'Food is the heaven of the people!'
'Wasting food is a crime!'
'That's all I have to say—who's with me, and who's against?'
Seeing the two assassins wearing looks of disbelief, Li Pu didn't indulge them; he simply asked whether either dared oppose him.
Sure, that Fox was beautiful and sexy, but what did that have to do with him?
As for Kross—Li Pu didn't like men, so why would he show an old guy any courtesy?
Only when the pair, in perfect sync, straightened up and showed no sign of dissent did Li Pu nod in satisfaction.
'Good. It looks like we've reached an understanding.
I'm a fair man; I'll give people a chance if they've got a reason that can convince me.
So tell me—why were you two going "pew-pew" at each other in broad daylight right in the heart of New York City?
I'm a bit curious.
In my experience, even hyenas from the gangs wait for nightfall before fighting over scraps, and they still try to keep a low profile.'
Though she'd wisely kept her mouth shut a moment earlier, being compared to a gangland hyena was too much for Fox.
'We aren't gang hyenas!
We never pull the trigger for peanuts or dirty money!'
The conviction in the beauty's eyes—and her air of "I'm not interested in profit"—reminded Li Pu of someone he used to know.
'With a talent for talking nonsense with a straight face, you're wasted as an assassin; you should run for President.'
There wasn't a trace of mockery in Li Pu's tone; he was dead serious and utterly sincere.
Fox was livid. She lost her composure and spat at him, but he sidestepped it easily.
'You've got power but understand nothing. You have no idea how great our cause is!'
Before Li Pu could retort, Kross—equally at her mercy—spoke up first.
'Heh, "great" might've been true once, but what's left of the Fraternity now is just greed.'
'Bah!'
Fox glared daggers at Kross.
'Traitor! A man marked for death—what right have you to judge the Fraternity?'
Everyone has a sensitive spot, and "traitor" hit Kross's hardest; he couldn't help firing back.
'You know Sloan claims I betrayed the Fraternity? That's because I saw the loom give the name "Sloan"!
To hide the truth he branded me a traitor!
Then he started tampering with the hit list the loom produced, turning the Fraternity into hired killers!'
'Liar!'
'…'
Maybe because both were tightly bound, bodies and nerves stretched to the limit—or maybe because someone had quietly used psionic energy to stoke their emotions—the pair began arguing, rebutting each other for a solid ten minutes.
That suited Li Pu perfectly; with no effort he got the whole story.
These two super-assassins, clearly trained and with Physiques beyond normal humans, had indeed belonged to the same organization.
That group possessed a relic, they claimed, two millennia old: the Loom of Fate.
When the loom's threads were read as binary, they occasionally formed letters, spelling out names.
Those named were the ones the organization was bound to kill.
Both Kross and Fox, despite their quarrel, agreed on one point: anyone the loom named had to die, lest they bring catastrophe and evil upon the World.
Where they differed was Kross's accusation that the current head of the Fraternity, Sloan—who interpreted the loom's code—had betrayed it.
The loom had produced the name "Sloan," and Sloan, unwilling to die, began fabricating hit lists for profit.
Fox insisted the loom had named Kross, and Kross was the one who deserved to die.
Trouble was, Kross had been the Fraternity's No. 1 killer: master sniper, close-quarters assassin, poisoner, "accident" arranger—every method imaginable, he excelled at.
Every assassin sent after him had been eliminated before even laying eyes on him.
So the Fraternity targeted Kross's hidden son, Wesley—whom the father had watched grow up but never acknowledged—kidnapping the boy to force Kross out of hiding.
Li Pu pondered for a moment.
Though the "Loom of Fate" sounded grand and vaguely cosmic, he couldn't recall anything like it in the Marvel films he'd seen.
'Maybe, like the Continental Hotel from John Wick, this Fraternity comes from some movie, and that World has fused into this Marvel Universe.'
Unlike his indifference toward the purely mundane John Wick elements, Li Pu found himself intrigued by the loom.
Consider it: every major player in the Marvel World has a signature weapon—
Iron Man has his armor, Thor his hammer and axe, Captain America his shield, even Dr. Banner's Hulk has those magic stretchy pants—whereas Li Pu, aside from his two darling sons (a Super Saiyan and a Primarch), had nothing of the sort.
Not that he was bitter… So, a few hours later at dusk, he slipped out to the textile mill outside New York and "borrowed" the Loom of Fate overnight.
It wasn't shoplifting; he even brought back the man who read the names—Sloan himself.
'Who are you?'
Anyone Li Pu carries at super-speed, apart from his two boys, ends up unconscious.
Compared to Bloody Pepper, though, this Sloan was far tougher; after landing he shook it off and woke.
The elderly Black man's hair and beard were white, his face dotted with age spots; in a brown suit he looked every inch the English gentleman.
To his question Li Pu replied without batting an eye, 'My name is Nick Fury.'
He felt zero guilt about borrowing the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s name.
That black egg wasn't exactly a saint anyway.
Besides, if Sloan doubted him, he was welcome to march up to the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and ask.
If you dare go, I'll dare admit it.