Fifteen years ago.

“Welcome students. I’m not one for long speeches so I will keep this short and to the point.” August’s eyes went over the three rows of new recruits. “The reason you have signed a contract with us differs from person to person. Some have signed because they believe in their duty and see this as the best way to fulfil said duty. Others might have less noble reasons. None of that matters now. The contract you have signed with either me or one of my representatives is binding. If you break it, we will eliminate you.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “However, if you keep to what has been agreed upon I guarantee that you will become excellent assassins. Lessons start at six o’clock in the morning. You will be handed your roster on your way to the barracks. That’s all, dismissed.” August marched off the podium and disappeared through a door, leaving a slightly bewildered student body behind.

Eli looked at the other students, much like him they were trying to decide what to do next. Everyone was wearing the same clothes, giving the whole thing a rather martial feel. Grey linen shirt over black pants. They were all supposed to be assassins, but he doubted anyone here had ever killed someone. Except for a girl who was missing a chunk of her nose, she probably killed over a dozen people.

“This way you bunch of idiots.” Someone yelled at the top of their lungs. “Get in line, take your roster and run towards the barracks.” When everybody hesitantly started moving in the direction of the voice it got louder and angrier. “I’m growing roots down here! Why the devil is this taking so long? Get into line!” As a line started to form I got a look at the person who the voice belonged to. It was a tiny bald man with the biggest moustache I had ever seen. He reminded Eli of the dwarfs from lord of the Rings. The thought made him chuckle.

“Hold the fuck up! Everybody stop what you’re doing. Yes, you too, you laughing piece of shit.” The tiny bald man barked. Yelling seemed to be his regular tone of voice. “This isn’t how we’re going to do things. When I say form a line everybody forms a fucking line within thirty seconds. For every second, real or imagined, I will have you all running around the field. Is that clear?” There were some muttered yesses and the dwarf grinned. “I asked, is that clear?” The sheer volume of his voice had Eli’s ears ringing. Not metaphorically, he couldn’t even hear his own sir, yes sir, over the sound. “Good. Now form a line.” The half-formed line became a straight line within fifteen seconds.

“Excellent, now if you would all pay attention. My name is Jarl Dobber. That is mister Dobber for you lot. I will be your physical educator, and as such I will do my very best to get you all into shape. Take your roster and jog towards the barracks. Boys to the right, girls to the left.” Nobody risked Jarl’s ire as they waited for their roster. As they waited Eli took the opportunity to study his fellow students. They were all around his age and most were regular people, like him. A few people stood out, a giant woman with a lazy smile on her face, a boy with grey skin, the angry looking girl and a guy so skinny you could his ribs. Then again, every class had some weirdos in it.

His turn came up and he accepted the roster. Dobber barely glanced at him before sending him on his way. He jogged towards the barracks, breathing in the fresh air. It was just a jog, nothing that would make him sweat. He had been going to soccer practice since he was five, curtesy of his dad. A wave of homesickness struck him. The past two days had been too crazy for him to stand still and think about home. He knew that if he lingered on the feelings too long he would get really upset. Deep within him was a fear that might just become reality. The distinct possibility that there wouldn’t be a way home, that this was some kind of freak accident in universes or something and that he was stuck here.

He entered the barracks, which was just a hall with a lot of bunkbeds. Behind two doors there should be showers and toilets he gathered. It was best not to think too much about his home or his family. Instead there were far more pressing matters to deal with, like which bed to take and what was actually on his roster. He chose one of the lower beds somewhere in the center of the hall. The roster itself was pretty self-explanatory, the days of the week were lined up with the subjects below that.

His classes were a bit unorthodox, but still nothing beyond his imagination. “You mind if I take the bed above you?” Somebody asked. Eli looked up, the guy standing in front of him was unearthly handsome. On earth he could have been a model or an actor, if he had the talent. “Sure, the name is Eli.” They shook hands. “Charles, you’re from around here Eli?” Charles spoke in a cultured manner, which betrayed his good upbringing. “No, I’m not even from this country.” Charles nodded thoughtfully. “An immigrant hmm, must have been strange getting your ordination?” He sounded sympathetic.

