Bullets poured down amid the enemies' roars. If Cross and Wick hadn't ducked fast enough, they would have been riddled with holes in the next second.
Legendary assassin or legendary hitman-it didn't matter.
They were still flesh and blood.
"F***! Why is there a Gatling gun here?!" Cross roared.
"Nothing's strange in a place like this!" Wick shouted back. "In a Continental Hotel, I wouldn't be surprised if there were missiles!"
"Ridiculous! It's a miracle your organization survived this long!" Cross snapped.
"Thanks for the compliment, but it's not my organization anymore-and it's about to be wiped out. I'd say it's a miracle your organization survived until now!" Wick shot back.
"Our organization is wiped out! I'm a member of the Templar Order now! A proud Templar!" Cross yelled.
"Great line. I'm stealing it. To be honest, I'm a proud Templar too!" Wick laughed.
"Dammit, you're right!" Cross ducked again. "Why don't you use your bulletproof suit to block some bullets and shoot that guy?!"
"Easy for you to say. My suit blocks small handguns. A Gatling? Do you think I'm stupid? I'm not ready to die yet!" Wick snapped. "What about your curved shot? Why not use that?!"
"Nonsense! I can't see him! And this pillar's too small-where do I swing my arm? The moment I stick it out, it'll turn to mush!" Cross said. "Besides, didn't you learn curved shots too?"
"I don't have room either! I thought an old assassin like you would have better technique-enough to use it in tight spaces!" Wick shouted.
"I've got experience, not superpowers! A curved bullet needs torque. That's physics!" Cross argued.
"Bullsh**! That's not physics at all! If my physics teacher-who's ashes in a graveyard-heard this, he'd crawl back out!" Wick fired back.
"Heh. Watch your mouth," Cross said.
They kept shouting, so loud that the man with the Gatling at the exit finally yelled, "Are you two coming out or not? Hurry up so I can shoot you!"
"Do you think we're idiots?! Shut up! F*** your f***!" they cursed in unison.
"I just had an idea," Wick said.
"What?" Cross asked.
"I shoot first. Then you shoot," Wick gestured. "That way we don't need a big arc."
"...Impressive. Good idea. Let's do it," Cross said immediately.
"What are you two muttering about? Come out and die!" the man guarding the stairs shouted.
"Shut your f***ing mouth!" the two yelled together.
Wick fired with a small flick of his wrist.
A heartbeat later, Cross fired.
They entered bullet-time simultaneously.
Cross's bullet spun as it left the barrel, curving sharply, tearing a visible trail through the air-straight into Wick's bullet, which had just begun to curve.
Normally, Wick's shot wouldn't have deviated enough.
But Cross's bullet corrected it.
A second later came the sound of a body hitting the floor.
"Nice shot," Wick said, giving a thumbs-up.
"You too," Cross replied.
"You two are a textbook case of 'trash talk while losing, best friends when winning,'" a voice said.
Both guns snapped toward the sound.
"Who's there?!"
"Relax. Just a superior officer doing an inspection." Morin stepped out with a smile.
"Mr. Morin?" they said at the same time.
"Are you legendary repeaters?" Morin joked. "Also, shouldn't you call me Grand Master? I am the Grand Master of the Templar Order, after all."
In the desert.
Sloan had just used the Apple of Eden to control the mind of the High Table's supreme leader.
It was remarkable.
Originally, Sloan came only to secure his own survival-to find a way to live under that man. The leader never planned to shelter him. Instead, he intended to use Sloan's assassin blood to activate the Apple, master mind control, and turn Sloan into a slave.
That logic made sense.
They were all leaders willing to do anything for profit. If Sloan were in that position, he might have been even more ruthless.
What the leader didn't expect was this:
Sloan's blood activated the Apple-but the Apple obeyed the blood that awakened it, not the one who held it.
Information flooded Sloan's mind.
The Apple became an extension of his body.
He could control it freely.
Golden light erupted.
In an instant, everyone present fell under Sloan's control.
The High Table's highest ranks became puppets, moving exactly as he willed.
The founders of the High Table would never have imagined their organization growing so vast, only to end in such a ridiculous way.
Sloan wasn't a good man. As the former Brotherhood leader who betrayed the Creed, he was ruthless and calculating. Otherwise, he wouldn't have tricked Wesley into killing his own father, Cross.
So after gaining control, Sloan didn't overturn the table immediately.
He stayed calm.
He planned to issue orders from the shadows.
Being the hidden hand was far safer than ruling openly.
Then a ship appeared overhead.
A man in armor descended, holding a spear.
His gaze landed first on the Apple.
Then on Sloan.
Something was wrong.
Sloan felt it.
Doom.
He activated the Apple. He launched a mental attack.
The enemy was immune.
Damage dealt: zero.
"I didn't expect the standard weapons of old to still exist... and in the hands of our descendants," the man said calmly.
Sloan stared up at the sky.
It felt like God was mocking him-despair, then hope, then hope again, then despair.
Absolutely ridiculous.
"So the siege on the Continental Hotels has begun, and multiple countries are restricting the High Table's power to create opportunities for you," Morin nodded. "Just as I said. People only need a leader. Once one steps forward, there's a second, then a third... and eventually, the High Table collapses."
"Yes... so why are you here, Grand Master?" Wick asked, confused.
He glanced at Lucy standing silently beside Morin, her expression shifting between faint surprise and complete emotional emptiness.
His unspoken thought was simple:
She's pretty. Shame she's a bit slow.
"I am not slow," Lucy said suddenly. "I am observing the effects of human emotions on the brain and hormonal secretion, deriving control methods for other emotions, and constructing an autonomous mapping chain."
"Don't mind her," Morin waved casually. "Just think of her as a robot learning to generate emotions."
That makes it even harder not to mind, Wick and Cross thought at the same time.
"Anyway," Morin continued, "this was just an inspection. By the way-how does it feel to step out of the shadows and serve openly in the light?"
As he spoke, he placed protective positioning marks on them, the same kind he'd once given Wesley and Fox.
"Doesn't feel that different," Wick said.
"It's pretty nice," Cross added. "Seeing my photo on TV as a positive figure instead of a wanted poster. Maybe I can live a stable, normal life later."
"Forget normal," Morin shook his head. "You wouldn't last. But I can guarantee you'll live to a ripe old age."