THE KILLING HOUR

Chapter 6 · Quadra Kill

Urged on by the three impatient Hunters, the group soon reached the basement. It was the hotel's first underground level, used to store junk, long-lasting food and supplies. Nobody ever came down here.

An iron gate stood at the basement entrance. Without a key, an ordinary person couldn't get in.

But when they reached it, the chain on the iron gate was already off. The door stood ajar—clear proof someone had been here—and voices seemed to drift from inside.

"Everyone, our basement is at the end of the hall. But I can't leave the front desk. I still have work."

Here's the key to the iron gate. When you're done, just bring it back to the front desk."

Kyle handed a gold key to the most hot-tempered of them, Ask, and left.

There was no reason to give him trouble.

He had no further use now, so—

With the key in hand, the three had no intention of wasting more time on Kyle. They ran for the basement. The dim corridor was only thirty meters long, lit by a few weak old bulbs,

though the light barely showed the shape of anything.

"Stop pushing me. I'll give it back, just let me go. It's buried under the red box in the corner."

Before they reached the door, a strange man's wail cut through the air. What he was talking about, all of them knew exactly.

The classified document.

According to the mission prompt, there wasn't enough of that document for all five, and only the one holding it at the end could complete the bonus mission and claim the reward.

"Bang!"

The wooden basement door flew open with a kick, and the three Hunters charged in.

In the dim basement, by the weak light of a phone, they could just make out Icy sitting on a cardboard box with his head down, one hand gripping a stranger's collar as if interrogating him.

"You little bastard, keeping it all for yourself?"

If we hadn't come early, you'd have swallowed the whole thing."

Ask roared, spotted the red box in the corner, and without a thought lunged at it like a starving tiger.

Seeing their teammate move,

Three and Staff jumped into the scramble too.

Flimsy cardboard boxes flew through the air

as the three tore the place apart. But after all that searching, there was no sign of the classified document.

Bright lights blazed on, and the small basement was thrown into daylight. The three Hunters, still digging for the mission item, froze. They'd searched and found nothing,

and the sudden glare made them squint.

"My worthy opponents, thank you for the fun. I'd love to keep playing with you, but sadly I have one last Hunter to deal with, so—"

Ten meters from the basement door, Kyle Vance in his red uniform stood beside the switch that controlled the basement lights.

Who else could have turned on the lights?

The boy's lips curled. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed politely to the Hunters inside, then gracefully tossed the lighter from his hand. Whoo, whoo, whoo.

The lighter spun through the air, hit the floor—and in an instant the liquid on the ground caught. Flame raced toward the gas drums in the corner.

"Bang!"

The blast sent a storm of sparks off the drums. Within moments everything flammable in the basement was burning, and the only exit was a wall of fire.

No water down here, no fire alarm. In other words, they had no way to put it out.

The Hunters were as helpless as lambs on a spit. In five minutes the blaze would swallow them whole.

"You son of a b***h! Don't walk away, fight me one on one!"

"Bro, don't go! We're all players here, show some face. We'll go easy on you outside, I swear."

"You're that Fugitive?"

My god, right under my nose?"

The three Hunters were still dazed. The clerk had to be a Fugitive—nobody else would go this far to kill them.

But if he was the Fugitive, then who was in the basement?

Ask was cursing a blue streak. Staff stood frozen like a lump. Three, who already knew the game was lost, looked to his side.

A short distance away, the unconscious Icy had been posed leaning forward, gripping someone. The man across from him was out cold too, with a few marks on him—clearly he'd been worked over.

The lobby manager.

Mark Lance.

That was the nameplate on the chest of the man in the black suit. So this was the hotel's manager, the one who'd never shown his face.

If both of them were unconscious, where had the voice come from?

"Stop pushing me. I'll give it back, just let me go. It's buried under the red box in the corner."

Again a man's voice came from the manager's pocket. Listen closely—the words were awfully familiar.

By the firelight,

Three reached a shaking hand into the manager's pocket and pulled out a phone looping every 30 seconds

playing a recording.

"A recording to fake it, planting the idea that our teammate wanted the reward for himself, then luring us all into this sealed basement.

Using the bad lighting and our own impatience to walk us into the trap step by step. What the hell kind of opponent did I run into?"

Three smiled bitterly at the closing flames, quietly picked the surrender option, and left the game.

If he hadn't been cornered and seen the enemy's face, who would ever guess that this harmless-looking kid was such a terrifying Fugitive?