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Despite understanding most of the Continental's structure, there was still one thing Henry couldn't quite wrap his head around.
> "So… where do the coins actually come from?" he asked.
Charlie gave him a look that could curdle milk — the kind reserved for idiots asking why water was wet.
Henry had to elaborate:
> "I know, I know — they're minted by the High Table, obviously.
"But I mean, how do they actually enter circulation? Who got the first one?
"Take me for example. If I become a service provider, I'd be earning coins from clients.
"But where did their coins come from? Surely the High Table doesn't just hand everyone a free coin and say, 'Here, go have fun spending this,' right?"
Charlie frowned, then said,
> "The Continental issues bounty missions. Each completed contract earns the executor one gold coin — plus the posted cash reward. That's probably what you mean."
> "Only one coin?" Henry pressed.
> "Yeah, one per contract," Charlie confirmed.
"But for harder jobs — ones with higher bounties — more participants can each earn one.
> "Roughly speaking: for every million-dollar bounty, one more person can qualify for a coin.
"So:
– A job under a million? One coin total.
– A million-dollar job? Two people, two coins.
– Two million? Three coins. And so on.
> "But that still depends on the hotel's discretion. If a solo top-tier hitter completes a five-million job on their own, they'll get the full cash bounty — but still only one coin.
> "That's why I said coins are priceless. Exchanging them directly for money is always a losing deal."
Henry thought about that and couldn't help recalling the movies from his old world — John Wick.
When John smashed through the concrete of his basement floor and dug out that chest full of gleaming gold coins…
He finally understood what that really meant.
Each coin represented, at minimum, one life.
And with someone like Baba Yaga, there was no way he only took one per job.
The man killed like a storm — an entire mob for a car and a dog.
If that was his style every time, then that treasure chest wasn't just wealth.
It was a mountain of graves.
Henry could practically imagine it:
> An angel in heaven asks a bewildered soul, "How did you die?"
The man shrugs, "No idea. It was my first day. I saw a guy walk in, got shot twice in the chest and once in the head, and… now I'm here."
Cannon fodder really had no rights — not even in the afterlife.
As for Henry himself, he already had one Continental coin before all this.
He'd looted it off a downed gunman back when he and Tony Stark fought off the Continental's hit squad.
So technically… it was stolen property.
Whether the Continental had rules against that, he didn't know — and doubted they could even track a coin's lineage anyway.
Who'd care whether it was earned or taken?
At the time, he thought the gunman had just been careless, carrying his fortune on him.
But now Henry realized — that coin had probably been the poor bastard's entire net worth.
Charlie, as if remembering something, added:
> "Actually, there's another way to make cash directly, without dealing in coins. You might find that more your speed."
Henry raised an eyebrow.
> "Oh? What way?"
> "Information," Charlie said.
"The Continental's intelligence division pays for news. Any intel you pick up on the street — you can sell it to them.
> "They'll judge its value and pay accordingly.
"And don't underestimate what might be valuable. Something you think is trivial might be gold to the right buyer.
"Of course, once it's already in the papers, it's worthless.
> "They also post active intel bounties — those pay better. Even a hint or a lead can earn a payout.
> "When work's slow, even contract killers like us sell info to make ends meet.
> "Right now, the biggest-paying intel bounty is for identifying the clown who helped the X-Men fight aliens last summer."
…Henry froze.
Should he turn himself in for the reward?
The thought flickered and died almost immediately. Instead, he feigned ignorance.
> "I thought that was just a tabloid hoax. The place with the most 'aliens' is Hollywood — or maybe Area 51."
Charlie shrugged.
> "If it's on the Continental's intel board, it's real enough.
"Maybe they weren't actual aliens — could've been mutants with weird looks.
> "But that battle definitely happened. Aside from the X-Men and the Brotherhood, there was one unknown fighter in clown makeup.
"He drew a lot of attention, so people want to know who he was."
Henry asked, pretending to be intrigued:
> "And after all this time, no one's figured out who he might be?"
Charlie's eyes darted mischievously.
> "Rumor from some government contacts — they suspect it was River Phoenix, that Hollywood pretty-boy actor."
Henry almost laughed aloud.
When he'd disguised himself as the Joker back then, he'd literally reshaped his facial muscles to match a photo he'd found in a magazine — River Phoenix's face, chosen on a whim.
Apparently even with all that makeup, the tech of this world could still reconstruct what was underneath.
Good thing he'd had the foresight to change his bone and muscle structure. Otherwise, his true face would've been plastered across every intelligence file in the country by now.
He couldn't help but think: no wonder superheroes and villains alike always wore masks.
Even if it wasn't about privacy, it spared them endless hassle.
Still, he wondered what effect that rumor might've had on the real actor.
From what Henry remembered of his original world, River Phoenix had been a gifted but troubled soul — gone too soon from an overdose.
Henry sighed softly.
> "River Phoenix, huh…"
Charlie chuckled.
> "Thinking of going after him? Don't bother. Ever since that rumor surfaced, plenty of people have been watching him.
> "They've been hoping to catch proof — but all they've gotten are boring, unrelated photos they end up selling to tabloids.
"The clown hasn't appeared again since. Nobody knows why."
> "What a shame," Henry said, feigning disappointment.
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