Robert was in a bad mood.
When he first accepted this mercenary job, he thought after a few simple kills, he could unlock his next title achievement with ease.
Instead, reality slapped him hard.
Out of the six gangsters he'd faced—including his primary target, Jeff Mond—only one qualified as a proper "villain" according to his system's standards.
Only one!
It left him wondering about the others.
Were they secretly running orphanages on weekends? Sponsoring homeless puppies? Knitting sweaters for the elderly?
He couldn't help but picture one of those hulking Russians gently watering a houseplant and whispering, "Grow strong, little one," right before stabbing someone later that night.
Ding!
The elevator jolted slightly as it reached the ground floor.
The doors began to creak open.
Robert turned his head slightly toward Mond, who was still standing there frozen, drenched in cold sweat.
Mond's eyes flicked toward the opening doors, toward the chance to flee.
But Robert didn't move.
He just stared.
And under that cold, unwavering gaze, Mond didn't dare so much as twitch.
Instead, he stood frozen in place like a broken doll, the silver case still clutched in his white-knuckled grip.
With slow deliberation, Robert reached out and calmly pressed the button for the top floor.
The elevator doors closed again with a groan.
And once more, they were sealed in a small metal box filled with corpses and blood.
Lovely.
…
Mond broke first, his voice trembling. "B-Brother… we don't know each other, right? Maybe there's been a misunderstanding! I'm with the Ross gang—you touch me, the entire Russian Ross organization will hunt you down!"
The words came out rushed, blustered with desperation, but his tone remained painfully humble.
A criminal's version of diplomacy: threaten softly, smile while doing it.
Robert just smiled back.
"I'm not here to kill you," he said, almost cheerfully. "I just have a few questions."
Mond stiffened.
Was this guy a rival gang's spy? Was he gathering intel? Trying to muscle in on their territory?
Still, Mond saw no way out but cooperation.
"W-what do you want to know?"
Robert casually pointed the barrel of his pistol at the bloody heap of corpses sprawled across the floor.
"Tell me," Robert said lightly, "out of all of them... which one was the worst?"
Mond blinked.
For a second, he wondered if he'd misheard.
"Worst?" he echoed blankly.
Robert nodded. "Yeah. Which one of them was the real bastard?"
Mond hesitated, confused and wary. "Uh… I mean… they're all kind of… equally bad?"
Robert's smile widened.
"Try again."
Mond glanced anxiously at the descending elevator display.
The top floor was approaching fast.
Seeing Robert's finger rest lazily on the trigger, he scrambled. "Okay, okay! It's that guy!" he said, hastily pointing at one of the fallen bodies. "He was one of Vladimir's top enforcers! Executions, drug shipments, kidnapping… you name it, he's done it!"
Robert's eyes gleamed with interest. "Hmm. And what was this little meeting about?"
Mond's throat bobbed.
He realized he had said too much—but under Robert's stare, he knew lying wasn't an option anymore.
With a shaking hand, Mond popped open the silver case.
Inside were neatly packed bags of transparent crystals.
Illegal substances.
Robert whistled softly.
"No wonder you boys looked so busy."
He gazed at the contents for a moment, a thought forming in his mind.
Transporting illegal drugs?
Selling weapons?
Human trafficking?
Now that sounded like criminal behavior that might actually satisfy his system's twisted sense of "worthy villainy."
An idea clicked into place.
Robert casually extended his hand. "Give me the case."
Mond's jaw clenched, but he didn't dare refuse. With trembling hands, he surrendered the case.
Robert smiled wider. "Don't worry. I'm a fair man. I'll pay for it."
Mond blinked in confusion.
Robert patted down his own pockets, eventually producing the last pitiful remains of his cash: two crumpled dollar bills and a single five-cent coin.
He examined them critically, sighed, and then tossed the bills back into his pocket.
Too generous.
Instead, he flicked the single nickel toward Mond.
Clink!
It bounced off Mond's chest and landed in his hands.
"There," Robert said solemnly. "Payment."
Mond stared at the coin.
A single five-cent piece.
For hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of illegal product.
His face twitched violently.
He opened his mouth to refuse, but the look in Robert's eyes made his blood freeze.
Robert's smile dropped into something colder. "What's wrong? Are you insulting me?"
Mond's survival instincts screamed at him.
"No! No, thank you, thank you very much," Mond said hurriedly, gripping the coin as if it were a precious relic.
Robert nodded, satisfied. "Good. Let it be known—this was a fair and just transaction. No shady dealings. No theft. Pure, clean capitalism."
Mond wanted to cry.
The elevator finally reached the top floor.
The doors creaked open, revealing an empty, dimly lit hallway.
Robert stepped out with the silver case tucked under one arm and his pistol lazily swinging at his side.
He glanced back at Mond, still rooted in place in the blood-soaked elevator, cradling the single nickel like a lifeline.
"Oh, and word of advice," Robert said casually over his shoulder. "Maybe start taking the stairs."
Mond sagged against the wall, almost sobbing with relief as the doors closed again.
He swore that if he ever survived tonight, he would never
set foot in an elevator for the rest of his life.
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