You Know Nothing of Power

Fire Fox's injuries were severe—never mind the shoulder wound, the bullet in her abdomen alone had already rendered her combat-ineffective. Under Bullet Time, adrenaline had dulled the pain, but as the effect wore off, her condition grew increasingly dire.

Wesley lifted Fire Fox from the cold floor with trembling hands, gently cradling her in his arms as he pressed down on her wound.

Fire Fox gave a faint, heartbreaking smile, placed her M1911 in Wesley's hand, and began the pre-death ritual... a life flashing before her eyes.

"You didn't have to do this... then none of this would've happened..." Wesley's voice quivered with fear as the warmth of blood seeped through his fingers, stark and glaring against his grip.

"That day at the train station, when you asked if I wanted a different life... I lied..." Fire Fox stared at the ceiling above, murmuring to herself: "I often dream I'm an ordinary person, with a family and someone I love. But that can only be a dream—I can't turn back now."

Wesley pulled her closer: "You can! The Brotherhood is finished. Survive, and you can start over!"

Fire Fox gave a bitter laugh: "It's impossible. Every time I close my eyes, faces appear in my mind—innocent people. I carry too much sin... I thought I was fate's assassin, but the truth is, I'm the kind of person fate spits on."

"To hell with fate! You're overthinking it—just live for yourself!"

"Thank you. Kill Sloan for me... I want to dream one more time. Don't disturb me, okay?"

With that, Fire Fox closed her eyes. Wesley held her, sobbing quietly, his face a mess of tears and snot.

On the other side, the surviving assassins, after hiding for a while and hearing no gunfire, cautiously stood up and aimed their weapons at the desk.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

It was Russell firing. He used a Bullet Time Skill Card, killing five people with three bullets—two died on the same trajectory.

Sloan wasn't in the office. Russell swept his gaze across the room, his sharp senses detecting no extra heartbeat besides his own, Wesley's, and... Fire Fox's.

Seeing Wesley clutching the near-dead woman and crying his eyes out, Russell walked over, crouched down, and felt Fire Fox's neck.

"Stop crying. She's not dead yet!"

Wesley lifted his tear-streaked face, a snot bubble popping: "Really?!"

"The bullet didn't hit any organs, or she wouldn't have had the strength to chat with you."

"But she—"

"She passed out. If you don't get her to a hospital soon, she'll bleed to death. Let me think... about 1000 CC."

Before Russell could finish, Wesley scooped up Fire Fox in a princess carry and sprinted out of the office, tossing the M1911 back as he went: "Kill Sloan. Please!"

Russell picked up the M1911 from the floor: "Of course. Why else do you think I'm here?"

After checking the ammo, Russell circled the study and spotted a half-hidden wooden door.

The door was locked from the inside. Picking locks was a delicate job, and for someone with no experience, it relied heavily on luck. Russell was lucky enough—he had his Remington M870. One blast blew the lock clean off.

Behind the door was a spiral iron staircase leading to the top floor where the Loom of Fate sat. After Butcher was taken out, Sloan had come here alone.

Not to live or die with the loom—he wasn't that noble—but to grab the fortune he'd hoarded over the years, stashed in a hidden safe.

It was a blatant desecration of faith. If the assassins ever found out that the sacred Loom of Fate sat beside money bought with innocent lives, they'd tear Sloan apart.

But no one knew. The assassins always thought Sloan was a devoted leader... guess he was just a good actor.

Money or life?

Most people would say life—what's the point of money if you're dead? But reality says otherwise. Given the choice, people would rather have the money and risk death. Sloan thought so too. He'd struggled his whole life, wasn't it all for the cash?

Now the Brotherhood was gone. If he lost the money too, what was the point of living?

In the spacious room, the Loom of Fate sat dead center. Sloan was at a hidden compartment in the corner, frantically stuffing gold and jewels into his pockets, stacks of dollars scattered at his feet.

He had a backpack behind him, already stuffed with valuables. He planned to escape with the loot.

There was a secret passage in the room only he knew about, leading straight to the river behind the textile mill. Sloan had a speedboat ready to go at any time. But his greed for the money—more precious than life—cost him his best chance to flee. Only when he heard the wooden door blow open did he snap back to reality, a flicker of regret crossing his mind.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Sloan fired at the iron staircase, trying to stop Russell from climbing up, and shouted: "I know who you are. Russell, a low-tier assassin... seems my intel was off. You're pretty good."

Russell pressed against the wall, listening to the sounds from above. He wanted to take a shot, curve a bullet into Sloan. But Sloan kept moving, making it impossible to aim—any shot would be wasted.

Russell called up: "Sloan, you've got no way out. Give up! I'll put in a good word with the Cross. As long as you promise to behave in your next life, rot away as a lonely old man in a nursing home, I'll let you live... really, I swear!"

"Heh..."

Sloan chuckled, not taking it seriously. As a clergyman, he was a staunch materialist, convinced money could solve everything.

"What's the Cross offering? I'll double it... no, ten times!"

"He gave me a chance—a chance to kill you."

"Don't joke. We have no grudge. You've got no reason to kill me." Sloan kept his gun trained to stop Russell from coming up, still refusing to give up: "Russell, don't be naive. You shouldn't trust the Cross's lies. You think he's a good man?"

"You've been fooled. He's a complete bastard, a cold-blooded, ruthless killer. I don't know what deal you two made, but I guarantee the second you leave this mill, a Sniper Rifle will blow your head off. Betrayal is his specialty."

"Makes sense..."

"It's the truth! If you team up with me, we still have a chance—"

"But right now, I just want to kill you."

"..."

"You probably won't believe this, but I'm chosen by fate. Because you've been messing with fate's orders, the old man came to me in a dream and told me to take you out."

Sloan was speechless for a moment, then advised earnestly, "Times have changed. Let fate go to hell—I've defied its orders all along, and I'm still alive and well!"

Russell nodded in agreement. He didn't understand the principle of the binary code on the Loom, but if this world truly had something called fate, it must be a useless thing that only knew how to talk.

"I agree with what you said, but everything has its rules, doesn't it?"

"Rules are nothing but things born to protect the weak—hypocritical and fragile. In this era of the strong preying on the weak, why should we, as the strong, be bound by rules? Besides, even if rules really exist, they should be made by the strong. We have the qualifications, and we have the power!"

Russell smiled at that. "No, neither you nor I are the strong. You know nothing of power!"

Failure Diary

The moment votes were mentioned, the readers weren't so enthusiastic anymore.