The bounty was a screaming, blood-red headline in the quiet darkness of his apartment.
A quarter of a million dollars.
That was the price someone had put on his continued existence.
Miles stared at the screen, a cold, hollow feeling spreading through his chest.
"Well," he whispered to the empty room.
"I guess this is what it feels like to be famous."
"Seventeen assassins," he thought, leaning back in his chair so hard it creaked in protest.
"Seventeen of them."
"In this city."
"Probably within walking distance."
"That's more people than I've had a conversation with in the last year."
The system's previous recommendation flashed in his mind, unwelcome and deeply unhelpful.
[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATELY CEASE ALL HOSTILE OPERATIONS. GO TO GROUND.]
"Right," Miles muttered, rubbing his tired eyes.
"Go to ground."
"Excellent advice."
"I'll just crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after me."
"Maybe I can hide in the library."