“You can say that, yes. It was very unexpected.” Charles nodded again. “Going by your accent you’re from the West somewhere, even though you look like an Imperial.” Having no clue where they were, or what this world even looked like on a map, Eli decided to go with the safe option of nodding. “At least you’re not from the monarchy, they have the most annoying accent in the world. Three languages in one country was bound to get messy. I doubt they even know their own official language.” Eli again went with the nodding. Going by how people had been talking about the monarchy it wasn’t loved. Maybe hostile neighbors of some kind?

It was maybe the biggest problem he had. He knew absolutely nothing about this world, but everybody expected him to. It made him a little angry, he knew it wasn’t their fault, but if everybody just stopped asking him shit he wouldn’t have to mask his ignorance all the time. “You okay there?” Charles asked. “Sorry, just thinking about people back home.” Eli lied. “You left a lot of people?” A shadow flitted across Eli’s face. “Yeah, quite a few.” Charles saw Eli’s expression and quickly changed subjects. “So, I’ve been looking at our roster and six o’clock isn’t going to work for me, I like to sleep you see.” Eli arched his eyebrows and his lips curled into a smile. “I’m sure drill sergeant Dobber will accommodate to my lord’s wishes. Would you like a softer bed as well?”

Charles chuckled in a very girlish manner, making Eli laugh, before they both knew it they were both roaring, slapping each other’s backs. The joke hadn’t even been that funny, but both had been tense, and they were very relieved to find a kindred spirit.

⤊

Now.

I’m in my office, mentally going over my last job again. Elizabeth Aksokov, I can’t seem to put her out of my mind. On some level I feel screwed, not money wise, everything that was promised was delivered. Yet, mister East was aware of my policies, my rules, and he found a loophole. Sure, Elizabeth was a criminal, who flooded the streets with snuff, but her death made matters worse.

I’m not so naïve to think that if her brother hadn’t taken over the snuff trade wouldn’t have continued. Someone would have reached out to the farmers in the colony and started importing the poison. I don’t feel guilty, not for killing someone who made poison her profession. I’m angry, because my hypocritical bubble is burst. I feel used, since I worsened a problem, while being told that I would lessen it. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth reminding me of the old days.

If I had been a different kind of assassin I might have gone after mister East. However, I’m not some kind of superpowered murderer. I’m just a man with a gun and some training. The syndicate employs hundreds of men like that. Still, my anger remains, and I have to do something with it. The way to strike against mister East is by attacking an asset of his. A corrupt government official, or an important smuggler. Someone with a contract already on his or her head, preferably government. A necessary death.

I pop my head outside, finding Jesse at her desk, typing away at what I presume is another dreadful novel. “Jesse, can you get me a cab.” She nods, already walking towards the door. “Also, if the weather is dreadful, could you fetch my raincoat?” She answers in the affirmative. “Lovely.” I step back inside my office, walking to a cabinet in the corner. I open the second drawer from the left, revealing a row of pistols. My eyes slide to one I recently bought from Victor. It is a nice piece, resembling the Browning HP-35, but with a more stylized barrel. I take it and close the drawer. From the first drawer I retrieve a loaded magazine, 9mm. I take my holster from the peg next to the door, and my suit jacket from the visitor’s chair.

A lot can be said about August Cabaneri and my relationship with him. One thing is certain though, without him I would have never learned how to properly dress myself. Jesse knocks on the door to inform me that my cab has arrived, just as straighten my tie. “Will you be long?” She asks as she helps me into my coat. “That depends. You don’t have to wait for me to get back, just be sure to close up the office on your way out.” She offers me a top hat, which I decline. No matter how long I’ve lived in this country I refuse to wear such a ridiculous hat.

Jesse knows that of course. Just like she knows that it annoys me that I even own one of the damn things. Which is why she finds every excuse to bring it out. When she first found out not an hour would pass without me coming across the bloody thing. She hands me the cap I normally wear, her lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Good luck.” I smile, a man can always use a bit more luck in his life.

⤊

A short drive later I’m standing in front of the club. They have replaced the curtains which hide what goes on inside. Instead of their usual red velvet they have now opted for a poisonous green. It adds to the gothic theme the mansion is styled in. The first time I saw it it reminded me of old horror movies. Not that you would find any squeaking floorboard inside. From the patio to the crested roofs everything is in supreme condition.

