The elder who taught her how to endure pain and how to keep fighting after a bone fracture.
Third line: 01000010... B - U - T - C - H - E - R (The Butcher).
The big guy who was usually silent, only knowing how to sharpen knives, but would always give her an extra piece of meat in the cafeteria.
...
One name after another, like heavy hammers, struck her heart.
The last line.
The word was very short.
01000110... F - O - X (Fox).
Except for Sloan himself, the names of all core members of The Fraternity were on it.
Fox felt her blood running backward.
"the loom had long ago judged that all of us should die," Cross said in a deep voice, his tone filled with deep exhaustion. "Because we are no longer tools for maintaining balance, but have become the source of chaos. We killed the wrong people, we disrupted the order of the World. According to the rules, according to the creed we swore to protect, we executioners with hands stained with the blood of the innocent should all commit suicide."
Unexpectedly, upon hearing this, Fox's expression did not collapse into tears as expected, nor was she hysterical.
She became unusually calm.
"I'm afraid you don't know that in the list given by the loom, the name at the very top is actually Sloan."
Alice dealt the final blow calmly.
"But he hid it. Then, using this death list, he kidnapped all of you onto his chariot. He made you kill those who shouldn't be killed, thereby making your names logically appear on the wrong list. In this way, he held the leverage over all of you. You are accomplices, grasshoppers on the same rope. He not only deceived you, but he also dragged you down to hell with him."
Fox slowly raised her head.
A flash of sharp light flickered in her eyes and vanished.
She was an orphan; The Fraternity gave her a name and gave her a reason to survive.
She could pull the trigger on former friends without hesitation, endure the withering of her soul after every kill, and even endure physical disability, all because of that creed: "Kill one, save a thousand."
That was her anchor, the only reason she didn't go insane in this bloody World.
She never killed for money, nor for pleasure.
She truly believed she was saving the World.
If Sloan had truly turned the loom into a tool for accumulating wealth, then Sloan was no longer the prophet guiding them, but the most shameless heretic in the World, the deepest filth that must be purified.
"I will ask him to his face."
Fox clutched that light piece of linen in her hand and said calmly.
She stood up and adjusted her collar, as if she were just going to attend an ordinary dinner party.
"If that is the case, I will resolve this problem personally."
The Textile Mill, The Fraternity headquarters.
In the top-floor office late at night.
Sloan stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the bustling city below.
The neon lights shrank into countless pulsing points of light in his deep pupils, as if they were not lights, but threads he could manipulate at will.
He wore his signature dark suit, his hair combed meticulously.
He held a glass of neat whiskey, a thirty-year vintage; the amber liquid swayed between the ice cubes, making a crisp clinking sound.
A victor's smile hung on Sloan's face, a smile revealing the arrogance of one who has mastered the truth.
The trouble was resolved.
Cross, that stubborn traitor, was finally dead.
Wesley, the bone-carving knife he had personally trained, was also casually disposed of by the absolutely loyal Fox the moment he completed his mission of killing his biological father.
No more variables, no more impurities.
From now on, this the loom that had been running for a millennium would completely bid farewell to that mysterious and uncontrollable destiny, becoming entirely his private money-printing machine that could endlessly produce power.
He did not need God to tell him who deserved to die.
Whoever offered the highest price, their competitor deserved to die.
"To fate."
Sloan whispered, raised his wine glass, and toasted the boundless night sky outside the window.
For a moment, he even had the illusion that he was not actually interpreting language for God, but was the God who was writing human history.
He thoroughly enjoyed this feeling of omniscience and omnipotence.
However, fate did not seem to intend to play along.
Just as he was about to take his first sip of wine, a crisp click came from behind him.
It was the sound of the locked office door being pushed open.
The sound was extremely light, but at this moment, it was like a cracking ice fissure, abrupt and harsh.
Sloan's smile froze on the corners of his lips.
He saw the person coming in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window.
Fox.
Her pace was elegant, and she looked very calm.
Yet, Sloan faintly felt that something was wrong.
