Named Assignment

Henry, who thought he could relax and avoid trouble for two or three months, was called back to his rented apartment by a voicemail call while he was in the Sheep Cave Valley Laboratory.

Of course, he brought Kitty, the little Tiger, back with him. Unlike the rented apartment, the lab didn't have any measures to prevent Tiger bites or collisions. Apart from Henry personally watching over her, Kitty was left to roam freely in the wilderness.

Since I wasn't keeping an eye on things at the lab and didn't plan to let Kitty go free, I could only let her go back to the rented apartment to chase after BB, the poor core robot, and bite her.

The call came from the Continental Hotel. The caller didn't explain the situation in detail, only asking Henry to go to the hotel.

As a freelance service provider, while the hotel's orders are not legally binding, they cannot be refused outright without even being asked.

So Henry drove there anyway, to find out why the hotel had summoned him.

Henry entered the Continental Hotel in Los Angeles through a side door; this was one of only two such locations in North America, along with New York. He headed straight for the service area in the basement.

The lobby on the first floor primarily serves contracted gunmen who use Gold Coin to pay for services at the hotel. Freelancers like him, unless they want to splurge, usually handle their work and business dealings at the service counter.

The beautiful woman who greeted us had her long blonde hair styled in an updo, and wore a bright red women's pencil skirt with a well-tailored blazer on top, exuding a unique and alluring charm. However, the tattoo on her face was very eye-catching, making her look like a skull.

Actually, judging from her figure and posture, What If...? it weren't for that terrifying tattoo on her face, she would be a rare beauty.

However, those who end up in the Continental Hotel system often have some unpleasant past and lack the educational and work experience required for normal society. Just like the scars under a tattoo, they must be memories that are too painful to recall.

Henry never made a conscious effort to inquire about anything, just as no one here would ask about his background. Everyone maintained a tacit understanding of this, interacting like ordinary people.

So the first thing Henry said upon meeting was, "Hello, sweetheart, the color of your lip gloss today is really special. Let me guess, grape purple?"

"No, I was just dressed too lightly today and got cold on my way here." The girl said coldly, as if it were none of her business. Henry casually grabbed the skull-faced beauty's hand and rubbed it, saying, "Oh dear, it's really cold. How can you do this? Let me warm you up. Give me your other hand too."

No matter how terrifying the face may be due to scars or tattoos, these hands truly deserve the description of "fair and delicate wrists." The skin is so smooth and delicate that it's like that of a baby who has been soaked in milk, both smooth and white, completely different from the skin texture of most Caucasians.

The girl pulled her hand away with a slight effort. A hint of disappointment flickered in her eyes, though it was unclear whether she was disappointed that the man hadn't held on tight enough, or disappointed in him in general. She gave Henry a cold look and said, "What can I do for you, Mr. Brown?"

He feigned regret, but also needed to avoid any mishaps; Henry never overdid things. He simply laughed it off, saying, "The hotel called and asked me to come over, but they didn't go into details over the phone. Could you help me find out what it's about?"

Flipping through her memo, the skull-faced beauty said, "Manager Fisher wants to see you. Come with me."

With a sign on her seat that read "Busy, please contact other staff," the skull-faced beauty led Henry toward the hotel manager's office.

The manager's office can actually be considered a luxurious room on par with a presidential suite. It has two high ceilings, a piano bar, a library-level bookshelf area, a grand desk, and other small rooms for various purposes.

Henry had been there once before when he first registered as a freelancer, so he already knew the location.

But in some places, it's polite to be led there, and he's not someone who can just wander around like that. So Henry obediently followed behind the skull-faced beauty, taking in her graceful figure as he went.

The manager's office was reached quickly. After the beauty knocked, the door opened, allowing only Henry to enter.

Ms. Mooney Fisher was still dressed in a glamorous and sexy gown. Even in the nearly December weather in Los Angeles, she simply added a white fox fur scarf to cover her slender neck and delicate shoulders.

Henry dared not treat this woman the same way he treated others. Instead, he acted even more distant, approaching the desk and greeting her, "Ms. Fisher, is there something you wish to discuss with me?"

Leaning seductively against the table, the woman, who wasn't sitting down despite having a chair, asked in a questioning tone, "Whiskey? Red wine?"

"No need, thank you."

"Whiskey, please." The woman gestured to the small liquor table next to the desk. Henry shrugged, went over, poured a glass of whiskey, and handed it to the woman.

"What an insensitive man," Mooney Fisher said resentfully.

Henry chuckled and said, "The fish can see the hook behind the bait, yet it still bites. Whose fault is that?"

Sitting back in her comfortable office chair, Mooney Fisher said with a hint of dissatisfaction, "Sometimes, a fish's intelligence lies in obediently taking the bait. At least what's in its mouth isn't fake, don't you think?"

Henry had no intention of continuing the conversation with this person who wasn't even sitting next to him, so he remained silent. He simply sat in the guest seat opposite the desk, waiting for the other person's response.

Seeing that it was yet another fruitless attempt, Mooney Fisher reverted to her icy, aloof demeanor, took a letter and a Continental Hotel Gold Coin from her drawer, and said, "This is a job, the kind you can't refuse."

As a freelancer, I cannot refuse any Gold Coin commissions that are related to my job, unless I have other Gold Coin clients on my plate.

This was the rule, and Henry had no intention of disobeying it. He simply asked, "Would it be helpful for you, Madam, to give me direct instructions?"

This job must be complicated. Can you tell me what it's like?

"A family member from the High Table knows a guy who has appendicitis and needs surgery. He eventually found his way here."

Henry, who was about to take the envelope, immediately withdrew his hand upon hearing this. His face darkened, and he said, "Madam, are you joking with me? This is such a completely unrelated matter."

"Besides, for a minor surgery like appendicitis, there are at least a thousand, if not ten thousand, doctors in the United States who can do it. And that's the kind of skill level where they could do it blindfolded. Why would someone like me, without a medical license, come here? Is that person a wanted criminal?"

"That child has some unusual allergy symptoms."

What symptoms?

"Allergic reaction to anesthetic."

"Ugh—" Henry choked, then said, "Antibiotic treatment? Nobody's tried it." He then reached out to take the Gold Coin and the envelope.

"I heard it's quite serious and can't be resolved without surgery."

"It seems they've taken a liking to my Golden Needle Paralysis Technique," Henry added. "My treatment methods aren't the kind that ordinary people are used to. You understand, right?"

They understand perfectly.

"Hmm, did they say where the surgery will be performed? And when?"

?

"Once you receive this letter, please go there as soon as possible. The location is Cedars-Sinai Medical Center."

"Oh dear, this is the same old place," Henry exclaimed, then couldn't help but complain, "The entire medical center..."

"Hasn't a single doctor offered a solution?"

Mooney Fisher tilted her head, revealing a rare, adorable expression, and said, "I don't know either."