An old hotel sits on the corner in some depraved sector of Arcadia.
It used to have a name. But its name doesn’t matter anymore.
The old sign out front still reads: “Enjoy your stay.”
The hotel used to flourish, long ago, before people became wise to its tricks.
It used to be said that at this particular hotel, whether it be a man, a woman, or a family, whether it be a CEO or a jobless vagrant, they had just the room for you.
It was a room especially for you.
And you were guaranteed to enjoy your stay.
They were constantly having to add floors to the hotel. Too many people, it seemed, were holding the hotel to that guarantee. In fact, it seemed that no one ever left the hotel. That the stay, well, it was permanent.
So more and more people came to the hotel.
And no one ever left.
It was rather unusual when the hotel owner was murdered mercilessly by every last one of his customers. APD wasn’t sure what to do. How can they charge a seemingly infinite amount of people with a single crime?
And why would they commit such a crime in the first place?
After all, they were enjoying their stay so much, they never left.
But then, the news finally came to light.
The hotel owner was not allowing them to leave.
He was roping them into ridiculous deals where he offered something of little consequence: an enjoyable stay in a hotel. In return, they were unwittingly giving up something much more important.
And the more and more deals were made, the more and more floors were added.
And each one of those rooms he thought contained someone who was in permanent debt to him.
In all actuality, each of those rooms contained a mortal enemy.
How many floors does your hotel hold, Fidel?
How many rooms?
How many people owe you far more than you ever have them?
Aarman.
That’s the same amount of people who would love nothing more than to see you dead.
And some day? They will.
Because your greed will lead to numbers that are insurmountable.
Not a monster nor a demon nor a mere dealmaker could overtake such numbers.
And when they come for you.
Which they will.
And they put their foot on your neck.
Which they will.
And you are lying on the cold ground, screaming and begging and pleading for a hero.
Which they will.
Do you honestly expect a man like me to come help you?
Do you honestly expect your cries to fall upon anything but deaf ears?
All of these people. These floors and floors of people.
This used to be a lavish hotel, Fidel.
And perhaps everyone you’ve made deals with is still enjoying their stay.
But soon enough, they will want to leave.
All of them will want to leave.
And who will save you?
If not me, then who?
Because the deals you’ve made won’t matter then.