Carlos could, of course, see the words 'I want this' practically overflowing from Zhang Jie's face.
As a killer, having a personalized weapon of his own was a matter of great pride and happiness, and he understood that clearly.
So he patted Zhang Jie's shoulder, "What weapon do you like? I'll have one custom-made for you."
This single sentence made Zhang Jie incredibly excited, as if he had been struck by immense happiness.
"Actually, I'm not picky. A Pistol will do, just like my master's."
Zhang Jie didn't really know what kind of weapon he wanted; for him, as long as it worked, it was fine.
"As long as it works" was akin to saying a wild boar couldn't appreciate fine grains.
Carlos glanced at John, then nodded.
"I understand."
John, on the other hand, looked pensive. Clearly, the conversation had stirred something deep within his memories, but he didn't say anything.
However, both Zhang Jie and John's injuries had healed, only requiring a little more time for complete recovery. Normal movements and even fighting would no longer affect them in the slightest.
So John and Zhang Jie prepared to take their leave.
Just then, Carlos's phone suddenly rang. He glanced at it, and his expression instantly became serious.
He walked aside to answer it.
John and Zhang Jie also noticed the change in his expression, so they abandoned the idea of leaving and decided to stay and see what was happening.
After a while, Carlos returned, but his expression didn't seem very good.
He looked at John, finally sighing and saying, "They've found the clues I left. I have to stop them."
Carlos looked at John, finally sighing again, "Listen, John, I don't want you guys getting involved. You know what they're capable of."
John simply placed the modified 1911 in his hand on the table, then sat on the sofa, picked up a magazine, and began loading bullets one by one, "These fifty bullets probably won't last long enough for me, will they?"
Zhang Jie also sat down, starting to check the firearms on his person, refilling all the magazines he carried.
Watching the master and disciple make the same decision, Carlos's nose suddenly stung.
He was both touched and worried. Touched that John and Zhang Jie had unhesitatingly decided to stay and help him, but worried because he knew exactly how good the Brotherhood's crazy shooters were.
As if sensing Carlos's concern, Zhang Jie suddenly looked up and smiled at him: "Perhaps the world knows how terrifying a curving bullet is, but what I want to tell you is that even if he is Superman, and he can make bullets curve, he is still flesh and blood."
"Alright, Carlos, stop dawdling like a woman and let's get to work!"
John didn't even lift his head, continuing to load bullets.
Seeing this, Carlos said no more and began to organize his own firearms. Most of his weapons were custom-modified by him, partly for comfort and partly because they were very powerful.
This had always been his habit; he only trusted firearms modified by his own hands.
"Oh, and Carlos, put on a bulletproof vest," Zhang Jie suddenly looked up and said.
The three prepared tensely, while on the other side, Wesley looked at the woven cloth in Sloan's hand, utterly bewildered, "Are you sure you want me to kill this person?"
It wasn't that he couldn't understand what was written on the woven cloth; he just didn't understand why he had to assassinate this person.
He was just an old man; how much of a threat could he be?
But Sloan, the white-haired black old man standing in front of him, simply said calmly, "Because this man is the one who made the bullet that killed your father."
Upon hearing this, Wesley's pupils contracted violently. Was this the maker of the bullet that killed his father?
So, he immediately took the mission sheet and glanced at it, "I'm taking this mission!"
Since it was related to the person who killed his own father, he wouldn't let any of them go.
Simmons, leaning against the wall, watched the two without speaking, only constantly fiddling with the modified Pistol in her hand.
She unconditionally believed the answers brought by the Loom of Fate, so she also believed what Sloan said.
As long as it was an answer from the Loom of Fate, it was destiny, and for those destined to die, she would execute it without hesitation.
At this moment, Sloan gave another sheet to Simmons. Simmons glanced at it, then at Sloan again, and accepted the mission sheet.
Simmons nodded without speaking.
Wesley, meanwhile, looked again, confirmed the target's name was correct, then closed his eyes, composed himself briefly, and then said to Sloan, "I understand. I'll leave this afternoon."
Wesley couldn't claim to be incredibly formidable now, but at least he was stronger than a professional killer, not to mention with Simmons' assistance.
Just a bullet designer, what was there to fear?
Exiting the textile factory gate, Wesley directly got into the red Ferrari.
Simmons rolled her eyes, then got in, started the car, and stomped on the accelerator. With a screech of tires, the red Ferrari sped like a galloping wild horse across the bridge.
And from the highest point of the textile factory behind them, Sloan watched the departing red Ferrari, a cold sneer playing on his lips.
"Carlos, I don't believe you won't come out this time!"
Then, he took out his phone and made a call, "Bayonet and Warhammer, and Musket, 3 people follow them. When you see that guy, shoot him dead."
"Hmm."
The call ended. Sloan glanced at his watch; it was exactly 5:52 PM.
Then, he looked behind him. Outside his office, there was a very large space where a single, very old loom was operating automatically.
It continuously produced an endless supply of cloth, but some names would randomly appear on it.
These randomly appearing names did not appear as written words, but rather as some form of what looked like damaged or knotted fabric.
And Sloan's task was to cut out these problematic pieces of cloth and translate them in a specific way into specific names, which was the purpose of this Loom of Fate.
In fact, the names woven by the Loom of Fate were no longer in their original form. Sloan had used his own methods to alter the patterns woven by the Loom of Fate.
This was a small trick he had discovered by accident. Through this trick, he completely changed the Brotherhood's dire financial situation, making the Brotherhood stronger, giving all the killers better incomes, and allowing them to acquire better equipment.
But there was one person who insisted on opposing him, because he had discovered the problems with the loom, and his own machinations, and publicly intended to oppose him, to expose his betrayal.
How could Sloan tolerate that? He had controlled the Brotherhood for so many years, he had long since made it his own property.
"No matter what, I won't let you destroy my hard work, Carlos!"
Looking at the scenery below, Sloan slowly clenched his fist, making a creaking sound.
---
Some people in the comments section are questioning why the protagonist at the beginning is both cowardly and foolish. I don't want to explain; let it be. For those who have read this far, you are all witnesses to the protagonist's growth, how he slowly matures.
As I've said before, the protagonist of this book grows slowly. It might not be instantly gratifying, but this is why this book is closer to reality.
As for whether it will be satisfying later?
Please read on.
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