SWNOVELXO Chapter 11: Chapter 11: end of vacation
These past few days of vacation have been anything but restful—thrilling and nerve-wracking, more akin to another form of torment than a break.
I stood by the window, holding a steaming cup of goji berry tea, hoping its calming properties could soothe my turbulent mind. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The serene world outside stood in stark contrast to the storm raging within me.
Ariana had received a phone call earlier this morning. In a flash, she had gotten ready and dashed out, but not before shooting me a glare—complex and loaded. Her expression left me scratching my nose, wondering yet again what I'd done to incur her wrath this time.
"Now that I think about it… wasn't she working as a private concierge in some other hotel?" I murmured, setting my teacup down. Vague snippets of information about Ariana's job floated through my mind. Although she'd never gone into detail about her work, her fiery temper alone was enough to make me pity her clients.
"Hopefully, they have nerves of steel…" I shook my head, silently offering my sympathy.
Then again, that fiery personality of hers had its own unique charm. Equal parts maddening and awe-inspiring. For reasons I couldn't explain, I found myself growing increasingly curious about what her "private concierge" duties entailed. But considering my current predicament, it seemed wise not to dig too deeply into her professional life.
Thoughts of Ariana conjured up vivid images of her usual demeanor: frowning while reprimanding clients, issuing curt instructions with an icy glare, or, on rare occasions, breaking into a surprisingly warm smile…
"Nope, stop it. Don't think about her anymore." I shook my head vigorously, trying to banish these pointless fantasies.
As I stood by the window, a cool breeze slipped through the gap in the curtains, carrying with it a hint of chill. The end of this so-called vacation loomed, and another adventure seemed just around the corner.
When I returned to the Shadow Hotel, night had fallen. The familiar lobby was as opulent and detached as ever, the understated crystal chandeliers casting a cold, white glow that created an otherworldly sense of isolation.
Harvey, the manager, stood at the reception desk, immaculate as usual in his black suit. He greeted me with a faint smile, his tone calm and steady. "Welcome back, Lorne."
"Manager Harvey." I nodded and raised a hand to rub the back of my neck, trying to alleviate the fatigue from my "vacation." Calling it a break felt like a joke; my encounters with Ariana had been more intense than any mission.
"Your next assignment is ready," Harvey said, skipping pleasantries and getting straight to the point.
"So soon?" I arched a brow, letting a hint of reluctance slip into my tone. Internally, I couldn't help but grumble: Does this hotel ever ease up on its workload? I just got back and haven't even had time to breathe.
Harvey's knowing smirk didn't falter, as if he'd anticipated my complaint. He picked up a room key card from the desk and handed it to me. "This assignment will introduce you to a different kind of 'story.'"
I took the key card and glanced down at the familiar room number printed on it: 1703. The hotel's room assignments were notoriously cryptic, and this number sent an inexplicable chill down my spine.
"What's the mission this time?" I asked tentatively, trying to glean some clue from Harvey's expression.
But he merely shook his head, his smile tinged with mystery. "See for yourself, Lorne. You'll enjoy it."
I pushed open the door to Room 1703, and before I could take in my surroundings, my ears were assaulted by the blaring sound of rock music. The deafening beats reverberated through the room, making my eardrums ache.
"What the—?" I muttered, covering my ears as I cautiously stepped inside. The room's decor was a chaotic departure from the hotel's usual elegance: empty beer cans littered the floor, half-eaten pizza boxes crowded the table, and crumpled clothes were strewn carelessly across the bed.
Just as I was about to complain about the room's resident being a walking disaster, a figure popped up from behind the sofa. Clad in a worn leather jacket with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, he grinned with a cocky charm that instantly grated on my nerves.
"Hey, kid! Finally showed up!" he called out, standing up with the swagger of someone who owned the place.
The moment his familiar bald head came into view, I froze. For a split second, I wondered if I'd wandered into the wrong story. Is this going to be a street racing mission…? I thought, taking a cautious step back, my instincts screaming to prepare for an incoming wrench to the face.
"Relax, rookie!" The bald man waved a hand dismissively, his grin widening as he exuded an air of unapologetic arrogance. "Name's Chev Chelios. Heard you're my little sidekick today. Don't worry—I'm great to work with, apart from my short temper."
Chev Chelios. That name alone sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Wait a minute… isn't he that adrenaline-junkie lunatic?
"Uh… Chev, right?" I tried to steady my voice, layering it with a mix of doubt and guarded respect. "So, you're… staying here?"
"Yeah, kid." He nodded, pulling another unlit cigarette from the table and sticking it between his lips. "But don't call me a 'guest.' Sounds too tame. I'm more like… a part-time employee here. Every now and then, the hotel ropes me in to handle the messy stuff."
"Messy stuff?" My gut churned with unease.
