Night fell.
A garbage truck slowly entered the grounds of the textile factory—the Brotherhood's residence, which from the outside resembled a castle.
Soon, a corpse was unloaded from the garbage truck.
The Butcher's body.
— Butcher!
— How?!
Fox, Armorer, and the newly inducted assassin Wesley fell silent for a moment, staring at the Butcher's body, which bore three bullet wounds—in the leg, in the chest, and between the eyebrows.
"This is... terrifying."
Wesley thought this, but he himself was more than ready to kill Cross.
For him, everything was relatively clear.
Wesley, however, was of the opinion that the Butcher had also died at Cross's hand.
But...
The operative seemed to ponder something, then took a card from his pocket and handed it to Sloane, the head of the Brotherhood: — Head, this was found on the Butcher's body.
Sloane took the card from his hands.
Everyone stared intently at the card.
It was black.
"It was like... a business card."
Repentant, accept your sins.
— ...
— This is...
— The Texas Sinner Hunter?
— What's a Sinner Hunter?
Fox looked at the clueless Wesley and briefly explained: — Two years ago, a killer appeared in the Texas assassins' circuit under the codename [Unrivaled]. The police dubbed him the Sinner Hunter, for he only killed those he deemed guilty. His calling card became this very card, inscribed with "Repentant, accept your sins." His name, age, and even gender are unknown. But rumors say [Unrivaled] surfaced in New York a few days ago.
Fox's last words were addressed to Sloane, the head of the Brotherhood.
Suddenly...
Has [Unrivaled] targeted the Butcher?
Fox frowned: — What mission was the Butcher on today?
Janis, who outwardly appeared like a capricious middle-aged lady, and was indeed a spoiled child in the Butcher's presence, suddenly looked at Sloane and said to Fox: — He went to fulfill his destiny.
Fox looked at Sloane.
Sloane raised an eyebrow.
Ten minutes later.
Fox received a copy of the information.
Lock Broughton.
— Him?
Fox looked at Lock's information, then, glancing at the textile loom with Lock's name written on it and the codebook dedicated to deciphering the [Loom of Fate]'s code, immediately asked: — Is he [Unrivaled]?
— What?
The Armorer looked at the photo. An everyday suit, he looked mature, but was actually sixteen. The man felt he was about to burst out laughing: — Fox, he's only sixteen. By your logic, [Unrivaled] would have first killed at fourteen?
"...That's true."
Fox glanced at the Armorer, heard his reply, and fell into thought.
— Besides, the Butcher died at some water treatment plant, and I checked this guy's phone signal; he hasn't left his house today.
— This...
— H-h-ah, I don't know.
Sloane, the head of the Brotherhood, didn't look well.
The problems caused by Cross weren't even solved yet, and now another assassin—[Unrivaled]—suddenly appears?
What rotten luck?
Did he decide to use the Brotherhood as a springboard to show New York's underworld that he's ready to take orders?
Just then...
*Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r!*
— ...
A subordinate, who worked as a trainee assassin and a mercenary, and whose labor Sloane exploited for free, called: — Head.
— Sergeant George Stacy of the NYPD and Sergeant Colum of the New Jersey Police would like to see you. — Sloane looked at Fox, who was clinging to Lock's information: — Fox, Wesley, go deal with this Lock.
Fox nodded.
Several people left one after another.
A short while later.
Sloane forced a smile onto his wrinkled face, stood up, shook hands with Sergeant George Stacy and Sergeant Colum, whom he had ushered into the hall, and tried to offer a cordial smile, which they ignored.
The New York Police Department was the largest police force in all the States. It carried significant weight.
Well...
As it turned out, even the FBI agents in New York were far fewer than the police.
Elsewhere, the FBI could be very shrewd.
But in New York?
The New York FBI office actually behaved a bit strangely: if they wanted to take on a case, they had to contact the NYPD for permission.
The reason George and Sergeant Colum were here was simple.
Something had happened.
Yesterday, the identity of the person who had fallen onto Lock's car was established.
A textile factory worker.
And then there was the body of a dead taxi driver, whom New Jersey police found after a call.
The same thing.
This taxi driver's identity was also established as a textile factory employee.
Although New Jersey, located across the Manhattan River, was a provincial town to New York, George had a good relationship with his neighboring Sergeant Colum.
So...
After Colum spoke with him this afternoon, George keenly sensed that there seemed to be some inevitable connection between these events.
Something was wrong with this textile factory.
George had originally planned to come tomorrow, but upon reflection, he remembered he'd promised his daughter yesterday that he'd take Gwen to an interview tomorrow, and since Colum had just arrived, he figured he'd simply drop by immediately to find out what was going on.
"What if something truly fishy was going on here?"
— What?
Dangerous?
Oh.
No one would dare clash with the NYPD on their turf.
Haha!
Not even the FBI could.
Outside the textile factory.
Lock stared in confusion at the police car parked near the textile factory, its doors open.
"The moment I decided to act, that old geezer shows up?"
"Damn it!"
"Does Helen know George is out causing trouble at this late hour?"
Lock was somewhat speechless.
He was about to pull the trigger of his sniper rifle when, through the scope, he saw a police car speeding towards the factory.
He even rubbed his eyes.
"What the hell!"
George was inside the car.
Lock's eyebrow twitched, and he put the rifle on safety. What if he accidentally fired...
But...
"Why are there so few people inside this damned textile factory?"
Lock looked through the scope again: there were only a dozen or so figures. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.
By the way...
Tomorrow...
Saturday?