Hitman With A Badass System

Meanwhile, moving through the corridors of the Silver Citadel, Alyndra, or rather Michael controlling Alyndra's body, ascended to the fourth floor, a level that housed apartments far grander and more spacious than those on the lower levels. If the second floor contained a hundred apartments, this one held perhaps fifty, each door spaced far apart, signifying the exclusivity of this level.

They walked along the corridor, Alyndra's guards flanking her, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The walls here were paneled in dark wood, and adorned with intricate carvings of celestial scenes. The floor was covered in a plush carpet, its deep blue color absorbing the sound of their steps. Unlike the lower levels, there were no windows here, no shops, just doors—large, imposing, and silent—each one concealing the secrets of the elite who resided within.

Seeing through Alyndra's eyes, Michael took in the details: the runes etched into the doorframes, the faint shimmer of protective wards, and the heavy, reinforced wood of the doors themselves. After a hefty payment of five million Badass Points, the System had pinpointed the floor where Seraphene's data center was located, but the exact location remained a mystery. The System, for all its power, decided to be an asshole and refused to reveal the exact location after berating Michael to use his brains.

So Michael was forced to search, using Alyndra's eyes, her access, her knowledge. Thankfully, there were only dozens of doors on this floor, not hundreds. He continued down the corridor, his gaze sweeping over each door, searching for anything that might indicate its purpose, but there were no signs or markings, just smooth, polished wood reflecting the faint glow of the runes that lined the corridor.

Behind him, Alyndra's guards, their patience wearing thin, began to murmur amongst themselves. "What is the Young Mistress looking for?" one of them whispered.

"I do not know," another replied. "She has been acting strange ever since we left the tavern."

"Perhaps she is meeting someone?" a third suggested. "A lover?"

"Here?" the first guard scoffed. "Her father's apartment is on the sixth floor. This is too far for a discreet rendezvous."

"Maybe she is looking for something," the second guard mused. "Something important."

"Or maybe," the third one said, his voice low and conspiratorial, "she has finally lost it. All that inbreeding is bound to catch up with you eventually."

The lead guard, a tall, imposing elf with a stern face, turned and silenced them with a glare.

"Enough," he hissed, his voice sharp and dangerous. "Do not question the Young Mistress. Just follow and keep your mouths shut."

Eventually, after walking around in circles for almost thirty minutes, even the lead guard lost his patience.

"Young Mistress," he began, his voice tight with controlled exasperation, "forgive my intrusion, but is there something specific you are searching for on this floor?"

Alyndra, without breaking stride, simply raised a dismissive hand, silencing his inquiry. What the guards did not comprehend, however, was that Alyndra, controlled by Michael, was not walking aimlessly. His movements were deliberate. He understood the mindset of spies; they were inherently paranoid, perpetually vigila nt, and always monitored their entry and exit points. These doors, the access points to their potential sanctuary, would be under constant surveillance. He reasoned that a group of elves, especially one with the status of Alyndra, passing by repeatedly would inevitably trigger suspicion. That suspicion, Michael gambled, would soon lead them to step outside, to investigate the unusual activity.

Michael knew these spies would not be wearing cloaks and daggers, declaring themselves as agents of Seraphene. They would be masters of disguise, blending seamlessly into the opulent fabric of Luxor's elite. They would be dressed as noblemen, perhaps, or influential merchants, figures who had every right to be on this exclusive floor. That was precisely what Michael was looking for – the slight anomaly that betrayed their true purpose.

And as Michael, through Alyndra, continued her seemingly aimless walk, his prediction materialized. One of the doors further down the corridor, crafted from dark oak and adorned with a silver serpent handle, swung inward. A tall elf, clad in emerald green robes that flowed with almost liquid grace, stepped aside, effectively halting Alyndra and her guards.

Michael registered the flicker of confusion that crossed the faces of the elven guards. These were men born and raised in Luxor, veterans of countless noble processions and diplomatic gatherings. It was fair to say they knew the prominent faces of the city's elite, the influential families, the key players in Luxor's intricate political game.

However, the confused bewilderment etched on their features spoke volumes; the elf before them was unrecognizable. Granted, Luxor was a sprawling domain, and this elf could simply be someone the guards had not personally encountered, a visiting dignitary perhaps. But Michael was betting on something else. He made Alyndra lower her gaze, focusing on the elf's feet.