"Yeah, like today's assignment." Chev grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Hotel thought a newbie like you could use a mentor. Lucky for you, I'm very reliable."
"Reliable?" I glanced around the chaos-filled room and raised an eyebrow. "Uh… you sure?"
Chev's grin faltered for a moment before he shrugged. "Don't judge a book by its cover, rookie. Now grab your gear—we've got work to do."
Before I could object, my brain buzzed with a familiar mechanical voice:
Mission Issued: Assist Chev Chelios with a special assignment. Reward: Extreme Driving Skills.
I sighed. This is going to be insane.
Chev clapped me on the back, his grin widening. "Don't look so tense, kid. Stick with me, and you'll come back in one piece. Probably."
Watching his eager expression, I had a sinking feeling. Whatever lay ahead, it was bound to push me far beyond my limits.
"Alright, Chev, tell me—what exactly are we doing?" I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever madness lay ahead.
Chev flashed his trademark cocky grin and beckoned me with a crooked finger. "The mission's simple—chase, shoot, grab the goods, and finish the job! But let me warn you, this won't be your average 'safe driving' experience."
"Chase, shoot, grab the goods, and finish the job!" His tone was so casual, it was as if he were listing groceries rather than laying out a high-risk operation.
"That… doesn't sound simple at all." I swallowed hard, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
"Don't worry, I've got your back." Chev grinned wider, baring a row of white teeth. He pointed down the hall. "Come on, let's hit the armory and gear up. Don't say I didn't warn you—this mission's gonna be a wild one!"
We headed down a dimly lit corridor toward the armory. Chev walked ahead, his steps light and confident as if he were on a leisurely stroll. I followed cautiously, my every step weighed down by apprehension. The creak of the iron door opening revealed an arsenal packed wall-to-wall with weapons—gleaming blades, shining bullets, and a few heavily modified vehicles. The room looked like a miniature military museum.
"Welcome to my personal armory!" Chev declared with a flourish, grabbing a submachine gun and inspecting it with a self-satisfied smirk. "Pick whatever catches your eye. Today, these babies will keep you breathing."
"Wait… all of this is yours?" I asked, my eyes wide as I scanned the room. Among the weapons and equipment, a few neon signs hung inexplicably on the walls, emblazoned with "Chev's Armory" in bold letters.
"Of course, it's mine!" Chev raised an eyebrow at me, his expression dripping with mock pity for my ignorance. "I put this place together myself. Nice setup, huh?"
"Uh… definitely your style." I forced a polite tone, though my attention was quickly stolen by something in the corner. A vehicle bristling with weapons—a literal death machine on wheels—caught my eye. The car was outfitted with spinning blades along its sides, chainsaw blades on the bumper, and reinforced windows covered with iron grates. It looked even deadlier than the motorcycles lining the room.
"This… this isn't your daily ride, is it?" I pointed to the "Terminator battle car," my heart sinking at the thought of my immediate future.
"That's my backup plan," Chev said with a sly grin, patting the car's hood affectionately. "If the mission escalates, this bad boy will make everyone bow down and beg for mercy. But for today's job, a motorcycle will do."
"Ha… haha, sure." I forced a laugh, dragging my gaze away from the monstrosity. This man's life is insanity personified.
"Here, take this." Chev rummaged through a toolbox and pulled out a silver handgun, which he handed to me with a mischievous smirk. "This was one of the first guns I ever used—accurate and easy to handle. Perfect for a newbie."
"I… I already have a gun…" I stammered, pulling out the pistol the hotel had awarded me. I handed it to Chev for inspection. Its sleek, metallic finish glinted under the lights, and it looked significantly more advanced than the one he was offering.
Chev glanced at my gun and raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin curling his lips. "Oh, fancy. A newbie with high-end gear? You sure you can handle this thing?"
"Uh… kinda," I replied hesitantly, though in truth, I wasn't confident. My last time using it had been pure luck.
Chev snatched the gun from my hand, weighing it briefly before popping out the magazine for a quick inspection. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Not bad. Definitely better than my old relic. Fine, you can keep this baby, and I'll put mine back in the box." With a casual flick, he tossed the silver handgun back into the toolbox, as though it were a cheap toy.
"This is a mission. Are you even serious?" I couldn't stop myself from blurting out.
"Relax, kid." Chev clapped me on the shoulder, his lighthearted tone maddening. "It's not about the gun—it's about how you use it. The key to survival is all in the feel and your guts."
"Right…" I nodded begrudgingly, thinking to myself, If I survive this, my guts will definitely be overtrained.
Chev motioned for me to follow, wheeling a modified motorcycle toward the exit with the ease of someone prepping for a casual joyride. I sighed and trailed after him, resigning myself to what promised to be a chaotic ordeal.
Night was deepening, and the air carried a restless energy. I tightened my grip on the gun and muttered under my breath, "Let's just hope I make it back in one piece…"