Black Apple Hotel.
100th floor.
"What the fuck am I doing here?" Micheal bit his lip in frustration, his back to the elevator wall.
The elevator door opened, yet he hesitated to step out.
Earlier, he had foolishly followed Mr. Dickson and the cyberpunk, ending up in his current predicament.
"I should go back, I can't do this," he wanted to give in to his fear.
This was suicidal no matter how one saw it.
He had once said only a fool would snitch on them, and it seemed he wanted to be that fool.
"No, but what about the client? They could harm him," his inner voice urged.
"Yes, I must save Mr. Dickson..." He stepped out of the elevator, his chest heaving up and down in fear, cold sweat drenching his inner shirt.
"Yes... A good citizen can't watch his fellow die..." He echoed in his head, trying to convince himself that he was doing all this for the client.
Yet, the greed in his eyes said otherwise.
Anyone who truly wanted to save Mr. Dickson would have called the cops when they noticed the cyberpunk, yet here he was, following after him.
"If I take a picture of them, the police will believe me." He stood in front of the door, the one he had seen them enter a few minutes ago.
"There won't be any problem... I am not putting myself in danger " he breathed out his anxiety.
" I just need the door opened and I can hack into the security camera..." He thought to himself, a fullproof plan.
At least that is what he believed.
He was an A+ student in system engineering, Ethical hacking being one of his partime jobs.
Hacking a commercial camera was as easy as pie. Normally, he wouldn't , but it was for the sake of "saving another soul," so this wasn't a crime.
His plan was a simple one.
There was a jammer on the door, a common system on most hotel doors to ensure privacy, and thus he could not gain access to the camera from outside.
He would wait for Mr. Dickson to open the door to sign the proof of delivery, and that is when he would hack the security cameras, remotely taking pictures of the pirates hiding inside.
With the proof, he would be able to get his rewa... No, save Mr. Dickson.
" It's for the client, I need to save the client..."
He rang the doorbell, reciting his words like a mantra.
For the sake of covering his loan and getting out of poverty, he was risking it. Yet he didn't want to think that way, as it seemed desperate
"Who is it?" Mr. Dickson's voice sounded from the intercom.
"It's me, the delivery guy..." Micheal responded, hiding his nervousness behind his professional delivery-guy smile.
"Wha... what do you want?"
"Did he just stutter?" Micheal thought, noticing the nervousness in Mr. Dickson's voice.
"Are they hurting him?..."
"Please, you didn't sign the proof of delivery." Micheal brought the tablet closer to the intercom, hiding his suspension.
"..."
There was no response.
"Is he ok? Should I call the cops now?" Micheal seemed to panic, afraid something might have happened to Mr. Dickson.
After another minute or two, no response followed.
Alarmed, his concern overrode his earlier greed as he dialed the cops.
Immediately, the call was received.
"T. Hill Police Service here. How may I help you?"
He continued to stand before the door, his lips unmoving as he transmitted everything through his thoughts.
"Please, there is a hostage case by the Iron Beard pirates on the hundredth floor of Black Apple Hotel."
"Please transmit the visuals for verification," the female voice on the other side demanded, her tone not losing an ounce of professionalism.
"O... k..."
Micheal transmitted the blurry images he had taken of the triclops and Mr. Dickson with his retina camera.
Each image was too far to be seen clearly—
the main reason he had followed them despite everything.
"Image cannot be verified. Please get a clearer image."
"Please believe me, there's a life involved! Send help!" Micheal's urgent voice echoed in his mind.
His concern for human life seemed to have overshadowed his greed.
He wanted to get a clearer image, mainly anticipating the police wouldn't believe him with the images he had.
"Please send a clearer image for verification," the female voice sounded once more, ignoring his plea.
"But..."
"If that is all, have a nice day." The call was hung up, Micheal standing there in disbelief.
"I knew this would happen. This fucking city is rotten." He furrowed his brows in frustration.
"Huuu!! Well, if I want to get out of this system, I gotta take a risk." He breathed out the last of his fear.
This had confirmed what he always knew to be true.
Even if he wanted to save Mr. Dickson, he needed proof he was in danger—not to mention, if he wanted the reward for the whistleblower mission, both required real proof.
He rang the doorbell again. "Mr. Dickson," he called out.
"Oh, sorry, wait a moment. I'll be there." Mr. Dickson's voice came through.
The door opened—the expected Mr. Dickson not in the doorway.
In front of him was Iron Beard himself, in his full malevolence.
"Why don't you get inside?" he spoke, his voice not as hoarse or intimidating as Micheal would have expected, but an exact match to Mr. Dickson's voice.
"Iron Beard..." Micheal froze momentarily.
Fear gripped him, his flight instinct greater than his fight as he turned on his heel, ready to bolt out of there.
Taking a picture didn't even cross his mind, but before he could move another inch, a hook pierced his side, dragging the entirety of his body into the room.
He couldn't even scream, couldn't even call for help.
The fear, coupled with the lightening intense pain, caused him to lose consciousness.
His plan didn't even get a chance to see the light of day; he never once expected this, a giant miscalculation on his part.
Villains are a paranoid bunch, something he, a model student, didn't get.
If he had, he wouldn't have thought he could get out safe.