Ding!
The elevator finally reached the top floor.
The dull chime seemed to hammer directly into Jeff Mond's skull. His nerves were stretched so tight he could barely breathe.
Right now, if he could choose between running out of the elevator or jumping off the building, he might've seriously considered the latter.
Mond wiped the sweat off his brow. "S-So... can I leave now?"
Robert glanced casually at the game panel floating in his vision.
[Target: Does not meet conditions.]
His smile faded.
"Nope."
Mond's heart sank straight into his boots. His fists clenched instinctively, but the memory of how Robert had survived a full-blown Russian bullet baptism made him quickly reconsider.
With a shaky breath, he forced a smile uglier than a mugshot. "Then... please tell me what you want. I'll cooperate. Anything."
Robert smiled approvingly. "See? I like straightforward people."
He shoved the silver case—still packed with illegal crystals—into Mond's arms.
"The box is yours again."
Mond blinked. "Huh?"
Robert narrowed his eyes. "Well? What are you waiting for? Pay up. Or are you planning to prostitute yourself for free?"
Mond stared blankly at him.
Wasn't Robert the one who gave him the box?
When Robert's expression darkened, Mond wisely swallowed his confusion, fumbled into his pocket, and fished out the grimy nickel Robert had originally tossed at him.
Robert frowned in disgust. "Seriously? A five-cent tip? Are you trying to insult me?"
Mond stared at him helplessly. You gave this to me!!
Still, sensing the growing danger, he obediently dug out all the cash he had and slapped it onto Robert's outstretched palm.
Robert tucked the bills into his hoodie with satisfaction and smiled warmly. "Remember—this is a fair and just transaction. No shady business."
Fair and just, my a*...*
Mond gave up thinking entirely.
At this point, surviving the night was his only goal.
…
After completing their "business deal," Robert glanced back at the system panel.
Still no recognition.
Still no unlock.
His brows furrowed.
Not enough?
An idea sparked.
Without hesitation, Robert peeled a bill from the stack of cash he'd just taken—and handed it back to Mond.
"Buy the box."
Mond: "…?"
Two minutes later.
Robert sat cross-legged in the corner of the elevator, happily watching the system interface update.
[Target meets conditions.]
Success!
His gamble had paid off.
Through several rapid, meaningless trades, Mond's involvement with criminal activity had technically skyrocketed.
Robert grinned to himself.
He had figured it out.
The system didn't just count the person's "nature"—it judged based on accumulated sin.
It was about participation in crime: the deals, the illegal activities, the sheer weight of criminality on one's soul.
Gang members like Mond, who were low on the totem pole, normally didn't have enough bad deeds to count. But after Robert had helped him "complete" multiple illicit transactions, Mond's criminal footprint had ballooned into something system-worthy.
Mond had, without even realizing it, evolved from small-time thug to a certified sinful villain.
You're welcome.
Robert aimed his pistol.
Mond opened his mouth to beg—
BANG!
Mond collapsed in a heap.
Robert glanced at the panel:
[Unlock Progress: 2/15.]
Another one down.
Thirteen to go.
…
By one in the morning, Robert had cleaned himself up, changed into some fresher clothes stolen from the apartment laundry room, and made his way back to Sister Margaret's bar.
The night was far from over here.
Inside the dingy bar, a crowd of drunken mercenaries roared and hollered around a makeshift fighting ring. Two burly men were hammering each other into the floor while the onlookers bet heavily on the outcome, their guns and knives gleaming in their belts without any attempt at concealment.
The place stank of sweat, blood, and cheap whiskey.
It felt almost… comforting.
With a final sickening crunch, one fighter collapsed. Weasel casually strolled over, checked for a pulse, and announced, "He's alive!"
Groans echoed around the room as several people tore up betting slips in frustration.
No one cared about the unconscious guy bleeding out on the floor. They just shuffled back to their drinks and pool games like nothing had happened.
Definitely mercenaries.
Robert shook his head, amused, and made his way to the bar.
He dropped the silver case onto the counter with a heavy thud, followed by the black card from his mission.
Weasel didn't even blink. "Target eliminated?"
Robert nodded. "Got photos if you need proof."
"Always smart," Weasel said, grabbing the black card and tucking it away. "As long as it matches the intel, you'll get the rest of the payment soon. Minus the deposit I floated you... plus the 10% broker fee."
Robert took out a battered phone—the one he'd looted earlier—and placed it on the counter as well.
"I'm working on getting a bank account," he said. "But until then, cash, please."
"Fine," Weasel shrugged. "But you know there's an extra cash-handling fee, right?"
"Doesn't matter," Robert said. "Long as it spends."
Weasel chuckled, wiping down a grimy glass. "You're learning fast, newbie."
Robert hesitated, then asked, "You know anywhere I can crash for a while? Somewhere without... a lot of paperwork?"
Weasel raised an eyebrow. "No ID either, huh? Same as Wade."
He thought for a moment. "I've got a safehouse that's gathering dust. Needs a little cleaning, but it's secure. I'll rent it to you cheap. Well... cheap-ish. I'll just deduct it from your earnings."
Robert beamed. "Deal."
Feeling generous, he pulled out a small wad of cash and two bloodstained gold teeth, slapping them onto the bar.
"To celebrate—first drink's on me."
Weasel stared at the teeth.
Then at the money.
Then back at Robert.
He wisely decided not to ask.
Instead, his gaze shifted to the mysterious silver case.
"...What's in the box?" he asked cautiously.
Robert's eyes gleamed. "A villain-making tool."
"What?"
Robert leaned in, lowering his voice dramatically. "One box. A few quick trades. And bam—instant certified villain. Great for résumé building."
Weasel immediately stepped back. "Hard pass."
He waved him off, already regrettin
g the question.
Robert just laughed.
Another potential innocent spared.
For now.
-------------------------
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