I Left a Note for Criminals

I realised that the only solution to my problem was the black market.

There had always been a certain perspective on the black market in films, TV, and literature.

It was the go-to place for items and information that were impossible to get otherwise.

Need a fake ID? Black market. Need illegal tech? Black market.

Need a dungeon entrance without paperwork, background checks, or someone from the Hunter Association breathing down your neck?

Definitely black market.

If there was a way to access a gate or dungeon without having to provide any form of identification, then the black market was the only realistic option.

‘Now the only thing left is to find out how to access it.’

That was the tricky part.

Because contrary to popular belief, the black market did not have a website.

There was no blackmarket.jp with a login page and a helpful FAQ.

You didn’t just type illegal dungeon access please into Moogle and get directions.

If it were that easy, everyone would be doing it.

I opened the Hunter Forum again, but this time I didn’t search for gates or awakenings. I searched sideways.

That was the key.

Not black market or illegal, those words were filtered, buried, or moderated into oblivion.

Instead, I searched for things like off-ledger runs, private clears, unregistered gate access and abandoned buildings.

Most of the results were dead threads or vague arguments that went nowhere.

A lot of people saying don't ask without actually explaining why.

Some posts were clearly bait and others were deleted so thoroughly that only the replies remained, floating without context like digital ghosts.

Then I noticed a pattern.

Certain users kept popping up in unrelated threads, they never answered questions directly, but they left comments that didn’t quite fit.

The comments would repeat things such as 'law is iron' and 'the backalleys don't open up for everyone.'

Cryptic nonsense to the unseeing eye, but not to me I saw further, these users were quite literally walking adverts.

I clicked on one of the usernames and scrolled through their post history.

It was scattered across years, always brief, always vague.

There was no talk about rankings, current events or gate clears not to mention the lack of bragging which.

In a community full of hunters who loved to show off, was suspicious in itself.

I leaned back in my chair.

‘Okay,’ I thought. ‘So the black market is probably tight-nit.’

That meant two things.

One: I wasn’t supposed to find it.

Two: It was supposed to find me.

That was… less comforting.

I glanced at the system timer floating stubbornly in the corner of my vision.

23:07:38

The number ticked down with quiet indifference.

“Right,” I muttered. “No pressure.”

I closed the forum and opened a new tab, this time pulling up local maps of New Tokyo.

Not the tourist ones but the ones that showed old districts, abandoned infrastructure, places that had been under redevelopment for the last decade and somehow never redeveloped at all.

These were the kind of places where rules got flexible.

My gaze drifted toward the eastern industrial ward which contained warehouses, decommissioned stations and a few zones that had been quietly blacklisted for civilian development after a cluster of unstable gates years ago.

Hunters avoided them and civilians avoided them, which meant someone was probably using them.

A faint crackle danced across my fingertips as my pulse quickened.

“Easy,” I whispered, flexing my hands. “Think, don’t panic.”

If the black market existed—and it always did—then it wouldn’t operate on trust.

It would operate on leverage, desperation and on people who had something to offer or something to lose.

Right now, I had both. I was an unregistered awakener had a high-risk system flag and a ticking adaptation window.

If I were running an illegal gate operation, I would want someone like me.

I stood up and pulled my hoodie tighter, glancing at my reflection in the darkened screen of my monitor.

I didn’t look like someone who belonged anywhere which meant I might fit in perfectly.

I grabbed a piece of paper and hesitated for a moment before grabbing a pen from the side of my desk. 

I wrote a single sentence.

Looking for off-ledger access, time-sensitive. I can compensate.

Then I stopped, crossed it out and rewrote it.

Need quiet beginner level gate entry. No Association short window of time.

I stared at the words, this was insane, reckless and possibly suicidal but so was ignoring the system.

Right now I didn't have much of a choice.

Now, I needed one more thing.

If I was going to walk into the black market blind, I needed to know what kind of people I was dealing with and the rules of such an establishment, because everywhere had rules.

And if I was lucky, I could learn theirs before they learned too much about me.

I looked back at the timer.

23:04:19

“…Alright,” I said quietly. “Let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes.”

