It was 5:42 PM.
The setting sun's rays slanted through the window into the conference room, precisely where Simmons stood. She spread her arms, closed her eyes, and with a serene expression, prepared to embrace her death.
In stark contrast to her peaceful demeanor, the assassins' terror and disbelief in death played out in slow motion.
Sloan had stepped back, so he was not hit by the bullets.
But he watched with his own eyes as a bullet flew from right to left, less than 15cm from him. Immediately after, the head of the assassin to his left was instantly pierced, and blood splattered everywhere.
At that moment, he could hear his heart pounding like a drum.
And all of this unfolded in slow motion, when suddenly, one person broke the sacred, painting-like scene.
Zhang Jie endured the pain, forced himself to stand up, and rushed directly towards Simmons.
"Dream on!" Zhang Jie roared.
Then Simmons was tackled to the ground by him, and the bullet that had just pierced the last assassin's head hit his back.
Pfft!
Thud!
Zhang Jie felt a sharp pain in his back, and then he and Simmons simultaneously fell to the ground.
"What are you doing?!"
Tackled to the ground, Simmons couldn't serenely welcome her death; everything she believed in was shattered by Zhang Jie's tackle.
"If you believe in fatalism, then at this very moment, you should believe in it even more, because my appearance has broken the fate of death that should have been yours!"
At this point, Zhang Jie couldn't care less about anything else and could only launch a verbal attack.
"What?!"
Simmons didn't quite understand Zhang Jie's words. As a foreigner, how could she comprehend the profound connotations of Chinese culture?
"The Loom of Fate wanted you dead; that was your predetermined destiny. But my appearance has broken your predetermined destiny, so your current destiny is to live!"
Zhang Jie glared at Simmons, whom he had tackled. "Think about your sister Max, and then think about Old Lady Schneider and them. If you die, what will happen to them?"
Zhang Jie's words were like a knife, directly cutting through the darkness before Simmons' eyes.
Yes, if the Loom of Fate had decided her death, then at this moment, wasn't it this man in front of her who had broken that death?
And he had a point: if she died, would her sister Max and that Old Lady be very sad?
While Zhang Jie was trying to persuade Simmons, Carlos and Wesley got up and chased after Sloan, because that old man Sloan actually tried to run.
He was truly afraid, first of Carlos and Wesley, the two crazy avengers, and second, of Simmons, the fanatical believer in fate.
In his eyes, Simmons was a lunatic!
They already told you that you don't have to die, and you still actively seek death?
Are you sick?
He had already followed a secret passage to the outside of the weaving factory. He didn't want to die in this place; he had more things to do.
Even if he didn't have these subordinates, it didn't matter; with his abilities, he could still train a new batch of assassins.
The Brotherhood would absolutely not perish in this manner.
He quickly walked towards the bridge. All the transportation facilities had been blown up, so he could only walk. But as he was about to reach the other end of the bridge...
He saw a woman standing at the end of the bridge, waiting for him.
To be precise, it was an elderly woman, about 60-something years old.
The May breeze gently caressed her silhouette, as if time itself couldn't help but pause for her.
Years had left traces of time on her face, but they couldn't take away her elegance and composure.
Silver-white hair was loosely tied up, with a few stray strands casually falling by her ears, like the soft light in a Monet painting.
Her makeup was exquisite and restrained, with dark brown eyebrows slightly arched, outlining the confidence accumulated over the years, and her gray-blue eyes gleamed with a cold light.
She wore a cream-white linen blazer, sharply tailored yet soft, paired with a silk lavender-purple blouse. The collar was slightly open, revealing a delicate antique gold chain with a small enamel butterfly pendant.
Her lower body was a pair of high-waisted charcoal wide-leg trousers, the flowing fabric moving with her steps. The hems just covered her nude-pink square-toed lambskin shoes, which were adorned with a small pearl button on the vamp.
A gust of wind swept by, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. Reflected in her eyes was Sloan walking from the other side of the bridge.
She stood at the bridgehead, behind her the flowing river and the greenery of May.
Sloan's steps slowly halted. At this moment, he was no more than 10 meters from the woman.
His pupils instantly contracted, and a hint of fear appeared on his face.
"After all these years, you're still as shameless as ever, covering your baseness with an air of elegance," the Old Lady said slowly, her voice remarkably clear.
A cold sweat broke out on Sloan's forehead. His lips moved. "Shamelessness and baseness are necessary rules for survival, and it has always been so. It's you, however, who has time to wait for me here."
The Old Lady's appearance was something Sloan could never have anticipated, especially in such a setting.
Behind him, the textile factory was still emitting black smoke, and the sirens of distant fire trucks were slowly approaching.
"I have something to do today. We can talk later." Sloan just wanted to leave quickly now. He gripped the gun in his hand, hesitating greatly whether to shoot.
However, the Old Lady's left hand was always hidden behind her satchel, making him afraid to act rashly.
"Something to do?"
The Old Lady sneered, "You certainly do have something to do, but not with others, Mr. Sloan, but with me."
Hearing this, Sloan gave a dry laugh. "What could we possibly have to do?"
The Old Lady raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I recall my granddaughter working for you, brainwashed by you for years, unwilling to come back and see her Old Lady…"
The Old Lady's words immediately made more cold sweat appear on Sloan's forehead, because just now, he seemed to have seen Simmons' shot intended to kill even himself!
If he didn't leave now, it would truly be troublesome later!
But the more anxious Sloan became, the calmer the Old Lady appeared, an invisible aura slowly emanating. "Sloan, don't think I don't know about your little schemes. Before, I was too lazy to specifically deal with you. You can try if your curving bullets can kill me."
At these words, more cold sweat appeared on Sloan's forehead.
And sounds came from behind; Carlos and Wesley were about to catch up.
"I will give you an explanation for these matters later, but right now, I really have something urgent to attend to," Sloan said, taking another step, preparing to leave.
But the Old Lady smiled, a smile so elegant, yet chilling to the bone.
"Then I will send you off."
As soon as she said this, Sloan immediately waved his hand and fired a shot!
But… a bullet arrived at his forehead even faster than his!
Bang!
"What the…!"
A blood dot appeared on Sloan's brow, and his entire body slowly fell backward.
"This is a lesson for you, on behalf of my granddaughter."
After glancing at the textile factory, the Old Lady elegantly got into the car behind her, then drove away with a roar.
When Carlos and Wesley caught up, only Sloan's corpse remained, with his eyes wide open in disbelief.
And the evening breeze still gently blowing.
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