Promises have to be broken. Most often, those made to oneself.

What could the return to Centercity hold? Death, mutilation, and anal probation, Tenner guuessed.

Every street of the Realm was the barrel of a gun, pointing at Tenner’s forehead. And that district, apart from the front door of the church or Molly’s burial ground in the slums, took the worst place. Luckily, its thousands of perils didn’t mean shit when credits and revenge were in reach.

Tenner brushed every centimeter of the surroundings outside The Wonderful Yellow’s entrance. A few figures in white walked down the street, blue light shone from behind a corner. Through his wrists, an urge to grab his new axe and deal with them sparked.

His instincts kept them in check.

Just keep walking. Don't stop, don't look back and it'll be fine, he thought. Certainly, the soon to be greatest bounty hunter doesn’t have to worry about such things, but… how dare you to question me, mind?!

The statue was the only human figure in Centerplaza. At this time of day, the place used to bustle.

Tenner stopped at the base of the landmark, his fingers ran across the blade of his axe, wiped across the statue once, formed a fist then wiped again. Are messages dangerous? he asked himself, turning to Centercity. Yes. Is Tenshot afraid of that danger? No.

But Kristus should be.

At the entrance to a four floor narrow, black building, Sam’s directions in Tenner’s head ceasd. A wall of enticing smells hovered in the air as a street of Centercity’s finest shops encircled it. Lots of customers walked that street, the shops kept busy, but the black building itself seemed dead -- light shone from three of its countless windows

Tenner gripped Sam’s message and unravelled it.

The drunk believed in two ways to transfer important information: through word of mouth in a quiet room or words of a pen scribbled on a small slip of paper.

Tenner raised the piece. He re-read its directions. Then he compared the rough sketches to the actual building. His legs took him right up to the double-door with cube-shaped engravings. It did not open on its own. He grabbed the handle and pulled. It rocked.

A child-wide gap opened. This place would make an awful holy fugitive hiding business.

Holograms of art floated under the ceiling and beside the entrance stood gray couches. There was a corridor to his right and one to his left, which a suit entered. The end of the room located a reception with a muscular man dressed in a black vest attending it. His eyes jumped to Tenner, then fell back down, pretending to look at something important on the table.

A woman, whose dress blended in with the ashen couch, sat at the entrance, murmuring under her nose, “Character… settings… perks…” At the same time, her eyes closely followed Tenner.

His instincts screamed like a man whose last HP was about to be drained by a fork. That fucker sent me to a trap. He had to get the fuck out of this building…

The receptionist’s eye flicked up once more and his arms crossed. “Welcome to the Knifestreet headquarters. It’s… very late, and we’re about to close,” he said in a deep voice. “I can help you with anything you need, as long as it doesn’t take longer than the fifteen minutes we have.”

“Does gold shimmer in the evening sky? Does thunder rock even the immortal rocks?” Tenner glanced at the wrinkly piece of paper. “Does the voice of a drifter get lost among the thousands of the city’s lost souls? Or does it get picked out and saved for speaking the truth?”

“I don’t know what--”

“I know well that you do, so don’t even try,” Tenner snapped.

“I’d love to bring you to our mastermind, but--”

“No, he’s not.”

The receptionist sighed. “It--”

Tenner grunted, shoving himself against the reception table. “I could make this a home, don’t you think? Sleep on those nice couches you got there. Shit on your table. Until you listen.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Then you’ve gotta follow me -- I’ll show you where to file a complaint.”

“Finally.” Tenner followed the receptionist into the left hallway. “You’re trying way too hard with secrecy. No laws or anything to worry about. ”

“Because there aren’t laws to annihilate those who step against the public good doesn’t mean that secrecy should be erased,” the receptionist said. “Sometimes not letting an enemy know you exist is better than fighting them-- or so I think. There are agreements between the Centercity masterminds, keeping the chaos from the rest of the Realm away from our streets. Anyway, no secrecy here -- just not a lot of movement right now as we’re about to close.”

Tenner frowned -- did the receptionist really have an answer for every suspicious detail of this place? Could he control himself, no matter what Tenner said? I’ve gotta test him. The corridor led to an elevator with glass sidewalls. Inside, the doors closed and a small CHEKscan shone on the receptionist. The elevator started rising.

“Life taught you that or a teacher?” Tenner stared through a window “Your acting and self control are impressive. But you made some mistakes.”

