Quota 0/270 - On hold : 12 days left to start the quota

‘I think I'm truly lost.’

That was the harsh reality Victor faced as he arrived at yet another crossroad. It was likely a historically significant junction, a key part of New York's intricate road network, yet just another crossroad. The same red lights, the same building on either side, and the same bitter drivers in the middle of the road. It was identical to the last ten he'd encountered, and , unwillingly, Victor was becoming an expert in New York crossroads.

He wasn't walking in circles, and that was what worried him the most. In this city, there seemed to be no way to orient oneself or find the way back to his hotel. Victor had tried asking pedestrians for directions, but between their indifference and the language barrier, his hopes were crushed. Everyone was in such a hurry that no one bothered to use their phone to translate his words. They just wished him luck and moved on with a sense of duty fulfilled. But Victor had never felt more lost in his life.

Like navigating in a maze, he initially tried turning right at every intersection but soon realized that it was a dumb idea after circling the same block three times. From that moment on, he decided to go straight ahead. Always straight ahead. At least that way, he wouldn’t backtrack.

However, a flaw in his plan emerged as he neared New York's Chinatown.

He had reached a new crossroad. To his right and left, roads—as expected of any good intersection. But directly ahead stood a building, boldly blocking his "straight ahead" path like an immovable obstacle.

Victor could have turned back, but he hadn't gone through all this trouble just to give up. He needed to move forward. Fortunately, in his misfortune, there was a narrow pedestrian alley straight ahead that cut between the buildings. It probably served as a way to enter the depths of Chinatown, but Victor headed down it with relief. After all, it was the only way to keep going straight.

Night had already fallen. The alley was deserted, lit only by the dim yellow light of a few Chinese lanterns. Yet, Victor was pleased with the change of scenery. It was quiet in his little alley, free from the noise of motorists and the smell of gasoline. He did, however, have to tolerate cigarette butts and garbage on the sides of his path. Aside from that, the experience wasn't unpleasant for Victor.

Still, he began to wonder if this seemingly harmless alley had an end. He had been walking for over thirty minutes with no exit in sight. Just as he started to lose hope and ponder whether he should abandon his principles and turn at the next intersection, Victor saw a light at the end of the tunnel. At the end of the alley, there wasn't an exit from Chinatown, but what appeared to be a bar. He had been deceived by the bright white light of its sign illuminating the surroundings.

Victor opened the door and entered. The bar was not very busy, with just a few people sitting at the bar, drinking in silence. He had resigned himself. He wouldn’t be able to keep going straight, but he wanted to, at least, try asking for directions from the people inside. Perhaps he'd have better luck getting help if those he asked couldn't simply walk away. As soon as he entered the bar, he controlled not only the entrance but also their only exit. They were trapped, and he could now ask his questions.

He approached his first target, an elderly Asian man with a frail appearance.

‘He probably doesn't even own a phone. Better leave the elderly in peace,’ Victor thought.

He turned his attention to a woman in her thirties.

She had long, jet-black hair tied up in a bun and legs that seemed to never end.

She was wearing a short skirt, so it was no surprise that her legs stood out so much, but Victor was still astonished.

"At this rate, those aren't just legs; they're stilts—no, not just stilts, they're vaulting poles!" Victor exclaimed internally.

He had only one question upon seeing their length:

"How does she manage to stand?"

The woman must have noticed the curiosity she had sparked in the young man who had just entered a few moments ago and gestured for him to sit beside her.

"Hello there, handsome."

Victor started his charades. He first formed a square with his hands before adding a roof to his creation.

"That should be enough for her to get the hotel concept," thought Victor as he continued his act.

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He then pointed to himself and then to the imaginary blueprint of his hotel.

"Victor phone home."

He had uttered that last phrase hoping she would use her phone to translate his words.

The woman chuckled lightly, her laughter melodious.

"You're quite eager to go to my place without even saying hello, but I like that."

She extended her hand—white, pristine, seemingly a symbol of innocence—and Victor took it in a handshake.

Just then, a man entered through the door that presumably led to the back room.

He was an Asian man in his thirties, dressed entirely in black. He had the same style as Victor but with a slight difference: the man seemed more like he was stacking corpses than being one like Victor.

Victor felt the already cool evening air turn icy.

‘No need to be a walking air conditioner,’ Victor thought as the man was approaching.

The man was not alone; he was flanked by two hulking Asian guards.

‘Where did my kung fu fighters go? These two must be traitors to China with their sumo wrestler builds.’