I folded the paper carefully and slipped it into my pocket.

If this went wrong, I would probably regret not burning it, or eating it, or pretending the idea never existed in the first place.

After grabbing my jacket, I stepped out and locked the door behind me.

I then headed for the nearest convenience store since anonymity was key.

The inside was bright and painfully normal, full of people buying snacks and living lives that hadn’t been derailed overnight.

I kept my head down and tried not to look suspicious which I was fairly sure made me look twice as suspicious.

I went straight to the accessories rack and picked the most forgettable halloween mask I could find—plain black, unmarked, and boring enough to blend into a crowd.

Walking to the counter the casher gave me a weird look, as if asking why do you need a mask.

"It's for a costume party", I said in a cutesy voice.

After the words left my mouth he nodded understandingly. 

'Eurgh I hate pretending to be cutesy.'

After getting the mask, I made my way to the bank. I avoided going inside instead opting to use the outdoor cash machine instead.

'This should be enough for any transactions needed.'

After gathering funds I travelled further out town to the eastern industrial ward where the warehouses were.

It was past the comfortable parts of the city, and by the time I reached the industrial complex, the air felt heavier and quieter, as if the world had forgotten about the area.

There three warehouses stood close together, fenced off and tagged with old warning signs nobody enforced anymore.

The buildings looming like forgotten skeletons of steel and concrete that New Tokyo had outgrown and abandoned.

I slipped the mask on, pulled my hood low, and approached the middle warehouse first.

The door was rusted and chained loosely, but it opened up relatively easily.

'Infiltration done.'

After checking the area and seeing no one, I pulled the folded paper from my pocket which contained the note and the ID of a Hunter Forum VPN alt account with no history that could be pointed back to me, then stuck it to the back of the door.

I repeated the process for the two other warehouse doors before exiting the complex.

It was not like I was expecting anything to happen straight away, but just in case I waited for 10 minutes.

After 10 minute with no discernable action, I turned and walked away.

Lingering for any longer wouldn't provide any benefit, I could get noticed, or even worse scare the contact away.

Back home, the waiting was worse than the walk.

At least outside I could pretend I was doing something productive.

Whereas inside I was just pacing around uncomfortably, and checking my phone.

Every buzz made my heart jump and every minute made the system timer feel louder, as I thought of my 'neural correction' punishment that was drawing ever closer.

***

16:02:04

Seven hours had crawled by and I was starting to consider the possibility that this had been a terrible idea, or that I’d handed sensitive information to the wrong people.

Maybe the black market was actually just a myth hunters used to scare newbies into behaving.

Bzzzzz.

All of a sudden my phone started vibrated again, I froze before picking it up slowly.

'This better be usef-'

- There on my screen was a message from an account with no profile picture, status, or anything, just a name:

[Barascuda]

The message was short enough to feel like a trap but it was all I could go on.

Hey. I saw the note you left at the warehouse, and I’m going to assume you’re either desperate or stupid, because normal people don’t do that.

Yeah, I might be able to arrange beginner-level off-licence access for you, and yeah, it wouldn’t have Hunter Association oversight, but I’m not doing anything for someone I can’t trust. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know if you’re bait, and I don’t know if you’re trying to get someone arrested for a reward.So here’s how this works.

You follow instructions, you keep it quiet, and you don’t try anything clever. If you bring Association attention anywhere near this, I’m gone and you’re on your own.

If you still want it, come to Ekram Alley at 10pm. Don’t show up early, don’t show up late, and don’t bring anyone with you. Wear something plain, cover your face, and leave your phone on silent. If you see anyone hanging around like they’re waiting for someone, walk away and don’t look back.

And just so we’re clear: you’re paying up front ¥30,000, and once you’re in, whatever happens inside is your problem, not mine.

Reply with 'understood' if you’re serious. If you’re not, ignore this message and we both forget it happened.

My throat went dry as I reread it twice, then a third time just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating it.

My fingers hovered over the screen, and for a second I wondered whether to reply.

The moment I did would be when I was officially stepping over the line into something I couldn’t take back.

'I guess it's now or never.'

 I swallowed, took a steadying breath, and typed back anyway.

Understood.