn't dare get in his daughter's pickup?' Victor thought, shaking his head.
It was none of his business, and anyway, he had no intention of ever riding in that demonic vehicle's passenger seat again.
He left the father-daughter pair to their conversation and headed over to Olivia. Surprisingly, she didn't seem to be armed at all. Victor didn't know whether she'd already checked her weapons as baggage or planned to get new ones once they arrived in Siberia.
In any case, he wasn't sure they would be useful in their upcoming mission. The weird monsters seemed inexplicably resistant to bullets.
That left only heavier calibers to test on the creatures. A Loot Bug might survive a barrage of bullets, but what about a grenade, a rocket, or even a tank shell?
Sure, it would be tough to maneuver a tank through underground tunnels. But maybe they could use it outside, against those nightmarish dogs or the ten-meter-tall giants.
Victor also had a pet Jester that might come in handy.
'It's not as though we can know anything without testing…' he told himself.
Information-sharing between teams at the company was forbidden, so if somebody had already tried to blow up a giant with a tank, Victor had no way of finding out how it went.
After greeting his two other teammates, the three of them boarded the jet and waited for their fourth companion.
Shirley's father spoke to her for several minutes. Eventually, she reluctantly handed over the keys to her beloved pickup and climbed aboard.
Once everyone was settled, the jet taxied to one of the four runways. It stopped at the end, and the pilot's voice sounded through the cabin speakers:
"**Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. It's currently 6:30 AM. We're scheduled to arrive in Blagoveshchensk at about 4:30 AM local time after an eight-hour flight. The local temperature is 40°F (about 5°C), which is typical for the season. However, weather reports indicate conditions are likely to deteriorate in the upcoming weeks. I'm mentioning this because there's a high chance the jet will be grounded due to weather over that period. If you need anything during the flight, please speak to Amanda or Madison, our flight attendants. Wishing you a pleasant flight.**"
Too exhausted to make sense of the announcement, Victor settled his head on the pillow of his seat and fell asleep as the engines roared to full power for takeoff. He didn't wake up until several hours later, feeling much more refreshed.
He now fully appreciated how comfortable his seat was, far more than the one on his flight over.
'And nobody woke me up in the middle of my nap this time…' he thought, gazing out at the sea of clouds through the window.
This private jet only had a few seats for takeoff; most of the space was set up as a lounge area. It had velvet armchairs, a wooden table for card games or discussions, and a library stocked with literary classics.
His three companions were already around the table, each engrossed in something different. Nathaniel was reading Les Misérables by Victor Hugo, a hefty volume he must have grabbed from the onboard library. Shirley was playing a racing game on her phone, while Olivia was performing maintenance on an AK-47.
Sensing Victor's gaze, Olivia looked up from the weapon with questioning's eyes.
"Is there a problem?"
Victor hastly shook his head before sitting in one of the armchairs.
He was now convinced that Olivia could never be without a weapon; if it wasn't in her hands, it had to be in her bag, and if she didn't have a bag, she'd have one hidden nearby. He was quite sure that she'd even want to be buried with one of her toys when she passed away.
"How much longer till we land?" he asked.
Olivia glanced up again to relay his question to the flight attendants standing a short distance away, ready to fulfill any request.
The brunette of the pair answered, while the blonde seemed too startled by the sudden appearance of an AK-47 to speak:
"**We should be arriving in about four hours, ladies and gentlemen. If you'd like something to eat or drink, or any cocktails, the chef will be happy to prepare them for you.**"
Once Olivia had translated for him, Victor pulled out his new watch from his backpack. He wasn't hungry yet, but "William's" gift was turning out to be more trouble than expected. The clasp wouldn't fasten, which he'd considered fixing with a small piece of tape, but then a second issue cropped up: he had no idea how to set the time. The watch case had no instructions, no brand details aside from "Philippe Patek" on its dial, and no receipt he could use for a return.
Victor couldn't see himself calling William just to say his gift was defective. All that was left was to contact the brand marked on the watch face.
"If i'm lucky, their customer service might help me out without charging an arm and a leg," he sighed, closing the case.
He'd deal with it after being back in France and having done his quota. After all, he still had to retrieve his car from an impound lot in Lille.
Changing the subject in his mind, he pulled a keychain from his pocket, examining the single item dangling from it : the miniature Jester. It was an exact model of the creature he'd encountered during their last quota, down to the small white legs and single harmless-looking arm.
According to the system, a simple mental command would restore it to its original size so it could be of use. Victor still wasn't sure how exactly he might employ it, but he had a few ideas in mind.
He started turning the tiny crank. A soft melody played from the miniature music box, briefly drawing the others' attention. Once they saw it was only a small music box, Shirley and the others went back to what they'd been doing.
Victor kept cranking until the tune ended.
CLANG
The kind-cute-little Jester had turned into a small-harrowing version of itself.
'That should come in handy…' Victor thought, smiling.
In any case, he'd have to test it deep in Siberia, far away from human civilisation.
4:30 AM
A jet touched down at Ignatyevo Airport, northwest of Blagoveshchensk. Waiting on the tarmac were several tinted-window sedans and a group of men dressed in black. As soon as the plane came to a stop and its four passengers stepped out, a man emerged from one of the cars and walked toward them.
He wore just a loose white shirt, old and lazily buttoned, and a simple pair of linen pants. But he sported such an immense beard that even Rasputin might have been humbled.
He gave each member of the group a firm handshake.
"Welcome to Russia, comrades! I'm Vladimir Duglynov, director of the hotel branch here in Blagoveshchensk, our only outpost in the grand Siberia. If you'll follow me, I've got cars ready to take us to the hotel. We have a few matters to discuss, particularly regarding your weapon supplies, because you've caused quite a stir in the region…"