The Continental Hotel. Basement Level 1.
"Thanks."
Hunter pocketed the gold coin after listening to Cole's explanation of its value and use.
Cole smiled, nodded a farewell to Porter, and led Hunter out of the office.
"Follow me," Cole said, heading back toward the elevator. "It's time to gear up. Standard perks for a new member."
Hunter fell in step behind him. Since entering the hotel, he had felt eyes on him—not just the staff, but the cold, digital gaze of surveillance. Down here in the sublevels, the feeling was intense. Cameras were everywhere.
He kept his expression neutral, asking the right questions but offering nothing extra.
They took the elevator up one floor to Basement Level 1.
Like the floor below, a heavy alloy door blocked the entrance. But instead of a viewport, this one had a sliding mesh grate. Cole knocked, the grate slid open, eyes checked them, and the door unlocked.
Behind the guards lay a different world.
It looked like an upscale speakeasy. Even at 9:00 AM, the lounge was busy. Men and women in tailored suits nursed drinks, their postures relaxed but their eyes sharp.
The moment Cole and Hunter walked in, the room went quiet. Every head turned.
"Cole!" someone called out. "Drinks on me?"
"Fresh meat, Cole?" another voice sneered.
Cole smiled diplomatically. "Forgive me, everyone. Official business."
He didn't introduce Hunter. He simply led him through the crowd toward the back.
Hunter felt the weight of their stares. Curiosity. Greed. Lust. Contempt.
Many eyes lingered on the thick brown paper package in his arms. $500,000 in cash tends to draw attention.
Assassins, Hunter thought, noting the faces of those who looked at him with disdain. Let them look.
He memorized the faces of three men who looked particularly eager to relieve him of his burden.
Once they cleared the lounge and entered a quiet corridor, Cole spoke up without turning around.
"Rule Number One of the Continental: No business on hotel grounds."
"That means no killing. And no fighting. Any violence against another member inside these walls incurs severe penalties. Often... terminal ones."
Cole glanced back. "So, Hunter, listen closely. If someone provokes you in here, do not engage. Walk away. If you still have a problem with them once you step outside the front door... feel free to do whatever you like. Kill them, torture them—the hotel doesn't care. But inside? Peace is absolute."
"Understood," Hunter said, filing the information away.
He knew about the "No Killing" rule from the movies. But the "No Fighting" rule was a good clarification. Without it, he might have snapped the neck of the next drunk who bumped into him.
They passed a glass wall revealing a sterile, high-tech medical bay.
"The Clinic," Cole gestured. "As long as you're not dead on arrival, our doctors can fix almost anything. Bullet wounds, lacerations, poisons. We also stock high-grade painkillers, adrenaline, and military stimulants."
"All services payable in Gold Coins, of course."
Hunter nodded.
Further down the hall, they stopped at another glass storefront. This one looked like a high-end tailor shop.
Cole knocked and entered.
A woman in her forties with warm, bronze skin looked up from a sewing machine.
"Nancy," Cole said. "Meet Hunter. New member. He needs a fitting for his complimentary armor."
"No problem!" Nancy beamed, grabbing a measuring tape.
She circled Hunter, her hands moving expertly over his frame.
"Well, well," she murmured, her hands lingering on his shoulders. "Deceptive. You look slim in that jacket, but there's a lot of muscle hiding under here."
Hunter stood stiffly as she measured his chest and waist.
"What's your preference?" Nancy asked, pointing to a display wall.
Hunter scanned the options. There were standard tactical vests, heavy plate carriers, and...
"The suit," Hunter said, pointing to a charcoal gray three-piece suit.
He had considered the "Dragon Scale" concealed vest, but the specs on the wall indicated that the suit offered better coverage with comparable ballistic protection thanks to the new silicon-carbide fabric weave.
Plus, it was classic.
Nancy jotted down the details. "Excellent choice. Silicon-carbide discs, ceramic matrix. Knife resistant, bulletproof up to .45 ACP. It'll be ready in three days. We can deliver it to your address."
"Thanks." Hunter gave her the farm's address. The hotel already knew where he lived, so there was no point in hiding it.
They left the tailor and headed deeper into the facility.
They stopped in front of a large set of double doors. A sign above read SOMMELIER.
Just as Cole reached for the handle, he froze.
He pressed a hand to his earpiece.
"This is Cole. Go ahead."
He listened for a moment, his expression hardening.
"What?"
Cole's eyes narrowed. "Understood. I'm on my way. Lock it down."
He turned to Hunter, his polite demeanor replaced by urgent professionalism.
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