Xander Red had worked hard to get to where he was. The guild was harsh on outsiders, even more so outsiders who couldn't even afford the measly entrance fee. That hadn't stopped him. Through his own blood and sweat he had clawed his way up the ladder. No one could really be a friend, not when there was a chance they would stab you in the back to steal your place or stop you from stealing theirs. His solution to this dilemma was simple: stab everyone else first.
The strategy worked well and kept him safe. By the end of his first year in the guild he had a reputation, by the second people were scared of crossing him, the third year got him into the upper ranks, the fourth a job in the guild headquarters. For five years he'd worked an awfully mundane job in the depths of a maze of cubicles. That hell had been worth it though. It had reaped its reward. Now in his tenth year of service to the guild, he had already earned himself a comfortable job managing the I.H.G wing in Boise Idaho.
It hadn't been a large city for very long. It had only boomed in recent years, that made business. Wherever the populations grew hunters came with it. People didn't get along, naturally they would look for ways of disposing of their problems: that's where the hunters came in. Not that it mattered much to Xavier. So long as there was money, he was happy.
+ + +
Peter took one look at the greasy manager of the office and decided he didn't like him. There was an air about him like a predatory cat. Brisk hands shuffled bills like cards. He spared Peter a short look. In the moment a thousand thoughts showed on the man's face. The loudest speaking in a violent whisper. 'How can I get your money?'. Peter was used to dealing with scumbags like this man.
He didn't wait to be invited. No. He walked up and sat down in front of the desk in one seamless motion. There was a dusty bell on the desk. No one ever rang that bell. Peter did. Yes, the manager had already noticed his entrance but now Peter needed to demand his attention. His point was clear; he wasn't there to play games.
Peter pulled a metal disc from his pocket and set it on the table with a crisp slap.
The manager behind the desk finally pocketed the money he was playing with. His grimy hand reached out and took hold of the device. One finger tapped the singular button on the disc's surface. Pale green words appeared like luminescent fungus on the black metal. Target: John Gonzales. Code Name: Twister. Hunter: Peter Het. Difficulty: 7. Status: Complete.
Shock read on the manager's face. He exhaled sharply, the smell of cheap smoke wafted into Peter's face. He finally spoke. "Does this location pay out for jobs?"
Still slack jawed in shock, the manager scrambled to regain his composure. "Yes." He needed to say more, whoever sat across from him must have the potential to make a name for the I.H.G in Boise, it was important to capitalize. "If you're looking for another bounty my branch has a wide variety of-"
"I'm not interested." Peter only did business with one contractor. "I'm just here to collect my pay."
A grunt. That wasn't what Xavier wanted to hear. It wasn't done yet. He could still trap this man into a deal. His hands typed in the analog code to the safe. An aromatic smell of money greeted him as the safe door slid open. He didn't like giving away cash, but it was inevitable in this case.
Peter reached out and took the bills. They were new, cut from yellow paper with shiny 500s on their surface. He shoved the bills into his pocket, one final question on his tongue. "Do you have a secure line?"
"Only for associates of this branch."
A lie.
"I'm a B rank hunter; do you want to be reported to the regional manager?"
A beat. The smell of smoke was getting stronger.
"The phone's at the bar." He spat the words.
Peter walked away. There was no point in him staying and arguing with a petty small fry.
The boy he'd picked up was laughing at a trick the old M.R.M agent had shown him. He had a canned drink in front of him. Peter wondered if it was the first time he'd had been given such a treat.
The bartender was aloof, tending to small tasks in his workspace. Peter knocked on the counter. One, two knocks. His knuckles left a small mark where they touched. A grimace was on the bartender's face as he cleaned the mark. "What can I get for you?" He didn't give any show of customer service to Peter.
"I just need the phone - also how much was the soda?"
"The one the boy has?"
"Yeah, that one." Peter tapped his foot. Stop. He hated the habit, but it stuck with him.
"Four dollars."
"Do you have a discount for ranked hunters?"
Their conversation dragged on. Another stubborn habit Peter held was his tendency to fight to save as much money as he could; there'd been a time when it had been necessary, a time when his life had hinged on every cent. It wasn't like he was in any kind of poverty now, but his subconscious wasn't aware of that.
Three dollars were passed to the bartender, and the landline was passed back to Peter. It would have been easy enough to contact his contractor with any public payphone, but he didn't want to risk whatever worm might be listening in on their conversations. The safer choice was to use a U.H.G landline, they were as secure as could be promised. He still didn't trust that no one heard his conversation. Still, it wasn't a bad option.
Ring. Ring… Ring. Ring…
Four times, always four times.
Someone answered, a soft voice answering.
"This is contractor Ping's office, who is this?"
"Peter Het."
Over the line he heard shuffling pages.
The voice on the other side of the line paused. "Would you like to speak directly with the contractor?"
"Yes." Peter said. His foot was speeding up beneath his chair.
"Hello." A jovial voice said. Peter hated that voice.
"It's Peter sir."
"Ah yes Peter. You finished the job then?"
"Yes. When we last spoke you said you'd have another job for me?"
"Let me check." The phone was set down, a clatter of plastic on glass came through the line. Silence. "Oh yeah… So, do you want the information right now? Job name: New York-"
"No, not right now…"
Silence. The contractor wasn't a man you were supposed to say no to.
The tone of his voice stayed level. "Well alright then. Do you want me to send over a disc?"
"If possible."
"Where are you at right now?"
"I'm in the Boise location." Three seconds later something beeped behind the bar. "Thank you, sir." He was about to hand the phone back.
"One last thing."
Peter reluctantly kept the device to his ear.
"There's a chance some of your old friends may end up involved in this one. Just thought you'd want to know."
A beep and then static. Peter kept himself from crushing the fragile device in his palm. The bartender saw brewing rage in Peter and was quick to hand him the disc.
"Thank you. Come along boy, it's time to go." He worked to keep his voice level.
The old M.R.M agent looked at Peter suspiciously. She made no motion to stop him. The boy was quick to listen, jumping out of his seat and grabbing his soda off the counter with a pickpocket's swipe. He stepped over the body of the M.R.M agent that was still unconscious on the floor. And then they left for the train.