Inside things are already in full swing. There was a time when I came here every night, but those days have passed. Ridiculous amounts of alcohol, questionable women and even worse decisions are better left in the past. Still, as I walk past a very naked alcove I’m greeted by a few people. I hurriedly move on before they start to reminisce about the goat incident.

The club harbors many different kinds of people, but you can generally divide them into four groups. The first being the people that work here. This varies from waiters, to poets, to prostitutes. Their main goal is getting paid, and for the suicidal acquiring blackmail material. All assassins hope that the employees go for the latter, since the bounty the club sets on potential blackmailers is nothing to scoff at. The second group of people are visitors. People who come once or twice to enjoy themselves. Then there are the regulars, for whom the club is as much a place of business as well as entertainment.

The woman I’m about to meet is part of the last variety, the truly depraved. Even within the most secluded club in the country they chose to close themselves off, giving in to the vilest cravings. I include the merchants that cater to these people into this group, since they offer things no person with any morals could accept. I generally despise these people, yet I’m about to meet one.

Mistress Alice Ouverte caters to a very specific audience, us. She only deals with assassins, giving them their dream contract. It doesn’t sound like a very lucrative deal, but she gets half of the promised commission. You want a contract which allows you to torture your victims to death? No problem she can get it for you. It has been a very long time since I went to her. This is the third time I visit her, but she is always happy to see me.

I shove the curtains aside of her alcove and am greeted by a cloud of smoke. “My favorite customer, it has been so long.” The thick French accent, of which I’m still not convinced is real, greets me. “Can I offer you something? Wine? Cigarette? A tug on my pipe?” She winks at me. I blush slightly. Sue me, she is a beautiful woman. Her cream-colored skin, lush black hair, green eyes and all the right curves would make any man blush. She snickers at my embarrassment. “Ah monsieur de Winter I always do so enjoy your company. What can I do for you?” I sit down and pick up one of the hoses of the hookah standing in the corner. “I want to hurt someone.” I say. “Not in the way you’re imagining it.” I hastily add.

She gives me a lazy smile. “Mon chérie, I would never believe that coming from you. Not when I remember the frightened boy who didn’t want to kill good people.” I snort. “If I was a frightened boy than you were indecisive girl, the age difference isn’t that big.” She chuckles. “So, you keep insisting.” She says. “Enough reminiscing, I have an appointment soon, which I can’t miss. The person you want to hurt is too powerful to hurt directly, yes?” I nod. “I’m not sure but I think that might be the case. Or the people he works for at least.” She nods, blowing a ring of smoke.

“Syndicate or government?” I tilt my head and give her a tired smile. “It isn’t as if there aren’t any other groups with members out of my reach.” She waves the answer away, motioning for me to answer the question as she inhales deeply. “Syndicate, goes by East, you heard of him.” She releases the smoke through her nose and nods. “I know of him, yes. Never met him though. He is somewhere midlevel, but more valuable than your average member. He has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, not every pie, just a lot of them.”

I grimace, hurting him personally might be harder than I thought. “But many pies mean more targets, doesn’t it?” Alice shakes her head. “The players don’t put contracts on Syndicate business. They don’t want to start a war, not even the ones who are capable of winning one.” As a shadow falls over my face she swoops in with the information I really want. She’s had it all this time but has been waiting for the right dramatic moment. She’s like that, Alice is. I have wondered if she’s slightly mad in the past, but I know better, she’s just bored.

“The Syndicate is a many layered organization. All of layers try to branch out into any direction they can. East and his people are no different. So far they’ve been concentrating on manipulating markets, real estate schemes and the usual gang games in the lowest district. They however have hit a wall.” Alice is getting excited as she talks about the power struggles within the city.

“The military is interfering in their business, hunting terrorists. The terrorists themselves are bad for business as well, turning the locals against the Syndicate. What East needs is to expand his influence in the district governor’s office, so that he can get the military to back off. To accomplish that he needs to evolve one of his minor bureaucrats into a major one.” I calmly waited until she finished explaining and got to the point.

“I’ve been approached by a party that wishes to call a halt to the Syndicate’s growing influence in the district. They wish to remain anonymous however, sorry.” I nod, I respect her discretion, especially since I’m making use of it. “Who is the contract for?” Alice smiles. “Iris dice, an ordained bureaucrat in a minor position. The contract is an unnecessary one, but it will not appear in any file like that.” I raise my eyebrows. “They want it to look like an accident.”