Because he felt that something was hidden within Fox's calmness, like a volcano about to erupt covered by a thin layer of ice.
Fox stopped five meters in front of the desk.
This was her best killing distance, and also her final courtesy to Sloan.
"Sloan. I want to confirm one thing."
Fox's voice was as smooth as silk, without any emotional fluctuation.
Sloan turned around, put down his wine glass, and leaned against the edge of the desk with a composed posture, showing the kindness of an elder: "What is it, child? How did the mission go? It's a pity about that poor child, Wesley."
"The list you gave me, was it given to you by the loom, or by the bank?"
Fox's sudden words were like a dagger, directly stabbed into the center of the room.
A muscle at the corner of Sloan's eye twitched slightly.
The worst-case scenario had actually happened at the moment he was most complacent.
"It seems that before Cross died, he showed you quite a few forgeries." Sloan let out a soft sigh, his tone carrying a trace of pity, as if looking at a child deceived by bad people. "Fox, you are more loyal and more simple-minded than anyone else. You should know that those who want to destroy The Fraternity love to attack the leader's prestige the most. Tricks like forging bank records are too low-level."
"The ledgers are fake." Fox repeated calmly. "Those bank records are fake, and the remittances corresponding to the kill list are also fake. I have considered all of these."
She slowly took a stack of things out of her bosom and placed them gently on the desk.
That was the original piece of cloth that Cross had given her.
That small piece of rag looked exceptionally glaring on the polished mahogany tabletop at this moment.
"Then, what about this piece?"
Sloan glanced at that piece of cloth.
That was the part missing from his safe.
Sloan's breathing did not falter, but the fingers he placed on the tabletop curled up subconsciously.
"the loom does not lie." Fox's voice remained cold without a trace of temperature. "It gave your name; it judged you as an error. But you hid it, and then told us that in order to save a thousand people, we must kill those who stand in your way."
Sloan looked at Fox, looking at this masterpiece he had raised since she was a child.
He suddenly realized that lies no longer had any meaning.
At this distance, in front of this gaze, any sophistry was pale.
Then, he suddenly laughed.
The embarrassment after being exposed only lasted for a second, followed by the relief of completely tearing off the disguise.
There was no longer kindness in that smile, only naked ambition and arrogance.
"What if I say yes?"
Sloan stood up straight, his eyes becoming sinister and fanatical.
He opened his arms, as if showing off this empire that belonged to him.
"Fox, what do you think we are protecting? Protecting random codes spat out by the loom? Don't be stupid!"
He paced on the carpet, his voice getting louder and louder.
"In this era, killing a congressman can change the entire country's legislation; killing a reporter can secure billions of dollars in profits, allowing thousands of workers to have food to eat. This is balance; this is the operating logic of modern society. I use this money to make The Fraternity grow, to let you have the best weapons, the top-tier training, to let you live in luxury suites, instead of starving on the street like that group of ascetics who only know how to chant sutras. It was I who made The Fraternity the Shadow King of the World."
He approached Fox, looking directly into her eyes.
"the loom sentenced me to death? That's because it's just a machine, an ancient machine. If you kill me, The Fraternity will collapse. Everyone will lose their goal, and the World will fall into true chaos. The order we have established is far more perfect than those few broken threads."
Fox looked at him, and there wasn't even disgust in her eyes.
Because that was the look of someone looking at a dead man.
"Kill one, save a thousand; you were the one who taught me that."
"That's right!" Sloan spread his hands. "As long as that person has the value of sacrifice."
"But you never said that that one person could also be yourself." Fox said indifferently.
Sloan's face darkened suddenly.
He knew that the woman in front of him was not Wesley, not a tool that could be bought with emotion or money.
She was a thorough dogmatist.
Once she determined that you were an error, even if you were her god, she would kill the god with her own hands.
"Since you are so loyal to the code," Sloan sneered, slowly drawing a long-hidden pistol from under the desk, "you should know that there is not only me on this list."
"I know." Fox nodded calmly. "The people on the list also include me."
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