“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

The Catholic chapel in Hibiscus Lane could hardly be called a chapel: it was barely the size of an old college dorm room, with nothing to its name except a sole neon bulb, two short pews and a cramped confessional chamber that almost necessitated a foetal position to get into. But for Nicolas and the few remaining old-fashioned people like him, it was home, a welcome refuge from his worldly business.

“What are your sins, my son?” Nicolas could sense the old father behind the screen lean back in his creaking wicker seat.

Nicolas took a deep sigh before continuing. “I beat a man to death.”

There was a palpable, disapproving silence that hung over the room. Evidently the father found it amusing to let his flock stew in the guilt of their own transgressions beforehand. Nicolas did not.

After a long moment, the father spoke. “Did he die quickly, at least?”

“I suppose so.” Nicolas fiddled with the beads of his rosary in the dark chamber. He remembered how he and the other enforcers had kicked and punched the hogtied banker’s head until all of his front teeth fell out, and how they had taken turns to break both his arms and both his legs.

“We dropped him off at the harbor with weighted stones,” he added.

The father thought for a while, then responded. “Say ten Hail Marys and one Act of Contrition. Go forth and sin no more.”

It was Nicolas’s turn to be silent. He had not expected his penance to be so light this time. “Thank you, father.” He got up to leave.

“And don’t let me catch you frequenting those befuddled electronic dancers again!” the old father cried out as Nicolas stooped through the door.

“They’re not even that sexy anyway, father!” he replied as he exited into the sickly warm air of Hibiscus Lane. 

Even as his status in the Black Yangtze essentially permitted him to go anywhere he wanted, Nicolas was painfully aware that in the nicer parts of New Malacca, he was still an outsider. To most of the wealthy that resided here and the visitors stupid enough to call this place a tourist attraction, he was supposed to just be a rumor, a killer who did what other people could not be seen doing. The few people that were unlucky enough to bump into him on the sidewalk quickly distanced themselves soon afterwards, some of them looking back in bewilderment at a tattooed Yangtze thug quietly murmuring the Rosary. A tourist couple soliciting photos let out a quiet, yet audible gasp as he passed by. 

“Virtual girls! Virtual girls! Get the newest models here!” A hawker selling piles of data chips for VR sex partners in holo-containers was bothering everyone within two metres’ distance. “Virtual gi-”

He turned and choked on his words when he saw Nicolas staring at him with an emotion somewhere between boredom and disgust.

“Which way to Suraiboshen?” Nicolas wasn’t normally a big fan of Japanese cuisine (raw fish wasn’t really his thing), and his retinal geomap wasn’t displaying the route correctly.

“T-take a right and then a left at t-the second juncture.” The hawker extended a shaky bionic finger to a street off the main lane. 

“Thank you.” Nicolas turned towards the route as his geomap recalibrated. The hawker scampered off farther down the street, hopefully to sell his wares somewhere less reputable.

His implants alerted him to an incoming video call. When he answered, it was Chang Kow, an underboss of the Black Yangtze and Nicolas’s immediate superior. The man lay in a plush red sofa in equally decadently red robes, but there was no hiding his round and somewhat pig-like physique.

“Nicolas, are you there?” For all his luxury, Chang Kow’s harsh Hokkien accent betrayed the peasant land of his birth.

“Yes, boss.” Nicolas acted professional, if not slightly bored in front of the old pig.

“You’re on the way to the job?”

“Yes, boss,” Nicolas replied in a monotone voice. “I can see it already.” The faux-ancient spires of Suraiboshen were coming into view.

“Good.” Chang Kow leant back in his red cushioned chair through the screen. “That 500,000 asyuan will be a big boon to the Black Yangtze. Don’t fail us.”

“I won’t, boss,” Nicolas replied as he ended the call, fully intending [i]not[/i] to take that 500,000 asyuan to the Black Yangtze. It would become the last transaction to an offshore savings account he had kept hidden from his employers for months. It would become the last part of the money he needed to find Linda and Sean in Los Angeles.

[i]Linda. Sean.[/i] The thought of them distracted him for a while, until the security team at the restaurant entrance brought him back to his senses.

“Make sure both of those weapons are set to stun, please,” one of the guards robotically intoned, noting Nicolas’s pistol and the long rifle template slung across his back as the other searched him with the scanner. 

“Already are,” Nicolas muttered as he raised up his arms. 

After a while, the search was complete. “Please wait in the hallway. You will be called by our employer when everyone is here.”

Nicolas was surprised. “This isn’t a solo job?”

“No, sir, it is not. Now get in so that you don’t block the entrance.”

Nicolas was somewhat unceremoniously ushered into the inside of the restaurant. He automatically swiveled his head to get a full view of the room, a remnant of his police days. He noted a couple of odd faces - at least odd enough for New Malacca - and an old man who he vaguely recognized.

“Marcus? Is that you?”