As Victor lamented the loss of Chinese martial arts, the man and his bodyguards reached him.

The woman looked at the man with a provocative smile, still holding Victor's hand.

It wasn't that Victor wanted to keep holding her hand, but he didn't really have a choice.

‘Let me go, damn woman !’ he cried internally.

He struggled to free his hand, which the woman clung to tightly.

Victor met the man's gaze and sensed his time was running short.

‘Damn this woman, damn this woman, damn this woman !’

No matter how hard he pulled, her grip wouldn't budge an inch.

He cast a desperate glance at the woman as a plea for help, to which she responded with a slight smile and a provocative remark :

"**Don't worry babes, I will protect you.**"

Victor sensed the provocative tone without understanding the reassurance she was trying to convey.

‘I'm so dead,’ Victor thought as he slumped on his stool.

After comforting Victor, she turned to the man:

"**If you touch a single hair of his head, you'll have a taste of my family’s power.**"

Before the man could respond, she rested her head on Victor's shoulder. She was gently rubbing his face as he remained helpless.

Trapped between a rock and a hard place, he felt she might be his only chance to stay alive. Yet, feeling like a circus animal was rather unpleasant.

‘Somebody help me ! I'm being abused by this woman !’ he internally screamed in despair.

And the door to the bar opened.

As if adjusting to the divine, brilliant light of the being who had just entered, it took him a few seconds to see the face of his savior.

"What the hell is this?" Victor exclaimed.

He was so surprised that he had spoken aloud.

‘But how does she manage to walk around with her assault rifle in the middle of the city?’ he wondered, eyeing the schoolgirl who had entered.

As everyone in the bar probably thought the same, the young woman replied to Victor in French. Her French was rough, but understandable :

"Follow me, we're going back to the hotel."

The woman holding Victor hostage had released his hand in surprise, allowing him to easily free himself. He joined the young woman at the doorstep, and before they could leave, he heard the man flanked by his bodyguards utter a phrase in Chinese.

Victor didn't really know it was Chinese, but it would have been odd if it wasn't.

The phrase must have been a curse or an insult because the schoolgirl immediately turned around with her rifle.

"**Say that again and let’s see what will happen,**" she said in Chinese while removing the safety from her weapon.

The man probably thought she wouldn't shoot, so he repeated his insult, adding his family name at the end to pressure the little girl.

But if Victor had understood anything, it was that all the women he had met at the hotel were unreasonable.

She fired a shot that passed just above the man's head.

She took out a badge. It was the same salamander, but there was a single star glistening above it.

She approached the man and struck him across the face, branding his forehead with the mark of the salamander. The two bodyguards remained utterly motionless, frozen by both the sight of the badge and the assault rifle.

‘This badge sure comes in handy. Too bad mine was stolen,’ Victor sighed as they left the bar.

The same scene seemed to unfold in the heart of Manhattan where a man with a neatly trimmed white beard and slicked-back white hair entered a police station. He was dressed in a tailor-made three-piece suit that gave him an air of extraordinary authority. The receptionist recognized him instantly.

"It's been a long time since you last visited us, sir. If you'd follow me, Miss Johnson is waiting in her cell."

Miss Johnson was not alone in her cell. A flight attendant, William, and Omega were also locked up with her for questioning. They were the last known connection to the robbers, and the authorities were eager to trace the links, especially since William was notoriously involved in shady dealings like trafficking stolen goods.

Upon reaching the cell, Shirley, with her usual cold and stoic expression, looked at the newcomer with disgust.

"Father doesn't even have time to come and get his own daughter from the station?" she asked bitterly.

The man knew her anger was not directed at him, but he still attempted to explain on behalf of his boss.

"Your father left a few days ago to fulfill his quota."

He was careful not to mention the name of the company, so only Shirley understood.

"Harrumph," was her only answer.

The receptionist opened the cell and removed her handcuffs. As he was closing the cell, the man who had come for Shirley spoke again :

"I am also here to retrieve the flight attendant on behalf of the hotel."

He took out a badge from his pocket. Unlike the schoolgirl's badge, which featured a star, this one seemed less effective to convince people.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't let you leave with her. I hope you understand that she is suspected of being involved in this morning's robbery."

"The hotel provided the location of the loot so she could retrieve an item that was stolen from a hotel member on the plane. The manager of the New York branch vouches for her and assure you that there is no link between her and the robbers. He is also ready to assist the investigation with crucial evidence if you release her."

The receptionist apologized and went to call Captain Anderson.