Mr. Winston Has A Big Gun

The heavy hotel door swung open with a dramatic flair, announcing the arrival of the distinguished judge. With an air of authority, the judge marched straight to the reception counter, placing a rare blue-black gold coin, slightly larger than the ordinary gold ones, in front of Charon, the impeccably dressed attendant.

Charon knew that his boss, Winston, had recently transferred ownership of the entire New York Continental Hotel to the Knights Templar. However, the formal announcement had yet to be made, so he maintained a respectful demeanor, though his excitement couldn't be completely concealed.

Polishing the coin with a soft cloth, Charon inquired deferentially, "Do you have any needs, Your Honor?"

The judge's voice was cold as she replied, "I wish to see Winston."

Charon nodded, his professional poise intact. "Of course, please follow me."

Leading the judges through the opulent corridors, Charon guided them toward the grand conference room. However, as they entered, an unexpected scene unfolded before their eyes.

The judge had envisioned a formal reception, with Winston awaiting them respectfully. Yet, the reality presented a stark contrast—a disheveled, drunk Winston slouched at the meeting table.

"Mr. Winston," the judge addressed firmly, fixing their gaze on the drunken figure, "you need to sober up."

Winston, his eyes squinting, attempted to focus on the judge. "Do I need to sober up?" he retorted, his words slightly slurred. "And who might you be?"

"I am the judge," came the stern reply.

Winston's confusion persisted as he muttered, "...So?"

The judge's frustration was evident in her frown. "Please, recognize your identity, Mr. Winston," they implored, "Are you content with merely serving the high table? Don't you aspire to rise above and dedicate yourself?"

Winston, pausing for a moment, pondered the question. "I... er... should be... maybe... yes?" he hesitantly replied, struggling to find a definitive answer.

Before the conversation could escalate further, Charon swiftly intervened, halting the judge.

"I apologize, Your Honor," he interjected respectfully, "Mr. Winston is not in a favorable condition at the moment. Please forgive his current state. It may be best to return another day for a proper discussion.

The judge's gaze remained unwavering, her tone cold as ice.

"The New York Continental Hotel needs to expel Jack immediately and issue a reward notice!"

Regretfully, Charon maintained his composure.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Winston is incapacitated by his drunkenness. He is unable to make any decisions. I kindly request that you return tomorrow."

A hint of annoyance flickered across the judge's face. After a prolonged stare, realizing Charon would not yield, she turned on her heel and departed.

"Notify me as soon as he wakes up," the judge commanded before disappearing from sight.

The judge has no right to command the Continental Hotel over Winston. Although she is a judge and can judge all organizations under the High Table, she must follow the rules. However, at this moment, Winston's drunkenness... was not included in any of the rules. Therefore, although the judge was furious, she had no choice but to leave.

"Sir?" Charon cautiously approached him after the judge's departure. His eyes were filled with curiosity and concern, eager to unravel the mystery of Winston's charade.

"Gone?" Winston's drunken facade instantly dissipated, and he straightened himself with a victorious smirk. "Phew, I've finally fooled her," he exclaimed, relief lacing his words.

Charon's curiosity was piqued as he inquired, "Sir, how long can we maintain this charade?"

Winston leaned in, his voice filled with determination.

"Just three days, my friend. Only three days, and then we can cast off our masks and reveal our true intentions."

He paused, rubbing his neck as the stench of alcohol filled his nostrils.

"But first, I need a long, hot bath."

The next day, the judge saw Winston again, only to find him still drunk. Anger surged within her, demanding an explanation.

"What is the meaning of this?" the judge fumed, her voice laced with frustration.

With a somber expression and a heavy heart, Charon stepped forward.

"The death and injury statistics report has been released," he revealed, his face etched with sorrow.

"The Continental Hotel has suffered a loss of more than a quarter of its esteemed assassins."

The judge's livid expression deepened, her eyes flashing with indignation. She had not been idle during this time. She had already sought out and punished the Hawkeye organization for their transgressions. The Continental Hotel remained the last bastion of her retribution.

A glimmer of sadness crossed Charon's eyes as he continued, "Sir Winston, burdened by the heavy toll, has found solace in excessive drinking."