I sigh, accidents are a pain in the ass. I specialize in what they call clean jobs, three or four bullets, maybe some knifework and the job is done. Accidents aren’t in my field of expertise. They harder to set up than you would think and often require a lot of lying, additional costs and time. “What about suicide?” Alice shakes her head. “Terrorist attack?” She sighs. “Mon chérie, you know me better than that. If those were a possibility I would have mentioned them.” I narrow my eyes. “You’ve withheld information from me before.”

For a second a hurt look crosses her face. “That was different, and you know it.” She’s right, I shouldn’t go around opening old wounds. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” The tension lifts. “Are you taking the contract?” It depends on the question I’m about to ask next. “Has she committed a crime for which she hasn’t been punished already. Just taking money from the Syndicate isn’t good enough, everybody has done that at some point.” Alice mouth curls into a sadistic smile. “It depends.” I frown. “On what.” Her eyes gleam. “How much time do you have?”

I step out of the club about an hour later. Iris Dice’s list of crimes is extensive and is still growing. Blackmail, extortion, forcing others into prostitution and a number of embezzlement schemes that would impress Jordan Belfort. She’s forty-seven, divorced twice, no kids, a string of boyfriends, most of them weak-willed. Ambitious, driven, but untrustworthy. Somewhere in her career she stuck a knife in the wrong back or pissed off the wrong people, and they banished her to the lowest district for it. I doubt she will be missed.

She lives on the third level, so that at least means I can orchestrate a traffic incident of some kind. I’m lacking information however. I need to find out how she gets to work. when she eats. When she sleeps. How often she takes a walk to the general goods store. Where she does her criminal dealings. I need to know anything and everything to find the right window.

⤊

Forty-seven years ago, in the lowest district, a girl was born to an impoverished family. In a community of laborers, who were all slowly starving to death, she wasn’t a welcome surprise. Her mother died during childbirth, which shattered her father to pieces. The girl, Iris, wasn’t anything special. There were hundreds of children in the exact same position, some in even more desperate ones.

In the neighborhood Iris grew up in the obsolete were a common sight. The thick black veins just another part of the people. It is hard to follow one’s destined path if worldly things like the labor market are blocking it. The obsolete used to be afraid. Fearing that the assassins would come in the night, or that the government would round them up. However, years of being ignored led to a realization; if you don’t draw attention to your condition you will be left alone.

So, the obsolete laborers kept their head down, doing just well enough to keep on living. Despite the hunger, despite the cold, they kept on going. Harold Dice understood those things. He understood that Iris’ childhood was going to be a short one. More than anything he understood that he had to get her out of the district, regardless of the cost. So, he worked, illegally, for the Silver Bell cartel. He extorted the men and women he used to call friends. He pushed drugs that ravished his old neighborhood. He broke knees and skulls alike. And in the end, he succeeded.

Every single crown he acquired went to a boarding school on the third level. He was an absent father at the best of times, but he got his daughter educated. Seven years Iris spent in The Lord’s Home for the to be ordained. When finally the day of her ordination came Harold wasn’t there to see it. She never found out what happened to her father, but as she became older she learned of the choices he had made. Harold’s wasn’t a wasted life, in the end he achieved what he set out to do, get his daughter out of the lowest district. That being an ordained bureaucrat would see her to the upper echelons of the first level he could have only dreamed of.

Upon receiving her ordination Iris left the third level to be trained in her duties. She was a very eager student, filled with ideals and plans. She had never forgotten the hollowed out faces of her youth, or the blackened veins for that matter. But she was going to change all that, make the shattered lives whole again. She graduated at the top of her class, a prodigy. Dice was the name of a young woman who was going to make it far in the government.

Within months of her graduation her name was well known in both Victoria as well as the capital. Her work ethos was unheard of, her drive appraised by all her superiors. Whenever the Mercian government uncovers a rare gem it is prone to shower it with attention and love. A high Iris rode, with full abundance. A full membership to Victoria’s most elite club and all that it had to offer. A luxury apartment. The newest model car, with the best trained driver. A standing invitation to the high counsel in the capital. Everything she wanted was offered to her on a silver platter, all bought and paid for by Mercia’s citizens.

