Chapter 9: The Spider Weaves Its Web and Hides in the Dark
Germain pushed open the glass door plastered with old advertisements and stepped into the deserted lobby.
After scanning his surroundings, he walked up to the reception counter chest-high and dusty.
Behind it sat a middle-aged man with a protruding belly, flipping lazily through a magazine with a scantily clad woman on the cover. He barely looked up.
What is it? the man asked impatiently.
One night. Single room.
Six thousand ringgits.
Germain wasn't sure if that was expensive or cheap only that the six thousand ringgits he'd stolen earlier vanished in an instant.
He pulled the bills from his wallet and placed them on the desk.
The man counted them quickly, pocketed the money, and opened a drawer to grab a numbered key. He tossed it to Germain without looking up.
Up the stairs, turn right, find your room by the number.
He didn't even ask for Germain's name already back to studying the magazine's glossy pages.
Any criminal could find their way to this run-down hotel. If the man at the counter had ever tried to investigate them all, he wouldn't still be alive.
Why bother? Just take the money.
Those who stayed here appreciated that kind of attitude both sides got what they wanted.
Germain caught the key. A faded sticker on it read 207.
He climbed the railingless stairs to the second floor.
Finding the right door, he entered and locked it behind him. Then, he walked to the rusty windowsill, stood behind the curtain, and watched the street below.
He had noticed three men tailing him earlier had even memorized their faces.
But the fourth person Biscuit had mentioned remained unknown. She'd deliberately kept that identity to herself.
Ten minutes later, two of the assassins entered the hotel from across the street.
Another fifteen minutes passed before the third followed.
Germain dragged a chair beside the window and sat silently, observing. He noted everyone who entered the building except those three.
He suspected he might've seen the fourth once, but hadn't paid attention at the time.
Biscuit 's hints suggested that the fourth was among those they'd both encountered earlier…
Yet, when he compared his memories, none matched.
That left only one possibility disguise.
The fourth assassin was being cautious. Maybe they hadn't even approached the hotel yet.
Germain couldn't ignore the threat. He'd have to make them attack on his terms.
He picked up the wall-mounted phone, eyes still on the street, and dialed the number he'd seen at reception.
Yeah? What is it? came the gruff voice.
Two cans of beer to Room 207. I'll pay later.
Two beers? …Fine. Wait a minute.
A few minutes later, someone knocked. Germain accepted the two cans, unpacked them, and set them on the small table.
By now, night had fully fallen. The streets outside were quiet shadows long, air heavy.
He didn't turn on the lights. The room sank into complete darkness.
With a soft pssst, he cracked open a can, then slowly poured the beer over the bed sheets. When it was empty, he crushed the can and tossed it to the floor.
He repeated the process again and again until one can was finished. Then he stood and walked into the bathroom.
Soon, the smell of beer in the air began to fade.
That was the point to make any watcher believe he was getting careless.
After his shower, he drank the second can.
When only a little remained, he kicked the crushed can away, staggered to the bed, and collapsed onto it the perfect image of a drunk man finally letting down his guard.
Silence. Then, after an indeterminate time
Click.
A soft metallic sound from the lock.
Then another. The door eased open.
A sharp blade of light from the hallway sliced through the darkness.
Two men slipped in. Their eyes flicked over the beer cans on the floor, then to the lump beneath the sheets.
Without hesitation, they raised their silenced pistols and opened fire.
Puff. Puff. Puff.
But the sound… it wasn't the muffled thud of bullets hitting bedding.
It was the wet, hollow sound of bullets piercing flesh.
The two assassins exchanged glances. Neither stepped forward to confirm. Both began retreating toward the door.
From under the bed, Germain moved.
He leveled his musket and fired once the blast tearing through one man's abdomen.
The man stumbled, fell, and lay motionless in a spreading pool of blood.
The other assassin froze, eyelids twitching violently.
He fired toward the headboard, speaking quickly into the small communicator on his neck.
We're compromised. One down.
Germain rolled out from beneath the bed, rose swiftly, and parried the next bullet with his cleaver-like weapon
clang, clang, clang sparks exploding in the dark.
The assassin bolted into the hallway. Germain followed.
The corridor flickered under weak yellow lights; every other door was shut tight.
The residents had heard the shots and chosen to stay quiet.
The fleeing assassin saw Germain closing in. He turned and fired wildly until his gun clicked empty.
Germain deflected the bullets with his cleaver, ignoring him
because another figure appeared at the far end of the hall.
The third assassin.
He wore a black cloak, which he flung open revealing five glowing psychic orbs that shot from his arms, ricocheting off the walls and shattering lightbulbs as they went.
The orbs bounced wildly, but the corridor was straight they'd all return to him eventually.
Germain swung his cleaver, slicing through two of them, fired his musket to destroy two more, and narrowly dodged the last.
His eyes flicked toward the shattered bulbs and he had an idea.
He raised his musket and shot another bulb nearby.
Bang!
Half the hallway plunged into darkness.
The second assassin the one who had fled the room was now on that side.
The sudden blackness blinded him. When his vision adjusted, Germain was gone.
Nervous, he tossed his empty gun aside and pulled on a steel knuckle-duster his comfort weapon.
He heard a faint sound and spun instantly, slamming his fist into the wall with full force.
BANG!
The wall cracked open revealing the terrified faces of the hotel guests inside.
But Germain wasn't there.
Instead, a cold gun barrel pressed into the assassin's lower back.
A butcher's cleaver hovered at his throat.
Germain's voice whispered in his ear
Better?
Y-you
The man's eyes went wide.
Before he could finish the word, the cleaver flashed slicing his throat clean.
His dying groan was drowned by the gurgle of blood.
The wall behind them was instantly painted black and red.
(End of Chapter)