How the story is told is changing from time to time since I'm experimenting and telling the AI new instructions to make the story more appealing as I proofread and edit every chapter. Hopefully I make it do it the way I like with little editing to be made as I proofread it.
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The room was full of bodies. Blood pooling, smoke rising. Fox stood in the center, pistol raised—but not at the others.
At herself.
James stepped through the doorway, heart steady as a drumbeat as he stared at Fox eye to eye.
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The gun trembled slightly in James's hand as he stared at Fox, standing across from him like some bittersweet RomCom. The smoke from their last firefight still hung in the air. Blood stained her shoulder, but she didn't seem to care.
"You don't have to kill yourself," James said, eyes narrowed, gun in hand. "There is another way."
Fox gave him that wry smile — the one that usually came with a bullet between someone's eyes. "I told you my story, remember? I was born in blood. Raised in doctrine. The Loom of Fate was my Bible."
James took a slow step forward. "And now it's over. I broke it. Sloan lied to everyone. You don't have to die for a lie."
"But I haven't changed." Her voice softened, her smile faltering. "You're evolving, James. I'm... static. A relic. I'd only slow you down."
"You could change," he insisted. "We could figure it out together."
She shook her head, raising her gun to her own chest. "I'm sorry I can't be with you."
"Don't—"
*Bang
The sound echoed through the empty hall like a hammer to the heart.
James didn't flinch. He just stood there, letting the silence press down on him like a lead blanket.
He knelt beside her and gently closed her eyes. Her blood was still warm on the floor.
"Was Fox a name... or a nickname?" he whispered, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her cheek. He didn't expect an answer.
He stood up, grabbed her M1911 from the ground, and turned to leave.
The inner chamber of the Fraternity was chaos—spindles snapped, strings scattered around, the sacred Loom of Fate reduced to expensive trash. But Sloan was nowhere in sight.
James kept walking. There was no rush now. Just inevitability.
Outside, he found Sloan slumped against a wall, gripping a Mauser pistol in shaky hands. His legs were bent immovable as he sat on the ground.
James raising his gun, Bang! fired a shot to Sloan, sending the Mauser clattering to the floor. Blood sprayed from Sloan's ruined hand.
"Sloan, did you forget about Cross? Do you think the people on the periphery could kill him?" Wesley said as he walked to Sloan's closer.
Sloan's eyes were wide, darting. "W-Wait—James. We can talk—listen—I have money. I can give you all of it, you don't have to worry about anything anymore in your life!."
James didn't blink. Just allowing Sloan to rumble off, begging to be spared.
Sloan tried to shift, winced, then cried out. "You don't know what you're doing! There's a bigger world out there—Hydra, the Loom—"
James leveled the M1911 he got from Fox. "And you're not part of it anymore."
Two more shots. Sloan screamed as both arms snapped under the force of the .45 rounds.
James crouched, and searched through the man's pockets as he screamed in pain.
A phone was the only thing he found Sloan was carrying, with no other choice, he pressed a finger on the charger socket for Cortana.
A blue HUD flickered across his vision as Cortana's gave a prompt:
› Password retrieved. Bank account located. Hidden safe requires a physical key.
James made a more thorough search of the suit, found a hidden pocket, and pulled out a small, old-fashioned key.
"Found it." He stood.
Sloan groaned, coughing blood. "You don't have to—"
James shot him in the head before he could utter anymore words.
Carlos's voice buzzed in his ear.
"You good?"
James exhaled. "Yeah. Fox is... gone. Sloan's dead. Place is clear of anyone. Bring the car—we're burning this place."
"Copy. Be there in five."
Carlos arrived in a boxy old utility van, bruised but intact. His eyes scanned the scene—James standing over Sloan's body, the shattered Loom of Fate in the distance.
"You okay?" Carlos asked with concern, stepping out.
James shook his head. "Not really."
He gestured toward Fox's body, still lying just inside.
Carlos's gaze dropped. He nodded. "I'm sorry."
"We weren't officially together," James said quickly. "I don't even know if she considers me a friend, much less something... more"
Carlos placed a hand on his shoulder as he said nothing but gave a grip of reassurance.
They began sweeping the facility. James moved through the rooms like a grim accountant, collecting phones, cards, weapons. Carlos found crates of ammunition, emergency funds, more weapons—some antique, some illegal, all deadly.
"Dozens of phones, dozens of bank accounts," James muttered. "These people really didn't believe in taxes."
They loaded everything into the van.
Then James returned to Fox's body. He picked her up gently, carried her into her room as he laid her on the bed, brushing a hand over her forehead.
"The world's changing," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Maybe you'll see it in the next one."
A tear dropped on her face before walking away. He closed the door behind him. A final goodbye.
Carlos doused the floor in gasoline. James didn't look back.
"You ready?" Carlos asked.
James nodded. "Let's light it up."
Carlos raised his pistol, fired a single shot into a metal plate and created a spark that drops into the puddle of gasoline. Fire roared to life like a phoenix awakening.
They began to walk to the van, backs turned to the flames.
They drove in silence for a while. The road ahead was empty, quiet.
"So," Carlos said finally, "where to?"
"New York," James replied. "We've got bank accounts to empty, documents to dig up, and faces to change. You still know how to do makeup?"
Carlos snorted. "Please. You think assassins don't have drag experience?"
James chuckled. "Good. We'll need disguises to move Sloan's money and avoid SHIELD."
"And you still want training?"
James nodded. "The crash course wasn't enough. I want the real deal. From start to finish."
Carlos smiled. "Then let's go to where it all began. I've got friends there. The real Fraternity."
High above, a SHIELD surveillance drone hovered.
Inside a command van across the city, a pair of agents watched the screen.
"The Gibson boys just torched the Fraternity. Whole place is gone."
"Two guys took down an assassin HQ. That's... insane."
"Should we make contact?"
A voice from behind them answered coldly, "No. We spook them now, we lose them forever. Keep watching. New York's heating up."
Back in the house, James sat at the window with a pair of binoculars, Anny meowing and nuzzling by his side. He stared at his old rental across the street.
Casey was gone. Probably moved in with Barry.
James smiled, then whispered, "Good luck with that, dumbass."
The next two days were a blur of work. James and Carlos split up, each draining bank accounts, walking out with duffel bags full of cash. Assassins had a habit of storing passwords in their phones like boomers. Most of them worked and those that don't, he got Cortana to help.
By day three, they hit the jackpot—Sloan's personal vault.
The bank was quiet. The private room was colder than expected.
James slotted the key into the safe and turned it.
Inside: stacks of documents, contracts, and property titles. Signed, notarized, and ready for a name swap.
"Damn," James whispered. "Sloan really was planning to retire."
He picked through the files, lips curling into a grin.
"Well," he said to no one in particular, "guess I just inherited a retirement plan."