Yet, what nobody could understand was Iris’ fixation on Victoria’s lowest level. She ceaselessly negotiated on behalf of the “citizens” there. She traded precious favors to get foodstuffs sent down, clinics opened, and sewers built. Whenever asked why she would simply smile, calling the lowest level the new frontier. That was a lie of course, the slums were nothing but a sinkhole, where business interests went off to die.

As the years passed and Iris’ efforts didn’t come to fruition the tide of favors became a tiny stream, eventually being reduced to a trickle. Her supervisors where losing faith, her support was crumbling. But she was so close, if only she could open a well-funded police department, then the rest would follow. So, she soldiered on, biting through the sour part of the apple.

Only she pressed too hard, making enemies out of allies, destroying her career in the progress. First her privileges were withdrawn. Then her friends stopped picking up the phone when she called. Until finally she was demoted and reassigned. They send her back to the slums she had crawled from.

Being send back to her former home after the sights she had seen left a nasty taste in her mouth. She was angry and in her anger she made the wrong choices, made deals with the wrong people. She became a part of the problem she had been trying to solve. Just until she got back on top. Once she was in a position of power again she would resume her crusade against poverty and crime. She was thirty-eight when she got on that path. She is forty-seven now, once again so close to a position of authority. One more promotion and she would be a major player in the district governor’s office.

If she played her cards right she could be district governor within five years. Three, if she managed to hold on to the Syndicate’s support. It was the first thing on her mind when she woke up, and the last thing when she went to sleep. She was going to fix everything, redeeming herself in the process.

⤊

Iris is happy and also very drunk. Very grateful she hangs unto the coach driver’s arm as he guides her to her carriage. If only it was a car. “I hope ye don’t mind me old friend.” The driver says, with a heavy western accent. “’s okay, I can ride double.” Everything is better than walking after all. The driver grunts appreciatively and guides her into the carriage. “Where do you need to go miss?” It takes Iris a second to think of her home address, her mind automatically going to her first level apartment.

It has been a long time since she was invited to a party like this. Much like the first time she had been terribly nervous of fucking it all up. She had drunk too much but remained steady until she got outside. Maybe it hadn’t been the smartest decision, but when dealing with types like Thomas Aksokov it was confidence you needed, not smarts. The carriage starts moving.

The driver’s friend is sleeping, which suits Iris just fine. The other passenger is a very still sleeper, not moving at all. Iris wishes that Mark, her current boyfriend, was like that. Instead the oaf tosses and turns without restrained. Yet, he is sweet, and she likes that in a man. Maybe she should wake him up when she gets home. Give him a reward for being such a loyal man.

After ten minutes or so the carriage halts. The driver opens the door and carries his sleeping friend outside. Probably drunk, Iris muses. The thought is shortly followed by another. Maybe the driver will carry her as well if she pretends to be really drunk. Pretending might not even be that hard, seeing that she actually is quite drunk.

The carriage starts moving again. She’s tired and the soft rocking motion of the carriage makes her aware of the fact that she hasn’t slept in a while. Her eyes start drooping and her thoughts become hazy. Sometimes when you’re about to fall asleep you get the feeling that you’re actually falling. However, if you ignore that feeling, it goes away on its own. She ignores the feeling, instead focusing on pleasant thoughts. Thoughts like how well the party went, how there will be more in the future. She smiles and the carriage crashes into the lowest level, killing her instantly.

⤊

I watch the carriage disappear over the edge of the third district. Setting this whole thing up took more than three weeks. It is the longest contract I’ve ever completed. I’m quite satisfied as the career of Iris Dice is cut short. Who knew what that woman would have done in a true position of power? The thought makes me shudder. Truly, we should make a collective effort to clean up scum like this. The bureaucracy really should install some solid anti-corruption laws, and an inquisition to back the new laws up.

Getting a carriage for a decent price was the hardest part of this job. Surveilling the woman is part of my bread and butter, but I generally don’t work with vehicles. Getting a body from the morgue to serve as a replacement for the driver had been easier than I anticipated. A few crowns to make the paperwork disappear was all it took. Who cares about a few bodies? The morgue clearly doesn’t.

It was fortunate that miss Dice had been in an intoxicated state. Deceiving people is usually a lot harder, especially when they are trained to spot liars. I light a cigarette, taking a drag. I had gotten back at East, in a roundabout manner, and was about to get payed for it. The whole project had taken a lot of time, but I didn’t have much going on regardless. All in all, I was pleased. The whole was resolved now, unless East would try to get back at me for this. Something I doubted, this was an accident after all.

