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"Who are you?" Wesley asked in panic.
With a gun pointed at him, the body he had been forcing to relax instantly betrayed him.
His assassin bloodline activated again on its own.
Even in his exhausted state, his body pushed itself back to full output.
"Who I am doesn't matter," Morin said calmly. "What matters is who you are, Wesley. But before that... you need to sleep."
Morin noticed something was wrong and knocked him out with a single punch.
"Is this how all of you assassins are?" Morin complained.
"In a situation like this, you still enter that state automatically? Where's your self-preservation instinct? Don't tell me this is your self-preservation instinct."
"That... depends on the person," Carlos said. He finally stepped out from where he had been hiding and walked over.
He looked at the unconscious Wesley with a bitter expression.
"His bloodline is purer than mine."
"What bloodline?" Morin scoffed. "There isn't a drop of blood in his veins. It's all adrenaline."
He didn't care in the slightest that he himself now carried assassin blood as well.
Templar blood.
"Pick him up," Morin said. "We're moving to the next step."
"Are you sure about doing it that way?" Carlos hesitated. "I'm worried you might get hurt."
"Are you joking?" Morin replied. "I'm a Templar."
"...And I'm not now?"
"What are you talking about? You haven't gone through the initiation ceremony yet. You're still on probation."
"Huh?"
"Huh what?" Morin shot back. "You're just hired help right now. Hired help. Move it. If you don't, he'll wake up again. Want me to knock him out a second time?"
Carlos picked Wesley up and followed Morin toward their next destination.
Somewhere along the way, he began to feel that joining the Templars might have been a little... impulsive.
How did he end up as hired help?
What he didn't know was that Morin was also silently complaining.
"Come to think of it," Morin muttered, "I'm hired help too."
...
Click. Click.
To a faint, rhythmic sound, Wesley slowly opened his eyes.
His vision shifted from blurry to clear.
A rundown room.
A dusty white light bulb.
A table.
And a man standing with his back to him, assembling something.
Wesley tried to sit up and immediately realized he was tied to a pillar.
He couldn't move.
"You're awake?" the man asked without turning around, still working with his hands.
"...Who are you?" Wesley struggled a bit, then gave up.
"Why did you kidnap me? I don't have any money!"
"I know," the man replied. "You don't have money. And I don't need it, Wesley."
There was a clack.
The pistol was finished.
He loaded a round, turned around, and walked over.
"I didn't kidnap you for money," he said. "I kidnapped you for who you are."
"Wh... what?" Wesley froze.
Someone kidnapped him for who he was?
Wasn't he supposed to be a nobody?
Morin: "..."
Why did it feel like Wesley wasn't scared anymore?
He almost looked... pleased.
Could it be-
No.
Morin dismissed the thought.
Right now, he was wearing Ethan Hunt's face, along with a wig, and using a disguised voice.
When he left the espionage movie world, he had taken a few useful items with him.
Like the imitation human-skin masks used throughout the Mission: Impossible series.
And wigs.
They were realistic enough for situations exactly like this.
"Your name is Wesley. Wesley Gibson," Morin said as he pulled over a chair and sat down.
"I'm looking for you because I want to find your father."
"My father?" Wesley said blankly.
"I don't even know where he is! He left seven days after I was born! He never showed up again!"
Not far away, Carlos, listening through the walkie-talkie, quietly covered his face.
"You're half right," Morin said. "He never showed up. But he never left you."
"What?" Wesley stared at him. "What do you mean he never left me?"
"He never left," Morin said. "He just couldn't appear in your life because of who he is. Do you know what your father does, Wesley?"
"Let me guess," Wesley sneered. "A soldier on some top-secret mission? Can't come back, can't reveal himself?"
"Come on. This isn't a popcorn movie."
"Wrong," Morin said, shaking his head. "But you're close."
"Your father isn't a soldier."
"He's an assassin."
"An assassin?"
"A killer," Morin confirmed.
"You've got to be kidding me," Wesley said flatly.
Bang!
Morin fired.
"Ah-!" Wesley screamed.
"Quiet," Morin barked. "Or the next shot hits you."
Wesley froze.
A second later, he realized something felt... warm.
Near his ear.
The bullet had passed right beside his head.
"Do you still think I'm kidding?" Morin asked, shaking the gun.
"...No," Wesley said, shrinking in place.
"Relax. I won't kill you," Morin continued. "I'm using you to lure out your assassin father."
He tapped the gun lightly.
"He's the infamous Cross. The assassin master of the Fraternity of Assassins."
"I think you'll be disappointed," Wesley said weakly, eyes fixed on the weapon.
"He hasn't shown up once in all these years. Why would he now? Why don't you just... let me go? I'm useless."
"Useless?" Morin shook his head. "No. You just have no idea what you're capable of. Or what choices you still have."
"As for your father-Carlos," Morin continued, "he may not have appeared in your life, but he's always been nearby."
"You're saying..." Wesley whispered. "He's always been around?"
"I've never seen him!"
"That's because he didn't want you to," Morin said calmly.
"He didn't want to drag you into the assassin world. Once you step into it, the rest of your life is killing or being killed."
"He wanted you to live an ordinary, happy life."
Morin let out a disdainful laugh.
"But without anyone to guide you, you never learned how to use your talent. And you ended up like this."
"An insignificant office worker at some nobody company."
"A girlfriend who cheats on you."
"A 'good friend' who takes care of her."
"A fat boss who hates you and makes your life miserable."
"Your life is a stagnant pond," Morin said evenly. "No ripples. No excitement."
"Yeah," Wesley laughed bitterly.
"You summed it up pretty well."
"So what can I do?" he asked quietly.
"Maybe I was just born to be a loser..."