Chapter 12: The Unique Pulse of New York

After a long night’s work, when Jody and the others were looking for a place to sleep, a new piece of news suddenly reached them:

Roanne had officially become a full-fledged agent. The combined reward for solving the case and catching the killer amounted to fifty-five thousand dollars, which would be paid out this weekend along with Roanne’s salary.

If this news left the male agents like Jody both envious and unwilling, another announcement was enough to make the female agents like Elena lose their composure:

At Roanne’s persistent request, Group Five’s leader, August, had also promoted Mona to a full agent and transferred her into the Fifth Investigation Group. Furthermore, Mona would receive a share of that fifty-five thousand dollar reward.

“Fu—!”

“Bi—!”

“*****!”

“She’s got two legs, just like I do—what makes Mona so special?”

Compared to the men, the competition among women was even fiercer and more terrifying.

.....

Roanne had no idea how the other intern agents were feeling. After chatting for a while with August in the office area of Group Five, he finally finished work for the day. Saying goodbye to Mona, he hailed a cab back to the small apartment in Queens that his predecessor had rented.

A kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room—Roanne glanced around quickly. The place was messy: dirty laundry was scattered everywhere, and the air was filled with the familiar, musty smell that every man recognizes from his dormitory days.

A quick search revealed the source of the odor—unwashed socks beneath the sofa.

“Thank goodness I didn’t invite Mona over,” Roanne mused, marveling at how careless his predecessor had been. He pushed open a window to air out the room, then began searching for any important items left behind, rather than tidying up.

For one simple reason: Roanne never intended to stay in this apartment. Besides being too far from his workplace and having no car—meaning he’d have to get up early to catch the subway—there was another crucial point: the lease would be up in two days.

In the bedroom, Roanne found an old desktop computer with a massive monitor, its uptime showing it had been on for ages. A cursory check turned up nothing useful, so he rummaged under the bed and finally discovered something that had once been very important to his predecessor: a bankbook.

With a blank expression, Roanne pocketed the princely sum of five hundred dollars recorded inside.

Every penny counts. The old hitman had once warned him: “Never underestimate a single cent. Sometimes a human life isn’t worth even that.”

After a careful sweep of the apartment and his memories to make sure nothing was left behind, Roanne called the landlord and left for good.

From that moment on, Roanne Greenwood was Roanne Greenwood.

At the Netherwatson Hotel in Manhattan, Roanne took a quick shower but didn’t call the waitress he’d met earlier. Instead, he lay down in bed, ready to sleep.

It was his first day in this new world. He still felt out of place and, after such a hectic day, had no interest in any “two-player games.”

.....

Much later, Roanne—already asleep—suddenly heard a buzzing sound at his ear. Before he could react, a familiar pale blue screen appeared before his eyes.

......

Roanne checked the time: midnight.

“So the treasure chest refreshes at twelve every day,” he muttered.

Stretching and yawning, he began to scan the system interface.

[Performance Evaluation: Good]

[Number of Treasure Chests: Three]

[Open Treasure Chests?]

“...Open.”

Seeing the word “good” in his evaluation, Roanne’s eyes lit up. If there was a “good,” then surely there must be an “excellent.” Then again, he wondered, were there also “pass” and “fail” ratings?

[Treasure Chests Opened]

[Stamina Potion ×1. Fireproof Potion ×1. Night Vision Potion ×1.]

Looking at the three potions displayed on the pale blue system screen, Roanne recalled the hemostatic potion he had given to the girl in the camisole earlier that day.

The effect had been immediate—it could easily save a life in a pinch.

But...

Laying the pillow flat and lying down again, Roanne closed his eyes and murmured softly,

“Why do I get the feeling these potions are more suited for the life of a hitman...?”

......

The next morning at eight, Roanne walked into the office area of the Fifth Investigation Group on the 23rd floor of the Jacob Federal Building with a huge bag of breakfast.

As mentioned before, the 23rd through 26th floors of the Jacob Federal Building in Manhattan belonged to the New York branch of the FBI.

These four floors were occupied by the major departments: Homeland Security, Crime—Cyber—Response and Services, Science and Technology, Intelligence, Information and Technology Processing, and Human Resources.

Under Crime—Cyber—Response and Services were the Criminal Investigation Division, Major Incident Response Teams, Cyber Division, International Operations, and Victim Services.

Within the Major Incident Response Teams were some well-known units: the Hostage Rescue Team (HRT), Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT), Crisis/Hostage Negotiation Team (CUN), Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), and the Counter-IED Department.

Of course, these units had nothing to do with Roanne. The group he was joining today, Group Five, was under the Criminal Investigation Division—one of the thirteen investigation groups in that division.

Don’t ask why there are thirteen groups—if you must know, it’s just the way things work in New York.

The group supervisor, Verinice, was mainly responsible for Groups 1–5, while the later groups were managed by other supervisors.

The scope of these investigation groups was broad: mass killings, sniper murders, serial killings, gangs, child-targeted crimes, human trafficking or involuntary servitude, bank robberies, jewelry and gem thefts, international violent crimes—any of these might fall under their purview.

“Good morning, Agent.”

Roanne entered the Fifth Investigation Group’s office, finding only one person inside—a white man, not less than six foot three, with a buzz cut and muscles straining to burst from his suit.

Hearing someone greet him, the big man looked up from his computer. Seeing Roanne’s striking good looks, he grinned widely.

“So you must be Roanne—the one August told us about!”

“That’s me,” Roanne replied, handing over a portion of the breakfast and asking with a smile,

“What exactly did August say about me?”

The big man took the breakfast without hesitation, biting off half in one go. With his mouth full, he laughed,

“August told us that Roanne is not only just as handsome as he is, but just as smart too. But you’re not as tough as he is, so we should look out for you, not bully you, and keep you safe on missions.”

Roanne: “...”

Noting the stiff look on Roanne’s face, the big man wolfed down the rest of his food and said directly,

“Don’t worry—we all know about your one-against-ten fight and the eight-hour case you cracked yesterday. No one in Group Five is going to be foolish enough to pick on you.”

“No, I’m not worried about that,” Roanne shook his head, spreading his hands. “I’m just wondering what kind of image people who’ve never met me, but have met August, must have in their minds after his little introduction.”

At this, the big man burst out laughing, clapping Roanne on the shoulder.

“I’m Ridley Smith, senior agent, Group Five. Just call me Ridley from now on.”

With that, Ridley grabbed the breakfast bag and pulled out three more servings to eat.

Roanne: “...”