Spies, particularly amateur ones, often paid meticulous attention to their primary disguise, the robes, the hairstyle, and the mannerisms. They diligently concealed their tactical gear, the throwing knives tucked into hidden pockets, and the enchanted communication devices concealed beneath their sleeves. But accessories, the seemingly insignificant details, were frequently overlooked. In a world without wristwatches, footwear was a telling detail. The shoes the elf wore were not the soft, supple leather slippers favored by Luxor's nobility, nor the ornate, jeweled sandals befitting their status. These shoes were black, crafted from sturdy, almost matte leather. They were designed for function, not flashiness. The soles were thin and flexible, providing maximum ground feel and agility. He noticed the reinforced stitching around the ankle, providing support for quick movements and sudden stops. In other words, they were standard issue for covert operatives.

"Bingo," Michael thought to himself.

"Who are you, and what is your business here?" the elf's voice inquired, though polite, it held a steely edge, a clear warning.

Seeing through Alyndra's eyes, Michael had a moment of realization. This elf, trying to act like he did not know Alyndra, just gave himself away. A real resident, especially in this exclusive part of the Citadel, would absolutely know who she was. This was a performance and a clumsy one at that.

But wasting time was not an option. Speaking through Alyndra, Michael kept up the charade. "I am looking for my father's apartment," Alyndra's voice stated, now tinged with a hint of Michael's controlled calm.

"We had an appointment." It was a lie, of course. Her father's apartment was on the sixth floor, a fact the guards, and likely this spy, knew. But it was a believable lie, a plausible excuse for their presence on this floor.

The elf's frown deepened. As Michael suspected, the spy must know.

"Do not dilly-dally here," the elf warned, his voice hardening. "This is a private area. Wandering around is frowned upon. Go on, before I call the guards."

Despite their training, Alyndra's guards instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons. The Silver Citadel, however, had strict rules about internal conflicts. A fight here would be messy and complicated. Working through Alyndra, Michael quickly intervened.

"My apologies," Alyndra's voice purred, now laced with a forced sweetness that Michael almost found impressive. "We seem to be lost. We will just be on our way."

She turned, her movements regal and unhurried, and began to walk away, her guards following her lead, their confusion evident in their stiff postures. Of course, the guards were shocked that she did not throw a tantrum like she always did, but they were also glad they did not get into a fight with a nobleman they did not recognize, because, for all they could guess, he could be a powerful servant of Luxor.

Michael, however, knew the truth. They had found their target. The spy's shoes, his pretense, his location—it all added up. The data center was here, somewhere behind that unassuming door, and they would come back later when they were ready.

"What the hell just happened?" one of the guards whispered, his voice laced with confusion.

"No idea," another muttered, shaking his head. "But I am glad she did not… you know… explode."

"Shh," the lead guard hissed. "Something is definitely up. Keep your eyes open."

They continued their walk back towards Alyndra's apartment, their earlier confidence replaced by a nervous tension. Eventually, they reached the opulent apartment on the second floor, its door identical to the others, except for a small, silver plaque bearing the Vael'Ndoren family crest. The guards resumed their posts, flanking the entrance, their expressions stoic, but their eyes darting around, scanning the corridor.

Inside, Michael, still in control of Alyndra's body, moved towards the bed, a plush, king-sized affair draped in silk sheets.

"Lie down," he instructed, his voice soft but commanding.

"Close your eyes." Alyndra's body obeyed, her movements mechanical, devoid of emotion. She lay on the bed, her eyes fluttering shut, her breathing slow and even.

Michael released the Transference of Consciousness spell. The connection severed, he felt a jolt, a disorienting sensation as his consciousness snapped back into his own body.

"Well, that was interesting," Gaya said, her voice dry and amused. "You gonna tell me what the fuck just happened, or am I supposed to guess?"

"I found it," Michael stated, ignoring her jibe. "The data center. It is on the fourth floor. But it is not going to be easy. That place is a goddamn fortress. I bet they even have security arrays in the fucking bathrooms."

"So?" Gaya raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in her eyes.

"What is the plan, genius? We cannot just waltz in there and smash the place up, not without alerting every guard in the Citadel."

"We need to be smart about this, Gaya. We need to infiltrate, and get inside, without raising any alarms. And the best way to do that is to hijack one of those spies. Use their clearance, their knowledge, their body."