Rain sheeted over the federal building's concrete face like water peeling from a corpse. Vincent stood beneath an unmarked bus stop, collar raised, hands buried in the warmth of a longcoat someone else had paid for.
The system had pulsed three times since dawn. Each time a whisper. Each time a name.
But this time, it gave no name. Only a door.
Suite 5C. Second floor. Human Resources, Department of Zoning and Civil Architecture.
Inside, the air was arid. The fluorescents buzzed like flies over a bureaucrat's corpse. Dust covered the vending machine. The carpets smelled like old ink and older lies.
Vincent took a number. Waited.
Thirty-four minutes passed.
Then the receptionist waved him forward. Behind her, a hallway stretched out under motivational posters and doors with numbers but no purpose.
She handed him a clipboard. "He'll see you now."
The system stirred again.
Target embedded. Identity obscured. Eliminate without disrupting internal order. Reward: 420 BP. Complexity: Evolving.
Vincent moved. His boots made no sound against the tile. Door 5C stood half-open at the end of the hall.
He pushed it open.
A man sat behind the desk. Smiling. He did not look up at first. Just sipped chamomile tea beside a stack of red folders. His hair was combed flat. His eyes did not blink.
"You're the temp?" he asked.
Vincent nodded.
"Good. We've got backlog on Section C permits and a death in Enforcement to smooth over." His tone never changed. "Have a seat."
Vincent obeyed.
The man never stopped smiling. Not when listing procedures. Not when describing zoning loopholes used by dead councilmen. Not even when he said Lena Harrow's name.
Vincent blinked once. The system pulsed again. Harder.
This one knows.
The man handed over a form. "Fill this out. Drop it off with Records. If anyone asks, you never saw me."
Vincent rose. Took the form. Walked calmly to the elevator.
He would return.
There would be no improvisation. This one required ritual. He needed to understand the machine before killing the man who kept it breathing.
Lesson VII: Paper masks the blade. But only until it's wet.