Find 50+ Advance chapters
And for More Fan fiction
đ
đ
[Support link: pat reon.com/RioRaRyu]
------------
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"There's a shootout-lots of gunshots!"
"What's the address?"
"Brooklyn-Williamsburg-near the City Rail Viaduct 30-31, station 278, along the East River, opposite the Brooklyn Navy Yard!"
"Alright, sir. Please find a safe place to take cover and wait..."
The dispatcher followed procedure, recorded the information, and passed it to a nearby officer.
"This place..."
To the dispatcher's surprise, the officer glanced at the note, set it aside, and said, "Alright. You can go back. Treat it as a false alarm. No follow-up."
"What?" The dispatcher froze. "Why?"
"Orders from above," the officer whispered.
"If there's a shootout in that area during this time period, ignore it."
The dispatcher could only return to his seat.
He was just a dispatcher.
What could he do?
Besides, this wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this.
"I'm sorry, sir. After verification, we've confirmed there's no danger at the location you mentioned. It was a false alarm."
"Since this is your first report, we won't pursue it further. This call is now concluded. Have a nice day."
"Hello? Hello? I'm telling the truth! Hello-"
The call was cut.
...
The reported location was precisely where the Fraternity of Assassins' headquarters stood.
Outside, the gunfire had gone from sudden... to dense... to sporadic.
Sloan knew what that meant.
Sparse gunfire didn't mean the enemy was being eliminated.
It meant his people were.
On the surveillance feeds, Sloan saw it clearly.
Fox had betrayed the Brotherhood.
So had Cross-Carlos.
They'd even brought former Brotherhood assassins with them.
People who had been swayed.
"Fuck," Sloan cursed.
Earlier, he had tried calling the officials he knew.
The same people who used to fawn over him didn't even answer this time.
His connections were useless.
"They must've coordinated with higher-ups beforehand," Sloan muttered grimly.
"Those damned politicians."
Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone, scrolled to a number he hadn't dialed in decades, and pressed call.
At the same time, he headed straight for the basement, activating a pre-prepared escape route.
...
In a camp deep within the Sahara Desert.
A servant approached a man seated at the center, eyes closed in meditation, and presented a phone.
The man opened his eyes.
Seeing the caller ID, contempt flickered across his face.
He answered anyway.
"To think the esteemed Assassin Master and Brotherhood leader would call me personally," the Elder said slowly.
"I'm flattered."
"The Templar Knights have returned," Sloan said, ignoring the mockery and going straight to the point.
Before this, Sloan still had a shred of hope.
He didn't know how many Templars there were.
Or how terrifying their strength truly was.
That was why he'd only deployed his most loyal subordinates, sending the less reliable ones to deal with Fox-testing the enemy's strength.
Only a handful returned.
With pitiful information.
Just one conclusion.
The enemy was terrifying.
They didn't even know how many there were.
Now, Sloan understood.
Even without numbers, Fox and Carlos alone were enough to annihilate the Brotherhood.
Individual strength couldn't be generalized.
Neither could Assassin Masters.
Cheats were cheats-but it depended on who had the stronger ones.
If he didn't flee now, the headquarters would become his grave.
Having decided to abandon everything, Sloan no longer cared about dignity.
He called the High Table's Elder directly.
"What kind of joke is this?" the Elder asked sharply.
"The Templar Knights? Are you certain?"
"I'm certain," Sloan replied.
"They've already attacked. We've taken heavy losses."
"...Where are you now?" The Elder's tone changed.
"How many of them?"
The Fraternity of Assassins was small, but every member was a walking anomaly.
For Sloan to call personally-
The Elder understood what that implied.
Sloan deliberately withheld details.
Exactly as intended.
He wanted the Templars to appear as powerful as possible.
That would make him more valuable.
"I'm evacuating through a secret passage," Sloan said.
"I don't know how many there are."
"Go to the New York Continental Hotel," the Elder replied.
"I'll send people to meet you."
The call ended.
The Elder stared into the distance, where a thin yellow line was expanding and drawing closer.
"The wind is rising..."
...
In midair, two bullets collided, twisted, and fell.
This nearly impossible phenomenon occurred every fraction of a second.
A battle between cheats.
A battle between gods.
But the outcome was clear.
Morin's side had stronger cheats.
Much stronger.
Eventually, the gunfire faded into complete silence.
All assassins outside had been eliminated.
Only those inside the building remained.
The five gathered at the entrance and moved in unison toward the door.
"Wait."
Morin stopped.
Everyone halted with him.
"What is it?" Wick asked.
"I just remembered something important," Morin said solemnly.
The others stiffened.
From the start of the operation until now, Morin had been effortless-like walking through empty land.
For him to be this serious now-
It had to matter.
"Very important," Morin nodded.
"No wonder something felt off today."
"But it's fine. Not too late."
With everyone watching, he reached into his clothes and pulled out an MP3 player.
Everyone: "???"
He hit play.
Back in Black blasted at full volume.
Morin nodded, satisfied.
"Superhero soundtrack," he said calmly.
"We're missing slow motion, but our innate abilities will make up for it."
"Not a big deal."
"Let's go."
"...Hey," Wick said.
"Where did everyone go?"