Are they offering us a contract?
The government employs infiltrators; they have a dedicated unit for this purpose, which finds promising people and offers them a contract. Once they sign it, they become officially employed by the government working to clear the dungeons.
Suddenly, the door unlocked. Xerxes stepped out, holding an empty glass bottle in his hand. "What kind of contract are you talking about?"
***
"If there's something you don't understand about the contract—" one of the officers began, but Xerxes cut him off.
"Why does the government get 50 percent of my earnings?"
The contract seemed perfect for Xerxes' situation. It promised him a place to stay, meals taken care of, and even compensation for clearing dungeons. It was a win-win scenario: if he died in a dungeon, it would be the end. But if he survived and cleared it, he'd be paid based on the dungeon's difficulty. The only downside was the government's 50 percent cut of his earnings, including any money made from interviews, public appearances, campaigns, etc.
"So they can cover the cost of all the facilities provided to the infiltrators," the officer who had been cut off earlier answered. "The government needs funds too."
Xerxes' eyes narrowed. "Why do we have to pay for that? Isn't that their responsibility? If the infiltrators stopped risking their lives for them, they'd be consumed by the dungeons too. Aren't we all living in the same world?"
He threw the contract back onto the table with a sharp motion. "The government is still thinking of profiting off the people they're supposed to serve."
The officers exchanged a brief glance and nodded, then pulled out a new contract—this one with the government's share reduced to 30 percent. Xerxes felt a flicker of nervousness, worried they might refuse to contract him altogether instead of simply reducing the percentage. When he saw the new terms, a small sense of relief washed over him, though he still signed it reluctantly, keeping his posture.
"I didn't know you guys had another option," Nova grumbled, eyeing Xerxes' contract. "Why is mine the 50 percent one? I want the 70 percent one too."
"Mr. Nova, your contract has already been signed," one of the officers replied calmly. "Since Xerxes has signed his, the terms have been fulfilled, and your contract is now in effect."
The officers discreetly collected Xerxes' signed contract, then stood to leave without another word. "Also," one added as they headed for the door, "we've taken down the notification."
"So, what are we supposed to do now?" Xerxes asked, frowning. "They didn't tell us anything."
Just as Nova opened his mouth to respond, the doorbell rang again. Thinking it was the officers returning, Xerxes went to answer it, but instead, it was the delivery guy. He took the food, already paid for, with both hands, a small smile creeping onto his face.
Carrying the food back to the living room, Xerxes' mood seemed to brighten. Even though he wasn't grinning or anything, it was still clear that he was in a good mood, making this the happiest Nova had ever seen Xerxes.
"Maybe I should've ordered the food before calling the officers," Nova muttered in disbelief, eyeing Xerxes' cheerful, yet reserved, expression.
"Why did you become an infiltrator? Don't you already have a lot of money?" Xerxes asked, his mouth full as he devoured the entire large chicken pepperoni pizza on his own.
Nova watched him with a raised brow, then shook his head. "You're eating like it's your last meal," he said with a hint of amusement. "Slow down. I don't want you to choke and die now, especially after we've just signed on as partners." He handed Xerxes a glass of water.
"What do you mean by partners?" Xerxes asked, taking the glass of water.
Nova grinned, "We'll be put on the same infiltrator team. That was the condition of my signed contract. For example, once we're assigned our roles and I become the team leader, you'll have no choice but to be a part of my team."
"Doesn't matter; having a wealthy leader to spoil the team isn't a bad thing, is it?" Xerxes said, not even glancing at Nova. His gaze was fixed on the pasta on the table, clearly eyeing it as his next victim.
"I should be glad to have so much money, then."
***
The next day, outside a sleek, two-story black-and-white modern building, Xerxes stood with a suitcase in hand. A shiny black car was parked next to him. Nova, meanwhile, was retrieving his own suitcase from the trunk. Once he had it, the car drove off, leaving the two of them standing at the entrance.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Xerxes asked, his voice laced with doubt. "I mean, this place looks perfect for a family of four—not for thousands of infiltrators. Even if we're new, this seems... too much." He sighed, his expectations crumbling. He had envisioned something different for his new home, but now, seeing the crowded surroundings, he was starting to rethink his decision.
"Don't judge it just yet; let's go inside first," Nova said, wheeling his suitcase toward the automatic glass doors. Xerxes quickly followed, not wanting to be left alone in the unfamiliar space. As they entered, they were met by a not-so-tall robotic-looking boy with freckles and a natural smile.
"Hello, infiltrators! Today must be your first day," he greeted them, his words quick and confident. "I see you haven't been assigned your roles in a team yet. Please follow me to Examination Area 51." Without waiting for a response, the boy turned and began walking ahead; he didn't wait for them to follow him, but his yellow shirt made him easy to spot in the crowd.
The second floor was designated as the examination area, with a hundred different rooms, all serving the same purpose. The boy led them to Room 51.
"This is your examination room," he said. "Once you enter, just take a seat in one of the chairs. The rest will be taken care of." With that, he quickly left off to assist the next batch of infiltrators, taking their suitcases with him too.