While the vampire squad also targeted Michael, Raze had already arrived at the London Assassin Brotherhood. His footsteps were quiet on the polished stone floor of the administrative corridor. He walked past sleek, modern offices, the air humming with a quiet, professional energy, and arrived at the main service desk.
Reina, the Assassin Brotherhood's front desk attendant, looked up. A perfectly professional smile clicked into place. "Hello sir, how may I help you?"
Raze looked at the attendant, his own expression unreadable. "I have information I want to sell in exchange for gold coins."
Reina's smile didn't waver. She picked up the phone at the bar and dialed a short extension. "A gentleman wants to sell intelligence. Room 3."
She set the phone down with a quiet click. "Sir, the intelligence room is on the second floor underground. Someone in Room 3 handles reception. You can sell intelligence there. Our staff will assess the information's value."
Raze gave a single nod and walked toward the stairwell leading to the underground levels.
While passing through the mission bounty hall, Raze felt the atmosphere change. The quiet administrative hum was replaced by a low murmur of conversation and the electronic chime of mission boards updating. He glanced inside, seeing numerous assassins browsing the available contracts. Though it had transitioned from the Continental Hotel to the Assassin Brotherhood under Fraternity management, its popularity was clearly unchanged.
If anything, it was busier. Because of the restorative baths and the safe zone designation, more people came than before. It wasn't just denizens of the underground world. He spotted a few wealthy-looking thrill-seekers, their expensive clothes looking out of place as they nervously waited to spend substantial amounts to purchase gold coins and obtain treatment qualifications.
Someone had even spread rumors that the baths could regulate the body, restoring hidden injuries and damaged cells. Wealthy individuals, desperate for any edge, came regularly to experience it.
Raze reached the second underground floor. The air was cooler here, and the stone walls muffled all sound. He went straight to room three.
Entering, he found the entire space was simple and clinical. Milky white walls surrounded a plain metal table and two hard chairs. The room was brightly lit and smelled faintly of antiseptic.
A man dressed like a clerk sat in the room, a digital recorder and a notebook on the table before him. He looked up as Raze entered. "Sir, I'm your intelligence receiver. What information do you want to sell?"
Raze sat in the chair, his movements economical. He studied the man. "The information I'm selling isn't simple, and I guarantee its authenticity. I hope you won't be too surprised."
The receptionist smiled professionally, a thin, practiced expression. "Sir, whether it's a chainsaw killer, a vicious human trafficking ring, or organ harvesting operations, nothing surprises us. Of course, I hope it's significant. The Fraternity hasn't had major operations recently."
Hearing the receptionist's words, Raze smiled. It was a cold, sharp expression, very different from the clerk's. "It's guaranteed to be significant, beyond your imagination."
Under the receptionist's expectant gaze, his pen poised over the notebook, Raze shared his information. "I found traces of vampires. They've even infiltrated the upper echelons of the British government and trained quite a few among the aristocracy."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "They wantonly abuse life, take pleasure in death, and keep humans captive to cultivate blood slaves."
Hearing Raze's words, the receptionist's pen stopped moving. The scratching sound ceased, and he looked up, his professional mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "Sir, are you certain this information is accurate? If vampires truly exist and are as you describe, this information's value may exceed your expectations."
Simultaneously, the receptionist thought to himself that this guy must have been drinking or using drugs.
Raze spoke with dead-level seriousness. "I can take responsibility for what I've said, and I have evidence."
He produced several glossy photographs from his jacket and slid them across the table. "These people are all vampires, easily confirmed. They never move during daylight hours. If we use scouters, we'll detect abnormalities in them."
His expression hardened. "Many Transcendent have appeared. Does that mean vampires don't exist? Their legends are far more numerous than other stories."
Looking at the photographs Raze provided, the receptionist felt a genuine jolt of surprise. Could what he said be true? The photos showed humans, not winged creatures from animation. However, in one photograph, taken in low light, the teeth appeared pointed and elongated, the pupils catching the light in a way that was distinctly different from ordinary humans.
The photos Raze provided were of Soren's team members.
The receptionist gathered the photos, his expression once again neutral. "We've accepted your information. It involves extraordinary creatures. The price is 30 gold coins. I'll give you 10 gold coins now." He opened a drawer and placed ten heavy, dull gold coins on the table. "We'll verify the information's authenticity as quickly as possible. If correct, return in three days to collect the remaining 20 gold coins."
He met Raze's eyes. "If this is false information, we will recover the 10 gold coins in your possession."
Looking at the coins on the table, Raze grinned. He scooped them up, the metal cool and heavy in his palm. "Then I'll return in three days. I believe you'll be surprised after your investigation."
Watching Raze leave with the gold coins, the receptionist waited until the door clicked shut. His professional demeanor vanished. He immediately picked up his secure line and reported the obtained information to the Fraternity member overseeing this Assassin Brotherhood operation.
Michael, still numb and shaky from the subway, had just returned home. He fumbled his keys into the lock and pushed the door open, his body moving on autopilot. He had just tossed his keys onto the counter when the phone began ringing, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet apartment.
He stared at it, unmoving, until the answering machine beeped.
"Michael, this is Adam. The police were looking for you at the hospital. They think you were involved in a shooting. I told them there's no way you were involved. But they're searching for you and should be heading to your house now."
Michael let out a shaky breath, slumping against the wall. Relief washed over him just hearing the message was from a colleague.
At that exact moment, Soren's team arrived downstairs. They moved up the stairs quickly, their steps silent. A heavy, sharp knock echoed through Michael's door.
Michael, assuming the police had arrived just as Adam warned, hurried to the door. He opened it without precautions.
The moment the door opened, an arm shot out, clamping around Michael's neck. He was lifted bodily off his feet, his legs kicking uselessly.
Soren stared into his eyes, his grip like a steel vise. "Why did those filthy werewolves come after you?"
Being grabbed by the neck, Michael couldn't breathe, let alone speak. He clawed at the arm, his vision starting to dim.
Suddenly, the ceiling above them groaned. Plaster cracked and began falling off in large sections. A low, bestial howl followed, seeming to come from the floor above.
Soren turned his head toward the changes in the ceiling, his expression turning sharp. He instantly realized the werewolves had also arrived.
The other team members drew their weapons without hesitation, their movements economical and precise. They immediately started shooting at the roof. The gunfire erupted in rapid, deafening bursts within the small apartment.
Seeing this, Soren snarled in annoyance and threw Michael back into the room. He stumbled and fell hard as Soren drew his own weapon, taking a defensive stance.
Michael, still in shock and now terrified, scrambled away. The door was blocked by the group of black-clad shooters, so he could only run to the bathroom and slam the door, locking it.
At that moment, the corridor window shattered inward, spraying glass everywhere. Four werewolves, all muscle and fur, crawled inside, landing in low crouches.
Seeing this scene, Soren showed no fear. Instead, he spoke excitedly, a thin, cruel smile on his face. "It seems I was right. This guy is indeed your target."
Soren's team immediately opened fire on the werewolves. However, because their specialized firearms were loaded with silver bullets, the werewolves' regeneration ability was of no effect.
Each Death Dealer held two pistols, dropping into a fluid, dual-gun combat mode. Countless bullets poured out, filling the narrow hallway with a storm of muzzle flashes and thunderous sound.
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