"What do you mean?" Carlos asked, his brows furrowing slightly as confusion crept into his expression.
Locke only smiled, shaking his head as if dismissing the need for a deeper explanation. "Let's focus on what matters," he said calmly. "How to deal with Sloan and save the Brotherhood. That's the real issue here, isn't it?"
Carlos paused, thinking it through, then gave a slow nod. He wasn't entirely convinced, but there was no denying the logic in narrowing things down to the essentials.
"Fox and I already talked it over," Locke continued, his tone steady and deliberate. "Sloan betrayed the Brotherhood and corrupted its faith. He's the root of everything that's gone wrong, so he has to die to atone for it. If there are accomplices, they'll be dealt with the same way."
He let that sink in before adding, "But most of the people in the Brotherhood were deceived. They committed crimes, yes, but they didn't know the truth. Those people… they can still be forgiven."
Carlos blinked, caught off guard by that conclusion. "But the Loom already gave names," he said slowly, his voice uncertain. "Those names aren't supposed to be questioned."
Locke's smile didn't change, but there was something sharper behind it now. "Then let the guilty atone for their sins," he replied. "Because if everyone dies, the Brotherhood dies with them."
He paused for a moment, then added, "After Sloan is dealt with, Fox will take over. Any objections?"
Carlos glanced at Fox, who stood there expressionless, her face unreadable as ever. After a brief hesitation, he shook his head. "No."
"But there's still a problem," he continued, his tone growing heavier. "How do we make everyone believe the truth? And how do we kill Sloan inside Textile Factory No. 17? That place is practically a fortress."
Locke and Fox exchanged a brief glance, a silent understanding passing between them.
Carlos immediately felt a bad premonition.
Sure enough, Locke smiled.
"That's where you come in, Mr. Carlos."
…
Textile Factory No. 17 stood near the coastline, its aged structure reinforced and renovated until it resembled a fortified castle. The Brotherhood's headquarters loomed like something out of another era, hiding its secrets behind stone walls and iron discipline.
With Fox and Wesley leading the way, the group entered without resistance.
Carlos, bound and presented as a captured traitor, was dragged into the hall, drawing the attention of every assassin present. One by one, members of the Brotherhood gathered, their eyes filled with curiosity and suspicion.
At the center of it all stood Sloan.
His expression darkened as he stepped forward, flanked by elite assassins. "Fox," he said coldly, "what is this?"
His gaze shifted briefly to Locke, irritation flashing through his eyes. "And why is there an outsider here?"
Fox didn't answer.
Carlos did.
"How else would she expose you if I wasn't brought back alive?" he said, his voice steady despite the tension.
Sloan's eyes narrowed instantly, a cold light flickering within them. "We don't waste time talking to traitors," he snapped. "Fox, kill him."
Before anyone could move, Fox stepped forward, holding up a piece of white cloth.
"Your name appeared, Sloan," she said calmly. "So why didn't you tell anyone?"
She walked forward, unfolding the cloth so everyone could see. "Sloan's name showed up on the Loom years ago. But he hid it. Instead, he used his authority to manipulate the lists, ordering assassinations of innocent people while turning all of us into tools for his crimes."
She moved through the crowd, pointing at individuals one by one.
"You," she said to the repairman, her voice unwavering. "Your name appeared."
She turned to another. "You too."
Then another.
"And you."
Her voice didn't rise, but it carried through the hall with undeniable weight. "Everyone here. Every single one of you had your name on the Loom."
Finally, she stopped in front of Sloan, her gaze locked onto his. "If you don't believe me, I'm sure Sloan has proof."
Silence fell like a heavy curtain.
All eyes turned toward Sloan.
Some were filled with shock, others with anger, and some with disbelief so strong it bordered on denial.
Sloan said nothing at first. He simply looked around at the faces of the people who had trusted him for years.
Then he spoke.
"Do you know why I did it?"
His voice rose suddenly, cutting through the silence. "Because I didn't want you to die!"