“If you’re talking about… my etiquette, then that came from birth. My parents raised me in Centercity and knew that if I were to keep living here, I’d have to be no less mannered than skilled.”

In the floors the elevator passed, blankets covered everything to--Tenner assumed--make it seem like they’re sheltered from dust.

Outlines on those blankets made clear what was really hidden.

“I guess you already have to be good to slave away here,” Tenner said, tapping on the elevator glass, “and only learn some special phrases when you join. Well, anyway, that’s quite a lot of laserguns.”

“Wild guess.” The receptionist gulped. “With some truth. Our guards keep an arsenal of twenty weapons in case of tragedy. But I have no clue how you’d know that.”

The elevator stopped.

“You do work here for a reason.” The doors creaked open and Tenner exited through them, to a floor-wide office.

An expensive steel desk was placed in the back of the room, two chairs in front of it and one behind. In it sat a figure, looking out of a window, overlooking the Realm. A few wisps of smoke rose from the figure and they turned around.

***

Brown-skinned hands with red rings on their index fingers laid the mastermind’s pipe on the table, fixed her black lean suit and adjusted her thick glasses, half-covered by her curly black hair.

“You didn’t traverse so far into my building by accident -- what is the reason you came, Tenshot?”

Tenner took a step back. His CHEK inspected. Galvani?!

Oh, how wrong I imagined you.

“I’m new in this realm, but I’m one of the best bounty hunters it’s ever seen,” Tenner replied, nearing the desk at the room’s end. He glanced at the wide window overlooking the city and continued, “I got word of Ultimates and had a person I know really well lead me here. I’m sure you’ll also receive a recommendation or already have.”

Galvani exhaled through her nose. “In most cases, recommendations don’t equate to skill. Empty boasting, especially.”

“You’ve inspected me -- you know what level I am and what perks I have.”

“In this field, that couldn’t matter less.” Galvani waved. “With all honesty, I’d suggest turning a hundred and eighty degrees and leaving my building. There are, in truth, Ultimates that need completion, but such work is reserved for the best of the best: those who work in the field and have proven themselves.”

“Well, if damn numbers don’t please you, what other anecdotal evidence will you need?” Tenner leaned on the desk. “Take down your wonderful receptionist in the flash of an eye? Or you?”

“You could be a wonderful mastermind, Tenshot. One hated by everyone who works for them, but a great one nevertheless.” Galvani lightened up the tiniest bit. “Yet swinging around balls of fire doesn’t always work, especially not against those who’ve seen it hundreds of times before.” She reached for her slick white pipe. Tenner snatched it right before her hand, and observed it from different directions. He hadn’t seen Centercity business in action before or really knew what to do, but he imagined this was the right path: make her uncomfortable. Make her answer the question.

“I’ll give you credit for making it to a meter in front of me. Exchange that credit for a chance to prove yourself? Show me brutal efficiency. I want an impossible-to-kill target killed.”

Tenner tilted his head sideways. “No one’s impossible to kill. Except for me.”

“It’s not the person, it’s the circumstances: there’ll be a certain mastermind in the queue to Centercity. He’ll be surrounded by the toughest, tallest, most cunning henches you’ve seen. In that situation, I want you to kill him without anyone realizing he’s even dead.”

If that was the audition, Tenner couldn’t fathom what actual Ultimates would entail. Dozens of possibilities how to do this came to his mind--one being the same tactic he’d used breaking into the Harvest building--but he needed more information. A certain mastermind in the queue to Centercity was as vague as a patch of ground in the desolation -- he needed more.

“You might want details, but all you’re gonna get is a name,” Galvani said right as he opened his mouth. “To make it more true to reality’s circumstances. Bunny Yassine.”

“That is a wonderful name to take from the world.” Tenner plopped the mastermind’s pipe on the table. “How long does Bunny have left on the list of the living?”

“How much do you think?” Galvani took a small metal case out of her pocket, took out a red cube, smushed it between her fingers and poured the shreds into the pipe.

“Twenty four hours?”

She put it in her mouth, her CHEK fired a laser and lit the pipe. “Eight.” Fat smoke covered half of her satisfied grin.

“Eight hours and a name?” Tenner slapped the table shaking his head. “And where will you be in eight hours?”

“Where I always am.”

“Well.” He spun on his heel. “We’ll meet soon.”