When the authorities investigated, they would find a shattered carriage with a dead driver and a dead customer. When they started searching they would find the span of horses somewhere in the city, the story would shape itself from there. According to the authorities I’m a good man, maybe tonight I did the right thing.

⤊

In a city as big as Victoria the phones never stop ringing. There is always someone who needs to talk to someone at even the most impossible hour. Not that all calls are answered of course, nobody can be near the phone all the time. Nobody, except one man. He always picks up on the third ring, regardless of the hour or his location. The whole thing is almost unnatural.

“This is East, who am I speaking with?” Mister East’s cold voice sounds through the line. “Sir, I have some bad news, ordained bureaucrat 425 is dead. Her carriage crashed over the edge of the third district.” East sighs and pinches the bridge oh his nose. “Any signs the carriage had been tampered with?” He asks. “No sir, it seems to be an accident.” The minion on the other end of line hears him curse, but he doesn’t care. He had been so confident that Dice could help him achieve the next stage. He had wanted her, not someone else, her. Her loss would have consequences he didn’t really want to face.

“Standby for new orders, I will get back to you.” He hangs up. After a few minutes he dials another number. “Mister East, I wasn’t expecting a call from you.” A soft purring voice says on the other end of the line. “Ma'am.” He acknowledges the woman. “I have some bad news. I have run into a delay; the timeline will have to be moved back with a week.” The voice on the other end remains silent. A tiny beat of sweat rolls down mister East’s cheek.

“This is unusual coming from you. When we deployed you in Armes you were more effective, we expected similar results here. North, West and South are on schedule, while they have less experience. Do you understand how that forms a problem?” The threat is less than subtle. “I made a mistake ma'am, put too many eggs in one basket. It will not happen again.” When the woman on the other end of the line speaks again she is much friendlier. “I certainly hope not. I’m quite attached to you, you see, I would hate to let you go.” East swallows. “I would hate to be let go ma'am.”

She chuckles, the sound making his skin tingle. “I will inform the others. Hedge your bets next time mister East. Planning a nationwide revolution is so hard when certain elements keep fucking up the time line.” She hangs up before he can respond. His hands are shaking, he needs a drink, and after that he needs a new plan. He had a long night and an even longer day in front of him.

⤊

“Your champion is lacking.” The King of the North’s voice is filled with ridicule. “After all these years you still have no faith in me?” The Queen of the East says, producing that odd purr of hers. “You wound me great king. How long will it take you to learn to trust me? Another century, two?” The King of the North spits on the floor. “I probably won’t learn, not when your servants deliver such shaky performances.” She chuckles. “As if you don’t like a little risk, something to up the stakes.”

The King of the West snorts some red powder from his hand. His eyes are glowing a sickly yellow as he looks up. “A bit of action is always welcome.” The Queen of the south lays down a couple of cards on the table in front of her. “I’m willing to bet Armes that East’s champion will fix his earlier mistake and reclaim the lost week.” The King of the North spits on the floor again. “I will take that bet.” The Queen of the South’s mouth curls into a smile before moving a copper crown to the other side of the table. “I thought you would.” She mutters.

The King of the West bangs his head against a wall. “I’m done sitting here!” He announces loudly. He stalks out of the room, kicking over a chair as he leaves. “I’m betting everything I own that he’s going to drink, fight and fuck.” The Queen of the South announces. Nobody takes the bet. A few seconds later they hear the double doors leading to the mansion grounds being thrown open. The Queen of the South watches through the window as the King of the West starts yelling at the help for his car.

“I’m going to drink, fight and fuck!” The King of the West yells, presumably answering the butler. For a second the other three individuals in the room wonder how this man ever got in their midst, then they put it out of their minds. “I presume this meeting is over then?” The King of the North inquires. Outside the revving of a car engine is heard, before it takes off with a shriek. “Yes, I would think so.” The Queen of the East sounds annoyed.

The King of the North doesn’t say anything more and leaves as well. “Men!” The Queen of the East huffs as both kings have left. “As if you’re any better.” The Queen of the South snorts. “I bet I am.” The first woman purrs. “I take that bet.”