Gas and Blood in the Air
Liza Voss stayed close by, on her feet. Leaning back, Julian D’Aurelius watched her through a faint smile - hard to read, that look. His chair tilted slightly behind him.
A finger brushed the wood, pause hanging like dust in air.
"By the way," he said at last, tone casual but deliberate, "the company plans to enter the gaming business soon. I need you to help with so research."
Liza’s gaze tightened just a shade, barely noticeable.
Of course.
This man always had more beneath the surface. His actions unfolded like hidden paths, each step suggesting sothing else underneath.
"How should I research?" she asked calmly, folding her hands in front of her.
Inside, she was certain he was setting another trap.
Julian suddenly stood up and walked toward the massive wall-mounted television in the office. With a click, the screen flickered to life. He crouched down, switched on the sleek ga console beneath it, and the room filled with colorful startup animations and digital sound effects.
He gestured broadly.
"There are twenty-five gas here. All of them are currently the best-selling titles on the market."
He turned his head slightly, golden eyes glinting.
"I hope you can complete all of them and send a daily report."
Liza blinked.
He continued smoothly, almost generously.
"Also, the company provides free snacks and tea—milk, juice, coffee, whatever beverage you like. All takeout orders are reimbursed. Eat whatever you want."
He pointed to the rest area behind a glass partition—soft couch, reclining chair, a folded blanket neatly placed.
"For now, just focus on this. If you get tired, take a nap in the office rest area. No problem."
Silence.
Liza stood there, montarily dumbfounded.
This was... the assignnt?
"Alright, start playing then," Julian added, voice suddenly firm. "Don’t slack off. There’s surveillance in the office. I can see everything."
He gave her a look that was half warning, half teasing.
Then he walked out with a smile.
The door clicked shut.
A mont later, his departing thoughts brushed against her mind.
[Haha, it’s not suitable to transfer you elsewhere.]
[To prevent you from causing trouble, I’ll just let you play gas every day.]
Liza stared at the blank doorway.
Speechless.
She slowly sat down in front of the large screen and picked up the controller.
Fine.
If this was his move, she would play along.
—
August 3rd.
Playing gas.
The glow of the screen reflected in her black eyes. She defeated a final boss with chanical precision and began taking structured notes on character monetization systems.
—
August 4th.
Playing gas.
Empty snack wrappers piled up on the side table. She muttered under her breath while analyzing loot drop algorithms.
"This is ridiculous..."
—
August 5th.
Playing gas.
She paused mid-level and stared at the screen.
"Liza, what are you doing?" she whispered to herself.
Her fingers tightened on the controller.
"You were sent here to investigate. To infiltrate. To dismantle the D’Aurelius Group."
She shut off the screen abruptly.
"How can you be so decadent? Have you finished your investigations? Have you gathered the core data? Have you traced financial pipelines? Have you found proof about your father?"
Silence answered her.
She turned the console back on.
"...Just one more stage."
—
August 6th.
Playing gas.
—
August 7th.
Playing gas.
The routine beca absurdly consistent.
And sohow, humiliatingly comfortable.
—
anwhile—
Lunar Citadel.
Twelfth floor.
Room 1207.
At exactly 3:02 PM on August 9th, a female service staff mber knocked gently on the door.
"Hello, guest? It’s been two hours past checkout ti. Are you still there?"
Her voice echoed softly in the hallway.
Checkout ti had been 1 PM.
According to hotel policy, if a guest remained two hours past checkout without response, staff were required to check the room.
She knocked again.
No answer.
A faint hum of air conditioning could be heard through the door.
After several attempts, she hesitated, then used her key card.
The door unlocked with a soft click.
The air inside hit her like a blade.
Freezing.
The air conditioning was set absurdly low. Her breath almost fogged in front of her.
She wrapped her arms around herself and stepped inside.
The curtains were drawn. The room was dim.
The bathroom light was on.
She swallowed and walked toward it.
When she reached the doorway—
She froze.
A naked woman lay in the bathtub.
Still.
The water had turned a deep, horrifying red.
For half a second, the world seed silent.
Then—
A piercing scream tore down the hallway.
Within minutes, the hotel’s internal dical staff rushed in. Gloves snapped into place. Equipnt unpacked.
They worked quickly.
But after several tense minutes, one of them slowly shook his head.
"It’s no use..."
His voice was heavy.
"She’s gone."
—
News of a suicide at Lunar Citadel spread with shocking speed.
Guests panicked.
Suitcases rolled across marble floors. Reservations were canceled. A crowd gathered at the front desk demanding imdiate checkout.
Julian arrived within half an hour.
When he stepped into the lobby, the tension in the air was almost visible.
The newly appointed general manager Amika, was already waiting, sweat faintly visible at his temples.
Seeing Julian, he imdiately bowed his head.
"Young Master Julian, this is my fault. I just took over the hotel, and this happened."
His voice trembled slightly.
The previous general manager had barely settled into his chair before being promoted. Now Amika had inherited this crisis.
If handled poorly, Lunar Citadel’s reputation would suffer irreversible damage.
Julian placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It’s not your fault."
His tone was steady.
"What’s the situation now?"
Amika lowered his voice.
"The scene has been sealed off. The police are investigating and collecting evidence. The preliminary judgnt is suicide."
"Suicide?"
Julian frowned slightly.
Anyone who could afford to stay at Lunar Citadel was wealthy beyond ordinary standards.
People often joked that money doesn’t buy happiness.
But in truth—wealth granted options.
Power.
Escape routes.
In all these years, not a single guest had ended their life here.
Who would choose to die in a place of silk sheets and crystal chandeliers?
Amika glanced around and leaned closer.
"But... the police found that a section of the victim’s hair was missing. There are signs she may have been assaulted. However, there’s no clear evidence."
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
"What about the surveillance?"
"The surveillance didn’t capture anyone entering or leaving her room."
That made his brows knit deeper.
Strange.
Very strange.
He took out a cigarette, lit it slowly, and inhaled.
Smoke curled into the tense air.
He sat down, silent, analyzing.
Hair missing.
Possible assault.
No cara footage.
And a luxury hotel suddenly stained by blood.
His mind moved quickly, assembling fragnts.
Then—
A na surfaced in the darkness of his thoughts.
Bear.
The Obsidian King’s loyal hound.
Julian exhaled smoke slowly.
This was not suicide.
This was a ssage.
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