American TV Writer

Castle, having identified several weak points in the castle-like textile factory across the way, grinned as he unleashed his squad of 100 white mice. These seemingly cute little creatures, now equipped with 200 grams of C4 each, obediently followed the plan. Each mouse, with its payload, silently infiltrated the Assassin Brotherhood's hideout through its weakest spots. If all 19 kilograms of C4 were detonated at once, it would surely blast a sizable hole in the fortress-like structure.

Watching his carefully planned operation unfold, Castle couldn't help but beam with satisfaction. Over the drone's night vision feed, Moz and the chubby kid also marveled at the scene. Castle boasted, "See? I told you I could get those mice to listen. They're slipping in without a sound, and soon, these damn assassins will learn the truth: power lies within the range of artillery!"

Moz and the chubby kid were amazed. The mice, arranged into five squads by Castle with ease, infiltrated the heavily guarded textile factory from five different directions, just as Castle had claimed they would. On top of that, Castle had equipped each squad's lead mouse with a tiny camera, allowing him to monitor their progress on a tablet. This was crucial for timing the detonations accurately.

Moz, thoroughly impressed by Castle's unpredictable ingenuity, no longer questioned how Castle managed such feats. He was just relieved to be Castle's friend because this guy was shrouded in mystery—he could even control a hundred mice to carry out a seemingly impossible plan.

In truth, Castle didn't expect his mice to directly destroy the Brotherhood's most sacred relic, the loom that seemed to be connected to some sort of network. That item was surely under tight protection. His actual plan was simpler: have the mice place their explosive payloads at structurally weak points of the building, identified by the chubby kid using drone scans and models. Castle abandoned his original idea of detonating all 19 kilograms of C4 at once, opting instead to plant the explosives in five weak spots and detonate them sequentially for maximum effect.

It was a risky plan, no doubt. After all, this was the ancient, well-guarded stronghold of the Assassin Brotherhood. Though Castle's mice were infiltrating through weakly monitored areas, the Brotherhood's base was filled with experienced assassins. Apart from the Cross and the three assassins he'd taken out, all the Brotherhood's top killers were gathered here. Even Fox, who had taken the Cross's son Wesley out to distract him, had returned.

In such a place, it was highly possible that Castle's clever tricks might be detected by the assassins, known for their sharp senses and keen vigilance. After all, the Brotherhood was an ancient organization with a long and storied history.

But Castle's luck was unmatched. Despite his own doubts about his plan, which led him to divide the mice into five teams as a backup measure, fate was on his side. Earlier in the day, Castle had lured the Gunmaker into a trap and ruthlessly gunned him down with a drum magazine filled with 100 rounds. Sloan, furious at the loss, had summoned all the assassins, except Wesley, to a meeting on the third floor of the factory. There, they were discussing how to eliminate Castle, the audacious writer who dared to kill one of their own.

Sloan's goal was clear: they had to kill Castle by sunrise to restore the Brotherhood's tarnished reputation. Coincidentally, Wesley, the Cross's naive son and a freshly minted assassin, remained in his room, leaving the entire factory eerily empty as Castle's mice infiltrated unnoticed.

Castle had no idea how lucky he was. If he knew, he might have laughed himself unconscious. All he saw on his tablet was an empty first floor, devoid of the usual textile workers who doubled as low-level members of the Brotherhood. Sloan, paranoid about the Cross using these workers as a point of entry, had ordered them all away recently, leaving the building sparsely occupied.

Realizing something was amiss, Castle didn't care why things were going so smoothly. Whether it was good luck or Sloan's bad luck, the important thing was that his 100 mice had successfully infiltrated without detection.

Watching as the mice reached their designated points and placed their "truth" bombs, Castle grinned as the lead mice carefully positioned the detonators among the C4. Once the mice had retreated, he smirked and, one by one, pressed the detonation button.

Meanwhile, on the third floor, Sloan was furiously ranting at the assassins. The entire Brotherhood, now gathered in the conference room, was listening as Sloan vented his anger over the Gunmaker's death and the insult to their reputation. Suddenly, a series of deafening explosions shook the building.

The assassins, all seasoned professionals, immediately recognized that the explosions were coming from beneath them. A few, experienced with explosives, could tell from the sounds that the very structure of the building was groaning under the strain.

Panic set in. While these assassins could perform impressive feats of skill, they were not bulletproof, nor could they survive a collapsing building. If the structure came down, none of them would escape unscathed.

The C4, expertly placed by Castle's mice at the building's five weakest points, unleashed devastating power. The chubby kid's drone scans had pinpointed precisely where the factory's structural integrity was weakest, and Castle's C4 charges—3.8 kilograms each—were perfectly placed to exploit this. To put it in perspective, a standard military grenade contains less than 50 grams of explosive. Even a single 50-gram grenade blast's shockwave is enough to incapacitate its target. So, 3,800 grams of military-grade C4, modified by Castle for maximum impact in a confined space, was utterly terrifying.

The mice had perfectly executed Castle's plan. The explosions severely compromised the building's structure, sending Sloan and his assassins into a panic.

The Brotherhood, already rattled by the Cross's attacks, was now in chaos. They had never expected such an audacious assault. Sloan, paranoid and suspicious, immediately assumed the Cross was behind the attack. That is, until his phone rang.

On the other end of the line, a cold voice spoke—Richard Castle's father, Sean: "Sloan, you old fool. You dared send assassins to kill my son? Who gave you the guts?"

Sloan, instantly recognizing the voice, broke out in a cold sweat. He had never imagined that Castle, the writer he had considered weak, was actually the son of Sean, the influential elder controlling the entire High Table and its network of Continental hotels across the globe.

His mind racing, Sloan stammered, "Was that you just now? You're the one who blew up my factory?"

But Sloan's real fear wasn't the explosion itself—it was that the High Table had found out about the Brotherhood's headquarters.

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]

[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]