The "Render Inn" was located on the very edge of the Inner City.
It wasn't the famous Gilded Spire, nor was it the Lounge, but compared to the refugee shelter in District 9, which smelled of piss, it was a royal palace.
It had windows that contained actual glass where he could look at his reflection, a receptionist who didn't appear to be on her period all the time, and, most importantly, a functioning air conditioning system.
'Is this heaven?' he wondered.
Julien and Maya stood in front of the revolving doors of the hotel.
"It is... quite unusual," Maya observed, looking at the three-star rating plaque as if it were a hazardous material.
"It smells of acidic cleaner and half-assed mediocrity."
"It smells like heaven," Julien corrected.
He turned towards her, suddenly feeling very small again.
The adrenaline of the club and the ribs was wearing off, leaving him standing next to an S-Rank hunter with a broken arm and a stolen credit card.
"So," Julien started, shifting his weight. "This is me. I'd like to invite you up for a chat, but..."
"But you are afraid I would criticise the thread count of the sheets," Maya finished.
She adjusted her coat, the silver armour beneath glowing under the streetlights.
"Do not worry, little merchant. My evening has been amusing enough. I have eaten meat that tasted of heaven, and I have watched high-society vultures tear each other apart for face cream."
She stepped closer. The air pressure dropped instantly.
"You have potential, Julien," she said, her voice dropping to a low tone.
"Most men in this city are boring. They want power, sex, or fame. You? You just want to survive with your broken ability. It makes you... interesting."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Julien said dryly.
"You should." She reached out and flicked his forehead.
It hurt more than it should have.
"We will meet again. Kane will not forget you, which means I cannot forget you either. I have invested time in you, and expect a return on my investment."
"How do I contact you?" Julien asked.
"Do you have a phone? A signal flare? A bat-signal?"
Maya laughed, a soft, dangerous sound.
She turned and began to walk away, her silhouette merging with the shadows of the street.
"If you have something interesting to sell, Julien... I will find you."
She didn't look back.
Her figure simply vanished into the night, leaving Julien standing on the sidewalk, clutching his broken arm.
[Commission Protocol: Relationship Status Updated.]
[Maya: Interested / Ally(?)]
"Ally with a question mark," Julien muttered. "Comforting."
He took a deep breath, fixed his hoodie, and walked into the hotel like a man of mystery.
Room 402 was standard.
Two queen beds, a TV that probably only played Guild propaganda channels, and a mini-fridge that had nothing but water in it.
But to Julien, it was heaven.
He tapped his key card for access; the green light flashed, and he pushed the door open.
"Don't shoot! I'm unarmed!" a voice screamed from inside.
Julien blinked.
Standing in the middle of the room, holding a hotel lamp like a baseball bat, was Chris.
His best friend looked like he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. His C-Rank leather armour was unbuckled, his hair looked like it was on fire, and his eyes were wide with panic.
"Chris?" Julien stepped inside, closing the door.
"Put the lamp down. You're going to break the bulb, and they charge fifty credits for that."
Chris lowered the lamp slowly. He squinted to see the figure. Then he dropped the lamp; it didn't break, miraculously, and rushed forward, grabbing Julien in a bear hug that nearly snapped Julien's spine.
"You idiot! You absolute moron!" Chris yelled, shaking him.
"I thought you were dead! The apartment building was gone, and there was just a hole! A giant, dungeon-shaped hole! I went to the shelter, but they said you checked out, and then I got a text from a burner number saying to meet here, and I thought you were kidnapped by organ harvesters and sold in the black market!"
"Ow! The arm! The arm, you idiot!" Julien yelped.
Chris instantly let go, stepping back with his hands up.
"Right. Sorry. The arm. Wait." He looked Julien up and down.
"You... you look terrible. But you also look... expensive? Is that a silk shirt under your hoodie?"
"Long story, man," Julien said, walking past him and collapsing onto the nearest bed. "The apartment is gone. The beast is dead. And I am currently... temporarily rich, I think?"
Chris stared at him.
"Rich? Julien, we were eating ramen noodles without the flavour packet yesterday because it cost money. Define rich in layman's terms."
Julien reached into his pocket and pulled out the Obsidian Mana-Card he had swiped from the Lady in the club.
He tossed it onto the bedspread.
"Eleven thousand credits," Julien said casually.
Chris stopped breathing.
He looked at the card and then gave a suspicious gaze at Julien.
"Who did you kill?" Chris whispered, horrified.
"Did you sell your body to a perverted hunter? Julien, tell me the truth. Is this blood money? Did you become a hitman? You can't even hit a target up close!"
"I didn't kill anyone. Well, I killed a beast, but that's irrelevant," Julien sat up.
"Sit down, Chris. I have to explain some things. But you have to promise not to freak out."