I stood before Room 301, gripping the room key tightly, my heart filled with both unease and curiosity. The manager's words echoed in my ears: "Each room leads to another world, and the guests inside come with unfinished wishes."
Taking a deep breath, I finally mustered the courage to insert the key card into the lock.
Beep. The lock emitted a low sound, and the door slowly swung open. I hesitated, stepping inside, but before I could get my bearings, the surroundings began to warp. The walls, ceiling, and lights twisted, as if pulling me into a different realm.
The scene spun around me at dizzying speed, and within seconds, a heavy, oppressive sensation closed in, making the air feel thick. Blinking, I found myself standing on a narrow street, enveloped in a thick fog.
I glanced around the dimly lit street, where the murky light cast an eerie glow on everything around me. There was an unnatural silence, as if countless unseen eyes were watching from the shadows. I surveyed the area, still processing the reality that I had crossed into another world.
"Where exactly is this?" I muttered to myself, a mixture of doubt and anxiety bubbling within me. The only thing I was certain of was that this wasn't an ordinary place. The street was almost empty, save for a few figures in dark trench coats who hurried past with wary expressions.
"What a creepy place… hardly seems fit for a doorman," I murmured, feeling an instinctive caution. The manager had told me my task was to help the guest fulfill their wish, but with no clue who the target was, starting the search seemed daunting.
Just then, I noticed a faint light ahead at the corner—a small bar with an "Open" sign hanging by the door. Figuring it might be a good place to gather information, I decided to head in.
Stepping inside, I was struck by the bar's atmosphere. Smoke filled the air, the lighting was dim, and the bartender looked annoyed as he worked. In a corner, a few trench-coated individuals sat silently, seemingly waiting for something.
I cautiously took a seat at the bar, preparing to order a drink to blend in, when I overheard a whispered conversation from the two men beside me.
"Did you hear about the massacre in that apartment in the west end?"
"Yeah, that was brutal. The whole family got wiped out. Even a four-year-old boy… no one was spared." The second man's voice was hushed, tinged with dread.
I froze, my hand stopping over my glass. A massacre, an entire family murdered, even a young child left defenseless? The mere thought sent a chill down my spine.
"They say a little girl managed to escape, though who knows how long she'll survive." The second man glanced around cautiously, lowering his voice further. "Apparently, an assassin is protecting her—that's why she hasn't been found yet."
"You mean the 'professional cleaner'?" The first man gave a mocking yet respectful chuckle. "Yeah, him. That guy's no ordinary person—killing is as natural as breathing to him."
"Cold-blooded, that one. Never gets involved in stuff like this, so why he'd protect a little girl this time is anyone's guess," the other man murmured, full of confusion and intrigue.
Hearing this, I felt even more puzzled. A cold-blooded assassin protecting a little girl? A massacre with one lone survivor—a child? I had a hunch that this assassin and the girl held some special connection.
"So, where's the girl now?" the first man whispered.
"Who knows? But it's said the assassin haunts the apartment area, likely protecting her until things cool down." They exchanged glances before returning to their drinks in silence, clearly reluctant to discuss the matter further.
My mind raced, my curiosity piqued. The situation with this young girl seemed dire, and the mysterious assassin protecting her might just be the key to my task. Perhaps finding him would unravel the truth of this story and help me complete my mission.
Setting down my glass, I hurriedly left the bar and made my way to the west-end apartments they'd described. The sky was darkening, and the streets grew increasingly deserted, as though the city itself was hiding countless secrets in the shadows. The oppressive atmosphere around me heightened my vigilance.
After winding through a few narrow alleys, I finally arrived at the rundown apartment complex. The building's exterior was worn and weather-beaten, with broken windows casting faint glows from within. The eerie silence was unsettling. Standing at the entrance, I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
Just as I debated where to start, a soft sound of footsteps caught my attention from the second floor. I looked up, spotting a small figure by a window—a young girl with disheveled hair and a frightened expression, glancing around as if hiding from someone.
"Is that her?" My heart skipped a beat, sensing I'd found a clue. As I moved closer, hurried footsteps echoed from the stairwell, solid and deliberate. I quickly pulled back into the shadows to observe.
A man in a black trench coat appeared in the hallway, his expression cold and hawkish, moving swiftly toward the girl's room with the precision of someone who knew exactly where she was. He moved gracefully, carefully, as if intent on not drawing attention.
Holding my breath, I thought, "Is this the cold-blooded assassin protecting the girl?" He exuded an intimidating aura that held me in place, and despite knowing he was dangerous, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe.
The man knocked gently on the door, and the girl, recognizing him, opened it a crack, her small figure trembling as she peered out. He crouched down, speaking to her in a soft, reassuring tone that was at odds with his cold exterior.
"Don't worry. I'm here. No one will hurt you," he murmured with an unwavering determination.
The girl nodded slightly, clutching his hand tightly, her eyes showing a trace of trust, as though she felt safe only by his side.
I watched them from the shadows, feeling a strange mix of emotions. This cold, ruthless assassin was risking everything to protect a little girl. It was a paradox that seemed oddly moving.
Before I could process further, a clamor sounded from downstairs—multiple footsteps approaching rapidly. My pulse quickened; it seemed others were closing in on the mysterious pair.
The noise grew louder, the approaching footsteps swift and organized, clearly not ordinary visitors. I held my breath, silently cursing: it looked like the hiding place of the assassin and the girl had been compromised.
The assassin, too, heard the sounds, his expression hardening instantly. Standing up, he spoke in a calm yet firm tone to the girl, "Matilda, stay here and keep quiet. I'll handle them."
Fear and worry filled her eyes, but she nodded obediently, releasing his hand reluctantly before slipping into the corner of the room. He cast one last glance back at her, then turned and headed for the stairwell with swift determination.
I remained hidden, watching as he drew two silenced pistols from his coat and positioned himself at the stairway entrance, exuding an intense, unbreakable resolve, prepared for an inevitable confrontation.
Seconds later, a group of men appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in black suits and moving in sync, trained assassins by the look of them. The leader, seeing him, hesitated briefly before sneering, "Léon, we know you're here. Hand over the girl, and maybe we'll let you live."
Léon merely fixed them with a cold stare, his finger poised on the trigger, his stance like a predator ready to strike.
"So, you're not going to cooperate." The leader's smile vanished, and he signaled his men to attack.
Pew! Pew! A rapid series of silenced gunshots echoed through the narrow hallway. Léon moved swiftly, each bullet finding its mark with deadly precision, taking down several men instantly. The remaining assassins closed in, undeterred.
My heart pounded as I watched the brutal fight unfold. Léon's actions were calm and lethal, every shot perfectly aimed, while his opponents, though trained, were no match for him.
After dispatching the last assassin, Léon turned, but one of the downed attackers, struggling on the floor, lifted his gun, aiming it at the girl in the room.
Acting on instinct, I lunged forward, grabbing a broken brick and hurling it at the man. He let out a pained yell as his aim wavered, the bullet grazing the door frame, making the girl huddle in fear.
Léon quickly turned, finishing off the man with a precise shot before glancing in my direction. He frowned, seemingly assessing who I was, but after a moment, he gave a slight nod. "Thanks."
Breathless, I nodded back, trying to hide my nerves. It was my first time intervening in such a deadly fight, and the adrenaline still left me shaken.
Léon gave me a hard look, his tone cold but curious. "Who are you?"