The intensity in his tone caught everyone off guard.
"Do you think this place runs on nothing?" he continued, his voice growing louder. "Do you know how much it costs to train you? To supply your weapons? To heal you when you're injured?"
He stepped forward, his eyes burning with conviction. "Ten years ago, our death rate was through the roof. Missions were suicide. Now? You live better, fight better, survive longer. Everything you have—everything you enjoy—is because of me!"
His voice echoed through the hall.
"And now you're blaming me?"
The only sound that remained was the steady clatter of the Loom behind them.
Locke stepped forward, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. "Everyone here carries sin," he said evenly. "And yet you're standing there, acting like you've done nothing wrong?"
Sloan's gaze snapped toward him. "Who are you?"
"Someone who remembers why this all began."
Sloan froze for a moment, caught off guard by the answer.
Then, slowly, he began to speak again, his voice quieter this time.
"When I was twenty-one, I was the youngest member here," he said. "There was a girl with me. Seventeen. We trained together. Fought together. Survived together."
His eyes seemed distant, as if he were looking back into a memory he could never escape.
"We had nothing. No equipment, no backup. Just ourselves. Every mission was life or death. We pushed through anyway."
His voice tightened slightly.
"One night, we were cornered. Bleeding, exhausted. The extraction never came. In a dark alley… she told me she was cold."
He stopped, his jaw clenching.
"What was I supposed to do?"
He lifted his head, his voice rising once more. "From that day on, I made a decision! I would carry every sin if it meant none of you had to die like that!"
He looked at the crowd, his gaze intense.
"You've all seen the world out there. Corrupt officials, ruthless businessmen, criminals everywhere. Can you kill them all? No! The world is rotten!"
His voice dropped into something darker.
"I gave you shelter in that darkness."
He stepped closer to Fox, his tone turning cold. "And now you want to take that away? Without it, everyone here will drown."
Locke walked forward until he stood directly in front of him.
"A tragic past doesn't give you the right to ruin others," he said calmly. "You can fight back. You can take revenge. But you don't get to slaughter innocent people and call it protection."
His gaze swept across the room, landing on every face.
"The Brotherhood was meant to protect this world. To stand against chaos. But you…" His eyes locked onto Sloan's. "You turned it into something else."
He paused briefly, then continued, his voice steady and unyielding.
"Every assassin who came before you fought for something real. They believed in justice. And now, because of you, all of that has been stained."
His tone sharpened.
"If that girl you remember saw you now, do you think she'd stand by your side… or drive a blade through your heart?"
The question hung in the air like a blade itself.
"And all the leaders before you?" Locke added. "Were they fools for not making your choice? Or are you just too clever for your own good?"
His voice dropped to a quiet conclusion.
"In the end… you're the worst of them all."
Sloan didn't respond.
The two men stared at each other, tension thick enough to suffocate the room.
Then Locke turned away, addressing everyone else.
"You've heard everything," he said. "Now make your choice."
His voice carried through the hall, steady and commanding.
"Follow Sloan and continue down this path… or stop now and seek redemption. The choice is yours."
Silence.
No one moved at first.
Then Sloan stepped forward, taking his place openly, making his stance clear.
Locke smiled faintly. "Make it quick," he said. "We don't have all day."
Finally, someone moved.
Then another.
And another.
By the time it was over, the Brotherhood had split cleanly in half.
Half chose Sloan.
Half chose to turn back.
Wesley and Carlos stood behind Locke, their expressions grim. Neither of them had expected things to go this far.
There would be no easy way out of this.
Locke let out a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly as he looked at the opposing group.
"Before we begin," he said calmly, "one last question."
His eyes moved across them.
"In life… what matters more? Choice, or talent and effort?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
In the next instant—
A blinding light erupted from him.
It exploded outward like a miniature sun, swallowing the entire hall in brilliance. The intensity was overwhelming, searing into every eye that faced it.
Screams filled the air.
Tears streamed uncontrollably.
And just like that—
Everyone lost their sight.
....
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