Russell finally had a measure of this so-called "master assassin." To be honest, the guy was a bit of a letdown. Cross's imagination was so wild it left Russell speechless. Honestly, the man missed his calling—he should have been writing cheap sci-fi novels.
Cross seemed convinced he had connected all the dots. Then, he finally shifted gears.
"The man you killed on the roof belonged to an organization known as the Fraternity. It has existed for a millennium, training countless elite assassins. Every single one of them has the power to end a life in a heartbeat."
Russell rolled his eyes. "So, I'm screwed, is that it? I just smoked one of their members—a core member who could literally bend the laws of physics and curve bullets, no less."
Cross gave him a look that said Exactly. "Precisely. You are in grave danger. They will come for you with a vengeance. They won't stop until you're dead."
Russell feigned alarm, his muscles tensing up. "How do you know all this? You seem to know an awful lot about this organization. Don't tell me..."
"Hah. I like talking to smart people. I'm here because I want to team up. You're rough around the edges, but you have the talent to be elite. With some training... you'll need it against the Fraternity."
Cross went on a spiel, first praising Russell's natural killer instincts, then diving into the lore of the Fraternity.
He explained how he used to be the Fraternity's Number One assassin. Originally, the order was a force for chaos-neutral justice, following the loom of Fate to eliminate targets. But the leader, Sloan, couldn't resist the allure of money. He started cooking the books, fabricating targets for profit. When Cross discovered the conspiracy, Sloan turned the tables, framing Cross and faking his name onto the loom's hit list.
Russell sat through the entire lecture without a flicker of emotion. It wasn't like he could just say, "Yeah, buddy, I know. I watched the movie on Blu-ray," could he?
"I will train you. We need to unlock your potential fast. Then, we take the fight to them." The exposition dump finally over, Cross revealed his true objective. "Trust me. You killed one of their best. There is no walking away from this. It is your destiny!"
Russell brushed off Cross's intimidation. He didn't give a damn. He was in this world for the mission, plain and simple.
Going up against a millennium-old syndicate of master assassins? He'd have to have a death wish to pull a stunt like that.
Besides, regarding the "renovation" of that textile factory? Cross's son is more than capable of handling it alone. There was zero incentive for Russell to get his hands dirty.
"Sorry, but I'll pass. I just hate assassins."
[Ding! World Mission Triggered.]
[Mission: Destroy the Fraternity and personally eliminate the leader, Sloan!]
[Failure Penalty: Permanently stranded in this world, facing endless pursuit by the Fraternity.]
Russell: "..."
What is the appropriate facial expression for this moment? Should I just smile and eat my words?
Cross knew this wouldn't be easy and started analyzing the pros and cons. "Don't be so quick to refuse. If you're worried I'm using you..."
"Stop. I've changed my mind. I accept your invitation."
Russell continued before Cross could react, "Don't look so confused. I know you want to use me, but the truth is, I need your help too. Let's just say... I'm doing this to save my own skin."
Russell's sudden 180 left Cross dumbfounded. Just ten seconds ago, the guy had refused flat out, leaving no room for negotiation.
Cross certainly intended to use Russell—just as the Fraternity used his own son. He saw Russell as disposable muscle. But facing the behemoth that was the Fraternity alone was suicide. Cross didn't mind grooming a talented accomplice, and since Russell was a mercenary by trade, Cross felt no guilt in exploiting him.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
They shook hands. Just then, the TV above the bar switched to the news channel. The screen showed the murder scene at the skyscraper. Due to interference from certain powerful figures, the truth was buried. The Slicked-back was painted as an innocent bystander, and a wanted poster flashed on the screen.
The elevator footage was grainy, but distinct enough to identify Russell.
The scene cut to a senior officer being interviewed: "Yes, the investigation is proceeding smoothly. We have confirmed the suspect is a Russian national."
Cross scoffed. "That's Sloan's doing. He's been taking contracts and buying off senators for years."
Russell pulled his baseball cap back down and sighed. "None of that matters now. Since I'm apparently Russian, I guess I should go buy a bottle of vodka to celebrate."
...
Half an hour later, Cross drove Russell to a warehouse where the training would take place.
Russell glanced around. It was a derelict machine shop with thick, soundproof walls. If he hadn't seen the 'L' train passing by earlier, he would never have guessed they were only a block away from Cross's hideout.
"This place is secure. Unless we set off a bomb, no one will care about the noise. For the foreseeable future, I'm going to run you into the ground until I'm satisfied with your skills."
This was Cross's personal gym. As a top-tier assassin, he needed to maintain peak condition.
Russell took two steps back. "So, what's step one? Getting my ass kicked?"
Cross grinned. "You really are experienced. But relax. I've seen you fight; your CQC is vicious enough, so we can skip that part. Unless, of course, you have a kink for being tied to a lathe and worked over."
"Hard pass. I'm usually the one doing the tying."
"Good! Time is wasting. Every second lost is another step closer to death. Let's get straight to the point."
Cross dropped the friendly act. An aura of pure menace radiated from him—far more intense than the guy at the hotel—causing Russell's heart to pound.
"You're excellent," Cross praised, "but it's not beating fast enough!"
"What do you mean?"
"Your heart rate needs to be higher. This isn't enough. I know a way to get you into the zone instantly, just like on the rooftop..."
Before he finished the sentence, Cross drew the gun from his shoulder holster—a Magnum Baby Eagle—and fired two rounds straight at Russell.
Russell sensed the danger the split second Cross moved. He leaped into the air, contorting his body into a Matrix-level dodge, and perfectly... caught the bullet.
"ARGHHH!!!"
Cross: "..."
WTF!?
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