A derisive sneer escaped the judge's lips.

"Oh, how convenient," she scoffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

As she pondered the situation, her previous hunches solidified into certainty. She had been dancing around the truth, but now she could see it clearly.

The judge, a figure of great nobility and authority, should never have been subjected to such treatment. There was only one possible explanation for this unthinkable scenario—the judge was left momentarily stunned.

Caught off guard, the judge took a moment to gather her thoughts. Her mind raced to find a way to navigate this unexpected turn of events. If what she suspected was true...

"...I have one more pressing matter to attend to," the judge declared, her voice laced with determination.

"Please inform Mr. Winston that I shall return tomorrow. By then, he will no longer be under the influence of alcohol. Consider this a final warning!" The judge's tone carried a weight of seriousness, devoid of any hint of wavering.

With those words, the judge turned on her heels and swiftly departed. The rhythm of her hurried footsteps betrayed a touch of fluster, indicating the urgency of the situation.

Could it truly be possible?

For her, the Continental Hotel had transformed into a treacherous abode, filled with danger at every turn. The mere thought of it sent shivers down her spine.

"Clap, clap, clap..."

The sudden applause from behind caused a slight tremor in the judge's body, but she did not falter in her stride.

"Miss Judge, I must admit that you are astute, but alas, you acted too hastily," Winston's voice rang out, devoid of any hint of intoxication. "Is there a rush to depart so swiftly?"

The judge halted, turning to face Winston, who had suddenly straightened himself, appearing no longer under the influence of alcohol.

"Are you certain you want to betray the High Table?" She asked while trembling.

"I have no choice. What the High Table has given me pales compared to what I have received from the Templars," Winston replied, shaking his head.

He then raised his shotgun, pointing it squarely at the judge. "Besides, I've grown rather displeased with you."

"Bang!"

There was no need for further words. Once the line had been crossed, there was no turning back.

"Sir?" Charon, witnessing the bloodied bullet hole in the judge's head, glanced in astonishment at Winston. "You..."

"She had already suspected the truth, but her acting skills left something to be desired. If only she hadn't let panic and a slight increase in her heartbeat give her away." Winston said as he stood up, setting the gun aside.

"Heh... since the truth is about to be exposed, why not embrace it and use it to our advantage? At this juncture, standing on the sidelines would only fuel Mr. Jack's concerns. Indecision is the epitome of foolishness." He added.

Winston knew all too well that pulling the trigger meant severing ties with the High Table once and for all.

The judges the epitome of authority at the high table. A sense of awe and dread washed over anyone who laid eyes on them, for a word from the judges has the power to decide their fates.

But now, a remarkable twist of fate had unfolded. Winston, the manager of the Continental, Hotel, had personally killed one of the formidable judges within the walls of the Continental Hotel itself.

The news of this audacious act spread like wildfire, leaving no room for secrecy. It was a feat that sent shockwaves through the clandestine underworld, and its impact reverberated far and wide.

.....

Mr. Winston's Office

"Really..."

Upon hearing the news, Jack strode into the room, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He couldn't help but chuckle as he looked at Mr. Winston, the man known for his decisive nature.

"Mr. Winston, are you always this quick to make moves?"

Winston nodded with a subtle smile playing on his lips.

"It's merely a change in position, my dear Jack," he replied, his voice filled with calm assurance.

But the conversation was disturbed by a sudden knock on the door. Charon stood there, his stoic expression revealing a hint of excitement.

"Sir," Charon announced, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "Mole and Hawkeye have arrived."

Mole and Hawkeye, the enigmatic leaders of two renowned underground organizations, had made their way to the Continental Hotel. Despite enduring recent trials that left scars both seen and unseen, their determination had not wavered. Now, on the day the High Table was to strip the New York division of its power, they stood at the Hotel's doorstep.

Winston's eyes gleamed mischievously as he turned to Jack. "Care to guess why they're here?" he asked a playful smirk.

Jack, his face lighting up with intrigue, understood the implications without needing analysis. "Oh, there's only one thing it could be," he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face.

"The High Table's actions have already stirred discontent among the people. It's time for their secrets to be unveiled!"

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