Just as William was getting a bit tipsy, Book arrived. Although he didn't know how William managed it, it didn't affect William's mission recognition. At most, a brief mention; they didn't have to worry about the rest.
Book led William back to the private room. Book handed William a new phone. This time, it should be the official version. Every newly announced mission would be sent to the phone as a text message.
William's first reaction upon receiving the phone was: "There won't be a tracker in this, will there?" He thought about how the High Table always seemed to find the people they were looking for. William felt he might be onto something.
Next came a long string of familiar oaths. To William, it felt like reciting a company slogan.
Then, William was sent off to do whatever he needed to do.
Although it wasn't entirely clear, the Continental Hotel wasn't in a hurry. Either he'd make a name for himself and enough samples would be collected, or he'd die on the path to fame. For now, William was just a newcomer.
William hadn't even left yet when the money was already in his account. William didn't even know when an account had been opened for him.
William left just like that. Now he needed to solve two problems: where to live and what to eat. As of now, his assets had grown to an astonishing 1,416 US dollars. Congratulations, congratulations!
William went to the familiar coffee shop again. An iced Americano. He even splurged on a sandwich, costing 6 US dollars.
William took out his phone and saw completely different information. An app. He opened it and found it quite feature-rich. There were news, a mission area, a bounty area, and so on. There was also an information registration. Hmm, how to put it? A recruitment website.
William felt it was a recruitment website. And there were even registration requirements; if your level wasn't high enough, you couldn't accept missions. But the bounty area was public; anyone could see it.
At this moment, the top headline in the news section was a pinned message: "John Wick Officially Withdraws from the High Table Society."
The message was posted a week ago. A simple sentence that stirred up quite a few people. The comment section was full of "WTF"s and question marks. It seemed he had arrived quite early and hadn't caught the time when John Wick went on his rampage.
William looked at the information registration. It only contained basic information. It seemed Book's previous registration was for this.
Then William discovered that he couldn't change his profession. There was absolutely no room for him to choose!
Looking at the glaring two big words "Assassin" in the profession column, William felt a bit numb.
But he had to live, didn't he? It seemed he could only earn some money first. His profession shouldn't affect him getting jobs, right?
William was preparing to take on his first job. Looking at the missions available to Level 1 personnel, most were security guard, bodyguard, and similar jobs. Or delivery jobs.
Finally, William found his target mission: cleaning a street-side warehouse. 8,000 US dollars. The mission was posted by a gang called AZ. It required completion before sunrise tomorrow morning.
This was the only mission William found that was related to cleaning. As a rookie, he didn't know that such cleanup jobs were usually given to people they trusted. They were rarely outsourced. Cleaners were like that, only taking jobs from acquaintances. The higher the skill level, the higher the fee. For example, Arthur and his crew in NYcity, with their superb methods, used gold coins issued by the Continental Hotel for orders and payments. They even cooperated with local Hotels.
William naturally didn't have that level of skill. He was a lone wolf. Taking the subway and bus route 11, William arrived at the mission location an hour later.
A man in a jacket and sunglasses stood there. He looked at William, who had arrived with just a bucket and a mop, and was somewhat speechless. Outsiders really weren't reliable. But there was nothing else to do. Let him get to work. The man in sunglasses lost interest in talking. He waved his hand, confirmed the mission password, and motioned for William to get to work. He didn't even ask William's name.
When William pushed open the warehouse door, he found it quite troublesome. A poor soul sat in a chair, already without breath. Around him, lying in pools of blood, William saw at least six people. It looked like they were protecting him.
Most importantly, these people did a very crude job. There was blood everywhere. It was clearly done with cold weapons. The local gangs really were too impolite. Looking at the white and yellow mixture in front of him, William wondered how much hatred there was between these two groups.
Seeing neatly arranged bodies covered with white sheets on one side, and on the other, bodies scattered everywhere like rag dolls. Hmm, it was clear who belonged to whom.
If he were a professional, he might be able to analyze the bloodstains to determine the type of wounds and cause of death. But for William, it was just a matter of easy to clean versus not easy to clean. Clearly, it was a big job. He felt he had charged too little. But there was nothing he could do; he was poor.
After the man in sunglasses sent William inside, he sighed. He knew this job was difficult. But there was nothing he could do; he was poor too.
He said to his subordinate who remained there, "Wait for him to come out. Go check. If he did a bad job, take him out too." He had originally thought he could connect with a Cleaner. But instead, a greenhorn showed up. This made the newly appointed boss a bit annoyed.
Cleaners were like that; though inconspicuous, they were very important. Otherwise, just paying fines would break one's heart.
Yes, in this world, if you were caught doing a job, you had to pay a fine. It was usually paid by the local Continental Hotel on your behalf. But ultimately, they still had to pay the Hotel. What? Why not ask the Hotel to provide the service directly? Nonsense, if they could afford it, wouldn't they have asked already?
All work at the Continental Hotel required gold coins. Gold coins were either issued or purchased. The purchase price was also not fixed. Their small gang, newly established and with only one street block, could only try their luck.
The brawny man at the door nodded and guarded the warehouse's only exit. They were still very benevolent. They always had to give someone a chance to perform, didn't they? Otherwise, it wouldn't sound good if word got out.
William didn't know what others were thinking. But he absolutely had to do this mission well. The reason was simple: because he was poor. Poverty was a disease.
Looking at the blood-filled room, William turned and opened the door.
This action startled the person guarding the door. What was going on? Giving up so quickly? His hand instinctively went to his lower back. It looked like he was ready to shoot him at any moment.
William noticed his movement but didn't say much. He just asked, "Where do I get water?"
The doorman scratched his head. So he wasn't giving up. He almost shot him dead. That was scary. He walked in, pointed to where the water tap was, and then returned to his post.
Looking at his honest demeanor, one would never imagine that at least three of the people inside were killed by him.
